#but when my obsession is not returned i get much more viscous

[destructive-delight]

you know… when i started a condition called love i thought for sure i would relate to hotaru the most (the whole never been in love/not sure if she can fall in love thing; we share a birthday, it was fate!), but 10 volumes in i’ve come to the conclusion that i’m significantly more like hananoi orz

[writerslittlelibrary]

"What, are you?"

masterlist

summary: when your abilities show themselves during a viscous Drüskelle attack, General Kirigan has you immediately transferred to the Little Palace for protection

pairing: Aleksander Kirigan x sun summoner reader

warnings: canon level violence, mention of blood

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2683

a/n: I watched the show Shadow & Bone a few years age, and I was absolutely obsessed. recently I picked up the books, and I cannot express how upset I am that they’ve cancelled the series. It literally had so much potential :(

also, I apologise for literally falling off of the face of the earth these past two months. I was depressed at first, and when I felt a little better me and my mom went on a two week vacation to Ireland, and this week I was at a figure skating camp, so I didn’t really get to writing lol. anyhow, I’m feeling better, and I am planning on writing more fics and hopefully do a flufftober week or something :)

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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The war in Ravka had been raging on for as long as you could remember. It had taken your parent’s lives, and very likely their parent’s lives as well. Now it was your turn to take your place in the army and fight in the war. 

You had never possessed much physical strength. Ever since you were a child, you were weak and fragile. It had pushed the caretakers at the orphanage to give you other tasks. 

They wanted you to posses as many skills as possible, to ensure you would have a future, even if you wouldn’t be able to fight in the war. As you got older, you seemed to develop a true talent in drawing. Your drawings were detailed and realistic, and so the caretakers pressed to ensure you would continue developing that talent. 

When you became of age, you were send to join the first army as a mapmaker. 

Currently you were stationed at a camp just next to the fold. There were several skiffs being readied to enter the fold, but after running a little detour, you found out you were not scheduled to go on any of them. 

At the moment, you were sitting with a Squaller. You had met her years ago, when both of you were just little girls. A boy had been bullying you, and she had thrown him across the field. Ever since, you had been friends. When she would return to the Little Palace, you would write to her, and when you were stationed at an encampment, she would request to be sent to the same place.

As you were laughing at something Zoya had said, you heard yelling coming from a few tents away from you. You figured it was just another soldier fight, but Zoya knew better as she stood, pulling you up with her when she seemingly spotted something that frightened her.

She pushed you behind her, grabbing your hand and she made a run to the edge of the encampment, towards the forest.

You could hear shouting behind you, and the noises of a fight reached your ears. This was not a friendly soldier fight. Too many people had been involved for that. Before you could reach the forest, you could feel two arms wrapping around you from behind, pulling you away from Zoya. 

She screamed, reaching out for you before someone took her out from behind. 

The language the man spoke was foreign, and it didn’t take you long to realise they were Fjerdans. They must’ve dressed up as soldiers so they could infiltrate the tents and eliminate the Grisha. 

You fought against the man holding you down, kicking him in the stomach and managing to punch him in the face. 

He struggled, falling backwards. You didn’t hesitate to run away from him, spotting Zoya on the ground, the Drüskelle on top of her. He had a knife in his hand, undoubtedly planning on slicing Zoya’s throat. 

You ran over quickly, jumping on the man’s back in order to get him off of her. Zoya struggled for a bit, surprised by your return before regaining her composure, raising her arms to blast the man backwards. She made her way over to you, grabbing you hand once more before she was pierced by an arrow. A Drüskelle stood behind her, a few feet away, holding a bow. 

Zoya fell to the ground, and the Fjerdan you had managed to push to the ground was now behind you again, restraining you as the other one walked over to Zoya.

He grabbed her hair, pulling her to her knees, with her head pulled backwards. He mumbled a few words in Fjerdan, something about salvation of the witches before he pressed his knife to her throat. 

You screamed, fighting against the Drüskelle holding you as they prepared to slit Zoya’s throat. 

The moment the Drüskelle drew blood, you screamed. An anger releasing inside you that you didn’t know you were holding. Your view went black, a bright light shining through the blackness before you felt your body giving out. You could faintly hear screaming, and you could make out Zoya’s voice as she held you head in her lap. 

After that, everything went black. 

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

When your vision returned, you could make out you were in a tent. You saw Zoya’s face first, looking concerned as she wiped a wet cloth over your forehead. It appeared you were burning up, yet the cool cloth felt as though it had burned you.

You groaned, moving away from her touch and shielding your eyes. The light was too bright, even though the tent was fairly dark. 

“She’s awake,” you heard Zoya say to another person in the room, who hummed thoughtfully before dismissing her.

“Thank you, Zoya. You may leave,” you heard a male voice command. 

You saw Zoya shaking her head, holding one hand on your arm as her head was turned to the other presence. 

“Please, General. She’s confused and scared as is. Allow me stay, please,” Zoya said, and you don’t think you’ve ever heard her use the word ‘please’, let alone use it multiple times in the same sentence.

“Very well,” the male voice commanded, and you could hear large footsteps cross the tent towards where you were lying down.

You groaned, grabbing onto Zoya as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, noticing you were indeed in the tent of the Black General. You breath caught in your throat at the sight of him, and your eyes fell to two Heartrenders standing guard at the entrance of the tent.

“You’ve made quite the show, miss…?” the General trailed off, looking at you expectedly. 

“y/l/n, y/n y/l/n,” you said quietly, turning your gaze to fall on Zoya, who had moved to sit next to you on the cot you were previously laying on. 

Your head felt heavy, and your hands felt clammy. 

“Miss y/l/n, tell me, what are you?” the General asked, leaning against a desk placed in the tent. 

You looked at him confused, thinking about what he could possibly mean. 

“A mapmaker, sir,” you told him, turning to look at Zoya. You couldn’t read her expression, so you turned back to the General, who looked slightly offended. 

“Don’t fool me,” he started. “What are you,” he stated firmly.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you admitted honestly, not wanting to upset him.

He looked at you for a moment, determining whether you were lying before speaking again.

“Were you tested as a child?” he asked, to which you nodded. 

“What was the result?” 

“I wasn’t Grisha,” you said, a hint of pain in your voice. You had always wanted to be Grisha. To be in a place where you belong, amongst people who were like you. Instead, you were just normal, with no place where you belonged.

“Your little display of power this morning suggests otherwise, miss y/l/n,” the General spoke.

You looked at him confused. 

“I don’t understand what you mean,” you told him honestly.

“You singhandly managed to scare all of the Drüskelle away, yet you claim to have no knowledge of what you were doing?” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I truly don’t,” you replied, flinching slightly when the General pushed himself off the desk, closing the distance between you. 

“Hold out your arm,” he stated. 

You did as he said, extending your arm towards him while pulling up your sleeve, knowing what he wanted. 

“You say you were tested as a child?” the General asked in confirmation, noting the way you nodded, almost disappointed. “Were you injured during the testing?” he asked you, seeing your face contort in confusion. 

“I don’t recall… does that matter?” you asked, looking up at him as he stood before you. 

“It is the whole point of the test,” he said, taking ahold of your arm and bringing his sharp ring towards it. Gently, he pressed the talon in your arm, and you gasped at the slight sting before a warm beam of light shot from your arm.

You eyes widened, and the moment he let your arm fall back you grasped it, looking at the cut in disbelief. 

“You are very much Grisha, miss y/l/n,” the General said, motioning towards the Heartrenders at the entrance of the tent. 

You couldn’t find any words, turning to Zoya who just looked as bewildered as you. 

“I’m Grisha…” you whispered quietly, looking at Zoya. 

Before she could say anything, the General had returned to your side, gently grasping your upper arm and pulling you up. 

“We’ll have to work quickly. The Drüskelle are already on alert after the attack, and word of your discovery will spread fast,” the General said, handing you a red Kefta, urging you to put it on. “You’ll travel in my coach,” he spoke, before handing you to the two Heartrenders. 

You looked towards Zoya, who stood and asked the General if she could accompany you. 

He shook his head, insisting that she was still needed at the camp. 

Before you knew it, you were being dragged outside and towards the Darkling’s coach. Two Oprichniki stand at the doors, opening them upon seeing your arrival. You didn’t resist, taking the hand one of the Oprichniki offered to help you step inside. 

Once you settled into the coach, the two Heartrenders followed, sitting across from you. The doors were closed, and the two Oprichniki moved to the front, no doubt riding on horses beside the coach. 

You were silent for the first part of the journey, admiring the detailed embroidery on the red Kefta adorning your body. 

“It’s bulletproof,” said the man across from you suddenly. You looked up, meeting his kind smile and realising they had been watching you. “It is why the General wanted you to wear it,” he finished.

You nodded, allowing your hand to fall to your lap. 

“I’m Feydor, and this is Ivan,” the Heartrender introduced himself, motioning towards his partner beside him. He carried a stern look on his face, turning to look outside instead. 

You nodded in reply, turning to look outside in thought. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, turning back to Feydor. He smiled.

“The Little Palace, of course,” he said. 

You nodded once more, settling your gaze outside again. “Why the hurry?” 

“By now, every Drüskelle and Shu assassin will have heard what happened at the camp. What you did. We need to make sure you are behind safe walls when they come for you,” Feydor explained, and you nodded once more.

“I don’t even know what I did,” you then said, earning the look of both Feydor and Ivan. 

“You saved us,” Feydor started. “Your light killed two Drüskelle, and scared the rest away. The disguised themselves as First army to kill Grisha. Without you, they would have succeeded.” 

You looked at him surprised, not expecting that reply to come from his mouth. You could not remember a single thing that happened at the camp, let alone the Drüskelle attack. 

After the conversation died down, you turned to look outside once more. You felt your eyes drooping, exhausting settling into your bones as the world outside passed you in a blur.

Suddenly, the carriage stopped, and an Oprichniki opened the coach door. 

“There’s a fallen tree on the road, we’re moving it now,” he stated, closing the door again. Ivan looked uneasy, glancing out the little window. Feydor did the same, studying the other window until there was shouting. 

Immediately, Ivan and Feydor got up, both heading out the doors.

“Stay here, get down, and don’t move,” Feydor said, pushing a blade of Grisha steel into your hands before abandoning the coach. 

You did as he said, crouching down onto the floor of the coach, pressing your knees against your chest. You could hear screaming outside and multiple guns firing. When it stilled for a moment, you thought it was over, until the glass of the coach broke and a smoke bomb was thrown inside.

You coughed, pushing the door of the coach open and stumbling outside, falling to your knees as you tried to catch your breath. 

You heaved, clutching the Girsha steel knife in your hand when you looked up, barely registering the boots of a figure marching towards you, grabbing your hair and dragging you away. 

You fought, struggling against his hold as he pressed his knife to your throat, pressing harshly. You felt a trickle of blood stream down you neck, and you grabbed the knife in you hand as tightly as you could before stabbing it backwards, hitting the person in the stomach. 

His hold on you faltered enough for you to push him away, running away from him, into the forest. 

You ran for as long as your feet could take you, registering the fighting still happening behind you. When you stopped for only a second to catch your breath, you were tackled to the ground, a figure laying on top of you.

His held his knife high above his head, muttering a prayer of kinds before preparing to bring it down.

You could faintly hear a horse in the background, and you closed your eyes tightly, figuring this was it. You heard a yell, but you didn’t feel the sharp pain of a knife digging into your skin. Instead, when you opened your eyes. You could see the man on top of you, slowly falling in two. 

You turn your head, seeing the Darkling standing there beside a group of other Oprichniki. You realised he had cut the man on top of you in half. 

When he fell, you pushed him off of you, moving away from the body, and catching your breath. 

The General walked over to you, extending his arm, which you gratefully took as he helped you up. He studied the cut on your throat.

“Are you alright?” he questioned. 

You nodded, moving your hand to rub the sore spot on your throat. 

“You’ll ride with me,” he stated, walking over to his horse, leaving no room for argument. 

You followed him, standing beside him as he mounted his horse, extending his hand to help pull you up. You allowed him, settling in the saddle as he took off in a gallop. 

He held onto you firmly, ensuring you wouldn’t fall at the movement of the horse. 

With you were riding multiple Oprichniki guards, and you spotted Ivan and Feydor both riding on a horse themselves. They must’ve won the fight in the woods. 

After riding for nearly half a day, the group stopped at an abandoned barn. The Oprichniki secured it, while the General dismounted the horse, extending his arm to help you off as well. When the Oprichniki secured the barn, the group moved inside. 

The horses were giving water and something to eat, while a small group of Oprichniki went outside to hunt for dinner. 

You settled on the ground, close by the fire that Ivan had made. Once the sun had set, the temperature had dropped significantly, and you could say with certainty you were freezing.

You pulled the dirty Kefta around you a little tighter, hoping to conserve some warmth. The General seated himself beside you, reaching out a gentle hand to touch the cut on your neck. You winced slightly at the sting, and General Kirigan retreated his hand to retrieve a small, black cloth from his pocket. 

Gently, he wiped the blood away from you neck and face, making sure to avoid pressing to harshly. 

Once he retreated his hand, you gave him a small smile. 

“Thank you,” you said in a quiet voice, and he nodded. 

“Once you’re in the palace you’ll be able to clean up properly. The cut isn’t too deep, but in your weakened state it is enough to stir some worry,” he explained, tucking the small cloth back into his pocket. 

You nodded once again, moving to lay down, using you arm to support your head. The palace. That is where you were headed, after all…

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @daddipantherr @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @screechcat @iheartjohansson @tia-thesimp @swaqcenix @karmasgxrl @marvel-lous3000 @hor1zond1ar1es @lorsstar1st @superlegend216 @ravensinthedaylight

[leggerefiore]

The Coraline AU thing was really good, but can you make an alternative ending? Maybe one where Ingo only pretends to agree with Emmet so that when he gets close, Ingo can knock him out and the two of you can get away? I like happy endings

i think we all need a little positivity in our lives. here's hoping everyone following me does well on their finals if they have any💞💕💞

cw: horror, unhealthy relationships (that change for the better as time goes on), polyamory

▲Coraline AU▽

● You flinched as your boyfriend shifted your position to inhibit your movements. Emmet cooed about how cute your face was as he approached ever closer, with the needle gleaming brightly in the candlelight. Fear swelled thickly within the bellows of your stomach as he grew closer, eyes full of unadulterated admiration and a darker obsession. Struggles were pointless against Ingo's ironclad grip. A gentle hand reached out to grasp your shoulder. Why was this happening?

● The next actions saw you shoved into Emmet, knocking him off balance and onto the ground, as Ingo grabbed your hand and ran. An absolutely blood-curling scream of frustration as footsteps stomped harshly after you. Daring a peak behind you, you saw as Emmet's body had begun to shift more into something inhuman. Your brain immediately thought something spider-like in nature. The house was navigated with trained ease by your boyfriend as he ripped the small key that had started all this from his coat's pocket. It was roughly shoved in the hole and turned.

● The tiny door swung open as Ingo shoved you into the ethereal passage first. You had started to make your crawl through when he let out a startled noise. Turning around, you saw Emmet had grabbed his ankle and was slowly pulling him back into the other house. Fear was a viscous fluid in your vein as you rushed over to grab his hand. Pulling him with all your adrenaline boosted strength, the grip on him faltered and allowed for Ingo to temporarily escape.

● Quickly, you both made your way through the tunnel and exited into your real home. Emmet was hot on your heels in the tunnel, but Ingo slammed the door shut and locked it. Loud, unearthly pleas came from the door from the supposed brother. “No! I don't want to be alone anymore! They can be free, Ingo. Please come back!” Ear-splitting scratches rasped against the wood. Tears were pouring from Ingo's eyes as they refused to break from the only barrier from him reaching. You watched as he returned to the door and placed a hand to the pulsing object. “Emmet… I'm sorry all of this happened, but you can't act like this. I don't want to leave you in isolation either,” his tone was a soft, as if he were addressing a child. Loud hiccups echoed from behind the door as the brother begged for Ingo to open the door. Ingo mouthed to ask for you to leave. You nodded, not wanting to be near the obsessed creature any longer.

● The next morning was a terrifying one as the brother's both sat at your kitchen table. Emmet's human form regained, with the buttons gone from his eyes. His smile was sheepish as you entered the room, Ingo sending him a harsh glare. “I'm sorry about how I've acted. I was just so lonely and terrified to lose what little connections I had,” it was an excuse certainly, but made sense with his actions. “Dear, I know this is much too late in presentation, but this is my twin brother, Emmet. We aren't human as you assuredly already deduced,” Ingo explained further, “We are… Well, I don't think we ever particularly agreed on a word, did we?” Emmet shook his head.

● After a much too long discussion, you were not going to forgive Emmet, but felt horrible for the poor younger twin. Being abandoned by your only true connection and left in total isolation in your own pocket dimension. You noticed he still liked to have a hand on you but knew you were safe with Ingo's watchful presence. Though, you were mad at him, too. It was technically his fault this happened. The two were finally having a healthy discussion over what had happened and how they would move forward. Ingo even took precious time off work to give each other more of his strained attention.

● Emmet often returned to the pocket dimension for periods of times alongside Ingo, who was apparently grateful to be properly home. You were invited along, but felt much too uncomfortable to return to the place. What they did there was beyond you. You found yourself busy around the house with Emmet helping you or keeping you company. When he wasn't acting under false pretenses, he was much more bearable. Never once did he disrespect your boundaries.

● This eventually led to you allowing him to be close to you again. When Ingo returned to his grueling work once more, Emmet was more than willing to keep you company throughout the day. Days that used to feel lonely and empty were filled healthily by his company. There were times you had to remind him of things he didn't understand conceptually as a nonhuman, but he never intentionally tried to hurt. It was no excuse, but his actions in the other dimension were pure desperation and hysteria. The younger twin apologised many more times for his actions since. His touch grew from repulsive to craved once again as he adjusted back into a healthy mindset.

● In the end, Ingo's quick thinking and aptitude to help his brother proved fruitful. Everything shifted from the extraordinary and sinister into an ease of average and mellow. Emmet kept you wonderful company in Ingo's absence. Ingo continued his workaholic attitude, but found himself trying to make more time for you both. The younger twin had grown curious about his older brother's job yet never went to investigate it properly. Someone needed to stay near the portal, apparently. It was something neither felt able to explain to you, simply stating a horrible thing would happen should the situation occur.

● Though, as you lied in between the twins at night; Emmet holding you tightly from behind, arms crossed around your abdomen and Ingo burying his face in your shoulder while his limbs wrapped across your shoulders. They both felt strikingly human, yet both expressed that they weren't, and you had seen the younger's shift into something monstrous. What exactly were they? An explanation would be too difficult, each claimed for a variety of different reasons. It almost felt like they were hiding something from you. Surely, not. Your hands fiddling with the ends of the older's silvery strands.

[animeyanderelover]

Can you do poly!Lau and RanMao with prompt 53? Thank you <3

Yo! Lau and Ran Mao are one of my favorite duos in Black Butler and without a doubt a poly!relationship I would love to be in💘. I also changed the prompt a bit due to two persons saying it.

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, obsessiveness, kidnapping, drugging, being tied up

Prompt 53: “It is funny that you think you can actually leave us.”

"Don't you like the tea? Your face looks awfully much displeased." You quickly waved one of your hands, not wanting to be impolite whilst being invited by one of the people you had happened to meet through Ciel whilst working in the manor temporarily. "That's not it. It doesn't taste all too bad. It's just a bit...bitter.", you decided to say, realizing that it still sounded pretty fastidious. "Is that so? It was a new flavor since I added some strong herbs in hopes it would taste good. I apologize. Ran Mao, would you be so friendly to give our guest here a bit sugar?"

The girl just nodded, putting her tea cup down and grabbing the container with the sugar before standing up from Lau's lap and stepping next to your side. You hadn't bothered to ask why she was doing this all the time, but since Lau didn't seem to mind, you hadn't asked. Maybe you were a bit embarassed to do so, you didn't want to make yourself feel uncomfortable. But over time you had learned to not pay too much attention to it.

"Thank you, Ran Mao. You didn't have to stand up just to give me this. The container was only a few inches away-" You had your hands stretched out, wanting to grab the bowl with sugar from Ran Mao. But instead she suddenly started pouring at least the half of the sugar into your tea cup. "...from me.", you finished the sentence, staring a bit dumbfounded at what had been once tea. Ran Mao tilted her head confused, not understanding why you looked so taken aback. "No...sugar?", she asked, the sentence sounding somewhat broken. "Too much sugar.", you replied, stirring the viscous and brown mush, out of pure criosity tasting a bit of it before twisting your face. Now it was too sweet, though the strange aftertaste was still dancing faintly on your tongue.

You just put the tea down, deciding to turn your attention back to Lau and Ran Mao, who had by now sat back down on Lau's lap. "Do you want new tea? I prepared a lot more of it. Or do you wish for something else?" You shook slightly your head, not needing more tea. "It's nice of you to ask, but I'll decline. I have everything I need. And I'm sure that you wanted to talk about something with me, didn't you?"

