#buckles laboratory

[mariahryry]

Outside 🔥

[sozaire]

Mariah the scientist for Spiderworldwide

[musictyme]

Mariah the Scientist - Church

[miissbbyk]

[blood-smiles]

𝐂𝐘𝐁𝐄𝐑-𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐈𝐃 𝐗 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝐌𝐀𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐒𝐓 - TW MDNI . yandere content . yanderes . creepy thoughts from both yanderes . post-apocalypse AU .

╰┈➤ Long ago, it was said that humanity thrived together as a whole in peace and harmony, they all went to the same places and had similar experiences, they shared and traded food and items, the peace was always kept because of laws, the air was pure and the water was clear and tasteless, complete perfection.

But where was that now? It’s the year 2313, it’s been a long time since that chapter was ripped from the ancient book of humanity,

You wrapped a mask around your head, clicking your tongue as your fingers fiddled with the leather buckles of the mask,

After a struggling with the mask for a few seconds you finally succeeded in fastening the item to the back of your cranium,

The thick belt wrapped around your head and behind your ears, the borders of the leather digging into your skin and leaving an aching red imprint on your head,

You steadily got up from your couch, walking over to the deserted shopping cart in the corner, putting your hands around the cart’s bars and lifting it up from the floor, putting it back on its wheels as it used to be,

You rolled the cart around your laboratory, listening for squeaks or strange sounds, when you made sure there wasn’t any problems with the cart you put it aside momentarily,

You ran over to one of your counters as snatched a pair of goggles from the metal surface,

Securing them on your eyes as best you could, your hands grabbed the flimsy fabric of your coat and pulled up the hood, you were all geared up and ready to go.

Your hands gripped the bar of your shopping cart, your eyes scanning the inside of the empty shopping cart, the once silver metal was oxidizing, slowly turning into a murky brown tint,

you pushed your cart through your run down town, waving at acquaintances and kicking little pebbles out of your way,

This is how your everyday life went, around 5 p.m you would get geared up and go into the junk yard to look for unwanted “trash” from Ether,

most of the time what you found wasn’t even trash, maybe a little worn down, but these people were throwing away full shampoo bottles and moisturizers! You wish you had that problem..

Ether was the island above the slums or better know as “the pit”, Ether was known as the place only peasants like you could wish they could end up there, which wasn’t ever going to happen,

Only the richest of the rich or elite are allowed up there, and the people down in the pit were uneducated and poor, having nothing more than a button and a few pieces of clothes to their name,

Truly pitiful, and you were no different, the only thing you had was a run down laboratory your father left behind,

He was supposedly a smart man, one of the first developers of the species known as “Androids” yet none of his work was given credit towards him, which ended him up here, in the pit.

You knew how to repair an android, but coding one was beyond your abilities, you worked as a handyman for a few silver coins, that’s how you went on about life,

You developed your skills as you went, and apparently the only note worthy trait you had was your ability to salvage broken things,

You kicked away some trash with your muddy boots, the rubbish flying far away and into the piles of trash,

“Fuckin’ trash..” you complained under your breath, your heavy duty boots clinging to the sticky mud underneath, making unpleasant squelches in the mud,

The sound of clanking was heard when the piece of trash hit a surface, your ears immediately pricked up,

Whipping your head into the direction of where the trash fell, you immediately let go of your cart and jogged over to a pile of crap,

You stepped onto the unsteady heap of trash, your knee beginning to buckle under your own weight, warning you that you were about to loose your footing,

You fell forward, wind brushing by your ears as you began your descension , sticking your arms out, you braced for the impact,

with a loud clank you landed on top of a scrap of metal, your hands laying on a hard, cool material, you pushed yourself off the object to get a better look on it,

it seemed to hold a humanoid shape, but it by no means looked like one, instead of a face it had a screen, which was pitch black and roughed up, split right through the middle, nothing you couldn't fix.

It didn't have the look of a typical android, it seemed like it was missing its silicone skin, a normal android look closely alike to a human, this one looked more like a robot,

Its body was large, made of a sturdy material, despite having no muscles it did have something alike to it but made of steel, the shine being dulled by the dirt,

your eyes trailed to its chest, which was steel, a shocker. It seemed to have a symbol on its left pectoral in an electric blue tint, while its right one seemed to have a name tag, but the letters were scratched off, what looked deep jagged scratches on its chest, whoever did this either didn't like their name or didn't want anyone to see its real name,

that logo.. That was the logo of the best android engineers in Ether, Its obviously an android, but its strange that they would throw out androids,

your eyes wandered down the android's body to its legs, which were missing, cables poked out of the holes where its legs were supposed to be,

you rand your hand down your face, where were its fucking legs? You couldn't take it home without its legs! You put the Android's upper body on your back, then letting it slip off your back and into your shopping cart with a loud bang,

you began to look around, lifting rubbish with the tip of your shoe, peeking under all surfaces until you saw what seemed to be a foot poking out from a pile of soggy cardboard,

you pulled out the limb with your whole body weight, the sheer height and thickness of that single limb was impressive, the leg stood in height about where your waist was,

you tossed the heavy limb in your shopping cart with the Android, you walked around for about 40 minutes, looking everywhere for the other leg,

just when you were about to give up you tripped over something, looking at what made your hit the ground, you realized it was the leg you were looking for,

your heart beat happily in your chest as you pushed the heavy cart back to your house lab,

you had a dopey grin on your face the whole way home, you couldn't help but have a pep in your step, you were already thinking of how you would name your new Android,

"(Y/n)? O-Oh! It is you! How are you, sweet pea?" You could recognize that voice anywhere, if it wasn't the the village doctor!

You turned around, smiling widely at the man, still in his clad white uniform, hair tie slipping down his long ginger hair, and those characteristic cracked glasses, it was Kairo.

"Heya Kairo! 'm good, jus' pushin this home.'" You waved to him weakly, your calloused hands tired from pushing the cart,

Kairo jogged up to you, stopping only inches away, he brought a hand up to his face, his cheeks adorned with alight dusting of pretty pink,

"I recall asking you to rest, didn't I? You better have a good reason to be wearing yourself out like this.." the ginger scolded, crossing his arms across his chest, his magenta eyes staring you down something alike to a mother’s disappointed gaze,

Kairo was an absolute blessing to have down here in the slums, he was the doctor and used to be a scientist, his knowledge in both fields was greatly appreciated, especially since it seemed the world had it out for you and your physical well being,

he got kicked out of Ether many years ago, you were about 13 when he got dropped in the pit,

He really stirred the pot when he got here, no one even tried getting closer to him due to their reluctance about him and his origins, no one here trusts those who were born in Ether,

Kairo got pushed away, glared at, kicked and even sometimes people spat on him, no one really knows what he did to get him off Ether,

Yet it is still a fact that even if the others have warmed up to him, they still treat him exponentially different from the other habitants of the slums,

you were the first and only one to extend your hand out to him in times of need, you gave him a safe haven when he needed it most, and just for that fact he has sworn to always be with you, through thick and thin, he will protect you and put you back together time and time again, just how you loved him, he will love you back tenfold.

your smile turned bashful, wiping your sweaty hands on your shirt you started trying to recount the events of today,

"..So then I decided to take him home to repair him back up! He's in pretty good shape, I jus need ta' wire his legs back on then fix his screen, give him a lil' bath and I will be done with him!"

Kairo looked back at the robot with narrowed eyes, a dark shadow casting over his pale features,

you felt oddly unsettled by his sharp gaze, this side of him was completely unknown to you, and gee was it scary.

"..Where did you find this thing?" He asked—no, demanded, his voice dropping an octave lower, the sharpness of his tone wasn't quite directed at you though, but more at the robot in your cart,

"Uhm, I found him in the Junk yard.." You rasped out, your throat feeling constricted, words barely audible out of the feeling of fear you had, this mood of him was awfully uncharacteristic of him, it really creeped you out,

Kairo seemed to notice your state, the last thing he would want was to make you fear him.. for now, he will let it go.

"I see.." the taller male responded, a tinge of worry in his voice "Well, all I ask of you is to be careful, you don't know where it came from, and personally, I don't want to see you hurt.." He hugged himself, looking off to the side shyly, his gloved hand reaching up to twirl a strand of his cantaloupe colored hair around his finger,

the carefree smile you had earlier started returning as you saw Kairo softening up again, you were glad he wasn't upset at you,

you ran up to him, momentarily leaving your cart and new companion behind to give him some affection,

your arms wrapped around his slender waist as you cuddled his chest, your cheek pressed up right next to his heart,

Kairo's breath hitched, a kaleidoscope of butterflies going off in his guts, the wings of the small insects making contact with his insides, the pleasant feeling didn’t help the flush in his face spreading like a wildfire,

his longer arms wrapped around your neck, hugging you closer to him, he pressed his lips against your forehead gently, intentionally catching a whiff of your hair's scent, ‘my sweet baby.. You really don’t realize what I feel for you, do you?’ His eyes fluttered closed, long eyelashes ghosting over his tired under eyes,

these were the moments with you he could kill for, he would do anything to be this close to you always, skin to skin, heart to heart, and hopefully one day, lips to lips.

The ginger reluctantly let go, crossing his arms once again as he gazed at your retreating form longingly, his mind couldn't help but wander back to that specific Android, dangerous thoughts leaking into his brain continuously like a broken faucet,

"If you do something to her, I will rip your fucking head off.."

But you on the other hand were giddy as fuck, you had already unloaded the android and sat him down on your lab counter,

lifting his left leg up you propped it below the wires hanging off the holes of where his legs were supposed to be in,

you connected the wires carefully, melting them together once again, soon you connected the legs into his hip socket, a loud clicking noise let you know you did the job correctly,

you did the same with his right leg, another loud click reached your ears, you pulled on the legs as best as you could from different angles, and they wouldn't budge, not a single creak or sign of the limbs wanting to detach from the body anymore,

and with that you moved onto the cracked screen of the head of the android,

you somehow managed to seal the cracks and give the mask a polish to leave it looking good as new, you were pretty satisfied with the results,

you scrubbed off the dirt and grime off the metallic protective plates, you scrubbed and scrubbed every single crevice of its body until the robot was spotless and shining under the dim lighting,

he was beautiful.

Your heart was pounding out of your chest, anxiety coursing through your veins, sweat beads ran down your skin, dampening your shirt,

you opened the back of his cranium, cables wrapped in metallic material linking to the back of his head, a blue power button inside all the wires and mother boards inside, green and silver peeking out from inside his head,

you pressed on the button, then stepped back, crossing your fingers that he would come to life, you clasped your hands together in prayer,

buzzing came from the Android, limbs twitching, sparks coming from its joints,

soon, the screen on its "face" lit up, something alike to a smiley face being displayed on the black screen,

it looked down at its hands, closing and opening its fists, kicking its legs, it realized it was alive once more, that it was moving and that it was okay,

you didn’t know how to react, should you be happy? Scared? It was all so conflicting, you wanted to jump out of happiness but at the same time you wanted to run away, cry and vomit.

It turned its head to you, the gentle sound of ticking coming from deep inside his metal plates,

The sound of its metallic feet hitting the murky ground startled you, making you jump violently, you would have jumped out of your skin if it came closer,

It seemed to stop when it saw that you were scared, and so it stopped, it stared at you, not moving an inch from it place,

slowly, it extended its long arm, opening its robotic palm and holding it out to you, (e/c) looked down at its hand, analyzing how his joints popped and twitched,

you were starting to regret taking the massive machine home, Kairo was right, this Android totally had something off about it,

but even as your common sense screamed at you to stay back and run away, it all was drowned out by the overlapping thoughts buzzing in your head,

how much could this thing sell for? It was modified, Obviously, it was crystal clear that these modifications had been done illegally,

you carefully put your smaller hand in his own, you looked up at the screen that was his face warily,

“a-ah..” the android made a noise, was his voice box broken? You tried repairing him as best as you could, but his voice box was something you unfortunately didn’t know how to repair,

he pointed a finger towards you, tilting his head while making more noises,

“ah.. ah?” Was it asking you something? It gently tapped your arm, pointing at you,

oh. It was asking you for your name.

