#but what's going on with the patches (??) on the walls

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 14

ch 15 is done so y'all can have ch 14, these are getting longer and longer- If I somehow end up passing 4k words I'll have to break these into pt1 and pt2 🥲

Also- y'all can not rip Jason's finger tattoos saying "jailbird" from me, ever.

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 14 >>next(TBC)

Your hands were shaking as Slade led you to one of the many bathrooms in the building, but despite everything, you were proud of yourself. You didn’t cry, that was good enough in your book. “You were fast with that throw. Not many get a hit on the man, as clumsy as he fakes being.” His voice only seemed to make you angrier.

You took a deep breath, exhaling softly. He hasn’t done anything to you, yet at least. You’re not angry at him- is what you had to repeat to yourself before answering. “I wish it was a knife.” Your face twitched at that. “That- was a very emotionally fueled answer- please don’t hold it against me.” Willson was more amused by the answer than scared or worried.

“You won’t be the first, and you won’t be the last.” The man took his handkerchief and dampened it, leaning against the marble sink as he handed it to you, and you thanked him while taking it. “I’ll hold you up to paying for the cleanup, by the way. I love this suit. Now- why did you really want to talk?”

“Straight to the point I see.” At his smile, you just shrug. “Never was one for pull and push games.” Perhaps it was your hormones, or just how much you’ve repressed your emotions for other human beings due to hurt, but his laugh made your cheeks flush. You were putting a pin on that feeling, for now just dismissing it as anger at the male species.

“I just want to talk, get to know you better.” He went to the modern toilet and took out its wall panel, pulling out a briefcase. “You’ve made quite the name for yourself. Among terrible people.” Slade opens the briefcase once it is on the marble top, revealing his gear and a clean pair of clothes. “So, you want to assassinate me?”

“Assassination is for world leaders, my dear.” The shit-eating grin definitely made you think whatever you were feeling was anger. “But you’re not far off. We have similar enemies.” You took the clean shirt he handed to you, took the wet wipes straight from the case, and went straight for the room divider, Slade turning his back to you. “So- what, you want me to help you and when push comes to shove, you’ll help me?” He could hear the doubt, the sarcasm, and the distrust. But he just smiled. “Yes.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Luthor just kept on looking at you for a few seconds as you lay face down on his emperor-sized bed. “Is that his shirt?” He got a muffled yes in response. “He hid a briefcase in your wall and gave me the spare, said he’ll come back with the clean suit… I so think he wanted to kill you or steal something you have here.” Lex just hummed at that, tapping his foot. “And?” You groaned. “Where do I even begin?”

“Well, you could start from the beginning?” Lex said while getting up and grabbing a set of pajamas and tossing them on your back. You sigh and place your head on your hand, turning your body sideways so you can look at him. “I have parental issues and a part of me finds his stupid eye-patch so hot.” You cackled maniacally as Luthor’s face soured. “Ok. How about we skip forward a bit?” He almost begged.

“Alright- wait-…” You take a closer look at the pajamas. “These are my size.” Your eyes meet his as he confirms with no shame on his mug. “Are you not going to ask why?” Sighing you just get up and move towards his bathroom. “You either want a kid or a wife and I’m not mentally sound enough right now for either one. And I’m sleeping with mom- I so do not believe you didn’t put cameras in my room, you weirdo.”

“I’m a paranoid billionaire genius. I have cameras in every room.” It was his turn to laugh like a maniac as he heard you call him a weirdo again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

With everyone out of the manor, it was finally time for Alfred to clean the whole bloody place. These moments were rare, and while Master Bruce insisted on him taking a break, he wasn’t a man to stay in one place for long without work.

He began from the ground up, the cave, the yard. The ground floor and the first level came and went, on the second level he may have gotten distracted by the new books Bruce got for Jason, and by the time the man of the house got back, Alfred was halfway done with the third floor.

Opening yet another door, his eyes immediately critiqued the dust, barely processing the objects before beginning to clean, starting with a little framed photo and the nightstand. It took him two looks before he registered what the picture depicted- a little girl at her kindergarten graduation event. He doesn’t remember Miss Cassandra this young, Master Bruce must have-

No… Cassandra never went to kindergarten. Alfred drops the cloth he was wiping off the dust with, head snapping around the room- Paintings, so many paintings,  drawing supplies. Medals, diplomas- the more of them he wiped with his gloved hand the more the man trembled, heart beating against his ribcage, the same way it did on the active battlefield- where were you?

A child- a whole child- no. He saw you- yes. In the garden, yelling at Bruce- that-… that was six years ago. Six years ago. Six bloody years ago. Somewhere in his panicked frenzy, a hopeful part of him just thought that maybe you changed rooms, yes, that’s why he began screaming your name like a madman, bursting through the rooms he hadn’t yet opened, screaming as he went down the staircase, rechecking rooms, scaring the kids that were in the manor.

Damian frowned at Cassandra and Tim. “Has Pennyworth lost it?” The girl didn’t even pay him any mind as she simply followed the elder. “No, he-… Where is she?” Tim tried to respond but the distraction got to him- he can’t remember the last time he saw you. Damian had no other choice but to follow as well.

Even though the old man used the stairs he was the first to enter the batcave, the kids following in the elevator. “-she’s missing-“ was what they caught, seeing the picture frame Alfred ran around with now clenched in Bruce’s hands.

“No.” Cassandra said softly, confusion clear on her face. “In London.” Alfred looked at the man as he tried to hide his fury. “You sent the young miss to London without even telling me?” Bruce immediately said a firm no, turning to Cassandra to ask how she even knew of that. “Is anyone going to inform me about who we are talking about?!”

Damian had enough, he didn’t like still being left in the dark about things that seemed this important. Tim repeated your name like it was obvious, but Alfred felt the world crash on his head. “Yes. So you all keep on saying, is that code for something?” The old man needed to sit down. They’ve never talked about her. They’ve never told him about her.

Tim was too tired to realize what Alfred did. He just called the boy rude, how could he not remember his other big sis. And it was the wrong thing to do. “I have another sister, and you didn’t tell me? Nobody did?!” The youngest boy snapped at his father before turning to look at everyone else.

Bruce- he was taking hit after hit tonight. He couldn’t come up with an argument to Slade, and he sure as hell couldn’t defend himself against Damian. The last time he remembered seeing you was when he ruined your garden. He slumped down in his chair, clutching the picture of your sad chubby face and the pitying look of the teacher, unable to take his eyes from it.

Where was he? He… He can’t defend himself. How could he? He didn’t even realize you were missing. How much has he missed? How many events and achievements has he ignored or brushed off? Did you leave that night, was that the last drop? He ignored his arguing kids, ignored how devastated Alfred looked… Jason said he was missing a bird. Bruce closes the open files on The Sorceress. “Tim, inform Dick and the others. Oracle. Call Red Hood. Now.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Lois sighed and turned to face her husband who was fully awake. “Ok, come on, confess.” Clark didn’t even flinch, not until she shook his shoulder. He side-eyed her before turning to also face her, sure that Jon was deeply asleep. “What I’m about to tell you should stay just between us.”

“The Sorceress is adopted, her dad is Bruce.” Lois raised a brow but before she could ask for more Clark continued. “I heard her brother and Lex inform the Immortal about it. The boy mentioned that, and I quote, the bastard didn’t pay attention to her for years and now has the gall to show up and act like he doesn’t know her. Lex was sure of the fact that Bruce didn’t even know that she had run away, to begin with, let alone how the kid he barely spent time with looked like anymore”

Lois took a while to soak in the information. “That’s…” She lies back on her back, staring at the ceiling like her husband once was. “If it’s true- it’s a new low for him. I'll look into it.” She looks at Clark. “Don’t let Jon hear that, he’ll-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and that’s what my dad said.” Jon, who was still in his pajamas, huffing from how fast he flew and talked, told Damian once they were in the security of the youngest Wayne’s room. The other boy just nodded. “Thank you for informing me, Jon. Make sure you do not repeat this to anyone else.”

“You should go back before your parents realize you’re missing.” Damian opened the window for the other teen. “Are you sure? Because if you’re not okay-“ Damian shook his head. “I’m perfectly fine, I’ll take care of this and give the information to someone who will be able to confirm what Superman heard."