Lau gave you a small and mysterious smile, being satisfied that you had figured that much out. "Ran Mao and me did indeed. We heard from Ciel that now that your job is done in the manor, you were planning on returning home. It saddened us to hear this information. We both became very fond of you these past few months." You scratched the back of your head, a small feeling of sadness and guilt yourself blossoming in your chest. "I'm upset myself, you know? I really started liking my time here, but I can't do nothing about it. I have my own master wating home for me. I was only supposed to work with the young lord until the agreement between the Phantomhive company and my master's company is completely planned and also agreed on from both masters. And now that this happened, I'm finished."

You folded your hands together and stuck them between your knees, staring down at your lap. "My master wants me home fast as well. I need to hurry up, don't have much time." Lau had put by now his cup of tea down as well, looking at you through his closed eyes. You had the feeling that he was observing you a bit. "You don't really seem to like your master. If I remember right, you told me once that you wished he was more like the young Earl." You were a bit surprised that he still could recall this, you had almost forgotten about it by now, most likely because you had mentioned it ore incidentally. "You have quite the good memory. To be honest with you, I really don't like my master that much. He is strict, mean and sometimes just expects too much from his servants. It's tiring and those last few months were such a luxury for me. But tomorrow morning that all will be over." You sounded almost a bit wistfully. Why wouldn’t you? Tomorrow you would be stripped of all the free time you used to have all these last months.

“You could stay here.” You chuckled a bit when hearing this, thinking he was just trying to lift your mood a bit. “I would love to stay, but I don’t want to have my ears pulled by my master for doing this. It would end with me having to scrub a whole room until I’ll feel like my bones won’t be able to support my weight anymore. I had to do it one time, couldn’t move properly for a few weeks without feeling the tightening stiffness. And I had to skip one night of sleep and only was able to be met with my bed the following night since I had to work the day as well. But maybe my lord will let me visit sometimes. It isn’t like I don’t want to never see you again. I’ll definitely write letters though, that much my master will allow me to do.”

“Your master doesn’t sound like he’s a very pleasant person to be around.”, Lau commented, the smile still gracing his features whilst Ran Mao was staring motionlessly at you with her golden eyes. “He isn’t. But he’s the one who pays me and next to that I also have my friends there. I can’t leave them alone with that man or else they’ll totally collapse. I’m the most experienced one in my household. I have no choice, but to go back.”

“Stay.” Hearing that from Ran Mao was a bit heartbreaking, knowing that she didn’t speak much and for her to say such a thing meant that she really wanted you to not go. She still didn’t have much of a facial expression on her face, but she had started leaning forward, her big eyes drilling almost into you. Lau was doing the same thing, only that his eyes were closed. It never ceased to fascinate you how he was able to make a person feel the intensity of his starre whilst his eyelids were closed. You swore that it made you feel slightly dizzy.

“See? Even Ran Mao here wishes you to stay. I’m sure that your master wouldn’t mind too much if you would just resign. I informed myself a bit about him, he seems like the type to just catch a new fish as soon as an old one disappeared.”

“Wait? You informed yourself about my master? Why?” You had started feeling a bit funny by now, trying to stay focused. You didn’t want to worry the two of them.

“Because I was a bit curious when I heard that Ciel would have a new servant coming to join him for a bit of time since the lord himself was bound to bed. He seems like a rather despicable man if you ask me.

“I admit that he isn’t the best lord to have, but I’m still working under him and he is still the man I have to serve and respect every day and who pays me in return. So I can’t complain too much. I doubt I would find that quickly another place to work at, not with him and his vengeful character. Next to that I’m afraid that it’ll affect the contract between the Phantomhive and him. I worked too hard for this to have it break apart because I went missing.” You felt a bit too lightheaded, your mind starting to spin and you were by now sure that this wasn’t from their gazes. Had you perhaps done a mistake tasting the mush made of sugar and the tea?

“I can assure you that he wouldn’t do that. I even had a talk with Ciel about this one time before. Your lord is more of a greedy type and his company was slowly starting to collapse. The collaboration between his and Ciel’s company saved him before any real damage could be caused. He won’t risk losing his support pillar and I doubt he really cares much about his servants.”

“Do you have to say it like this? It-it sounds a bit harsh.”, you slowly mumbled out, a weird feeling having started to spread and fill every pore of your body, giving you the feeling that your whole body had started to relax and feeling more numb. The dizziness had gotten stronger as well, making you grip the fabric of the clothes a bit tighter, narrowing your eyes in hopes of getting rid of the feeling.

“It may sound harsh, but it’s the truth. There are a lot of better people out there with which you could live and who would treat you better.”

“And who would that be? Do you mean the young master Ciel? Do you think he would take me in?” You couldn’t help, but blur those words out, your thoughts having suddenly becoming a bit too twisted for you to make sense of them anymore. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you scolded yourself for having said that, but you seemed to not be able to process anymore what you were saying or doing or what was happening around you anymore.

“The young Ciel certainly seems to be a better master to have. But I was thinking about someone else who would love to have you with them and take care of you. You wouldn’t even have to work anymore.” You looked with clouded eyes at them, barely being able to keep them open anymore. You were feeling too drowsy and sitting on a comfy couch made you play with the thought of just laying down and taking a nap. You actually shouldn’t do this, you had to pack your things and head for the next train to travel all the way back, but your normally so dutiful attitude seemed to get drowned by this weird, tingling feeling inside of you. You wondered if you were drunk, but you hadn’t consumed anything that had alcohol in it.

“And who would that be?”, you slurred out, trying to stand up only to collapse right away back into the softer fabric of the couch. Your legs felt weirdly wobbly, but you still tried to somehow manage to stand straight up and walk out of here, your inner clock managing to get your body to move. You had to finish packing your things.

“I was thinking about Ran Mao and me. We both seem to care for you a lot and it was shocking for us to hear that you were leaving so suddenly. We were planning on spending a lot more time with you, weren’t we Ran Mao?”, Lau answered, glancing at Ran Mao who hadn’t stopped looking away from you for once. The girl just nodded, starting to move upon noticing that you had forgotten how to walk. In any other scenario you would have felt ashamed, but currently everything seemed and felt a bit...strange.

“It’s nice from you to say this, but I have to hurry up now. Or else I’ll gonna get in troubles from the stupid old man. Wouldn’t want that. Gotta hurry up an’ catch ma train.” You had somewhat manages to support half of your weight on the couch whilst limping with the rest of your body slowly away from them. “(y/n), I don’t think you should go. You won’t be able to stay conscious for too long and I also don’t think you’ll be able to walk properly.”, Lau called after you, sounding half-amused as well as a bit worried.

“Don’t tell me what I can do and what not. I have to leave now.”, you whined in a childish tone before your knees gave away under you. But before you could make contact with the ground, Ran Mao was quick to catch you, her eyes glancing slightly concerned over you before turning to Lau, who had started walking over to you. “You don’t have to worry Ran Mao. They’ll be fine. The medicine I gave them shouldn’t cause them any feelings of nausea or headaches. Only dizziness and the feeling of being a bit high. They should fall asleep any moment now.”

“Medicine? Which medicine?”, you asked, hanging in Ran Mao’s arms like a sleepy little kitten. “The one I put in your tea, dear. It’s the reason your tea tasted so bitter before. You won’t leave London after all. Or us. It is funny that you think you can actually leave us.”

Somewhere in the back of your mind you started panicking when you heard him saying these things. He had drugged you! You had to run! But your mind was too foggy to let this information sink in by now and you also felt too tired to care. Ran Mao had additionally to that started to caress your head, the small soothing gesture only making your eyes feel even more heavy.

“How are you feeling?” You barely heard Lau asking you this question. “Tired.”, you mumbled out, having by now totally loosened up in Ran Mao’s hold, who was still holding you. “Then sleep. We’ve already prepared a room for you to stay in.”

You felt his gentle fingers brushing along your jawline and you unconsciously even leaned a bit closer to him, liking the feeling of it.

“Don’t worry, Ran Mao and me will take great care of you. You won’t have to work anymore, won’t have to endure anyone bossing you around anymore or about earning money. We’ll take care of anything for you. Right, Ran Mao?” She seemed to press you closer against her chest, but you were only one point of a knife away from falling asleep so you might as well have mistaken this. But you still heard her muttering her answer out. “Yes.” That was the last thing you heard before you just finally allowed yourself to slide away in your temporary dreamland, though somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you would wake up to discover a bad surprise.

[hognosesnakehalloweenfest]

Oct 2: Returning Home

By Meridies (meridies on ao3) CW: (Non-Explicit) sexual content, referenced death, drowning, suicide mention (breif), alcohol mention Sarah and I sat down for drinks on the second day of fall. The tavern was quiet, but the darkness was loud. I was drinking a beer, a man’s drink. Sarah had fruit juice in front of her. She had asked for something with no alcohol.

“I’m trying to be sober,” she explained. “I spent four weeks in rehab this summer, you know.”

I felt bad, then, for asking her out for drinks, but we hadn’t seen each other in months. I set my beer down and asked her how she was doing.

“Better. I think getting clean was good for me— I’m working at the library downtown now. And I’m seeing someone.”

“Who?”

A syrupy smile. “Charlie. You remember Charlie Davenport?”

I couldn’t remember a thing about Charlie Davenport, but Sarah was enthralled, so I asked, “Is he nice?”

“I think he wants to sleep with me,” she said. “We went swimming down by Craig’s Point last week, and he…”

But I stopped listening. Craig’s Point was the lake by the quarry. Someone had drowned there last year, and it was the town’s biggest scandal for a week until Elsie Bates was caught slipping out of William Hogg’s house in a little lacy thing during the dead of night. But the kid— Frank— was still dead, long after the town had forgotten about him.

I interrupted her. “I thought the lake was still closed off?”

“He pressured me into skinny dipping.” Sarah hadn’t heard me. “I thought I was going to sleep with him, but I’ll see him next week, so maybe…”

I remembered watching the boats haul hooks through the water until they dragged up Frank’s body. He was bloated and stiff. I wanted to feel what his skin felt like after it had absorbed all that water, but I never got close. No one touched him except for the paramedics, who told us all to back away.

Sarah waved a hand in front of my face. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Someone died in that lake,” I said, “You shouldn’t have gone swimming there.”

She shrugged. “Honestly, I don’t really give a damn.”

Well, I did. “It’s disrespectful to his memory.”

Frank had been in my algebra class in sophomore year, a burly guy with shoulders like logs and eyes set into his face like whorls of wood. The night after his death was announced, I had stared at my ceiling in darkness and thought about how much water he must have drunk before he died. He must have been drunk on it.

“They say he killed himself,” Sarah said nonchalantly.

The thought made me nauseous. “Maybe he fell.”

“Rough way to go.” She sipped at the dregs of her drink. “See, this is the problem with staying in one place— you’re so obsessed with history. You need to learn how to let things go.”

I wondered why Sarah refused to admit to the power of the water. She had to know it, better than anyone.

Sarah grew tired of my moping and hauled me up by the arm, muttering something about history under her breath. “Exposure therapy,” she said, “We’re going swimming.”

I could hear the lapping of the lake before I saw it through the sparse trees, black as ink. The horizon stretched and faded into night mist. Sarah stripped her shoes, her jacket from her skin, and looked back at me.

“Valerie,” she said, voice a knife’s edge, “You’re not really scared, are you?”

I pulled my sweater off, unhooked my bra, and slid down my pants. Sarah was half naked, gooseflesh rising. I could see the paleness of her chest beneath the distorted water.

“Giardia,” I blurted. “Legionnaires Disease.”

“Conspiracy theories,” she teased. “Come under with me.”

I kept my mouth closed underwater. I could feel the water sliding fingers up my legs, to my thighs, to the quiet spaces inside me that had a breath of their own. Sarah struck out from the shore. She was grinning, hair damp. I took a deep breath and plunged beside her.

-

Two nights later I found myself with Eli, an acquaintance from many years ago who had just returned from the Peace Corps in Ukraine. We had no reason to see each other except for sex, which we had in his bed, his kitchen counter, and then on the creased sofa in front of the television. He looked up at me and said baby, you’re so good, you’re so good for me, and I thought, all men are the same.

I finished washing up in the bathroom. We drank beers together in silence while watching a sordid American drama, and then it was time to leave. No, thank you, I will drive myself home. Yes, I’m fine. I’ll see you later, I will, I promise.

I could feel the places Eli had touched me, his hands and fingers moving inside of my body. Something deep and lonely inside me ached as I drove, and without realizing, I found myself taking the left turn when the right led home— taking me to the waterside. The thing that breathed and pulsed had no voice, so I spoke for it.

“Is anyone there?”

The quarry remained silent.

“Give me a sign,” I said. “I’ll return if you do.”

Sarah told me I was obsessed with history, that I needed to learn how to let things go. But I felt my body responding to the water the same way it had responded with Eli. I thought that Frank was the first and last good man I had ever slept with, and I owed him something I could never give.

After his body was found, his parents had moved out of town. But I heard them speak about the incident only once. He was a sweet boy. Bring him home. Bring him home to us. Their house now stood empty at the corner of Fletcher Avenue and Second Street.

That night I thought about Frank, the blue of his lips. I tasted the quarry water in my teeth, felt Eli’s palms in between my legs. Baby, you’re so good. So good for me.

-

Frank died three summers ago; that was the summer I first had sex with a woman, her tongue underneath mine, in the bathhouse of the community pool. I slept around after Charlotte left for college. I tasted more tongues, more women, and naturally, I tasted more men.

“A girl is supposed to sleep around,” Sarah reassured me, after the first pregnancy scare. “Stick with women if you’re so concerned.”

Before looking at the result of the pregnancy test, I stared at myself in the mirror and thought about what I would name the unborn thing in my stomach. It would have been the size of a cherry at that point, and I was embarrassed to admit that I did not know who would have fathered it. But the test was negative, and I felt a sick, swooping sense of relief.

Autumn swelled and ripened into full bloom after I slept with Eli, and cold weather encroached upon the edges of town. The first rainfall happened. I cracked my windows open to breathe the sweet, thick air into my lungs. Water slipped inside my home with slim fingers, running in rivulets down my walls. When the storm ended, I saw the marks it left behind, white against dark dust.

And I dreamed about him, the night after the rainfall vanished.

He was rising, dripping, from the lake. Leathery and stiff and slick with black slime, more viscous than oil. Gills opened and closed at his neck. They were at the spot where I had wanted to be kissed once, before any man or woman had touched me. Frank stood, staring at me with filmy eyes. I stared back in silence.

He wanted something, I realized. This was the sign I had asked for a week ago. What he wanted was for me to return.

-

I did not tell Sarah about the afternoons I spent at the lakeside of Craig’s Point during the long month of October. Besides, she and Charlie Davenport were together more often than not. I heard about her comings and goings from other people. Eli asked to see me again; I did not answer.

I thought about Frank the more I was at the lake. We had never been particularly close; he knew my name, and I knew he was good at algebra. But he had gotten to know my body in a way no one else had— intimately, viscerally. It was the week before his body was found. He had grabbed my arm as school let out and said one word: please.

I was young, but I understood what he was asking for. I was only slightly ashamed to say that I had no qualms. He was inexperienced, and so was I, both messy and complicated. But he was a good man.

I still thought about that please from time to time. What he was really asking for, and what I had failed to give. Please, please, please.

As the sun was setting that evening, I heard a squeaking in the woods. It was high-pitched, and I followed the sound to its source. I nearly stepped right on it. Someone had skinned a squirrel alive and pinned it to the ground. The thing was still writhing. I stared half in awe, half in disgust at the twitching, red-white sinew which never should have seen sunlight.

It would have been kind to kill it, but all I could do was stare in sick misery and slowly back away. When I was by the lakeshore, I could not hear its sounds anymore. All I could hear was the water.

“Did you do that?” I asked out loud. No one responded, but I imagined that I heard Frank’s voice. Please.

“There are better ways to get my attention.” The water slithered towards me, mouth open and hungry. “I keep returning, like I said I would.”

I imagined him then beneath the surface of the water, eyelids slitted and covered with a thin film. He might have blinked at me; he might have reached a hand out to touch my skin. He might have wrapped a hand around my ankle, tugged until I followed him into the depths.

The sky was smeared with orange. When I went back to my car, the squirrel had gone silent.

-

Sarah wanted to have drinks with me again another night. This time she had ordered something with alcohol, peach schnapps and fruit juice. She didn’t seem concerned by the slip-up.

“Charlie and I had sex,” she proclaimed, “I’ve been meaning to tell you for ages. Where have you been?”

“Thinking,” I answered.

She reached out. “Where have you been for the last week? I went to your house but you weren’t there. It isn’t smart to leave all your windows open, you know.”

“I’ve been at the lake.” Before her expression had the chance to shift, I blurted, “Sarah, do you believe in ghosts?”

Her hand tightened around the glass. She set it down slowly, tenderly. “No,” she said, but it was a reflexive response. “I thought I saw one once, but I’ve never seen anything else like it, and I know I’ll never see him again.”

“Tell me.”

“I saw him the night I went to the hospital,” she began. “I was half dead, dying on the floor. But I opened my eyes to see a man standing over me. His skin was blacker than ink, and his eyes were white spots inside his head. I knew at once that he was death, and he was going to take me with him. He put his hand right here, right on my shoulder, and the other hand at my waist. He touched me— everywhere. And we danced, while I was dying.” Sarah turned and faced me. “I woke up in the hospital and asked about him, but no one had ever seen someone like that, and the doctor said that I must have hallucinated. But it was real. Realer than anything I’ll ever know.”

Then she laughed, high and bitter. “It’s okay if you don’t believe me. No one ever does.”

And at once, I wanted to ask her about who she really was, beneath it all. Beneath Charlie Davenport’s touch and his pick-up truck and the layers of skin she put on each day. Beneath the alcoholic drinks and the man who had danced with her while she drank herself to death and that cold, frightened look in her eyes. I wanted to peel back her skin, to see the ugly, squirming parts of her that curled away from sunlight.

“I believe you,” I said. Something in my voice must have made her believe me, too.

She rolled her glass around beneath the yellow tavern lights. “I wonder if I’ll see him the next time I’m close to death.”

“Sarah,” I said uneasily, “You should stop drinking.”

“I will,” she said, “I know I’ve got to. It’s the poison, you see. I’ve got to bleed the poison out.”

“Sarah, you’re not making any sense.”

“You and history,” she said dizzily, “You and your fear. You’ll be stuck with it forever unless you suck the venom out. I’ve got to bleed the poison from my veins. And you need to cut the rotten flesh out to heal the rest.”

-

Frank was waiting for me at the quarry. I was stumbling, half drunk. Sarah’s words echoed in my head. She had said it only once, yet it was burned into me.

“You’re here,” I said, “I knew you would be.”

He blinked at me. I pulled my jacket off, my shirt, every inch of clothing. It was cold, intimate. He watched me from the water. I could feel my heart beating in my chest, in my gut. It rang through me like a distant call.

“I’m here,” I said, “I’m here.”

His skin was slippery and bloated beneath my fingers, stiff to the touch, like I had imagined it would be. His fingers were webbed and translucent. When I drew my hand back, the same plasticky, taut skin was between my fingers as well.

I knew what Frank needed, what his body needed. I thought about touching my lips to the gills that pressed open and shut on the side of his neck. He needed something only I could give to him, and it was something that had been given to me many times over, slick and drenched in warmth. That writhing, slimy thing that resides in the tender part of a soul. Frank needed someone to come home to him. I would create that home.

“I’m dead,” I said. I knew it was the way to offer myself to him. “I’m rotting inside. Just like you.”

Frank’s face floated beneath me, drained and still. I stood and did not move as the swollen, slippery skin crawled up my legs, covered my thighs, and breached my body until we were both those awful dark things that crawl in the depths, serpents, reptiles, together.

Please, I thought. I could feel my own pulse ringing through the stone. The quarry breathed for me. It spoke with his voice. Cut the rotten flesh from my skin. Let me come home to you. Please.

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

Meridies is a 19 year old writer from California currently studying creative writing. They enjoy knitted sweaters, pumpkin carving, and swimming in potentially haunted lakes. They are very excited to be part of Snake’s Halloween Fest!

[kodzumie-archived]

can you do some yandere!mikan nsfw hcs?

❝YANDERE! NSFW❞

Synopsis; Yandere Mikan certainly is a freaky one, isn’t she?

Featuring; Mikan Tsumiki x GN! Reader

Warning(s); Yandere themes, nonconsensual somnophilia, drugging, manipulation, blood (taking of blood samples), blood kink, consumption of blood, cum eating, mentions of piss (watersports), masturbation, use of sex toys, mentions of needles, and intentional misuse of medical supplies. (Things do get pretty fucked and gross, please pay attention to the warnings!)