“oh.. You can’t speak, can you?” It shook its head, putting it hand on its throat to emphasize,

“well.. I’m (Y/n), and.. It’s nice to finally meet you..?” You coughed into your fist as you finished, awkwardly shifting from side to side,

an emoticon of sorts appeared on the metallic male’s face visor, it seemed… happy?

“Aaah?” It pointed to itself, looking down at its name tag, only to realize that it had completely scratched off,

it stayed silent before looking up at you, gently guiding your hand to its chest, where it’s name tag once resided,

“..You want a name?” It nodded, pointing to itself once again,

“..I actually was thinkin’ about what to name you.. Welcome to the world, Exo.” You gave it a toothy grin, watching as how the screen visor of his suddenly showed a blue glowing heart,

It took you by surprise when the droid grabbed onto you by under your arm pits, lifting you up to his height,

you watched as how the glowing blue heart on his visor beat like how a heart would, and it only seemed to be getting faster,

it brought you closer to it, holding you like a baby, it rubbed its cheek(?) against yours, the uncomfortable friction of its glass screen making contact with your own,

And that’s when you heard it, a low rumbling sound resounded from its chest, the vibrations melting against your skin,

is he fucking purring..?

“I’m glad— urgh.. you liked your name..” you barely made out, trying to create some space between both of your bodies, however the bot wouldn’t move a centimeter away from you,

after pleading with it, he decided to put you down,

it gently pat your head, before putting its hands on its knees to observe you more closely,

“uh.. Okay, Well.. You can just follow me around, I want to see how good of a job I did at fixing you..” and with that you walked out of your laboratory,

a larger hand grabbed onto your sleeve, you already knew who it was so you didn’t spare him a look,

you let him grab onto your sleeve, the cool feeling of it’s metal fingers making contact with your skin,

Exo didn’t know what to make of things, he was especially surprised when he woke up to a little human greeting him,

he couldn’t see anything, but from the noises and fleeting touches around his body he could tell that someone was trying to fix him up,

and then he could see everything, from the little scars on your skin to the exact shade of your eye color,

his memory board felt empty, he tried to remember, but his mind was a blank slate, it was like trying to squeeze water from a stone, impossible.

but one thing he did know was that he was eternally indebted to this cute human, Exo wanted to assume that this was his creator, but he knew better, his real creator didn’t care about him,

he knew he was thrown off somewhere high, he didn’t know when or from where, but just that action showed him that whoever created him had no care for him,

But.. You took the time to fix him with your caring hands, you didn’t have any obligation whatsoever to even touch him, but you did,

from looking down at his own body he could tell you spent countless hours polishing his body, not even a crevice of his body had a single spot of filth,

his joints were smooth, his movements were swift and elegant, something he never thought he would be able to regain,

you might as well be his owner now, you are so small.. So frail, he looked down at you and he felt this inexplicable feeling of wanting to grab you and cradle you like a human baby,

your smaller form was so comfortable to hold in his arms, he could accommodate his body to your liking,

he understands that his chest isn’t the most comfortable, under the heavy metal plating there is soft layers of silicone that could help with trying to make you more comfy against his body,

he wished nothing more than to communicate with you, to tell you how much he appreciated you and how he wished to serve you in the way you served him,

but the only type of noise that made it out of his mouth (?) was pathetic moans and sighs, that was no way to communicate with you,

He heard the voice of a man earlier, his sensors picked up on his heart rate, it was.. familiar, he knew that rhythm from some where.. but he can’t quite remember from where,

this mysterious man’s heart beat spiked up as soon as you approached him, his breathing turned slower and heavier,

Exo heard you call out to that man, apparently his name was Kairo.. the android repeated his name in his mind, Kairo, Kairo, Kairo.. That was an unusual name..

then he spoke, and his voice hit home, he still had no idea who this man was, but his hate for him tenfolded,

Exo hated how he spoke to you, his voice was so warm and welcoming towards you, pure love and adoration in his tone, he just knew that man wanted to shove his tongue down your throat, repulsive.

but Exo has claimed you long ago, ever since you picked him up and ever so gently put him into your cart he had vowed to be by your side,

‘Kairo’ directed his tone towards him and Exo didn’t like it one bit, his tone was so sharp, the iron-clad Android could feel the intensity of ‘Kairo’ on him, his eyes feeling like they could burn through the thick layers of metal of his body,

Then he felt a warm calloused hand on his shoulder, gently running up and down the ridges of his armor, that touch made him melt into a puddle of goo,

making him forget about the developing grudge against Kairo,

however he knew that wasn’t going to be the last time he would see him.

. . .

Several days had passed since you had booted Exo’s system up, and it was safe to say that the last days had been nothing but bliss,

it was like he was lying on cloud nine, he started to believe that he had been blessed by some force and sent you down, it was nothing less than euphoria.

You, however had to head into town, and Exo could never dream of making you go alone, never in a millennia would he allow that,

So he decided to accompany you, his large hand clasped around your own, your hand gently grabbing onto his pointer finger,

Exo kept a close eye on you, trying to sense of something was amiss, your heart beat seemed steady, your glucose was normal and your oxygen levels were okay,

he wished he could just carry you so you wouldn’t need to walk, he wouldn’t want to wear down your fragile bones!

but you refused his offer.. you said that you were ‘too old for that’, Exo really didn’t want you to be embarrassed, he decided to let this slide— for now.

his steps were heavy behind you, loud thumps being heard when his mechanical feet hit the ground,

you were pushing your cart through the dust and dirt, while Exo was carrying your backpack and money, who were comically small compared to his large and broad body,

you snickered to yourself as you looked back at him for a split second, he seemed to notice, suddenly his screen lit up, a blue heart blinking on the screen,

“a-ah..” he moaned out, tilting his head close to his right shoulder, you really wished you could understand the damn thing, but it seemed to be able to communicate through moans and exhales,

“Ya know I have zero idea what yer sayin’, right?” You sighed as you looked away, your cart wheels getting jammed on a rock out of nowhere,

it had you clicking your tongue as you bent down to pick the rock out of the old wheels,

the bot bent down to assist you, kneeling right next to you, there to help you if you needed anything,

“(Y/n)! What a coincidence! It has been a bit since we have last spoken, you aren’t running away from me are you?” The familiar voice of a certain admirer rang out from above you,

“hah? ‘Course not, You are my favorite person in this old dinky town..” you gave Kairo a crooked smile, dusting off your pants to face him fully,

his eyes softened, a gentle smile marking his plump lips, sometimes you really forgot how pretty Kairo was,

“..Y-You really think so..?” Aw shit, did you say that out loud? You nodded your head either way, an embarrassed flush warming your cheeks, Kairo put his hands on his face trying to hide the blush heating up his whole face, his hand gently extended out towards you,

Kairo was about to put his hand on your head, however his hand was stopped by a silver encased one, the mechanic fingers tightening around the Ginger’s arm,

“…” a certain chrome plated male stopped Kairo’s arm from going any further,

“..Huh. And who do you think you are?” Kairo retaliated, veins sprawling across his arm and porcelain face, an unnatural look to his other wise doll like appearance,

his glasses slipped down the slope of his nose, showing a pretty little bump on his upturned nose,

his thick brows furrowed, his pretty face twisted into a menacing scowl, his lively magenta eyes losing the shine they had when they met with your (e/c) eyes,

Exo on the other hand didn’t show a sliver of emotion, the screen visor he possessed didn’t show the emoticons he tends to show, instead a pitch black screen was shown,

Expo refused to utter a single sound, which was somehow more menacing than anything, fear instilled deep inside you, slimy tendrils of uncertainty and the urge to run pooling in your intestines,

“ha..haha— How about we calm down?” You suggested as calmly as you could, which was not very good since you were about to piss your pants,

You didn’t notice your hands shaking violently, your fingers and hands being unable to keep still, you were so distracted trying to tone down the situation you forgot about keeping calm yourself,

Both of the men turned to face you, noticing your shaken up state they seemed like they were about to stop,

the duo simultaneously reached out to you, trying to touch you, they seemed to have gotten distracted from their fight, however they were far from over,

“What the fuck do you think you are doing? Can’t you see she is scared? Tsk.. what a disgrace, to think you would care about a human being.. Touch her and I won’t hesitate to pull those cables out of your fucking head.” Kairo threatened, his hand balling into a fist

“…” the bot just stared at him, unresponsive.

This was your chance to book it out of here, a crowd of people were coming your way, you took advantage of their ‘moment’ to get away,

you blended into the streets, luckily you had a few silver coins on you, so you could hang out until Exo came to find you, which he always did,

you could apologize to Kairo later and spend some well deserved time with the ginger, not today though.

shit.. Did they team up to come after you? Because.. they aren’t where they were going when you looked back..

Is it just you or.. Are two people breathing down your neck?

[uplatterme]

a/n: did somebody say another writing style?? is this zandik? (idk). is this modern au? (idk). you can decide for yourselves really. dottie may not be a girl but he’s babygirl. therefore, onahole.

cw: sub!dottore, dom!reader (gn!terms,reader penetrates) | pwp, objectification, deepthroating (character!receiving), slight asphyxiation, crying, toys underneath clothes, humiliation, overstimulation, aphrodisiac, semi-public (why are there so many. i may have gone too wild, i fear.)

5 Important and Essential Steps To Remember Into Becoming the Perfect Onahole <3 (ft. Il Dottore)

1. Open Up! Nothing is too big. If you think it is, you’re simply not trying hard enough. Your throat is there for a reason!

Dottore’s in tears as he tries to take in your entire length, not even halfway. The edges of his mouth hurt, he can’t breathe, and worse of all, you’re judging him while he pathetically gags, saliva dripping all over his legs.

“Teeth, Dottore.” You say.

He sobs even more, the fact that he has to adjust and open up wider due to his sharp teeth is agonizing. He needs air, he wants to breathe deeper but he knows that’ll only mess things up, pulling you even deeper into his throat.

He uses his hand, pulling down his jaw. He can take you—he can—he can—he will!

Dottore practically almost faints once you’re all the way to his throat, he rolls his eyes, he can’t say anything or think at this point. His groaning is vibrating on your skin, if he tries to speak, he’ll die.

You drag your finger down his throat, you’re bulging, the soft skin barely doing anything to hide your curve.

“Such a perfect sleeve, my love.”

He can’t hear you anymore.

2. Always Be Ready! An onahole must always be ready for its owner’s use. Make sure you’re always lubed up and stretched out!

Dottore shudders as the vibrator shakes inside his walls, he wants to buckle over, it’s been so long since he’s taken it out. He wants to, but he can’t. What if you were to pull him away right now? He can’t be caught unprepared and dry! He has to please you after all.

His wetness damps his pants and he hastily tries to cover it with his laboratory gown. Each step ruins him, sending the vibrator even deeper. He breathes out his moans, it’s embarrassing. Climaxing due to walking like this in public? Dottore shivers as he thinks.

He needs a release, please. He begs silently, in whimpers, hoping that you were able to somehow magically hear them.

He has to assist himself on a wall, walking and finding somewhere he won’t be seen. The Doctor ends up in an alley, collapsing on his knees as he finishes, his legs shaking against one another. The vibrator ruthlessly pounds into him even after that, making him remember that he can’t turn it off. He trembles as he stands up, he can’t stay here.