The young super took a while before leaving, but the fear of his parents finding him gone was bigger. Damian on the other hand was already penning a letter. If the family kept such important information from him, he could too.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your day was- tiring. You may have overdone it a bit, studying for finals, the anxiety of giving your artwork in for the diploma, helping with clean up, training, helping Titan clean spaces for more housing- by the time you were done you were exhausted.

When the explosion went off, you didn’t even flinch, the text message from Mark saying “dnt wor abt it” was good enough for you. So, you just continued buying your little snacks and energy drinks for tomorrow and went on your way, floating as you simply couldn’t be bothered with walking.

If you were, perhaps, not as tired as you were, you would have been a little bit more concerned about the swarm of reporters or paparazzi, you couldn’t even try to figure it out. “Madame Sorceress! What is your relationship to Mr. Wayne?” and “Hey! Hey, over here! How do you know Bruce Wayne?!” and a lot of similar questions you couldn’t be bothered to answer. “Sorceress! Why do you have beef with Mr. Wayne?”

Now that stopped your movement. You slowly turned towards the person who asked, squinting at the redhead. “You want that in chronological or alphabetical order?” That seemed to trigger more questions and yelling, but your attention was on your ringing phone. “Sorry folk, I have to take this.” Sluggishly, you flew higher than they could be able to pick up with any listening device and answered. “Sup’ Red-“

Your brows furrowed. “Now they found out?... How much?” Jason just snorted. “B tried to interrogate me and when that didn’t work out, Alfred tried to tug at my emotions. Right under their nose and they’re still not seeing it.” You snort. “You’re creating yourself trouble. Just tell them, not like they can do anything now.” Jason knew, but this- the phone number, the texting, and silly pics, was something the other bats didn’t have access to. It was something only he had, that he didn't have to share with the others. He wants it to stay that way. “Nah, let them stew in it.” Jason snickered. “Whatever, Jailbird. Good night.” You roll your eyes, laughing when he yells that you weren’t supposed to know that.

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A tiny little micro sneak peak of chapter 15 because I feel kind:

Jason was having a terrible week, starting with Ms. “I wouldn’t have been as forgiving if you didn’t die and came back kinder to me” Wayne- well- Grayson? He doesn’t know anymore- he’s close enough to just forging papers that say you’re his biological little sister just to fuck with Bruce.

[ultraviolenced888]

(thigh riding, use of word daddy, slight degradation ig?, piv, happy valentines xx)

"tha' right, baby?" ben grunted as one of his hands reached down to help you grind his jean clad thigh. he could tell you were getting tired by the way those sweet short puff left your lips faster.

"ben-" you whimpered softly, both of your hands gripping his broad shoulders.

it was unfair, really, him being fully clothed down to his combat boots while he'd made you fully strip down, fucking unfair. but that was what ben was: unfair.

"i know, baby," he cooed in your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin. you could still smell the whiskey and weed on it, and it only made you more desperate. "i know you're close. just be a good girl and finish on my thigh like you promised you would, mh? then daddy's gonna take real good care of ya, 'kay?"

you let out a soft moan as you nodded, pressing your bare front to the jersey he was wearing. ben slid his big palm on your skin, from your thigh to grab a handful of your ass, squeezing it before settling his hand on the small of your back, helping you keep your rhythm.

"m'so... ben- so close...!" you sobbed, desperately fisting at his jersey. his eyes glanced down at his jeans, the slick patch your wetness left.

"shh, baby... let go." his sweet, soft words made you melt. his lips found yours, chasing them as you tried pulling away while finding your high. "did so good for me."

as you panted on his lips, he pushed you off his lap and made you lay down on the bed, your chest heaving.

with your eyes closed as you came down from your high, you heard his jeans unbuttoning and belt unbuckling. you opened your heavy eyes just in time to see ben's fly opening, a smug smirk on his handsome face. he tugged his jeans down to his thighs, his boxers following soon enough but not taking them off completely.

he liked this, probably got him off, to see you fully naked, at your most vulnerable state as he wouldn't even take his shirt off.

"promised i'd treat ya real good if ya'd show me how bad you needed me, mh? didnt even give me the time to walk through the door that you were already all over me." he mused, leaning on top of you.

"just- just missed you, and today's valentine's day-" you breathed.

ben bitterly chuckled. "oh, sweets, that's it? valentine's day got you all hot and bothered for me? that why you couldn't wait for me to take my jacket off?"

your cheeks flushed red and you arched up against him a little, trying to catch his lips in a kiss, but he leaned back. "no, i-"

"didn't even say hello or kiss daddy before you were already asking for his cock..." he tsked. "that all you see me as, all you think about?"

"n-no!" your fingers tangled in his hair. it was getting long again and you were loving it. "i love you, it's not just that! i wanted to spend today with you, do something special..."

"mh?" he rubbed his stubbled cheek against your softer one, making it itch. "i didn't know my sweet girl could be so dirty.... that why you weren't wearing underwear when i got back? were you hoping to get fucked?"

"i-" you stuttered, blushing redder than before.

"good girls get fucked, you know that baby..." his tip started to part your sticky folds and you let out a soft moan, tugging a little at his hair.

"i was good-!" you choked as he pulled away, tapping it on your clit. "i did what you aske-"

"i know... good girls get fucked, and you were the best girl." he whispered in your ear before sliding his whole length between your folds, lubing himself up. "always the best girl for me, aren't you?"

"y- fuck, yeah." you moaned, his tip finally sinking into your welcoming walls.

"this special enough, baby?" he asked as he buried himself deep in you.

you desperately nodded, your eyes watering from the stretch of ben's cock splitting you open and knocking on your cervix as he started moving. "yeah, ben-"

"happy fuckin' valentine's baby." he grunted in your ear.

[felassan]

The Guardian interview: '‘Less Star Wars – more Blade Runner’: the making of Mass Effect 2’s Bafta-nominated soundtrack'

A blind audition, a fruitful collaboration, a tense creative fallout: composer Jack Wall’s journey through the Mass Effect universe was as epic as the player’s

Excerpts:

"“I had made a soundtrack for Jade Empire very successfully with BioWare before Mass Effect,” Wall tells me, when I ask how he became part of the team working on the original title. “Then, they put out an audition process for what the team was calling SFX, the codename for Mass Effect. It was a blind audition, and BioWare got the files back from a number of composers. The team would listen to all those different things and decide who nailed it the most for the tone or the feeling they were picturing. And I won that audition blind.” Almost immediately, Casey Hudson got to work on giving Wall the brief. “His mandate was ‘I want this to sound like 80s sci-fi music’. No Star Wars, nothing like that, more like Tangerine Dream, Vangelis, Blade Runner. Those were the main ideas.” Hudson specifically wanted to channel that vintage analogue synth sound that defined the science fiction of the era (especially in movies) and imagined the multilayered, multitextured approach from Tangerine Dream as the perfect accompaniment to the dense and complex Mass Effect universe. Wall explains that BioWare played him a piece of music written by another composer called Sam Hulick, who had also auditioned for the project. While Hulick wasn’t chosen to be the lead composer (because he was considered to be too junior for the job), Wall gave him equal credit on the soundtrack, thanks to his “incredibly important” contributions to key themes in the first game."

It wasn’t until Mass Effect 2 that the music really came into its own, becoming integral to the whole experience. Where Mass Effect has this almost utopian outlook, channelling the optimism of mid-20th century sci-fi to establish its universe, the sequel is darker. The end of everything is nigh. From the off, you’re told the final act is a “Suicide Mission”, and to get your affairs in order before you reach the point of no return. There’s a pervasive pessimism, and every second you play you can feel the suffocating inevitability of sacrifice closing in around you. It needed music to match. "“Right at the beginning of the development, Casey Hudson came in and said ‘I’d love to write the ending now’,” Wall says, “‘because everything’s going to culminate there. I want that to be the main moment that everyone remembers. He gave me some guidance, and talked me through what he wanted [players] to feel – which is always the best way to work with a director.” This track, aptly named Suicide Mission, may be the most important across the whole trilogy. It has a more orchestral bias than anything from the first game, and reflects the serious overall tone. It shows how rapidly Mass Effect matured from one game to the next. “It had to be epic, it had to feel cinematic, it had to feel ‘one man against everything’,” says Wall. “You needed to feel like you were saving the world, saving the galaxy, whatever. I came up with that main theme, and [Hudson] liked it pretty much immediately.” But before Wall and Hudson could start fitting the pieces together, there was some maintenance to be done. BioWare and Wall were unimpressed by how the music in the first game had been patched into the final product. “The transitions were terrible,” Wall says when I ask for examples, “and it just didn’t do justice to the music."

