#biting maiming killing murdering !!!!!!!!!!! i hope they die painfully

[bunnybisexual]

god i hate m*rmons so indescribably much

[watchtower-feed]

Death Do We Part (Part 4)

SSA Spin-off ✧ Jason Todd ✧ Physical Link ✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧ Notes: Hold out for the next part because I’m telling you it’s going to have the worst combination ever: smut and angst. Also, this is turning into a 6-8 part series and I feel like I’m running out of words. I might post fillers some days but this story will definitely be finished this month. Words: 2,700+

     Your voice echoes in the cave and the only reply you get are their stares. You start laughing hysterically while looking around the room. “Is that what Robin really is? Someone so replaceable? You just find stray kids in Gotham and turn them into unknowing soldiers!”

     You’re breathing through your mouth and you close it immediately. You walk up right to Bruce and glare up at his tall figure. “Jason died. As Robin. He was Robin. And he died because of you.”

     Bruce doesn’t flinch. You keep staring at him, waiting for a reply. Then a thought hits you and your eyes widen. “This is why you don’t want him to know everything,” you’re whispering now and looking frantically at the ground, “If he finds out… Even with his memories, you’re afraid he’ll turn against you .”

      Jason tosses and turns in his bed. He stares at the last words he wrote to you and the empty space where yours was hours ago. It’s true. He doesn’t know who you are. He doesn’t even remember who he is.

      He grunts and sits up. He stares out the small window of his room. His cell. His prison. Ra’s and Talia told him he was free to go any time he wanted. What a cruel thing to say to someone who doesn’t know where he is. Not to mention wherever he is is surrounded by mounds and mounds of sand drifting endlessly with the harsh winds.

      “Yeah,” he sighs to himself, “like hell.”

      What does he even tell you? ‘Y/N, I think I’m in a desert somewhere. You have to look out for a secret base that’s heavily guarded by hundreds of assassins trained to maim intruders on sight.’ Knowing you for just a few hours, he already knows you would rush out and probably get yourself killed trying to save him. Then you’re both dead. Again.

      “No thanks,” he jokes to himself. “Not again. Not for a looooong while this time.”

      Jason suddenly grits his teeth and buries his face in his pillow, angry that he’s just talking to himself. But how can he talk to you now?

      Sleep doesn’t come to Jason. The moment the sun peeks over the sands outside his window, there’s a knock on his door. Talia doesn’t wait for his answer.

      “It’s time, Jason.”

      She stands by the door. Jason grunts loudly and throws the blanket aside. He walks behind Talia as they enter the main chamber of the fortress.

      When Jason last entered this chamber, there were hundreds of assassins clad in black just standing around, stiff and on alert. There was an old man seated on the floor in the middle in colorful garments of red and orange with some green accent. Jason almost laughed at how his mustache hung down the side of his face because of how long it was.

      Now, though, all the humor has definitely left him. There’s only the old man sitting on the floor, Ra’s Al Ghul. Talia’s father. The leader of the League of Assassins. The deadliest secret army in the world. And they had asked Jason to join them.

      “Have you made up your mind, young man?” Ra’s asks the moment Jason and Talia stood in front of him. Jason doesn’t answer and doesn’t look at him. Ra’s narrows his eyes at the boy and then glares at his daughter.

      “Perhaps, father, some incentive will tip his decision toward the League.”

      That definitely caught Jason’s attention, “What kind of incentive?”

      “Information,” Talia smirks before she turns back to her father. “Knowing about his past will do no harm.”

      Ra’s tightens his lips before nodding. Talia sits down and waits for Jason to do the same.

      “What do you want to know first?” she asks.

      Jason mulls it over. What does he want to know first? Should he ask about you? Do they know about your link? How much do they actually know about him really? Should he just go for the painfully obvious?

      “How did I die?”

      Talia smiles as if it was the right question to ask. “You were murdered. You were with your mother,” Jason flinches, “Trapped in a warehouse that was rigged to explode the moment a vigilante called Batman arrived near the perimeter.”

      Jason’s eyes widen and Talia stops talking. This is definitely too much information. And not enough information at the same time. Why isn’t she saying anymore?

      “Did the Batman rig the explosion?” he finally asks.

      Talia raises an eyebrow, “Him? No. The man who killed you is a madman who murders for no reason. The Joker.” She pauses while Jason takes it in. “Batman,” Talia says the alias with softness, “he was trying to save you. The Joker has always been a thorn in Batman’s side and a menace to Gotham-- that’s where you’re from. He’s always trying to push Batman to his limits, trying to find a way to get him to defy his most-honored code: no killing.”

      Ra’s makes a small sound, somewhere between a sigh and a grunt. Talia continues, much gentler this time, placing a hand on Jason’s leg, “He used your death for the same cause.”

      “I don’t understand,” Jason is frustrated, “why me?”

      Ra’s speaks up, “You’re Batman’s partner. You were also his adopted son. Bruce Wayne’s adopted son.”

      Jason’s eyes widen. He shifts his eyes between the two of them, wondering if they’re lying. From everything you have told him, he knows that his parents both left him and he chose to live on the streets. Now Jason understands why you never told him anything beyond that. It’s too close to this. It’s the cause of everything.

      “These names may not mean anything to you now, but once your memories return, you’ll know.”

      “And did he?” Jason’s voice raises their curious glances. “Did he kill the Joker?”

      “No,” Talia answers him, her eyes narrow as she stares into the distance behind him, “No, my dear. It’s clear that his code is the single most important thing to him. Over anyone.”

      Jason clenches his fists. “I’ll do it. I’m in.”

✧ ✧ ✧

      You wake up in your new room from someone knocking. You groan and bury your face deeper into the pillow. Your body feels heavy and fatigued even though all you’ve done for the past couple of days is sleep. Ever since your confrontation in the cave, you have less hope of making Jason cooperate and lesser will to help Bruce in his search.

      The knocking continues. Louder this time and more incessant than all the other times. You want to stomp to the door and yell at Alfred but none of this is his fault. It’s all Bruce. If he hadn’t adopted Jason, the two of you would be working right now, living paycheck to paycheck, in a studio apartment, maybe with a dog. At most you would be together.

      You hear a key jamming into the lock and you shoot up right away. You run to the tall window and hurry it open. When you’re holding the frames and getting ready to climb out, a familiar voice chuckles behind you.

      You turn to Dick, standing by the doorway, amused. “Breaking your legs might get Jason to start talking to you again. Sure.”

      You glare at him and then smile. You step away from the window frame and run to him. He catches you in his arms and hugs you. “You were gone too long!”

      Ever since your fight with Bruce, Dick has been the only one who’s upfront with you with everything. He kept you company whenever you felt lonely and he would update you with everything that’s going on with the search for Jason. But two days ago he left to take care of something in Bludhaven.

      “Next time, please take me with you. I don’t think I can lock myself in this room any longer.” Dick frowns and then turns his head to the side, avoiding your gaze and biting his lip. You narrow your eyes and sigh, “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?”

      “The Titans need me. I’ll be gone for a month, at most.”

      “A month!?”

      “I’ll call you every chance I get, okay?” Dick chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. Then he stops and looks at you with a serious expression, “But you know, you should really start talking to Bruce again.”

      You suddenly feel betrayed, “I have nothing to say to him.”

      But Dick was having none of this today. Your sulking attitude has been going on for days and it’s not helping anyone. “If not to him, then do it for Jason. Tell him about Jason, about the things you might be feeling that can help find him.”

      His words just make you angrier. He sighs and pats your head. “You know he blames himself, right? For everything. He’s hurting too.” Your resolve is weakening because Dick’s voice is turning into a whisper, “He loves Jason, too. We all do.” 

      He tries to look at you while you look at the ground. Finally, you return his gaze. “So I’m asking you. As a favor for me. Stop hiding in Jason’s room and go help Bruce.”

      You don’t. But you do stop locking yourself in Jason’s room. It turns out that the manor is empty most of the time. Sometimes you’d find Alfred in the living room or one of the many studies every now and then and talk to him. He smiles every time you strike up a conversation. 

      You’re surprised to hear he knows so much about you and your family. Then a little sad when you find out why.

      “Would it make you feel better to know that a lot of people attended?”

      You shake your head, “Did my… did my parents cry?”

      “Your mother was always trying to hold back her tears and your father cried when he and master Bruce buried your caskets.”

      Your eyes quickly water and you have to look away from Alfred to rub them harshly.

      “Ah, Master Tim, you’re back.”

      “Yeah I was--” Tim stops the moment he notices you. You try to make yourself small and look away, stubbornly ignoring your tears, hoping he won’t notice. “Oh sorry.” It’s the first time you’ve seen Tim again since finding out he’s the new Robin. In civilian clothing, he really does look nothing like Jason.

      He may be close to Jason’s height when you last saw him but Tim’s limbs look longer because of how slender he is. You wonder if he can actually hold his own in a fight. Can he protect himself?

      Tim turns to leave, “I’ll just--”

      “No, wait,” your voice surprises Tim, Alfred, and yourself. “I’m… sorry.” You rub the back of your neck but continue to avoid looking at him, “None of this is your fault. It doesn’t even have anything to do with you.”

      Tim gives you an uncertain smile and chuckles a little, “Thanks? I guess.”

      You don’t reply because you just feel embarrassed. That was a stupid and resentful thing to say.

      “Oh hey,” Tim walks up to you while pulling out his phone. “We were checking out the surveillance at the graveyard and thought maybe you would want to see this.” He shows you a video of your friends visiting your gravestone. At first, it looks like one of them is crying and then someone hugs them. Quickly, unexpectedly, it turns into an intense makeout session over your grave which makes you cringe.

