#crane sharpening her claws

[chasing-faith-and-fate]

Moon 36

Moon 35 | Moon 37

[seresinhangmanjake]

Don't Touch What’s His

Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x reader

Summary: Feyd's harpies attack you while you're both asleep in his bed and he gets real mad.

Notes/Warnings: mention of blood and mutilation, inflicted wounds, and possessiveness. Related to the fic titled His, but this can be read alone. Typos (just being real)

Words: 1100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

You’re screaming for him before you’re even fully awake, shrieking his name before you can begin to grasp what’s happening to you. All you know is that you’re no longer warm, no longer safe as you’re yanked from his arms and dragged to the bottom edge of the bed. Claws are digging into your calf as primal grumbles and growls and the distinct sound of lips smacking in anticipation reach your ears. Your body is being pulled further and further away, and no pawing at the sheets helps to keep you on the mattress.

Another plea for him is on the tip of your tongue, but then a hand wraps around your arm, engaging in a tug-of-war with whatever monster has a hold on you. Scrapes make lines down your leg as you dig your heels into the bed and back yourself away from the clawed being. You take a few deep breaths and blink, your eyes adjusting to the darkness.

“I told you she’s off limits!” Feyd shouts in a terrifying tone. A tone most commonly reserved for those who inconvenience him: servants and prisoners and his brother. It’s not his low timbre; it’s much more powerful. So powerful that you half-expect a crack to split open the floor.

You blink again and crane your neck to peer over the foot of the bed at who he scolds. Feyd’s harpies are on their hands and knees, staring a hole into your head. It’s a daring choice. When Feyd speaks, those around must be attentive with eyes and ears, but the harpies don’t so much as glance in his direction. They’re here for you, they want you, and clearly nothing else.

“But she looks so yummy,” one of them says, a pout forming on her lips.

“And she smells even better,” the second adds. Her tongue swipes over a sharpened fang.

All three of them begin to crawl across the floor until they’re at your side of the bed. Feyd’s fingers tighten around your arm, his eyes narrowing, and you lean back against his chest just in case they get the idea to lunge at you.

“We won’t eat very much of her,” the third purrs as her hand slithers over the silky sheets, inching toward your body. “Just a few little bites. Plenty left over for our lord na-baron to enjoy.”

When her pointed nails graze your ankle, Feyd leans around you, grabs her wrist, and sharply twists until there's a snap. She yelps. Your body jolts. Tears build in the corners of her eyes. Your jaw drops.

Immediately, they appear to sober up. Their hunger, if still there, doesn’t lust for you so intensely now that fear has taken over.

“You will not sink your filthy fangs into her,” Feyd spits, baring his teeth. “She’s mine. Her flesh, her blood, all of her—mine.” The other two harpies shrink and skitter away from their injured sister. “If I wanted to share, I would have.”

Feyd releases his harpy. She cradles her broken wrist, whimpers emitting from her throat as she scoots back to join the others. They feel safer in a pack. Though you don’t think that will aid them in this case.

“W-We just thought she wouldn’t matter to you,” one of them mutters, her chin tucked to her chest. “We thought you could find another plaything.”

Feyd’s face darkens. The icy blue of his glare wavers under the force of a burning red. As he moves to stand, he jerks you to his side of the bed, separating you from the beastly women by a few more feet.

“What did you just say to me?” he grits out, rounding the mattress and stopping in front of them.

The harpies glance at each other in panic before looking back at their master. “W-We didn't mean–”

“It appears I’ve treated you too well,” he says decisively. “If you’re bold enough to defy my orders, then perhaps you need to be reminded of your place.”

You gulp. You’ve heard that tone. You’ve heard those words. But you have a feeling Feyd’s threats toward his harpies are not as empty as the ones he throws at you, and it makes your stomach squeeze.

Your presence in Giedi Prime’s fortress being the indirect cause of their harm is nothing less than unjust. It’s not their fault their master brought fresh meat home. They cannot control what they are, and Feyd routinely encourages their behavior, excluding only you from the list of bodies they are allowed to feast upon. If anything, this is his fault.