"“So, what we decided is that in Mass Effect 2, I would do all the implementation, which was something I’d never done before,” he continues. “I had an amazing assistant called Brian DiDomenico who worked with me in my studio every day; he sat in my vocal booth with a desk and a PC, and I would send him my tracks, he would implement them into the game, and I would do a play test there and then. And we would tweak it until it was really good … BioWare was known for only putting out a game when it was ready, and so things got delayed a lot, but fans were super happy when they got it.” Wall remembers finishing the game, noting that the whole ending sequence came through “in little tiny pieces of video that were spewed out by the game engine”. He took the files and fed them into a movie editor on his Mac, pieced the ending together, and edited Suicide Mission into it. He then wrote different endings to the track, reflecting the choices of the player. “It was the biggest mind-fucking thing I’ve ever done in my entire life,” he laughs. “And there was no one available to walk me through it, because they were all freaking out trying to finish the game. I handed it in, and they had to do a lot of massaging on their end in order to get it to work, but they did it … and the result is still one of the best ending sequences to a game that I’ve ever played. It was worth all that effort.” Wall did not return to score Mass Effect 3, the least well-received game in the trilogy. “Casey was not particularly happy with me at the end,” he says. “But I’m so proud of that score. It got nominated for a Bafta, and it did really well … [even if] it didn’t go as well as Casey wanted.” Talking to Wall, I sensing an almost Fleetwood Mac level of creative tension between him and Hudson; the duo made something amazing that would live in the hearts of sci-fi and RPG lovers for ever, but at the cost of some relationships. “Fallouts like that happen, it’s just part of the deal,” he says. “It’s one of the few times in my career that’s happened, and it was a tough time, but it is what it is.”"

[source]

[tired-truffle]

My Soul to Keep

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @ihascat5 @pebble-bb @goooofy-goooober1121 @furblurwurblur @potatointhedirt @webofwhimsy @mad-simp420 @xo-mingx @patchs-curiosity-corner (Let me know if you'd like to be added)

Chapter 2

Masterlist

You’d never imagined being a ghost tethered to a place to be a very fun experience. Being unable to move outside of your haunting space or see new scenery would drive anyone at least a little crazy after a few years. Being tethered to a person or an object, on the other hand, would give you a bit more wiggle room and the ability to explore. Except it would only be at the whim of the person carrying your object, or the person themselves. While you hadn’t figured out if you were actually a ghost or not, less than a minute after Viktor had left his apartment, it became viscerally clear that you were attached to something or someone on the move. Like an invisible wall of force, you were shoved from your spot, hovering uncertainly above the leather couch, and dragged through the floor. 

Your shrieks of terror went unheard as you passed by room after room, making your descent from the upper floors. A man frantically buttoning his vest, a piece of toast crammed into his mouth, groaning his irritation as crumbs scattered over his chest. A woman reading a newspaper, a cup of tea in her hand. A young couple, one wrapped nothing but a thin sheet as they kissed goodbye at the door. 

Wonderful, not only were you some sort of ghost-like creature, but you were now a Peeping Tom too. 

After what must have been upwards of fifteen rooms, you finally reached the ground floor, floating down until you hovered over smooth tile flooring, polished marble tiles laid out in an intricate herringbone pattern that stretched from wall to wall. Towering columns of veined stone rose to meet a vaulted ceiling, where ornate chandeliers hung like crystalline raindrops frozen in time. Their warm light glinted off the gold-leafed accents adorning the walls and archways, rendering an atmosphere of quiet luxury.

A polished mahogany reception desk stood to your left, its surface so reflective you assumed it must be polished on the hour every hour. Behind it, a wall of brass mailboxes glinted, their tiny doors neatly labelled with apartment numbers.

As you floated there, drinking in the details of your lavish surroundings, a soft 'ding' broke you from your curious reverie. The elevator doors slid open, and Viktor stepped out.

It took him a moment to spot you, likely not having expected to see his hallucination lying on the floor of his building’s entry, but unfortunately for you, there was no coverage to hide your embarrassment. Like a flame flickering into existence, his eyes widened as they landed on you, stuttering in his steps. With a resigned sigh, you waved at him and floated back to a standing position. 

Out of all the side effects of your predicament, the floating was probably your favourite. It was the little things that kept you going. 

Recovering smoothly, lucky that the few others in the lobby weren’t paying attention to the newcomer, Viktor resumed his long-legged strides, his shoes clicking against the marble floors. When he reached you, you floated along at his side, hands clasped behind your back with the dignity of someone who did not just fall through the ceiling. 

“It seems like I can’t leave your general vicinity. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.” You elbowed him, even knowing it would go right through him. It was the thought that counted. “I don’t think anyone else can see me though, or a lot more of them would have freaked the fuck out when I appeared in their rooms.”

The subtlest of smirks canted at the corners of his lips. He pushed open the glass door, the creaking of the hinges masking his voice so only you could hear his reply.

“I’ve had worse tag-alongs.” 

That shouldn’t have made you as happy as it did, but you beamed at him anyway, pleased like a student who’d been praised by an overly harsh teacher. 

You hovered in silence beside Viktor, acutely aware of the peculiar situation you found yourself in. The bustling streets of Piltover unfolded before you, gleaming with wealth and innovation that left you slack-jawed with wonder. It was one thing to see it on screen, and another to experience it first-hand.

Sleek, chrome-plated carriages whizzed by, and the people of Piltover moved with purpose, their attire a dizzying array of fine silks, tailored suits, and accessories that sparkled with precious stones. You realized, with a start, that even the most modest outfit you saw probably cost more than you'd ever seen in your life.

Street vendors hawked their wares on the cobblestone roads - miniature clockwork toys, glowing vials of mysterious substances, and gadgets whose purposes you couldn't even begin to fathom. You longed to stop and examine each fascinating item, but the invisible tether binding you to Viktor urged you onward.

After a few blocks of sensory overload, you approached a structure that made even the grandest buildings you'd passed seem modest in comparison. The Academy loomed before you, a colossal edifice of azure stone that seemed to touch the very heavens. Its walls were smooth and polished, reflecting the sky like a massive sapphire.

As you ascended the steps alongside Viktor, you noticed how the stone beneath your feet - or where your feet would be if you weren't floating - clicked and moved to match the height and speed of his strides. Would they get smaller for someone like Heimerdinger?

You turned to Viktor, bursting with questions and observations, but held your tongue, remembering that he couldn't respond without looking like a madman talking to thin air. Instead, you contented yourself with a small smile, grateful for this unexpected adventure and the chance to witness the wonders of Piltover firsthand.

It wasn’t until you were through the foyer and into the elevator - alone with Viktor - that you spoke up. 

“So,” you elongated the vowel as you thought of what to say. “What do you do with this professor?” 

Viktor was young and mostly healthy, no illness eating away at his lungs, and if he was going to meet Heimerdinger first thing in the morning, you imagined it was because he was still working for him. However, there was a chance that he was meeting with the professor about Hextech. 

“I’m his assistant,” Viktor said plainly, confirming your suspicions. 

You frowned, consideringly. “Prestigious.”

He shrugged. “It has its perks.”

The elevator dinged, its doors opening to the tenth floor. Viktor stepped out, cane softly thudding against the carpet and accompanying his muffled footsteps. It was just the two of you, as far as you could tell. 

“You’re welcome to accompany me, though it appears you have little choice in the matter, but I must warn you I will not be able to speak with you,” he said under his breath. “Heimerdinger may appear…aloof at times, but he is sharp as a whip. If he believes that I’ve cracked under the pressure, he will have me immediately escorted to the nearest in-patient facility. That or he’ll lecture me over tea, neither of which I am particularly fond of.” 