Dottore licks his lips and smiles.

3. Be Quiet! As an onahole, you have no right to argue with your owner. Whether they fill you up or thrust ruthlessly, that is up to them!

Dottore’s body is limping as you keep pushing. He’s exhausted, how many hours…? The aphrodisiac has made it hard to tell.

His lab is ruined, secretions everywhere due to the different positions he has been in. Right now, he’s flipped over, unable to see your face, not even for comfort. He swallows down a cry, anybody could walk in right now. It’s been hours of gasping and panting, just so he avoids specific lewd noises that may come out of his mouth.

“W-When will we finish?” He asks.

“Be patient.”

Another vial is forced into his mouth. The immediate effects are already showing. His skin burns, touch him, please.

“Oh god…” He yearns.

He agreed to this, he tells himself. Still, he’s barely able to do anything except lay down on the laboratory table, on top of his very important studies, cumming all over them.

“S-Stomach’s full…I can’t—”

4. Stay Still! Where are you going? You aren’t done until your owner says so, silly! An onahole lets their holes be used in any way they want.

Dottore flushes in embarrassment. The bathroom stall had such a limited space, and yet he still grinds down on you. He silently cries, begging you to be done.

You don’t even bother to close the door. His reputation would be at risk here! He’s warm. When you called him here, he did not expect for such a thing to happen, and yet, here he is, bouncing up and down, liquids audibly mixing and painting his walls.

The toilet is clean and he may as well replace that instead with how much you’ve excreted into him. He does a far better job than that.

This is not for his pleasure, he allows his body to be used by you like this. Yet, he still wallows in it, as if it was him using you instead.

Dottore yelps once his body is pushed down by his waist. He chants out your name, pleading for no more due to how tired he is.

He hopes no one hears that.

Unfortunately for him, the sound of a toilet flushing follows.

5. Keep Practicing! In order to achieve perfection, you must have lots and lots of experience first. Once you’re confident in your skills, that’s when you can truly call yourself the perfect onahole.

Dottore’s insides have been carved out just for your shape. His body knows just what to do to please you.

Starting with his mouth, which can now open wide. Not gagging anymore as it’s filled to the brim. He uses his throat to his advantage, learning how he can effectively control it by studying the folds that move whenever he speaks. He still cries in pain, but he promises to do better next time! He’ll get there!

Then his thighs, you’ve used them so much to the point it feels as if nerves of pleasure have started to sprout there. His body arching just from a simple pinch of his skin. He can’t get enough of it.

Finally, his hole. Unclenching and clenching at the right rhythm, now knowing how to keep everything you give him inside, not letting a single drop spill. He can take you whole now, his guts having the pleasure to remember you well.

Such a perfect cocksleeve.

No matter how many times you’ve used him, it never gets old. Like every single time is perfect, a repeating cycle of pure pleasure for each of you.

Shit, you’re addicted.

[uwmspeccoll]

Typography Tuesday

Silver Buckle Press is a working museum of letterpress printing dedicated to preserving the craft of fine printing through its collection of presses, type, and publications, distinguished by an extensive range of wood type, display faces, and decorative ornaments. It was acquired by the University of Wisconsin Madison in 1973 and resided at the university's Memorial Library as a teaching laboratory until the retirement of its last director Tracy Honn in 2016, after which the press and its collections were transferred to Hamilton Wood Type & Printing Museum in Two Rivers Wisconsin under a long-term loan agreement with the museum.

Silver Buckle had a series of curator/director/printers in its 40+ years at UW, and in 1988, when the noted letterpress printer and book artist Barbara Tetenbaum was director, the press printed this Calendar of ornamental material from the collection of the Silver Buckle Press, designed, printed, and bound under the direction of Tetenbaum with the assistance of Marta Gomez, Tracy Honn, and Phyllis McGibbon in an edition of 65 copies signed by Tetenbaum.

The calendar features the Printers' Ornament Collection from the Silver Buckle collection, and each image was designed and hand set from a variety of decorative border fonts and hand printed on a Vandercook proofing press. Our copy is another donation from the estate of our friend Dennis Bayuzick.

View more posts on the Silver Buckle Press.

View more posts of type ornaments.

View more Typography Tuesday posts.

[adafruit]

🎄💾🗓️ Day 11: Retrocomputing Advent Calendar - The SEL 840A🎄💾🗓️

Systems Engineering Laboratories (SEL) introduced the SEL 840A in 1965. This is a deep cut folks, buckle in. It was designed as a high-performance, 24-bit general-purpose digital computer, particularly well-suited for scientific and industrial real-time applications.

Notable for using silicon monolithic integrated circuits and a modular architecture. Supported advanced computation with features like concurrent floating-point arithmetic via an optional Extended Arithmetic Unit (EAU), which allowed independent arithmetic processing in single or double precision. With a core memory cycle time of 1.75 microseconds and a capacity of up to 32,768 directly addressable words, the SEL 840A had impressive computational speed and versatility for its time.

Its instruction set covered arithmetic operations, branching, and program control. The computer had fairly robust I/O capabilities, supporting up to 128 input/output units and optional block transfer control for high-speed data movement. SEL 840A had real-time applications, such as data acquisition, industrial automation, and control systems, with features like multi-level priority interrupts and a real-time clock with millisecond resolution.

Software support included a FORTRAN IV compiler, mnemonic assembler, and a library of scientific subroutines, making it accessible for scientific and engineering use. The operator’s console provided immediate access to registers, control functions, and user interaction! Designed to be maintained, its modular design had serviceability you do often not see today, with swing-out circuit pages and accessible test points.

And here's a personal… personal computer history from Adafruit team member, Dan…

== The first computer I used was an SEL-840A, PDF:

I learned Fortran on it in eight grade, in 1970. It was at Oak Ridge National Laboratory, where my parents worked, and was used to take data from cyclotron experiments and perform calculations. I later patched the Fortran compiler on it to take single-quoted strings, like 'HELLO', in Fortran FORMAT statements, instead of having to use Hollerith counts, like 5HHELLO.

In 1971-1972, in high school, I used a PDP-10 (model KA10) timesharing system, run by BOCES LIRICS on Long Island, NY, while we were there for one year on an exchange.

This is the front panel of the actual computer I used. I worked at the computer center in the summer. I know the fellow in the picture: he was an older high school student at the time.

The first "personal" computers I used were Xerox Alto, Xerox Dorado, Xerox Dandelion (Xerox Star 8010), Apple Lisa, and Apple Mac, and an original IBM PC. Later I used DEC VAXstations.

Dan kinda wins the first computer contest if there was one… Have first computer memories? Post’em up in the comments, or post yours on socialz’ and tag them #firstcomputer #retrocomputing – See you back here tomorrow!

[silvercap]

if ur still taking prompts :3 “silent fury” but make it h/c? maybe one of leon’s boys goes on a “rampage” to save him orrr maybe someone is angry at the dso for almost killing him again or ya know whatever strikes your fancy

OHHHH I LIKE THIS!! (Prompts)

7. Silent Fury

Chris coughs frantically as the gas invades his lungs, throwing his oxygen-starved body at the sealed metal laboratory door with enough force that he can practically feel his shoulder bruising upon impact. Beside him, Leon sags against the wall with half-lidded eyes, gun hanging from limp fingers.

"Fight it," Chris chokes, but Leon's body has already succumbed, knees buckling beneath him as he collapses bodily to the floor and doesn't move again. Chris grits his teeth, ignoring another wave of dizzy lightheadedness in order to redouble his assault against the locked door. The room has no other exit, round and filled with glass tanks that Chris can't make out when his vision is blurring so badly but knows are filled with half-formed specimens suspended in bubbling liquid. The green glow makes him nauseous, casting the walls and his skin alike in eerie neon.

Chris throws himself into the wall with one last desperate effort and drops to his knees, heaving for air. His throat hurts from breathing in chemicals and god knows what else, muscles aching and spasming as it attacks his body. Leon doesn't move when Chris drops the rest of the way to lie beside him, weakening arms reaching out to scoop up the other man and pull his unconscious body close. Chris presses their foreheads together and blacks out an instant later.

-~-

When Leon wakes, it's to harsh light and a hand in his air, eyelashes fluttering as he struggles to make sense of the figures towering around him. An experimental shift reveals that his hands have been tied behind him, the hardness of a chair pressing into his back as his head is stretched backwards to expose his throat. He coughs.

"With us, again?" an accented voice drawls, one of the figures stalking towards him to reveal a tall man in militaristic clothes, a blade in his hand. Flinty eyes stare Leon down as he tries and fails to think of who this wannabe tough-guy could possibly be, the man's calloused fingers twining around the knife in a delicate way that reminds Leon of Krauser and his knife tricks---and tells him that the man knows how to handle it. He leans in close, drawing the sharp tip very gently down the curve of Leon's bottom lip. "We're very pleased to have you as our guests today, Mr. Kennedy."

He grins, letting the knife follow the natural line of Leon's jaw and down to a collarbone, where he presses into the skin just enough to make a bead of blood bubble between Leon's clavicles. Leon rolls his eyes. "Is this supposed to be scaring me? Get on with it, will you?"

The man laughs, standing upright. "It's not you that I'm trying to scare." He shifts away so that Leon can see past him into the dingy, cement-floored room he's been placed in---and the other chair several feet in front of his own, one Chris Redfield secured to it with rope around his wrists and ankles. There's blood on his temple, eyes blazing dark with silent rage that would be terrifying if only he weren't looking at Leon with such tender concern at the same time. Leon feels his blood run cold.

"Chris?" he calls. "Don't give them what they want. I'm trained for this, alright? Don't fucking tell---"

A hand grabs Leon's chin with force, a thumb shoved between his lips before he even registers what's happening. He thrashes, about to bite down, before a blow to the side of the face distracts him. Leon reels, attempting to kick one of his bound legs towards the large man who'd been brandishing the knife, but it's no use. He's the one holding Leon's jaw, a large wad of cloth in his other hand. It's all too easy for him to jam it hard into Leon's mouth, pushing so much fabric in that Leon, well, gags.

His eyes water as duct tape is wrapped far too tightly over his lips and around the back of his head, clinging to his cheeks and sparking a wave of panic at the claustrophobic feeling before he forces himself to exhale slowly through his nose. He's okay. He's faced worse. It's going to be---

"Lets begin," the man drawls, and plunges his blade deep into the flesh of Leon's thigh without warning.

Leon doesn't even try to hold back his cry.

He's not sure how long they torture him for, just that the world quickly goes foggy and distant with pain, shouting voices demanding things that Leon can't give. He can't see Chris through the hair that's fallen over his eyes as he lolls his head to his chest and heaves for breath, the wounds on his body, broken fingers, and ribs pulsing in time with his thundering heart. His cheekbone aches where a particularly nasty hook had split the skin, nose damp with blood that makes it even harder to breathe properly. The gag fills his mouth, saliva dampening the heavy fabric and muffling his pathetic whimper of pain as the man who's been beating the shit out of him offers one last slap to the side of the head.

Chris has been yelling incoherently for the past few minutes, but Leon can't hear his voice anymore. Maybe they gagged him, too.

"I'm tired of this, Redfield," the man says, a flash of metal the only warning Leon gets before the edge of his knife is up against Leon's throat, putting pressure on his trachea that makes him cough. The man digs in harder in response, the bright sting of Leon's skin splitting open on the blade's edge enough to make him wince. "Agree to the terms, or I cut his---"

There's a commotion that Leon can't make sense of, the blade leaving his throat so that he can suck in a relieved gasp of air. His eyelids flutter. Fuck, he's tired.

