#but the talbots are still cursed

[rootsofdread]

Hello! While I had intended to place my second request when my first one was completed, I'm worried you'll close your asks before then, so here we go. A gender neutral reader who steals the killer's melee weapons. It's not a one off thing, no, it's something they do all the time. They grab it and run. I'll leave what killers to you, I want to be surprised, but please do two if you have the time. Sincerely, a wolf.

did three for ya, wolf! :-D

Evan MacMillan / The Trapper:

Evan had lodged his cleaver into a tree to set up some traps unencumbered, he knew he’d be unhappy if he ran into one of the survivors without it, but he figured it was the best way to do it quickly. A little while later, he came back to find it had been ripped out of the bark. The tracks in the dirt were still fresh, he knew you had to have only recently taken it. He huffed. He knew it was a mistake to leave it behind, now one of you has taken it…bear trap in hand, he sets off to find where you’d run off to. He found you almost halfway across the grounds using his cleaver to hack down a wall. His hand twitched.

He’s already an angry man, and taking his weapon just makes him angry. It’s a quick way to set him off rampaging through the grounds slaughtering anyone in his path simply to find where you’ve gone with it. He finds a way without his cleaver, you’ve seen it first-hand. Fortunately, with his weapon, you’re able to do a moderate amount of defending yourself and your teammates — until he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and stares deep into your soul, disapprovingly.

Even though he gets angry, he feels like he has to admire your fighting spirit when you decide to use his own weapon against him. You remind him of himself, in a weird way…and in an even weirder way, he likes that. You’d think he’d come to hate you for taking his things, but it’s quite the opposite.

Max Thompson, Jr. / The Hillbilly:

The first time you’d done it, Max had only set his chainsaw down for a second to throw somebody on a hook. He didn’t even know anyone else was lurking around. When he turned to pick it back up, it was gone. At first, he thought he must’ve misremembered where he put it. He doesn’t have the best memory, and it’s happened before…until he saw you running around in the distance with something clutched in your hand that didn’t look like anything you were supposed to have. He didn’t immediately register that it was his chainsaw, but when he did…to say he was furious would be an understatement.

After this, he’s a little more careful about where he puts his chainsaw and when he puts it there. He checks around corners before setting it down to make sure you’re not hiding nearby to swipe it. Sometimes, you don’t, and he’s relieved that he doesn’t have to chase you down to get it back. Unfortunately, most of the time you do end up getting your hands on it one way or another; he’d be willing to throw away the entire trial just to get it back and throw you on a hook for inconveniencing him.  

He doesn’t appreciate your thievery, but sometimes, he does seem to appreciate having someone to run around with. Nobody else cares much for him; and even though he doesn’t read your stealing as caring, necessarily, you’re still spending time around him, and going out of your way to do so. Some part of him almost, in a way, finds it sweet that you’re doing this.

Talbot Grimes / The Blight:

Talbot had accidentally thrown his cane a ways away once when trying to rush at someone. Miraculously, the hit had landed, but he had no idea where the Bonebuster had gone off to. He glanced around as he carried them over to a hook, trying to see the glint of the top in the moonlight; instead, in it’s place where it had landed, he saw you brandishing it and grinning. The second you realized he was staring at you, you bolted away with it. He cursed at you. He needs that, you insolent twerp, give it back! He immediately threw his victim on the ground and rushed after you.

You’d be surprised how often his cane slips out of his hand, and how many opportunities you have to snag it. Sometimes, he even thinks he’s safe setting it down for just a moment to replenish his energy with his serum. You take every chance you get, and he’s angry every single time, without fail. He’s not one for colorful language, he is a scientist, and a gentleman, after all, but it comes out when he’s running after you. Most of the time, you catch the giggling of other survivors as he curses at you. It’s so unlike him.

That said, he seems to have a strange admiration for your boldness, your courage, your willingness to push the limits and the buttons of himself and, as far as he can assume, other killers. No one else is quite as brave as you are, stealing his weapon and getting close enough to do so, for that, he feels he has to give you credit. He may even be compelled to run experiments: exactly how close are you willing to get?

[hellowoolf]

electra heart

pairing: din jarin x prostitute fem!reader

summary: with the softness of your body you have bought your piece of luxury, clawed your way to opulence, and wait now on the lustful whims of the rich and powerful. what havoc is wreaked when the only client you've ever loved, your mandalorian, finds you in the golden smoke of a gala on canto bight?

warnings: mention of alcohol, prostitution, reader is literally a prostitute, reader goes by alias "edie", din calls her “edee”, angst, quick mention of killing (bounty hunting), porn with plot, SMUT, soft!dom din, unprotected piv, beskar humping (sue me), tiiiny bit of degradation if you squint your eyes and pat your head and rub your tummy, little bit of begging, fucking in a literal suit of armor, creampie (if i left out any, let me know <3)

word count: 4.7k

authors note: first din fic alert !!! hand on heart i meant to keep this light hearted. and that’s what counts…right ??!!!!

woolfie’s masterlist

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you had been small, once. a young thing born into the streets of tatooine, conjured by them, slipping dirty like a curse through the city with a beggar's cup. in the day, the sand heated to glass and fire, and you trailed in the shadowed coattails of men the passers by could think your father, but with nightfall came the slow, syrupy suck of warmth from land, and even pressed up against building corners and doorways you shivered in the starlight. and what a cruel thing it was to know—to be, even then, so certain of your own poorness. you stuck little fingers through the holes of your clothes to cork the heat of your skin, and reconciled, in the meanwhile, with your birth as a nomad with no place to journey.

oh, but you loved the ships. with festivals held on the plains came warships and single-seat fighters, great discs of silver settling the baking sand, and you circled the throngs of people to let the gleam of sunlit metal blind you, if only for a moment. with scrap metal and a child’s palms you laid your plans there in the tatooine sand, to seek out whatever precious lavishness was left out there for you. beads of sweat jeweling down your wrists you thought yes, you were fit for that sort of life.

it became clear to you, when you came of age, that your body was your only currency for purchasing such plans. kicking stones while you wound through the cityscape, you supposed the home you could make in a brothel, and the money, too, made for an even exchange, and besides, you’d absorbed worse than man. you tap a manicured nail down your glass and hum with the bellish chime. where had all those girls gone? where were they now? you wonder if they’ve caught wind of you from here, if your perfume has traveled that far. you hope so.

“my edie, how are you honey?”

kel talbot is even blonder than you remember him. with his chest to your back in the sprawling porcelain of his bathtub he’d admitted, along the skin of your shoulder, that it wasn’t real, the color. he dyed it when he went home to naboo, he said. still damp and soapy he’d tipped you an extra 5,000 credits, for your discretion and your loveliness. 

“i’m well, kelly. it’s always so wonderful to see you,” you lilt back to him. and because you can’t help yourself, so prone to indulgence now, you add, “have you been off home? i haven’t seen much of you here.”

he’s lovely, really, and delighted that you would ask. “as a matter of fact, i have. my mother’s been remarried a sixth time, if you can believe it. a great big ceremony and all, and i really couldn’t miss it.”

you smooth your free hand down the lapel of his jacket, black silk gleaming between the pillars of your fingers as you drag them. you wouldn’t mind him, for the night. “i really miss you so much when you’re gone.”

he steps closer, flattered little smile, and you look up at him through your lashes. “don’t stroke my ego, edie, it’s unbecoming,” he whispers, so thoroughly pleased with your attention on him, and you tug on the bunch of his coat in your palm.

“do you want me to stroke something else for you, kelly?”

he lets out a shuddered breath across your face. heir to an agricultural fortune on naboo, he is all tradition, brought up on pomp and circumstance and a set of shoulders shaped for the head of a long dining table. your innuendos fall heavy on him, always. he doubles over with them, sinks into you to realign himself upright. edie, edie, someone called you edee once, it means jaws, teeth, he’d told you. when it came time to shed your first name, your real name, it’d come naturally. edie, edie. kel is ripe for biting now.

“i–i have somewhere to be, honey, i can’t.” you pout at him a little. he tips generously. “don’t look at me like that.”

you set him back by your hold on his suit and he brushes himself with his palms, dusting the fabric from whatever coital indecency you’ve smeared on him.

“i’ll let you know when i’m in town again, okay?” and he offers it like a favor, and you suppose he hopes it to be one, so you nod with a gentle sigh.

“go enjoy your night, kelly. i’ll be here if you change your mind,” you promise, and with a tender smile his platinum hair filters back through the ballroom. 

if you’re honest, you don’t really know the purpose of this event to begin with. canto bight shines bloated with galas and gamblers, and you dance, ephemeral, through the lot of them in search of clientele. scanning the dancing gold and satin of this crowd, collected on the bottom floor of the hotel you work from, you find mostly elderly men, married and elderly. you certainly aren’t above servicing either, though you went out tonight for the delights of it more than anything else. draping yourself in the inordinately expensive wrappings gifted by your previous clients, arms and collarbones dripping over with fine jewelry and precious gems, you enjoy the ritual of it, now. you enjoy the rest of it, too, with the right sort of client. you drag a red gemstone, set in gold, to and fro along its chain, your first little opulence left with the credits on the windowsill. edee, edee. a passing, devastating thought: like the girls from that first whore house you hope he smells you, hope through the filter of his helmet he’s struck with the scent like a sharp ache that sweetens in the middle. and—

you should’ve missed it, really. an inconsequential glimmer in the face of all the light you’ve gulped down these past years, but still you seem to find it, the little silver spotlight convexing through the curve of your glass. it points right on you, the beam, and you tilt the glass back and forth to watch the light twitch along your sternum. your body tenses with the stretch of a memory, of you in the sand on your back with the sterling starships jumping into hyperspace above you. but surely there’s no ship here, you reason, and when you look up, he’s right there. they all wear the same getup, creed driven and plated, but you are certain it’s him. with a cock of his hip and a shoulder leaned up against the wall you are certain, so certain, and he is right fucking there. it’s all coming back to you now, his beskar in the rotting wood of your doorway, little words in mando’a, your name, the first one, in his mouth. your mandalorian.

gliding through the dancing bodies of the ballroom—they part for you, now—you shiver with the breeze of your dress, a great sweeping curtain of red silk. you don’t remember, really, when he stopped coming to see you, only that you were wholly and inappropriately devastated. you missed the stick of him between your thighs, the way he loved you. you were so sure he did, back then, and you find that still, as this diamond sea of people carves a path for you to him, you are still sure. you can feel your own wetness collecting at your seam; you cannot unlearn this want for him.

he doesn’t notice you until you’re inches from his side, and still he won’t turn his head. from his peripheral you are unrecognizable, you suspect.

“which one?”

and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him move the way he does as your voice echoes behind his visor. it’s a startled jump, a straightening, a tip of his helmet to the side. you think he’s frightened, at first, a heavy terror that collects through the tendons of his hands, but the fear leaves easy, sugars into wonderment. he says your name, arced in question and through the rasp of his modulator.

you shake your head, look out at the ballroom. “i don’t use that name anymore.”

“i–you…” he shakes his head, knocks something loose, “...what are you doing here?”

you snort. “i could ask you the same thing.”

“i have someone i’m looking for.” and it should be ominous—i have someone to kill here—but his voice is still soft, airy with the sight of you. you turn back to him and nod to the crowd.

“yes, i ask again, which one?”

“you know i can’t tell you that.” and he says it like a memory, like the sweet juice of nostalgia on his lips, he says it like i remember you.

you shrug. “i hoped maybe the rules had changed.”

“mm,” he hums, “century old creeds don’t seem to, i’m afraid.”

you giggle with the youth he brings you back to. it’s so easy, falling back here with him. the tilt of his helmet leans to his other shoulder, dark visor tipping down your dress, and your skin fizzles. 

“what’s brought you here, then?”

you mirror the angle of his neck. you know, you know. he grunts around something thick in his throat, your name, the first one, you think. he remembers what you said.

“what do i call you? now?”

the delight that twists through you is a sacred one. “edie.”

this does him in. his head tips back against the wall behind him, steadying breath filtering out. “edee?”

“not quite. e-d-i-e.” he lifts, with what seems a great effort, his head back up to look at you. you continue, softer, “but almost.”

and because you know your mandalorian, you see in the shift of his boots on the ground that he’s as ecstatic as his metal plating will allow. his hands twitch, and you want them to touch you, need him to touch you.

“come dance with me, mando.”

he does his best to hesitate, really, but then you’re out among the swaying people, one gloved hand at your back and the other clasped between your fingers, closer now than you’ve been since he last came inside you some years ago in whorish darkness. you squeeze him thinking of it, the stick and the smell, and he presses you further against the gleam of his chest, yes, i remember, i remember. it’s only here, molded around him, that you feel how much bigger he is, the broad width of his shoulders cemented out past the lines of him you used to tend to.

“you look…sort of different.”

“is that so?”

maker, you love the sound of him like this, so close in, so insistent on whispering, so incapable of doing so. “mhm.”

“doesn’t hold a candle to the changes you’ve made, cyar’ika.”

“mm,” you hum, “you know, it’s funny, i feel much of the same.”

he bunches his hand a moment in the silk of your dress. “the glamor hasn’t pulled you under?”

your laugh reverberates against his chestplate. “oh no, i’m sure it has. i just mean i’ve always liked shiny things.”

he groans, quiet and tight. “and why’s that? you like your reflection in them?”

he unlatches you from his chest to spin you around before fastening you back to him, and your scoff whips an arched path around you. “please, the vain one between us has always been you, mando.”

he lowers his head, great secret on his lips. “i haven’t shown my face in decades, edee.”

you can hear his tongue on the word, and you know he hasn’t said your new name, similar as it may sound. the lapping scoop of mando’a washes you over again with the memories of him. and laughing, again you are laughing. you love this bit. “yes, i do remember that part. though i find it awfully excessive that you prance about the galaxy in this welded jewel of a thing.” you knock against the beskar with a knuckle.

“welded jewel. you’ve gotten metaphorical while i’ve been gone.”

“this crowd enjoys it.”

he glances over and around your shoulder. “and you enjoy them?...this crowd?”

you suck on your front teeth to think on it. “you know, most of them don’t ask for it. not all of it, anyway. it’s mainly a lot of talking, now.” and it’s true. even above the lust, this powerful lot is lonely, irrevocably lonely. he nods, and as your heart hammers and wails you tilt your head up to his helmet to whisper against his visor, “you never wanted to talk, did you mando?”

the band of his arm around your back constricts again, a gruff admission, “no, i didn’t.”

he never did take anyone else in that little brothel, it was only ever you. the other girls liked to watch him pass by through the hallway, luster of his armor glinting in the low light, but he walked a tight line to your door, knocked twice, soft as anything. even in that wooden box, a bed and a window and an empty dresser, you remember the metal of him grating at the joins as he tried to make you feel something. you remember, too, that so green, so newly wrung out as you were, your limbs went limp before his credits ran dry, but he defected to your will, watched your body and worshiped at its altar. when your spine loosened and your hips unwound, still with time paid for, he stepped back into the sanded stench of tatooine, hand-cupped pile of credits on the windowsill. yes, the windowsill and the i’ll come back for you and the creak of the floorboards, you remember it so well.