You nodded along as he spoke, spinning so you were floating on your back, watching the sparkly tiled ceiling flow by. “I figured as much. Don’t worry about me; I’ll just chill in the corner. You won’t even know I’m there.”

And you’d been so close to being right. 

You’d done as promised, perusing the corners of Heimerdinger’s office while they reviewed their daily tasks, and trailing as far behind them as you could when they set out. The limit seemed to be about twenty feet in all directions before the barrier kicked in and shoved you along. Entirely aggravating - you’d never liked being told what to do, not even by invisible walls. 

Every so often, you'd push against the barrier, testing its limits. It was like pressing against an elastic wall - you could stretch it a bit, but eventually, it would snap back, dragging you along.

As you drifted through the corridors, you noticed something peculiar. Whenever you passed through a person, they would shiver involuntarily, as if a sudden chill had swept over them. You watched as a young student, her arms laden with books, trembled as you glided through her. Her eyes darted around, confused before she shrugged it off and continued on her way.

Intrigued by this discovery, you decided to conduct a little experiment - if you were going to surround yourself with scientists, you might as well try to blend in. You positioned yourself in the middle of a busy intersection where multiple hallways converged. As people walked through you, one after another, you observed their reactions. Some merely twitched, while others visibly shuddered, their teeth chattering for a brief moment.

Interesting, but you weren’t sure what to do with this newfound knowledge.

They didn’t head back to Heimerdinger’s office until late into the evening - it was clear where Viktor got his unhealthy work habits from, if he hadn’t had them already. By that point, you were bored out of your skull, and you couldn’t even get the reprieve of banging your head against the wall. 

All you could do was talk and float around, and since the only person you could talk to was Viktor, that left you with floating as your only option - and there was only so much flopping around into different positions that you could do before you lost your mind. 

Your wish for entertainment came in the form of an overly distracted Heimerdinger. You hadn’t been watching, Viktor hadn’t been watching - busy sorting through the missives that had piled up on the professor’s desk while they’d been out - and Heimerdinger himself hadn’t been watching where he was going, too enraptured in his thoughts. 

Bang! The loud slap of a stack of books toppling to the floor jolted you out of your calm - albeit painfully boring - state. 

Your perspective shifted dramatically, as if the world had grown larger around you. The colours of the room muted, losing their vibrancy, yet somehow, you could see more of your surroundings at once. Your visual field expanded, stretching to the corners of the room that were previously out of sight.

Your closest surroundings blurred, becoming indistinct shapes in your new vision. Yet, you found yourself drawn to the smallest movements - a piece of paper fluttering in the breeze from an open window, specks of dust filtering through the air.

Everything was different, more immediate, filled with scents and sounds you hadn't noticed before. The musty smell of old books mingled with the sharp tang of ink and the faint aroma of Heimerdinger's pipe tobacco.

Your ears twitched, picking up sounds you hadn’t noticed before. Viktor's breathing seemed louder now, the soft rustle of his clothing, the subtle creak of floorboards beneath his feet.

Instinctively, you hissed through clenched teeth as confusion prickled along your spine, your fur standing on end as your back arched. The sound that escaped your throat was alien and feral, nothing like your usual voice. As soon as it happened, you froze, bewildered.

Hold on.

Be so fucking for real right now.

This could not be happening.

Viktor’s wide eyes and slackened jaw said otherwise, his missive falling to the floor like a feather on a gentle breeze. 

You became acutely aware of your new feline form. Your whiskers twitched, sensitive to the slightest air currents in the room. Your tail, a foreign appendage you'd never possessed before, swished behind you with a mind of its own. You flexed your paws, feeling the soft pads beneath and the sharp claws that extended and retracted at will. The fur that covered your little body was a sleek black, looking soft to the touch as though you’d spent hours grooming it.

“Gadzooks!” Heimerdinger exclaimed, his head popping up from where he’d dived behind his desk to avoid being crushed. “That was a close one! Are you alright, my boy?”

Viktor hadn’t even been close to the books, but it was sweet of the professor to ask - not that you could register it in your shock. 

Shaking himself out of his stunned stupor, Viktor turned to face his employer. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“I’m alright, but it did give me quite the scare.” Heimerdinger chuckled to himself, but you were too busy freaking out to fully appreciate how the yordle’s ears wiggled when he laughed. 

Why the fuck were you a cat? And how were you supposed to turn back?

Oh God, were you stuck like this forever now? No, you refused. You’d had enough weird shit happen; you weren’t going to let this control you too.

Closing your eyes, you concentrated on slowing your heart rate. Like water falling off a duck's back, your feline form melted away. A tingling sensation spread from your core to your extremities, and you sensed your body stretching and reshaping. When you dared to open your eyes again, you found yourself back in your ghostly human form, hovering a few inches above the ground.

Frantically, you patted yourself down, checking for any lingering cat-like features. No tail. No fur. No whiskers. You ran your hands over your head, sighing in relief when you felt your hair instead of pointed ears. The world had returned to its normal proportions and colours, the hyper-awareness of scents and sounds fading back to normal.

Still shaken, you drifted over to Viktor, who was helping Heimerdinger gather the fallen books. You hovered close to his ear, hissing in a low, urgent whisper - a human hiss, not a cat hiss - "What the fuck was that?"

Viktor's eyes darted to you for a split second before returning to his task. His lips barely moved as he hissed back, "How am I supposed to know?"

You ran your hands through your hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. "I turned into a fucking cat!" you whispered incredulously, your voice rising slightly in pitch.

Viktor's jaw clenched, and he shot you a warning glance. His eyes flicked meaningfully towards Heimerdinger, who was dusting off a particularly old tome.

You nodded, forcing yourself to take deep, calming breaths – not that you actually needed to breathe, but the familiar action helped steady your nerves. As Viktor and Heimerdinger finished tidying up, you retreated to a corner of the office, trying to process what had just happened and wondering what other surprises your strange new existence might have in store for you.

Sitting in awkward silence wasn’t your favourite activity, but lately you’d been doing a lot of things you typically avoided. 

“Do you still think I’m a hallucination?” You broke the silence, your elbows resting on your knees as you floated above the couch, legs crossed. 

Viktor swayed his head and twisted towards you, his piecemeal dinner of toast and jam abandoned on the coffee table. “I have not concretely ruled it out, but since no one else can see or hear you, that may be difficult. For now, I am leaning towards no. It is much too fantastical for my mind to come up with. Besides, I do not feel as though I have lost my senses. There would be other signs.”

Logical, as you’d expected. 

“I wish I wasn’t real,” you sighed, tilting your head back to look at the popcorn-textured ceiling. “This is all so crazy. I don’t know where to begin trying to find answers.” 

“Do you remember what happened before you arrived here?” 

You shook your head. “Not a thing.” 

Viktor hummed his understanding. “You said that this world should not exist, what did you mean by that?”

Right, you had blurted that out in a panicked rush, hadn’t you? 

“If you don’t think you’ve lost your mind, then you definitely will think that I have when I try to explain it to you.”

He smiled, soft and patient, and in response, your stomach conjured up a flurry of butterflies to tickle your insides. “I promise I will not pass undue judgment. If I was going to, I would have already, given that you’re transparent and can turn into a cat.”

“Fair point.” He had you there, and what else did you have to lose? “Though don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He sat back, motioning for you to begin. 

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders. “Do you have televisions here? Like screens that play pre-recorded videos?” 

“Some do, though it is not particularly common.”

“Thank God,” you breathed, “I really didn’t want to try to explain what that was. They’re pretty common in my world, at least where I come from, most households have them. We’ve got millions of shows and movies to watch. There was this one show called Arcane that was about, uh, here. Like, Piltover and Zaun.” 

He nodded sagely, and you couldn’t find any traces of disbelief in his eyes. He was just…accepting it? Or he was a very good actor. You were leaning toward the latter. 