"Leon?" Leon can't open his eyes to see who's calling his name, the fear in their voice nearly tangible. They're talking fast, panicked. Chris, it has to be. Hands tug at the duct tape on his face, an effort that doesn't accomplish much more than wrenching Leon's aching neck. "Leon, don't do this to me. Leon? Open your eyes, Leon."

Pain spikes as Leon obeys, the harsh light upsetting the headache that had exploded into being three or four punches in. Chris's worried gaze appears before him, haloed in the glow.

"Good, that's it. Eyes on me, okay?" His voice is calm, collected, but Leon can hear that he's on the verge of tears, blood shivering down Chris's wrists as he carefully slices open the tape and peels it quickly from Leon's face. His hair is wild, eyes sharp with anger, but his touch is nothing but gentle. Even when Leon grimaces as his hair pulls free of its follicles, he's careful. "I've got you, I've got you."

Leon spits out the gag before Chris can even get to that point, the rag falling into his lap as he coughs and heaves for breath. He's dimly aware that he's trembling, but Leon's certain it's too small of a detail to notice. That is, until Chris pauses in his ministrations to run soothing hands up and down Leon's arms, leaning their foreheads together.

"It's okay. It's okay," he soothes, something dark stealing into his tone. "I took care of them. Let me deal with these cuts and I'll untie you, okay? I've got you."

Leon glances to his left and sees a growing pool of blood. He swallows, letting his eyes fall shut as Chris puts pressure on the deep gouge in his leg. "I trust you," he rasps, and means it.

[whumpisgoodwhumpislife]

The device

Masterlist

This chapter is why I started this series. It hasn't left my mind since I've read this by @sowhumpshaped ! This writer has a very unique style, I absolutely love it

CW : lab whump, living battery whumpee, nonsexual nudity, needles, kinda medical whump.

First, they removed the tubes and IVs from his body. They had drawn little crosses everywhere one was supposed to be, and his arms were littered in black ink. Erik would've protested, ask what it was for if he could, but the thick plastic mask was still snuggly fitted over and inside his mouth and nose.

When they started removing the heavy metal straps tethering him to the medical table, he hoped he could try to make a run for it, but as soon as he tried to stand, his knees buckled under him and he collapsed. Erik's breathing started accelerating as he tried to push himself up. His efforts were pathetic; it was as if his muscles had turned to jelly. He was exhausted.

Two orderlies grabbed him under his arms and started dragging him away. He tried to struggle, but his body barely twitched in their grasp.

Erik was led through another sterile, white corridor, escorted by several men in white coats, and a few in fluorescent orange vests.

"Extraction device" they said. It couldn't mean anything good for him. They had managed to find a way to leech his energy out of his body, and to use it for their own purpose. And that process was agonizing, leaving him barely able to move.

They entered another room, bigger, with a higher ceiling. It was filled with various equipment, reminiscent more of the interior of a spaceship than a laboratory. And in the center, there was a tall, transparent cylinder that spanned the entire height of the room. And it was empty.

Erik whimpered through his mask, immediately understanding what it was for.

The orderlies dropped him next to it and he squirmed, desperately trying to crawl away. But they held him still, as the researchers began to insert needles, IVs, tubes in the places marked by the little crosses. Two others were attached to his mask, and as he breathed in, the air tasted bitter, like chemicals.

He was still completely undressed, vulnerable, but it was the least of his worries right now. The people in flashy orange jackets were working around the electrical consoles, to which he was now connected by a variety of cables. One of the scientists nodded, and the orderlies hoisted Erik to his feet, dragging him inside the translucent cylinder. The wall spun around, and closed on him without leaving a trace, sealing him inside of the tank. He tried to bang against the wall, but whatever it was made of, it was resistant.

Erik grabbed one of the IVs on his left arm and tried to rip it away, but it just burned. It was as if the needle was fused inside his skin.

His hands shaking from the strain, still recovering from his previous ordeal, he tried every tube, every cable, but they all held fast. His mask as well.

He pressed his hands against the glass. He could see the scientists working outside of his cylinder, in a flurry of activities. Then, a loud thudding noise echoed in the cramped space, making him wince and cover his ears.

And the grid at his feet started sputtering a thick yellowish liquid. The level rose quickly, from his feet to his knees, to his hips, to his chest. Erik was hyperventilating in the mask, banging feebly against the walls as the chemical solution slowly lifted him. It was denser than water, and when it reached the top of the tank, it left Erik suspended in the middle of it, squirming as a cloud of bubbles escaped his mask at regular intervals.

Helpless, like a fish in a tank.

Taglist : @sausages-things @jumpywhumpywriter @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @thataquaticwhumper @alyscat

@whatamidoingherehelpme @fleur-a-whump @ratsupremacy88

[mariahryry]

Mariah and her cat 🐱

[poisonf0rest]

𝐅𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧

Plip, plop, plip, plop.

“The walls are crumbling.”

Plip, plop, plip, plop. 

“Can you feel it? The ocean is rumbling.” 

Today marks the beginning of a new era. 

After years of disproven theories and failed experiments, the Byrgenwerth Council has finally granted you approval to perform the surgery you’ve been perfecting since your days as a student: a procedure that will grant eyes to the inside of the brain.

A method to elevate the mind to the plane of the gods.

A way to see beyond.

You’ve been tinkering away in the laboratory for hours already, prepping for your opening surgery as you disinfect drills, scalpels, and needles all from muscle memory. Shoulders stiff from hunching over the tub, you set out the last set of equipment to sterilize and dry, lacing up your white coat before stepping into the main corridor. 

Strange, you don’t remember it being flooded before. 

Wading through the murky liquid, you feel it slosh at your ankles with every step, the once pristine tiled floors of the Research Hall’s grand entrance were now cracked and eroded under the layer of water stretched as far as the eye could see. 

No matter. Your surgery is scheduled for a quarter past, you have no time to waste on such trivial matters. You’ll simply ask one of those orphans to begin mopping up this mess. 

Continuing forward, the building seems to deteriorate with every step: grand columns and statues of Church scholars from decades past erode before your eyes, the mist eating away at the very soul of the Hall, leaving it deserted and ugly and starving. It beckons you further. Closer. 

You pause at the base of the stairs. The railings have all but rotted, and at your feet is a patient- which you do not know- scrambling for something in the water as she mutters incoherently. 

“Where is your caregiver?” You ask, beginning towards her until she lurches forward, tripping over her bound ankles as she slips down the last few steps, falling headfirst into the murky water with a dull crack.  

Rushing to her side, you help her up,  “Are you alright? Tell me how I–”  Dark liquid clings and oozes down her hair and skin. Like a rotten egg cracked open. 

Her face is gone. 

You feel her body twist and contort against your palms, elongating as the patient garbs rip and tear along all the new angles that should never exist on a human form. And over her head is a leather bag, strapped onto her shoulders and fastened around her neck with layers upon layers of buckles fastened so tight that dried blood sticks them to the bag itself. There is no face left. Under the leather there is nothing but a bloated, tumorous mass that bubbles with fluid, and when the patient tries to speak again it sounds like the roar of the ocean. 

You do not scream. 

You have seen this before. 

After all, you are the one doing this to them. 

“Oh,” The patient pulls away from your hold, gasping as she goes back to groping around in the water. “Has someone, anyone, seen my eyes? I'm afraid I've dropped them in a puddle.” 

Plip, plop, plip, plop. 

What is the suffering of one when it could mean the salvation of a thousand? 

What is justice in the face of true madness? 

You do not know. You simply listen to the science, to the teachings of the Great Ones, and pray that They are right. Pray that this was all worth it. 

Plip, plop, plip, plop. 

The further up you climb the more patients you run into, all in a state of transformation and decay due to the surgeries you and your fellow researchers conducted on them. Most simply stagger about, blind under their leather bags and bloated heads, others wriggle like worms in the puddles forming from the cracks on the floor, and some are nothing but heads, praying to gods who will not listen. 

You try and listen. Anything to ease their suffering. 

Suppose that’s a little hypocritical though, isn't it?

Or perhaps that makes you their god?

Some patients have undergone trephination three or four times. None have gotten better. But the true chances are noticeable. Sure, there is a base loss in appearance and more human-like qualities. However, that is in exchange for insight into something even greater, something beyond the average human’s comprehension. It is the key you’ve been searching for.

They are lucky, you reason, to be the chosen ones for this grand endeavor. After all, each and every patient here enlisted themselves for research, wholeheartedly believing in the holy crusade the Healing Church has undertaken to cleanse Yharnam. It is your honor, truly, to be working alongside such devotion.

After all, in a city without hope, there is only so much one as an individual can accomplish. Either you're a scholar, a killer, or fodder for the prior. Fodder to feed the stars, fodder to raise hell. It gets harder to tell which way is up with every passing day. 

Are we rising? 

Or sinking?

Plip, plop, plip, plop.

Finally, the staircase ends, falling apart behind you, and you pull on your surgery gloves. You smile to yourself as you prepare for the operation, remembering just how close you are to finding the knowledge of transcendence. The Council has entrusted you- Micolash himself has entrusted you- and this could very well be the next stage in humanity’s correspondence with the realms beyond. 

Up until now, all of your patients have stagnated. Despite their altered forms, they were still undoubtedly stuck on this plane of existence, only sometimes slipping to the higher planes of the Great Ones once you drilled more gray matter into their brains, recalling the dripping pattern of rain and the roar of the ocean. 

Water, you hypothesize, is the key. 

Bodies of water act as liminal spaces- gateways, if you will- from our own world to one of the Great Ones. Like looking down at one’s own reflection, that relationship mirrors the relationship between the world of the gods and that of our own: our realm is merely a moment’s imitation of true existence, one that is warped and fragile, disrupted with but a ripple. 

To be able to reach beyond the water’s surface, to break free from the role of a mere reflection and sit atop the true world alongside the Great Ones. That is your purpose. That is the goal of the Research Hall. 

And so this is all but a necessary sacrifice. 

Walking into the vast operating room, you feel the burn of the spotlights as you set the tray of tools down aside the patient, the rough click of metal on metal reverberating through the room. The rest of the researchers watch you, like spectators at the coliseum as they surround you from the observatory decks. You hope Micolash is among them. You hope Lady Maria is there too. 

Strapped to the table is a patient you’ve come to know well, a woman who was as dedicated to finding the key to ascension as you were. Your first success. 

“Saint Adeline,” you greet, bowing even though she cannot see you through the leather bag buckled around her head. 

Adeline giggles. “Ma’at, Themis, my beautiful Yama. Has the day of judgment arrived?”

She tries to reach for you, but the buckles strapping her to the operating table chain her in place. As if knowing she’s being watched, her voice drops into a drowsy whisper, “Is the ocean falling? Rumbling?” 

You hum in response, filling up a syringe with brain fluid- not your discovery, not your choice in name, you’re aware it’s rather silly- the grayish amoeba crawling and bouncing along the vial. However, you were the one to recognize its use, for once extracted from a patient whose transformation was complete, you hypothesized that re-injection into a brain could stimulate the formation of internal eyes.

And today, your hypothesis will be proven correct. 

It has to. 

“Yes, Adeline, today the surface will break.” You prepare to make the opening incision, a drill straight through the occipital bones, only to drop your hands when you realize there is nothing in them. 

Adeline smiles up at you, and you curse at yourself for never noticing how beautiful she was. Paler than moonlight both in skin and hair, blonde strands cascading over the operating table as she sits up, taking your face in her palms. Wrenching your body towards hers, her grip fractures your wrists, lips brushing by your ear as she gives you one last kiss. Breath as cold as ice, eyes as pale as the moon. 

"Only an honest death will cure you now."

Plip, plop, plip, plop. 

She is dead. 

Everyone is dead. 