Kodzumie’s Note; Absolutely! Thanks for your request, and I hope you’re doing well. Muah! <3

➤ MIKAN TSUMIKI

⤷ She’s calculating and rapacious; plotting all the ways she can get you to succumb to her. She practically thrives in the vulnerability you’ve unknowingly put upon yourself due to the blind trust you’ve put in her.

⤷ As hopelessly in love as she was, Mikan was aware; she knew that it was far too soon and sudden to formally ask you to engage in such bare intimacy with her. She was also aware of the possibility that you wouldn’t even want to do something so lewd with her.

⤷ But she can’t help herself. So much has been taken from her by those who’ve recognized her weaknesses, her bullies taking anything and everything as she’s unable to do a thing. Isn’t it only right that she’s a little selfish?

⤷ It’s not like you’d mind, of course. You can’t mind something if you don’t even know it’s happening, right?

⤷ Mikan’s desires surge through her with insuppressible fervor. Yet she wouldn’t dare do something so reckless; she wouldn’t dare run the risk of tarnishing your treasured friendship.

⤷ So she covers her tracks. She takes full advantage of your trust within her as a friend and the faith you’ve put within her talents as a nurse. A common tactic she’s picked up is replacing the sugar within your tea—which she orders you to drink to retain good health—with a finely powdered drug; their appearances akin with only a minuscule difference.

⤷ After drinking, you’ll subconsciously succumb to the effects of the drug within fifteen minutes, and then she’ll begin her ministrations; pampering your unconscious body and exploring your most intimate realms.

⤷ A hidden utopia reserved for only the eyes of those you’ve allowed seeing you so bare; so exposed. And, even if you hadn’t known it, Mikan was those eyes. Peering down at you so sickeningly gleefully as she thinks to herself; Your body, sprawled beneath her, was all for her.

⤷ As you’re knocked out, there isn’t an inch of skin she doesn’t smother in sloppy, wet kisses. Her breathing rapid and crazed.

⤷ She savors each moment; relishing in your taste as she sears the memory of every sensation into her core memories. She will never allow herself to forget the blissful oasis of her beloved’s body.

⤷ At first, you’d only assumed that your state of fatigue and extreme exhaustion were the aftermaths of stress. It was understandable; that week had been your finals week.

⤷ And yet, it kept happening; moments where you feel fine, but then you’ll experience powerful waves of nausea before slipping unconscious. So much so, that you asked Mikan about it, of course. She was the Ultimate Nurse, after all.

⤷ Just like you expected, she managed to deduce the possible reasonings behind your experiences. Even going as far as to pinpoint habits that are a common occurrence before you fall into such a vertiginous state.

⤷ “W-Well, typically it’s when you’ve consumed a beverage with sugar.” She deducted, a thoughtful visage as her soft features sharpened with determination. “If I remember right, you’d felt particularly nauseous after you drank tea with sugar that one time.”

⤷ “That can’t be a coincidence though! It happened another time too. Remember when I gave you those sugar cookies? You fell unconscious from those too...” She ponders, her bottom lip jutting out in thought. Your eyes widen as the dots connect internally. That is true, all the instances had been induced as you’d consumed anything with sugar.

⤷ “If you’d like—“ Mikan’s voice cuts out as she nervously squirms under your curious gaze, her hesitant nature bringing a smile to your lips. “Take your time.” You assure her, placing your hand over hers to, hopefully, calm her nerves. If only you knew what you did to her and her poor little heart.

⤷ “W-Well I just thought that if I took some blood samples, I-I could confirm my suspicions!” She exclaims, cheeks flushed as her gaze remained fixated on your hand atop her own.

⤷ Your eyes widen once more as they glimmer with surprise and appreciation. “Would you really do that for me?!” She’s taken aback by your exclamation, accidentally tearing her hand from yours as she falls backs.

⤷ But she’s quick to recover, smile faltering at the lost connection of your hand with hers. “Of course!” She confesses.

⤷ And that’s how it began, her odd secondary obsession. Behind you, of course.

⤷ You hadn’t given her suggestions much thought other than that you trust Mikan, and what she was doing was simply what’s best for you. This was her talent, her field. If you couldn’t trust her with what she did best, who could you possibly trust?

⤷ So she began taking samples of your blood. At first, it was only a weekly thing. Once a week, she’d draw out enough blood to fill a miniature capsule and examine it to determine the underlying causes for your sudden fits of falling unconscious. Though she was more than aware of the true reason.

⤷ For each blood sample she took, she returned to you with the discovery that the amount of glucose within your blood was alarmingly high, and that her hypothesis was, in fact, correct.

⤷ But that’s all lies. Lies, lies, lies that you oh-so-helplessly believe. Mikan’s the nurse, she knows best. Mikan knows best, Mikan knows best, Mikan knows best!

⤷ Regardless, you believed her. And you provided her the weekly blood samples as she instructed. Though it was a bit tedious to have the pricking of a needle within your arm so often, it was better than randomly passing out at the most unfortunate of times.

⤷ Once she collected the capsules, she informed you that she’d take them back to her house where she can perform more thorough research. Since all of her equipment is there, of course!

⤷ You don’t question it. Not even as you wonder what she’d done with the capsules after weeks of no word of them. Surely she threw them away. You shouldn’t question her, you trust her, after all!

⤷ If only you’d questioned her. If only you’d taken the second to doubt her; debunk your trust in her. Perhaps then you’d have realized the red flags within everything.

⤷ Within the confines of her bedroom, Mikan’s moans are barely concealed as she unscrews the capsule filled with the familiar crimson liquid; your blood.

⤷ Her mind fuzzy with idea of her possessing such a fluid. Your fluid, of all things. Her obsession fueled further as she coats her fingers in the viscous liquid. It was still warm, still so fresh from within you. The thought of how this blood was once within your body sends jolts of depraved pleasure down her spine.

⤷ She lathers the blood around her fingers, savoring the sensation. A shaky sigh of ecstasy escaping her lips as she stutters out a moan. Everything was so overwhelming at that moment. She was in disbelief, yet oh-so alarmingly aware. This was your blood. This was your blood.

⤷ “Ha...Aha!” A delirious moan escaping her lips as she swirls her blood-coated fingers over her clit. The stimulation paired with the searing reminder that it was your blood beginning to smear over her clit instantly sent tremors through her legs.

⤷ The pleasure felt so intense; so very intense. Even as she has pumps two fingers into her pussy, stretching herself out as your blood coats her walls, it all felt so intense. Almost unbearable. The feeling of your blood within her driving her to the brink of insanity as if she hadn’t already plunged into the abyss of madness.

⤷ Yet even as her fingers continued to plunge into her sopping cunt—her slick blending with your blood—she couldn’t help but yearn for more. She wanted to have your blood coat her walls entirely. And her petite fingers simply wouldn’t do.

⤷ Thankfully, she has just the thing. Within her hands she cradles a dildo, having already removed her two digits from her cunt as she eagerly drags her fist down the girth of the toy. It’s lengthy. Good.

⤷ She grabs the previously discarded capsule which still witheld blood. Perfect; everything was perfect.

⤷ Mikan tilted the small bottle, drizzling the viscous crimson fluid as it glazed over the dildo, painting its pink exterior in a contrasting red.

⤷ As the bottle emptied, the last of your blood poured onto the toy, an eerie giggle escaped Mikan’s lips. Her eyes swirling with psychotic euphoria as she pumped the blood upon the length of the dildo. Successfully smearing the blood all over the toy, not a trace left untouched.

⤷ Her breathing turned erratic. Huffs of air forced from her lungs as she sunk onto the blood-coated toy. It stung; the stretch searing through her senses as she gasped, squiriming in discomfort. And yet, it felt so damn good.

⤷ Your blood was inside her, your blood was inside her, your blood was inside her, your blood was inside her, your blood was inside her—

⤷ The idea driving her mad as she bounced, squelching air bubbles caused by the drool of her pussy mixed with the blood, arousal poisoning the air as she released an unsettling laugh, moaning mid-way through.

⤷ This was it. This was true happiness! To be filled with your fluids, no matter what they made be. Stuffing her pussy full of you and anything reminescent of you. This was true ecstasy.

⤷ The blood upon the tip of the dildo nuzzling against her cervix—painfully—yet smearing your blood deep within her.

⤷ It’s painful. Her thighs ache as she bounces, yet she craves the stimulation; the pleasure. It’s so overwhelming she trembles, shaking until she’s attempting to squirm and retreat from the toy as her orgasm begins to bubble within her stomach, ready to boil over.

⤷ And so, the string snaps; her climax washing over her with violent shudders and breathless sobs. Her cum oozing around the base of the dildo as the length remains snuggled within her clenching pussy.

⤷ Mikan breathes heavily, shifting her weight to ease her knees as she moans. Every movement forced a jolt down her spine, her cunt throbbing with sensitivity.

⤷ Her fingers delicately brush over her stretched slit, toy still buried within her as she dabs her digit in the mess, coating her fingers in her cum mixed with your blood.

⤷ It was a rosy hue; the translucent, milky white of her orgasm and your deep vermillion blood mixed together. The dew an embodiment of the connection you and her shared; your shared fluids mixed into an addictive concoction.

⤷ Mikan brings her fingers to her lips, sucking on the mixture as she licks her digits clean. It tastes so good; it tastes like love. It tastes precisely like the bond you two shared, a bittersweet cocktail.

⤷ And as she layed spewing your combined mixture of love—an unknowing commitment and the blossoming of yet another depraved addiction—she couldn’t help but grin. She couldn’t wait for how many more times she’d pleasure herself with your fluids.

⤷ What more could she take from you? What more could she use to satisfy her needs, yet keeping a piece of you with her? She wanted more. She needed more. But she knew better than to be impatient.

⤷ One day, you’ll willingly engage in such ludicrous acts with her. One day, you’ll provide her with whichever fluid she selects; blood, cum, spit. Hell, she’d even accept your piss. She just wanted more of you, you, you!

⤷ She’ll wait. She’d wait a millenial for you; lifetimes. If it’s for you, she’ll do anything and everything. But for now, she’ll settle on waiting; waiting as your blood coats the valleys of her pussy’s walls. If she can’t get you, she’ll get the next best thing.

[gameofdrarry]

Wizards Hearts Recs: Werewolf Creature!Fic

Wizards Hearts was a four-month-long Drarry reading fest. Players were given a playing deck of 52 tropes, and were asked to find 52 different fics to read and comment on to fill their decks. To prevent the same few fics from being read, fics were restricted to only being used for the game three times before being considered ineligible for further points. The tropes and submissions list can be found here.

Check out the masterlist of fics for this trope below the cut!

📜 Embers by shiftylinguini Rated:  Explicit Words:  41216 Tags: Post-Hogwarts, First Time, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Draco Malfoy, Omega Harry Potter, Werewolves, Heat Companion Harry Potter, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Masturbation, Knotting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Scent Marking, Scent Kink, Come Marking, Dirty Talk, sexual negotiation, H/D Career Fair 2017 Summary:  Werewolf Alphas aren't meant to be alone, or to suppress their ruts indefinitely like Draco has been since he was bitten eight years ago. He needs company, companionship, to knot ― he needs an Omega Heat Companion. At least, that’s what the Healers say, and even Draco can admit contacting the person they’ve referred him to might be nice. Of course it turns out to be bloody Potter. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Heart Like Neon by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill) Rated:  Explicit Words:  41103 Tags: Sex Work, Sex worker Harry Potter, Rentboys, rentboy Harry potter, Past Harry/Ginny - Freeform, past Draco/Theo, Harry/OMC - Freeform, Trans Male Character, Trans Female Character, Switching, Transphobia, Tattoos, hung harry, POV Alternating, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Rimming, Comeplay, Watersports, Duelling, Facials Summary:  Bored of being The Chosen One, Harry discovers he rather likes sex and becomes a professional. He’s good at it, and part of why is that he can read people. Not minds, not Legilimens, but their whole self, and he can give them what they don’t even know they want. Enter Draco fucking Malfoy, enigma to everyone, including himself. Harry can’t help but want to break into him, to figure him out. And Draco, thinking he’ll fuck Potter on a lark, has no idea what he’s in for. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Who we are in the shadows by Quicksilvermaid Rated:  Explicit Words:  99714 Tags: Dubious Consent, werewolf instincts, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, child trafficking, Brief Claustrophobia, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past minor character death, Past Child Death, Bigotry & Prejudice, prejudice against werewolves, internalized prejudice, Murder, Stabbing, Poison, Hallucinations, Creature Fic, Werewolf Harry, Werewolves, Auror Harry Potter, Case Fic, Masturbation, wanking, werewolf attack, Aural Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Biting, Marking, Claiming, Scenting, Possessive Behavior, Jealousy, Rough Sex, Edging, Secrets, Lies, Hurt/Comfort, Sharing a Bed, Loyalty, Loyalty Bond, Bonding, Angst, Domestic, Falling In Love, Enemies to Lovers, Self-Acceptance, Emotional Growth, Angst with a Happy Ending, References to Auror Brutality, H/D Erised 2019, Comeplay, Wall Sex, sex without lube, Identity Porn, Secret Identity Summary:  What happens when you’re forced to become the very thing you despise? Ex-Auror Harry Potter, tossed out of the Ministry for something he had no control over, has been looking for a way back to his former life. When he comes across Draco Malfoy in the criminal underbelly of Wizarding London and in need of protection, Harry figures bringing him in to face the Ministry's justice is his ticket back to everything he's lost. But nothing is exactly as it seems. Not even Harry himself. And as he gets drawn further and further into Malfoy's world of honour and deception he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew—about his childhood nemesis, the Ministry job he misses so much, and most of all, about himself. What happens when you’re forced to see that you were wrong? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Elusive Mate by 0idontknow0 Rated:  Explicit Words:  25786 Tags: Rating: NC17, Fanart, Creature Fic Summary:  Harry had done it (a) to save lives and (b) because the idea of him being Malfoy’s mate was clearly ridiculous, but now he had to tell Malfoy. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Finding A Place To Call Home by marysiak Rated:  Explicit Words:  54747 Tags: Alternate Universe, Creature Fic, Werewolves, Post-Hogwarts, Rough Sex, Top Draco Malfoy, Bottom Harry Summary:  Feeling directionless after the war, Harry is unexpectedly torn out of his own universe and thrust into another, where he must hide out with Remus Lupin, Teddy and Draco Malfoy as Severus Snape and Hermione try to find a way to send him home and save both his and his unwitting doppelganger's lives. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 as much a light as a flame by p1013 Rated:  Explicit Words:  6303 Tags: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Mating Rituals, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, POV Draco Malfoy, Knotting, Scent Kink, Mating Bond, Outdoor Sex, Anal Sex, Comeplay, Art, Claiming, H/D Sex Fair 2020 Summary:  His mother paints a wolf on his chest, its eyes bracketing his heart, and its muzzle pointed towards his groin. His aunt fills in the spaces around his waist and ribs with symbols he's lost the meaning of in the wash of whatever plant had been mixed in with the steam. They move after her brush leaves his skin, turning from incomprehensible marks to his name to wolf to home to hunt and then back to misunderstanding again. His legs are painted in patterned bands, starting from his ankles and ending at his upper thighs. His groin is left unmarked, the pale and empty skin meant to leave no doubt of the Claim once he makes it. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Burning the Ground by lq_traintracks (lumosed_quill), traintracks Rated:  Explicit Words:  10256 Tags: A/B/O-ish dynamic, Were-Creatures, Knotting, Rough Sex, Anal Sex, Bondage, Blow Jobs, sex on the floor, Rimming, Auror Harry Potter, Healer Draco Malfoy, Mildly Dubious Consent Summary:  "Strap him down," someone said, and Harry felt the rage thicken inside him -- the viscous fear. Magical bindings pulled taut around his wrists . . . He felt a wand touch his arm and then a sharp bite as something punctured the skin, and a sweet, cool tonic rushed his veins. His breathing slowed. His eyelids drooped. The ceiling went grey and dark. And then he heard a woman's voice sigh, "Someone, get Healer Malfoy." ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Omega's Binding by Madriddler Rated:  Explicit Words:  49405 Tags: Hogwarts Sixth Year, Alpha/Omega, Omega Harry, Werewolves, Knotting, Fluff and Angst, Anal Fingering, Size Kink, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Watersports, No Horcruxes Summary:  After a violent encounter, Harry Potter is turned into a werewolf. An Omega Werewolf, to be exact. Now dealing with heats and the ability to get pregnant, Harry must learn to live with his new forms and life, while a desire for revenge fuels him. Will he be able to resist his heat and vengeance? Or will he fall into an instinctual lust, and look for his Alpha? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 The Light More Beautiful by firethesound Rated:  Explicit Words:  81255 Tags: Hogwarts Sixth Year, Dubious Consent, Potions Accident, Post-Hogwarts, Aurors, Returning Home, Owls, Drinking, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Shower Sex, Masturbation in Shower, Knotting, Rimming, Falling In Love, Case Fic, Loss of Virginity, Acronyms, Motorcycles, Christmas, Quidditch, Pining Summary:  Thirteen years after Draco accepts Potter's help escaping the horror of his sixth year, he returns to England where he makes the unfortunate discovery that Potter is still as obnoxious as ever. And worse, more than a decade overseas hasn't been enough to dim Draco's obsession with him. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Run With Me by dragontara Rated:  Mature Words:  16738 Tags: Animagus, Creature Fic, Werewolf Draco, Animagus Harry, Bottom Draco, Bonding, Knotting, snarky Draco Summary:  Draco and Harry meet in the Forbidden Forest in their wolf forms falling fast and hard and eventually bonding with each other. Unfortunately bonding in their animal forms doesn't mean they are happily bonded straight away in a real life too. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Taro Milk Tea with a side of Depression by VeelaWings Rated:  Mature Words:  1073 Tags: Pre-Slash, Screenplay/Script Format, Conversations, Veela Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Harry Potter, Guidance Counselors, in therapy, Depression, Self-Hatred, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Morbid Humor, Inappropriate Behavior from a Professional, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020 Summary:  Draco sat through twenty grievous minutes of Ministry-mandated group therapy for Newly Registered Magical Beings & Creatures — then promptly stormed out. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Blood Moon Rising by noelleification Rated:  Mature Words:  38322 Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Wolfstar is canon, Sirius Black Lives, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is a Little Shit, Adoption, Slowburn Adoption, Drarry might happen at some point, idk - Freeform, Remus and Sirius adopt draco, Remus and Sirius as dads, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, So much angst, seriously get ready for angst, Abusive Lucius Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Harry Potter but it's ridiculously gay, Gay Draco Malfoy, Gay Disaster Draco Malfoy, Trans Hermione Granger, Because we don't support TERFS in this household, Yearning, Sirius and Remus are in love but it doesn't mean they're smart enough to know it yet, so get ready for them to pine for awhile, uhhhhhh just have tissues ready I guess, I'm gonna try my hardest to make you cry, You're gonna suffer..., But you're gonna be... happy about it?, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, traumatized Draco, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Tonks is best girl, Tonks as lesbian wine aunt, Tonks has big sister vibes, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks Never Happened, Everyone is LGBT, because fuck jk rowling, Found Family, Whump, this shit hurted, Parental Remus Lupin, Parental Sirius Black, Torture, Aftermath of Torture, this shit gets dark yall, just be prepared Summary:  Draco Malfoy is cursed. Ever since Fenrir Greyback ripped him to shreds, Draco has transformed into a monster every month on the full moon. The change is painful, and living with Lucius Malfoy might be worse. But Draco is strong. He doesn’t need anyone, especially not Remus Lupin. Remus Lupin might be the only person in the world who understands what Draco is going through—but he has enough on his plate, between the still-raging wizarding war, the publicized nature of his status as a werewolf, and his best friend, Sirius Black, who Remus might think of in a more-than-friendly way. He certainly can’t take in a seventeen-year-old Death Eater—can he? ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 A Howling Good Time by FleetofShippyShips Rated:  Explicit Words:  5819 Tags: Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Established Relationship, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Full Moon, werewolf/human sex, Transformed Werewolf/Human Sex, Knotting, Consent Given Prior, Multiple Orgasms, Overstimulation, Morning After, Aftercare (delayed?), Scent Kink, Fluff, (hahaha both literal and emotional), Don't copy to another site, Come Scent Kink (i.e. some post-sex bum sniffing) Summary:  They’d talked about this, and Draco had agreed that he would try it for Harry, once Harry had convinced him he was utterly serious and not fucking with him. The timing, however, was entirely up to Harry, and he'd decided tonight, this full moon, was the night. ❤️ Read on AO3

📜 Am I a werewolf? by a_reader_and_writer Rated:  General Words:  1230 Tags: Werewolves, Curses, Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, Dramatic Draco Malfoy, Boyfriends, Fluff and Crack Summary:  Draco is hit by the werewolf curse. The healers send him home and tell Harry and him to watch the symptoms. Of course this isn't as easy as it sounds with our drama queen Draco. ❤️ Read on AO3

[justahopelessssromantic]

Without You

Hi love, me again. Any chance you'd be up for writing an imagine with Angel's girl getting kidnapped and him trying to get her back? Literally obsessed with you're writing and curious to see how you'd put a spin on that :) if not no worries!! I don't want to be wicked annoying lol - but either way thank you! @sickofbitches

A/N: Thank you so so much! ❤️ I love this request, so much so that I may have gotten a little carried away with it 😂. I felt I couldn’t do it justice in just one part so it’s gonna be a little series with a total of three parts! Thank you again and I really hope you enjoy! 💕

*gif not mine*

Warnings: Angst, violence and slight animal abuse

It was a regular everyday kind of day, or mostly so. You had just pulled up in front of your house, trunk filled with groceries. The AC was blasting as your music thumped through the speakers. You sat in your car jamming to your favorite song waiting for it to be over before you would finally get out like you would always do. Turning the ignition off you stepped out of the car swinging your bag across your shoulder. Coming around to the back you popped the trunk open.