      “You have a messed up sense of humor, don’t you?”

      Tim places a hand on his hip and smirks, “Comes with the job. Pretty much a requirement if you want to work with the fairy godmother of Gotham.”

      And just like that, you find that you don’t mind Tim so much. He’s not Jason but he can be your friend. You can definitely go to him to badmouth Batman once in a while. He seems to be good at that.

      Then Tim sees the thin slash appear on your cheek before you even feel it. It shocks Alfred onto his feet as well. “Y/N, your cheek!”

      Tim runs out of the room to get the first aid kit while Alfred asks you a barrage of questions. “Are you okay? Does it hurt? Is it master Jason?”

      Slowly, you touch your cheek and feel the sting of an open wound. Your fingers are smeared with blood. “I don’t know…” you whisper in a panic.

      Tim comes back and immediately dabs it with a gauze. “It’s not deep. But it’s definitely a clean cut. A bullet or a sword.”

      Neither of those possibilities makes you feel better at all. You immediately take out the pen Alfred gave you on your first night. 

      Jason are you okay? Are you in trouble? Are you hurt?

      The three of you wait for his reply, standing in a circle with your arm in the middle. After several minutes, Tim narrows his eyes and gives up. He goes through the first aid kit and takes out some antiseptic and a smaller gauze.

      You let him tend to your wound but you never take your eyes off of your arm. Alfred finally sighs, dejected, and closes his eyes. He holds the back of his chair for support before heading for the door. “I’ll inform Master Bruce. Please tell us right away if there’s news.”

      “You should go, too,” you mutter loud enough for Tim to hear.

      He looks at you for a second but you’re still staring intently at the clear skin on your arm, waiting. Tim finally turns to go and closes the door behind him. You stand there for hours. You can see the sun’s rays dimming behind you.

      Finally, Alfred returns. He looks upset the moment he sees you. He sighs and calls you for dinner. You shake your head and turn away so you don’t have to see him. 

      When he closes the door you immediately remember Dick. He’ll probably tell him what happened, how you’ve gone back to making no progress at all. Why are they obsessed with helping you anyway? They should be more concerned with Jason right now. Like you are.

      Did it hurt?

      The words are clear even in the partial darkness and your hands shake as you immediately reply.

      No. I didn’t feel it. Are you okay? What happened?

      You finally sit down slowly as you watch more writing appear on your arm, making you relieved.

      Just some exercise. Got a bit careless. I’m okay.

      It’s the most Jason has ever written to you, the most he’s been civil and sympathetic since you came back to life. You hope he doesn’t stop writing.

      By the way, I found out about how we died.

      You gulp immediately. Your pen is hovering over your arm when his next words arrive.

      I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to go through that. How come you didn’t tell me?

      You’re angry again and tears are pouring down your cheeks.

      No, Jason. It’s not your fault. It’s not! I didn’t tell you because I knew you were going to blame yourself and 

      And? And what? Bruce told you not to tell him? Because he would never come home? You bite your lips.

      reminding you of who you are is more important than that.

      You cringe as you write it. It’s true but you also know you’re using it as a lie to cover up the truth. You quickly write something again before he does.

      I would die ten more times for you. If it means we can finally be together.

      Jason laughs and a small blush is growing rapidly along his cheeks. He finds your tenacity amusing.

      Have you always been this sappy? Did I write corny shit like that back to you?

      You almost scoff at his reply. It’s nice to see that his personality still hasn’t changed. You smirk and look at the small writing Dick had done on your other arm, the arm you and Jason don’t write on because of the last thing he wrote. You circle it and write beside it.

      Like this?

      You feel a little smug but then there’s a long pause and then his writing.

      Did I write that just before we died?

      You bite your lips and rest your head against the back of the chair. You pinch yourself twice. You still know how each blow felt like and sometimes your muscles would spasm when you see it in your head. The moving room. The floor meeting your face. That crowbar that you now know was used to beat up Jason.

      You can still feel the sudden sucking air before the huge blast knocks your body away and the loss of all feeling before you even hit the ground. You lost your consciousness mid-air. You wonder if it was because of the strength of the blast or the sensitivity of your link, but from what Dick had told you, your body was thrown against the wall by an invisible force.

      You hug yourself and watch new writing appear.

      Did it hurt?

      You lay your head to the side. Exhausted from this conversation. Already tired of this second life.

        Jason, please. Come home. 

✧ 1 ✧ 2 ✧ 3 ✧ 4 ✧ 5 ✧ 6 ✧ 7 ✧ 8 ✧ 9 ✧ 10 ✧ 11 ✧ 12 ✧ 13 ✧ 14 ✧ 15 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧

[inyuji]

OMG I don’t know why I started adding more sketches. Anyway, this is my take on “Morgana Macawber” in the Ducktales 2017 verse. Honestly, it’s just another fancharacter haha. Meet Miyu Moreno, a pretty well-known voice actress, who likes to pick on Drake Mallard whenever she him near her work studio. But on some nights, she dons the mask of “Red Mugen.”

At first I wanted to just call her “Morgan,” but that was too obvious. Instead, I had a good idea of having her related to the original “Morgana” actress. Miyu isn’t too malicious or goes out of her way to ruin Drake’s day. In fact, she minds her own business and only interacts with co-workers when it’s absolutely needed. For some reason she likes to go out of her way to greet Drake if she ever spots him near her work place. She doesn’t actively hunt him down just to slap him with a “Hey Dorkus!” She doesn’t realize that she has a Tsundere complex going on there ^^ Miyu doesn’t like the “live” acting business, since a whole lot of it depends on physical appearances than actual talent (in her opinion and personal experiences). However, she found great pleasure in the voice-acting industry. She started off in radio commercials, then worked her way up to landing major parts in the tripple-A video game industry and animation. Miyu is put off by Drake’s unwavering determination and enthusiasm for whatever stunt-double roles he can find in action films, and believes he’s wasting his time and talent where it’s taken for granted. Frankly, she thinks he deserves better, especially since she sees herself in his shoes.

Her villain/ anti-hero alias is Red Mugen, because Mugen in Japanese can refer to “infinity” or “without limit.” Red Mugen is crafty and mischievous, and unpredictable with her schemes. One night she’s willing to turn a whole apartment complex into a Yokai sub-haven, the next time she’s stealing ancient artifacts from a newly found imperial tomb, and then she’s playing cat-and-mouse games with Darkwing by baiting him with hostages. Darkwing is always put on edge around her and hasn’t been successful in catching her. He can never tell what Red Mugen’s end goals are. Her motives are constantly shifting. Their first encounter, she was all too happy to kill him. The next encounters resorted to poison or painfully maiming. It always shifted between, murdering him, seductively teasing or playing him, attempts to stealing his soul, or rarely helping him. It doesn’t help that she openly flirts with him, just for the sadistic pleasure of getting under his skin and throwing him off-kilter. Fanfic writers have had a field day with the crack-shipping of MugenWing (all due to a certain die-hard Darkwing Fanfic writer).

As for her connection to “Morgana Macawber,” Miyu was actually adopted by Lucia Moreno, the actress who played “Morgana” for a very short time on the old “Darkwing” show. When Lucia was given the part as “Morgana,” she was on the moon believing that this was a big step forward in her acting career. However, due to the “dangerous” stunts and scenes that were insisted by Jim Starling (smoke, or dangerous fumes, or fire is involved), Lucia was lucky to survive mostly intact. But her voice suffered for it. Her voice was her greatest asset, so losing that was a huge blow to her career. Also, the lingering effects from that accident would prevent her from healing fast enough to even pursue other gigs. A mute actor probably doesn’t get around much in the industry back then. Due to the fast-paced scheduling, the Morgana character was written out, instead of being a frequent character.

After surviving an accident on set, but also having her acting career cut short, Lucia travelled abroad to recover. She started healing while living temporarily in Japan. There she met a wild, yet gloomy child playing with flickers of bright lights. Miyu was considered a problematic orphan, due to her sixth sense, wild claims of seeing creatures or ghosts, and her budding powers in magic. One day Lucia saw her, and instantly fell in love with the strange child. Soon they became family. Lucia found great happiness with being a mother to a child with magical powers. Miyu in return would never forget the love and acceptance that Lucia had given her, while everyone else feared her, or wrote her off as a lost cause. So it was unfortunate when her beloved mother died during a failed operation. Lucia had loved singing, especially with her daughter. Unfortunately, her body was growing ill and her voice hadn’t healed fully. When Miyu started showing great promise in performing arts and as a singer, Lucia wanted to do everything she could to support Miyu’s dreams. In hopes of recovering and hoping to get back into acting to inspire Miyu and to financially support her, Lucia sought experimental treatment in Japan, but she didn’t make it. Miyu was forever heart-broken and never fully healed from her loss.

In hopes of moving on, she tried to pursue her dream as an actress and moved to America, but she struggled and found a lot of downsides to the industry. She struggled working part-time jobs while acting at a local theater and improving her English. It didn’t help that she didn’t have a high-school diploma in America, and was solely home-schooled by Lucia. While Miyu had a small inheritance after Lucia’s death, she refused to rely on it, saving it for life-crisis emergencies. Thankfully she found some voice gigs in commercials within months of reaching fluency in English. Later on, she’ll try to look up her mother’s acting career, and that’s when she finds out about the cause of Lucia’s illness, and eventual death.