A rogue Hunter broke into the Research Hall, slaughtering everyone in the observatory deck in the midst of your surgery, blood from the bodies pooling down over the railings and steps. Years of research- of true progress - destroyed by a man worth little more than a beast. 

You can hardly think. You just run. 

Church Hunters are killers by nature, beasts who oh so easily give in to the Scourge. Clearly, this one was already lost, driven mad by his own bloodlust. 

Dying screams and unanswered prayers echo down every hall like a haunted church during worship, and no matter how far you run their last words ring in your ears and rattle your skull. The air tastes like iron and you feel something warm trickle down your lips. Your nose is bleeding.

Running into a laboratory, you duck as bodies are thrown against priceless equipment, vials shattering and blood splattering onto countless records as the Research Hall runs red. The water runs red. The ocean rises. 

Surely someone has raised the alarm, more Church Hunters should be coming to the rescue, but by then you fear it may be too late for— 

“Stop running, you fucking scum.”

You freeze.

You swore you had outrun it. You swore it was behind you, lazy and greedy in the carnage it had already created. And yet here it stood, blood-soaked and snarling before you. 

Death itself.

Hunched in the corridor before you was the rogue Hunter, standing in the ocean of blood as he bites into a trapped scholar’s neck, the poor boy writhing with a violet scream until he goes limp in the Hunter’s arms, drained. 

Vampyre. Vileblood. Accursed beast. 

“Monster.” 

He smiles back, fangs bloody and bare. “Likewise.”

With a lunge, the Hunter is upon you, but it is not the harsh tile but rather a soft thud of soil that breaks your fall. The petals of crushed sunflowers shrivel under your body as they dim in their dying moments. 

No, not sunflowers, there is no sun, not anymore. Instead, these ghostly imitations of sunflowers seem to feed off of something else entirely, curling around your bleeding legs and stretching towards the Hunter as he too appears in the gateway to the garden. 

Unsheathing his claymore, the Hunter stalks forward, shadows warping his form with every arch he passes under, ticking closer and closer and closer still. But instead of swiftly delivering you the killing blow, the Hunter stalls, pausing at the last archway before the garden as he sees a patient writhing against the marble. 

Their bloated head was too large for their deformed shoulders to support, and instead of fleeing they were doomed to writhe on the dirt, chained limbs flailing with every gurgled cry. The Hunter barely wastes a moment, cutting free the patient’s bindings before a dull thud echoes down the garden walkway. 

You watch the patient’s head roll across the marble and scoff from your place on the ground. What a waste of a valuable test subject. 

Even in death’s face you can’t help but laugh at the self-proclaimed righteousness of this Beast. “Do you think yourself a savior?”

At first, he doesn’t grant you the dignity of a reply. “I hold no illusions. I'm just a different breed of monster from you, heretic.” Swinging his claymore, it glints the same violent red as his hair. It’s as beautiful as it is blinding. “But at least I’ll die knowing I haven't condemned hundreds to an early grave for the selfish illusions of gods and power.”

You laugh, “Illusions? Your kind will never comprehend the truth. Their lives were willingly offered for the sake of evolving mankind, so that no plague or war or sin could corrupt us again.”

The Hunter is above you now, kicking a boot onto your chest as he forces you to the floor with the tip of his claymore pressed to your throat. 

You simply greet the kiss of metal with open arms, saying a final prayer in hopes the Great Ones accept you in your next life. “Kill me, Beast. Kill me, but know that our pursuit of knowledge can never be quelled.”

“You call it knowledge, I see only carnage.”

“And the dog can stare at language so long as it desires, but it shall never speak.”

“Then howl.”

And with a single slash, the Hunter severs your head from your shoulders. 

Plip.

We fail to realize our own latent potential until the moment it is lost, and we sense its absence. Ironically, this is the very nature of insight, like the moment one licks one's own blood, only to be startled by its sweetness.

And your blood, mon cherí , was oh so sweet. 

Plop.

· · ─────── ·♰· ─────── · ·

Every night, without the sun ever coming up, the lunar cycle inches closer to the full moon. And with every cycle, the neverending hunt grows more violent and vicious. 

And when the full moon finally takes up Her place in the sky, She hangs low with a silver glow and the promise of blood. She is enchanting, haunting, and hungry in a way only the divine can be: utterly insatiable.  

The early spring snow has long since melted, slathering cobblestones in a bloody sludge, the cold air tainted with the rotten stench of iron and the screams of the Beasts, newly transformed and starving. Down the flickering streets, far in the distance, and even inside alleyway buildings, the howls of the damned are inescapable.

Everybody who has once called Yharnam their home is dead, dying, or transforming into something else entirely. 

You’re not sure which is worst. 

Where the Beasts go the Hunters follow, two sides of the same twisted fate, and the hunt quickly turns into a bloodbath. To quell public panic and unrest, the Healing Church has deployed wave after wave of Hunters, and soon both man and monster prowl the streets of Yharnam, nearly indistinguishable as they are doused in red and silver. 

The Church has eyes everywhere tonight, and yet, with so many injured you cannot help but keep your clinic doors open. You took an oath, and you shall keep it no matter how dark this night gets. 

Within hours, your clinic is overwhelmed. 

The main floor only has three rooms, several dozen cots crammed in between supplies and maze-like walkways, and the stench of gore and panic overwhelming the small space. Even with extra makeshift cots you and the orphans scrambled together, several dozen Hunters and injured civilians lay sprawled across boxes of medical equipment, bleeding out against tables or on each other. 

You tried to mandate Scourge infection screenings at the door, checking for darkening veins or fogging pupils, but with only the children and yourself left to run the clinic you’re quickly overrun and forgo the physical examinations. Perhaps that was the first mistake. By the second toll of the bell the clinic already reeks of blood and piss and sweat and death. Combined with the rising temperatures due to the growing crowd of bodies and the overlapping screams of your patients, it was nearly unbearable. 

For the sake of basic sanitation, you tried to delegate each patient to their own area and medical equipment, but cross-contamination is inevitable as panicked townsfolk and aggravated Hunters scramble and fight for the quickly dwindling supplies. It was a nightmare come to life.

“Doctor!”

Turning, you nearly barrel into an elderly woman, helping her out of the way before you rush to Alison, who is still calling your name as she and Edwin fight to keep a patient down. He’s a Hunter, you quickly realize, pinned onto the cot as he thrashes and screams, a black rot squirming and crawling like a parasite burrowing into the gash across his open stomach. 

“ Merde ,” you curse, watching the rot spread, “It’s the Scourge. Edwin! Strap his limbs down and ensure no other patients come near.” 

The boy nods, already shouting orders to the other children as they struggle together to tie down the screaming Hunter as you force panicked observers out of the way.

Running past, you shove past the door to your lab, scrambling up the stairs and between the numerous experiments until you find the mixed cultured samples of Diluc’s vampire blood.

There was no time to check which of the trials- if any- actually contained an antibody capable of fighting the Beastly Scourge, but you’d be damned to have collected this much information and not try when a patient was dying right below your feet. 

You pick one randomly. “Please,” praying into the syringe, you fill it with culture #9801. “Work.”

Downstairs, someone screams.

A few seconds later, you hear a loud crash, a body hitting the floor, then nothing but panicked shrieks, chasing you down the stairs as you burst through the clinic doors.

The infected Hunter was already in the midst of transforming, one furry arm freed from the restraints and thrashing widely at the air, snarling like a mad beast as Edwin and Alison fight to keep the other limbs locked.

Disregarding the flailing claws of the half-beast, you duck beneath the equipment, crawling until you lay under the mad Hunter’s cot. Snapping up, you lunge to avoid getting pierced, twisting around the bottom of the cot before thrusting the syringe into his side, pushing down as you watch the gray liquid inject. He howls and you tremble, fighting to keep the needle lodged in his rotting skin. 

Then the Hunter lies still.

A moment of silence.

And, before your very eyes, he begins to revert, fur receding and bones snapping back into place as he groans and gasps in human pain. It worked.

It worked. 

It really worked. 

Giddy with hope, you’re already running through countless possibilities of furthering testing on mice and the logistics for mass producing a vaccine, the reality of finally creating a cure for the Beastly Scourge so impossibly wondrous you’re physically shaking. Biting your cheek does little to hide your smile, and it's only another look around the packed clinic that reminds you of the task at hand. 

Rolling out from under the cot, you instruct the children to leave the man’s restraints on, just in case, you tell yourself, and move them on to treat new patients. 

Notes can wait. Plans can wait. Hope can wait. 

Your patients cannot.

You repeat the mantra over and over, yet it does little to ground you against the flurry of thoughts surrounding this potential cure. Which, in hindsight, is probably why you failed to notice a fallen medical tray, boot skidding across the metal surface as your ankle rolls out from under you. 

You couldn’t even process the fall in time to scream. Only a blink, and your vision swoops to the ceiling as you plummet backward. 

But you never hit the floor. 

An arm wraps around your waist, holding you tight the other hand re-balances you from the small of your back. Then you’re hoisted up, the walls shifting back in place. Even so, your savior’s touch lingers, the burn of his palm radiating even through your lab coat. He smells like smoke. 

“Careful.”

You breathe in deeply despite yourself, “Diluc.”

You didn’t even notice him enter. 

But then you falter. Why is he here? Your Hunter makes it a point only to arrive when the clinic is empty, or at least sneak by to avoid as many people as possible. There is no way he wouldn’t have heard- or frankly smelled- the blood and panic in your clinic from miles away with his enhanced senses.

Your brows furrow, and Diluc flinches ever so slightly as your fingers graze his jaw.  “Is something the matter? You look weary.”

Refusing to meet your gaze, Diluc notices Alison and Orton struggling to drag another cot through the crowd of patients, and vanishes from your side. He single-handedly lifts the bed and sets it down across the clinic hall, reappearing beside you within a fraction of a second. His palm immediately returns to rest against your back. 

“You seem busy.”

Avoiding the question. Typical. 

And yet it’s really quite hard to stay mad at Diluc when he subconsciously hugs you tighter, shielding you from the mass of patients pushing past, so clearly overwhelmed by the noise and the crowd and yet lingering by you. For you. Not only that but the heat of his touch and the looming reminder of how much his form towers over you makes you far more distracted than you’d like to admit. 

But before you could even think of teasing him for the habit, Diluc pulls you even closer still, making your tongue twist in your mouth as your jaw goes slack. His hand comes up, skimming past your collarbones as it pauses by your neck. 

Is he—? Here? Now? 

You’re still in the midst of processing the initiation of this very public display when Diluc frowns, his hand brushing past your jaw. 

“How…” Ever so gently his fingers tilt your head back, tracing across your neck with a touch so cold it almost feels like the tip of a blade. “When did you get this scar?”

“Scar?”

Startled, break from Diluc’s hold, picking up a medical tray for a makeshift mirror as you crane your chin backward. 

Sure enough, slashed across the near entirety of your neck was a needle-thin scar, silver and almost invisible in the low light. You would have thought it a trick of the fluorescent clinic lights or side effects of your fatigue if not for Diluc questioning it first. 

How had you received the scar? 

You can’t remember. 

Your vision swims for a moment, distorting as if a veil has been thrown over your eyes, focusing and unfocusing as if the cloth of reality danced and fluttered just outside your perception. Seeing through omission. Noticing only that which is not there. Remembering that which has not happened yet and what is to come. 

It rushes against your ears, a sound strong enough to be a feeling, like getting tossed under the waves until your very sense of being is distorted, not knowing which way is up. 

A blink and it’s gone; you’ve resurfaced, and your head throbs in its absence.

“Saints.” Groaning, you cradle your temples, muttering that you’re fine over and over again as you manage to hear Diluc’s voice through the roar of the surf. 