Your phone buzzed from inside your pocket distracting you momentarily.

Can’t wait to see you tonight, mi dulce. We’ve got a lot of missed nights to make up for ;)

You smiled to yourself biting your lip. You would never get tired of the big flirt you had fallen in love with. Angel had been gone on a run for six nights now and tonight he would finally get back home. Since that was the case you knew you’d have to make a grocery run hence the loaded trunk. Angel could eat more food than anyone you knew and still somehow maintain his amazing physique. You weren’t complaining, just a little jealous by how effortless it seemed for him.

You typed out your quick response before reaching in for the bags.

Grabbing half of the bags from the back you turned towards your house to be greeted by your baby Rosco through the tall chain link fence, wagging his tail rapidly as he jumped around ecstatic to have you back home again. You smiled wide just as excited as him. “Hey baby,” you cooed, “Mama missed you too!”

On the way to the front gate your phone slipped from your grasp as you had foolishly been holding it with the groceries. It fell to the ground with a loud thud and you were almost certain the damn thing’s screen would be cracked.

Setting the bags in your left hand to the ground you bent over picking it up and dusting it off on your shirt. You cursed to yourself examining the damage. The last thing you needed right now was to have to get a new phone.

The hair on the back of your neck raised as soon as you heard it. Rosco had gone from his happy yips to a full blown snarl. You looked at him, his lip was curled back as he growled and started barking viciously, the drool spilling from his mouth.

You tried to mentally prepare yourself for what was to come next but everything happened so fast there was no way you could have. Before you could turn around strong arms grabbed you from behind causing the groceries to fall to the cement, the eggs cracking on impact. You tried to wrench yourself free, kicking hoping to hit anything. You screamed but it was no use. The man muffled your cries with his large hand as he pulled you back dragging you towards the trunk of your car.

Rosco’s barking and snarling never ceased. He jumped and clawed at the fence trying to get free but it was no use. There was nothing he or anyone could do to save you.

You bit down hard on the man’s hand tasting the blood in your mouth as you did so, the taste alone was enough to make your stomach queasy.

“Bitch!” He yelled pulling back his hand and shoving you forward. You fell fast just barely catching yourself with your hands. You hissed, the rough ground scraping up your palms with a stinging pain. You tried to use this to your advantage, tried to get on your feet and get to your yard. If you could only just get to the gate.

But before you could get far your purse was being yanked off you and tossed to the side, the contents scattering everywhere. Next you were being pulled up by the back of the neck before there was a blinding pain in the back of your head. You tried to stay conscious, fought it as best as you could.

The last things you can remember hearing was another man calling out, “Shut that dog up!” followed by the viscous noises of Rosco, the shouting of a man, and then the sickening sound of your precious boy crying out.

Angel zipped up his fly looking at his cell as he made his way back to his bike. He smirked looking at the message you had sent back in return to his.

Better hurry or I’ll just have to get started without you.

Fuck you knew just how to get to him, the vulgar images immediately entering his mind. Adjusting himself he swung his leg over his bike and pulled his helmet on.

“What the fuck are you grinning about?” EZ asked his brother with a smug look. He figured it must have been you, it always was. The two of you were inseparable, it was actually endearing. EZ was thankful his brother had found you while he was locked up. You made him happy and no one deserved that more than Angel.

“None of your fucking business.” Angel shot back smiling just the same. “Now come on I wanna get the fuck out of here. I’ve got my girl to get back to.” Starting up his bike he peeled out of the lot following the rest of his club.

It was a long, tiring ride but having you to come home to made it all worth it. However there was one last thing needed of him before he could be back in your arms and you his.

He shot you another quick message explaining how he was going to be late but he’d be there as soon as he could before tossing his phone into the basket and heading into Templo.

Angel sat at the table looking at Bishop, his mouth was moving but he couldn’t hear anything. He tried to be attentive, he really did but it was just so damn difficult when he kept thinking of your message earlier and those delicate little fingers of yours slipping down your body disappearing between your thighs.

He tapped his foot repeatedly, anxiously awaiting for the gavel to go down and grant him his freedom. By the time it did he practically shot up from his seat and headed for the door.

“Hey Angel!” Bishop called out with a smirk, “Where’s the fire?”

“In his fucking pants,” Taza teased causing the rest of the men to burst out laughing.

They all knew that the minute he got home from a run his first priority was getting home to you and getting pussy drunk as they called it. He did the same thing every time and you’d have a hell of a time getting him to leave the house for anything the next few days after.

Angel turned around shaking his head chuckling, “You’re all just jealous I have someone to go home to and you’re all just stuck with your fucking hands.” He shot back, mimicking jerking off before flipping them the bird. “Now if you’ll all excuse me I have a lot of missed time to make up for, fuckers.”

With that he left the men still chuckling behind him and scooped his phone out of the basket with a smirk on his face. He immediately checked for messages and found none. That could only mean two things you were pissed or were deep into a hot bath soaking the days stress away.

He pulled up your contact hitting call. He listened as it rang and rang while he walked to his bike before going to voicemail where he was blessed by your beautiful voice. “Hey amor,” He said to your mailbox, “I know, I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you big time.” He grinned thinking of all the things he was going to do to you. “You better not have watched the next episode without me although to be fair that’d be fair.” He chuckled. You had been watching The Punisher and you were terrible about sneaking in episodes when Angel wasn’t around. “I’m sure you’re just deep in a hot bath, suds surrounding your perfect body with a glass of your favorite wine.” He continued picturing how he’d find you once he got home. “Anyways,” he said, getting back on track for his reason for calling in the first place, “I’m on my way home now. I love you and I can’t wait to see you, mi dulce.” He ended the message slipping his cell in his cut and heading your way.

Pulling down your street he could see the porch light illuminating the yard. Rosco was whining and scratching at the fence with one paw, his right one limp by his side. He perked up as he heard Angel approach. Angel frowned, the sight was unnerving for him, you never left Rosco alone outside at night and the way he was holding his paw made the pit in his stomach sink.

He parked in front of your house where your car should be. You should be home by now, he knew you had been home by the sight of the groceries scattered around the street and sidewalk. He dismantled his Harley in record time pulling his gun from his bed roll before rushing over to where he saw your purse and the contents of it spilled out across the cement. He didn’t like what he was seeing and his heart began racing.

His mind began racing now with all the possibilities of what could have happened. He bent over picking your phone up off the ground. He examined the screen, it was completely shattered and he could just barely make out his messages through the cracks in the glass. You didn’t answer because you were mad or just relaxing, no you didn’t answer because you weren’t fucking here, because something terrible had happened and he had had no clue until it was possibly too late.

He pulled his phone out dialing the first number he could think of as the panic really started to sink in. He felt like he wanted to cry and kill someone at the same time, his world was spinning out of control around him with nothing he could do about it.

“Angel.” EZ answered the call, “What’s up? Shouldn’t you be balls deep by now or something like that?” He chuckled. He was sitting outside on his trailer steps enjoying the peaceful evening, having a smoke with Gilly, Riz, and Creeper.

Angel was not laughing, how could he? Of course EZ had no clue as to what was happening.

“She’s gone.” He croaked out, still trying to wrap his mind around it.

“What?” EZ asked. That was the last thing he was expecting to hear. He sat up more now. The men around him noticed his change in demeanor immediately and perked their ears up trying to figure out what was going on.

“She’s fucking gone! Something terrible happened Ezekiel.” Was all he could say as his chest tightened. How could he have let this happen? This had to be club shit. It had to be his fault. This was all his fault.

He heard the muffled sound of voices on the other end before his brother replied, “We’ll be right there. Stay put, Angel.” EZ said as he headed off in the direction of his bike followed by all the others, “We’re gonna find her.” His own adrenaline was pumping as he sped off into the night, the rest of the club coming behind him soon after.

Angel sure as hell fucking hoped so.

Putting his phone back he grabbed your purse off the ground, picking up the discarded items. Your wallet was still here money and cards all inside so money had obviously not been the motive. Next he grabbed your sunglasses, chapstick, and snack you always carried and shoved them back into the leather bag. Last to have been thrown from your purse was a small picture facing down with a few drops of blood dried onto the ground next to it. Grabbing it he took it and the bag into the yard staring at the dark spots a moment longer and praying it wasn’t yours.

He turned his attention back to the house and his dog that was behind the fence whimpering. He opened the gate and was greeted by the big Great Dane as he limped over to him. Angel rubbed his head crouching down and brining him close. “It’s okay boy, let me see.” He lifted the paw carefully examining the damage. It was a little swollen and would definitely have to be looked at. “You’ll be okay buddy” he reassured him softly, “It’s gonna be okay.”

He sat down on the porch steps to wait for his brother Rosco sitting beside him. Rosco laid his big head on Angel’s thigh, ceasing his anxious shaking with his comforting warmth and weight. Angel hated this, the waiting, but he didn't know what else to do. He was still in shock, so many emotions running through him at once, fear, rage, heartache, all fighting for dominance.

He played with the small photograph in his hand, flicking the edge with his thumb anxiously as he stared forward. Both he and the dog were very aware of their surroundings as they waited to figure out their next move to get their girl back.

This was far from how he saw his night going. He should be holding you tight in bed, Rosco snuggled at the foot of it crushing your feet as you binged tv and ate an awful amount of junk food, not stuck here in this nightmare he was sure he had created himself.

He looked down at the picture in his hands. He swore he stopped breathing for a moment as he stated in the black and white photo before him. His eyes filled with tears, a drop falling off his dark lashes and onto the picture. There in the corner in small print was your name and today’s date.

It was a fucking sonogram. He unfolded the pictures revealing all the images. His eyes took in every detail of the small and cloudy photos before him.

You had mentioned how you had a doctor's appointment today but told Angel it was just a routine check up, nothing to worry about, but now here he was looking at his unborn child and he was more worried than he had ever been in his life. Not because you were pregnant, not at the thought of becoming a father, but at the thought that he may never get the chance to be one, that he may never meet his little boy or girl.

He let out a sob, overjoyed by the revelation and grieving for what may be lost, of the possibility of his family slipping from his grasp before he even had a chance to hold it.

He closed his eyes, sending a silent prayer up, hoping someone or something was listening, hoping his mother could hear him. “Please Mama,” he begged another sob wrecking though his body as the tears spilled out of his eyes, “please watch over her, please protect my family, I need her so fucking much, I can’t lose anyone else. Please.”

Rosco snuggled in closer as Angel wrapped his arms around the big dog, holding him tight as he cried. He couldn’t lose you or your child, wouldn’t lose you.

He couldn't let that happen.

Everything Tag List: @jad3djay @fairygardenss @carlaangel86 @briannab1234 @starrynite7114 @agirllovespasta @howaboutash @gemini0410 @naytraydr @knowles-morgan @woahitslucyylu @everyhowlmarksthedead

[lunaescribe]

A Christmas Carol 2019 ★★★★½

A Christmas Carol 2019 ★★★★½

Rewatched Dec 25, 2020

MariaSar’s review published on Letterboxd:

A RESTORATION OF THE BOOK’S SOCIAL JUSTICE This is not another adaption which seeks to be family friendly whimsy and sanguine lightness on harsh realities. When Dickens described a character in the 1840s who said “Then let them die and decrease the surplus population”, he was not summoning an over the top miserable monster from his imagination. Capitalism boomed in this period, poverty thrived and many did die in the streets in the age of industry as Monopolies and Robber Barons were born and the 1% as we still know it today struck their roots into the ground. And they did it on the back of many POC and lives of workers. Dickens work was attacking their success and exploitive practices in his story, while creating a story that could be emotionally related to by many readers.

Over the last nearly 200 years much of the book lost its bite to warm fuzzy film adaptions loosing the ghost story angle, as Dickens begins the book with, in their retelling. This adaptation returns the gothic to the story. This version is a viscous attack on capitalism and an updated version of how much our understanding of human psychology has grown in 200 years.

This version goes into Scrooge’s psyche like we’ve never seen before, and I will do my best to explain without giving spoilers. It builds on the underlying sprinkles of abuse Dickens’ writings hinted at, and crafts a version of the storys themes free of any societal censorship in the 1840s. It breaks down the mind of money obsession of the extreme capitalist and asks what turns a person to delve so deeply into that mindset.

Much like the original story this version allows sympathy for Scrooge however unlike nearly every other version it does not excuse his behavior in favor of sympathy. This version highlights the exploitive practices of business men in the 1840s and today, especially how it fell on women and POC of color. And POC indeed finally! A version showing a diverse London as it historically was! Astonishingly it is one of the first versions to include Ali Baba as a character even though he does feature in the book as a vivid piece of Scrooge’s childhood. This version finally confronts the white supremacy of past adaptions and men like Scrooge did and today still do commit.

The biggest change and update to the story is how it uses its women. It’s common knowledge Dickens was not particularly kind to women, most of the 19th century wasn’t, however this version is good enough to realistically and thematically build up the prominent women in the original story creating a more balanced and nuanced story. Mary Cratchit’s outburst in the book of loathing Scrooge even more than her husband is heavily built on and she finally get to be a person instead of just a device. The same can be said of Scrooge’s sister without going too much into spoiler territory. And almost every addition is paired with a common motif or occurrence to women in the 19th century, making them all fit smoothly into the narrative.

Lastly and most importantly is how this film handles the climax and Scrooge’s redemption. In most films Scrooge’s is so horrified by a future of dying alone it drives him to change. I won’t reveal the way they do it in this film but it is jaw dropping and the truest most informed and perfect example of character redemption I’ve ever seen. It shares focus on those who have been abused by Scrooge, not sweeping over their pain or anyone’s pain. It is the most sincere authentic portrayal of true remorse as opposed to selfish fear of consequences.

This is a version of a Christmas Carol that embodies the phrase “Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable”. This is a version that challenges what it means to seek redemption and feel remorse, and offers comfort to those who have been abused of how to forgive themselves and the ill that was done to them-and break their own cycle of abuse. It is strikingly brilliant artistically and acted, and if you can let go of what you think a Christmas Carol should be-it will offer you deep epiphany, hope, and potentially righteous anger. I beg you to watch it, it is now one of my most favorite pieces of media ever, and I believe destined to become an adult classic.

[amazingdriverfics]

Crowned by the devil - ch. 7

Summary: Kylo shows to you just how much you care and you change your mind.

Warnings: injury treatment, NSFW content, lil bit of angst

A/N: forgive me for cutting the smut, but next chapter we’ll have a bigger part dedicated to it. Also sorry for not posting so much this week, my College just said we’re going to have online classes and I lost my mind for a bit. 

Hope you like it! 

Previous Chapter   Following Chapter

Hot and salty were the tears falling down your face, it wasn’t long after Kylo left when you broke down. For starters you hated medical environments, it remembered you too much of the day you lost Juney and the fact that Ren mentioned her during your argument wasn’t very helpful. You knew he was right, your adoptive mother always wanted you to leave Tatooine, to be happy and to have a chance to enjoy all the things Kreat didn’t allow you to.

One thing led to another and you never had the strength to leave the sandy planet or your past behind no matter how much it hurted. You tried to forget a part of it covering the biggest part of your scars with tattoos, however, the ‘K’ couldn’t be covered and no matter how much money you got from the bounty hunts, there was no way you could afford the proceedings to make it less visible, so you stopped looking at it and only touched it when showering. Part of your weakness towards Kylo came from the fact that you allowed him to touch the scar, Stars you were stupid.

To make it worst, the dark knight was right about the rest too, you knew the two of you were too much alike, you felt a connection - one you had been trying so hard to ignore -,  you were angry all the time - it was the only way you knew how to deal with your feelings - and, yes, you were pretty sure you didn’t deserve anything good, after all when was the last time something good had happened, you had given up happiness long ago and you convinced yourself  that you were okay with it, then Kylo Ren got in the way and rubbed in your face just how tired you were of your sorry life. Living in the Steadfast made you feel alive, Cardo was the first friend you ever made, Phasma taught you something after years of nothing and Kylo was something else, he not only turned you on, but was the only one to make you feel vulnerable and, at the same time, brave enough to tell the truth straight to your face. No matter how much you tried to hate him, you couldn’t do it, you didn’t love or trust him, but you were somehow grateful for his presence in your life. 

Before you could try to figure out your life some more, a white medical droid entered the room caring a lot of black bandages and a couple of pots filled with blue viscous bacta. “Miss l/n?”, immediately, you turned your head in its direction. “Yes” you answered awaiting for instructions. “I’m medical droid F-88L and I’m here to start your bacta treatment. I’ll help you to sit on the bedside”. 

Sitting for the first time was hard and painful, despite the painkillers running in your veins, your side complained and throbbed, pain hitting you in strong yet slow waves causing your finally dry eyes to become wet again. When you were finally able to shift positions, legs falling out of the medical bed, feet almost touching the cold ground, a relieved moan left your mouth and tears left the side of your red and puffy eyes. It wasn’t long before the droid started to move, applying the cold liquid to your wounds after taking your small medical vest off leaving you only in your panties. 

The sensation of the bacta against your skin wasn’t the most pleasant, it was sticky, but at the same time it provided some very much needed relief, and thanks to the black bandage which also sticked perfectly to the hurt area, the bacta didn’t met areas where it wasn’t necessary.

All of a sudden, you felt the sticky sensation on your back precisely where the ‘K’ insignia you carried for all those years was, causing you to jump out of the bed, the brusque movement making your side complain and your blood pressure to go down clouding your vision as the room became blurry. Without you noticing, a pair of nurses entered the room helping the droid to place you in the position you had been. “Please calm down, miss” one of the nurses said her voice still seeming a little far, but you allowed yourself to calm down, your breathing becoming steadier, your blood pressure returning to normal levels. 

“Wh-why are you applying bacta to my scar?” you asked voice failing as you stuttered, pain clouding you mind at the same time that fear ran through your veins, triggered by the touch on your scar. “The Supreme Leader asked us to treat it, we will make it less visible”. Her words made you cry again, the thought of Kylo caring so much about you that he would spent his Order’s money to help you deal with the worst memory of your life hit all your buttons. “Hm, okay, go on”. 

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

Kylo watched as she slept on the medical bay from the small window the room had, the drugs made y/n seem at peace as she probably slept a sleep without any dreams, she was always so stunning he thought to himself. The fight had taken a toll on him, he knew he was right, but at the same time she was as well, they didn’t really know each other very well and Ren was determined to change the scenario. As an apology he asked the doctor to treat the ‘K’ shaped scar on her back since the words ‘I’m sorry’ would never leave his mouth. He also knew how much those memories haunted her and he wanted to do everything in his power to keep her safe even if it meant keeping her safe from herself. 

“Master Ren” Cardo’s voice echoed in the corridor causing Kylo to be slightly ashamed from being caught staring at y/n sleeping. Clearing his throat he looked to his knight preventing his face from showing any emotion, in times like these he missed his mask. “Yes, Cardo?”.

“Well, don’t get me wrong, sir, but me and my brothers are a little worried about you” the knight threw up his words as if speaking quickly would prevent Kylo from being angry. “Why?” Ren asked, face already showing irritation as his tone increased a bit. “You see, y/n is a troublemaker” Cardo laughed a bit remembering their training sessions “ - and that’s exactly what makes the two of you perfect for each other, but we all know how you feel about her and we are afraid of the outcome -” his speech was interrupted as the Supreme Leader angrily said “That is nothing of your business” as he stomped out of the medical bay. 

Kylo knew things would work out between him and his Empress, simply because he could no longer imagine living without her.

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

It had been a full cycle since the last time you had seen Kylo and you were dying to see him again. You needed to thank him for the treatment and, even though you weren’t going to say you were sorry for what happened, you wanted to say that after thinking a lot you decided to give the experiment a try. You didn’t really have anything to lose after all and you owned it to him - or you told yourself that -. The truth was that in the same amount your feared love, you wished for it and as much as you tried to deny it, Ren was getting in your soft spot, despite your previous belief that it didn’t really existed.