“how much do you charge these days?”

you’re tightening your thighs together as you sway with him. “don’t patronize me.”

“i’m not.”

a ribbon of air releases from your nose, be steady. “20,000 credits.”

and he doesn’t flinch, only lets the hand around your back slip along the gloss of your dress, drawing a line above your ass with his thumb, the line he won’t cross without purchase. “i’d pay it.”

you can’t help this now. “will you?”

whatever mark he’s come to kill tonight is slipping through his fingers, but you fill that space just fine. his helmet tilts, and you feel a leather paw come up to retrieve that little red necklace from the hollow of your collarbone. the pad of his glove passes over the gem once, twice, body tightening and buzzing in metal. “this is mine,” he chokes.

yes, it is. you nod. and he’s decided, it seems. with a modulated groan and let’s go in your ear, he’s shepherding you from the ballroom, hand tight at your waist as you find your way to the elevator. and what with the ceremony of your mandalorian, the tediousness of his armor coming off, you fill the elevator shaft with the smell of your drooling pussy and the air thickens with the buzzing glow of you both together again, but you do not move. the tickle of his eyes through tempered glass rubs behind your ears, still a killer, always a killer, you think, just as you are forever what you have always been. the two of you, frozen in blood and sex, the only warmth you’ve ever known. this reality pulls behind your tongue and you gag on it. 

ding. the doors slide open. 

you press a thumb to the screen on your doorknob and your mandalorian crowds up behind you, lets you feel the cool touch of his body, the heat that peeks out at the corners. with thick fingers squeezing at your waist and the hard curve of his helmet at your hairline, your knees buckle with the thought that you might have loved him, too, perhaps fatally, but as the lock clicks open and he pulls you inside you suppose it doesn’t matter much now. 

you’ve worked this room for nearly a year. a window expands from one wall to the other, beams the morning light and warms the bed sheets, and in the drab of afternoon, twinkle of the city just barely cresting over the sunshine, you watch the people below. drunkards and lovers and princes, you scratch their heads with the cliff of your nail, nose against the glass and breath fogging there, drawing up their mythology and smudging it with the skin of your palm. now, though, with the constructed starlight of clubs and casinos shouldering its way through the night’s darkness, the room bathes in polluted light and the faint sound of wealthy indulgence. there is no windowsill for your mandalorian to balance his payment.

“come here, edee.” 

he’s sat himself on the edge of the bed, hand running up and down the metal expanse of his thigh. you stalk your way to him, ruck the hem of your dress up passed your knees to straddle his leg, and slowly, so slowly, through honey and slick and years of parted wanting, he brings his hands to your sides. you splay your fingers on his helmet.

“been a long time, mandalorian.”

he hums in agreement, tips of his thumbs just grazing the underside of your breasts over the silk of your dress before running down again, relearning the ends of you. “my cyar’ika,” he whispers. 

your cunt clenches, sobs with his sounds and the pressure of his thigh. breath shuddered and indignant you drag your pussy along the plate of armor. throat tight with a whine you ask him, “how do you like it now, cyare?”

his body takes to the slice of mando’a in your mouth like water to sand, something dark and heavy, and his hips tilt up to you as you undulate your cunt along him again. the coil of you both is raveling taut and knotting at the edges, perhaps permanently now, twisting back into the shapes you used to make together. and it was always this way between you, this dancing walk to madness; with the head of his cock he fucked a shard of beskar into you, you think, that first time, and in every meeting since he’s rut his hips to claw the thing back out, but your body has absorbed the alloy of it. 

“i want you to fuck me like you missed me.” a shuddered breath, a secret thought, and then: “did you miss me?”

and that question doesn’t come from the metal. no, with your palms warming his helmet you know he’s asking from the fleshy lines between the silver pieces. this is a bloody question. the drag of your cunt against his leg continues still, toes curling beneath you with the cold sting through the fabric of your panties, and perched here atop him you suppose your honesty costs you little in the face of all the rest you’ll give up.

“yes, i did.”

his hands collect your dress like water, silk spilling out between the fingers of his gloves, as he bares you to him, and his visor tips with the sight of you, a feat of topology he memorized so long ago. with a brush of red fabric against your ears you cling to him in only the little scrap of lace that licks along his leg with the wet kiss of your cunt.

“this pussy get wet for me like it used to?”

fuck. 

“yes, yeah,” you breathe out, little bites of ecstasy weaving their way from your clit to the nape of your neck. 

“oh, my edee, look at you,” and he grips a hand in your hair, pushing your eyeline down to watch the gleaming strip of want brushed and rewritten over on his armor. “you like drenching me like that? fuck cyar’ika i’ll leave this hotel like this and everyone will know i’ve fucked a fucking whore.” fuckfuckfuck. you remember the vein along the underside of his cock, want him to hurt you with it now. 

“so fuck your whore, mando, you’ve paid for her,” you plead, but he drops his helmet to your forehead, the both of you still awe struck at the starlit gash of slick you’re dripping on him as your hips gyrate. 

“you’re no more patient than you used to be,” he chuckles, but the wobbled rasp of his voice strips him all but naked to you. his hands grind you harder on his body and you wail, neck open as your head falls back. the pleasure sinks its teeth in you now, all hot bloodlust and bubbling open like seafoam.

“fuck, mando, i–i’m gonna come.”

“yeah, that’s it, right here, make that pussy gush for me and then i’ll fuck her open.”

ecstasy knocks through your arteries as your body pulls tight against him, and with desperate hands he grabs at you, around your asscheeks and between your shoulder blades, to feel you jerk with it. he’s groaning something deep and unforgivable watching you move, but already you’re looking for the weight of his cock.

“fuck me, fuck me,” you heave into his shoulder as you slump over, and he’s nodding silently with you, yes, i remember, i remember. the preamble of fingers and tongues is being leapt over, but neither of you seem to mind. he pulls the leather of his gloves off to maneuver you onto all fours on the bed, and after working his pants open with the bared warmth of his fingers the pads are back on you, running down your back and up your thighs. the heft of him pokes at you and you’re clenching with the feeling, the memory, again the memory. from between your open legs you drop your head to watch him pump his length, fingers tan and thick and a little tattoo between them. 

his head catches at your opening and a whine spills from between your teeth. 

“louder, cyare,” he grounds out. another inch in and you keen.

“fuck.”

his palms find purchase on your side and he anchors himself there, partway within you. you both whistle out whispered breaths listening to the sound of you joined together, him pulling out a centimeter before sinking it back in, fucking you with the head of his cock. 

“oh, it’s just the fucking tip and i’m stretching you already, cyar’ika,” he moans.

“more,” you mewl, “i want more.” and really that’s always been your problem, you suppose. 

his hips are speeding up now, wretched little humps into the tight clutch of your cunt, but he abstains from the whole of it. “fucking beg me for it, edee, i’ve waited this fucking long.”

into the sheets, bunched by your fingers and your jostling knees on the bed, you moan, “please, please, please, fuck me on your cock, cyare, i need it, please.”

the piece of himself, the metal and his creed’s tongue, that he rutted into you all those years ago comes roaring at him now, is cracked open in the air of your voice, and he stutters with it. he fucks you like retribution, hips slapping against your ass with a wet crackle, and you’re screaming, suddenly.

“that’s it, edee, that’s it.”

the walls of your cunt pulse velvet around him as he punches in and out of you, cock reaching up like he’s trying to touch your tongue with it, run through the length of you with his steel and grunting. your body blooms for him, petals open like it always did. when was the last time fucking him felt like your job? it’s all coming back to you now, crying at the foot of your bed, missing him dearly. you have always been a professional despite the intimacy of what you do, but you feel wholly unprofessional here.

“fuck, you’re so fucking tight, it’s like you’re sucking me back in,” and you can’t help your clenching now, “yes, edee, again for me, again.”

and you do, pulsing and clamping on his shaft, and he nearly wails with the feeling. the hum of his voice through the helmet protects him some, but maker you know him well, years worth of your mandalorian, and so you hear it all clearly, him melting behind the metal and fusing at the edges. you push away the thought that he’ll pay you for this.

“maker your pussy feels so fucking good, i’ve never stopped—ah—never stopped fucking thinking about it.”

the jut of his chestplate bites your skin as he pulls your hips up but you barely feel it. “no?”

“never, never,” he repeats, and his own babbling eggs him on, you think, as he thrusts impossibly faster. he fucks you like he needs it, has always needed it, and you’re reminded again that you loved him before, that you love him again, now, perhaps, but it’s all so hard to see clearly with the tight chain of pleasure running up your spine. 

slick seeping from your hole around him you moan, “feel so f–fucking full of it, fuck.”

a frantic hand comes around to your front, pulls the red gem from your chest to lay along your back, and watching the glint of red and gold that he left you bounce on your skin makes him growl and choke. “fuck, fuck, i’m so close, cyar’ika.”

he bends to meet your back and drops the weight of his helmet on the wing of your shoulder and you might not survive the angle of his cock in you now. you’d clasp your hands in penitence if they didn’t hold the both of you up, because this luxury, him greeting your body like it’s his final gutted conquest, is the last you’ll ever beg for. 

with both of you sputtering your souls out on the duvet he groans, “i miss your old name, edee, give it to me again.”

the begging makes you pulse, but you shake your head. your name is your first and only born inheritance, and when you grew old enough to realize it you’d had to shed the thing, or rather hide it, stashed away, untouched. 

“please cyar’ika, just one more like this, just like this, your real name.”

your moans screech with the tragedy of him pleading with you this way, and bellow because you want to let him. yes, you love him now, and you wheeze, “i don’t know your real name, mandalorian.”

this knocks the wind from him and it blows out along the back of your neck but the piston of his cock in you continues, heightens further, and you’re both on the precipice of something devastating. he groans out breathless “din, din, it’s din,” and then, “maker please let me use it.”

as deep and jagged as the naming cuts you, you have never felt this hallowed a thing. him inside, and knowing what to call him, is unlike any bliss you’ve ever known. “din,” you wail.

he nods at your back. “yes, yes, din. let me use it.”

at last you’re nodding, crown of your head bobbing back on his body, and a torrential downpour of your name spits from his mouth, slides down his helmet and onto your spine. and the coming is unlike all the rest, a slow climb, a painful clawing that rips your flesh from the bone, but suddenly you’re both heaving with it, his warmth pumping through you and your gushing slick sliding out. for a moment you panic, worry for the windowsill, for the way it always ends. but your din. the panic catches on din and smokes away.

your limbs give out and you meet the mattress with your eyes closed, aching and a little empty, but mostly as satisfied as a desperate creature like yourself is capable. you’re reminded of the clank of his armor as he rights himself behind you. it’s so easy to forget it, what with how human he feels.

“din.”

the rattle of beskar stills. he returns your name, the real one again.

i love you, i loved you then, and you loved me. no. no, you think, it’s far too true to say. so instead: “will you come find me again?”

the bed dips as he sits on it and a gentle glove strokes through your hair. “always, cyar’ika. i’ll come back for you.”

and because you believe him, din, you do not lift your head to watch him place the credits and dissolve away. you’ll save the shine of him, you vow, for the next time he arrives for you. your mandalorian.

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

[lady-of-the-spirit]

Universal Monsters + Fuckability

Qualifications (choosing movies)

I have seen the movie.

Characters listed as part of the Universal Monsters lineup (Phantom of the Opera from 1925 for example is not included.)

Personality and events of film considered just as much as physical attractiveness.

[ID: Picture of Bela Lugosi as Dracula, dressed in black clothes and a cape, staring at the camera with an annoyed expression. His face is slightly in the shadows. End id]

Dracula (1931)

Bela Lugosi kinda handsome

Vampires hot

Rich. 

Has three wives (dick is good) (plus you can hang out with wives)

Hypnosis

Loses points because the movie was boring and he kills Lucy Westron, poly icon (antifeminist)

7/10

[ID: image of Boris Karloff as Frankenstein, holding his hands to his face, looking offscreen and with a disturbed expression. The lighting only lights up his face. End ID]

Frankenstein (1931)

Literally just born (minor) and doesn’t understand sex

Movie diverged too much from the book for me to like it 

Too awkward and big

Unclear if he has any genitalia at all

1/10 because this image is cool and a little sexy

[ID: Boris Karloff as Imhotep the mummy. His skin is dried and sunken in. He's glaring at something offscreen. He's dressed in a high collar brown shirt and a cap that covers the top of his head. End ID]

The Mummy (1932)

One of my faves 

Backstory is centered around LOVE - will literally curse the gods and forsake everyone for his lover. Hot. 

The opening scene where he came awake for the first time was sexy.

Anti colonialist

Hypnosis

Nice voice

Loses points for unfortunately not being very attractive - dry skin

9/10

[No image for this slide]

The Invisible Man (1933)

Wanted to take over the world and went to his best friend and not his FIANCE??? Gay, and clearly doesn’t care about lover’s needs (even with said best friend). 

Not a monster, just an asshole

Pushed over a baby carriage! Disgusting

We don’t know what he looks like. Sexiness only comes from whether or not you think having sex with someone you can’t see would be hot or not.

Gets points for being a silly little guy, ambition being hot, and the “villain goes soft only for his loved one” trope

Still. -5/10

Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Like Frankenstein, Literally just born (minor) and doesn’t understand sex

Also had strong reaction AGAINST being an object of desire and so ranking her is missing the point

However because she’s the ONLY woman on this list she gets special privileges.

will be ranking her as if she was not literally ten minutes old and if she understood sex

[ID: Elsa Lanchester as the bride of Frankenstein. The lighting of the image is very bright, so you can see her whole upper body with very few shadows. She's staring at something offscreen with a curious but frightened expression. She wears white robes, and her hair is black with a white streak up the sides, in a beehive style. End ID]

Bride of Frankenstein (1935) (cont.)

Horror movie scream A+

Gorgeous and Iconic

Understands No Means No. (Unlike other creatures on this list) 

Baby Girl you are SO unnerving 💖💖💖 

Tall Woman. Probably strong. 

10/10.

[ID: Two images of the wolf man. One is the wolf man as the wolf man, standing in thr woods, his face covered in fur, his hands furry and clawed, looking panicked. The second is Lon Cheney Jr. as Larry Talbot, a white man with short dark hair slicked back, dressed in a suit with a plaid tie, with a stressed out look on his face. End ID]

The Wolf Man (1941)

This movie just makes me sad. Larry Talbot is a tragic figure.

But he’s also kind of a stalker (spies on woman)

Only a monster half of the time

Wolf form isn’t attractive. (human form okay.)

No sense of control. 

Not even a little okay with his murders. Too pathetic and sad.