He says your name again, louder this time, and the sound of the ocean cuts off with the scream of a child. What the fuck. You look wildly around the clinic, and yet there are no children in sight, only a young maiden and a few young Hunters getting treated for their wounds. 

“If there something you’re keeping from me—”

You force a smile. “I’m fine, Diluc. Just a little tired from all of this,” you motion, arms sweeping across the clinic and towards him before running your hands up your face and into your hair. Even so, you keep the grin, eyeing the infected Hunter still sleeping peacefully in his cot. “Enough about me, did you see it? The cure?”

He still looks abnormally tense, eyeing you with something you can’t quite place, something between reverence and regret that makes your chest pang. You step forward, about to ask again when another voice cuts across the chaos of the clinic. 

“Pardon me, are you the lead physician of this establishment?” 

You jolt away from Diluc, whipping around as you find a young man— A patient? A Hunter?-- grinning in an almost overly-friendly manner as he approaches the both of you with clasped hands. Correction: as he approaches Diluc , clearly mistaking him for the physician.

Clearing your throat, you step before the stranger, offering him a gloved hand that he takes half in reflex and half in confusion. “Correct. However, if this is a request for quicker treatment, allow me to remind you that we treat every patient here equally and you or your friend will simply have to wait your turn.”

The man's face lights up in surprise, and he immediately shouts out an apology. “I beg your pardon, I only assumed that–” the man stops himself, nearly doubling over in laughter as curls of thick blonde hair flop with every hearty chuckle. “I suppose that was the problem to begin with, no? No more assumptions. A pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

“Doctor will work just fine.”

"Oh, well beg your pardon, Doctor. You may call me Alfred!" He says, offering a deep bow and salute, his elbow pulled across his waist as he bends down, almost parallel with the ground. 

You shift in place. Despite Alfred’s unfaltering smile you cannot help but feel on guard around the boyish man: a type of unnerving fight or flight instinct one gets when cornered by a being that resembles something almost human.

A wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster in human skin. 

A mirror. 

Scanning his heavily embroidered cloak, you note its uncanny familiarity, a solid gray from top to bottom and covered in tight lapels and buttons. It was adorned with the rune stitched right into the center of his chest, revealed only when the heavy cloak hanging from his shoulders swung out to the side. 

That’s why you recognize them. They resemble Choir garbs. Not exactly, and he’s definitely too young to also be an orphan, but the similarity is undeniable. 

And that rune, you now remember what it stands for: God’s Executioner. 

You instinctually go for the dagger kept sheathed away in your lab coat. One strike. The clinic begins to warp with silence and static, and somewhere through the haze you watch Alfred lean closer, your vision narrowing into the hollow dip of his throat. One strike to the carotid artery, and the monster will bleed to death almost instantly. 

Trembling, your arm raises, snaking under your coat almost in slow motion, clasping around the handle just as someone’s hand stops yours in an iron grip. 

“M’lady?”

Their touch snaps you back to the present. Breath is punched back into your gut, and your senses are rushed with the smell of gore and rubbing alcohol, remembering the chaos of the clinic and the conversation you were in the midst of having. 

Alfred’s smile is twisted with concern, but you’re hardly coherent enough to stop him from coming closer as he continues talking about something or other you can’t quite hear above the roar of your own heartbeat. 

“The Doctor is rather overworked right now.” Your hand is nudged away from the concealed blade, and your back hits something firm, grounding you. ”Excuse us.” 

Diluc. It was Diluc’s hand that stopped yours just moments before you brandished your knife in the middle of the clinic. It was Diluc’s chest you’re pressed up against, an almost casual position if one failed to notice his hands lingering around your hip and wrist.

Saints, what is wrong with you?

Alfred opens his mouth to speak again, but your Hunter cuts him off with a curt nod, turning the both of you away before pushing towards the clinic's back door. You squirm against his hold, constantly twisting around as you watch Alfred’s gaze obsessively follow you. 

“Diluc, that man was wearing a Holy Shawl.”

“I am aware.”

“You- you don’t understand, he’s a hunter.”

“I know.” Diluc keeps pushing you forward, turning your neck back around when you fight to look behind you.

“No, no, you do not. He is a hunter . An Executioner, a hunter of Vilebloods, and he saw you-” This time when you turn back, Alfred is gone. You scan the clinic wildly, fighting against Diluc’s grasp. 

Diluc calls your name. “I know.” His hands slowly cup your cheeks, forcing you to quit looking erratically over his shoulders and finally meet his gaze. “I knew.”

The overwhelming smells and sounds of the clinic fade away as the sudden rush of the cold night air nips at your skin, the clinic’s back door clicking shut as Diluc leads you into the dim alley. You don’t realize how much you’re shaking until you try and pull his hands from your face, your fingers trembling against his own. 

How could you have been so fucking careless? You’re not a registered physician, not as far as the Healing Church is concerned, and that alone could be grounds for punishment, anywhere from mutilation to public execution. Not to mention, as a woman there’s no guarantee accusations of witchcraft or colluding with the devil wouldn't be charged against you as well. Now not only have you put your practice and patients at risk, but also Diluc and the children, not to mention jeopardize the cure you’ve only just managed to— 

You need to get the Church off your trail. 

It’s only the lingering heat of Diluc’s palms against your face that keeps you anchored from the voices rattling your skull with promises of violence. Breathe. 

You step back. Diluc lets you. Inhale. Your eyes are still locked with his, and your breathing syncs with his own, and you watch the worry fade from his crimson gaze before you curse at the ground. Exhale. 

“Don’t.”

“What?” You flinch at your own tone.

Diluc crosses his arms, blocking your path back into the clinic as you are forced backward. “I’m not a fool. You almost brandished a knife at a church executioner, you’re not thinking clearly.” 

You scoff. “Very well, so I panicked. But if you had let me lure him outside alone I could have taken care of—”

“What, and you believe the Healing Church would simply fail to notice when the Executioner they assigned to investigate this clinic doesn’t return?” A snarl, and you swear his eyes glow red in the dim light. He steps forward and instinctively you shrink back. ”I knew you were reckless, but I never took you as plain stupid. Do you want a larger target on your back? You like throwing yourself in danger?” 

Before you could even think to respond Diluc lets out a curt, mocking laugh, humorless as he motions between the two of you before snapping back to you. “Of course you do.”

Now it’s your turn to see red. 

How dare he. 

How dare that impulsive, violent, martyr of a Hunter accuse you of being the reckless one. 

And then— “You will stop seeing patients.”

The sheer absurdity of the request is enough to give you physical whiplash. “Excuse me?” 

Not a request. A demand. 

You gape up at him, insults and plain curses boiling up against your throat as you stare at Diluc’s apathetic, unchanging face, scowling down at you as though disciplining a bratty child or spoiled dog. 

“I certainly will not .” You step towards the clinic, the screams and prayers of patients resounding even through the door frame. “Tonight's Hunt has no end in sight, and already there are dozens who need my help. Not to mention I finally might have a cure for the Scourge.”

“That is precisely why you must lie low! You saw the Executioner prying, what makes you think the Church won’t send more dogs?”  

"This is my duty, Hunter. Just as you have yours."

Diluc snarls, "I'm fully aware of what being a doctor entails. But you are not—" He catches your gaze, tired and frustrated, and goes silent. Fuck. How is it that everything he says around you comes out wrong? He thinks it might be the curse of being undead. Oh, how easy if he could blame it on his lack of a heart, to blame it on Vampirism to blame it on the Church. But he feels it, he feels it skip when you look at him like this, he feels it tremble as he fails again and again to hold on without leaving claw marks and open wounds instead.

His anger has a way of always attacking the people he wants to protect. 

“You’re right,” You whisper. “We have only failed before, but that is precisely why we cannot fail again. If I can somehow manage to get the Church to distribute this cure, everyone in Yharnam could be immune in only a week's time. We could stop the Scourge in a matter of days- is that not worth every risk?”

"It was foolish. There was no guarantee that cure would have worked."

You stare at him, and by the gods are you tired. You’re tired of reaching, tired of convincing yourself that there must always be a catch, a drawback, a trap, that every effort is just an illusion of hope waiting to shatter. You simply want the conviction to truly believe that for once the world will get better.

 You think you have to hope. 

After all, that is why you saved him, is it not? It’s why you couldn't pull the trigger all those months ago. It’s why, after knowing all these reasons not to, you’re falling in love with him.

A sigh, and you're overwhelmed with the need to hold him. So you do, resting your head against his chest. He’s warm. "There are never guarantees, Diluc. Every treatment is subject to trial and chance, but at the end of the day I still treat my patients, and you still hunt your monsters."

And Diluc wants to fight back. He wants to stop you, to stop you before you truly cross the point of no return. To tear himself open and display the horrors of what the Hunter’s contract has forced upon him, anything to make you realize how much of a privilege the option of ignorance and the ability to just look away is. 

But all that you hear next are the screams coming from inside the clinic. 

You tear yourself away from the Hunter, jerking towards the backdoor before Diluc stops you, one hand pulling you backward as the other lands on the hilt of his greatsword. He unsheathes his claymore with practiced ease, kicking the door wide as you both push into the clinic. 

The stench of blood and gore nearly knocks you over. 

Bile crawls up your throat, and you drop to your knees in time to dodge an operating table hurled at the door. Diluc cleaves it in half, the pieces clattering to the floor. A Beast, writhing in pain as its ribs crack open, fur and limbs emerge from its writhing body in bloody spurts, still half restrained to a cot as it screeches and drags behind him.

You lunge for your rifle, aiming for the Beast’s head when you recognize that torn uniform, the Hunter garbs. He’s the patient, the patient you cured. 

The rifle trembles and your finger loosens on the trigger. “I can’t...” The cure had worked. 

You can’t kill a man.

But your Hunter knows no such hesitation. Diluc moves with an eerie grace, his sword flashing in the dim light of the clinic as he meets the Beast before it lunges at the mob. Blade strikes claw and the monster roars. Diluc ducks a swing, twisting his grip before punching the claymore upwards, slicing through the Beast’s ribcage as blood sprays in an arch across the clinic walls. 

"Stop! Don't kill him!" You cured him. You saw it, the cure worked. It had to have worked.

Diluc pauses unnaturally, stopping mid-swing as if his heart and instinct were fighting for control. "Are you mad?” It snarls and he drives the blade in again. ”It’s the Scourge, it's beyond saving!"

You shake your head, your eyes locked onto the Beasts. You can see it, the pain flickering in his cloudy, poisoned gaze, the slight twitch of his furry limbs as they resist the transformation. Only a human would fight that hard to stay alive. 

 But Diluc doesn't listen. The Hunter sees only a Beast.

Panicked, you’re about to drop your aim when your head rushes with an eerie ringing, a muted toll of bells throbbing through your ears as your balance gives. You barely register the pain of your knees ramming into the tile as your vision spins, throbbing in time to the ringing. Then, with a suddenness that makes you jump, it speaks. 

The Beast’s snarls part to form words, his voice now broken and guttural, as though attempting to make human speech from an animal tongue. "You believe you can save me?" it howls in laughter. "You believe you can break the curse that’s been wrought upon us?" 

Fool.

Foolish greedy human, always wanting knowledge that should never have been yours. 

Diluc steps back as though stunned, his sword lowering slightly. The Beast takes advantage of the momentary distraction and charges towards him. Your body moves on instinct. With a bang, your rifle goes off, the Beast howling as it convulses over its bleeding stomach, its flesh bubbling around the silver bullet with the stench of rotten flesh.

Diluc takes the opening, claymore following a clean arch over his shoulder. The metal sings, hitting the clinic’s floor at the same moment the Beast’s head does so too, its massive body following suit in a bloody heap. 