The time you spent without him was also very sad, you spent all the time looking into the wall and not having what to do took your mind to bad places, memories flooding your brain constantly making you wish to disappear, you were also constantly thinking about Ren, how you were going to say what you wanted, if you should give in to your needs and desires exploring his body with yours, if you should really try to get to know the man, if you had what it took to rule a Galaxy - the answer in your head often being no -. The good part of your endless obsessive thinking was that it clouded the physical pain almost like medicine, the price - your mental health - wasn’t worth it though. 

“Troublemaker?” the nickname and his tone instantly made you laugh, you hadn’t realized just how much you missed Cardo until he showed up. He felt like comfort and as you looked right into his blue eyes the bad thoughts went away. “Hey, asshole” you said, trying to hide the relief you felt in the knight’s presence with your mocking tone. 

“Good to know you aren’t easy to kill” he said giving you a tired smile and sitting in the couch Kylo had previously slept in. “I’m offended that you even considered me easy to kill” you said putting a dramatic facade on. 

“You’re tiny don’t blame me” he mocked, resting his chin on his hand, eyes glimmering with amusement knowing it would piss you off. “Very funny, Cardo” you faked a laugh “Next time we fight I’ll hit your crotch and we’ll see how defenceless I am”.

“You worried me” he said, losing the brave facade and the mocking tone, vulnerability showing in his traces. “I saw it all, and even though I have seen and done some pretty nasty things I thought that I would pass out”. 

“Yes, I didn’t think I would make it either, but I guess I’m tougher than I presumed” a sad smile cracking on your face as the words left your mouth echoing through the white room. “Now I will have to endure the next phase of this ‘experiment’ whatever that is” you shrugged. “I can’t tell you what it is, but you are not going to like it at all.” Cardo said, his relaxed posture coming back and causing you to get a little bit scared of what was coming. “Unfortunately, I have to go troublemaker, need to kill some bad guys” he said faking an attack to illustrate what he was about to do.

Before you could even interrogate the man, he stood up ready to leave the facility. “Wait, can you please tell Kylo to come if you see him?”, Cardo gave you a quick nod and left you behind to deal once again with your memories.

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

“You called me?” his deep voice filled your ears making you jump a little bit from the scare, as anxiety immediately started to eat your insides as you remembered why you asked Cardo to get his master. “Hm, yes. I need to talk to you” you said trying to sound confident as you usually sounded like. As you started to get up, Kylo went to help, his touch on your arms making you shiver. 

When you were finally sat, the knight skins left yours, making where he touched feel cold. “Thank you. I’m going to start talking before I regret it” you started avoiding to look at the tall figure still standing, but this time near the couch. “I wanted to thank you, really thank you, what you are doing for me by treating my scar is something I can never repay” you looked at him quickly seeing his face showing no emotion as his hands were in fists. “And, well, I’ve been thinking about the discussion we had - if you can call it that - and, turns out you weren’t totally wrong, so I decided to give this, whatever this is, a chance”. 

As soon as you were done, your eyes travelled to him again waiting anxiously for his reaction. While he didn’t say anything, an uncomfortable silence started to fill the room making it impossible for you to breath. The man stood still watching you just as hard as you watched him, not doing anything to show you that he cared for what you said, just as it was about to become unbearable, his voice echoed through the walls. 

“You don’t have to thank me for it, I did because I wanted to” he shrugged, body finally starting to move as whole as he made his way to the bed sitting next to you. “I’m glad you decided to try, you won’t regret it. I’m also taking the fact you said I was right - even though I already knew that - as a personal victory” while mocking you a smile showed up in his face, lighting his features and eyes up, it almost stopped you from giving him a remarck back. “You shouldn’t, I was the one mostly correct” a smile also making its way into your features. 

“Let me show you how grateful I am for your decision” he purred in your ear, ignoring your comment. Soon he was in his feet again walking towards the door and locking it also making sure that the small window was covered with the curtains. “What are you-” your question was interrupted with his lips as they sealed yours in a deep kiss, Kylo’s tongue dominating yours without mercy. His hands explored your body, always careful with your wound, his right one finding home in your tight squeezing it hard as you kissed while his left one stayed in your hair pushing it slightly every now and then. 

You tried to win over his grip in your tight to press them together, a gesture to relieve the pressure building in your core as the blood flooded directly into your clit, making it sore and getting you wet. 

Kylo finished the kiss trapping your lower lip between his teeth while his brown eyes, almost black with the desire, bored directly into yours making you even wetter. His hands left your body and made their way to the bottom of the medical vest before carefully taking it off. As soon as your bare chest was exposed, he stood a couple of inches away, taking in the sight of your body, as instinct you rubbed your thighs again and placed your fingers on your nipples squeezing them. Just as you started to play with your nipples, an animal sound left Ren’s mouth while he got closer, his hands taking yours off your nubs as he substituted them with his mouth. 

He kissed your nipples just like he had done with your mouth, switching between teasing it with his tongue lapping and swirling around it and trapping the tip with his teeth pulling it slightly as his hands massaged the bottom of your breasts. You were a moaning mess, the building sexual tension and the amount of ruined sex moments with the knight making you more sensitive to his touch.

With his eyes fixed on yours, Kylo started to make his way down slowly in an almost torturing pace, kissing the path to your clothed pussy, lips closing around the skin on your belly leaving some red marks on it, tongue teasing the skin just above the underwear you still had on. Trying to make him go faster, you put your hands on his soft black hair and tried to push him down, but the man was stronger and the only result you got was a smirk in his face. Keeping your hand in place you let him do his way, watching as he kissed the inside of your thighs shortly after you spread them for him.

“Who would’ve known that such a bitter person would smell so sweet” Kylo whispered into your underwear, nose lightly touching your clit making you squirm. Taking his time he lowered your panties letting it fall to the ground, with his fingers he spread your pussy lips showing yourself completely to him. “Such a pretty pussy, I’ve been dreaming of eating this out”. As soon as the words left his mouth, his tongue met your folds in a long lap starting right from your hole and ending on your sore clit causing your head to fall back as a relieved moan left your mouth and your grip on his hair became tighter. 

Everytime a pleasured sound came from you, you could feel his smile against your cunt and because of the way his tongue lapped over and over again on your clit alternating directions, there were too many of them. The man was a master at pussy eating, he knew just how much pressure to put on your nub and from the way he did it you could tell he liked it. 

As two of his thick fingers entered your hole, curling inside of you and hitting the sweet spot, his tongue continued the work causing your inner walls to clench from the amount of pleasure coursing through your veins. It wasn’t long before you were rubbing your cunt against his face, making him a mess, his chin and cheeks shimmering with your pleasure as he moaned into your pussy aroused by your actions. 

When Kylo stopped licking on your clit to suck on it, the building orgasm crashed causing your eyes to close, as your body shook, your legs closing on his head and keeping his mouth connected to your cunt. The only thing leaving your mouth was his name over and over again, your senses clouded from how much pleasure you felt. After Ren finished fingering you through your orgasm, he got up proudly showing his face covered in cum as his fingers sticky and shiny traveled to his mouth, leaving it cleaned not a trace of your arousal on it. “I will never be able to live without eating this pussy, I’ll eat it for breakfast from now on” he said, voice deeper than normal. All you could do was nod, not trusting your voice after having the most incredible orgasm ever.

[rowenawarden]

Levi and Aurora’s relationship explained-

Aurora is meant to be a very complex character or at least that’s how I’m trying to write her. her whole life has been one viscous cycle of violence, the abuses she has suffered at the hands of the government, her grandfather and even Erwin with his subtle manipulations have all but desensitised her to the part of herself that is crying out to be liberated and for her to be seen as others equal, even when Levi comes into the picture, his involvement is following that trend of an somewhat abusive power dynamic and it’s taken til she lost her twin brother who, albeit badly, did keep what I’ve described as Aurora’s darkness in check before that part of herself that has been screaming on the inside finally broke free.

Her whole life she has needed a strong male figure in her life, the dominance her grandfather asserted in her youth created this almost dependence upon needing that dominate figure, it’s why at first she allowed Levi to do what he did in the stables, why she followed Miche’s orders without question or even followed Rian a little blindly when she was younger, however as she begins to unlock her power through the dreamscape and in combat, she is unlocking the primal part of herself that refuses to be bent to another’s will, the part that is a Sparhawke first and a woman second, the part that is the warrior she needs to be, this is why was see Aurora beginning to push back against her Brother in dissension and in particular Erwin through out book 2, following this pattern she is likely to begin to assert herself more against Levi as well and the men hunting her.

I had tagged from the start in all forums that this story is mature for a number of reasons and Aurora and Levi���s relationship is one not just for the sex but for the constantly shifting power dynamic between them. Levi is a man very much in control of himself, his life is on his terms because he has a shitty start in life, it’s why in my canon his OCD is there, it’s all part of his need to control and dominate every aspect of his life because he knows what it is like to be at the mercy of others, that’s why he pushed Aurora away after their first sexual encounter, it took him til that moment to realise the control she had over him without ever exerting herself and it scared the shit out of him, not saying what he did was right, but imagine you grew up as he did, seen what he had seen, loved as he has loved, would you be so willing to hand over your heart to another for safe keeping?

So he runs for the proverbial hills and practically slaps Aurora across the face in the process but it’s too late, she unwittingly has her hooks in him and he develops what is in no small terms an obsession. While Aurora is struggling to adapt to this completely new sexual awakening/ rejection she begins to take back some of her control of the situation but Levi doesn’t let that happen willingly, it’s 2 years of this unhealthy dynamic where they are at loggerheads until Aurora is in a vulnerable position after the battle of Trost, she’s tired, scared and whether she admits it or not, struggling with throw backs to the horror of Shiganshina. This is where Levi kisses her, he’s he did it because he is in love with her but his timing is terrible because as I said, she is vulnerable and had she been in her right mind, she Likely would have pushed him away because of what happened between them., then to top it off she’s forced upon a pedestal by the people she saved and is exposed to the very thing her grandfather wanted to keep her hidden from.

Then off course they have the conversation on the rooftop, they finally start communicating and that’s when they realise that they are both fucked up and are both struggling with how their feelings fit into each other’s lives, of course I’m not condoning their unhealthy relationship but their both idiots who won’t admit their are in love that live in a horrifying universe, show me one person who fights like they do against man eating monsters and have seen what they have seen that would pass a psych evaluation without any red flags.

This is where their relationship begins to get blurry, despite their physical and emotional intimacy rising rapidly, some would argue too rapidly, Levi constantly lies to her despite promising to never do so, he thinks that omission isn’t lying and he rationalises this as his way of protecting her (maybe because physically he can’t because she is her own army) but it’s lying, he didn’t tell her Erwin’s plan for Eren in the trial, he didn’t tell her about the plan for the forest, Erwin’s designs for her in the scouts, about Jannick til he absolutely has too, so far Aurora has justified Levi’s reasoning for keeping her in the dark and each time she falls back into this mentality of they know better than me, but that is going to change, especially with her current mentality because she is done with everyone’s shit and is finally hitting back, and she packs a hell of punch.

On return from the battle for Eren, Levi experiences the prospect of Aurora’s mortality for real, of course he has a scare in the forest but deep down he knew she would survive but this time, he saw her dying, felt her struggling to hold on and it terrified him, unbeknown to him though it has opened his mind up to all the things he would have lost had she died, it why he for reasons beyond him, pictured Aurora pregnant with his child while carrying another of his children, something that he would never have dared think about before.

On top of that, during her fever she has an almost spiritual like awakening where she unlocks a part of herself that she has yet to fully realise, she saw the pathways in the waking world, she saw her own light and even if she was burning with fever she wasn’t delirious as Levi said, what she saw was real and why that is will be explained in coming chapters and also have a great emotional impact on their relationship, whether good or bad you will have to keep reading to find out.

Coming up to where they are currently, Aurora has endured a lot of trauma, she’s lost her twin and now her sanity is holding on by a thread and the only way she can cope is by channelling all that pain into her violent goals of disposing of her enemies. We’ve already seen that mental rationalisation when she cuts her hair and decides that if she is to burn then her enemies will burn with her. At this point in the storyline I had envision Aurora through out her life, I had the analogy of her being this borderline divine being, a guardian angel in her youth to the battle angel as we see in trost and now she is in the current incarnation of the avenging angel, she is emboding her anger and exacting it on anyone who crosses her, as seen in Lady of Justice and in the latest chapter No Mercy. Though this isn’t a drastic change in character for her, as she has always been prone to violence and wrath, losing Rian broke what little restraint she had and it’s these changes are enough that Her and Levi’s relationship will have to evolve which won’t be without its bumps, especially as we edge closer and closer to the truth.

[legobiwan]

Whumptober #3 (delirium)

TW: some gory imagery, more than what is considered a reasonable word count

Fandom: Star Wars (Obi-wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano)

Notes: this got out of control so a lot is under the cut and yet I’m already behind and hopefully going to work on Day 4 RIGHT NOW. Learning how to let go of my obsessive need to edit and just churn it out, for better or worse.

—–

Obi-wan strode down the abandoned corridor of the Star Destroyer. If his steps tapped a click too fast, rhythm disjointed, anxious - well, it had been an exhausting week.

Not that Anakin was helping matters at all.

Still, for once Obi-wan couldn’t criticize his former student’s tetchy behavior, at least not entirely. One did not touch the Dark Side, have it fill their unwilling body, without consequence.

Obi-wan paused, reaching out with the Force. Not that he needed to extend much effort - the agitated waves were likely being broadcast all the way back to Coruscant.

Ahsoka, resilient as always, seemed to be faring a bit better. If she hung around Rex a bit more than usual, spent twice the time necessary doing inventory checks, and joined in the secret sabaac-tournament with some of the shinys - well, no one saw fit to say anything, especially Obi-wan himself. For now, distraction was the best strategy. There would be time, he hoped, when they returned to the Temple - after the inevitable debrief, the mandatory meeting with a mindhealer, the consultation with another member of the Council - there would be time for her to grapple face-to-face with she had briefly become. Her faith might be shaken, but Ahsoka was solid, a series of roots reaching deep into an albino plains, a landscape neither of the light or dark, but something else entirely. Obi-wan would be lying if he said it didn’t concern him just a bit, this idea that Ahsoka seemed to drifting from how the Jedi would traditionally define the light.

Then again, being a student of one Anakin Skywalker was bound to place one on a more nontraditional path.

Obi-wan paused the the intersection of two hallways, long, grey expanses stretching on either side, dark pinpricks looming at the the edge of his vision somehow casting a long shadow curling near his boots. He ran a tired hand over his face, ignoring the slight flutter in his chest.

There. In the secondary mechanic’s bay. Not that he had needed to use the Force to deduct that turn of events. Anakin tinkering with old droids had been his favored coping mechanism since he had been a small, blonde ragamuffin. Obi-wan would know, having hauled his oil-streaked, wayward Padawan from every possible room that even breathed the promise of chaotic mechanics.

It had been easier, then.

Well, in a manner of speaking. As a child, Anakin had still been prone to bouts of temper and melacholy, but it was far easier to mollify a nine-year old boy with the promise of a trip to the junk heaps and a sweet than it was a twenty-something man burdened by unfair expectations of prophecy.

Obi-wan preferred not to think about where those expectations had originated.

It was craven, in a way, sneaking up on Anakin like this, shrouding his Force presence from his former student. Force knew the two of them had had so many confrontations over the years, adding one more to the list wasn’t going to change the balance of anything.

But Obi-wan was concerned, and even a short glimpse into Anakin’s unprotected Force presence might tell him something.

And besides, Obi-wan was so very tired.

True to form, Anakin was hunched over some ridiculous piece of machinery eight-armed, head whirring as it made angry buzzes, spewing a stream of night-black lubricant Obi-wan managed to avoid by a careful inch.

Anakin let loose a string of curses, throwing his hydrospanner to the floor.

Some things didn’t change.

“It’s not supposed to do that,” Anakin muttered, kicking at the disposed tool, sending it skittering across the bay.

Irritation, impatience, guilt - these were all par for the course with Anakin. Not that Council would approve of a Jedi Knight broadcasting his ill-temper but at the very least, Obi-wan couldn’t sense anything more malevolent.

“Do what,” the older Jedi drawled, “imitate a swarm of angry bees or act as a rather disgusting garden hose?”

Anakin jerked around, wide-eyed expression folding in to a practiced pout as he swung around to the droid in question with an irritated grunt.

“You again.”

Obi-wan crossed his arms over his abdomen, frowning. “Yes, me again, Anakin.”

The beleaguered hydrospanner flew into Anakin’s open had. Obi-wan bit back a comment regarding inappropriate use of the Force as Anakin attacked the droid’s mechanism with vindictive dedication. Whatever Anakin’s plan (or lack thereof), his newest ministrations resulted in the droid hopping off the table, all eight arms akimbo, flailing wildly as it let out of violent buzz before it crashed out of the mechanic’s bay with a series of loud, clunky hops.

The cacophony was not doing wonders for the beginnings of the headache curling behind Obi-wan’s eyes.

“Well, that was…something,” Obi-wan observed, pressing his thumb and forefingers into his eye sockets, hoping to forestall the inevitable headache and series of stimsticks needed to pretend it wasn’t there.

Anakin whacked the side of the abandoned metal table with his hydrospanner.

“I know what you’re doing, Master.”

This time, Obi-wan did allow himself a loud, frustrated sigh.

“Anakin, I told you before - “

“Yeah, I know. That you needed to keep an eye on me in case I’m contaminated, in case I go dark side on you.”

“That’s not at all what I said - “

In one step Anakin’s angry face filled his vision, his breath hot on Obi-wan’s nose. “You didn’t need to,” he hissed. “I see the way you look at me, how you prod at my Force presence, like I’m something dangerous.”

Obi-wan winced, memories of an ill-timed comment made in the heat of frustration threatening surface.

“You don’t get it, do you? You’re too much of a perfect Jedi, wouldn’t understand how we could be so weak, to let the Brother take us, to fail!” Anakin’s voice rose, the Force swirling in tandem as he hurled the hydrospanner across the room.

“I never asked for any of it!”

Obi-wan swallowed over the panic balling in his throat, the image of Anakin’s yellowed eyes overlaying the angry brown eyes staring back at him.

“Please, Anakin,” the words tumbled from Obi-wan’s lips before he could stop them, a plea, anything to keep that terrible visage from Mortis away from Anakin.  “You need to know, I should have told you - “

But Obi-wan’s overture played to deaf ears as Anakin huffed, anger draining to a shadow of frustration, of well-worn feelings of betrayal.

“Save it for the Council, Obi-wan,” Anakin said, sweeping from the room without a second glance back, footsteps fading down the long, grey corridor, leaving Obi-wan at the mercy of an oppressive, accusatory vacuum.

The confession died, foul and rotting on his tongue.

I did feel the Dark Side on Mortis.

You just weren’t there to witness it.

No one was.

Knees buckling, Obi-wan lowered himself to the floor, back sliding against the side of the mechanic’s table. It would be against every tenet of the Jedi Code to compel the nearest sentient being into bringing a bottle of something cheap and alcoholic, and the only stopping him was the complete lack of company in this section of the ship.

Abandoned, even by his own Padawan.

It wasn’t that he had only felt the Dark Side on Mortis - they all had borne the overwhelming weight  of it, the impossibly density of the Son’s increasingly malevolent presence, Anakin most of all.

I did feel the Dark Side on Mortis. Not only felt, but was taken by it, allowed it in.

It had been the cave. Ahsoka slept as Obi-wan had taken first watch.

And then the specter of his dead Master had come to converse.

Obi-wan chuckled, a dark and twisted sound.

Hadn’t been much of a conversation. They had picked up right where they had left off, Qui-gon dying in his arms, his final moments in the universe dedicated to his ridiculous prophecies, extracting a promise Obi-wan could not in any way deny.

I didn’t believe in the prophecy. I believed for him.

I still do.

This illusory Qui-gon - it was too real, his old Master returning with nary a word for Obi-wan, his whole attention (so hard to gain, yet overwhelming when granted) focused on Anakin’s progress, on the promise made for Anakin, on the prophecy about Anakin -

Even now, the Force shrieked, metal grinding on metal, an echo of the discordant psalm of his anger.

On Mortis, that same sensation had swollen, sickly and throbbing, an untreated, festering boil growing rotted teeth, jaws, a fecund mandible unhinging in an impossible manner, devouring Obi-wan in his entirety.

Qui-gon’s ghost had been but the prelude to a terrible symphony.

Warmth trickled down his chin, sputtering a path from nose to beard. Obi-wan felt at his face, frowning as his gloved fingers came back sticky and viscous.

“I’m sorry, Obi-wan.” Qui-gon’s specter looked on with stony disapproval. “You’ve failed the test.”

Something hooked at Obi-wan’s stomach, sharp and painful. It pulled at him, waist first, legs and arms trailing his midsection. Qui-gon remained steady, his stare fixed as Obi-wan was wrenched through the air, slamming onto his back as he fell to the unforgiving, stony earth.

He tried opening his eyes, but the lids were too heavy, his skull to rattled as his brain tried to throb out of his head. Finally, he wrenched one bloodshot eye open,  only to be met with a long corridor of grey stone in either direction, Qui-gon nowhere to be seen.