2/10

[ID: Image of the creature from the black lagoon, a creature the size of a man covered in scaley and amphibian-like skin with a fish-like face. He's mostly submerged in water, only his head and finned hands with sharp claws poking out of the water. End ID]

The Creature From The Black Lagoon (1954)

Definitely my favourite

Environmentalist! Anti colonialist! 

Swimming scene half creepy half romantic, also gets points for inspiring The Shape of Water (2017).

Phenomenal creature design, A+. 

Just wants someone to love

Will kill everyone else but NOT lover.

Underwater sex. Rough sex.

Sex will probably be awkward because of this.

8/10

[ID: profile of the Bride of Frankenstein. Her head is tiled up and her eyes are mostly closed.]

Congratulations to our winner! Runner ups, The Mummy and the Creature From the Black Lagoon.

[zaceouiswriting]

Betrayal

Characters: Brett Talbot x male reader, Isaac Lahey x male reader

Universe: Teen Wolf

Warnings: None

"Brett! I need your help!” You called into your house when you opened the front door while your little brother was still in the car. When you looked at him - as you waited for your husband - you noticed again that your brother is not that small anymore. Big enough that you can't carry him on your own. Although these new procedures are slowly getting him back on his feet, walking or standing up without much help is still too much for him.

For a moment, you just stood in the open door, waiting for your man to come from somewhere, most likely shirtless. But even minutes later he didn't come.

Worried, you entered slowly and carefully. After all, you never knew if a group of hunters might have found your man. With your heart beating like crazy, so fast that it concerned you that all supernatural beings in a ten-kilometer radius would soon come to look at what was happening, you moved to the living room. As quietly as you could, you opened a hidden wall and pulled out one of your late father's guns. Your homemade miracle weapon is already loaded.

With that gun safely in hand, you first checked every room on the first floor, but nothing was there, no person and no sign of a fight... no signs at all. Now really worried, you started stumbling up the stairs, beads of sweat pouring down your forehead from the warmth of your body, almost obscuring your field of vision.

You took one of your hands off the gun to wipe away the beads of sweat. But it didn't help much. Soon there were more, which put even more concern in your mind.

After a few steps, you could hear a sudden noise. You couldn't really make out what the sound was, so you stopped and looked up and down the stairs to make sure no one was walking past you. At the same time, you listened carefully.

It was quiet again for a while. But as soon as the sound returned, you were already on high alert. It sounded like a groan of pain, as if someone -most likely Brett - was badly hurt.

Light as a feather, you bounded up the rest of the stairs, almost silently, your gun slightly lowered as you passed locked doors. The further you walked, the closer you got to where the sounds were coming from, making you tremble with fear that Brett was being tortured.

When you had to stand in front of the room where everything happened, your blood ran cold. It was... your bedroom? Your shared bedroom! The bedroom you are sharing with your husband! Who on earth is sick enough to torment someone in their own bedroom?

You stood there to make sure it was the correct room, and when you were sure: you yanked open the door, raised your gun, and searched the room. But once the bed you slept in just a few hours ago, with your husband by your side, is a sight you will never forget. "Mum?" Your voice cracked, calling out the only "parent" you had left.

She just looked at you lazily and grinned. At the same time, through her movement, you could see who was below her: whom she rode like a horse.

The first thing you wanted to do was shoot them both. Instead, you turned around and slammed the door behind you. Just to be safe, you locked your gun: so you couldn't shoot even if you wanted to.

Mumbling curses, hot salty tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. "Babe, wait! I can explain it!” You heard your husband's deep voice. Which just a few hours ago made you jump with lust. Now you made you want to strangle the bastard.

"I'm sure you have an elaborate, sad excuse for shagging my drug-addict mother who tried to kill me multiple times, spent the last ten years in prison, and paralyzed my brother."

He already knew all that. After all, there's no getting around not telling such important things like that. In the end, it would have come out anyway.

"She's clean and wanted to reconcile, one thing leads to another and-"

"Yet you fucked her, destroyed my trust in you, and asked me if she was the only one." At this point, you both were standing in front of your house - Brett was only in his underwear, though. "Let me guess. You two had a secret affair for at least six months. Because she is out of jail since then, she's most likely been telling you some shitty sob story about how my dad kept her away and used his contacts to get her into trouble, that she's actually the good parent."

From his silence, you could tell you'd hit the nail on the head, and you backed away in disgust. "She only loves herself. She never wanted to make up in her life, but I can tell you, she wants your money. She knows you're are loaded, and since she doesn't have access to my or my brother's money. She must have thought my hot bisexual husband might be an easier target. And unfortunately, she was right."

When you rushed over to your car, your brother sat in his seat in absolute shock. Although recent surgeries have been a success, and he has regained some control of his body, he still has a long way to go. Brett was like another older brother to him, a rock to both of you. Hearing your babble obviously upset him. But at this moment, you couldn't talk about it, too upset about the whole situation. So you just started the car, let Brett bang against the car doors as you rolled down the driveway, drove off immediately, and left him in the dust.

Kay didn't even look at you, too deep in thought. Subconsciously he played with his hands. It made you happy to see him moving at all and seeing him exercise when he was stressed made it even better. Even if he still has a lot of work to do before he can fully use any part of his body again.

For about two hours, you just drove around. But Kay began to whine about his body aching from being cooped up in the car the entire time.

You knew you had to crash somewhere. So you went to the only place you could think of. With a heavy sigh, you turned the wheel to head back toward the city you so badly wanted to leave behind forever.

Deeper into the city and not back to the outskirts, you were living a happy life until that wrench of a woman came back like the plague and destroyed it again.

You soon found yourself in a relatively newly built skyscraper. You carefully got your brother out of the car, put him in his wheelchair, and wheeled him into the lobby. The guard greeted you warmly and asked if he should warn him before you just stood to get to his door. But you waved him off and wished him a nice day after he gave you a visitor pass.

You knocked on the door quite softly; you visit so often. Someone scrambled inside but quickly got to the door. As soon as the door opened, the breath caught in your throat.

"Is everything ok?"

"Not really," you told him, almost throwing up at his feet. "Can we come in?"

He just stepped to the side because he knew you would tell him what was going on soon enough. "Can I go back to one of the guest rooms?"

"Of course, little buddy. You know where to go, don't you?" Isaac's smile was so bright as he spoke to your brother. It warmed and melted your heart at the same time.

Kay immediately used all his strength to roll over there. The moment you heard the door shut, you broke down: you cried ugly tears and fell to your knees. And all before your host could even react.

"Calm down! Your heartbeat is too fast!"

You hate his wolf hearing, you can never lie to him, and he always knows when something is wrong. He soon came to your side and pulled you into his arms. You've been a bit distant with him for the past few years after he's openly admitted to everyone about his feelings for you. Brett had no problem with your friendship with Isaac because he knew you only loved him. But you didn't see fit to get too close to Isaac under the circumstances.

He was right. Nothing had ever happened between you and Isaac. Now you hated yourself for it. You should have followed your heart when you fell a little in love with your childhood friend after a year with Brett, but you thought Brett would be a better husband. How wrong you were back then; you should have left Brett and gone to your childhood friend instead. After all, everyone knew your husband was a player, but you thought he'd changed, that you'd tamed him enough to remain loyal, but now you know it was just wishful thinking.

Isaac only held you for a long time, later even carried you to the couch, put a blanket over you, and even went so far as to make hot chocolate with little marshmallows: just as you like it.

"So what happened?"

You feared this question. But you knew it would come sooner or later. Suddenly your eyes went dry, and your sadness turned to numbness as if nothing had happened. It sends chills down Isaac's spine to see you like this. Fear overcame him, even trying to put some distance between the two of you, but you crawled onto him as if your life depended on it.

Sitting there, a frightened Isaac, and you, clinging to him, have told your story. That you believed for about two years that your husband had multiple affairs but could never prove it; On this day, however, you caught him in the act.

Isaac tensed up at the mention of an affair, but when it dawned on him that you had mentioned several, his face twisted into one with anger. But you weren't even in the best part yet.

Isaac knows your mother and how terrible this woman was to you and your brother that even the state didn't want to hand you over to her after your father died but had no choice until she paralyzed Kay. You were then emancipated and took custody of him. With your father's money, you could easily find a caretaker for your brother when he came out of the hospital or rehab.

So when you told him how you found her in your marital bed with your husband, he got up, pushed you back on the couch, and paced the room.

He cursed under his breath, cursing Brett to death, mumbling that he gave him a chance to be with you before he would've picked you up. And if he hadn't gone to France, you would have been certain that you never married Brett, but him: your childhood friend, first crush, and first love, even if it was just on your side.

As you saw his anger spiraling out of control, as he slowly transformed, you stood up yourself, but it was too late; cabinets and closets were his victims, poor wooden things.

"I swear if I get my hands on that little rat, I-"

Suddenly a loud knocking was heard. Both Isaac and you looked at each other in shock. They both seemed to know where the other side was, and neither wanted to deal with it.

[Masterlist]

[the-wizard-writes]

My Monster Roommate: Nylian (Neil) Elsalor

Nylian (Neil) Elsalor: (he/him)

Major: Magical History 

Minor: Library and Informational Sciences 

Selby Talbot: (they/them)

Major: Poisons Biology and Serums  

Minor: Herbalism 

From what Selby gather from being a roommate to an elf they has learned a few things...

One, elves hear everything. Of course with those big pointy knife  ears of there's they hear almost everything that goes around the apartment. Sometimes he would give little quips about what he's heard. 

“You know, if you stop eating out all the time then maybe you would have more energy rather than feeling sluggish all the time.” Nylian cooly comment not looking up from his textbook. Selby  snapped their head  towards the elf glaring daggers at the elf who didn’t even care about the piercing gaze the witch bore into him throwing away the leftover’s from that orc bbq from last night, “Where did you hear-

“From your conversation two days ago, also maybe try eating a vegetable once in a while. It’ll get your energy up.” The elf coldly cut it. Selby frowned at the elf’s “helpful advice” and rolled their eyes. Selby mumbled some curses under their breath as they sat down their shared little couch next to the elf, living with Nylian  has made Selby notice some things about elves that they haven’t known before. Sure there were the common stereotypes of the elf race that they knew from other races passing comments (mainly dwarves) but, Neil was actually pretty far from the more egregious stereotypes of elves. As Selby was about to grab a drink they noticed some crudely pictures on the refrigerator. The pictures were drawn in fun colorful colors with simple shapes, flowers and books with some having pictures of the elf himself along with a book sitting with a group of kids. Some drawings even had “Worlds best librarian!” Written along the top of the card stock paper. Selby turned to Nylian who was coolly sipping on his mid morning tea not paying attention to the witches curiosity.  

“Hey Nylian?” 

The elf perked his ears up turning towards the witch, “What is it?” The elf mused, 

“What ‘s all these?” Selby asked, pointing to the kid picture on the fridge. 

“Oh. Some kids from the library made that for me.”

Selby  paused and turned towards the elf. Kids? No, Selby  has seen Nylian interact with others. Neil was cold and often avoids others Selby has never seen the elf around common areas on campus talking to people then again the elf’s friends that Selby has see seemed to be similar to him as well. Studious, academically involved and stand-offish towards others. 

“I…I never knew you even liked kids?” They admitted still confused 

Neil closed his book and shrugged, “You never asked.” He simply stated. 

“Yeah, but, you…don’t seem like the type to even want a kid.” 

Nylian  raised an eyebrow his lips curling into a small smile. “Well, I do want kids in the future. I come from a very big family, even for elf standards. I have younger siblings that I took care of when my parents were busy.” Neil explained ruminating on the statement from Selby. “My favorite activity was reading to my younger siblings during bedtime. I have been told from many of people that when I read I tend to formulate stories in away that makes people want to listen. I like encouraging them to read books as well.” Neil said. 

The witch  nodded along with Neil’s explanation. They never expected the studious elf to be a advocate for kids. “The kids from my assistant library job.” He pointed the pictures on the refrigerator. “They often draw me pictures of the stories they come up with or from stories that I’ve read.” The elf explained with a small smile. Selby was intrigued by the elf’s openness to kids rather than people around him, “Wow, you might as well become a teacher then.” Selby suggested. Nylian gave a light hearted laugh shaking his head, “Oh no, I couldn’t being a librarian is always something that I wanted to do. I want to encourage knowledge and literature to others, not teach.” He said. 

The witch shrugged glancing at the pictures again. The thought of the studious elf reading in funny voices to children and helping them color in pages for small activities made them smile on the inside. Though he didn’t want to be a teacher, a librarian was also a really sweet job to help kids learn how to read which was ultimately what he wanted to do.

[sleepyiswhumping]

Immortality is a Curse

Garrett gingerly wrapped his arm around Talbot, the once-thick, muscular frame withered by age. Snuggling into his embrace, Talbot, in turn, pulled Alex close to him, the three of them lying in bed, their bodies pressed together. Alex was already asleep, his small frame rising and falling with his almost indiscernible breaths. Talbot heard Garrett's breath behind him slow into a light, steady rhythm. Smiling, he let his eyes drift shut and slowly fell into the soft embrace of sleep.

When Talbot woke up, he was surprised to find Garrett and Alex still lying in bed with him. Garrett usually got up early, to make breakfast. Gently shaking Garrett, he tried to wake him up, but to no avail. After about a minute of trying gently to wake him, Talbot had a thought. A chill ran through his body. Did he...? As he checked Garrett's pulse, Talbot's greatest fear was confirmed. Garrett had passed in his sleep. He knew it was only a matter of time, of course. Garrett was old, for a human, almost 100. But he was so fit and healthy, Talbot figured he might have some more time left. Breathing heavily, Talbot slumped backwards, bracing himself against the wall. God, how am I going to tell Alex? Talbot had no clue, but he couldn't leave Alex in bed with Garrett's body. Shakily, he turned, facing his body toward Alex.

"Darling, it's time to get up."

Receiving no response, softly, he caressed Alex's cheek.

"Hey, Alex? Love, I need you to wake up."

Alex didn't react, not so much as a twitch.

No.

"H-Hey. Alex, please? This isn't-this isn't funny."

Nothing.

Tears welling in his grey, cloudy eyes, Talbot bit his lip and reached for Alex's throat. Fumbling, he eventually slid his fingers under Alex's neck and felt for a heartbeat.

Please. Please, please, please just be asleep.

But he felt nothing. Not a single pulse.

Talbot slid back, resting on his knees. He gently, oh so gently, reached forward and pulled Alex and Garrett's limp bodies to his chest, holding them close.

For the first time in centuries, Talbot cried. He cried long and hard. Sadly at first, for the loss of the lights of his life, his soulmates, the two men that had brought him from the brink of darkness back to life. He cried for the moments they'd shared together, the sleepless nights spent talking endlessly, the victories they'd shared, large and small. Bittersweet tears, reminiscing about the love they'd had, the truest love he'd ever felt, a love he'd never feel again.

Talbot sat there, holding his loves. He set them down gently, oh so gently, covered them carefully in the blankets, and wept.