“Get up!” he shouts, and they scramble to their feet.

You rise up on your knees as he turns and yanks open the bedroom door. “Feyd, wait, you don’t have to–”

“Stay!” he snaps, pointing a finger at you.

Your mouth snaps shut and you sit, watching as his harpies obediently follow him out the door. Within the minute, you hear the screams and squeals of pain, and you wince, pressing your hands over your ears.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position. It’s Feyd’s touch that jolts you back into the present.

You look up.

Red is speckled across his torso. You feel a slickness on your face from where he is cupping your cheek, and when he pulls his hand away, you notice the rivers of blood running through the spaces between his fingers.

Without a word, Feyd pushes you down onto the bed, rearranges the covers so they drape appropriately across your body, and crawls under the sheets to settle in beside you.

“What did you do to them?” you ask.

His eyes are already closed by the time the question fully leaves your lips. He blows out a heavy breath through his nose and turns on his side to wrap his arm around your waist. “Removed a few fingers,” he says. “Now go back to sleep.”

“But–”

“Go. To. Sleep,” he grumbles in demand. “Unless you’d rather I change my mind and toss you into their feeding pit…”

It's one of those empty threats, but you don’t press him further. Not for tonight. Tonight he is tired and grumpy and nothing about you pushing him will do you any good. So instead, you allow him to do as he wants. And what he wants is to tuck your head under his chin, eliminate all space between you, and hold you in a grip that is just short of suffocating.

[muffinsin]

...man i really liked the cassandra pegging one, not nearly enough of girls being caged and pegged rough out there, if you ever really feel like it seeing that explored more would make my (w)hole week

Welp, after seeing @zeleneagle ‘s art of buff Cassandra (find it here) I figured I just needed to write some smut bout it!🙇‍♀️🙌

I love that wordplay there, hon XD

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

You squirm a little in your chair, your eyes trailing over Cassandra’s exposed back. From this angle you perfectly see as the light dances around her muscles, smooth and hard along her scarred back and arms, even some visible at her sides from this angle, leading up to her muscular, hard stomach.

You watch her clean the many daggers set out on the table in front of her, sharpening them and swinging them at the air to test them right away.

As she does so, you can only watch in awe, your mouth watering and shivers running up your spine at her demonstration.

If it wasn’t for the annoying cock cage between your legs, you’d be rock hard by now, perhaps even bold enough to try and reach down and wrap your hand around yourself in desperate attempt to get off. Something she undoubtedly would punish you for, and likely notice within moments.

As if sensing your filthy thoughts, she turns to you, and you feel taken aback by her beauty.

Golden eyes pierce you as they flicker across your body, from your head and hair to the collar and chain leash sitting snuggly at your throat, to your tight shirt and the pants concealing your bulged underwear and caged cock.

Your mouth waters at the sight of her and your hands twitch with the desire to touch either her or yourself.

Your breath hitches as she steps to you, leaning down to your level. Her eyes are so beautiful, so dark and bright at the same time. You gasp when one of her hands drops between your legs, caressing the bulge in your pants. And yet when you attempt to look down automatically, her hand shoots out and grips your chin tightly.

You’re made to keep looking at her, your lips parting when she rubs her hand between your thighs. Eagerly, or perhaps simply desperately, you spread your legs wider for her, and feel your cheeks burn up as she laughs at this.

She leans in, whispering lowly in your ear;

“I had no idea I had such a slut at my hands”

You gasp as her hand rubs against your pants, right onto your balls.

“Then again, I should hardly be surprised”, she adds, a filthy smirk playing on her dark painted lips.

You try desperate to keep looking at her, yet you can barely resist looking down at her exposed chest. So strong, so muscular…her chest, large, perfectly sized.

Your head spins at the memory of her, her golden eyes piercing you as she rubs her breasts along you, teasing, bringing moans and moans from you.