Failure. That’s all he had been. All those years, every effort he made to obey, to predict what Qui-gon wanted (an impossible task) - and for what?

Capable.

Not good, not even trying. Just…capable.

Obi-wan sat up, groaning as he clenched his battered midsection.

Too fast. The world tilted at a sickening angle and immediately Obi-wan leaned over, retching, his stomach empty for too many hours to produce anything but a thin, interrupted stream of bile.

Failure.

It shouldn’t tear at his fragile stomach the way it did. He had accepted this fact, come to terms with it years ago. And still, it ripped open that unhealed sore, a vulnerability he had long since considered well and buried.

So much time, so much effort following the Code, adhering to the Council, trying, with all due diligence, to combat the invisible mark upon himself, to prove that it was only an illusory scar, some minor inconvenience rather than a virus embedded into his cells, a virus that would always resurface, no matter how many time he would lance the wound with white-hot repentance.

And for what?

Hours spent for someone else’s vision, for someone else’s development, for someone else’s betterment. And there Obi-wan was, capable, reliable Obi-wan, the bedrock, never-changing, steady and solid and ground digging into his flesh.

Obi-wan burned.

It was like Qui-gon had said.

He was a failure.

Velvet temptation coiled in Obi-wan’s chest.

Without faith in the Light, his path to being a Jedi, to being the Master of the so-called Chosen One, to occupying a seat on the Council - his path’s true form was exposed. An iron lattice wrought from lies and condescensions, from last-ditch choices and desperate measures.

Nothing but a convenient excuse, a capable beast of burden for Qui-gon’s prophecies, for the Council’s unsolvable problems.

Obi-wan stood in one fluid motion. He reached to his side, weapon igniting as he held it over his head.

(He’s on Mandalore, the terrorists who would dare threaten Satine impaled on his weapon, one by one. He eliminates Tal Merrick with an easy gesture, an open hand, fingers curled as the useless traitor falls to the ground, face ashen. He sees his mortal enemy, the red and black phantom, now bisected once, twice, his head lopped bouncing off the sides of the reactor shaft with a series of satisfying plops. He raises his weapon again, blue turned a darker shade, violet as he eliminates the criminals who wish terrorize some poor defenseless farmers. He’s dressed in a black cape, hidden in shadow, the corrupt Senator falling dead to the floor, the untraceable poison having done its work, securing a brighter future for Thy’llda. He confronts the cowardly Rael Aveross, does what the Council should have done decades ago, leaving his fresh corpse as a monument to Pijal’s bloody history. His weapon turns darker again and he’s in the Council room, angry, the Jedi have become as corrupt as the Senate and skwers Mace Windu with his crimson blade, lops off the arms of Kit Fisto with a sharp smile, and there’s Anakin and Ahsoka, hands bloody with their own crimes, and he raises his weapon to, satisfaction pooling in his stomach and brings it down - )

Obi-wan opens his eyes and screams.

The floor of the cave is cold and damp, the chill seeping past his robes, past his clammy skin, burrowing into his chest, which rises and falls in sharp, shaky movements. Obi-wan shivers, craving a warmth he think he’ll never touch again, the memory of that sickly, viscous satisfaction still lying heavy in his groin.

He runs a hand over wet eyes, arm bumping against cool metal on his side. Obi-wan jumps to his feet, world spinning, illuminating his lightsaber, his eyes closed.

He’s afraid to look, doesn’t want to know what judgement has been passed on him in this terrible place the sees past all his defenses into his darkest desires.

But Jedi or not, he has to know, and so he peels his eyelids open, relief and disbelief flooding his body as a familiar blue light shines in the dark.

Ahsoka is still asleep and Obi-wan watches the steady and fall of her shoulders with a strange cocktail of relief and guilt.

He would have killed her. Killed Anakin. Killed them all.

Shutting down his saber with a shaky breath, Obi-wan comes to his knees in a simple meditation pose. He won’t meditate, he knows, but the gesture of penitence - the small, sharp rocks digging into his skin, the cramp in his muscles after hours of not moving - it will be something, a mere drop contrition weighed against the vast ocean of his imagined crimes.

He will let Ahsoka sleep into the second watch, allow the innocent, the unmarked the kindness of oblivion on this cursed planet.

legobiwan does whumptober

[johnradams]

Stimmin Time

A/N: Autistic Payton, as promised. Very rough draft! I’ll clean it up and probably add more and then post it on my AO3, but for now this is for y’all. Tumblr killed the italics and Im too lazy to fix.  TW for denial of being autistic, kinda a bit of autistic self hate going on. River is also probably OOC. Stay safe <3 

River notices things. He notices that Payton is repressing his feelings. River watches him in class, at mandarin practice, when they’re cuddled up under the covers. Payton is always stressed. Even in those intimate moments, he never lets himself stop worrying. He’s scared that if he doesn’t recognize every possible bad outcome from any small action, he’s going to ruin his own life.

River resolves to help him deal.

He starts by kissing him so long that he can’t think straight, can’t worry. Putting all of Payton’s focus on the way he’s being touched, stealing it from obsessions of the future. Soon, though, it’s not enough. Soft caresses and kisses aren’t as effective as they once were, nor are they a practical method of calming someone down. When he sees Payton in the hall, speaking a mile a minute with a red face, he can’t just kiss him. Not in front of everyone. So they do the breaths. River takes Payton’s shaking hands and commands in a soothing town for Payton to slow down and breathe.

One…

Two…

Three…

Four.

And it helps.

River wants to do more. To show Payton he cares. He doesn’t even know if he’s going to be okay but he can help Payton, he can try.

They’re alone in River’s room.

Payton is sprawled on River’s lap, rubbing his fingers against river’s pants softly.

( ‘Why do you do that?’ River had asked once. ‘Just like how it feels. It kinda...relaxes me, I guess.’ Riiver noticed that the texture of his slacks, rubbing it between his fingers was calming to Payton. He did his research and made a purchase.)

“I bought you something.” He breaks their warm and comfortable silence.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Payton replies, almost immediately. He rushes to sit up, like the notion of exchanging gifts is enough to make him abandon River completely. River swears he can read Payton’s mind, knows he’s thinking about how if they exchange gifts this is something real. And he can’t have anything real, not with River. Not if he wants to be the president.

River gently pushes him back down, a strong hand upon Payton’s chest.

“Calm down.” He says, his blue eyes locking with Payton’s wild ones. Payton returns to his position on River’s lap.

“Don’t worry so much. It’s nothing.”

River reaches into his bedside table, doing his best not to disturb Payton’s comfort. He pulls out two little items: a fidget cube and a silicon brush. “They’re for you to fidget with, when you get stressed out.” He set the stim toys in Payton’s hand.

“Why?” Payton looks at him with a frown.

“It’ll help you.”

“I don’t think I nee-”

“Just try it, for me? You like to rub your fingers on stuff. And the cube helps lots of people with ADHD, Anxiety and Autism.”

“I don’t have Autism.” Payton interrupts him with viscous force. He hates it when River suggests that there is anything really and truly wrong with him. Anything that could ruin his reputation. He’s ever defensive, ever wound tight. They’ve had this conversation before. It never accomplishes anything, maybe it even pulls Payton further from the idea of getting help. River retreats, hoping he can at least accomplish his original goal of getting Paytont to use the toys.

“I know you don’t.” He sighs.

“No one would elect someone like that and I-”

“Shh… I know. You’re going to be president.”

“Yeah.”

Payton relaxes against River again. River knows, though, that Payton is still thinking about it. Can practically hear Payton mentally repeating his mantra, his dream. He wants to tell him to stop thinking so much, to let go of his dream for his health, that something is obviously wrong and River can’t fix it unless he lets him. But he can’t, because that would only make things worse.

[satire-please]

My Teeth Are Like Swords - Part 4

Summary: Tim’s in a sticky situation because of...Ra’s. Therefore sacrifices have to be made.  Personal ones.

Part 3, Part 2, Part 1

Ao3 Link

There are few things out in the world that can startle a drake.

Ra’s al Ghul is one of them.

In fact, Tim would like to put the Demon Head near the top of that list. Especially when the villain morphs into the edge of his peripherals at another charity event the Waynes are required to attend. Guess who’s the lucky token Wayne this time?

Yep. Apparently being a dragon doesn’t increase your luck when pulling straws.

Tim manages to repress a flinch when he spots the flash of gold and green. The surprise makes his heart pound in the most unpleasant of ways. Ninjas do that after all.

“Please excuse me, gentlemen, we’ll have to continue our conversation later,” Tim smiles with charm towards a throng of investors.

He takes his drink in hand and carefully makes his way to the wall...where Ra’s watches the crowd. No, that’s not right. Where Ra’s watches him, and Tim can feel that gaze rove over his form like dirty fingers as his stride become a more purposeful march.  At this museum, Tim vaguely and spitefully compares the man to the mess of artwork around him. Flowing, unironic, stupid cape arranged over a well-tailored suit, Surrealism matches the feelings the criminal provokes, a gnawing infestation under his skin. Tim’s wine glass moves to hover in front of his chest, over his core instinctively.

The man is dangerous.

He’s the type that scratches and digs to find what you hold dearest and wait for the right moment where destroying it would hurt the most. The kind with patience, the kind with knowledge, the kind that Tim knows would just love to hunt down a mythical creature of his own. Ra’s could make a poacher very...very happy and wealthy.

Tim can take him.

“Good evening...Timothy.”

“What are you doing here.” It’s not a question, it’s a demand. Tim’s face might be stuck in a pleasant countenance for their surroundings, but his voice is more frigid than the Arctic.

Ra’s gestures grandly with a hand around them, “Why to admire the innovative talents that Gotham has to offer.” A crooked smirk begins to cut across his face. Sharper than any blade. “The possibilities are astounding.”

“Huh, somehow I doubt you’re here to support our talented artists for the Wounded Warrior Project.” Tim’s lip curls into a sneer, “Instead of protecting veterans, you tend to sacrifice them instead. Isn’t that way your recruitment rate is so high?”

Ra’s uncoils from his relaxed pose against the wall. “How rude, Detective. My fallen are honored, especially when they give their all to my purpose. In fact, the esteem, the respect, the glory they earn is never retracted. Tell me, is the notion the same with the Bat’s broken little boys?”

It’s a jab against Jason. Maybe even against him. Tim’s smile fractures in the corner of his lips, a fang scraping the inside of his cheek and he sets down his glass harder on passing tray than he needs to. A deep breath, two. It would be a paparazzi dream come true to capture the money shot of Timothy Drake-Wayne socking an unknown foreigner in the face. But he’s no fairy godmother. “Why don’t we take this fascinating discussion elsewhere? Somewhere more private if you want to know what else can break.” Like your face. Or his arm, Tim’s not really picky. “That way you can be out with it. You’re not here just to trade quips to piss me off. You want something.”

“You would be correct in your deductions. I require something in this cesspit, a diamond in the rough so to speak. For me to claim success, I must have your assistance.” Ra’s tilts his head in agreement. “Yet for more precise details, lead on.”

“Great, let’s go. I can’t wait to tell you no.”

Tim storms off, Ra’s following leisurely behind them as they part through the crowd. His hackles raised as he’s forced to give the assassin his back. The two make their way past the less inhabited exhibits, then into the hall towards the back offices where new art pieces are received and cataloged.

“Oh, Timothy, I am sure you know why few have dared to refuse me. Yet before our business, I must inform you, Nyssa sends her fondest regards.” Tim jerks at the whisper brushing his ear.

He twists on his heel to snarl at the looming man. Obnoxiously tall man.

“Tell her mine are not as much and next time she wants to try for free ‘seed,’ she should take the guy out for dinner first.”

Ra’s simply waves a hand for them to continue forward, “Perhaps uncouth, unconventional, and yet–”

“She chained me to a wall.”

“–Yet what a vision you must have been. Helpless, bare and dazed from the blow…truly a sight wasted when it could have been shared.” Ra’s expression turns way too salacious and Tim’s knuckles itch with possibility. “Still no matter how forward perhaps, she regrets how short your time in her clutches was. It is unbearably unfortunate your knight in shining black armor appeared so early.”

“Well, Black Bat is always to kick a rapist’s ass anytime, anywhere.” And if the criminal tries anything like that again it won’t be just Cass, it’ll be a full-size dragon ready to fry the Ghul into ash. Really, it’s just self-defense, maybe Bruce will understand.

“Some battles are worth any wound for the prize.”

Tim manages not to gag. Barely. Instead, he decides not to give Ra’s the pleasure of a response. He goes to open a door only to find it unlocked. His fingers bite into the doorknob, how many rooms did Ra’s men make available for this...meeting? How long did Ra’s plan this?

The pause gives Ra’s a chance to prompt, “A penny for your thoughts, Detective?”

“Only the one I wish I crushed you with.”

“Our first meeting was truly memorable. It is not every century, a giant piece of currency attempts to take my life.”

“Regrettably, you have this terrible habit of dodging.”

“What a wretched inconvenience I am to you,” Ra’s purrs. Though in the Detective’s favor, the experience was quite the introduction. The memory still strong of being absolutely stunned, as this pale wraith of a child maneuvered an enormous slab of copper to split him from the Bat.

“I know, right?”

“Then it is only fair for me to return the favor.” He herds the Detective into the small office. The shelves are full of covered paintings and bookkeeping litters the lone desk in the center. The smell of dust and resin permeates the air.

“You didn’t answer my question, why are you here, Ra’s?” He watches the way Ra’s prowls around examining their surroundings and Tim carefully puts the heavy desk between them. He’s not afraid. Not even nervous. Honest. But there’s no harm or shame in placing obstacles in a monster’s path.

Ra’s hums and rests his hands in the small of his back, he arches an eyebrow at the Detective. “To declare that perhaps I was too quick to judge the city of Gotham.”

“What? No,” Tim draws out sarcastically, “You think?”

“After all, why allow this filthy cesspit my presence long enough to evaluate it in full?”

“I’m surprised more people don’t punch you in the mouth whenever you open it.”

“Power, my dear,” he says absentmindedly, “However, now I see the error of my ways. I was too quick to strike, though I still long to destroy this hell, wipe it off the face of the planet like the divine fires of Gomorrah.”

“Is this the way you ask always for help? Because you suck at it.” Tim folds his arms across his chest.

A dark chuckle, “Oh, Timothy, I never ask for assistance. I demand it. Yet allow me to get to the point. Before Gotham meets its predestined fate, it may possess something of value after all.”

Tim arches a brow at him, this close from rolling his eyes.

“It is a thing...most precious. Something that must be recovered by the League at any cost, by any means possible.”

“I’m not a mind reader, Ra’s. Spit it out and get out of my face.”

“A creature. Behold these are the marks of a creature with certain properties I find...desirable.”

Yeah sure, I freaking bet.

Ra’s tosses a sheaf of papers. No. Photos. In pretty black and white, they hit the top of the desk and fan out before Tim’s eyes.

Ice.

‘Ice,’ the wraith of his mother whispers, Tim feels the memory of her nails digging into shoulders. The way she’d spin him to face the mirror and press her cheek to his. ‘Be as ice. Let the blue of your eyes harden for why should they know any intention of yours?’

Her old lessons crack like an egg over his brain, drip down his veins and out of his mouth, “Am I supposed to ooh and ahh over grappling hook marks?”

Ra’s picks up on photo to thumb the edges.“Ah. It is true they do appear similar, do they not? Yet not, Detective, such grooves are not made with any tool,” he says.  

Tim’s heart starts to pound.

“Nor can these distinctive charred marks be any coincidence.”

“To what? This is Gotham. Home of unusual and burnt up buildings everywhere. I’m still not following, spit it out.” Before he does. Tim’s mouth floods with nitroglycerin, it’s thicker than saliva and coats the back of his throat. A viscous layer ready at a moment’s notice, all it needs is a spark. All it needs is a reason to burn. He swallows it down roughly. He needs to prevent any evidence, not create it, remember?

“Forgive me, you know how much I love to build up the suspense.” Ra’s crooked smile widens and he pulls something heavy from his jacket pocket, “Allow me to lay out my conclusion.”

Between his fingers is a scale.

“Somewhere in Gotham is a dragon.”

The only thing that keeps Tim breathing is that the scale isn’t black...it’s white.

“A what? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Tim keeps the thread of arrogant disbelief strong in his voice. Mother would be proud. “Aren’t you too ridiculously old for fairy tales?”

“It is not a simple tale for the bed weary child,” Ra’s loses his patience. His obsessive greed bleeding through as he forces the scale into Tim’s hands. “This piece of evidence is authentic as the pit itself.”

“It just feels like a spray-painted piece of the batplane.” Tim carelessly taps it on the side of the desk. “Like a mix of plastic and alloy.”

“Be careful with that!”  

Tim hits it harder against the surface. Just to hear the man growl. The keratin in the scale is weak. Seems like the dame he fought once upon a time wasn’t just stupid but malnourished as well. Scales are like nails, they show health and the brittle nature of it gives the detective more than enough to work with. In fact, if he jumped on it at a certain angle, he might be able to snap it in two.

Ra’s rips it from his fingers. Spoilsport. “That is quite enough,” he hisses through his teeth and tucks the scale protectively back into his stupid, melodramatic cape.

“So whoop-dee-doo, the Demon’s Head believes in Dungeons and Dragons. Is there a point to this lame show and tell?”

“Because I require the services of a Detective.”

“Oh goodie, I think this is my favorite part in our conversation so far. How about a Hell No?”

Ra’s hands slam against the desk caging Tim in. Tim doesn’t flinch, perhaps berating himself for not noticing Ra’s getting into range yet he stares dead straight into those jade eyes.

‘Be stone.’ Janet’s voice reminds, ‘Give them nothing to predict, nothing before you strike.’

“You forget your debt to me, Timothy,” Ra’s says venomously.

Tim tilts his head to the side eerily. There’s a coil of unease winding inside him. The word debt is a serious concept to a dragon and the instincts around it are hard to shake. “What debt? I owe you nothing. Though if you mean that lovely kick through a window, I could totally repay you for that. This art museum has a lovely roof, let’s go.”

Ra’s presses in, Tim reaches behind himself to grab his own wrist. His nails are becoming too long for his liking. A flash of desire, of digging, of gouging, of letting the intestines fall as they may. Ra’s isn’t wearing any armour...probably. “I gave you resources when you had none. When all thought your grief had turned you mad, only I believed your hypothesis that the Bat remained alive. Only I gave you that validation.”

“Fuck you, I didn’t ask for your help. I would have been fine.” His nails draw his dark blood under the sleeve of his suit.

“Your future was to be a bloody corpse on a cheap hotel bed if not for me.” Ra’s grip on the desk behind him creaks.

Tim could headbutt Ra’s, doesn’t know why he’s continuing to hear him out.

“Which wouldn’t have happened in the first place if it wasn’t for your war on the Council of Spiders. The one you gave no warning or intel for. Technically it’s you that owes me a spleen, I wasn’t the Widower’s original target after all. I was a bonus kill.”

“Come to the pit then if you are so keen for the organ’s return.” Ra’s hovers above him with malice, with interest at the notion.

“And go crazy like you? No thanks.”  

“Regardless I provided aid for your quest, now it is time for you to take your aid in mine. Furthermore what better than a Drake finding a drake?”

“Drake-Wayne, remember.”

“And what would the other dear Waynes think of our past association.” Ra’s finally leans away from him, his hands trailing on the wood before gesturing behind them. Ah, so that’s Ra’s real angle, blackmail. Go figure. “The Bat may think that our interactions were justified for your noble cause, yet somehow I think otherwise. I admit I am beyond curious for his reaction to those lovely months we spent together.”  

Tim could rattle off a thousand reasons why that rationale was a pile of shit. That, okay. Fine. Bruce would glower, brood, and never trust Tim again, but, hey, after the Boomerbang incident maybe that ship has sailed to the Bahamas and back. Plus, if B can’t weigh the definite pros to the whole knocking out the Council of Spiders and taking Ra’s down a peg as a decent notch on his vigilante belt, well...Tim is a big boy anyway.

A big dragon.

Pieces of your hoard don’t have to trust you anyway. They just need to stay alive and safe.

Safe. Wait, oh.

“You’re such a bastard, Ra’s.” Tim grits out, but he’s going to take this deal. Not for Ra’s ‘debt’ and how the term makes his inner wyrm burn. Not for Bruce’s sensibilities. But for the most important thing, his mother drilled into his head over and over again.

The safety of control.

His face is cold, but his belly is hot. “Where do we start?” This is a mess to clean, his show to run, and his plan is solid.

Ra’s smiles.

So does Tim. He can’t wait to see the assassin’s’ aspirations go up in flames after all.

***

He manages to keep the Bats uninvolved for a record of forty-eight hours. It’s an accomplishment Tim should take note of really.