[derinthescarletpescatarian]

Have just a few chapters left of Curse Words and damn, you weren't lying - these kids do be making bad decisions. Been a great read. Though I did get punched emotionally by [REDACTED] dying (just in case ppl are still reading) (like it was very highly likely to happen to this character but still! T_T). Can't wait to see how Kayden gets out of this with only a few chapters left...

Also, I love that one member of the magihacker club who's like "i WILL get the Pit to run DOOM". And the entire not-official queer club. And Talbot and Hua too. Lol.

Anyway, I'll get back to reading it, and hopefully they manage to deal a massive blow to the mage world's system, bc, jfc, does it need to be burnt down and rebuilt from scratch.

Glad you like it, enjoy the rest of the story!

[marmotish]

I know Talbott probably isnt a person who likes hugs a lot but he deserves one so maybe the 33 one(the hug from that one person who is allowed to hug you ) from the hug prompt? idk if u did that one already. Btw love your art <3

((thanks hon! ⭐️))

ok so Talbott and Freyja are both not-really-into-hugs and then I thought back to the Flying Solo SQ where Talbott tells MC about his parents - like if anyone needs a hug it’s the kid who confides in you about losing his parents and the impact it had on him, yeah? Ha…

“What are you doing?”

Freyja’s fingertips had barely brushed Talbott’s shoulder when she froze at the sudden sound of his voice. An answer to this question didn’t come straight away, instead an awkward silence began to weave its way around the two. The only sounds now were the night breeze through the tower, along with the hesitant shuffling of feet on the floor.

“Just …”

Just doing what people are supposed to do in this situation, right? Hug?

Talbott shook his head, eyes trained on the floor in front of his feet. “You don’t need to do that.”

Freyja hesitated, then withdrew her arm back to her side. It was a bit of a relief, if she was being honest. She wasn’t one for hugs, really. Even with her family she was always on the receiving end of hugs, reciprocating with far less intensity. And Talbott wasn’t one to play games using reverse psychology, so if he said she didn’t need to hug him, she really didn’t.

Distant laughter rang out from one of the Ravenclaw dormitories, helping to break the silence that permeated the atmosphere.

“I don’t know what to do then.” Freyja said quietly, almost to herself.

At this, Talbott huffed out a breath of air. It could almost have passed for laughter. “You don’t have to do anything, not if you don’t want to.”

A comfort, to be sure. Yet Freyja still felt like she’d missed an opportunity to show a little emotion in the face of what was evidently a vulnerable moment for her new friend.. “Sort of feels like I should do something though.”

Only a little over year ago, you couldn’t have paid the majority of her peers enough to sit next to her in class. Now she was a curse-breaker and a member of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, both of which completely overhauled her social life. Navigating all these new friendships had certainly required a lot of effort. She thought she was catching on to all the nuances of friendship pretty quickly, but apparently she’d misstepped in this particular interaction.

Talbott shuffled aside a little to put a bit of distance between the two of them, then turned to face her straight on. “I get that you’re probably trying to be nice by offering a hug, and if you were someone like Penny then I wouldn’t have said anything.”

Freyja frowned. Like Penny? Blonde? A Hufflepuff?

“Penny’s a hugger by nature.” Talbot explained. “Do I enjoy it? Not particularly, but I appreciate it. Because that’s honestly how she expresses herself. How she shows a friend she’s there for them. But you know, she never expects me to hug her.”

“Aye well, she’d be better off waiting for hell to freeze over if that wasn’t the case…”

Talbot snorted. “Well maybe not that unlikely, but it would be a pretty rare occasion.”

Freyja began to relax a little, the conversation seemingly moving away from her misguided attempt to hug him. She adjusted her sitting position to better appreciate the expanse of the night sky, dotted with countless stars, stretching out over the highlands.

“The thing is that she doesn’t want or expect me to act out a friendship that isn’t true to my own personality. Not wanting to hug my friend all the time doesn’t make me a bad friend, or a cold person. It’s just who I am.” Talbott continued. “And I don’t want or expect that of you either. If you genuinely want to offer a consolation hug, then go ahead. I won’t mind. But I’d be just as happy sitting and talking.”

Well this was embarrassing. Here Freyja was trying to comfort Talbott after sharing the story of how he lost his parents, and yet now he was reassuring her that not being physically affectionate was not a character defect. The corners of her mouth pulled up a little at this.

“I like the sitting and talking option.”

Talbott grinned. “me too.”

[dross-the-fish]

Trying to upload this again. While I wait for an invite for Ao3 so I can start posting the fic here’s an excerpt from the first chapter of my crossover au ...

It was a chilly autumn afternoon when Doctor John Watson heard a knock at his door. Three hesitant taps, followed by a long pause and two firmer knocks. He knew the latter meant that whoever it was, their trouble was urgent, enough so that it was unlikely they’d simply leave if he didn’t answer. With a deep sigh he put down his badly crumpled newspaper, nearly three months old and worried almost to tearing by anxious hands, yet still unread save for the blaring headline:

“STRING OF GRUSOME MURDERS IN SMALL VILLIAGE. SHERLOCK HOLMES INVESTIGATING CLAIMS OF VAMPIRISM AND OCCULT ACTIVITY IN KENT.“

Smoothing down his thinning hair and shaking a wrinkle from his dressing gown in an effort to look presentable, Watson prepared himself to deliver a speech he’d already given more times than he could count. No, Sherlock Holmes is not here. No we are not taking further cases.  No I don’t know when he’ll be back I’m sorry but you’ll have to enlist help elsewhere.

The words never made it out of his mouth, as he opened the door he saw before him two young men who barely looked into their twenties. One, a pleasant-faced stocky man with round glasses and dark curls and the other, a thin, willowy fellow with deep circles under his eyes and the most harrowed look Watson had ever seen on another human being. It was the lean man who piqued his interest for Watson recognized the tell tale signs of an individual broken down by a long strain of illness. Perhaps it wasn’t a detective they were looking for at all…perhaps it was simply the aid of a doctor they needed.

The bespectacled young man spoke first, “Are you Dr. Watson?” he asked hopefully.

“I am. What can I do for you two? Is your friend ill?” Watson asked, already leaning forward to get a closer look. The thin man leaned away; his eyes fixed to the ground as though he were silently asking the earth to swallow him up.

“Yes, he is… it’s a long story,” the stocky boy held out his hand for Watson to shake, “My name is Quincey Harker and this is my friend, Lawrence Talbot.”

“Lawrence Talbot? I see, I’m sorry about your parents. I read about them in the newspaper, horrible tragedy. I hear they haven’t found the killer yet” Watson said, his heart sinking as Lawrence’s face crumpled. He hated to turn away a grieving young man, but without Holmes there was little chance of success and Watson was no longer young or brash enough to take on his own cases without his partner. The kindest thing would be to turn them away now rather than drag out the rejection, “You’ll have to forgive me. Detective Holmes hasn’t returned and I don’t know when he will, I’m afraid I’m no use to you. There is a chap who lives not far from here who might be able to help you. Little fellow, Belgian and a bit of a fusspot but I hear he’s very successful. You ought to try him.”

Lawrence’s friend, Quincey, shook his head, “No good, he wouldn’t take our case. He refused to entertain any consideration of the…supernatural nature of our problem. Listen, Doctor, we know Sherlock Holmes is still missing and, contrary to what you believe, we’re not looking for the, erm, person who killed Larry’s parents.”

The corners of Watson’s mustache dropped in tandem with his thick eyebrows shooting upwards in surprise, “You’re not? What are you looking for then?”

“A cure for lycanthropy,” Larry blurted and Watson winced at the weak, raspy sound of a voice strained by frequent harsh sobbing.

“Lycanthropy,” Watson’s frown deepened as he slowly repeated the word, “Surely, I don’t look like some superstitious backwater hag? I am a medical doctor; I do not deal in curses and witchcraft. I’m sorry for your loss, boys, but I have my own matters to attend to and no time for chasing after werewolves. Good day!” before he could close the door Quincey stuck his foot across the threshold.

“We can prove it!” he insisted, “If you’ll just wait until nightfall, we can prove we’re telling the truth. Just come back with us to Talbot manor and see for yourself.”

“Even if I did,” Watson rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation, “What do you expect that I could even do if he really is a werewolf?”

Quincey dug around in his coat and, after a moment of frantic rummaging, produced a battered, plain, leatherbound journal. He shoved the volume into Watson’s hands with such enthusiasm that he nearly dropped it.

“We’re hoping you can find someone for us…someone who may be able to create a cure. Please, Doctor, we’re out of options! You’re the only hope we have left.”

Watson knew the moment he took the journal in hand that he wouldn’t be able to refuse. He knew it was a terrible idea to get involved in a case this bizarre without Holmes. He also knew, the minute he cracked open the journal and read the steadily more frantic and messy entries, that this was the kind of case that Sherlock would have jumped into feet first and though more tempered in nature than his partner, John Watson was no more immune to the allure of the strange and mysterious. As he skimmed the pages with increasing interest a particular passage caught his eye…

“…I had learned to dwell with pleasure as a beloved daydream on the thought of the separation of these elements. If each I told myself could be housed in separate identities life would be relieved of all that was unbearable the unjust might go his way delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more upright twin and the just could walk steadfastly and securely on his upward path doing the good things in which he found his pleasure and no longer exposed to disgrace and penitence by the hands of this extraneous evil…”

“I’ve heard of this case; Dr. Henry Jekyll took his own life following some kind of failed experiment?” Watson asked, finding himself eager to know how this could possibly connect to Lawrence’s alleged werewolfism.

“Supposedly he did, but there was no body and no one has any idea where he’s buried. Larry and I think he may have faked his death. In any case, he managed to develop a serum that can separate man’s evil nature from it’s good and we’re hoping, if he can be found, he can find a way to separate the man from the beast in Larry,” Quincey gave Watson a pleading look, “It’s a long shot and I know all of this sounds very strange but please! We need help and we don’t have anywhere else to turn.”

Watson couldn’t help himself but to be moved to pity, though he was still skeptical. It was obvious that both young men were desperate and the Talbot boy in particular, clearly needed some kind of help. Against his better judgement he tentatively offered: “Alright, I’ll go with you tonight and see this werewolf transformation with my own eyes. If you’re telling me the truth we’ll discuss more about tracking down this Jekyll fellow.”

Quincey whooped and grabbed Lawrence in a full-bodied hug, “Do you hear that, Lar? He said ‘yes’! What’d I tell you? That cure’s as good as found!”

Larry gave him a strained smile and patted his back, “Tone it down, Quin, he hasn’t taken the case yet,” he disentangled his long limbs from Quincey’s grip.

“But he will! He just needs to see that were telling the truth and he will! Won’t you Dr. Watson?”

Watson wasn’t eager to make promises but something about this case was drawing him in. With all the rumors of occult activities cropping up he couldn’t help but wonder if there was some connection between this matter of the werewolf and the claims of a killer vampire that Holmes had been pursuing. Perhaps, just perhaps, there was more to the world than either of them had anticipated. He could practically hear Sherlock’s voice in his ear, encouraging him: Come on, Watson. Be bold! You were born to be a man of action. Your instinct is always to do something energetic, seize the moment.

“If Mr. Talbot really is, as you say, a lycanthrope, then I will take the case. We may not have the benefit of my partner’s genius but I will give you my best efforts and with luck they will prove fruitful. Allow me a few moments to make myself presentable and I’ll accompany you back to the Talbot estate.”

[nosferatvpussy]

distorted lullabies [chapter XXIII]

Word count: 4k

Warnings: the usual // +18

Pairing: Dracula x reader

AO3 link | masterlist

Summary: Reader gets ready for the opera and Dracula thinks he has a moment of postnut clarity. Our girl is done with his shit.

________________________________________________________

At the white glare of a morning cloudy sky, my eyes opened, quite unwillingly. I opened my mouth to ask Dracula to close the curtains when I noticed his absence and smiled at my own blunder. The covers at my side still held the shape of his body where he lay so the sunrise couldn’t have been more than an hour ago.

I slipped out the bed glancing at the clock and saw it was almost 8am already. My alarm hadn’t gone off and I’d slept in more than usual. A shower should startle me awake. 

As I undressed in my bathroom, my shirt chafed at my back and the memory of being massaged, or almost skinned considering his brutality -- although surprisingly enjoyable -- returned. I turned my back on the mirror and tried to look over my shoulder to see the state of my skin. Not a mark in sight, though it glistened as if the skin was raw and new. Reaching, I experimented with feeling it with the tips of my fingers. I hissed when a nail accidentally scraped it but other than that, it felt only a bit sensitive. It was a small bother compared to the head splitting migraine from last night. When the hot water from my shower hit my back, I expected it to burn upon contact with the apparently new skin there. Instead I found it rather helped. My body throbbed as if the flow of hot water made my heart beat faster and the skin on my back to grow thicker. 

After I showered, dressed myself and ate breakfast, I pulled the dress I would be wearing for the night out of the closet and laid it carefully over the bed. 

It would be hours until I would have to squeeze myself in there, but I felt an inexplicable urge to stare at it while I worked. 

At 9am sharp my phone lit up with Hayes calling. I let it ring. At 10am another call. At 12pm, it was time for Chambers to call. Talbot called at 2pm, Hayes again at 2.30pm. Renfield called at 4pm and I answered. 

“Y/N, for Christ’s sake, will you answer one of them? They call me when you don’t answer and they’re driving me mad!”

“Hi, Renfield,” I said in my most pleasant voice. “How are things going for the party?”

“Y/N, it’s no time to be a brat.”

“I’m doing well, yes, thanks for asking!”

He sighed heavily.

“I expect you are. Dracula arrived this morning minutes short of sunrise.”

His answer shook me straight out of my urge to annoy him just for the fun of it. Not only did that mean he had welcomed Dracula into his own penthouse – and possibly spent the night there, on the couch, waiting for him like a dog – Renfield had implied much more through his words. Although nothing had happened last night and I was a grown woman, I flushed in embarrassment.

“They won’t take no for an answer and I am in no mood today to listen to their ravings,” I spit out to disguise my mood.

“They gave you a week.”

“I’m giving myself another day.”

“Tomorrow is Saturday.”

“Yes, and I can say no to them at your party, where they won’t be able to annoy me for hours on end. I have work to do, you know, I can’t spend an hour saying no over and over to Hayes.”

“Fair,” he admitted. “Shall I tell them that? That you’ve asked for a stay of proceedings?”

“Those are kind words but yes, tell them that.” I leant back on my chair and straightened up at once as my skin was pulled tautly over my spine. “Ow.”

“Ow?” Renfield echoed. 

“Nothing,” I said as I stood up from my chair and started pacing around the room. “Is Dracula awake yet? The sun is starting to set.”

“Asleep. Before he went to bed, he mentioned that he would be picking you up at 8.”

“Oh. Good, hm.” How awkward was this? “How are the preparations for the party tomorrow coming along?” I repeated, silently cursing myself.