“You were one of the main characters,” you continued, noting that this did get a reaction from him: a slight raise of his eyebrows. “And judging by a few observations, this is before the start of the show, though it can’t be more than a few years at most. If I had to guess based on my luck lately, we’re pretty close to it, weeks if not days.”

Viktor's forehead creased as he processed your words. "A show…about Piltover and Zaun. I suppose the politics could be intriguing. And I'm a character in it?"

“You are, but I don’t expect you to take me at my word. I can prove to you that I know things that I shouldn’t, and I can predict a few upcoming events, though we must prevent one sequence of events or everything goes to shit, so I may need a little bit of trust from you.”

At this, he looked interested, and you took this as a win. “Intriguing. You may proceed.”

You paused, what could you even tell him? What would be believable? “You…know a lot of things.”

“True.”

“And if you’re still thinking I may be a hallucination then I can’t tell you your history ‘cause you already know it.” You tapped your chin, lips twisted as you thought hard. “I’m trying to prevent the immediate future, so that wouldn’t work either, but…oh! Are you able to go to a doctor anytime soon?”

Viktor blinked, startled back. “A doctor?” 

“Yeah, like a medical one, not Dr. Reveck.” 

“Who is Dr. Reveck?” 

It was your turn to express your confusion. “You know, the doctor in that cave you met as a kid? When your boat went down the stream into his lab?”

Viktor eyed you, suspicion swimming in the depths of his gaze. “He never told me his name.” 

“Oh, uh,” you grinned sheepishly, “I guess you know it now. He’s the inventor of Shimmer. He’s trying to cure his daughter of death. He should probably be stopped, but that’s a later problem.”

“Right.” He was dubious, but he waved for you to continue. 

“Okay, here it goes, and it’s probably gonna suck to hear, so I’m warning you now,” you said, and upon Viktor’s nod, you started. “They never told us what illness you had, or I guess you have, just that you got it from Zaun’s shitty air. Your lungs will start to fail you, you’ll need a crutch, you’ll lose weight, and you’ll start coughing up blood sometime in the next seven years. Eventually, it would kill you. But, many people believed the illness was similar to one that we have in my world: tuberculosis or consumption, depending on the time period.” 

Viktor's face paled as you spoke, his lips pressed into a thin line. He sat in silence for a long moment.

"That's... quite specific,” he said when he was able to form a response. “And rather grim."

“I know. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. I’m sure that’s a lot to take in, but if it is something like tuberculosis, then the good news is it’s totally treatable before it gets to the active stage. Do you have any of those symptoms now?”

“I don’t,” he said, a wariness to his tone. 

“That’s great!” You clapped your hands, relief flooding through you. What were you supposed to do if the one person who could see you died? “That means you don’t have the active stage yet, or any illness at all, but if it’s caused by Zaun’s air and you haven’t lived there for some time, then it wouldn’t make sense that you pick it up later. Can the doctors here test your blood for an illness like this?” 

“Yes.” His fingers drummed a steady rhythm on the arm of his chair, a nervous habit you hadn't noticed before. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to get checked, though the idea of being ill and unaware until it is too late is unsettling."

Silence stretched between you, broken only by the soft ticking of a clock on the wall and the distant hum of the city outside. You wished you could offer more comfort, but what could you say to someone who'd just been told they might have a potentially fatal illness?

"I'll schedule an appointment as soon as I can," Viktor said, quiet but resolute.

You nodded, relieved that he was taking your warning seriously. "That's good. Really good. Thank you for listening to me."

Viktor's lips quirked into a small smile. "It's not every day a ghostly entity from another world appears to warn you about your health. It would be foolish to ignore such a specific prophecy."

You chuckled, appreciating his attempt at levity. "That’s the spirit."

Over and over in your mind you prayed to whatever gods may be listening that they could catch his illness in time. And if they couldn’t…you weren’t sure you had it in you to stop him from becoming the Machine Herald.

A few days later, he had his appointment set, and until then, you were stuck following him around. It wasn’t all bad, you’d spent most of your time idly floating, watching the scenery as you trailed after Viktor, and the evenings were spent in peaceful companionship. Surprisingly, he was more chatty than you’d expected. Late at night as he pursued his work, he’d talk to you about it, or rather talked at you as you had little to add. But still, you appreciated the entertainment. 

You had avoided turning back into a cat again, if such a thing could be avoided. One thing at a time; address Viktor’s illness, get him to believe that you were real, and then you could figure your shit out. 

On the day of the appointment, you floated beside him as he made his way to the physician’s office. It was in a central part of town, a quick trolley ride away. As you entered the sleek building, a thought occurred to you that you’d nearly forgotten. 

“Did someone teach you to use your cane on the same side as your injured leg?” 

Viktor halted in his steps, said cane clacking against the floor. It was just him in the entryway, and he looked at you with bewilderment. “I beg your pardon?”

You cringed, who were you to tell him how to use his mobility aid when you couldn’t even use your legs? There was no such thing as an inaccessible environment when you could float everywhere. “It’s just that you’re supposed to use a cane on the opposite side as the disabled leg, right? But I thought maybe there was a reason you weren’t doing that.”

He glanced down at the cane and then back up at you. “That’s what my parents taught me.” 

Ah, it was as you feared. No one had taught him to use it properly, and they’d been letting him go his whole life using it in a way that would damage his body over time. It made sense that Zaun didn’t receive proper health education on top of everything else. “Maybe you can talk to the doctor about it while you’re here.”

He pursed his lips, gaze distant as though evaluating memories you were not party to. “Perhaps.” 

After signing in and waiting his turn, Viktor was called back. 

“I’ll wait outside the door if that’s okay with you,” you offered, floating down the long hallway as the nurse brought him to a clinic room. Viktor nodded his understanding. 

You hovered in the hall, your ethereal form passing through the occasional nurse or patient who hurried by, watching as they shivered or shuddered.

As you waited, you observed the diverse array of people moving through the clinic. A young woman with braided hair adorned with gold jewelry passed by, her eyes fixed on a small device in her hand. An elderly gentleman hobbled along, supported by a woman of a similar age - his wife, maybe. A pair of identical twins, no older than ten, chattered excitedly about the latest comic their parents had bought them.

The nurse who had escorted Viktor into the examination room emerged, her shoes squeaking softly against the polished floor. She moved with purpose, her crisp white uniform much too clean for someone who no doubt frequently got her hands dirty. How many changes of uniforms for its staff did this place have to keep up appearances?

Minutes ticked by, and you found yourself studying the patterns in the wallpaper, tracing the delicate floral designs with your eyes.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely only about thirty minutes, the door to Viktor's room opened again. This time, a distinguished-looking man in a white coat stepped out, followed closely by Viktor. The doctor's salt-and-pepper hair was neatly combed, and his glasses perched precariously on the bridge of his nose. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, a reassuring expression that immediately put you at ease.

Viktor's face was a mask of calm, but you could see the subtle tension in his shoulders. He extended his hand to the doctor, who grasped it firmly.

"Thank you, Doctor," Viktor said. "Your insights have been most valuable."

The doctor shook Viktor’s hand, his smile widening. "It's my pleasure. Remember what we discussed, and don't hesitate to reach out if you have any questions."

With a final nod, Viktor turned and began making his way down the hallway towards the exit. You floated after him, your ghostly form easily keeping pace with his measured strides. As you followed, something caught your eye, and you did a double-take.

Viktor was using his cane differently.

Where before he had held it on the same side as his disabled leg, now it was on the opposite side. He had listened to your suggestion and brought it up with the doctor. This small change could make a significant difference in his daily life, potentially alleviating pain and improving his mobility.

As you exited the clinic, the bustling streets of Piltover greeted you. The afternoon sun beat down on the cobblestone paths, and you floated alongside Viktor, studying his face for any sign of what the doctor might have told him. His expression remained impassive, but when there was a break in the crowd, he leaned closer to you.

“I will receive a call with the results of the testing in a few days,” he whispered. “But you were correct about the cane. Thank you.” 

You shrugged, entirely unsure what to say. “I hope it helps.” 

An uptick at the corner of his mouth was the only sign of his smile. “Only time will tell.”