Your entire body aches, then, she rises, taking you with her.

“A-Ah!”, you yelp in surprise as she tugs you up using your leash, bringing you to your feet. This close to her, it’s yet again obvious that she’s much taller, much stronger…

You gulp, looking up at her as she holds your leash tight.

“Off, pet”, a single command, spoken as she tugs on your pants. Immediately, you scramble to follow it, undoing your belt and quickly shimmying out of your pants and underwear.

You whimper yet again as your balls are groped, her fingers hard and strong, teasing you just right. You feel her hands moving up your body again, gasp when her sharp, claw-like nails sink into your shirt and rip out suddenly.

The fabric is shredded from your body, leaving you entirely exposed. Despite her chest being exposed too, it becomes immediately clear who is in charge here.

You shiver as she bends down lightly, brushing her lips against the space between your jaw and neck, just above your collar. You whimper helplessly for her, crane your neck and expose more of your flesh for her.

A pleased hum comes from her, and you feel her smirk against your skin, sharp teeth dragging against you. You whine and moan, groan helplessly when they dig in onto a moment later.

You clutch her hips as pain and pleasure greets you, certainly a familiar combination as it comes to Cassandra.

Blood runs down your neck, staining the black collar and dripping onto the silver chain of your leash.

You gasp, then, when you feel her fingers at your cock cage. Is she- please, please! You start breathing a little heavier, your eyes opening wide in anticipation.

“Ple-ease”, you rasp out, hopeful to see your cock released again. With Cassandra, the cage is only ever removed when she grants it. Often, you go all day, multiple days, only ever allowed to take it off when she takes you or plays with you. And often your cock is caged right after again, the sadist moaning and licking the salty tears that run down your cheeks as you cry out your desperations.

You’re shaking in her gasp, trembling in anticipation as the thing comes off and your cock is finally allowed freedom again. Immediately, her hand is on it, and your hips buck wildly as you attempt to get used to the intense pleasure of her warm palm stroking and squeezing you roughly.

Your legs tremble, knees buckle a little. You fall, held onto on her arms as she jerks her hand around your cock. White hot pleasure runs through your body, your vision blurry as shivers run down your spine. She’s so good to you, so, so good, and you feel so very sensitive each time the cage is removed again.

You whimper and moan, feeling so close already.

“Ye-es! Yes, please!”, you plead, whimper, cry out.

“Ca-Cass! More…!”, you beg, your moans and heavy breaths filling the armory with their depraved sounds. She laughs only, her dark eyes flashing. She loves to see you like this, so helpless, so eager, so utterly at her mercy. She knows what you want, what you have been thinking about.

You’re so close, feel yourself approach the edge as she jerks you off fast and rough, teasing your tip and squeezing each time at the top, dragging her hand down even as precum drips from your tip and runs down your hard cock already.

So close, so close…

You’re sure it takes only a few more seconds…!

Then, you cry out when her hand moves away again, leaving your cock drooling and twitching, aching painfully.

“Please!”, you cry out, heavy tears rolling down your cheeks already. She loves this, to keep you so sensitive, so utterly needy you’ll cry sweet tears for her when you don’t get what you want. She rarely gives in, but you know your tears and aching cock have your sadistic girlfriend’s pussy throb.

Your leash is tugged and you’re pulled back up your feet, your body still quivering beneath her touch.

Next, her lips are on yours, her tongue shamelessly shoving into your mouth and effortlessly dominating yours.

You moan, gasp, whine as more precum drips from you and onto the ground.

“Clean me, pet”, she whispers against your lips, her teeth sinking into your bottom lip as she pulls away and offers her wet hand to you.

Almost in worshipping fashion, you gently grip her strong wrist, moaning hotly when you lick across her palm. Like the rest of her, her palm and fingers are strong and scarred. You feel her veins underneath your tongue, suck and allow your tongue and teeth to drag against them lightly.