To this day, she has festered a deep hatred for anything “Darkwing Duck” related. She blames the show for causing the death of her mother. To find out that an actual “Darkwing Duck” is emerging in the hero scene, is what pushed her to becoming “Red Mugen.” Her attitude towards Darkwing has been undecided, and changed with each encounter. Once she wanted to see nothing but some glory-obsessed wannabe playing hero, but with each encounter and news bite, she grudgingly respects his altruistic spirit and unwavering determination to never give up.

[manifestoonmoralmanlove]

Soulless Riffing: Brainless Ch.13

I got a supernatural action/romance book series as a gift that’s just riddled with stuff that I hate….and as a steampunk Victorian London action romance story filled with werewolves and vampires…it’s yeah gonna be easy to poke fun at.

I just want to say, it’s totally cool if you like this story or ones like it!  It’s certainly a better caliber than a lot of what I make fun of…however…I can’t help but want to make fun of it.

Over here for the 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7+8, 9, 10+11, and 12.

AAAAAAAA FUCK IT HERE GOES!

Chapter 13

You know? The only tolerable parts of this story are the plot and action.  I’m sorry to say that this chapter is like all action and plot but it’s still a clusterfuck made out of dogshit.

HERE GOES!

Doctor Deathbreath is happy Alexia’s power works.  He uses the zombie to rip the two apart.  Before he’s able to Lord Maccon stabs it with the glass she hid in her titties but it does nothing. With the two apart Lord Maccon starts changing back into a werewolf.

They’re all SURPRISED it happened so fast. The author is like “She told them it’d take an hour to transform him out so they must have assumed it would take that long to untransform.”

But like…excuse you book. All these scientists may be too dumb to lie, but after telling a woman they’re planning on killing her, they don’t think she’d lie to give herself an advantage?

So Genocidal Gary just sics a bunch of dudes on the werewolf and marches out of there with Alexia. Alexia has the brilliant idea to stab herself with the glass shard in the zombie, to leave a blood trail for Lord Maccon to follow.  She doesn’t YANNO try to stab the zombie some more, or cut a piece of him open and try to get at the gears in him, or even HANG ON TO THE GLASS SHARD. She just stabs herself.

(Alexia shrugging with the tagline “Guess I’ll die”)

She’s taken to a SCIENCE room.  In this room they have a bunch of scientist with Lord Akeldama hooked up to a machine that’s pumping his blood out into some rando in hopes it’ll make rando an extra good vampire cause Akeldama is extra old.

How could this experiment illuminate how to kill Vampires easier?

SHHH SHHH STOP THINKING SHHHHH SHHH SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

She SO BRAVELY calls them philistines for torturing her friend.

FUCKING PHILISTINES?

1.)   It’s impossible to use the insult without sounding like a pretentious toff.

2.)   It means someone who doesn’t appreciate culture and art.  So that’s the worse fucking thing you could think of? NOW REALLY? AUTHOR, USING THIS WORD ONLY MAKES YOU SEEM SMART TO OTHER DUMMIES! MY LOCAL SCHOOL DISTRICT CURRICULUM TEACHES THIS WORD TO FUCKIN’ 12 YEAR OLDS YOU’RE NOT FUCKING SMART!

They talk some nonsense science and then Alexia really has her MOMENT! YANNO! SUCH A GOOD MOMENT!

She says it isn’t the vampires and werewolves that are the monsters, REAL MONSTERS ARE THE SCIENTISTS!

(Hugh Laurie(?) sighing, rolling his eyes, and tilting his head bag in an exaggerated UGH fashion.)

So Prejudiced Pete slaps her, and I TELL YOU WHAT, I THINK I WOULD TOO!  YOU SPEND ALL EVENING COMING UP WITH THAT ONE, HUH ALEXIA? GOOD FUCKING JOB!

Also you didn’t fucking earn this! The entire last chapter you just played grab ass.  In fact, you basically played grab ass this entire book. The last thing you were going to do to stop this genocide was consult with a guy YOU ALREADY CONSULTED with but you got derailed to TALK ABOUT HOW YOU’RE TRYING TO GRAB THAT ASS!

Now you wanna come in here with almost no work to discover/fight these fucking dimwits with a big self-righteous speech about how these painfully evil scientists turn out are painfully evil scientists?

GO FUCK YOURSELF!

So they shock the body full of vampire blood, and it starts to move. Okay sure. Sir. DumDum Stupidbega asks if the vampire has any blood left, and the other scientist is like

IDK

I don’t think these are fucking scientists, I think all these people are those fucking zombies.  I know they’re supposed to be so evil they kill on a whim, but they take all these great resources and just fucking piss them away.  

BUT LET ME GIVE YOU A WRITING FUCKING HOT TIP HERE:

VILLAINS ARE BEST AND SCARIEST IF THEY’RE ACTUALLY GOOD AT THE EVIL SHIT THEY DO!

Alexia is SURPRISINGLY still alive, so they strap her to a machine to drain all her blood, which is umm probably going to kill her.  They took an antidote and it poured down the drain, but it has miraculously spat back out the drain but also now it’s in a cute mug, and it’s warm, and it tastes like quality Earl Grey Tea.  So they take that mug of warm, revitalizing antidote and throw it against the wall.

EVERYONE IS THIS STORY IS SO FUCKING STUPID AND I’M DONE READY TO DIE!

Before they can start the machine a couple of dudes come in with a wrapped up body, and turns out one of those dudes is MacDougall.  MacDougall is again AGHAST at how they’re treating Alexia and tries to convince BloodHappy Moroniwitiz to try actual science but of course that’s poo-poo’d. They’re about to drain her blood, and MacDougall looks away.

SUDDENLY Alexia starts using a lot of words to describe him as fat and has the line, “Poor thing, … It must be hard to be so weak all the time.”

I know I have a wet spot for MacDougall but…I’m not sure why she wasn’t this upset when he let her get literally thrown to a wolf, or what she’s exactly expecting him to do?  Punch the bad guy and try to undo her restraints just for the 3 other scientists and zombie to drag him away?

I mean I can see her acting out in anger cause she’s frightened, that’s understandable. But like the text clearly wants us to paint this dude as bad for not first getting the shit kicked out of himself for it to not help at all.

Like author? Can we maybe paint this dude as bad because he’s sympathetic toward nazi stand-ins?  

I was hoping he was just a yandere, or kicked puppies. I can forgive myself for fucking one of those? But a centrist!? Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesh.  

However just as they’re about to suck that sweet blood the door starts a pounding and it’s obviously Macaronawolf.

Scabby Prick Jizzums says the doors will hold even though it starts splintering right away. My boy, apparently the steel door meant for werewolves couldn’t hold him? BUT OK!

He bursts in, horribly maims the no-name scientists and begins to fight the zombie. NOW THAT’S A REAL MAN! I’M DEFINITELY WET AT THE IDEA OF MY FELLA RIPPING OPEN THE GUTS OF DICKISH BUT DEFENSELESS SCIENTISTS AND SMEARING THEIR HOT ENTRAILS ALL OVER THE FLOOR!

I don’t know about you folks out there but if I was given the choice between a man who lets you die, and a man who will kill you. I’d rather him puss out than fear AT ANY POINT that he may be violent toward me.

But perhaps….

(Natalie Wyn, perfection herself, saying in a mythical fashion, “I’m not like other girls.”)

Alexia shouts at MacDougall to free her during this, and it takes her saying it twice before he does so. So he’s a total coward, and not yanno briefly paralyzed with fear watching a wolf monster disembowel 3 people.

The fight is getting intense the body pumped full of Akeldama’s blood wakes up and attacks MacDougall.

I love how they strap down the vampire with no blood left but don’t strap down the newly born vampire. That seems good and smart and good.

Buttstank Demondip uses Alexia as a shield to escape and the zombie is about to choke out Maccon.  

All this action is not written well.

Lord Akeldama wakes up just in time in order to tell Alexia to wipe at the numbers on the zombie’s head. She’s able to get one of the Roman numerals so it STILL functions but barely, thus freeing Maczoom to eat Alexia. However she’s able to hug his neck and bring him back to his human state.

The two of them dramatically make-out for a bit.  Which like, is fine, but I can’t help feeling as if they didn’t earn this either.  I feel like this is much more cathartic when the two haven’t seen each other in a long-while and we’re both fighting and working a lot and FINALLY they get to see each other again and WOWZERS what a relief that is.  However they were making out just like what a half an hour ago?

Whatever.

Meanwhile MacDougall is fighting for his life against a vampire but yanno that’s fine.  He deserves it because he was paralyzed with fear for a moment.  So he can wait a moment while his crush makes out with a man who graphically murdered a bunch of people and it’s only luck that he didn’t do the same to him and her.

Eventually Lord Smackaroon punches the vampire out, and releases Akeldama from his restraints.  Akeldama makes a remark about how lucky Alexia is cause Maccon’s got that big old ding dong.  And honestly? With how lame this story is they should have just gone with the dumb as hell reference of, “MY! What a big Willy you have!”

Maccon offers for Akeldama to bite him since he needs his strength back….but like there’s literally 3 dead bodies on the floor, and the vampire that has HIS blood is flopped right over there.  But before we can come to an agreement, the zombie suddenly starts working again and starts to strangle Maccon.

The author even writes, “the automaton…was trying to fulfill the last order given to it: to kill Lord Maccon. This time, with the earl in human form, it stood a fairly good chance of succeeding.”

I’m sorry but this is really pathetic.  This is essential the author saying, “Okay I did wrap up most of this action and it’s very low stakes at this point BUT TENSION? HUH? YOU SHOULD FEEL TENSE!”

She really should have ended this chapter sooner on a better cliff-hanger. But WELP! 