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day!! I hope this makes it to you in time, and thank you so so much for all the support you gave for the first chapter <3

If at any point when reading this chapter you thought to yourself: "I just want you to stop sayin' odd shit." I do not blame you. It's not going to get any less weird, but I hope you enjoy it!

[n0tamused]

❝ Still here ❞

A/n: Felt the itch to write for Sam again and here we are, after not writing for this fandom in literal years.. I was craving comfort of some kind so bear with me </3 Feel free to drop by SPN drabble ideas

Contents: Sam Winchester x GN!Reader, comfort angst, Sam is the one being comforted, not proof read

Words: 889

“Sam-”

“How long before you just be honest with yourself?” he asked with a pained grunt, not one of physical kind but a deep corner from within his lungs where his bleeding heart attempted to take refuge from the world, from you. His eyes held unshed tears and the sight unsettled you. It sets a deep ache in your chest, somewhere right below your sternum.   “It had almost killed Dean, it almost killed you! And I had done nothing about it, I could have only watched you two get gutted!”  Words are spilling out of him in a torrent and you attempt to cup his face but Sam squirmed away, shoulders set square and body rigid and his eyes fall from your face in a guilty stare directed at your shoulder instead.

“Listen to me, hey.. Keep still” you take half a breath, feeling the space between your brows crease and tighten. “You didn’t know, none of us did. You can’t blame yourself for this, hey- Don’t.” By then he has already begun to turn away from you, standing up to leave the cheap motel bed you were patching him up on. He winces, his gaze snapping back to you as you follow after him. 

“You had to call for help because I couldn’t do anything! What if this happens again, who are you going to call then? I can’t- No, I can’t, I CAN’T lose you too” He said as he backed himself up, shaking his head and looking everywhere and nowhere all at once, as if to show you he wished there was a world’s distance between the two of you.

And you would have accepted that as truth had he not met your touch with a subtle lean in, seeking more of the warmth of your hand that graced his shoulder. He crumbled, sliding down the wall as one frail hand grasped around your wrist and you followed him down to the floor. 

“You’re not going to lose me, Sam-” you said, your other hand finding purchase upon his other shoulder as you pulled him forward, hoping he’d pick his head up and look at you. His ruffled hair is the sight you’re met with, and quiet sounds of crying met your ears like a lament of the future that might’ve come to pass, as if it already happened and you were a mere ghost haunting him for all he did to wrong you. He was muttering under his breath barely comprehensible words and broken sentences about loss and his distrust of his ability to protect. There was naught you could’ve said in that moment as crystalline tears began to drop to the floor, nothing that he’d be able to hear and follow.

With whatever courage you could muster and all the kindness you had for him, you drew yourself closer and pulled him into you, arms circling around him, allowing his head to rest at your clavicle. 

Your fingers find their way to his hair, carding through over and over again in slow motions until they smoothed out, and then some more. Cooing and hushing, your lips pressed against the crown of his head; perhaps a gentle touch would be enough to shatter this illusion of failure that he put all his faith in. What ghost he conjured would ever be so gentle on him?

“Sammy..” it was a whisper of your voice, a breath of his name, that came a few moments after his sobs subsided. By then his arms were circled around your waist, loose but sure in their hold, tying you to him for just a moment longer. “I’m here.. and you did your best.. and that best was more than enough..”

He inhaled a shaky breath, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as you continued after a pause. “You could have died..” He breathed into your skin before his hold pulled you closer into his warmth, fleeting hold that meant as a motion to suck out poison from a wound.

You could have died, there was no denying that, but a foolish, naive part of you, the stubborn little voice reared its head and told you that you would have prevailed either way, for this crumbling man before you if no one else.

“Maybe.. I sure could’ve died yesterday as well in that traffic, but I don’t hear you talking about not being my driver..” At that you heard him puff, half a laugh, half a sorrow of a sound. “I could die any day, Sam, but that doesn’t make it your fault.. I’m okay, can’t you see? Can’t you feel me, hm?” The hand that was combing through his hair adjusted his head, guiding it so it pressed against your chest, his ears listening to the beat of your heart.

Lup-dup.. lup-dup..lup-dup…

The sound echoed in his ear, and his eyes welled with tears again. This time due to relief. His arms tightened once more and your own arms went wholly around him, holding him just as close.

“I’m here..”  Your lips kissed the top of his head again just as his own lips shakily found the pulse point at your neck, leaving a butterfly kiss, as frail as it was meaningful, and another kiss just below it. 

You are here. Alive. That’s all he can ask for. 

Ⓒ n0tamused/jarttavia_. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[knivestothroats]

The Professionals - Bargain Price

The Professionals is a crossover of In the Woods Somewhere by me and Professional//Victim by @victimeyez In which Tommy learns the price of trying to bargain. (Follow up to Allowances) CW: Long term captivity, violent whumper, many graphic threats, beating, biting, bchoking

Fletcher let Tommy stew for a bit before they came to find him. They enjoyed their dinner and took a moment to decide what they were going to do to him. 

When they opened the door to his room, it was empty.

Or – mostly empty. Fletcher was good at scanning rooms, and it only took them a moment to spot a bit of a pale foot under the bed. They stepped lightly in and crouched, snagging his ankle and dragging him out.

Tommy yelped as he was wrenched from his hiding spot, immediately putting his hands up in a weak attempt to shield himself. Any vestiges of bravado he had managed earlier were long gone now. Fletcher looked down at him as he cowered at their boots.

“Hey, buddy.”

“Fletcher – Fletcher,” his voice broke. “I’m s-so sorry, I don’t know what I was– I never should have– I can–” Tommy hiccuped out a sob and covered his face with his hands.

Fletcher put a finger to their lips and waited for Tommy to quiet down.

“If you want to act like a child and throw a tantrum, then I’m canceling your playdate.” 

Fletcher pulled their phone from their pocket and opened up Buck’s contact.

“Wait! Wait no, no nononono Fletcher, wait, please!” Tommy scrambled up onto his knees, clinging to Fletcher’s thigh frantically. 

Fletcher held the phone up above their head to keep it out of Tommy’s reach.

“What? You want something worse than being grounded?”

“Please, please, anything else, I’ll – I’ll pay for the wall, and – and you can hurt me, please please just don’t call him!”

“Oh ho, buddy, you are absolutely paying for the wall,” Fletcher sneered. “Do you know how long that’s going to take you to pay off? You can forget about buying anything any time soon.”

It took a moment, but then seemed to fully dawn on Tommy how much it would cost him. Fletcher could see him trying to do the math in his head, the dread on his face as it really sank in. Five dollars a week couldn’t get much, and months would stack up fast.

“I…” He gulped, his eyes watering. “I know, I know, I’ll do it, but please don’t take Buck away.”

Fletcher eyed Tommy for a moment.

“You said I could hurt you? What do you want me to do to you instead? What do you think is enough to make up for it?”

“Well, yes, I mean…..um…” Tommy’s eyes darted nervously around the room, as if he would find something that might help him. He wet his lips. 

“You could…you could…beat me...”

“I could beat you and still send Buck away,” Fletcher retorted. “I can beat you for stuttering when you talk to me. I could beat you for anything, whenever I want. If you want me to change my mind, you have to come up with something enticing.”

Tommy blinked away tears. “You can… you can use a knife?” He offered tentatively.

“Yeah?” Fletcher asked mockingly. “I can use a knife? Can I take off patches of your skin with it? Can I wedge the point under your fingernails?”

Tommy’s jaw moved, but no words came out.

“Can I chop off a finger?” Fletcher continued. “One of your ears? Can I stick it in your eye? Can I open up your fucking veins? Is that okay with you?!”

Their words grew more aggressive and they grabbed the front of Tommy’s shirt.

“I… I…” Tommy stammered.

“What, you don’t want that? Well, can I do something else? What about your bones, Thunderbird, am I allowed to break those? Can I knock out your teeth? Can I hold your head under water? Can I break out the car battery and the jumper cables? Can I burn the bottoms of your feet so you have to crawl? Can I wrap my hands around your throat and tighten them until you stop moving and your last thought before you pass out is that you hope to fucking god I let go before you die? Huh? Can I do any of those fucking things to you?”

“I… I’m sorry, I don’t…”

Fletcher slapped Tommy hard across the face, swinging it to the side.