The screams of the other patients fade into the background as you stare at the lifeless body of the beast. Diluc turns to look at you, and you ground yourself in the inferno burning in his eyes. Such a violent, violent red. 

“Did you…” Diluc kneels before you, and you cling to him, gaping. “Did you hear him?”

The Hunter's brows furrow, and he lifts you slowly, as though scared of startling you. “Hear what?”

You don’t remember. 

Your gaze flickers back to the corpse of the Hunter. You lock eyes with his decapitated head, skull morphed into something half-wolf half-man, eyes still blown open as he stares back, frozen in horror.

He’s dead. The Hunter is dead.

Your cure failed. 

And yet, before it failed it worked, did it not? There was a moment of time where it worked, where it truly worked, and in that moment alone you imagined a Yharnam cleared of the Scourge and of the rot. And it was beautiful. 

You have to try again. You must find the cure. No matter the cost.

You don’t even realize you’re muttering it to yourself, over and over again until Diluc’s hand clasps onto your shoulder, ripping your gaze off the Hunter’s mutilated body and back to his own. 

Diluc’s words are quiet, recited more to himself than you. "You cannot save everyone."

You know, and yet.

“If I don’t, then who will?”

[musictyme]

Mariah the Scientist - Spread Thin

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 5

I hope ya'll enjoy :D please comment and reblog, it really helps out (i just want that juicy feedback babyyy)

Two pristine white suits stood in the doorway. The laboratory's glaring white light bared down from behind the two men, framing them in an uneasy, uncertain shadow. Despite being indoors, the agents wore cold sunglasses, and one would be forgiven for assuming they were permanent fixtures on their heads.

"Our deepest condolences, Mr Wayne." The so-called Agent K said. Bruce Wayne noted not the slightest hint of condolence or sympathy.

He considered himself an effortlessly logical person. Someone who got what needed to be done, done. Someone who push away fear and stress in order to chip through the walls and find a path to victory in any situation.

But now, as he stared at the pile of bloody and torn clothes laid on the examination table, a DNA test on the side showing MATCH in bold letters, Bruce found himself blanking for the first time in years.

The first time since Jason...

Damian's tracker had blinked its last only hours before, and Bruce hopped on the first boat he could procure and organised a search part, recruiting the help of the local and governmental siren hunters, not that he was not still suspicious, but man power was man power, and his son was on borrowed time.

Time that had to be paid back.

"We could not find a body, sir. Your son has likely been consumed by the sirens."

No body. None. And that was not for a lack of trying. Divers had scoured the ocean floor underneath vigilant patrols. Sonars echoed across the bay and surrounding reefs. Nothing, not hide or hair or even a bone.

Bruce needed to stay calm, to stay effortlessly logical. There was no way to confirm a death just by some bloody clothes and a lack of a body. He needed to find a way, the only way.

"Thank, gentlemen. I'm gonna need a moment alone. I'll be returning to my room." The crack in "Brucie's" voice was not fake.

When Bruce got back to his hotel room, its emptiness like poison to his eyes, he beelined to his laptop. There he opened the staticky and blurry video showing the moment of disaster.

Damian was on the boardwalk, taking a moment for himself to get away from the hustle and bustle of yet another vapid party. All he wanted out of this trip was to see the fish...

An explosion rocked the boardwalk, sending splinters flying. The camera blurred into static. All that could be made out was a hand grabbing onto Damian's foot and pulling him under. The feed cut out.

Bruce played the recording again, and again, and again. Just like he had been doing all day. It was so blurry he couldn't even identify the colour of the hand.

Each time, his heart broke a little more. A tear came closer and closer to tearing its way out behind the barrier he'd put around his heart. The barrier these damn kids have wormed through over time.

Bruce dialed the phone. It answered on the first ring. "Dick, gather the family. I have some bad news..."

Danny buckled the last belt in his collection around his tail. Funny thing about belts, is that they're still useful even if you aren't wearing pants. The Fenton waterproof torch, the Fenton Stinger, Fenton Lipstick Laser among several other greatest hits slotted neatly into the loops of his belts along his tail. All he needed was a jacket and he might have a biker aesthetic to rival Johnny's.

Damian had spent the past hour or so pacing back and forth, trying to get a hang of his fins and occasionally bumping into a wall. Kid was itching to go out, and had taken to waving the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick around at imaginary enemies, despite having complained about the "inelegance of such a crude weapon."

"You will know suffering." He muttered. "I will make you beg for deliverance." He scowled.

Maybe Danny should introduce him to Sam. He feels like they'd get on like a house on fire.

Damian clung to his shoulder again, little arms wrapped around his neck for purchase as he swam out the cave. The Anti-Creep stick sat comfortably in a holster wrapped round the kid's waist with a knot Danny had to retie six times because he was so small. It was mid afternoon and the sun bathed the reef in bright colours like a warm blanket.

"We should keep an eye out for any other weapons. Our current stock is not enough."

Danny snorted. "You sound like a serial killer talking like that, you know?"

"I am more dangerous than a serial killer." Damian huffed. Danny could feel the offence radiating off him. To think that a himbo like Bruce Wayne could spawn someone with this many sticks up his ass. "And more intimidating."

"Please threaten me more. I'm shaking in my non-existent boots."

Damian growled. A deep guttural sound that rumbled his chest and tickled Danny's scales. Well, it would've been deep if Damian weren't half Danny's size.

"Where is your map and compass? How are we to get to Panama without navigation equipment?"

"Relaaax! We don't need a map because I've got a little something called celestial navigation." See Sam and Tuck? His space obsession was useful in his siren life!

The smaller siren head sank and banged on Danny's. "It is broad daylight."

Danny grinned over his shoulder. "Yeah that was a joke."

Damian screeched.

Danny laughed as he surfaced and got himself some fresh air. Calm waters for miles around them. Slowly he kicked off the swim, building up speed. "Relaaaax. It doesn't take a genius to figure out we need to go south."

"The only reason I have allowed you to live is because you are my only way home."

"As if I couldn't literally sit on you and you'd be helpless."

"I should invite you to try!"

Thousands of miles of blue ocean stretched on in every direction Damian looked. Below the two of them, the ocean floor lay deep enough that all Damian could see was a blur. Just above, the surface of the water rippling from slow winds blazes past. Phantom's strength lets them cut through the water at breakneck pace. The water rushing past his ears and fins reminds him of flying with Jon, if only much thicker than air in the upper-atmosphere.

Light from above, and unending darkness below. It was the darkness that Damian focused on. Occasionally, a tingle spread down his back and through his tail, like a warning, only for nothing to be visible underneath. The first few times, he shivered from surprise. Then it just unnerved him.

He'd read about lateral lines on sharks and other fish before, as a curiosity. Never had he imagined he would come to possess one himself, and never that it would feel so natural that it was difficult to parse it out from all his other sensations. The idea of not feeling this new sensation felt foreign, and unnerving, even though this form was the foreign one.

He would never admit this to anyone, but he didn't know much longer he could deny the creeping feeling on his neck. For all Phantom appeared friendly, Damian knew nothing of his motivations, or even his true character. If Phantom decided he didn't want anything to do with Damian, then what? With no weapons save a measly baseball bat, no contact with the outside world, no armour, no legs, no support and no knowledge of how to survive, he would be good as shark meat.

Damian tightened his grip on Phantom's neck. He was supposed to be above fear, and yet why was his heart pounding so hard?

A series of fast clicking echoed from the distance. Damian jerked his head to the left. Through squinted eyes hie made out long slender forms swimming parallel, their tails undulating up and down.

"Are those dolphins?" Damian muttered.

Phantom turned to the same sight, and raised his eyebrows. "Huh, I guess they are-" Damian jerked Phantom to their direction.

"We must approach them immediately!"

Phantom's body almost tumbled out of his normal swimming rhythm from the shock. "What? What for?"

"We must! The only reason I agreed to come to Amity Island was to see the sea creatures."

"Dude, you know dolphins can be total assho-" But Damian was having none of it. To solidify his point, he clamped his teeth into Phantom's shoulder, focusing them on the part where bone jutted out. Even if they couldn't penetrate, the blunt force against bone would be very painful.

"YOUCH Alright alright alright alright can you please stop biting me!"

Phantom rerouted their course, and Damian chittered in satisfaction. "Excellent."

The dolphins were as beautiful and majestic as he could have ever imagined. It was a small pod, comprising of about five adults, all swimming together in stunning synchrony. Phantom swam at a cautious distance, close enough to admire but too far to touch. How he longed to pet a dolphin... Even Damian slapping him with his tail could only move him an inch closer.

"Dude, I've dealt with dolphins before, and they're literally the most evil beings on the planet, right next to toast and Vlad."

Damian huffed. If only he had a camera on him. To swim alongside dolphins at top speed, out in the wild... He was pretty sure he was drooling, or would have been.

He'd just have to commit the scene to memory, and paint it when he got home.

The thought of home made his fins droop a little.

He felt a finger poking at his cheek. "Hey Damian, you ok? Fine, I'll give like two inches, but that's it."

Damian snappes teeth at him. "I am perfectly fine. Just thinking."

Before Phantom could get closer, Damian saw one member of the pod swerve right for them. Instinctively, he ducked, only for the dolphin to somersault overhead, twirling three times before 'landing' right of them. Two more of its podmates followed suit as they danced in circles around them. One of them came so close he could even catch its scent. It smelled tangy, like freedom and excitement.

Seeing dolphins performing manoeuvres at aquariums was one thing, sitting in dries seats what felt like half a world away from the water, but here? Damian felt the water stolen from right out of his gills.

And the best part was rubbing it in to Phantom. "What was that you said while disparaging these beautiful creatures?"

"Dude, don't these guys smell weird to you?" Even now he was suspicious? The dolphins smelled perfectly fine.

"Not in the slightest. I believe you are just trying to save face."

"Dude, I've seen dolphins before. Plenty of them, but none of them smelled this.. familiar."

Then again, now that Phantom mentions it, those moves seemed just a bit too disciplined for a wild animal. Just a bit too measured...

Damian's hackles spiked up. They were surrounded.

"Phantom, get us out of-"

Deafening squeals blasted from every direction. The noise was so horrible Damian could barely see. His ear fins felt like cracked glass. His field of view was getting darker. They were sinking.

Phantom moved Damian so he was flat against his chest and curled up. The boys crash landed into the barren sea floor. Pain erupted from every surface as debris and particles tore scales and broke fins. Phantom's screaming mixed into the water with teal blood. He held onto Damian like a vice the entire time.

They finally came to a stop. Damian's head spun and spun and his ears rang. He dimly noted the criss-crossing ropes of a fishing net entrapping them. Above him, the blasted dolphins loomed over them in circles like they were sharks, and in the centre floated a man in a large metal suit, a metal suit sporting a malicious, leopardlike grin, a grin that for a moment he could not place, until his mind cleared.

That was the last thing he ever had ever seen as a human.

[lovelythief]

𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝚕𝚎𝚘𝚗 𝚔𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚢 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚛!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟽𝟷𝟿

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚊𝚋, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎.

Not the gentle whir of the automatic centrifuge nor the soft scratching of pen on paper were enough to cover the light footsteps that carefully approaches you from behind. You smile, but don’t turn from your messy notebook.

You always preferred the peaceful isolation of the late-night laboratory, being able to freely work on personal research projects without having to bump past coworkers or being interrupted by higher ups searching for answers. Still, you don’t necessarily mind this certain distraction.

“Working late again, sunshine?” Leon’s soft words send a shiver up your spine as he rests his head on your shoulder, sliding up and fitting himself naturally against your back, lazily draping his arms around your waist. You wonder how much of your notes he understands—if he can read your handwriting at all, that is. Probably quite a bit; he’s always been a smart rookie.