Say something Nice Faps:

Fuck man I don’t have a lot to say here, this just sucks a big one.  I mean, it is a dramatic climax?

[sasspiria]

Fandom: Far Cry 3

Pairing: Jason Brody/Vaas Montenegro

Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence,Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics,True Mates,Alpha Vaas,Omega Jason,Biting,Grant Lives,Accidental Bonding,Angst and Porn,Porn With Plot,Scenting,Rough Body Play,Don't Examine This Too Closely

Summary: Omegas were uncommon but they weren't rare by any means. True mates, however, were an entirely different story. The odds of any person having one were astronomical at best. When Jason finds that he does have a true mate, he should feel amazing about being so lucky. A part of him wants to feel excited, damn all the consequences, but at the same time it just feels like the universe is giving him a hard smack to the face when his true alpha comes in the form in a psychopathic, murdering, drug addled pirate that kidnapped him and his friends. All Jason can hope is that he can use Vaas' manic affections towards him to his advantage and save the rest of them, even if Vaas seems intent as all hell on keeping him for himself.

Status: 1/? (You can also read it here below the cut )

It turned out that paying for skydiving lessons from a DJ of all people with cash, wasn’t a great idea if the wooden cage that he and Grant were tied against the bars of. Jason grit his teeth in the midst of his frustration, clicking uncomfortably against the dirty gag that had been haphazardly shoved in his mouth.

He looked around, trying to gauge just how awful of a situation they were in. Grant was in front of him, tied down just as effectively as he was. Right outside the threshold of their cage, was an intimidating looking Hispanic who seemed to enjoy singling Grant and him out for some reason.

He hadn’t seen this man before, but he had heard about him. Often the other pirates around the camp would walk around, talking inanely to each other and he would hear about their leader, Vaas. It didn’t take a genius to think that this might be him.

“I like this phone,” he said, casual as all hell. Like they were three friends having a pleasant conversation. “This is a nice fucking phone. What do we have here? Grant and…” he glanced over at Jason, looking at him like he recognized something about him. He didn’t want to think about what it was that he recognized. “…Jason. From California. Well, I hope your mama and papa really love you. ‘Cause you two white boys, you look very expensive. That’s good because I like expensive things…”

While Vaas had been monologuing, Grant started grunting behind the gag – probably calling him every name under the sun, even though it came out basically unintelligible. Jason fixed him with a purposeful glare as if to tell him telepathically to keep his mouth shut. He would have thought Grant would know better than to antagonize and instigate someone like that.

Grant did not get the message and within moments it got on the man’s nerves and he started speaking again, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asked in an obviously rhetorical fashion. Jason squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see what might happen. “What did you say? DID YOU WANT ME TO SLICE YOU OPEN LIKE I DID YOUR FRIEND?! SHUT THE FUCK UP. Okay? I’m the one with the fucking dick. Look at me, look me in the fucking eye. HEY! LOOK ME IN THE FUCKING EYE.”

Completely on instinct, Jason opened his eyes again to see the pirate practically inside of the cage, posturing at his brother like he was about to kill him. This was fucked up. This was so fucked up.

“Look me in the eye; you’re my bitch.” He told Grant, surprisingly restrained once again. “I rule this fucking kingdom. Shut the fuck up. Or you die.” Jason had kept quiet, hoping to be small and insignificant enough that he just disappeared, but he still managed to garner his captors attention.

“What is it, Jason? Jason, what is it? Why aren’t you laughing now like you did up there? What, what is this not fun anymore? Have I failed to entertain you? You see the thing is, up there, you thought you had a chance. Way up in the fucking sky, you thought you had your finger on the pussy trigger but Hermano, down here… down here? You hit the ground.”

His mood changed once again from the menacing, vaguely threatening affect to something almost friendly and suddenly it was clear that it was directed just at Jason now and he began agonizing over why this man was so damn familiar to him.“It’s okay, I’m gonna chill. Because you and me and your tough guy brother are gonna have a lot of fun together.”

Vaas was prone to mood swings, Jason realized with horror as something in the air changed just then and he zoned in on Jason with eyes full of a fury that the omega couldn’t understand the meaning behind. “What the FUCK do you think you’re doing here? Trying to use your pretty little omega tricks on me? You want to fuck with me? You think you even can?” Vaas questioned him, asking them rapid fire without even giving him the chance to answer – even if he wasn’t gagged.

Jason shook his head, more out of placation than out of defiance. He knew how to control his scent but he didn’t really like to do that. Not because it was manipulative – being manipulative never really bothered him – but because it took a lot out of him, it drained him both physically and emotionally. This was too fucked up. This was way too fucked up. Jason didn’t want any of this. He just wanted to go home.

The alpha didn’t believe him and he quickly became tired of what he assumed Jason to be doing to him – despite all of Jason’s protests to the contrary – and came into the cage and roughly grabbed Jason who – while at the same time, Jason couldn’t help but just be happy that he hadn’t decided to kill him yet – immediately took to panicking and thrashing in the alpha’s hold.

Grant, who had been quiet enough not to anger Vaas – knowing how horribly unstable he had already shown himself to be – was even more full of panic and rage than Jason himself. He screamed behind the gag, squirmed and flailed in his binds as Jason was half dragged and half carried across the camp.

Jason didn’t gain any traction with it, if anything Vaas just gripped him tighter, the omega quickly tired himself out and went limp enough that he was practically dead weight. He was carried into a small, closed off room and didn’t bother at all to stir until he was dropped down onto a lumpy mattress.

Even then, he barely made a movement other than a startled gasp behind the gag when Vaas grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat in a display of forced submission. He let out a whimper when Vaas nuzzled against him and buried his nose against the omega’s neck. It was a strange sensation, being scented out of nowhere like he was, not exactly comfortable but not exactly unwanted either.

It was like something was pulling him towards the alpha and the more he tried to fight it, the more he was pulled in. It was overwhelming enough that he felt like he was drowning in the conflicting sensations that he was feeling. He didn’t need to even look at Vaas to see that he was feeling the exact same pull as he was, maybe even worse with how fervently he was scenting Jason.

The alpha growled into his shoulder, turning Jason around and gripping his face painfully enough that he was forced to look at him. “Why… the fuck… do you smell so good, huh? Huh?!” he snapped, coming off as both furious and confused at the same time. “What the fuck do you think you’re trying to do here, huh?! You think you can fuck with me, pretty boy? You think that you can fuck with me?!”

Jason tried to tell Vaas that he wasn’t doing anything to him, at least not on purpose, and tell him to go fuck himself all in the same sentence but all he could manage behind the gag was a series of muffled out grunts and whines.

So instead, he does the next best thing and pushes his scent onto Vaas – practically assaults the alphas’ senses with it – just to show him that if he had wanted to use his biology to manipulate him he could have gotten much farther with it than he had with this naturally unnatural pull that the two of them had been afflicted with.

Vaas felt the push and pull of it intensely and nearly fell off of the ratty mattress and onto the floor below them, “Pinche omega putana.” he grumbled barely under his breath, the reality setting in for him just as clearly as it was for Jason.

That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t still angry, just that his ire wasn’t really directed towards Jason anymore, now it was just aimless, directionless and volatile. Vaas let him go and took to pacing around the tiny room, fuming and growling to himself, inadvertently giving Jason a chance to fight the binds that were still wrapped tight around his wrists and ankles.

It took him a few minutes to free himself from the binds but once he did, Jason crashed into Vaas, pouncing on him so hard that the two of them hit the ground with a thud. His heart raged inside of his chest, like it was trying to break out of him as he straddled the alpha and placed his hands over his neck with the intent to maim him if he had to. His chest heaved, his breath bordering on hyperventilation.

Jason had never killed anybody before and it clearly showed. Still, he was the only one here and he had to be strong. “Fucking tell me where my friends are or I’ll, I’ll kill you. I swear, I’ll kill you.” he stuttered out, panic taking hold of him once again. His fingers shook against Vaas’ collarbone as he threatened to push down and squeeze.

Vaas was not all that impressed by Jason’s intimidation tactics, if the cruelly amused smile he has on his face gave him any indication. “You wanna kill me white boy?” he challenged the omega,“Go ahead. I fucking dare you to go on and try. I promise you, Jason, I promise you that you won’t get far.”

Jason wanted to kill him and he didn’t – it was like he wanted to want to do it more than he actually had the will to go through with it. He tried to tell himself that Vaas was dangerous and had kidnapped him, he could kill him and probably would when this was all over. He just couldn’t bring himself to go through with it and something told him that it wasn’t just because he had never killed someone before.

With a defeated groan, Jason let Vaas go and got off of him. He herded himself back into the corner and sat with his knees pressed to his chest, defeated. He needed to kill Vaas to get out of here but… for some reason that he couldn’t quite put his finger on he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to cut off Vaas’ airways or stab him in the back or shoot him in the fucking face.

Fucking something more than what he was doing right now – sitting there all slack jaw and glassy eyed like some brain dead ingenue in a terrible “romantic” novel straight out of a time before strictly enforced personal grooming habits and civil rights.

Vaas decided not to hold the assault against him, he would have done the same in the omega’s position. He would have gone through with it, though. Maybe he should do something about it – make sure it doesn’t happen again – but he doesn’t particularly want to kill Jason, either so the two of them are stuck in a strange limbo. “You feel better now, Hermano?” He asked in a mockingly friendly tone as he steadily moved towards him with the intent to pull him back where he was again.

Jason responded to that with little more than a quietly spoken out, “Fuck you.” to the alpha without any care for whatever consequences that Vaas decided to dole out to him. He didn’t think that Vaas had any intentions of killing him, just yet, and he was emotionally drained enough that that was all he could bring himself to care about.