“Fantastic,” Renfield said shortly. “Y/N, piece of advice… call the police if you’re worried about being stalked by Zoe’s people. Scotland Yard doesn’t need to know the whole story, only that you’re being watched and feel threatened.”

I opened my mouth to fight it, out of sheer need of countering the simplicity of his argument, but, simple as it was, it could prove effective. 

“Dracula told you?”

“He asked me to keep an eye on you during daylight. I can’t be with you all hours and the police will prove more able than I should Zoe decide to take action, which I doubt will happen. Yet, it would set the master’s mind at ease. And mine, as well,” he completed. 

“Okay. I’m sure the police have their hands full of lawyers with death threats, but I’ll give them a call this afternoon.” I sighed. “It can’t hurt to give them a description of Raoul as well.”

“You do that. Enjoy your date at the opera tonight.”

The phone became mute before I thought of an answer. 

____________________________________________________

“Oof!” I made for the second time.

“Oh, so sorry, dear,” Diana said between gritted teeth, peering over my shoulder to look at me through the mirror’s reflection. She tugged again and my waist gained a cinched shape that made me gasp. “I didn’t tighten that much- oh. Oh.” She seemed to comprehend that this time I hadn’t gasped for air, but out of surprise. The both of us stared at my body reflected in the mirror. Not a piece of clothing in my closet flattered me this much. The corset bustier forced my posture into a severe elegance that suited me. I didn’t know my waist could look like that or that my breasts, although suffering from PMS aches squeezed in there, looked sexy instead of whorish. 

“Pity I’m not a man,” Diana murmured, raising her eyebrows as if in contemplation, and making me laugh. “Honestly! And you said Dracula bought you this? You didn’t try it on beforehand?”

I shook my head, and she nodded hers, still a little transfixed. Admittedly, I was too as I ran my hands down my sides, feeling the accentuated curve from my waist down my hips. I turned around, sweeping my hair away, and gazed at the laced up bustier digging into my back. The skin still had a light sheen to it but hours since the abuse it had taken, the soreness and sensitivity had subsided to a faint tingling. 

Diana left me to twirl in front of my reflection and went to rummage through the things scattered on my bed. 

“What time is it?” I asked as I leaned to the mirror, pushing my eyelashes up with my fingertips as if that could have the power to curve them even more than mascara had.

“Uh, seven forty. He should be getting here in a few. Try these on with the choker,” she said, turning around from the bed with both her hands held out. A pair of teardrop earrings made of mother-of-pearl blinked at me from her left hand. In her right hand, a thin band of black velvet trimmed with lace of the same colour. Small, delicate pearls stood on the tips of the lace and a large pearl dangled on the centre of the choker. “I must have worn this once or twice. Don’t think I have the neck for it, although it’s very pretty.”

“Where did you get it?” I asked, taking the choker from her.

“Antiquity store quite a while back. The shop owner said it’s Italian but I don’t know how honest he was.” She shrugged. “Let me help you with it,” she said, extending her hand for it.

For a second, I started pulling my hair up, but then I remembered myself.

“I’ve got it.” I smiled. “You know, I think it’s quite cold outside. I’m worried the stole won’t do it. Do you have something else to lend me? If not, I think I’ll take my trench coat…”

“Trench coat with that dress?! I’ll lock you up for that. No, no, no…” she trailed off, already heading for the bedroom’s door. “I’ll find you something.”

With Diana gone, I turned to the mirror again. I hooked the earrings to my earlobes quickly and twisted my hair up in a knot so I could work the clasp on the choker. My eyes lingered on the light serrated scars on each side of my neck. The freshest one sparked alive when the choker brushed it, sending a shiver to my spine that finished in a ball below my navel.

I drew a breath in.

I knew that feeling. 

Shaking my hair down, I shoved my phone in a tiny purse where the tickets were already safely kept, grabbed the pair of Louboutin’s waiting for me by my dresser and practically pranced down the stairs to the first floor. I stopped on the last step, staring at the bottom of the front door, balancing on one leg at a time to fit the shoes on. 

The pull on my navel tightened a moment before a light flickered on beneath the front door. 

There were only hours since I last saw Dracula but excitement filled me either way as I turned the doorknob. Smiling big, I swung the door open to reveal him filling the doorframe. 

“You’re early,” I told him but I barely registered my own words. 

I stared at Dracula. He stared back. 

I think he said something, that, again, I didn’t register.

A black striped silk scarf was draped around his shoulders, falling down his chest to frame a magnificent damask burgundy waistcoat, half concealed by the long suit jacket. The matte black tie contrasted against the white shirt. With the sheen of the scarf and waistcoat, the effect was rather striking. The light hitting the scarf and the imposing wideness of his shoulders inside that suit kept stealing my attention to form a more elaborate response than simply staring stupidly.

To my delight, he seemed a little lost for words as well. But instead of staring continuously as I did, he stepped forward and seized my waist in his hands. I felt the weight of them. Dracula lowered his face to mine. I pressed my lips to his only to amuse him but turned my cheek when he tried for something more.

“I just finished doing my makeup,” I told him as he kissed my earlobe. “Let’s not ruin it before we go out.” 

A low rumble came from him - whether in agreement or not, I couldn’t tell - and, as if dropping the subject entirely, he forced me round with a twist to my waist. My feet tangled over each other. Gasping in surprise, I had to lean into him so I wouldn’t tumble and he took that as an opportunity to follow the deep curves of my waist to the rest of my body. His left hand drifted down to my hip and lingered there as he apparently detected something to his interest. Exploring still, his hand slid back to gather a firm grip on my ass. 

“You seem to be lacking something,” he stated, almost matter-of-factly as if he wasn’t veritably groping me.

“Very perceptive,” I taunted. Dracula squeezed my ass again, his fingers biting into the inside of my buttock. I let out a strangled noise as I tried to shift away from his grip but once he released me, the lingering touch was more pleasurable than painful. “Underwear doesn’t go with this dress,” I panted. “It shows through the fabric.” 

“Really?” His tone was almost disinterested as both hands were now uptaking the task of exploring each and every curve of my hips. Then, his lips were on my exposed shoulders, rovering over my back. I shivered and bent my back at the feel of his lips on the fresh skin. “Do you mind being late?”

“No, but I do mind showing up looking a mess.” I turned my head to look over my shoulder at him. His eyes, hungry and red, were on my throat. I grabbed his face to make him focus and he met my gaze. I understood by his look alone that he didn’t really care about the opera or me looking a mess. 

The creak of the back door opening dissipated the moment as Dracula glanced up in alertness. Quick steps sounded from the kitchen to the hall. I stepped away from Dracula, trying to disguise that we were moments away from tearing each other’s clothes off.

“Y/N, I’ve got just the thing-” Diana cut her phrase short as she appeared from behind the stairwell and saw us. She cast the coat she held over an arm. “Oh.” The brown in her eyes appeared dull for a fraction of a second, but a polite smile curved her mouth and gave life to her face. She glanced between Dracula and I. 

“Di, this is Count Dracula. He was a bit early,” I added, as if that was meant to remedy the awkwardness. “She was very excited to meet you,” I told Dracula and I wondered how I made the words sound so casual. “I’ll spare many introductions. You both know a lot about each other already because of me.”

Ever the gentleman, Dracula took Diana’s hand and kissed it. She looked at me as he did so and I shrugged in unspoken conversation - “really?” “told you”.

“She talks a lot about you,” Diana said when he let her go. “But meeting the man is always quite different from knowing of him.”

“Always,” he agreed, smiling down at her. “I hope I didn’t hurt your expectations.”

“You’re exactly what I expected,” she replied quickly, a frozen smile on her mouth. I narrowed my eyes. “Count, what do you think of lunch on Saturday? It would be lovely to have you over and get to know Y/N talks about so often.”

“My mornings are eternally busy, I’m afraid, and this Saturday I’ll be hosting a party at my home. I’m sure Y/N’s told you-” he looked at me and I nodded in confirmation “-you should come. If you want to evaluate me, and I do believe that’s what you want to do, you can do so there.”

Diana laughed. I was sure it was the laugh she used for corporate meetings - polite, short and a little contemptuous. 

“I’ll come.” She stepped aside from him and handed me the coat. Heavy black and grey fur caressed my skin as I threw it over me. “Don’t want to be late. Tell me all about it later?”

With that and a last surveying look at Dracula, Diana made her way back and left with the same creak of the closing door.

“She doesn’t like you,” I blurted as he turned to me.

“She knows something is off about me,” he said, grabbing the doorknob. “I don’t think she remembers what I did, as you suspect.”

“That’s comforting,” I replied, although it was not. 

Cutting, bone-chilling wind put Diana out of my mind as we stepped out into the night and I locked my door. When I turned around, I found Count Dracula holding the passenger door of his car open for me. My gaze lingered on the cufflinks on his outstretched arm, the dark rubies winking at me under the streetlights, and the waistcoat tight over his torso, accentuating his noble posture. He narrowed his eyes with a slight tilt of his head as I continued staring. Then the wind slipped under my coat and I was reminded of the freezing cold. I rushed past him, fumbling to throw my keys inside my purse, and took my seat on the passenger side. 

Dracula slid beside me with a slam to his door. He opened his jacket to sit more comfortably and flipped the ignition. We shot through the road. His legs underlined the fabric of his trousers as he changed gears. Lean muscles tensed and relaxed as I watched. The light coming and going from outside barely highlighted his profile with how darkly tinted the windows were.

“What did you do to me last night?” I questioned, observing him.

“Healed you,” he replied.

“With a massage?” I scoffed. 

He glanced at me.

“A massage,” he repeated, and chuckled in that way I hated so much, like he knew something I didn’t. “Yes.”

“Tell me.”

“Why should I?” He asked, leaning back in his seat as he held the wheel with only one hand. 

“Because I’m asking you to.”

Again, he chuckled. 

“No.”

With his square shoulders set back, his body relaxed as he drove in feigned concentration. 

I did remember, at least, I thought I did. But something was missing. He knew it and wouldn’t give me the answer. What he wouldn’t give, I would take.  

“Make a right here,” I said, giving into impulse.

“But this is the quickest way,” he replied even as he obeyed me.

“There are tolls on that road.” I kicked my shoes off. My heartbeat accelerated. 

He smirked.

“And your point is?” He prodded.

“You would have to lower your window at some point.” I removed my seat belt, bent my legs under me as far as the dress would allow and leaned across the centre console. Dracula turned his head to look at me as my chin rested on his shoulder. “I can’t have that right now,” I breathed. “Eyes on the road.”

For a moment too long, he stared deep into my eyes, his smirk growing into a smile as he fully understood my intention, then he raised his left arm to give me space and put his eyes back on the road. 

Keeping my lips to his ear, I reached between his legs, feeling the most promising outline of his cock through his trousers growing rigid to my touch. I took his earlobe between my teeth. He tilted his head in response, shoulders tensing and relaxing as a chill came and went through him. I undid his trousers carelessly. The steering wheel let out a sound of complaint as Dracula tightened his hand around it. To my utter fascination, I saw that he had his bottom lip caught between his teeth. My hand drifted lower, fingers brushing against the distinct hardness hidden beneath the fabric of his boxers. He exhaled. Content, I pushed his underwear aside and bent down, settling on my knees and elbows so I could reach him and bestow a generous lick down his length. I taunted him with licks and brushes of lips and in return, he twisted my hair around his hand.

“Put your tongue out,” he said between his teeth. 

Opening my mouth, I did. He raised his hips slightly as he forced my head down. I squeezed my eyes shut and forced my tongue out as far as it would go to stop myself from choking as he hit the back of my throat. He thrust upward once again with complete disregard, past my defences, and I pulled back, gasping for breath. A sound between a groan and a laugh came from him. 

Mocking laughter. 

Grasping him tightly, I brought the soft contours of the head of his cock to my tongue. Dracula kept a firm hold over my hair as I fell into rhythm. Tears nearly leaking out of my eyes, I took as much of him as I could down my throat. Drool cascaded out of my mouth as I pulled back. I stroked his cock and left sloppy kisses along his shaft as I tried to catch my breath. Rasping groans escaped from him. He sounded the same way when he was inside me, and my body responded. My breasts felt heavier, my nipples puckered to hypersensitivity, and my loins swelled while wetness slicked my inner thighs. That arousal made me move my head a little faster, drawing on him harder. His grip on my hair tightened. 

The car swerved and jostled to a stop. I started lifting my head but he raised his hips and held me still. 

“Ahh, good.” 

Something about the way he spoke seemed to sink in and I took his cock deeper as I tried desperately to suck and breathe at the same time. My hair was released for a brief second before being pulled again, guiding my head to his own pace. A large hand, the one that was supposed to be steering the car before, began traversing down my back only to find rest on my ass sticking up in the air. “Again, pet.” Eyes filled with tears, gagging and choking, I obeyed, if only to hear him moan again in that way that seemed both demanding and pleading. “Good, good,” he said, and I thought ‘more, more’. 

His groans became louder until they reverberated inside the car. I felt his legs tremble, heard a breath leave his body when it didn’t belong there, felt his fingers digging on my behind, and then tasted him on my tongue as his groans subsided. Still, I kept him encased inside my mouth, attempting to drain all that he could give.

He pulled my head back by the roots of my hair and raised me to eyelevel. I swallowed hurriedly, before I let anything spill, as I continued grasping his cock. It was a shiny, slobbery mess. 

My chest heaved with deep, rewarding breaths. Gaze turning to the man at my side, I found him with his head resting back, eyes shut. Fangs loomed behind his parted lips. 

“Such a brat,” he sighed.

“Brat?” I prodded, stroking his cock slowly. He tensed.

“You’ll do anything to get what you want.” He chuckled, showing me more serrated white teeth. 

“Well? Have I earned it?”

“I spoil you too much.”

A racket of noise from outside filtered in and I let go of him in alarm, recoiling to sit on my ankles, before I realised it was people leaving a pub down the street where the car was parked.

Dracula adjusted himself, apparently unbothered by the interruption, and wiped a hand down his trousers. 

“You’re still scared of me,” he murmured, as he continued analysing his trousers.

That was his response after that?

“I’m not,” I protested at once. 

“What did I do to you yesterday, Y/N?” He asked, turning his face toward mine too quickly. His face was unnervingly closer than a fraction of a second before. My heart pumped harder. But not with fear. I wouldn’t allow that.

“Healed me,” I repeated his own words back.

“How?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. I opened my mouth to give him an acidic answer. “Think. You are much too clever.”

“You bit me,” I breathed out without a second thought. “Several times,” I completed as I thought of the cold pressure on my back. But no scars to attest to that fact, which meant he had licked all the wounds away, as he had once done to my breast. If I was right, that justified the feeling of raw skin on my back.

“I didn’t drink your blood, though. Not much of it.”

The corners of my lips curled.

“And you think I forgot about it- rather, I erased it from my memory because I’m still scared of you? Please.”

“I bit you repeatedly last night and you have no memory of it,” he said.