You hum, but still don’t look at his pretty face, lest it distract you too much in this rare peace. The view of his soft bangs and button nose from your peripheral are enough to have your heart skip a beat anyways. “No rest for the wicked,” you say. “I’m surprised you haven’t gone home yet.”

“Can’t be that surprised; we both practically live here anyways.” Leon huffs dramatically, dragging his fingers across your stomach and squeezing his arms around you in an attempt to rile up some sort of reaction from you.

You should’ve seen it coming, leaving yourself open and vulnerable like that.

You whine his name, affectionate and light as he pulls an uncontrollable laugh from your lips and you nearly crumple back in his embrace. You breathe heavily for a moment and your cheeks flush red with realization. The centrifuge clicks off as you stand in silence.

Leon’s stunned expression definitely matches your own shock.

“Sweetheart…” he starts, but words fail him for a moment as he bares his teeth between a wolfish grin. “You never told me you’re ticklish.”

You swallow, looking at the mirth growing in Leon’s blue eyes and realizing very suddenly how fucked you are, trapped between a man with a very obvious idea and the sturdy countertop. “Leon Kennedy,” you stammer, hands gripping your notebook tightly, “you wouldn’t.”

Leon smiles into your shoulder. “Guess all these late shifts keeping you from me are starting to pay off,” he says. He gently loosens his arms from your waist, watching your subtle expressions and feeling you shift against him with the intensity of a trained hawk.

“Leon—!”

You can’t even finish getting his name out before you squeal like a child, feeling the rough pads of his fingers through layers of clothes as he tickles you mercilessly, pulling laugh after laugh from your pretty lips. Even light strokes has your stomach tensing.

He says your name in the same tone, laughing alongside you.

You drop the notebook on the table as your hands scramble to grasp at his wrists, but you’re not nearly strong enough to pull them away from your vulnerable sides. Your knees buckle and laughter turns breathy as you lean into your cheeky boyfriend while he keeps you giggling in the palms of his hands.

Your eyes water, chest burns, and legs shake. “W-Wait, I—I can’t,” you beg between gasps, “stop, Le—on!”

He stops almost immediately, realizing that maybe mercilessly tickling his partner wasn’t the smartest idea. “Fuckin’ adorable,” Leon coos, peppering kisses on your hot cheeks and holding you tightly against his chest while you rest limply against him.

You heave a sigh, grateful for the way the air fills your lungs again. “This is why,” you take a large breath, “I didn’t tell you I was ticklish!”

“Not bad for your first time,” he says. The innuendo isn’t lost on you, and you pinch his skin with the blunt edges of your nails until he starts mumbling ow, ow, ow and pulling his arm away.

“Cheeky bastard, coming in here and making a mess of me—“

“—yeah, yeah, ‘m sorry.” Leon noses your neck and gently sways you.

You relax a little when you sees his smile, but can’t help yourself from teasing him a little more. “You’re awful,” you pout, “absolutely the worst.”

“Mm, I love you too.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ll tickle the attitude out of you if I have to.”

“You—!”

[captainremmington-13]

A Lady Made of Snow

DISCLAIMER: I don’t own The Hunger Games franchise, the images above, The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes, or any of the characters in this fic other than Bellova and her father. I also do not condone the beliefs or actions of Coriolanus or Bellova.

SUMMARY: Bellova gets her revenge, but also comes to a heart-wrenching realization.

Warnings: spoilers for TBOSAS, a good amount of angst

A/n: Buckle up y’all ;) Also, I recommend listening to Vigilante Shit, I Did Something Bad, and/or get him back! while reading this chapter.

“Come in.”

Bellova opened the door to Dean Highbottom’s office, swiftly shutting it behind her. 

“Ah, Miss Reginelle,” he said, setting down his papers. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of the students?”

She smiled dryly. “I’ve come to speak with you about a very important matter. I believe that the integrity of the Games have been tainted by cheating.”

He raised an eyebrow, folding his hands on his desk. “Go on.”

Bellova walked towards him, making sure to maintain her flawless posture and calm expression. “I know for a fact that Coriolanus Snow visited Dr. Gaul’s laboratory right before the snake mutations were released to attack the tributes. And I am almost certain that they were held there before being sent to the arena.”

Dean Highbottom nodded. “They were indeed.”

“See, being one of Dr. Gaul’s most favored students, she had discussed this particular breed of mutated snakes with me before. She told me that they would not attack any being who’s scent they have been introduced to before. Because of his…conveniently timed visit to her office, I believe Coriolanus slipped something with Lucy Gray’s scent into the snake enclosure before they were sent off. That is why she was able to survive their attack.” 

There was silence for a moment as the dean processed her accusation.

“I see,” he said. “I will look into it, for you have given me plausible reasoning to investigate. Is there anything else you think I should know?”

Bellova grinned. 

‘Sorry, Coryo,’ she thought. ‘Say goodbye to your temporary glory.’ 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Coriolanus was puzzled when he was torn away from the celebration and told to report to Dr. Gaul’s lab to meet Dean Highbottom. Perhaps the idiotic old man had finally come to his senses and wanted to apologize for his constant harassment. 

As he walked through the Academy accompanied by two Peacekeepers, he smiled at the thought of the dean begging for forgiveness. How he would love to see him grovel like a pathetic fool.

Then, he heard footsteps up ahead. Bellova was walking towards him, her ruby-red lips curled into a cruel smile.

As she passed by him, she murmured something so quietly that Coriolanus almost missed it. But when he processed what she’d said, he knew he’d never forget it.

“I hope you know you brought this on yourself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Bellova arrived home, she went straight to her room. She felt nauseous and dizzy, climbing up the grand staircase clumsily and almost slipping several times. She stumbled into her bedroom, and collapsed onto her luxurious canopy bed. 

The full weight of what she’d done hit her like a pile of bricks. 

She ruined Coriolanus’s life. 

He would never recover from this. Who knows where he’s end up? Maybe in prison, maybe an Avox if Highbottom was harsh enough, or maybe somewhere in one of the least powerful districts. Either way, she was sure he would never set foot in the Capitol again.

Maybe she should’ve waited a few days before going to Highbottom to expose him. It was hasty to snitch on him right away, but at the time, it felt right. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

She buried her face in her crimson red pillow, resisting the urge to scream. 

Why had Coriolanus done what he had done? He was never sympathetic towards the districts like Sejanus Plinth. What made Lucy Gray so special? She was just another district animal, and yet Coriolanus had done everything in his power to ensure her survival. She knew he wanted to win the Plinth Prize, which required that the recipient was the mentor of the winning tribute, but stooping as low as cheating? It was such a desperate move that Bellova briefly wondered if he had gone mad.

‘No,’ she thought. ‘Not mad. Utterly insane.’ 

As the hours passed, she slowly came to accept the truth: 

Coriolanus Snow had fallen in love with Lucy Gray Baird. 

A single tear slipped down her cheek. There was a stabbing pain in her chest, which grew worse as she began to sob. 

What did a no-name district runt have that she, a Capitol heiress, did not? 

What made him fall in love with her instead?

There was no use in continuing to lie to herself, not with him gone forever. 

She loved Coriolanus Snow. 

She always had. And she thought he would eventually grow to love her too. But she was foolish to believe that. It was childish to believe they were meant for each other.

Her miserable thoughts were interrupted when someone knocked on her door gently. Hastily wiping her tears and fixing her messy hair, she croaked, “Come in.”

She expected it to be her maid, or maybe even one of her friends. Instead, her father walked through the door, holding a tray that held her favorite foods. 

Bellova instantly burst into tears again. 

Julio Reginelle frowned as he saw his normally composed daughter shaking, her knees pulled to her chest. “I heard that you haven’t emerged from your room since arriving home. What happened?”

He placed the tray on her bedside table and sat at the foot of her bed. 

She sniffled. “I don’t know if I should tell you. You’ll be angry at me.” 

He placed a hand on her shoulder gently. “I promise I won’t. It is more important for you to be honest with me.”

Bellova internally winced at the thought of discussing feelings of love with her father. Especially because of exactly who she loved. 

Her father raised an eyebrow, gesturing for her to speak. 

With a trembling voice, she confessed what had happened earlier that day. She told him how she’d turned Coriolanus in to the dean, therefore ruining his future career and aspirations. Finally, she told him about her recently realized romantic feelings towards the young Snow heir. 

Her father sighed. “I am not angry at you, Bellova. You are a young woman, feelings are inevitable. I can see why you are angry Coriolanus. He chose someone over you.” She nodded. “And I’m sorry to say this, but no-one with the surname Snow should ever be trusted. His father was a snake too.”

Bellova cocked her head. “How so?”

“Crassus was an arrogant, overconfident fool. He was the most insufferable student at the Academy while we were attending together. If he didn’t have the top score on something, we would hear about it for weeks on end.”

Bellova laughed. That sounded just like Coriolanus. 

“And…” her father paused. “He was the original creator of the Hunger Games.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not. Casca Highbottom was distraught when Crassus, his closest friend at the time, took his drunken joke to Dr. Gaul, who embraced the idea immediately. Casca never forgave Crassus, and their friendship was destroyed.”

“How do you know about this? This has got to be one of the most well-kept secrets in Panem.”

Her father gave her a wry smile. “I overheard Crassus bragging about it to his eventual wife. She didn’t seem pleased, but never spoke up against it. I think she was too afraid to.”

Bellova grimaced. She would never let any future husband of hers walk all over her in that way.

“Now, as for you turning Snow in, you did the right thing. Cheating should never go unpunished, especially in something as important as the Hunger Games.”

Bellova leaned back against her pillows. “I know. But in telling the dean, I’ve sent him away forever. I’ll never see him again.”

Her father hummed. “Maybe that’s for the better.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“Well, he’s out of your life now. You can focus on other things: your career, your friends, your other aspirations. He will never be a hindrance to you again.”

Bellova sighed. “You’re right. There’s more to life than a pathetic boy who gave up his future for a district girl.”

Her father smiled. “Exactly right.” He looked over at the tray of food. “Please make sure to eat tonight, you’ll need your strength for tomorrow. I’m permitting you to skip school, because I plan to bring you with me to a conference in the Jubilee Convention Center.”

Bellova smiled. “That sounds lovely, thank you.” 

He stood up, planting a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll leave you to rest now, my dear. Sweet dreams.” 

As soon as her father left, she placed the tray on her lap and began to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until right then. 

After a relaxing evening of self-care, Bellova laid in bed, staring up at her chandelier that twinkled in the moonlight. 

Her love for Coriolanus would die eventually, she was sure of it. It was already starting to fade, slowly being replaced by contempt. He really wasn’t good enough for her. He was no real gentlemen, despite him parading around pretending to be one with his roses and faux charming smile. And he was too sensitive to make it in the world of politics. Sure, he put up a cold facade, but she knew that hurtful words got under his skin easily. 

No matter how handsome or intelligent he was, he’d never be a good match for her. If they were ever to marry, they would fight far too often, and ultimately, it would be a failure. 

Bellova closed her eyes, pulling her soft covers over her body and finally allowing herself to truly relax.

As she slipped into sleep, a quote from one of her favorite novels crossed her mind, making her smile.

“It is snow’s destiny to fall: that is what it is made for.” 

𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐟 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈

✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊ ❆ ‧ ₊ ⊹˚✧ ‧˚₊

TAGLIST: @daenerysqueenofhearts, @squidscottjeans, @euphemiaamillais, @gracieroxzy, @effectwalker

Author’s Note: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think in the comments! This is the end of Part 1, but there will be at least two more parts in the series! Stay tuned for the first installation of Part 2!

Also, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!