For example, he managed to scramble Barbara’s cameras subtly, though he’ll a semi truck of gourmet coffee to get back in her good graces when she finds out, just so Ra’s can show off various pieces of evidence his men have found around the city without surveillance. Tim had dutifully nodded during lengthy monologues only to innocently suggest that wouldn’t it be better to catalog all their data in one place? It’s so easy to convince Ra’s to have the marked roof tiles and stones removed, so easy to retrieve them later. Mother would scold him for how clumsy he had been. The least he can do is exterminate the crumbs that a wolf took advantage of.

Meanwhile, he throws out other morsels to divert and distract, “Looks like your ‘dragon’” Tim mockingly uses finger quotes. “Hasn’t been here for long. Maybe two months at most.”

“Oh? How can you deduce that?” Ra’s crouches down to trail his fingers over the grooves where Tim had stupidly filed his claws weeks ago. Stupid hygiene.

“The lack of erosion. Gotham has had a rainy year. Notice the iron embedded here and here next to the mark?” He points at the orange strain spreading over the bricks, “If made last year, the rust would bleed into the scratches yet note the chunk lacks any of that.”

Ra’s purrs, “Clever, Detective. So our drake must be new to the city. What a godforsaken place for it choose for its migration.”

“Not if it has the ability of camouflage.” Tim shrugs. The wind ripping through his cape as he eyes the security camera trying to turn their way and glitching. He has another three minutes before Babs catches on.

“In bright hues of white? I think not,” Ra’s scoffs.

“You said that dragons have powers beyond your ken. Is it really out of the realm of conception? If moths can do it, why can’t fire-breathing imaginary creatures?”  Two minutes.

“What an excellent point. It would give a reason for it to stay as well. My resources tell me that old cities provide the best nooks and rubble for one to hide their trove. Plus, the larger the city, the more ease the drake has to blend in.”

“Blend in?” Tim parrots. Shit.

“Why, of course. Not only does a dragon have strength and intelligence, but over eons, their best defense is to hide in plain sight.” Ra’s straightens to stand and looks to the night skyline. Tim thinks about the scales that not even makeup can hide behind his ear. The black iridescent ones that dot his collar bones that Dick once poked at and cooed before smothering him without another blanket. 

Heat regulation is still a bitch.

“Gotham.” Ra’s draws out the name. “Full of blind spots, full of soft brick and lead to dig through, full of abnormalities that over time each turns into a just another mundane occurrence to the public. Yes. I can now see the appeal that could persuade a drake.”

He sounds so much like his mother that Tim’s posture becomes still and rigid. His fist clenches on his knee. She always did mention that this was the perfect breeding ground for similar reasons. Even when he was young, she’d encourage him to stalk the city instead of stay in the mansion, her hoard, just in case. Even to the point of taking him into an alley since he was five, turn her face into one wall and slowly count to twenty. His record in evading her? Three hours.

If Tim wanted to disappear, really disappear into Gotham’s underbelly? He could.

He knows how to hide.  

“It seems we have been discovered, my Detective.” Ra’s smiles at him from the side. “What a pity. Our progress to this point has been phenomenal.”

But there’s always a time and place to hide and when the clock hits forty-eight hours and fourteen minutes, Tim doesn’t bother to make any move against the flash of a cape in his peripheral. “Not your detective, Ra’s. Have your men collect the rest of the samples and we’ll  reconvene once I analyze the possibilities of your fairytale whereabouts.”

“Very well. Oh, and do tell your mentor that I find myself sorely disappointed at his waning skills of concealment. A true agent of the night would never be drawn from the shadows so easily.”

Tim mutters, “He’s doing on purpose. If he didn’t want you to see him, you wouldn’t see him.” It’s more of Bruce waving a goddamn flag of ‘I know you’re in my city, get out of my city.’

“Besides every hunter knows how to distract dangerous prey,” a new voice says disdainfully.

They turn to the slight figure who managed to sneak only a foot or two away from them. One steel-toed green boot (a present from Jason) tapping the roof impatiently. Crossed arms over the Robin uniform, Damian Wayne has mastered the art of glaring with a domino on. “Grandfather, must your ninjas multiply like ants?”

Ra’s huffs through his nose, “Many hands make light work, Grandson. Farewell, Timothy. I await your every enlightenment.” And like a true magician, he throws his gaudy cape over a shoulder and disappears into the night.

Tim’s shoulders release, but he notes that Damian’s do not. Oh. He’s mad at him. Though to be fair, that is Damian’s default emotion to anything.  

Damian begins his hissing tirade, “I should submit you to Arkham myself. Such displays of insanity, must you attempt suicide in the most ridiculous of complex fashions? Why else would you positively associate with my grandfather?”

“One, I know what I’m doing. Two, there is nothing positive about it.” He gets up and away from the building edge before Damian gets the magical idea to shove him off it. Again.

Damian gets closer, one finger stabbing in his direction, “Why does video evidence say otherwise? You are clearly working in tandem with his aims. To think that father would even believe that you are being coerced is beyond my ken. Do you wish to die, Drake?”

The name is emphasized more than normal, and Tim gets his implication immediately.

“I have this under control, but thanks for worrying, brat.”

“Worrying? Why would I be worrying? You must be insane, yes, this is further evidence that padded walls would suit you.”

“Padded walls are flammable,” Tim reminds him.

With his thumb, he makes a small gesture and Damian’s breath hitches minutely. Even Tim can smell the Demon Head’s men. He can hear them. Their rabbit-like heartbeats underneath the awning are enough in his limited range. “But you’re right in a way, I am going along with Ra’s for a bit. For as long as it suits both our purposes. Though why he would willingly work with someone who double-crossed him before definitely needs the lesson of, ‘Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.” Tim then hums in the back of his throat. “Actually, he’s probably already expecting that. It sounds like just the game he loves to play.”

“But is it one that you are assured to win?” Damian grabs his wrist to tug him along. Grayson wants him home immediately. The moment Oracle sent a live feed of Tim’s current companion to all the Bats, Robin wondered if he would have to take measures to aid his mentor through a panic attack. It was not pleasant. Grayson is very...concerned over the welfare of his brothers.

Tim snorts, “Please, who do you think you’re talking to?”

“A fool.” Ouch, Babybat doesn’t need a katana to cut him in half. The grip on his arm tightens, even as they descend into the alleyway where the Batmobile waits. It sits with the top already open, eager to trap Tim so specific overprotective brooding vigilantes can sit on him.

Lame.

Somehow telling the Bats of his true nature has multiplied every unnecessary precaution by a factor of eleven.

Damian shoves Tim into the vehicle. B moves in the driver seat to stare at him. A lot, not bothering to twist back to look out the windshield, just pushing the button for autopilot in a very pointed manner.

Damian presses the com in his mask subtly. So anyone on the line can hear his interrogation. “Now tell us. What shall you do in the matter concerning my grandfather? This is beyond a simple threat against your very person.”

Tim thinks of the scattered white scales he scraped off the dame. How they must litter the sand on that beach like sparkling stones. He thinks of the trail he could plant, not that he can just point the League of Assassins in her direction, not even when the offensive white plastic bag of a dragon deserves it. No, he needs to create the perfect dead end to Ra’s little expedition. But how could he–

The light bulb comes on and blood fills his mouth as his fangs drop. Can he really?

“Oh, you know what? I’m going to give him exactly what he wants, Damian.” Tim decides grimly, “I’m going to find him a dragon.”

***

Tim is going to throw up.

The stalactites drip around him, the sound that was once soothing but now every drop that hits the wet floor makes him want to retch. He shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be here.

Not in this particular network of caves.

“Are you sure the creature will be found here? The opening is far too small to accommodate their size,” Ra’s demands. The band of his men are few, only the chosen may aid him in this task to witness what the Detective has wrought. They have traveled approximately twenty minutes, yet with every second his appetite grows at the possibility, at the results of Timothy’s work. The boy is clever. However, the tunnel narrows here and there, scraping their chests as the rock practically hugs their forms.  

“Stop doubting me. You said dragons are shapeshifters right? So why couldn’t they transform back and forth to crawl in here and hide? I’m only going off of the intel you gave me, Ra’s. The beach where you found the scale is not far from here. Plus look at these.” His boots make a hard crunch in the dim light of a torch.

Ra’s is a traditional, dramatic egoist, of course. A freaking torch.

“Prey,” the assassin breathes out. His eyes glittering in greed. It makes Tim want to shift forms, to roar at this filth entering this place with such hunger. Under their feet, stretching for a good thirty feet is a cemetery of bones. Most of the skeletons clearly intact with white and yellow rib cages on display.

“There must be at least a hundred of them,” Ra’s declares.

There are not. There are only forty-three. Tim does not correct Ra’s though.

The antechamber begins to widen until it has about a fifty-yard radius. The light flickers, yet the shadow of Ra’s’ hand gives an obvious signal, “Spread out. Search. This area appears most...promising.”

Tim wanders among the wet stone in a pretense of looking around as Ra’s men discrete this place with their presence. He avoids the west side of the chamber. His gloves running their hands on a wet large skull or two. Kills he had been proud of once upon a time. Those kills he had been sure would entice his–

“My lord! We have found something!”

–his mother to eat.

“No.” A voice roughly snarls. “No!”

On the ground, a few white scales lie in patches next to a giant boulder that stretches alongside the back cave wall. The details of long limbs and a tail are obvious and simple.

Tim’s fingers come up to squeeze the backs of his elbows, hugging himself for a moment. His inner core fluctuating, his heartbeat loud but he manages to repress the urge of curling up by her.

“This cannot be!”

What would mother think of him? To use her corpse as a diversion like this? To give Ra’s an empty platitude of what he wants? Would she be proud?

Yes.

Ra’s fury and despair gets loud, “I have only just found you! Why? How could I be too late?”

Janet always scolded Tim for his soft sentimentality. A tool is a tool. A resource is a resource. It is truer to their nature to use any means to fulfill their objective.

“The dead are dead, my pet,” Mother reminded him whenever she took him hunting, the claws of her painted nails sweeping delicately under his eyes when she found him sniffling over the wild kill of a deer. “They do not feel your tears. Our long memories exist to never forget what was. Now eat, the meat will soon grow cold and you make a mockery of the life by wasting it.”

No, Tim never got the ‘stop playing with your food! You should be grateful, some people in China are starving’ approach to picky eating. And Mother always kept him fed one way or another.

Tim comes up behind Ra’s, “So this is your dragon. Huh, is it supposed to look like that?”

Ra’s twists to snarl at him. “No, it is not. Not unless it is–”

“Dead?”

Tim admits Ra’s is rocking the look of utter anguish right now. If he wasn’t steeling himself, keeping his voice and expression blank he’d be howling with bitter victory.

“What happened to it?”

Ra’s reaches out to pet rough features of a jaw morosely. “The legends say that once the lifespan of such a beast ends, they naturally calcify into stone.”

Tim very much wants a copy of those legends. Too many things they’ve gotten right. “I thought they lived forever?”

“No,” Ra’s says, schooling his grief into something more palatable. “They do not, yet they can live on for several centuries.”

“Like you,” Tim points out. “With the help of the pit that is. Why do you want a dragon anyway?”

Carefully he steps around the man, trying to angle his cape a certain way.

“Why does any man seek power and beauty? Such things are what drive and keep the human race alive. With a dragon, I would be absolutely unstoppable.”

“You are already pretty unstoppable, how about you give the rest of mankind a fighting chance? You got power, check. You got the ultimate green regimen against aging that every older woman would gladly beat you to death for, check. Maybe you should just stick with trying to rule the world bit instead of chasing magical creatures.”

A chuckle. How interesting that the Detective can sway his despondent mood so easily. Oh, how he longs… “Even I need a pet project, Timothy. Besides do you not think the years would pass more gracefully with such a companion, such a specimen by my side?”

“Somehow I think the specimen would be more inclined to end your years rather than spend them with you.” In fact, Tim is sure of it.

“Ah, but what is life without the thrill of surprise? Whatever bond we forge will never be without fire.”

Tim snorts. Well, that’s an understatement. Still, he lifts a glove to trace the stone closed lid of an eye. Just like he did so many years ago, he’s positioned himself well. Maybe they won’t find his–

“What do we have here?” Ra’s pushes past him with an air of curiosity.

Gosh, how many times will Tim bite his lips raw tonight?

“Lift that up.” Ra’s motions his men to hurry. True the beast would be far more preferable breathing, but he can still catalog the proof of their existence. Plus even this is a find. The body is wedged tightly between the stone paws but any resistance is solved with a strong pull. “Come, Detective, you must see this.”

Reluctantly Tim stands near the new find.

How long did it take for him to swallow his grief? Just to pull off stealing his dad’s corpse? To crack open the heavy mahogany coffin and wrap the rotting remains carefully in a sheet. The fabric soiling quickly with the putrid oozing bits. It wouldn’t do to have flesh remaining, not on the body of a mate, but the cave bugs and open-air took care of that. In fact, Tim only had to wait a  month to adorn the skeleton befitting of his worth as a dragon’s husband.

With the sockets clear, Tim worked in two egg-like sapphires the same shade of his eyes. A border of pearls and pink stones for a nose. He weaved fine chains of gold as a delicate filigree in and out of ribs. Each piece back then gave a sense of calm. Tim always knew this task would fall to him one day, never so soon, but, hey, that’s death for you. Final. Inevitable. He's most likely bound to do it for his brothers, for Bruce as well.

There’s a final piece attached to the hips in braided silver; the first “discovery” Janet and Jack Drake found on an archaeological dig together. A saber sword almost appearing of Assyrian origin. Mother may have recounted the story a few times to send Tim to sleep. How adorable, her mate looked waving around one of her fangs excitedly like that. How easy it was to convince him to display the treasure in their private home, right above their bed. How quaint to watch the man fondly as he stoked the sword before bed when her dear had no idea what it really was.

It had been one of Tim’s favorite bedtime stories. Where sleep took him fast at the warm purr in Mother’s voice.

“This is a meager compensation, but it will have to do.” The Demon Head yanks the sword from Tim’s father’s bones. It cracks both the radius and ulna of the arm and Tim sees red. “It would be a shame for a treasure such as this to waste away here. A fang. A real fang, my dear Detective.”

“Are you done playing graverobber? It won’t be long before Batman catches your trail.” Tim manages to bite out. His eyes narrowing under the cowl. His eyesight too clearly taking in the breaks in the stone and bone, the footsteps that mock this place, the way the ninja crawl over his mother like black maggots.

He needs them gone. Now.

Ra’s eyebrows raise, “Our trail, Timothy. Yet why waste this moment of limited triumph? Allow me at least to bask in the sight of the creature.”

“Bask later.” There is a second of tension. Where all ninja in the cave go still, ready for the command to attack. Their bodies tighten. Tim casually turns on his heel and walks towards the cave opening. Then with a roll of the Demon Head’s shoulders, a minuscule tilt of the head orders the ninja to concede to the vigilante’s wishes. Besides, Ra’s sweeps his gaze over the beast and plans. They require more men, more tools to recover this...treasure. So he follows after Timothy, to the edge of the cave and back into the dark, one hand almost hovering over the small of his slim back. His fingers twitch when the boy says, “Is this the first time you’ve seen one?”

“No, it is my third.” Tim’s face pinches at that. “The first happened in my earliest centuries, capturing the sight of one in flight. The second during a war campaign, in human form.”

Ra’s eyes slide over Tim’s body. “Did you know they look exactly like us, Detective? Almost identical in every conceivable way. If not for a few errant scales here and there hidden under their clothing.”

Tim’s own tender scales itch under the suit. “How could you tell?” Tim asks.

Ra’s smirks, “Drakes reveal themselves in times of high emotion. They are easy to rile. Then it is quite simple to observe their flashing eyes and other tells.”

Janet Drake could be milliseconds from ripping off his head with not a hair out of place, Tim can be, will be the same.

The skyline reflects over the water as they emerge from the narrow opening in the rock. Each building’s light almost looks like a star in the smoky haze. Under their feet, except for the lapping waves, the beach is quiet as not one of the party makes a sound.

The silence breaks. “Are you finished? Did you get what you needed?” Tim fiddles with something in the pouch over his chest.

“Never. Not until a drake’s heart beats in my own chest. Yet my eyes have seen another fine specimen, my suspicions have been confirmed...and my trophy is adequate.” Ra’s caresses the dragon fang sword now adorned at his hip. “I am done with Gotham for a season.”

“Good.” And Tim lifts his hand showing the detonator.

Ra’s eyes go wide, his mouth opens to shout.

Tim presses it.

His eyes remain glaciers while his back feels the rush of heat and smoke from the explosion behind. It bellows around him as the earth shifts violently, shudders and settles. Ra’s ninja bend over to protect themselves from the blast as Ra’s himself coughs over and over into his fist.

Tim doesn’t bother. He doesn’t turn around either.

It’ll hurt too much if he does.

‘The dead are dead, my pet.’

“Detective.” Ra’s face is contorted in a grimace of rage.  

“What’s wrong, Ra’s? You said it, not me. You were done. Now I believe I’ve repaid any debt to you in full, a mystery for a mystery and gosh don’t you think that’s enough sightseeing of Gotham for you?”

“I could have sent teams to investigate those remains further. With the discovery of such a preserved creature and you–”

“Graves are for the living. The dead don’t care,” Tim says with a chilling smile, “Maybe I grew tired of watching you break and fondle old bones.”

“You destroyed the cave! The incredible wonder. How is that preferable to my actions?”

The crumbling rock should be enough to cover up the nearly-silent sounds of boots, of Gotham’s shadows taking their final positions twelve seconds after the explosion as planned.

Through the haze, Red Robin smiles white in the night, “It’s preferable because I get to piss you off. Now get out of my city, I promise you the only drake here is me.”

“And I promise you, Detective. The destruction of your city will be just as quick and ruthless as that cave.” Ra’s storms towards him, but the shadows take shape, and the yellow insignia comes through the dusk, the glint of the red helmet, and maybe a little blue and black mixed in, all the colors of the night flaring out over Red Robin’s shoulder, a heavy hand, gloved and gauntleted, ready for the fight, gives a brief squeeze of encouragement.

“You heard my son, Ra’s. it’s time to leave our city.”

But Nightwing gives a laugh, twirling one escrima stick through his fingers, “Nah. I think you should stay a while. This would make good fighting terrain. How many ninjas do you think made it out of that blast again?”

There’s a snort through synths and Red Hood nudges Robin, who’s standing next to him, “Gotta say, I don’t think it’s gonna be enough to keep the five of us interested for long, you feel me here, Baby Bird?”

“Tt, we were promised a sensational final brawl, Drake, and here you have failed to deliver.”  

“I’m not Santa Claus, Robin. How was I supposed to know Ra’s men would be so lame?”

“I had expectations that your plan would yield better results.”

Tim’s lips twitch. “Pfft. Next time, you can plan the bad guy takedown, and I’ll go get roof tacos with B, N, and Hood. Deal?”

“I think for now,” B interrupts the witty banter, moving with a swish of his cape to stand by Red Robin’s side, putting them shoulder-to-shoulder, “we’re going to say it one. Last. Time. Get the hell out of our city.”

And the depth of B’s voice is the thing that makes him the most feared man in the city. It’s enough to make Ra’s al Ghul pause and narrow his eyes over at Red Robin.

“Touche, Detective. As always, you never fail to disappoint during one of our little...games.” And even if he doesn’t move any closer, doesn’t even tighten his hold over the fang, Tim feels a shiver run down his spine. “Enjoy your victories for now, Timothy, but one day you may see this very fang again, and your blood will sate it.”

And even if it’s just way overdone, Ra’s gives barely a twitch of his fingers and the shadowy assassins leap away, running as they’re bid, and Ra’s himself turns sharply on his heels, clutching the fang by his side.

The Bats all take a collective breath.

As one, four heads swing to the vigilante in the middle, arms crossed and toes tapping.

“Okay, so not my best plan maybe, but it’s been one hell of a night. Can we just call it and go home?” Red Robin looks again at the rubbled remains of his family’s burial site, the space in his chest hollow even with the victory.

“I’m pretty much on board with that plan,” and because B knows about pain like this, sharp and biting when it comes to things that can never be regained. He pointedly grips one of Red’s shoulders, turns him gently away from the remains. “Besides, we have a meeting tomorrow and I need you to make me look like a rich idiot, remember?”

The returning laugh is tinged with sadness and B gives him another pat before leading the way back to the Batplane waiting for them all.

“We’re riding with Timmy!” Nightwing calls, already wrapping himself around one of Red’s arms. Hood lays a hand on Red’s other, giving a gentle squeeze.

Robin chuffs at them and leaps into the cockpit with Batman, waving them away to the plan Red came in to meet Ra’s.

Hood takes over, warming the plane up to fly while Nightwing hangs in the back with Red, pulling off the cowl so Tim couldn’t hide.

“Tell me really, are you okay, Baby Bird?” Dick gently tugs his brother into his body, taking in how he sags into the hold.