Vaas was decidedly tired of Jason’s shit attitude and pulled the omega to the ground so that Vaas was on top of him and Jason was forced into a very vulnerable position. “Fuck me? No, no, no. Fuck you!” He snapped, “You don’t get to be pissy with me, blanquito. You don’t get to choke me out and act like a little bitch about it.” baring his teeth at him once again, allowing them to lightly scrape over his bonding gland without even thinking about it. “You either man the fuck up and get it right next time or you shut the fuck up about it.”

It was then – right when they were pressed so closely together – hits the both of them what it is around the same time and all the tiny clues piece together like into something concise and clear. The two of them had bonded unwillingly to each other, that was why they had a magnetic pull to each other – they were true mates.

It should be a good thing – a great thing even. He had always been told that having a true mate was something to dream about. But he supposed that “Dream About” was the key phrase here because it was rare as all hell. You had the roughly same chance of being struck by lightning as you would have with having a true mate.

Jason couldn’t believe this – this wasn’t something he had ever thought would happen to him. He smacked his head against the dirt floor in his frustration. Vaas was a little less torn about it than Jason was, using his position above Jason to his advantage to keep the omega pinned down beneath him.

Jason squirmed around a little to get out from under him, but Vaas wasn’t giving him any room for it and he kept up with the surprisingly tender molestation, “You and me are gonna have a lot of fun together, cariño.” He promised, turning the borderline threat from earlier into something sweet. “Just you wait.” he added, equally as promising in tone.

Jason found whatever resolve – or self respect – that he had and pressed forward to kiss the alpha hard on the mouth and Vaas returned the affection with equal vigor. It felt a lot more like fighting or fucking than it did like a kiss though, with teeth and rough movements punctuating the whole lot of it.

The fact that none of this made any sort of sense still hadn’t changed, but Jason couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He was enjoying himself and that was all that mattered right then. He let out a soft moan as Vaas’ hands dove underneath his V-neck to grope, flick and scrape at the omega’s nipples, almost tearing at the already thinly stretched and worn fabric of it as he did.

Jason responded to that as viciously by firmly biting down on the flesh of his shoulder as viciously as he could, managing to elicit a groan and a muttered out curse from Vaas as he managed to tear through flesh and even make him bleed a little bit.

Omegas had naturally sharp canines and nails – supposedly for protecting themselves from predators or unwanted contact, but they were also pretty useful for kink and even maybe a bit of petty revenge like Jason wanted to exercise right then. The omega pulled off of him, a bit of blood dripping from his chin as he pulled off with an almost apologetic kiss to the wounded spot.

Jason was content to continue on with this – he would have been happy to kiss and touch the alpha for hours, maybe even let him fuck him but they weren’t able to get all that far, as a pirate with a bandanna for a mask came in to the room, greeting Vaas with an awkward cough punctuated by a hesitantly spoken out, “Boss.” to get his attention.

Jason looked at the pirate, mortified not only at being caught like this but also at being interrupted just when he was starting to enjoy himself. Vaas showed his frustration clearer when he snapped at the masked pirate, “Fucking, WHAT?!” in a harsh tone, baring his teeth at the other man as he did so, and for a moment Jason thought that he might actually kill him for the lack of indiscretion.

The pirate at the door didn’t seem all that fazed by Vaas’ threatening stance, “There’s a situation with one of the hostages.” he explained in a matter of fact sort of way without giving away any information that Jason could clearly glean anything from.

“Stay here,” Vaas told Jason before he let him off, “If you try to run, I’ll know.” he added and Jason didn’t doubt that one bit.

Once Vaas was gone, Jason let out a shaky sigh of relief. Without the alpha in the same tightly enclosed space that he was in, the overwhelming cloud that he was under eased up. A part of him wanted to leave, to run the fuck away from the camp but still, something inside of him didn’t want to stray too far from Vaas – the same thing that pulled them towards each other.

Jason could only hope that it would get less overwhelming with time, but he couldn’t be sure. He knew next to nothing about bonds like this. In that moment, he would have done anything for Vaas. It scared him how willing he was to just let Vaas do whatever he wanted. It was jarring as all hell.

In the midst of his thoughts, someone came in – more like burst through – and for a moment he wondered – with both excitement and apprehension – if Vaas was already back to finish what they had started.

Jason was more than a little shocked to see that it was his older brother, looking more or less like he wasn’t any worse for the wear. Without thinking about it at all, he bounded up and practically crashed into his elder brother, enveloping him in a tight – practically bone crushing – hug.

“Grant! Not that I’m not happy to see you but what are you doing here?” He asked his older brother as they separated, who looked more or less like he wasn’t hurt or injured. He was happy to see his brother but at the same time, he couldn’t be all that glad that Grant was here – it was dangerous for him to be here.

“What are you doing in here?” The elder Brody replied, “That fucking pirate dragged you off somewhere, I thought you were dead. I’m just glad you’re alive but you’re not hurt, right?”

Jason really did not want to get into it with Grant about all this, he knew that there was no way that he’d understand. So, instead he decided to say it as simply as he could, “No I’m not hurt. At least not much. Vaas, he likes something about me. I can’t get into it right now but I’ll be fine.” he tried to explain quickly and simply, “He probably won’t hurt me but if he finds you here, it’s not going to end well.” That was the understatement of a century. If Vaas found Grant with him, then he might kill Grant in front of him and he didn’t want that.

Grant took about as well as you might think, “No,” he shook his head, disgust prevalent in his voice.“No, I’m not leaving you here with that psychopath. Come on, you have to come with me. We still have some time, I think, to escape but we have to hurry.”

“Grant…” Jason started, voice barely above an exasperated whisper, – this is exactly what he was worried about. Grant had practically raised him and Riley after their father died and he was always a little overprotective over them both. Jason knew that if he told Grant that he was bonded with the pirate, that Grant wouldn’t listen and might even go so far as to force him out of the camp. Jason wouldn’t even blame him for it, “It’s more complicated than that.” he said instead. “I have to stay here.”

“More complicated? This isn’t complicated, Jay.” He replied firmly, “What did he do to you?”

“Grant.”

“I swear if he hurt you-”

“Grant! Just listen to me!” Jason snapped, grabbing his older brother’s shoulders hard, like he was trying to rouse him from a deep slumber. It shocked him enough that he was stunned silent, giving Jason the chance to say everything he needed to say. “Just- look, if he finds you here…” he sighed heavy and world weary, knowing that his brother would take some convincing.

Jason really didn’t like the idea of manipulating him, but he knew that he probably had to if he wanted Grant to make it out of this encampment with his life. “If he finds you here he’ll kill me and then he’ll kill you too. Is that what you want?” he lied through his teeth, “No? then you need to go! Go on and get the hell out of here and find everyone else because they need you more than I do. Alright? I’ll be fine, but not if he finds you here. He’s not that- look, just go! Please.”

Grant didn’t look like he was entirely convinced, but he understood Jason’s point. He couldn’t make Jason come with him in any case, “Alright.” he said,“Look, I don’t know what you think you’re doing with this guy but… just be safe, Jay.” he said as he backed off and made his escape.

“I will.” He said, with a surprising amount of resolve. Surprisingly, he found that he believed it. If Vaas was just about as affected as he was by this bond, then maybe he could use this to his advantage and get his friends back home.

He just had to be strong and he could do this. Maybe.

[isthatbloodonhisshirt]

Collar

Sterek A-Z Challenge: Collar. 

Stiles thought they were being ridiculous. And unreasonable. And overprotective. Because, really, he was Stiles, and the crazy stuff spouting out of their mouths made zero sense in the grand scheme of things.

Again. He was Stiles. He was the human, with the research, and the running, and the baseball bat. He contributed to the team by being generally knowledgeable while driving people crazy and saving their lives when they did something stupid.

But this? This was ridiculous.

“Guys, I told you, I’m not dangerous,” he insisted, turning his head towards the sound of their voices. He had to rely on their voices because he was blindfolded and handcuffed to a chair in the back of Deaton’s animal clinic.

He’d been there for almost twenty minutes, which was driving him crazy because, first off, ADD. Second, he didn’t like not being able to see, it freaked him out. Third, his nose was itchy, and nobody would listen to him when he told them he needed it scratched before he went insane.

It was still itchy, but they were too busy having their little pow-wow out of earshot, which was frustrating as all hell because whatever plan they were coming up with was—on top of being unnecessary—probably not as good as any plan he could come up with.

Nothing against Scott, but Stiles was really the brains of the operation. Scott was the Alpha. Derek was the muscle. Deaton was the magic user. Jesus, he was getting off-track. The point was: unnecessary planning going on somewhere out of earshot.

“Guys,” he called loudly, twisting as much as he could in his seat. “Seriously! Dying over here! I’m not kidding, I need someone to scratch my nose!”

It took another ten minutes of whining and fidgeting in the chair before footsteps sounded, alerting him of their approach. He straightened, letting out an explosive sigh of relief, since they were either going to scratch his nose, or let him free so he could do it himself.

“Stiles,” Deaton’s soft voice said, much closer than he’d been anticipating. It made him jump. “I’m going to put something on you, all right?”

“Can you scratch my nose first? Seriously, you guys are torturing me, here. This is legitimate torture. Do you know how long you left me here alone like this with nothing to do? I can’t be left alone with nothing to do, my brain goes crazy, and I start thinking dangerous things, like setting my jeep on fire for the insurance to buy a new car—which, by the way, I would never do because I love my jeep—and also what it would be like to take a shot off Derek’s extremely sculpted abdomen.”