“Didn’t feel like bites. It felt a lot like-” a clear image of Dracula hovering over my back, sharp teeth biting and pulling my skin to meet the cold and cavernous inside of his mouth. Blood coalescing but not being drawn to pour. “Cupping.” A questioning look appeared in his eyes. “Alternative medicine, that’s what you did. It’s used to draw sickness out and clean toxins,” I finished, divided between wanting to find it fascinating and funny. “You learned it from the Turks.” I gave him a smile. “It’s very popular now.”

“Entirely not the point,” he muttered, and leaned back to his seat. 

“Isn’t it?” I carried on as I sat straight. “Maybe doing that on some damsel of yore could have elicited some kind of- what? Horrified and disgusted reaction? I know what you are, and it’s the 21st century as you are well aware. Not much mystery going around. So you snuck into my room, quite literally sucked the pain from my body and healed me better than medicine ever could, and I’m thankful, but not scared.” I exhaled harshly. “I don’t know how many times I have to repeat myself. I’m not bloody scared of you. Stop trying to test me and push me away.”

I angled the rearview mirror towards me. My makeup was mostly intact, which was somewhat of a miracle. My hair on the other hand was a different story. 

Dracula’s black gaze was fixed on mine through the mirror. Empty. It cut through my stomach.

“We’re late,” I grumbled.

Staring straight through me, he put the car in first gear, then looked away and sped off.

_____________________________________________

A/N: So, hot and (slightly) angsty, my favourite combo. He's having a hard time fully coming to terms with this relationship. He still expects her to run off. He never quite stopped believing it. And now she's like a dog with a bone :)

_____

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In another note, I am SO excited for the next chapter!! I've been thinking about it for months and it came out exactly how I wanted to. It'll accompany a small playlist to set the tone, so you can read while listening to the pieces that inspired me.

Same time next week.

 @plutonianvenusiangoddess @rheabalaur @deborahlazaroff @thorin-smokin-shield @girlonfireice  @mr-kisskiss-bangbang  @saint-hardy  @xoxodracula  @princessayveke  @dreamer2381  @25ocurer  @vampirescurse  @blue-serendipity  @sunscreenfeverdream  @iwasjustablur  @daydreaming136  @hello-itsbarbie  @bittenlove  @newyorkrican922  @soph3228  @feralstare  @clussysposts  @jmor25  @spnkpholland  @goddessofmischief03  @mistandmoss  @luciahoneychurch  @candleslut  @theswiftnational  @soulofsalt  @werwulfy  @skelior  @cesspitoflove  @hiphop-gir  @mymindpalaceismywonderland  @lddracula ​ @festering-queen  @rainbowgoblinfan  @sweet-delila  @jar-of-moondust

[leftnotright]

PROOF APOLLO WEARS HAWAIIAN SHIRTS

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing. The world will die.” “We can’t do anything going forward. Going backwards, however, is another matter.” Ryohei had his mission: To go back. To before the most recent Arcobaleno Curse, to before the slaughter of the Simone. To before the Tri-Ni-Sette System finally gave out. Ryohei was used to loss, in the ring and in life. But this time, he promises, he’ll win.  Reborn had his mission: Get in this man’s pants, or die trying. After all, Reborn was nothing if not an Icarus.

(Or: The ‘size matters’ fic)

Parings: Reborn/Sasagawa Ryohei Characters: Reborn (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Ten Years Later Sasagawa Ryouhei, Sasagawa Ryouhei, Vindice (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Arcobaleno (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), Checker Face | Kawahira Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ryouhei Time Travels

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

CHAPTER 1: EVERYTHING I LOVE IS GOING TO DIE

“The Tri-Ni-Sette machine is failing,” Verde announced to the room.

There was a long pause before Tsunayoshi Sawada, the Neo Primo Vongola, choked out, “What?”

The room was full of some of the most influential people in the Italian Mafia. The Vongola Don and Guardians, Xanxus and Squalo of the Varia, Enma of the Simone, Dino of the Cavallone, Uni of the Giglio Nero, Byakuran of the Millefiore and the collection of every Arcobaleno in their late teens. 

“The machine is failing,” Talbot reiterated, sighing regretfully. “The design won’t last as long as we hoped.”

“I thought this had been fixed long ago,” Xanxus of the Varia scowled, his Guardians flanking his chair. Belphegor was already bodily wrapped around a frighteningly still Mammon. “That machine of yours was supposed to be a fucking fix-all. That’s how you sold it.”

“We haven’t heard of any sort of degradation,” Dino chimed in, confused, “So it can’t be mechanical, you would have addressed it already.”

“Dino’s right,” Reborn agreed, ignoring the gentle gasp from the Bronto. “If it were something you could fix, you wouldn’t have let it get to this state, Verde.”

“It’s not the machine itself, no,” Verde frowned, “It’s more pertaining to the fuel. The Vongola Flames offered are not enough to sustain.”

Tsuna sat up sharply, his Guardians shifting in their spots. They had been the ones to supply fuel to the Tri-Ni-Sette machine years ago as youths. 

“So, what? Do you need us to give more?” Tsuna asked, full ready to supply. Their strength had only grown in the ten years since the machine’s creation, if they tried now, surely it would buy them time if not completely cancel the problem.

“If only it was that simple,” Talbot murmured and a sensation of dread settled in Tsuna’s stomach, Intuition whispering that this was not going to be a quick fix. 

Tabolt lifted his sunken eyes and looked to the Vongola Boss. The ancient man usually had an air of youth to him, scuttling about the Vongola Headquarters with his sheep in tow like some merry shepard. But now? He looked truly old. The wrinkles and lines in his face deep, his eyes pained.

“Primitive,” Verde scoffed, turning away from the group. “And that Checkerface was so uppity. His curse caused more damage.”

“Speak clearly!” Mammon hissed.  

“One too many times,” Talbot uttered quietly, “The Arcobaleno Curse, it was slowly stripping away the thread that held the world together. Such an incomplete solution…”

Verde shook himself out and spun back around, seeing all the lost expressions that faced him. He grit his teeth, hands clenching behind his back.

“The Tri-Ni-Sette system itself has corroded. Centuries without the proper maintenance and fuel, the metaphorical cogs of the system have been ground down to mere nubs.”

“Then what do we do?” Tsuna pushed, having enough of this doomsday talk and wanting a solution. “There has to be something we can do!”

Uni, for the first time since the meeting started, looked up from her hands in her lap and said, “Nothing.”

Everyone turned to her. She was still so small, fresh in her thirteenth year and she barely took up any space in the chair. She was so young, but her expression was as jaded as any Arcobaleno.

“The fuck are you—” Xanxus began and Byakuran slid his chair down the table until he bumped up against Uni.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Byakuran laughed, throwing his arm around Uni’s shoulders. “Mind how you talk to the princess, little false-prince!”

Squalo stood up with a shout, “Voi! Where do you get off calling the Boss ‘false’ fuck you Byakuran! I’ll slice that look off your face, just try me!”

Tsuna sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose, a stress headache settling in for the long run. 

“Uni,” he called and the room begrudgingly fell into a hush at his voice. “What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Surely there’s something we can do.”

“Not anymore,” Uni shook her head, her eyes overcast as if she were actively searching for a future where they could. “Like Uncle Verde says, going forward, there’s nothing we can do.”

“So that’s it then?” Dino asked, brows furrowed in stress. “We’re done. The Tri-Ni-Sette system will fall apart and the world will die.”

Silence hung over the room as reality set in. There was nothing they could do. You couldn’t just fix this sort of thing. And they were too late to stop it either. The Tri-Ni-Sette was broken, and they had no way to put it back together.

“We can’t do anything going forward,” Verde reiterated, and Tsuna flinched like salt was rubbed into his wounds. “However, going backwards is another matter.”

Everyone at the table turned at that, baffled and confused. 

“Backwards?” Tsuna echoed.

“Ooooh, time travel!” Byakuran beamed, clapping his hands with enthusiasm. 

“The past doesn’t like being tampered with,” Uni warned softly.

“Yes,” Verde agreed with a weary sigh, “The Bovino Family managed to create a loop between present and the future, however, they were met with significant resistance when they attempted to connect with the past. Records suggested there was some kind of force or energy, similar to the Tri-Ni-Sette, barring them access.”

Talbot moved forward and spread out a large piece of paper on the table, detailing a kind of mechanical monster that was almost, if not more, complicated than the blueprints for their original Tri-Ni-Sette machine. The Bosses leant forward and regarded the diagram critically, trying to understand the schematics.

“Using the Bovino’s research as a base, Verde and I were able to make a breakthrough. A machine that can pierce that barrier between the past and present.”

“We managed to narrow the Tri-Ni-Sette’s point of no return. Just over thirty years ago—”

“That’s!” Skull jumped up, “That’s before our curse! We broke the system!?”

“We didn’t break anything,” Mammon snipped, bristling where they stood, smothered in Belphegor’s arms. “That Checkerface is the one who insisted on cursing people until he burnt out the system.”

“Why are you stopping there?” Fon asked with a soft frown, “Wouldn’t it be safer to go back further? Rather than allowing the system to wear so thin.”

“The past doesn’t like being tampered with,” Verde said, “The further back you go, the stronger the resistance. We can only go as far back as thirty years, seven months, four days and six hours.” 

“How long will this take you to build?” Tsuna asked, turning the page his way and trying to imagine how much this would cost.

“It’s already built,” Verde scoffed. “This is our only choice. Why would I wait to build it?”

“Question~!” Byakuran crooned, kicking his feet under the table. “It’s great and all that you made this time travel machine, I’m a huge fan of that trope, but how does that help us when the machine also failed?”

Tsuna shifted because Byakuran was right. Their machine had failed to both fuel and maintain the last of the Tri-Ni-Sette. Even if they took it back, they were using the wrong ‘fuel’. They’d end up with the same issue, in the end.

“Simple,” Verde hummed, “We use the correct fuel. Sky Flames are a volatile Flame, they’re too light and impulsive. The Tri-Ni-Sette needs stability.”

Talbot smiled thinly, “What better Flame to care for the earth, than Earth?”

Enma of the Simone looked up for the first time, eyes bright in confusion and surprise. 

“Earth Flame?” Enma uttered, idly running his thumb over his Simone Ring. 

Earth Flames, with their dense Gravity and strong synthesis with the planet, was the perfect fuel. It probably always had been, but with the rise of Sky-centrism and the fall of the Simone, it had been swallowed into obscurity. Forgotten until it was too late to beg for it back.

Adelheid lifted her chin from her station behind Enma’s chair and smiled. Vindictive. In the end, the Simone had the last laugh. Even if it did cost the world.

“And what of the machine?” Xanxus asked.

“With some reconfiguration, the current machine is more than enough. I’d like to remind you that my creation is perfect,” Verde uttered with almost a grit to his tone. “It just came to be too late.”

“In summary,” Talbot elbowed his way around Verde’s posturing and took centre stage before the table. “We have the blueprints for a competent Tri-Ni-Sette Machine, and we know what is needed to correctly and sustainably fuel the system.”

“So,” Xanxus crossed his arms and leant back in his chair, regarding the room with a callous and stubborn eye. “Now it’s just a matter of who’s going back.”

The hope that had risen in the room plummeted with a heavy hush. 

Who would go back? Over thirty years ago. It was before many of them were even born. 

“Please understand,” Talbot said gently, “This journey. There is no return. The past will swallow you.”

“This is a one-way trip,” Verde agreed, “Whoever goes, you’re not coming back.”

Tsuna stared when they said that, his mind, usually aflutter with thought and Intuition, was utterly silent. His hands clenched on the table.

A one-way trip. He couldn’t ask anyone to do that. To leave everything behind and never come back. To be left, alone, in a time so far back…

No, he couldn’t ask anyone to make that sacrifice. 

“I’ll go,” Tsuna decided.

“No,” Reborn shot down. “The Vongola needs their Boss — same for you Dino. No Bosses will be going.”

“But Reborn!” Tsuna urged, turning to the hitman who glared at the rebuttal. “We can’t just send anyone, and I can’t ask anyone to make this sacrifice. They all have lives here, people they love—”

“And you have the whole of Vongola and your Guardians relying on you,” Reborn scolded, “You will not go.”

“I could go,” Enma offered, but Talbot raised his hand to stop him any further. 

“No, we will need you, Simone.” Talbot said, “Whoever goes back, it will take time for the timeline to recalibrate according to new variables. In that time, we will need Earth Flames to hold us together.”

Adelheid reached out and gently squeezed Emna’s shoulder, both as a comfort and a warning. The Simone would not survive losing another Boss. 

“I understand,” Enma nodded, “We will help any way we can.”

“Thank you,” Tsuna uttered gently, and smiled when Enma reached to lay a hand over his own.

“I can go!” Skull offered, jumping up in his seat again.

“No Arcobaleno,” Verde sighed and shoved Skull back into his chair. “The residue energy from the curse would interfere with the jump. It’s too fragile to add an unknown variable.”

“Then who can we send?” Xanxus snapped.

“Why don’t you go?” Gokudera grit out.

“The Varia need me,” he shrugged.

“I’m sure they’d survive.”

Squalo burst out a bellow that threatened to pop ears and the two Right Hands began to snipe at each other from across the table. The room descended into quiet chatter as each faction discussed their assets, who had more to lose, who they couldn’t bear to be without.

“I’ll go.”

Everyone snapped around. 

Sasagawa Ryohei, the Tenth Sun Guardian, gazed back at them with a hand raised. 

“I’ll go,” Ryohei said again, making sure he was heard.

[rootsofdread]

May I request some headcanons for The Knight, The Blight, and The Wraith with a twitchy boyfriend who has trouble staying still? Sometimes I'll be sitting still and my head will jerk to the side randomly or one of my legs will kick out and it drives me insane to the point I have trouble falling asleep sometimes :(

i have a similar problem! mine get soo bad when i'm tired lol. we're in this together anon ✊

Philip Ojomo / The Wraith:

Philip tends to keep a close eye on you. He worries about you -- even if you've told him not to be -- and fears you may hurt yourself accidentally, so he just wants to make sure you're okay when he knows that your twitching is acting up. If you're standing together he'll put his hand on your shoulder or around your back, but otherwise, he frequently checks in on you.

In a really weird kind of way, he finds your twitching...comforting? It lets him know you're still with him. When the two of you are close in any way, like when you're laying together or he's holding your hand, and he feels you jerk around, he pulls you closer. He would prefer it didn't happen, for your sake, but he appreciates knowing you aren't suddenly gone.

And he's certainly no stranger to having problems sleeping, being haunted by nightmares, himself; so he knows how you feel, to some extent. When he feels you jerk around in bed, he'll immediately wrap his arms around you and lean his head into your back or chest. He doesn't really know how to help you, because he doesn't know how to help himself, but he hopes that helps...at least a little.