“Wise the fuck up, kid,” Fletcher snapped. “I can do whatever the fuck I want to you. Maybe it worked for you before where you bat your fucking eyelashes and get on your knees and you get out of whatever you had coming, but I don’t give a shit about any of that. You take what I give you.”

“Yes, Fletcher, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Tommy cried, words coming out barely above a whisper. His teary eyes tracked the movement of the phone in their hand. “I’ll take whatever you give me. Can you please hang up now?”

It took Fletcher a second to process. They looked at their phone and saw the seconds ticking up, timing the phone call.

“Oh shit,” they muttered. They put the phone to their ear. “Buck, you there?”

No answer. Must be a voicemail.

Fletcher ended the call. They hesitated a moment, then punched Tommy hard in the chest.

Tommy made a breathy grunt as the wind was knocked out of him. He dropped to the floor, curled up on his side, and tried a few frightening times to draw a breath before one actually came.

“Don’t punch my fucking wall,” Fletcher growled, standing up. “We aren’t finished with this conversation.”

Fletcher stepped forwards over Tommy and planted their boot down firmly on the side of his face, pinning his head to the floor. He was already trembling with fear, struggling to catch his breath. They called Buck again, putting it on speaker and letting the automatic voicemail answer message play.

“Hey, didn’t mean to call you the first time. Hit the button accidentally. But, look, I am canceling your next visit because Tommy is grounded. I’ll let you know when you can come back.”

Tommy whimpered pitifully on the ground, but didn’t protest.

Fletcher ended the call and sent Buck a text.

Ignore the first voicemail.

“Alright, get up,” Fletcher instructed, stepping off of Tommy. He shakily got to his feet. “Follow me.”

Tommy slinked along after Fletcher, but hung back when Fletcher opened the basement door. His chest tightened. 

“After you.”

Fletcher gestured down the dark stairwell. As much as Tommy didn’t want to go down there, it didn’t seem like a good time to disobey. 

You’ve been in the basement before, he told himself as he forced his feet down each step. You were fine.

But Fletcher wasn’t mad at you then.

Tommy hesitated at the bottom of the stairs as Fletcher pulled the string on the overhead lights. They stood in the empty part of the basement. Nothing but a cement floor with a drain. They gestured for Tommy to join them.

Tommy’s heart was racing. He didn’t feel like he was piloting his body as it approached Fletcher. Instinctively, he began to lower himself to the floor when Fletcher cut him off.

“Don’t get on your fucking knees unless I tell you,” they growled.

“S-Sorry,” Tommy said, quickly straightening up. 

“You wanna fight me?”

Tommy was so taken aback he was sure he heard them wrong. His brain was making things up again. 

“What - sorry - what did you say?”

“I said,” Fletcher stepped closer, invading Tommy’s space. “Do you want to fight me?”

“N-No, no, Fletcher, of course I-”

“You wanted to hit me earlier,” Fletcher asserted. “You hit the wall instead. Isn’t that right? It wasn’t the wall you were angry at.”

Tommy shrank back. “I was just… I didn’t…”

“Well, I’m giving you the opportunity,” Fletcher said. “I’ll even let you start.”

Tommy was wide eyed and frozen like a deer in headlights. Fletcher waited, staring him down with a cold gaze.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Tommy said in a small voice.

Fletcher shoved Tommy in the chest with both hands, causing him to stumble backwards.

“Let me reframe this,” they said, pacing after him. “You can stand there and take a beating, or you can fight back. I am giving you a chance to fight back. Clearly it’s something you need to get out of your system, so you don’t go punching holes in my walls.”

They reached out and grabbed Tommy by the face, squeezing in his cheeks. With a sharp smile they said, “Aren’t I so fucking nice?”

They let go and gave Tommy a slap, but not nearly as hard as they had earlier.

“C’mon. You were a street punk. You never learned how to fight?”

“Fletcher, I don’t…” Tommy put up his hands. “Please, I don’t want to do this!”

Fletcher easily reached through his defense to grab Tommy by the front of his shirt, and punched him across the face.

“You want to stand there and get hit like you always do?” They snapped. “Don’t you want to hit back for once in your miserable life?”

Tommy’s head was swimming. Pain bloomed across his jaw from the strike. His fear and anger rose in his gut, but he felt paralyzed to defend himself. The product of years of grueling training to never resist, to never fight back. Now he had a chance, and he was terrified. When he saw Fletcher raise their fist again, he threw up his arms to guard his face. 

Fletcher’s knuckles collided with the bones of Tommy’s thin arms. He managed to keep his defenses up, so Fletcher went low and drove their fist into his stomach. When Tommy doubled over, dropping his arms to his abdomen, Fletcher smacked him across the face.

“Fucking do something,” they snarled. “This isn’t over until you fight back.”

Something in Tommy snapped. 

He lunged at Fletcher, hand flying out to take a swipe at their face, his fingers curled into claws.

Fletcher managed to block the attack, grabbing his arm and pushing it away. Tommy immediately countered with his other hand, yanking his arm free to make mad swipes and rain fists down wherever he could.

Fletcher parried a strike and shot a fist out at Tommy’s stomach again. He folded slightly but was being carried by the adrenaline, flinging himself back at Fletcher. 

Fletcher blocked his first arm, but the second managed to slip through. Tommy’s nails clawed across Fletcher’s cheek and eyelid. 

Fletcher hissed and shoved Tommy back. He charged forward, head down, colliding with Fletcher like he was trying to tackle them. Fletcher had to brace their feet but remained upright easily. They even let out a small laugh before driving their elbow down into his back. 

Tommy jerked and grunted at the impact but didn’t let go. He tried to strike with his knees and kick at the inside of Fletcher’s legs. Fletcher took the opportunity to pull him off his balance, throwing him to the floor.

Tommy held fast to Fletcher’s shirt, pulling them down with him.

Fletcher could feel their own balance start to go and aimed their fall to land with their knee on Tommy’s stomach. He let out an oof but didn’t stop. Instead he reached up and snagged a fistful of Fletcher’s hair.

In the old days, Fletcher had kept their head buzzed for this reason. Having it used against them now gave them an instinctive jolt of panic, as well as anger. 

If Tommy wanted to go low - scratching, grappling, hair pulling - Fletcher would meet him there. They landed their hand on his face and dug their thumb into his eye socket.

Tommy let out a groan through gritted teeth and twisted his face away to shake off the hand, then back to sink his teeth into it. All without loosening his grip on Fletcher’s hair.

Fletcher let out a roar of pain and tore their hand away. 

Enough fucking around.

They drove their fist down hard into the center of Tommy’s face. They could feel his nose crunch beneath their knuckles.

Tommy relinquished his grip, both hands moving toward his face, but Fletcher caught his arm and bit back, clamping their jaw down on his forearm.

Tommy yelled out in pain. His face was painted red from the blood pouring out his nose like Fletcher had struck oil. He was no longer struggling, just trying to curl in defensively once more.

Fletcher released and stood up. They leaned down and hauled Tommy up by the front of his shirt, putting him in a sitting position.

Tommy was breathing heavily through his mouth, head hanging low, blood running freely down his chin and dripping into his lap. Fletcher took a fistful of his hair and pulled his head up to look at them. Tommy braced for impact.

“Feel better?” Fletcher asked scornfully.

“No,” Tommy said, voice muddled by a clogged nose. Blood sprayed off his lips when he spoke.

“Was it worth it?”

“No,” Tommy groaned. With his nose broken, he had to pant for air through his mouth, blood tingeing his teeth red. Fletcher’s other hand went to his collar, gripping it tight in their fist so it pulled against his throat. Tommy’s hands fluttered around their forearm, wanting to pull them off but unable to muster the strength. He’d already lost - no need to keep digging deeper. 

“Did we learn something?” Fletcher asked, tugging sharply on the collar while keeping him in place with their fist his hair. 

“Y-yes Fletcher, please don’t hit me anymore, I’m sorry,” Tommy pleaded. His voice was congested, and blood was starting to spread through the fabric of his shirt as it streamed down off his face. 