He heard a snort, from a little further off, suggesting said extremely sculpted abdomen was closeby. He didn’t let that bother him, he’d never had a brain-mouth filter, and it wasn’t the first time he’d blurted out something that embarrassing.

Also, Derek was a Werewolf. He’d probably smelled Stiles turned on around him multiple times. Couldn’t hide anything from them. Boners were easier to hide than weird smells Werewolves could apparently pick up from the next continent.

“Stiles,” Deaton said again, voice soft. “I know you think this is unnecessary, but—”

“It is. It is unnecessary.” He let out a short laugh, holding his hands out at his sides as much as he could while they were handcuffed to the chair, palms out. “Guys, I am fine. Whatever you think that thing did to me, it’s over. I’m good. I feel perfectly normal.”

Scott murmured something, too low for him to hear. Derek rumbled a response back. Silence, for a moment other than the rustling of their clothing. He could still feel Deaton close to him, hovering right in front of him, ready to put whatever on him. After a few moments, he felt more than heard Deaton shift backwards.

Stiles jumped when a hand fell onto his shoulder, holding him tightly. It had to be Derek, because the hand was way too huge to belong to Scott. Scott had tiny, soft little baby hands. Derek had big, rough, calloused, very adult hands.

And now Stiles was getting distracted thinking about other places those big hands could go aside from his shoulder.

“You’re a man who can’t deny the truth when presented with it,” Deaton said from well across the room. “If we prove this to you, will you stop arguing and listen?”

“Sure.” Stiles shrugged. “But you’re wrong.”

A moment of silence, then Stiles felt the blindfold get pulled off on the opposite side of Derek, suggesting it was Scott. He winced when light stabbed at his retinas, blinking rapidly and trying to get used to the sudden change. Once his vision cleared, he looked up to insist everything was fine when his eyes caught sight of Deaton.

Something rose up within him. Something dark and angry, and Stiles wrenched himself out of his chair, eyes locked on Deaton and inhuman snarl escaping him. He wanted to bite him. Eat him. Kill him. He wanted to tear him to pieces and bathe in his blood. He wanted to maim him, to watch him scream, and relish in the sound of tearing flesh! He wanted—

A hand covered his eyes and like flipping a switch, the feeling left him. He was on his feet, one hand free from the chair—he still had the cuff on so he’d probably broken the chain—and the other dragging the chair behind him. He could feel Scott’s hands against his chest, his panting breaths loud in the silence of the room. Derek’s heart was slamming against his back, since the older Werewolf had moved behind him to wrap one arm around his chest and the other moving up to cover his eyes.

He had literally just broken out of handcuffs and managed to get halfway across the room while an Alpha Werewolf and an extremely buff Beta had attempted to stop him, and barely managed to.

“Holy shit…”

“I didn’t realize being infected with a parasite also gave him superstrength,” Derek muttered from behind him, hand almost painful over his eyes. It was like he was worried Stiles would magically be able to see through his skin. If he couldn’t see through the blindfold, he wouldn’t be able to see through Derek’s hand.

“Holy shit!” Stiles was about to have a panic attack. A full blown panic attack. Right here and now. “Holy shit! My dad!”

“He’s fine,” Scott insisted, hands still pressed against his chest, as if to make sure Stiles didn’t suddenly try and get past him again. “We got there before anything bad happened.”

“Get it out of me!” Stiles insisted, voice tight and panic rising.

“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Deaton said, still across the room.

“You calm down with a murderous parasite living inside your body!” He insisted shrilly. “Not cool! Why is it whenever something evil has to go in something, it chooses me?! Wasn’t the Nogitsune bad enough?! Someone else should’ve gotten the parasite, this isn’t fair at all!”

“Stiles, the more you panic, the faster it’ll kill you,” Deaton said sharply.

Stiles’ mouth snapped shut, but his heart continued to thud painfully against his chest, much faster than was normal.

He was going to die. I mean, usually, he was always going to die, but this time felt a lot more real. This time felt worse than that time he and Derek were in the pool with the Kanima circling. This was bad. Oh so bad. He might actually die this time!

“We need to get the blindfold back on,” Derek muttered.

Stiles clenched his eyes shut, struggling to stay calm. He heard a door close elsewhere and assumed Deaton had exited the room because Derek’s hand left his skin. Still, Stiles didn’t open his eyes. He knew the Werewolves were fine, but he didn’t want to risk it, so he just stood there while Scott got the blindfold back over his eyes.

Once it was in place, he kept his eyes closed, though not quite as tightly. They helped him back into his chair, undoing the handcuffs since they were virtually useless now, and Deaton re-entered the room.

Stiles felt numb. The panic was beginning to subside when faced with the realization he was literally going to die. That was why they hadn’t been speaking in front of him. They didn’t know how to save him. He was going to get eaten alive from the inside by this parasite.

“Stiles,” Deaton said, voice soft. “I’m going to put this on you now.”

He nodded numbly, feeling something brush against his neck. A pressure rested against his throat, encircling his neck, Deaton pulling a strap through a buckle at the back. When he pulled away, Stiles reached up, fingers touching at the leather band.

“Did you just put me in a dog collar?”

“It was the best I could do on short notice.” Deaton at least sounded apologetic about it. “It’s a protective spell to stop the parasite from escaping. We’ll do everything we can to get it out of you.”

“But if you can’t, you don’t want it scuttling off once it’s done with me to infect someone else, gotcha.” Stiles propped his voice up when he said it, flashing Deaton a smile. Or, he hoped he was, considering he couldn’t see him.

“We’ll get it out before that happens,” Derek said sharply from his left.

“In the meantime, he needs to stay away from humans. If he catches the glimpse of anyone considered to be human, the desire to kill will rise once more.”

“Guess that includes Lydia,” Scott said from his right. “She wanted to see him.”

“I believe it would also include Arden,” Deaton added. “Malia would be all right in his presence, but anyone classed as human, even with an ability like mine, will spark the parasite’s bloodlust.”

“I can’t go home,” Stiles blurted urgently. “Dad’s there! Dad’s human! I can’t be near my dad!”

“Calm down,” Derek snapped, not sounding calm at all. A hand was on his back, rubbing smooth, slow circles. He could only assume Scott was trying to keep him from panicking.

“Nobody’s making you go home,” his friend assured him. “Don’t worry, your dad will be fine.”

“I won’t be able to work comfortably with him here.” Deaton sounded like he felt guilty saying those words, but it was clear he wanted to get to work finding a way to save him. Which Stiles appreciated, so he wasn’t going to complain about being kicked out.

“He can’t go to mine,” Scott advised them. “My mom’s home right now.”

“He can come to the loft,” Derek said almost immediately afterwards. “It’s just me there, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”

Stiles mostly tuned them out, trying to keep his panic at bay. He needed to get himself under control, needed to focus. Easier said than done without his Adderall, but his life was on the line so he was fairly certain he’d manage to pay attention long enough to look through some books.

When he tuned back in, he heard Scott and Deaton speaking by the door about Argent’s Beastiary, his friend confirming he would go and get it and bring it back so they could get to work.

That would’ve been all fine and dandy if Stiles didn’t realize that Scott was across the room… and there was still a hand rubbing circles on his back.

But that... No... Really?

... No...

Derek was rubbing his back?

Maybe there were more parasites than they thought. Maybe Derek had one that made him not hate people, because that was the only explanation for why he was rubbing his back like he was trying to keep him calm.

“You should head out now,” Deaton said, voice snapping Stiles out of his shocked stupor long enough to realize he was speaking to Derek. “I would recommend avoiding the main roads, just in case.”

The hand left Stiles’ back, making him miss the warmth of it immediately, and he stood unsteadily. Derek put one hand on his elbow and helped lead him towards the exit, Scott promising he would be right back with the Beastiary and Deaton assuring him that he would be fine.

He found it hard to listen to them because Derek sucked at the whole leading-the-blind thing since he lead him right into a doorframe. Cursing and stumbling a little, he managed to make his way outside with Derek’s “help” and into the passenger side of the Camaro. His door slammed and he swore less than a second passed before Derek was beside him, shutting his own door.

Was Stiles losing perception of time, or had he moved around the car extremely quickly?

The car started and Derek tore out of the veterinary clinic’s lot, heading back for his loft. Stiles leaned his head against the window, keeping his eyes closed in case the blindfold slid down. He tried to determine where they were based on memory alone, trying to calculate the distance between each block, and what intersections they were stopping at. He felt like he was doing fairly well for a little bit until Derek turned down a street and Stiles got completely lost.

He figured he was taking him the long way to ensure there was minimal risk of human interaction. Going the long way seemed to make him antsy though, because Stiles noticed he had a bit of a lead foot, speeding through the town at a rate much higher than the speed limit.

“Aren’t you going a little fast?” he asked, turning his head to look at him despite the fact that he couldn’t see him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Derek grunted.

“Uh, yes it does.” Stiles had barely gotten the words out when he heard the chirp of a siren behind them and felt a cold sweat break out across his skin. “Oh no.”

Derek cursed and Stiles felt the car speed up just a fraction, as if he were contemplating speeding away, but he seemed to think better of it and slowed the car down, easing it over to the side of the road. Stiles was glad, because the last thing he needed was to be involved in a police chase that would have people asking questions about the blindfold and ultimately remove it. Sure, he could keep his eyes shut, but it was possible he’d end up being forced to open them at some point.

The car stopped and Stiles heard a door slam, footsteps crunching against the asphalt. Derek was suddenly in his personal space, pulling open the glove box and grabbing what Stiles assumed was his insurance.