Talbot Grimes / The Blight:

Talbot has always loved having you around since he met you; he finally has someone more like him around the fog. It really does something to his old, shriveled up heart seeing you do the exact same thing he does. Granted, his are more frequent; it still has always made him happy.

And he always tries to make this clear to you. Even before you were together, he'd frequently hobble over to you just to sit with you. He's not much of a talker, so he usually conveys his thoughts through gestures or tapping his cane. He didn't think you understood for a while, but was delighted when he realized you did.

When you're having problems sleeping, he'll always offer you some sort of tonic or tincture to relax you and help you sleep. If you don't want any, that's fine, he'll let you cuddle up and rest your head on his chest, so that he can rub your back while he reads quietly beside you.

Tarhos Kovács / The Knight:

Tarhos was always interested in you from the moment he saw you. He's never seen someone do...that, before. He had long assumed you were cursed for your hubris, once upon a time, or something similar. Yet, you seemed to be taking it quite well. Resolve is one of his favorite qualities in a person.

He's always around to make sure nobody gives you a hard time for something out of your control -- something so inconsequential, at that. The last thing he wants is for you to feel embarrassed about it. If anyone so much as snickers, they will meet his blade.

When you're frustrated by not being able to sleep, he tells you that fire is important, but it will be better spent elsewhere. He settles you back down, tucks you in, and will usually either read to you or recount stories from his time as a true knight for you. By this point, you've probably heard all of them, but he still hopes they soothe you.

[tribbetherium]

The Middle Temperocene: 150 million years + 1000 years post-establishment

Talk to the Trees: The Forest of Voices

"Keep away from the Forest of Voices," Redmane had been warned by her elders.

To the talbots, the forest was a cursed place.

They lived out in the grasslands, dotted by few trees, each pack dwelling in a small collection of dens. And they roamed their wide expanses of territories in search of food and water.

But not the Forest of Voices.

Strange forces were said to lurk within, things the elders could not explain. There were no people, no fellow folk, that dwelt there.

Yet there were voices.

Voices that came from the trees above, that spoke in echoing words.

Voices so much like their own, yet so unlike.

It was nature of all to fear what they did not understand. And the talbots were no exception. To them, the forest was well a haunted place, and was to be avoided at all costs.

Warnings were sung of the forest and its inhabitants.

"Beware the forest where trees grow close,

What lives within, nobody knows.

What dwells in woods down the south?

What is a voice, but from no mouth?"

The talbots knew not many things of their world. Things they could not explain or understand. So they did what they did best: they told stories, and sang songs.

Generation after generation were born and raised, listening to the stories, to the songs. And most came to believe what was said and sung, the only explanations they knew from the world.

But Redmane was different.

Redmane was young, and full of curiosity. She was but fifteen seasons old, and knew not much of the world and its workings. But she was also endlessly curious.

She was not known for her obedience, and was often the exasperation of her elders. For she was filled with a great wanderlust, the desire to learn more.

"It is what it is, that is that," her elder uncle Whiteruff would always say, to end a discussion of her endless questions. That was just the way things are. But such generalized explanations were never enough for Redmane.

And since she never got any answers from them, she decided to find them herself.

As she grew, she began wandering off on her own, eager to see the world. Many times in the past, her pack had been driven to frightened panic at her disappearance, only to meet her with rebuke upon her safe return. So over time, she became a bit of a rebel.

The wisdom of the elders said this and that were just facts.

And she would always ask, "Why?"

Life was filled with boundaries, and she always dared step just slightly over the line.

Was it dangerous? Perhaps.

Was it worth knowing?

Perhaps.

Her thirst for knowledge grew to great concern to the elders of her pack, especially her grandmother, Stormcloud. She was the leader of their pack, and it worried her to no end that Redmane seemed too curious, for her own good.

"Beware the chase to know," she warned. "The chase to know leads danger. Like the swimming-creatures lured to meat--lured to bait, trapped."

"I am smarter than swimming-creature, Fathersmother," Redmane complained.

The warning-stories scared off many other pups. But not Redmane. If anything, they intrigued her more. When warned not to do something, she could not help but think: "but what if I do?"

And so, when warned by tales of the Forest of Voices, she just had to see for herself.

°°°°°°°°°

Riverstone, youngest of the pack at but five seasons of age, was roused from his sleep by a nudge from his older sister.

"Redmane, why?" he complained, giving an irritable snarl. "Yellow-sun just up yet, too early," he added, curling back up.

Redmane's tail wagged eagerly. "Old ones still sleeping. Just us."

"The Forest of Voices. We see."

"Fathersmother warn. Bad place. Fathersmother angry." Riverstone protested.

"You want to hear voices too, you do not?" she said, temptingly.

Riverstone had the same weakness as she did. Curiosity. But he was younger, and more afraid.

"I will protect," she reassured him. "We must know."

And so, against the other's teachings, Riverstone reluctantly tagged along.

The trek to the forest was quite a long one, and in the yellow-sun's dawn rays, casting a warm light that began to overthrow the crimson rays of the red sun on the opposing horizon, the world around was bathed in color, looking warm, and inviting.

"Will we get lost?" Riverstone cried.

"Follow river to home," she explained. Their settlements, small villages in practice, were always set close to bodies of water, and this they used to navigate.

Riverstone glanced back nervously to their home. He could still see the settlement from some distance away, small hills and dens and the lone poo-poo tree gifted to their pack by the spotted-people.

He had never been so far away from family before.

But to Redmane, this was another day, sneaking off to satisfy her curiosity.

The two continued on their journey, following the river and its smooth stones, a lovely color and Riverstone's namesake, until the yellow sun rose even higher and the red one sank beneath the sky.

And soon, the forest was before them.

Thick trees, gnarled branches reaching up like claws grasping skyward, towered above the two. So many of them, growing side-by side, that they blotted out the light, and beneath them, darkness. Like a cave of leaves.

Mysterious, and promising.

On hesitant paws, sister and brother slowly stepped into the cover of the woods. Suddenly it was like night, dark above, yet small bits of light shone through, dotting the canopy like makeshift stars.

A strange beauty neither had before seen.

Above, the flyer-beasts called and cried, and the scurry-critters scampered about in the branches. There was noise but no voices.

"Time to see where are the voices," Redmane urged on, with Riverstone huddling close by, looking left and right with hesitant uncertainty at the sound of each small noise.

"Hello?" Redmane called out into the forest, to be met with silence.

"W-what voices?" Riverstone trembled.

"Hello?" she repeated. "Voices?"

"Maybe no voices. We go home?" Riverstone insisted.

"Hello?" She called one more time, not expecting a reply, and satisfied with her conclusion.

But just when she thought there was nothing, there was something.

"hello? hello? hello?" came the chorus of tiny voices, one after the other. Almost light, airy.

Almost...not a fellow talbot, or any of the people.

Almost coming from the trees.

"Voices!" whispered Redmane in glee.

"Voices!" Riverstone chirped softly in terror.

"voices voices voices voices" came the faint chorus that answered.

By now Redmane's curiosity was caught all the stronger. She approached the source, perhaps forgetting in the moment her grandmother's tale of the water-creatures, forgetting to fear the unfamiliar so consumed she was by intrigue.

"Voices?" she called out again.

"voices voices voices voices" came the answer once more, shrill and squeaky in a near-perfect counterfeit of the talbot call for "voices". And this time it seemed coming from the branches of a small, nearby tree.

And she couldn't help but gaze in amazement.

Not at the tree, but what was on it.

Numerous small scaly-creepers, perched in the branches. Several on the small tree, many more above, as she squinted up for a closer look.

She had seen scaly-creepers before, small, harmless little creatures. As a pup, she even hunted them, only to be warned off by uncle Whiteruff to not harm them, for they ate small biting bugs that were the talbots' bane.

But this kind was the most beautiful she'd ever seen. Hidden in with the branches, flecked with yellow, with a bright striped tail they flicked and waved at one another.

And they seemed to have too many eyes.

Could they be the voices?

She felt silly speaking to the scaly-creepers, but said, anyway, "Hello."

"hello hello hello hello hello"

It was coming from them!

Above, a tiny flyer-beast cried out with a chirp. And to Redmane's utter delight, the scaly-creepers answered.

She watched in amazement as their false eyes suddenly grew in size, then quivered as they shrank again. As they did so, they emanated a noise, that sounded almost like the call of the flyer-beast that passed above.

"They copy sound," gasped Redmane.

Riverstone, fearful all the while, felt his trembling fade. His curiosity took over and he came to see the voices that Redmane had found.

"Look," Redmane gestured, gently nudging her brother toward them but slowly and quietly as not to scare them away.

"Redmane. Red mane."

"red mane red mane red mane red mane"

Riverstone's eyes widened and his tail perked up in joy.

"Riverstone!" he called.

"river stone river stone river stone"

"Pwi-yipp!" squealed Riverstone mischievously, a word the elders forbade him to say.

There was a pause.

"pwi yipp pwi yipp pwi yipp pwi yipp pwi yipp pwi yipp pwi yipp"

"Riverstone!" snapped Redmane, offended.

"You are teaching them bad words."

°°°°°°°°°

Earlier in the morning, Whiteruff was shaken awake by Littlerock, Riverstone's littermate.

"Elder Whiteruff!"

"Why bother you, Littlerock? It is early."

"Redmane is gone!"

As if scorched by hot coals Whiteruff leapt to his paws in alarm, his tail raised high in agitation.

"Not again."

"Redmane take...Riverstone." Littlerock piped up meekly.

Whiteruff wasted no time in raising the alarm call, summoning the rest of the pack to attention.

"Redmane gone! Redmane gone! Riverstone gone too!"

"Young one has gone too far," snarled Raindrop, Whiteruff's mate. "You have scent?"

"Yes. Follow scent."

Whiteruff, Raindrop, Stormcloud and two other elders rushed in search, leaving the rest of the pack to watch the other pups.

"Where scent?" Stormcloud called.

"By river. River we follow."

As they pursued the trail of Redmane's scent their worry grew each second. Especially as the scent became stronger, closer, and they realized where they had headed.

The Forest of Voices.

"Foolish, stupid, arrogant child," grumbled Whiteruff to himself.

"Still pack. Still child. Worry now, scold later," Stormcloud answered.

They made it at last to the forest's edge. Further than any of them had ever gone. Closer to the dreaded wood that none had before dared approach.

But two of their own was seemingly in danger. And just as Redmane's curiosity swallowed her fear, their bond to family swallowed theirs.

And they charged in after but a moment's hesitation.

°°°°°°°°°

"Hear voices?" asked Redmane, carrying a stick. On it clung tightly several of the scaly-creepers.

She had to show them.

"Sound like elders," Riverstone added.

And then a painful set of teeth bit into Redmane's behind.

She yelped in startled pain, but held on to the stick, while the scaly-creepers clung motionlessly for dear life.

"REDMANE!"

It was Whiteruff.

And he was furious.

"YOU FOOLISH PUP! IGNORANT! STUPID!" he snarled, giving her a hard shove. "PUT YOURSELF, PUT BROTHER IN DANGER!"

"YOU-- YOU--", he growled, as if to give her another scolding bite, but paused.

"...what is that?"

By now the other packmates had found the two strays as well. Stormcloud rushed forward to meet her granddaughter, her ears drooped in relief.

"You are very, very safe! You are very, very well! And you are very, very..."

"Grounded?" Riverstone finished, knowing well by now the usual spiel each time she ran off.

But old grandmother Stormcloud had completely gone quiet, her eyes fixated on the branch Redmane bore in her jaws.

Never in her sixty-seven seasons of life had she seen such scaly-creepers. Striped of tail, with mock eyes on their cheeks, grasping tightly onto the twigs.

"Where...found?" she said in amazement, unable to take her eyes off the strange, beautiful things.

"They are voices," came Redmane's muffled reply, her teeth clenched onto the branch.

Slowly, and curiously, the other elders came closer, intrigued to see something new. Redmane left the shade and into the open, to give them a better look.

"They speak." Redmane said.

"Nonsense!" snapped Raindrop. "More tricks!"

"More foolishness!" added Whiteruff.

"No. Listen."

The small group watched, in silence and in bated breath.

There was no response from the tiny creatures, seemingly confused at their sudden new surroundings. They clung tightly to the branch, their cheeks deflated, their colorful tails tucked under them, blending into the bark like small, inconspicuous wooden knobs.

"Foolishness," Whiteruff groaned quietly. "Scaly-creepers not speak."

Then one of the little creatures began to stir once it felt safe enough. It inflated its cheeks, and then deflated them once more.

"not speak"

The crowd parted, leaped back, in shocked, amazed awe, and mild fear, at the scaly-creeper that just talked.

"They copy sound," Redmane explained excitedly.

"They--they do?" Whiteruff said, meekly, realizing the pup was speaking the truth.

And as if to prove a point, the rest of the scaly-creepers began to stir, calling out random noises in their confusion.

"hello hello hello"

"red mane"

"voices voices voices voices"

"How... possible?" Raindrop uttered, eyes and ears fixated.

"So...so these are voices of forest." Stormcloud agreed. "They...speak. Scaly-creepers, copy sound."

"Maybe Forest of Voices not fearful place, after all."

"We just do not understand."

One of the creatures chirped.

"pwi yipp"

An offended gasp arose from the crowd.

"Where they hear that?" complained one of the other elders.

And Redmane shot Riverstone a frowning glare, who quickly drooped his tail and avoided her gaze.

°°°°°°°°°°

"Behold the Forest of Voices", the songs sang.

"Behold the scaly-creepers that speak."

"There are beasts that think but not speak."

"And there is us that think and speak."

"And these that think not, but speak."

"Like them, we are."

"Speak of what we cannot understand."

"understand understand understand", came the shrill little chorus from the branches of the poo-poo tree, that stood beside their dens.

That day they learned not to fear.

That day, they learned to understand.

That day, by the curiosity of a stubborn young pup, they had discovered something almost akin to magic.

And they had brought home some of that magic with them.

----------------

[boots-with-the-fur-club]

The 5th and final chapter of Mad Dog!! I’ll be posting it to ao3 when October hits.

@daboyau

@imdefnotvanessa

Donnie and Raph start Mikey proofing the lair in anticipation of the chaos that will start once he transforms again.

April has been texting on her phone with Leo watching as they do.

“Okay, I posted about finding Mr. Talbot’s cane on the page for neighborhood. I told him I could only return it at the park and he agreed.”

“That’s great! Plan B is set!”

“Not too great….I totally forgot that there’s this whole costume, Halloween themed carnival going on! It’ll be filled with people and we can only go once it opens, after sundown.”

“We’ll just pretend we’re in turtle men costumes, it’ll be fine!”

“Not if he turns into a werewolf with a crowd of people to bite!”

“Guyuii…..he wouldn’t agree to go out there if he thought he’d go wolf in front of everyone, right?”

“I don’t know what the guy is thinking! He bit Mikey! Maybe he’s just crazy!”