Fletcher cocked their head to the side, considering him. Tommy took the respite to wheeze, struggling not to cough up the blood filling his mouth into Fletcher’s face. 

“Your place is right here, under my boot. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Fletcher.” 

They shook his head by their fist in his hair and he whimpered, clenching his eyes closed against the pain hammering inside his head. 

“Should I be merciful?” Fletcher asked, their voice low. Tommy cracked an eye open, trying to tell if they were asking, or just talking to themselves. They looked pissed, but alive, excited. 

Beg, Tommy, beg for it, a voice urged him. It spoke in Caius’s voice, so close he could feel his breath against his ear. 

“P-please, please Fletcher, you’ve let me - let me live here and I forgot to be grateful, I’m so grateful, please, please don’t hurt me anymore, don’t let me – don’t let me lose the mercy you’ve shown, please, I know my place, please, please don’t kill me, I’ll be good!” Tommy hiccuped, sobs breaking through as the last of his adrenaline rush abandoned him.

Fletcher let him beg, leaning back to take in the full picture. They finally relinquished their fist in his hair to stroke his face with an unexpected softness. Tommy twitched weakly, waiting for more punishment. Instead, the hand wiped his tears, then dropped away. Fletcher placed a boot on Tommy’s leg, holding him in place. With their other hand, they lifted the collar.

The leather dug into Tommy’s throat, digging under his chin and pressing against his windpipe.  It was hard to draw in any breath, and his shallow gasps punctuated the thick silence between them.

They played with him like that for a bit, letting go just when the world started to grey out, returning as soon as he managed a gulp of air. When they finally let go, Tommy was dazed, his eyes unfocused. Fletcher relented and stepped off of him. When they released their grip on the collar holding him up, Tommy drooped forward limply. 

“Forget your allowance until I think you’ve paid for the repair – which you’ll be doing, and doing right. No play dates until you learn some self control. And if I hear a single word about it, I’ll make what I’ve done to you today feel like a vacation. You understand me?”

It took him a moment to process their words, but then Tommy gave a shaky nod. Fletcher leaned in and patted his cheek. 

“Good answer.”

@suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday

@defire @jumpywhumpywriter @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @paperprinxe @desert-dyke

@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @burtlederp @whatwasmyprevioususername @cursedandtired

@whump-only @misspelledwitch @redstainedsocks @thehopelessopus @im-just-here-for-the-whump

@thatsthewhump @utopian819 @pretty-face-breaker @thesuffererrrr

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: While at Camp Halfblood, Jason would volunteer to help out in the infirmary.

Even without his memories Jason wasn’t exactly used to just standing around doing nothing.

Camp activities were fun but he felt the need to be more purposeful with his time. Training was always an option but didn’t feel right doing it alone.

But no one else would go near him so Jason didn’t dare ask.

While mulling it over he noticed someone miss a step on the lava wall and begin to fall.

He raced over but he was too far so though he managed to catch them they did end up getting hurt on the way down.

Immediately Jason asked for for directions to the infirmary. It was as busy as ever. were many campers inside with varying degrees of injury. But there weren’t nearly as many medics.

In fact they seemed pretty overwhelmed and so without thinking Jason inspected the campers injuries.

Luckily it didn’t seem like they had a concussion but just a few scrapes.

Jason managed to find some bandages and perhaps it was the urgency of the situation that had the camper allow him to help.

He had found a space a ways away from the others and began to bandage their wounds. It wasn’t clinical precision but it was good enough.

When Jason was done he noticed that one of the medics had walked over and was watching him. The kid seemed around his age, maybe a bit younger.

But as a medic he clearly had authority over this place and Jason was painfully aware he may have misreport. So he immediately started apologising for intruding.

“Hey, don’t worry about it” said the medic boy with an easy going smile. It put Jason at ease a little, knowing he wasn’t in trouble. He stepped aside and let him examine the camper.

“Well, you’ve done a pretty good job” the medic said and the camper was allowed to leave. Though not before they thanked Jason who said it was no trouble.

“I’ll be honest, for a second I thought you were one of my siblings but your Thalia’s brother aren’t you?” Jason nodded “Jason Grace, son of Zeus” he introduced though clearly the other knew who he was.

Looking at him, Jason could see why that mistake could’ve been made. With the blonde hair and blue eyes, they could’ve passed for siblings more than his actual sister and he did.

“Will Solace, son of Apollo” said Will, he looked at Jason curiously. “You have a lot of experience with first aid?” Jason shrugged “A little, I’d get pretty banged up playing sports. I figured I should learn to patch myself up.”

Not to mention all the fights he’d get into with bullies but that didn’t seem appropriate to bring up on a first meeting.

Will nodded “well you seem pretty good at it. And well, we could use some extra hands if you’re up for it.”

Jason was surprised, he hadn’t exactly been well relieved by the camp and now Will was offering him something he could do. To help, to be useful like Jason had wanted.

He accepted.

From then Jason became a rather familiar face at the infirmary. He used what information he knew and was a fast learner. Not many people wanted to be treated by him but it was either that or stay injured.

Regardless of how people may feel, Jason was always kind. He did whatever he was told and stayed back to help clean up and assist the other Apollo kids.

Will seemed to accept him and as time went on so did the rest. It was hard not too really and Jason even managed to force them all take regular breaks.

He also may have punched someone for getting too hostile and threatening to give them a matching black eye.

Which definitely helped.

[bet-on-me-13]

Sam is Adopted

So! Have you ever noticed how Sam doesn't look like either of her Parents? Her Mom and Dad are Blonde and Ginger, and neither of them have Purple Eyes. How would Sam ever come from either of them?

She tells people that she dyes her Hair and wears Contacts, but the reality is that she was adopted as a baby by them. They had just found out that Pamela was Infertile and they wanted an Heir foe their company, so they decided to Adopt a kid.

But the Adoption Agency didn't have any kids who would realistically look like them, so they just got the first kid they found.

She had been left at the Orphanage by her Mother citing an inability to raise her and an unstable income. She never told the Agency her name, but told them that the baby's name was Sam, named after her Grandfather.

Sam was raised knowing that she was Adopted, but never really put much interest into it. Until one day when she decided that her adoptive Parents support of the Anti Ecto Acts was a step too far for her. She took an Ancestry DNA Test to see if she could find her Bio Mom to get away from them.

The results came back, and she found out that her Mom was a woman from Metropolis named Lois Lane.

[spacedlexi]

"sounds nice... having a partner"

[tankgotstuckinthecircusgate]

if scars don't make man look good then being alive sure does

[mydaroga]

Found on Facebook: "Paul getting ready for a home photo shoot with Barry Lategan. Pictures were featured in the Observer Magazine article ‘What Makes a Man Stylish?’, 1968."

Unsure who the woman in the photo is.

[disorganised-bagel]

been playing way too much slime rancher recently, and am now getting The Urges to make some kind of rtc slime rancher au

[starryluminary]

You’ll find the real thing instead, she’ll patch up your tapestry that I shred

And hold your hand while dancing

Never leave you standing

Crest fallen on the landing

With Champagne Problems

[bookwyrminspiration]

Silly Game Time: What are some of your favorite kinds of candy or sweets in general?

I've just been staring at this ask all day and drawing a near complete blank. I'm more of a spice person, so when I eat sweets it's usually just whatever's around.

I tend to prefer sour/acidic things? Tamarind, lemon, lime, other citrus--and that includes in desserts like cheesecake. I can say with confidence though that I do NOT like nutella or most cakes.

I'll also go for cinnamon or mint. But yeah I'll have to circle back to this I'm for real stumped

[longagoitwastuesday]

Kind of endearing that despite their obvious strained dynamic Utahime and Gojo trust each other

[voidsentprinces]

Oh Zenos, it felt like you had so much potential but then they kept you along waaaaaaaaaay past the point of narrative importance. Made you show up in the end as a glorified uber into a final boss fight and then tacked on your final battle to the Hype Battle Music which was the equivalent of a stepping a little to the left, a little to the right and then doing a Quick Time Event to win. And now Zero and the Scions won't top bringing you up in conversation like Zenos was a new hip restaurant we all use to go to and now it closed down due to COVID so now we have to reminiscence about you in passing.