A moment of silence, and then he heard Parrish speak.

“A little fast there, Derek. You know you’re in a residential zone, right? Hey Stiles.”

He lifted one hand in a wave, face turned the other way in hopes he wouldn’t notice the blindfold. A moot point, since it was tied around his head, but a guy could hope. He just didn’t want his dad to worry.

Probably also a moot point, considering Stiles had just tried to kill him less than an hour ago.

Or maybe over an hour ago? It was hard to keep track of time, he’d been unconscious and handcuffed to a chair for a while.

“Why is he blindfolded?” Parrish asked in what Stiles assumed he thought was a whisper.

“Sorry about the speeding, but if you’re gonna give me a ticket, get it over with. I need to get him home now.”

Stiles smacked his forehead, because if there was anything Derek could say that would raise quite a few alarms, it was that.

“Why? What’s going on?” Parrish’s voice had immediately gone into serious-mode, which Stiles didn’t need.

“We don’t have time to explain, just give me my ticket or let me leave.”

“Derek—”

“Stiles is going to die!” Derek shouted.

Stiles jumped at the volume of it, turning to give Derek a startled look that was probably lost behind the blindfold. He could hear the creak of leather that suggested Derek’s hands were clenching the steering wheel much too tight.

There was a beat of silence, then Parrish told him to slow down through the Warehouse District because another officer was on patrol there. Then he walked away, but Stiles heard him speaking a moment before he entered his car, suggesting he’d just called someone.

He really hoped it wasn’t his dad. Maybe he’d called Scott to get some information on what was going on.

The car began to move once more, Derek speeding again. Stiles knew when they were close to the Warehouse District because he slowed considerably, almost going the speed limit. It didn’t take long to get to Derek’s loft once they were there, and the moment the car stopped, the engine was turned off and the Werewolf was out of the car.

A literal second later, Derek was opening his door and helping him out of the car. They walked into the warehouse Derek used for a home and he stumbled his way up the stairs to the loft. The door was wrenched open, and then shut.

He reached up for the blindfold, hesitating before removing it. He gave himself a second to compose himself before opening his eyes and glancing at Derek.

After a tense moment, it became clear he wasn’t going to attack him and Stiles let out a relieved sigh, raking a shaky hand through his hair and wandering to Derek’s small table by the window so he could use his laptop.

Sitting down, he pulled it open and typed in Derek’s password, unconcerned with the way the Werewolf was suddenly behind him, watching over his shoulder.

He went into Google and looked up the parasite: Exitium Nex Parasite.

Not as many hits as he would’ve liked, most of them referring to Latin translation, but he started digging, trying to find something useful. It was do that or panic, and he wasn’t allowed to panic, so he just busied himself with what he was known for. Namely, research.

Derek disappeared from behind him for a moment, but returned carrying a large, time-worn book. He set it down on the table across from Stiles, took a seat, and opened it. The room was silent save for the occasional typing and flipping of pages, the two of them focussing on what they were doing.

Stiles reached up and tugged uncomfortably at the collar around his neck. He had to wonder what kind of dog it was for, considering how big it was. Or maybe he just had a small neck? He hadn’t known humans could fit into dog collars. Or maybe it wasn’t a dog collar and Deaton hadn’t said anything because he didn’t want to make things awkward.

The silence stretched for a long time, Stiles feeling his anxiety beginning to rise the more time passed. He couldn’t figure out if his stomach hurt because he was hungry, or because he was dying. Maybe the pounding ache behind his eyes was actually the parasite making its way through his brain. It was entirely possible the muscle pain in his left leg was due to being eaten from the inside.

A sudden burst of fear hit him after another site of no luck. What would happen to his dad if he died? The last time Stiles had seen him, he’d been attacking him, trying to kill him. What if that was the last memory he had of Stiles?

And worse, who was going to keep him in line with Stiles gone? His father already didn’t eat right when Stiles wasn’t looking, and his job made him drink more than he was comfortable with. If Stiles wasn’t there to watch his diet and hide the liquor, his father was going to find his way to an early grave!

He would be lonely, too. So lonely. Stiles may have been young, but he remembered how hard it had been for his dad to pick up and continue on after his mother had died. He didn’t know if he would manage with Stiles gone, too. He’d have to talk to Scott, make sure Scott and Melissa went by frequently to keep him company.

Parrish could watch his diet, they were together a lot at work anyway, and he knew the deputy liked his dad. He’d keep him in line, and hopefully say things like, “What would Stiles have wanted?” to ensure his father actually ate healthy.

It was more than just his dad, though. Scott would be affected, too. They’d known each other forever, and while he had the pack now, Stiles was pretty sure him dying would hit him hard. He didn’t want Scott to be sad. He didn’t want anyone to be sad.

He didn’t want to die.

Stiles jumped when Derek swept his arms across the table, throwing the book he’d been reading almost clear across the room while jerking to his feet. The chair he was in had toppled over backwards from the force and Derek began to pace, dragging his hands through his hair and sporting his ever-present scowl.

He’d never seen the Werewolf look so angry before.

“Are you okay?” he asked hesitantly.

“No, I’m not!” Derek snarled, rounding on him. “All I can smell is your anxiety and worry and fear while you sit there working away like you’re not terrified! I can’t even keep my own shit together enough to help you because I’m so worried it’s eating away at me!”

Stiles winced, and Derek blanched, realizing his poor choice of word.

He turned back to the computer, typing in another search option and beginning to click through some sites.

“Stiles.”

When he looked back at Derek, it made his heart clench, because he looked so broken. He looked like he was the one facing death, face twisted into an expression of agony and hands clenched into fists at his sides.

“You’re always saving me,” he insisted in a quiet voice, almost forcing the words out. “Just this once, I need to be the one to save you. I have to. I can’t just let you die.”

Stiles stared at him, wondering if the parasite had tapped into a part of his brain that was making him hallucinate. “What?”

“I’ve lost too many people!” Derek insisted, voice rising almost in a panic. “I can’t lose any more of my pack! I can’t!”

Warmth spread through his chest despite the fear still running rampant through his veins. Stiles had always known he was considered pack; even before Scott had become the Alpha, it was fairly obvious that he was the token human in their ragtag little group of supernatural beings. But Derek had never actually said it. He’d implied it, and hinted at it, and maybe alluded to it.

He’d never specifically said Stiles was pack before, and to hear it now… kind of floored him.

It made him realize he was legitimately screwed. Derek would only admit those words aloud if one of them was dying, and Stiles was pretty sure Derek wasn’t hiding some incurable disease he couldn’t pronounce.

“I’m really gonna die, aren’t I?” he asked quietly.

“No!” Derek looked miserable when the word tore itself from his throat, stalking over to Stiles. He crouched so they were almost at eye level and grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck in one hand, squeezing it and pulling his head forward so he could press their foreheads together. “We’ll fix this. You’re gonna be okay. You will.”

Stiles hated being a cliche. He hated it when he watched movies or read books where something dramatic happened and two people got close enough for one of them to just lean forward and kiss the other.

In this moment, he understood the reason that was always depicted in media. Being this close to Derek, feeling every exhale against his face, seeing the flecks of brown in his green eyes—Stiles pulled a cliche.

He leaned forward, closing the distance quickly before he could change his mind or Derek could pull away, and pressed his lips to the other man’s.

It was a brief, chaste kiss, but at least when he died he could go knowing he’d had this. At least he’d had this, if nothing else.

The hand behind his neck was still there, stopping him from pulling away completely so that all he could do was put enough space between them so their lips were no longer touching. He kept his gaze averted, not wanting to look at Derek. He waited for the hand to leave his neck, a part of him hoping it wouldn’t.

It did, making his chest ache at the realization that even when he was dying, he couldn’t get what he wanted.

But then he realized the hand wasn’t leaving, it was just shifting, sliding forward so Derek’s hand cupped his cheek, thumb gently brushing across the top of his cheekbone. He didn’t dare look at him, keeping his gaze elsewhere, and then he felt lips against his once more.

This... This was not a cliche. Because in movies, when the second person realized what the first had done, they immediately dove in and promptly attempted to devour each other’s faces.

Derek didn’t do that. He kissed him as if wanting to savour the feel of Stiles’ lips against his own. Parting his lips, he took Stiles’ lower one between them, trapping it for the briefest of moments.

The kiss was slow. It was sensual. It was everything Stiles wasn’t and hadn’t ever believed Derek to be. He was legitimately taking his time, as if trying to map every part of Stiles’ lips in his brain, burning the memory of this into his mind.

Stiles was more than okay with that, because this... it was better than he’d ever imagined kissing Derek would be. He’d always imagined a rough clacking of teeth, or a hard press of lips, or demanding tongue. While he wanted those things—God did he ever want all of those things—this was somehow almost better.

This was like Derek telling him without saying a word that Stiles mattered to him. Stiles was important, he was pack.

Derek liked him, and that was just crazy.

When he pulled away after effectively short-circuiting Stiles’ brain, he let out a small sigh, hand still against his cheek, and pressed their foreheads together again, closing his eyes.

“That... I... wow...” Stiles couldn’t figure out what to say.

“If I’d known that was how to shut you up, I’d have done it years ago,” Derek said softly.

Stiles would’ve been offended if the way Derek’s thumb moved across his cheekbone wasn’t thoroughly distracting. Besides, it was obvious he was just kidding.

“I wish you had,” he said quietly. “I’ve wanted to do that for... I don’t even know.”

“A while,” Derek said quietly. “I know. Me too.”

“You knew?”