“We’ll just have to think up some kind of plan to keep both Mikey and your neighbor from hurting people. Although, Mikey is more like a puppy when he turns. I think he’s probably less dangerous at night than he is now.” Leo glares at Mikey who sticks his foot out to trip Raph.

“Let’s hope he stays that way.”

After Raph and Donnie are done, the four of them gang up on Mikey to cover his hands, feet and mouth. He fought them every step of the way, but it was pointless in the end. He was left crossing his arms angrily while siting on the couch.

The others decide to wait until he transforms to begin their turns watching over him for the night. Mikey wound up falling asleep before it happened. When it did, he writhed around in discomfort, whining slightly. The marking on his hand glowed as well.

April sends the other turtles to their rooms to take first shift. She could tell they needed the sleep. When Mikey woke up, he immediately waddled over to her on all fours.

“Aww, come here, big sis is watching you tonight.” She picks him up and hugs him close.

She gets a nuzzle against her cheek in response.

Her Mikey sitting lasts for about half the night. Since his means of destruction were covered up, April was mostly tasked with making sure he didn’t slide into or knock things when he ran. She was pretty grateful for Raph and Donnie taking care of the most easily breakable stuff.

Leo watched him the rest of the night. He may or may not have volunteered in order to draw some things on Mikey’s face and rig a classic shaving cream prank. He knows fully well it’s the curse making him act like a jerk, but they’ve still got a day to deal with him and drawing it was therapeutic.

As it became morning, Mikey went back to normal and the others woke up. He glared hard at them as they burst into laughter at his face. His angry shouting was muffled by the covering over his mouth. April finally took pity on him and took everything off.

“What’s so funny!?”

“That would be your face, Mikey.” Donnie answers with a smirk.

Mikey takes out his phone, flipping the camera view to front facing.

“Leo!!”

“I’ll only apologize after we cure you. That’s when I might actually feel bad.” He smirks, poking his forehead.

“Did you forget that my mouth isn’t covered anymore!?” Mikey bites at his finger.

Leo quickly takes it back.

“Both of you, stop messing around! Having another werewolf to deal with today would make it way harder to handle the mission.” Raph chastises.

Mikey growls softly then heads to the bathroom to wash the drawings off his face.

Once he’s back, they have breakfast. It’s not at meat filled as he’d like but they hadn’t had time for grocery shopping.

During breakfast, a plan is made for April to be the bait to lure in Mr. Talbot. Donnie constructs a durable net to be used after they’ve all finished eating.

It took a combined effort from April, Raph and Leo to prevent Mikey from messing anything up during the time Donnie was working.

Once it was finished and the meeting time was coming up, it was decided that Raph and Leo would be the ones to spring the trap. Donnie would have to watch Mikey.

April stood slightly nervously inside the park. Kids were running around in costumes nearby and stalls were setup everywhere. She could even see a maze in the distance.

“Are you ready, Apes?” Leo whispers from the tree above her.

“You know it. Just be ready with those nets, I do not want to be growing hair everywhere next.” She whispers back, glancing up at him.

“I see him comin this way.” Raph also whispers.

April turns her attention back to in front of her. Mr. Talbot was already getting close.

“Ms. O’Niel. Thank you for finding my cane. Although, you could have picked a better location to give it to me.”

“Just thought it was a good place. Pretty nice thing they’ve got going on, huh?”

“I’d just like my cane back please.”

“Sure sure, I’ll give it back right about….NOW!”

Raph and Leo jump down onto Mr. Talbot with the net.

“What is the meaning of this!?”

“We just caught a werewolf, that’s what!” Leo answers.

“You fools! You don’t know what you’re doing! Give me my cane!”

“We know what’s going on! We’re going to help cure you. We just gotta get you to a lab first and away from all these people.”

“It’s the full moon! I’ll be too strong for a net!”

“For real!?”

The clouds in the night sky part, unveiling the moon.

Mr. Talbot begins snarling and writhing around. Thick hair appears all over his body, and his teeth and claws grow sharp. He tears through the net way too easily. Raph, Leo and April scream before taking off.

Mr. Talbot stands up before throwing his head back, howling loudly. The people who see and hear this clap at what they think is acting. He begins chasing after the three of them.

April quickly starts calling Donnie.

“The net didn’t work!! We’re getting chased!”

“So am I! Mikey turned and now he’s chasing me through the maze!!”

“The maze! We can try to lose him in there! We’ll try to get to you, Donnie! Don’t die and don’t get bitten!”

“I am trying!”

She hangs up and they all run into the maze. Mr. Talbot isn’t far behind them.

“April, please tell me you’re good at mazes!” Leo shouts.

“Uh….I’ve only had to call 911 once!….Maybe twice!”

“We’re doomed!!”

“Don’t worry, Raph’s got a secret to these hay mazes!”

“What is it!?” April questions.

They run into a dead end which Raph smashes through.

“Power smash jitsu!”

“Let’s hope it gets us to Donnie!”

“How are we supposed to find him!?” Leo asks.

They hear Donnie scream in a very similar way to when Meatsweats was going was going to eat him.

“That’s him! Keep screaming, Donnie!”

Using the combination of Donnie’s yelling and Raph’s smashing, everyone winds up in the same area, the middle of the maze.

Although Mikey’s usual werewolf pup form is kind and cute, he’s now just as feral as Mr. Talbot as he inches closer and closer to Donnie.

“Mikey! Stop!” Raph calls out.

Mikey turns and growls at them instead.

“You don’t want to hurt us, we’re your family!” April insists.

Mikey only growls louder.

As April is about to try to convince him more, Mr. Talbot bursts through the hay wall, snarling and clawing at the air.

April, Leo and Raph scream in fear, scrambling away and towards Donnie. They’re now being cornered by two werewolves.

“Oh what an amazing rescue attempt he said sarcastically!” Donnie clings to Raph.

“We’ll be okay! We’ve still got the silver!” April holds up the cane.

Mr. Talbot slashes at it, breaking it in half. The useless wooden part remains in April’s hand.

“Yeah, we’re dead.”

Leo looks down at his rabid brother.

“Mikey! If this is it, I want to tell you that I’m so sorry I made this happen! You were just being a good brother and it got you turned into a werewolf! I love you so much, even if we get turned into puppy chow!”

Mikey stops moving and stares at them.

Mr. Talbot doesn’t care about what’s being said in the slightest and lunges forward.

Raph shuts his eyes tight while he pulls everyone close, trying to shield them.

Mikey jumps up and barrels into Mr. Talbot’s side.

Raph cautiously opens his eyes and sees that the two of them are circling each other.

“Mikey!?”

“He’s fighting him! Get him, Mikey!” Leo cheers.

Mr. Talbot bares his teeth and continues snarling. Mikey gives him the same treatment in return.

The stalemate only ends when Mikey tackles his rival werewolf, rolling around in the struggle.

Mr. Talbot shoves his hand in Mikey’s face. Mikey bites down on it as hard as he can. Mr. Talbot howls in pain, falling backwards.

Mikey also falls over, looking dazed. The hair, sharp teeth, and claws slowly start receding.

“Are you guys seeing this!? Did that actually just happen!?” April shouts.

“This is so incredibly unscientific, but it did indeed just happen.” Donnie comments.

Leo wiggles free of Raph’s grasp and rushes over to Mikey, kneeling down and lifting him up.

“Mikey! Are you okay!? Say something!”

“Next time….please just save your basketball picks somewhere else.” Mikey tiredly looks up at him.

Leo smiles widely and hugs him tightly.

“Anything beats having to do this whole thing again!”

Mr. Talbot groggily sits up, looking down at his now non clawed or furry hands.

“I’m….cured? How is this possible?”

“By all means, it doesn’t make sense. The only explanation I could come up with is that your werewolf “curse” was most likely a virus. Mikey isn’t a full werewolf so his antibodies were still trying to fight it off, which may have been transferred through saliva. Because you were cured, he was also cured.” Donnie explains.

“You’re right, that didn’t make sense. But that doesn’t matter as long as it worked! Sorry for drawing on your face, Mikey.” Leo apologizes.

“I kinda deserved it. I’m sorry about being a huge were jerk.”

“You don’t have to apologize for anythin Mikey. There’s was nothing you could have done about it. We’re just glad you’re back to normal.” Raph pats his head.

April carefully helps Mr. Talbot stand up.

“I apologize for lying to you, Ms. O’Neil. Obviously I did know where that barking was coming from…..”

“Yeah, I figured. Although I wasn’t expecting this whole situation to be the reason.”

“I tried everything I could to keep myself from other people. The Wolfsbane to stop me from leaving, the silver cane to slow or stop my transformation….I failed that night with the fog. I thought it would have been okay since nobody would want to go outside that late in that weather.”

Leo cringes slightly at hearing that.

Mikey pats his face to cheer him up.

“I’m indebted to you and your friends. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for freeing me and saving anyone who I could have hurt. I do wish there was some small way I could, though….” Mr. Talbot continues.

April think for a moment.

“You know….I think there is something you can do.”

They all end up spending time at the carnival with Mr. Talbot funding the tickets for various games and rides. His torn clothes made a good segue for the neighbors to talk to him about a cool costume he had. Now that he wouldn’t go wolf any time soon, he could be a little more sociable.

The turtles and April had fun trying to win stuffed animals and getting spooked by non werewolf and much safer things.

Once it got late, Mr. Talbot went home, waving goodbye to all of them.

Mikey was completely tired by the events of the day and the last few days. He slept peacefully in Raph’s arms as he was carried home, nuzzling his face into his shoulder.

His brothers and April felt similarly tired, but knew that once they got home they could finally rest.

As they entered the sewers, the moon shined brightly, its light covered as April slipped the manhole into place.

It wasn’t a threat anymore.

[nerdypuddincup]

Cold Morning in Blackmoor

Talbot Hall, once stood above the abject squalor of the village below it. A reminder of the difference between the classes that lived in Blackmoor. But now it sat in cinder and rubble. The fire had been started in the sitting room, where two beasts ripped from folklore and nightmare did battle. Father and son, locked in immortal combat. Now, only ruin was left as a monument to their sins.

Gwen Conliffe who had helped free the last living Talbot from the curse put upon him by his father stood silently as she surveyed what remained of the hall in which she had to her dismay called home for a year. First being engaged to Sir John’s son Ben, and then falling in love with his other son Lawrence after Ben had been slain. She shed a single silent tear for the two men who fell here. And cursed the man who had brutally taken them, all so he could have her alone.

It was a cold morning. It was always a cold morning in Blackmoor. But there on the breeze carried the warmth of the fire with it. It wasn’t much. Only a brief embrace before returning to the frigidness as per usual. Within the tavern of the town sat Inspector Francis Aberline. In his hand was a glass of straight whiskey he was using to numb the pain he was in. Though it helped with the physical, it was the spiritual that caused him to drink himself further and further into stupor still. For he had been attacked by Lawrence Talbot the night before. Or more accurately, he had been attacked by the beast that Lawrence Talbot had turned into.

And, if the legends were true as they shockingly seemed to be now…then in time Francis would indeed befall the same curse. And, whenever the moon was full and the wolfsbane bloomed he would stalk the night as not a man or a beast but something in between. A Werewolf.

That was something that Aberline did not want to think about, but as he drank more the more, he realized that it was something he couldn’t ignore. He had always prided his sharp intellect and hold on logic and reason. But now, it was all crashing down. Just like when nothing ever came of the Ripper case, The man just seemed to bugger off. No longer stalking the whores of Whitechapel. This of course was worse. The Ripper had destroyed his reputation in Scotland Yard, and now this had tarnished his immortal soul.

The girl, the Conliffe girl had told him what had been told to her by the gypsies. That release could only come from someone who loved him. As Aberline got to the bottom of his pint he concluded that he would never find peace then. There was no one who loved him and no one who he loved for that matter either.

The thought popped up a few times in his mind, to take out his service pistol, put it inside of his mouth, and pull the trigger. But would that accomplish anything more than hurting him badly? Would he be dead? Would he survive? Would he seem dead only for the pale light of the full moon to bring him back as a monster? That last one was of course the worst case. The very thought of it chilled his blood more than the damned cold of this accursed little village.

For now, all Aberline could do was weep.

[kaelio]

So, in discussing David Talbot, who is okay but in my view not really all that interesting, here's where I'd have taken him if I wanted him to really stand out in the crew (where otherwise, he feels a bit outclassed). TOTBT and onward:

Option 1: Make him the full complement to Gretchen and let him be the "man" of Lestat being interested in having sex with a woman and a man during his assumed sojourn. Just get some nasty old man sex going on, balls flapping all over Hell's half-acre. Lestat flatly wanted to do this, so it's not a reach. Use that to pivot to David being something that otherwise we haven't seen at that point: an exclusively homosexual person who becomes a vampire (which is a very credible read of David as of TOTBT). We witness Lestat's bisexuality before he even dies, and Armand as well, and for the rest there's some level to which it might have been the case but the largely de-gendered and sexless existence makes it an obvious condition over a significant amount of time. But vampirism tends to free people of limitations they had in life, and just as Gabrielle got to be largely freed of human concepts of femininity, David could then be in an environment where, for the first time, no one gives a shit and his sexuality (to whatever extent he maintains it) isn't important, and have him grapple with that or at least discuss it. Have him be the vehicle for looking into human LGBT issues if that's something the series ever wanted to do. Maybe it's weird for him, or freeing, or frustrating that this has changed and maybe it's frustrating that the existing vampires don't really "get" it in a completely different way.

2. Once Lestat's done turning him against his will, have him basically be the perennial baby vampire and never at all powerful. So, Big Bad David, who has/had awesome mind powers (which maybe he loses) and can Shoot A Gun (vampires don't care), and was head of the Talamasca (they forward vampire mail, also sorry, Teskhamen secretly has the vampire role filled), is now a weak fledge. Weaker than Louis. This tiger-hunting predatory bastard is now the absolute lowest tier of his new community. Predator among prey to prey among predators. A nice inversion! Goes from Hot, Cool, New Body-Thief'd David, ready to live life again as a sexy and youthful man, and maybe do some more trophy hunting along the way, and gets an upgrade that's a downgrade. It bugs me in the books he's taken seriously too quickly. Have this David just be a perennial wiener as a vampire. Lestat still thinks he's impressive, but everyone else sees him as Lestat's saddest, weakest little toy. Totally supplants Louis in that respect, now Louis has been upgraded to legit. Now, David does have the scary vibes, but all the worse when it's revealed he just doesn't have the oomph to back that up. He flirts with Armand like in the beginning of TVA and Armand thinks, hmm! New dom?? And that lasts about 11 hours before Armand realizes David just doesn't have the juice. Then they're both humiliated. This David is perhaps extra sneaky to try to make up for it, but constantly faces the fact that if he'd died in his own body he'd have died with some kind of dignity and now he's cursed and even Benji can kick his ass. It's going to be a thousand years before he graduates from bunnyrabbit, and either way, he's not the wolf he was. He's all bark. I think this would have been a fun shakeup and filled an interesting niche.