“I’m...fine.” Tim grips the arm half around his neck, careful of his claws under the gauntlets. “I just, you know, destroyed the grave of my parents. Let the most disgusting man walk away with my mother’s fang. I just–”

“Ensured your safety by leading Ra’s around by the nose.” Bruce finishes through the comm link in the planes. “The Demon Head will never suspect your nature now. When he returns it’ll be for your head, not your heart...we can work with that.”

“Yeah, death is just so much easier to work with than being hunted, captured like a pretty pet and trained as one,” Tim mutters.

“Plus Bats never stay dead!” Jason yells back in an ugly fashion.

“Seconded,” is Dami deadpanning in the back.

“I’ll worry about it when the day comes. Until then, I’m going to be very glad my secret is safe.” But Tim sits heavily, head dangling between his shoulders, so fucking tired. A hand reaching back pats his calf while Jay stays at the controls, and Dick flops beside him, already wrapping a long arm around his ribs.

“You’re safe,” Dick says low in his ear, low enough that the plane’s microphones can’t pick it up. “That’s what matters. You’re safe with us, and when that day comes, we’ll be here, Tim. We. Will. Be. Here.”

After the reassuring squeeze to his calf and the vigilante crushing his spine, hearing the low purr of B and Robin’s engine through the comm link, knowing Alfred is at home waiting with coffee and food and bandages, all of it makes him feel that much better.

“Our love is a terrible thing,” his mother’s voice whispers from memory. “But take comfort in this, you are mine. Now, until my last breath and forever.”

Tim...can work with that.

[lacrossepapi]

Steter Creator Appreciation Week 2k18 (pt3)

Hey guys! In honor of @ladypigswagon birthday I’d like to dedicate this post to her and her freaking stellar fantasy aus!!! A lot of these are oneshots, but I don’t think I’m alone when I say I’d give Lady my freaking kidney for more! I have yet to come across a better fantasy writer! The worlds this girl spins are so enchanting! I was literally up until six in the morning making sure I read all the fanatsy/mythology ones just to satisfy my itch! Thank you so much for sharing these fantastic stories with us and I hope you have a fantastic birthday! 

Can’t Wipe That Blood Right Off Your Hands

Summary: “Do you want the bite?” Peter asks, voice dripping like honey but tinged with poison. Stiles would laugh but considering the situation it would be inappropriate. It’s a situation Stiles has faced before infinite times. He’s chased Peter across infinite lifetimes; he’s seen Peter in infinite forms. Werewolf is a first though. And it’s not even Peter at his most dangerous.

Sweet Like Cherry Wine

Summary:Stiles growls softly. He can’t seem to get the beak right, it’s too narrow, disproportionate with the rest of the head. He sighs, charcoal smudged fingers leaving grey marks on his cheeks as he drags a hand over his face. The crow he’s studying hops closer, squawking indignantly when it sees Stiles drawing.“I’m trying,” Stiles mutters. The crow squawks again, hopping back along the branch. The setting sun casts a warm orange glow through the gaps in the treetops. His mother will probably come collect him for dinner soon; he needs to get this right before the light fades.

Oh Undine, SIng Your Love To Me

Summary: Stiles belongs to the water. He lives in the cool embrace, amongst the algae and rocks. He has lived here all his life, it has been his sanctuary and his home. This pool deep in a forest, beneath a powerful if small waterfall. Stiles has never ventured beyond the shores of his pond, knows that the forest and what lies beyond holds no interest for him. It’s not a lack of curiosity, it’s a knowing within the marrow of his bones that he is not ready for that potential world.

Boy Who Cried Wolf

Summary: Peter is hungry. It’s a raw ache, the kind that drives Peter to hunt almost desperately. His paws pound against the earth, kicking up black dirt and fallen leaves as he runs. It’s early afternoon, sunlight streaming through the gaps in the canopy, dappling the ground. Peter can hear a herd of deer a few miles west, but deer are tricky. There are too many variables, too many antlers and hooves. He could probably pick off a few with a pack.

I Walked With You Once Upon A Dream

Summary:  Legend says that in the forest there’s a tower tall as the sky, made of stone ancient as the mountains. Its location is unknown, a gem hidden amongst the trees that only the brave or foolish seek. The forest is dangerous, full of magic, and not all of it good. At the top of the tower, they say there’s a boy with eyes of amber and skin so pale the Moon is jealous of its glow. There are many stories of of how he came to be there, but one thread binds every tale: the boy is as powerful as he is beautiful, and the one who can find him and wake him shall have both. Many have tried, and all those who have returned have failed.

Out of the East, Never See The Sun Rise

Summary: In the beginning, there are three absolutes.One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.Three absolutes.

And two very honorable mentions because Sonnet 190 honestly feels like a fairy tale and I am in love with Were!Stiles that changes into a Deer! And because Your Boldness Stands Alone Among the Wreck is seriously stunning and I need approximately 600 more chapters because I’m obsessed!!

Sonnet 190

Summary: Peter pushes the textbook away from him, rubbing his eyes. Sixteenth century grammar is starting to grate on him, after the eleventh sonnet he’s beginning to loathe the form and everything it stands for. It would be masochism to continue reading.

Peter stands up, reaching up high to stretch his back. He winces when he hears his shoulders pop. He’s been in the same position for too long, he needs to do some exercise, get out of his room. It’s only mid afternoon, he doubts they’ll be any objection from his parents if he goes for a short run, especially if he promises to stay human the entire time.

Your Boldness Stands Alone Among the Wreck

Summary:“You know,” Isaac says, whilst loading the mutilated body onto the ME’s gurney, “I’m starting to think Hale is just doing this to ask you out now.”Stiles glowers at Isaac, who to his credit doesn’t cower away from Stiles’ hardened gaze. He just zips up the body bag and wheels it out of the room, his last statement hanging over Stiles head like a hangman’s noose. Stiles tries to mentally shake off the feeling but it’s difficult. Peter Hale’s last three murders have been gruesome odes to Stiles and this one is no different. The boy’s eyes, a pale imitation of Stiles own amber ones, had been removed and were residing on the kitchen counter. Hale had left an incredibly detailed sonnet about them in what Stiles suspects is the victims’ blood.

[galaxystiel]

100 Ways To Say ‘I Love You’ #56

“It brings out your eyes.”

Summary: Head Chef Dean Winchester has been waiting for years for renowned food critic Castiel Novak to visit his restaurant. [AO3]

Castiel glanced over the menu with a raised eyebrow. As the most renowned food critic in the Midwest, he’d seen his fair share of extravagant menus. Some of them had delivered on it, others had not. This one was promising, and he had high hopes it would deliver the absolute perfection he had come to anticipate in his line of work.

Seeing the server approach, Castiel set down his menu and picked up the wine list, glancing over it briefly. Since he’d be sampling mostly red meat that evening, he selected a nice Barolo to accompany his meal. He smiled politely at the server, a redhead woman who had a slight pinch between her brows despite her perfect smile. Her eyes remained on Castiel’s face as she scrawled on her notebook, as if she was trying to place where she recognised him.

“I’ll just get your wine for you, sir, and be back to take your order.” She disappeared for a few moments, leaving Castiel to glance around the restaurant.

It was a warm décor, rich reds and golds, the surfaces of the tables and bar giving a more rustic feel to the restaurant. The owner and head chef, one Dean Winchester had worked hard to build Petit Impala from nothing. He’d succeeded in a competitive business and it was damn near impossible to get a table. Even now, he could see the busy servers running around an almost-full dining room.

When the server – Charlie, Castiel noted from her nametag – returned with his wine, Castiel reached for the glass, swirling the burgundy liquid and holding it under his nose, inhaling deeply. He took a small sip, allowing the subtle flavours to envelope his palate. Rich, full-bodied, exactly what he wanted. He could even taste the rose tar undertone and the dried herbs in the aftertaste.

“It’s perfect, thank you,” he murmured, settling the glass back down so Charlie could pour.

“Thank you,” she hesitated for a moment and then gave an awkward giggle, leaning down. “Sorry to bother you, but I was trying to decide if it was you or not… are you Castiel Novak, the food critic?”

Castiel didn’t reply immediately, raising his eyebrow. He’d expected to be recognised before he left, but he hadn’t expected it to happen quite like this.

“I have your book,” Charlie continued, babbling as she set the bottle down. “It was so fascinating, and I know that Dean, that’s the head chef, he’s obsessed with your reviews, he reads everything you ever print. Oh, I’m sorry, I’m talking too much. May I take your order?”

“Ah, yes. I’ll have the veal sweetbreads to start, followed by the roast pigeon.” Castiel handed his menu back over and leaned in. “Listen, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that I was here. This is supposed to be an anonymous review, after all.”

“Oh absolutely,” Charlie assured him, with a wide-eyed panic on her face that Castiel just knew meant the entire staff would know the second she was out of his sight. With a sigh, he nodded to let her leave and pulled out his notebook. Well, there was no point in being discreet now after all.

Dean stood at the pass, surveying the kitchen with satisfaction. Everyone knew their stations, knew exactly what they were doing. He was startled when Charlie burst into the kitchen with a new order, but he reached out to take it from her, ignoring her excited babbling. He was used to it by now.

“Order up! Table twelve, one sweetbreads, one pigeon. What is it, Charlie?” He asked exasperatedly, tugging his sleeve free from her grasp.

“It’s a critic. Castiel Novak is here, that’s his table.”

Dean’s head snapped around to look at her and he stalked to the door, eyes narrowed as he looked over at table twelve. There was no doubt about it, that was absolutely Castiel Novak. He pursed his lips, thinking.

“Alright,” he raised his voice, commanding the attention of his staff. Last order of one sweetbreads, one pigeon? This is now the most important dish you will ever make in your life. There’s a food critic in the restaurant, Castiel Novak no less. If anyone screws this dish, they’ll be out on their ass. Get it?”

“Yes, Chef!” His kitchen chorused, and Dean’s eyes flickered from the appetizers station and Balthazar working hurriedly, to the meat station and Benny. He nodded, mostly to himself. Castiel’s food was in good hands, Benny was one of the best chefs he’d ever hired, and Balthazar was more than capable.

He spent a few moments deliberating and then nodded to Charlie. “Keep an eye on him, refill his wine, get him anything he asks for. Let him know I’ll bring his food out myself. I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time.”

Charlie raised her eyebrow but didn’t object, just left the kitchen. Dean returned to his position at the pass, keeping a watchful eye on the dining room whenever he had the chance.

Charlie approached shortly after she returned to the dining room, a slightly guilty look on her expression. “Chef has requested to personally bring your food out.”

Castiel gave a small sigh and shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He’d have to mention it in his review and it wouldn’t reflect favourably.

“He insisted,” Charlie pressed. “I’m sure it’s not meant as an attempt at influencing your review. Dean always says his food speaks for itself. He just wants to meet you, is all.”

Castiel bit back a smile and inclined his head. “Well, in that case, who am I to disappoint him? I’d be honoured to shake his hand if his food is as good as rumours dictate.”

“It’s better,” Charlie promised him, excusing herself to check on her other tables.

His sweetbreads arrived in record time, of course. Their arrival was preceded by the opening of the kitchen door and a tall, outrageously handsome man exited, He was dressed all in white, a white apron tied around his waist, and he was clutching a silver platter.

“It’s a pleasure to have the great Castiel Novak in my restaurant,” Dean smiled, setting down a plate and a small jug of a dark, viscous liquid in front of him. “I’m honoured. I’ve been trying to get you here for years.”

Castiel gave a polite smile and inclined his head. “Well, here I am. What opinion do you hold of the dishes I ordered?”

“Now, now, Castiel, isn’t that quite a biased question?” Dean raised an eyebrow at him, his smile turning into a brief smirk as one corner pulled up higher than the other. “You’re in my restaurant, all of the dishes are no less than perfect. Surely you wouldn’t expect me to talk down some of my dishes and suggest you should have ordered something else?”

Castiel hid his own widening smile by taking a small sip of his wine, peering at Dean over the top of the glass enigmatically. “Perhaps not,” he conceded. “Let me rephrase. Which is your favourite of the dishes? Say if you were to bring a loved one here, a spouse maybe. What would you recommend they order?”

“The sweetbreads, absolutely,” Dean admitted, stroking his chin as he thought about it. They were one of his bestsellers. “The pigeon is good but I think I would have suggested the turbot. The jus gras is to die for. Purely a matter of personal preference, of course.”

“Hmm,” Castiel mused. “And your chefs? Do I have the honour of your personal culinary prowess today?”

“Unfortunately not. But my chefs are an extension of me and they are more than capable of attending to your every need,” Dean replied smoothly, giving Castiel a daring wink.

To his horror, Castiel could feels his cheeks slowly turning red. He took another sip of his wine and cleared his throat. “A shame.”

Dean’s smile grew wider. “I’ll leave you to your dinner, Castiel, but I’ll make you a deal. If you order dessert? I’ll make it personally.” He returned to the kitchen, leaving Castiel slightly flushed, distracted completely from the meal sitting in front of him.

The food was delicious, of course. Castiel couldn’t fault a single thing. The sweetbreads were delicious, tender and creamy, the way they should be. The richness of the accompanying madeira sauce and the subtle nutty flavour of the celeriac served with it created a balance of flavours that was practically obscene on Castiel’s tongue.

He could see Charlie paying close attention as he ate, without looking knew that there would be people pressed up against the kitchen door, watching him through the small window. A food critic always caused a big stir, and Castiel knew he had quite the following. His reviews had been the make-or-break for a lot of restaurants over the years.

When he was finished, he allowed Charlie to take his plate and refill his wine, and picked up his pencil thoughtfully.

Charlie burst into the kitchen, her eyes wide. She’d been too busy attending to her tables to catch Dean since his little conversation with Castiel, but she needed to talk to him now.

“Are you mad?” She screeched, over the bustle of the kitchen. “Dean, you’re flirting with the food critic. If he takes offence, he’s never going to eat here again. He’ll put us out of business, you know how vicious some of his reviews have been just because he didn’t like the sauce or his steak was overdone.”

“Well gee, thanks,” Dean huffed, his brows knit together with mock-offence. “I’m not gonna scare off the damn critic, Charlie. It’s fine. It’s just a little conversation between courses. This is how I am, I’m charming.”

Charlie fixed him with her best not-amused look. “Yeah, you better hope he thinks so too, I’m gonna be pissed if I’m out of a job because of you, Winchester.”

Dean smirked at her. “He will. I’m irresistible.”

Charlie just rolled her eyes and swept back into the dining room, as Dean called for service on table twenty-one.

Dean focused on preparing meals for other tables, letting thoughts of the pressure created by having a food critic in his dining room slip from his mind. He worked steadily, and he worked hard. He adhered to the same standards he set for his staff, it created respect and made it easier to recognise when demands were unreasonable and when people were slacking.

“Table twelve?” He called out when Castiel’s table came up. “Pigeon! Now, please!”

“Behind you, Chief,” Benny replied loudly, setting down the pan beside him and ducking out of the way as the garnishes arrived.

Dean scrutinised the pigeon for a few moments, before nodding with satisfaction. “Great job, Benny, great job all round guys.” He assembled the plate and took a deep breath before sweeping out of the kitchen, Castiel’s entree in hand.

Unlike before, Castiel smiled at his approach and greeted him softly, with familiarity. “Dean,” he smiled, peering at the plate in his hand. “That smells good.”

Dean laughed and set the plate down, letting Castiel have a more thorough look at the dishes. “I’m not sure you’re supposed to tell me that.”

A twinkle in his eye, Castiel turned his attention back to the chef. “No, I’m just not allowed to tell you if I think it tastes good. Technically. You’ll have to wait for the review to be printed.”

“I guess I’ll just have to keep my fingers crossed till then.” He teased. “Let Charlie know if you’d like to order dessert and I’ll whip you up your own Winchester special. Enjoy your meal.”

He returned to the kitchen, a wide smile on his face and returned to work. A little while later, Charlie stuck her head in the kitchen and called for him.

“Castiel wants a dessert. He says, and I quote, ‘tell him to surprise me’.”

Dean grinned. That, he could definitely do.

Castiel was feeling a little more relaxed after two amazing courses and the same number glasses of wine. He was sated, not too full. There was still room for a little something sweet, although he wasn’t sure he’d be able to manage the full thing. And yet, he would be insane to turn down the offer of a dessert cooked by the head chef. Dean Winchester certainly knew his trade, creator of all  dishes included on the menu, and to have something solely cooked by him was a privilege few were afforded.

He waited patiently, sipping his third – and last – glass of wine. A lot of ethics had been broken here today, but he wasn’t all that surprised. He’d been wary of reviewing this restaurant in the first place, the reason he’d refused to for so long. A lot of his review could only be ethically acceptable if he disclosed the special treatment he’d been afforded. Of course, he took his job seriously and was honest to a fault. His critique would reflect that completely.

He glanced up when Dean left the kitchen, to see him clutching a silver cloche, covering whatever his dessert was meant to be. Noting the huge shit-eating grin on Dean’s face, he could only assume that whatever the dessert was, it was going to surprise him.

“Bon appetite,” Dean grinned cheekily, lifting the lid of the cloche.

Castiel peered at the small domed dessert with an intrigued expression, tilting his head curiously. Whatever it was lay on a crumb base, and had been covered in a bright blue mirror glaze.

“It’s a tonka mousse on a dark chocolate crumb base,” Dean volunteered, before he could ask. “It’s on the menu, don’t worry. I didn’t give you any special treatment. The only difference is that the glaze is usually pink.”

“Why blue?” Castiel asked.

“It brings out your eyes,” Dean murmured, taking a step back and returning to the kitchen without another word.

Castiel stared at the dessert for a long moment, before giving in and taking a spoonful. Naturally, it was divine. Not too sweet, not too bitter. The high cocoa content of the chocolate was masked by the flavour of the tonka bean in the mousse. Despite previously worrying that he wouldn’t have room for the dessert, there was nothing left on his plate at the end.

He sat back, satisfied and very full. This had been a very successful visit, and he would be lucky if he didn’t have to unbutton his slacks for the taxi home. Flagging down Charlie, he asked her for the check as he wrote more scrawled notes in his book. He’d type it all up when he got home and it would hopefully hit the papers by the morning.

When the bill was paid and he’d left Charlie a sizeable tip, he tilted his head as he asked if it would be possible to speak to Dean once again before his departure. Dean seemed to have been expecting this, and emerged from the kitchen quite quickly.

“How was the dessert?” He asked sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get my smooth talk on and be unprofessional. I just couldn’t help it, you just looked so gorgeous sitting there, enjoying my food, and…”

Castiel smiled, reaching out and pressing a finger to Dean’s lips to shush him. “The dessert was perfect and you were great. I’d have to include this in my review anyway, you knew that. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you that I was coming.”

“I’m not mad,” Dean assured him. “I’ve been trying to get you to come visit me at work for years. I should get back to the kitchen. I’ll see you at home?”

“I’ll be waiting,” Castiel promised, leaning in and brushing their lips together sweetly. He couldn’t bring himself to pull away immediately, leaning in for a second, lingering kiss and only pulling away when he heard a squeak and the sound of breaking glass.

They turned and Charlie was standing there with a broken wine glass at her feet, staring between them with wide eyes.

“I think that’s my excuse to leave,” Castiel laughed, withdrawing from Dean’s embrace and stepping back. As he turned to leave, he heard Charlie shriek.

“What do you mean Castiel Novak is your husband?”

He threw back his head in laughter as the door closed behind him.

“Dining at Petit Impala was an experience I will never forget. The rustic, warm décor was as inviting and welcoming as its servers. From the second I entered, I was made to feel welcomed, like no request was too big or too small. The food itself was nothing short of divine. Balanced flavours, beautiful colours left Head Chef Dean Winchester’s plates to be nothing short of a delight, both aesthetically and culinarily. The food I ordered left me with the indulgent feeling of dining out, while providing me with the comfort of a homecooked meal.

I cannot, in all good conscience, claim this to be an unbiased report, as a marriage of six years to the Head Chef in question puts me in an ethically difficult position when it comes to Petit Impala. The best thing I can say is to try it for yourself, if you question my judgement. If my bias concerns you, however, let it be known that I choose to eat the food my husband prepares every day, at home. I can offer no bigger compliment than that.”

Castiel nuzzled into Dean’s neck and pressed a few sucking kisses there, trying to thoroughly distract him from the review in the morning paper.

“Cas, come on, cut it out, I’m trying to read,” Dean laughed, but he tilted his head to the side to give Castiel more access, in direct contrast to his words.

“Read it later,” Castiel mumbled, sliding a hand under the covers and thoroughly capturing Dean’s attention. “Sex now.”

The paper slipped from Dean’s hands, fluttering to the floor as Dean climbed on top of Castiel, kissing him thoroughly.

“Maybe it’s my turn to be doing the tasting,” he teased, bursting into laughter as Castiel shoved at him, throwing an arm over his eyes.

“That was terrible," he groaned. "Never say anything like that again.”

Dean laughed again, leaning in and nipping at Castiel’s lip. “You love me.”

Castiel gazed up at him and unable to help himself, smiled widely. “Yeah, I do.”

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