“Werewolf.”

Stiles had assumed, but never really put much thought into it. Given Derek’s previous relationships had literally all gone to shit—Kate Argent being batshit crazy, Jennifer Blake being a psychotic killer, and while Braeden wasn’t terrible per se, she was still a mercenary who, oh yeah, killed people—he hadn’t ever really put much thought into the possibility of Derek knowing he liked him. He’d assumed he did, but hadn’t really dwelled on it too much.

“Wait, you said ‘me too,’ as in, you’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

Derek said nothing.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked quietly.

The thumb stilled against his cheekbone and Derek sighed. Stiles could only guess what he was about to say: he was too old for him, he wasn’t good enough for him, he was a criminal, he was a killer, he was a Werewolf, etcetera, etcetera.

He didn’t get the words out because a stabbing pain shot up his throat and he jerked away from Derek, gagging and almost falling out of his chair.

“Stiles!”

Derek grabbed at him while he doubled over, clutching his stomach and dry-heaving, pain shooting through him like fire. He coughed roughly, feeling ready to be sick, and blood spattered across the floor, hitting one of Derek’s shoes.

The Werewolf cursed and pulled out his phone, one hand clutching Stiles’ arm hard enough to bruise. He didn’t hear what Derek was saying, too focussed on the pain forcing itself through him. He wondered if kissing Derek might not have been a mistake. The parasite travelled orally, and what if he’d just infected Derek somehow. Shit, he was so fucking stupid, how could he have done that knowing how it infected others?

Then again, that might explain the pain. It was likely trying to get out and infect another host, though it wasn’t done with this one, so that seemed unlikely.

“What do you mean it can multiply?!” Derek was shouting into the phone.

Well, that explained a few things. Evidently there were now two parasites inside him, and because he’d kissed Derek, one of them was looking to get out and infect him. Stiles was suddenly eternally grateful for the collar around his neck. It was stupid of him to have kissed Derek while knowing what was inside him.

The only reason he’d even gotten infected himself was trying to save someone’s life. Apparently he was going to hate mouth-to-mouth for the rest of his—very short, apparently—life. Not even two hours later, and he was trying to kill his father.

He still didn’t even know what the purpose of the parasite’s attacks was. All he knew was it enjoyed eating human flesh, which it was doing inside of him right now, at double the speed now that there were two of them. He figured maybe forcing humans to devour other humans gave them more sustenance.

How had the last guy not killed anyone? Had the parasite just gone through him so quickly it had waited for a new host and latched onto Stiles once he’d tried to be a good Samaritan? What if there were other parasites out there, the things having multiplied and infected any number of people?

Stiles tightened his arms around his own middle, the pain almost unbearable.

He didn’t want to die. Not now. Not ever, really, but definitely not now. Preferably not now?

Fuck, just—not now!

“Derek,” he grit out, blood on his lips and his vision swimming. “Derek, tell my dad—”

“Shut up, Stiles!” Derek snapped, sounding furious.

How fitting that those would be the last words he ever heard. Derek telling him to shut up. It was so familiar and comforting that he couldn’t help but feel relieved.

Something in his back snapped and agony coursed through him. He fell out of the chair, screaming and arching his back, fingernails clawing at the floor. Derek cursed and shouted something into his phone before he was beside Stiles, gripping his shoulders.

He was saying something, but Stiles couldn’t hear him over the sound of his own screaming. Over the agony in his body short-circuiting his brain, insisting that he make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!

The door across the loft opened, the pain in his back racing up his spine like fire under his skin.

Someone was shouting to hold him down and he felt hands on him. On his shoulders, on his chest, his legs. His screaming intensified when he felt something digging into his spine, and he wished right then that he could just die, he just wanted it to end, please God, let it end!

He almost choked when something was being poured into his mouth, barely hearing Deaton ordering him to swallow, to get it down. It was that or choke on it. Choking was currently what was happening but he somehow managed to force the liquid down, a creeping warmth slowly sliding down his throat.

The second his airways were open once more, he was screaming, trying to kick out his legs and rolling onto his side, clutching desperately at whoever was crouching on his left. His back jerked abruptly, the pain flaring for a moment, and then he felt his stomach roll.

He was gonna be sick. He was gonna be sick. He was gonna be sick!

Shoving hard at the person he had been clinging to a second before, he rolled onto his stomach, getting onto his hands and knees and digging blunt nails into the hard floor of Derek’s loft. He felt hands at his neck and a moment later the collar was gone.

Stiles threw up, his body wracking with the force of his heaves, emptying everything in his stomach, along with some blood and something else.

He didn’t want to think about what it felt like coming up his throat. He didn’t want to remember what it looked like when it splattered against the sick and blood on Derek’s floor. He just heaved it up, clenching his eyes shut, and feeling ready to vomit again just from disgust.

After barely five seconds of reprieve, he started dry-heaving again and felt something else shifting inside him. A cup was at his mouth, ordering him to drink and he struggled to swallow when it was tipped back, liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth while he tried to get some of it into his body.

Shoving the cup away from him when he felt ready to be sick once more, he dry-heaved for a few seconds before the second parasite came up, bringing blood up with it. Once it was past his lips and dying on the cold floor, Deaton was there holding something to his lips once more.

He wanted to tell him it was over, it was done. There were two and they were both currently dying on the floor, but Deaton had uncapped a bottle now and was forcing him to drink it. The other concoction had been almost tasteless, but this was positively foul. It smelled disgusting, and it tasted disgusting, and he just wanted to throw up again.

Trying to push Deaton’s hand away, the druid’s other one came up to grab the back of Stiles’ head, forcing him to keep drinking.

“Drink it quickly. Your insides are damaged, if we don’t hurry, you’re going to die.”

Hard to argue with that, except he couldn’t breathe, and his lungs were burning, and his gorge was rising and God he was never giving someone mouth-to-mouth again. Even if it was Scott. Even if it was Derek!

Deaton didn’t let up until the bottle he held was empty. When he finally pulled it away, Stiles let out a loud gasp, inhaling oxygen greedily before coughing, shifting to sit on his butt and covering his mouth with one arm, looking across the loft to avoid looking at the vomit and blood and things that had been inside him.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, squeezing him so tightly that there was no way to mistake who it was. He could feel him shaking, lips pressed against the crown of his head and whispering quiet mantras of thanks.

Coughing roughly a few more times, Stiles cleared his throat, shifting his hand so he could pat at one of the arms wrapped around him.

“I’m okay, dad. I’m okay.”

“You could’ve died. Jesus, Stiles, you could’ve died!”

He didn’t have anything to say to that so he said nothing, coughing a bit more and feeling another set of arms trying to wrap around him. He didn’t need to look to know it was Scott.  

Letting them both hug him, he looked at Deaton. He was sitting on the floor beside him, looking both relieved and exhausted. He had two different bottles beside him, and Stiles figured one had contained the liquid that killed the parasites, and the other contained whatever he’d just given him to heal his insides.

It was a good thing, too, because Stiles was pretty sure those things had eaten through most of his intestines so he hoped that potion had regenerative properties.

“Where was that potion when I got punched in the face by Argents?” Stiles managed to force out.

Deaton actually managed a smile. “It’s only for emergencies. I felt as though this qualified.”

Stiles just let out a small laugh and patted his dad’s arm. “Come on, help me up.”

“You shouldn’t stand yet,” his dad insisted, sounding terrified.

“I need to stand. I can’t sit here.”

He was released, his dad and Scott helping him up. Deaton didn’t try to stop him, so he was probably okay to do so. He and Derek were in the process of carefully scooping the two parasites up in weird jars with symbols carved into the sides and bottom. When they were both in, Deaton slapped a lid overtop that also had some symbols on it.

“You should rest,” Deaton said, watching Stiles. “There’s no telling the damage you’ve incurred, and what I gave you will need time to fix everything fully.”

Stiles looked towards the door. It was so far. He didn’t think he could make it all the way there and to the car and home and to his room.

“He can sleep here.”

Everyone turned to Derek, who was washing his hands across the large open space in the kitchen.

“Put him in the bed.”

His dad didn’t argue, beginning to help him the few steps from the table to the bed. Stiles all but fell onto it, olfactory system invaded by scents of Derek. He rolled onto his side, feeling better and better as time passed. He figured it was temporary while the potion or whatever worked through his system, but it would likely wear off eventually.

He could hear everyone helping clean up, Deaton leaving to dispose of the parasites in a safe manner. Parrish—whom Stiles hadn’t even known was there—went with him to ensure nothing went wrong. Scott and Derek cleaned up the vomit and blood on the floor while his father paced by the bed.

After about half an hour, when it was clear Stiles wasn’t about to die anymore, his father passed out on the couch and Scott sat at the table texting. Probably Lydia, maybe Liam. Or even Deaton, who knew?

When the mattress dipped beside him, he turned his head and looked over at Derek, feeling sluggish and half-asleep despite not having closed his eyes once since lying down.

“We’re gonna finish that conversation,” he insisted, watching Derek shifting slightly.

“I know we are. I’m glad you’ll be alive enough to manage that.” He hesitated, then reached out one hand and ran it through Stiles’ hair, dragging his nails against his scalp. Stiles let out an involuntary noise of appreciation, closing his eyes.

“We’re having that conversation,” he said again.

“When you’re more conscious.”

Stiles hummed, feeling sleep finally tugging at the corners of his mind. He was sure he wouldn’t sleep soundly after what he’d just been through, but at least he knew Derek would be there when he woke up.

At least he knew Derek cared.

And they were going to have a conversation.

That was worth waking up for.

END.