You taste yourself on her, the reminder of your near orgasm having your cock twitch and your balls ache again. When you open your eyes, you find hers are set on you, a confident, lazy smile on her dark painted lips.

Then, you allow your eyes to trail down subtly, down her neck to her choker necklace, her strong collarbone, her round breasts and hard nipples, to her muscular stomach and all the way to where her black jeans sit.

Your eyes trail along the chain hanging from them, the bulge in them. Your mouth waters around your fingers, wondering which strap she’s chosen today. The one matching her grayish skin tone? Large and long, a thick base and tip? Or the black one, even larger, with a rigged shaft and a thick tip and base? Or another one entirely?

She presses down on your tongue, demanding your attention again, and you obey instantly. While you’ve learned to love the pain she so dearly inflicts on you, you know it’s not wise to misbehave in the armory, surrounded by daggers and knives, swords and maces and what not for her to use on you.

“Are we going to be good today, morsel?”, she hums, her eyes boring into your flesh, almost.

Gulping, you nod. “Yes, my Lady”

Next, you only see a blur of your vision. You gasp when you’re promptly bent over the chair, your cock’s tip lightly pressing against the chair. You whine and whimper, feeling the leash tugged again.

Your back is arched slightly, just ideal for her and what she has planned for you. Your head spins as you feel her caress your ass, her sharp fingernails dragging into your skin and scratching you up.

As usual, the power dynamic between the two of you is obvious.

Cassandra, tall and powerful, pinning you against the chair. And you, leashed and collared, your cock dripping at the mere touch of your lover.

You hear her unzip her jeans, jump when you feel her strap slap against your ass cheeks.

Then, her hand is back on your cock in an instant, rubbing and stroking, turning as she jerks you off expectedly.

“Aah! Ye-ees!”, you groan, eyes closing, lips parting. You’re somewhat aware of what she’s doing, feel her press up against you and stroke her strap against your cock as she practically milks you to use your precum and cum as lube.

Pushing up against your balls and base, you feel, this is the black strap with the strange texture that never fails to make you see stars and pant helplessly for her.

Always, Cassandra utterly ruins you, often leaves you gaping and gasping, squirming for days as you attempt to get used to the stretched out feeling of your ass and the soreness of your freshly caged cock.

You’re shivering and whimpering, your back arched, your ass pushed against her front as she works you closer and closer to an orgasm with one hand and holds your leash to her chest with the other.

You’re feeling yourself get closer yet again, your balls aching, your face scrunching up when you’re so, so close. You drip down on her strap, groan when it’s rubbed against you to smear the wetness along you, too. She knows your body well, plays you like a violin, and she knows it.

Pleasure runs through your body when you get right to the edge, and you shiver and moan pleasantly when you feel her thick lips against your ear, her breath tickling it as she whispers;

“Cum”

A command, but also; permission.

Your body shakes and shivers as you obey, your cock trembling, cum shooting into her hand before it’s smeared right onto her large cock.

Larger, and thicker than yours of course, as it is with Cassandra. While not at all being condescending, she is superior to you in most things, and likes to remind you of this when she makes you look up at her, tugs and lifts you easily, and yes, even with her larger straps, enough to make you mewl pathetically for her.

Not giving you even a moment to recover, she first pushes her wet finger into you and pulls you close with your leash, tugging her finger to make space when she lines herself up with you.

Immediately, you feel overly sensitive again, holding onto the chair tightly when, at last, she pushes herself into you.

“AAH! Ngnnn, Ca-Cass’!”, you groan, gasping for breath when the leash is tugged again and your ass is completely flush against her.

She’s in so far, so deep, filling you completely…

With one hand gripping the leash and the other massaging your pulsing and drooling cock, she begins thrusting, hard and fast, giving you no opportunity to get used to her pace.

The armory is filled with moans and gasps, loud whines coming from your lips at the overwhelmingly good pleasure she grants you. You feel so sensitive, far too needy, but can’t bring yourself to be humiliated by this, not when she makes you feel so good.

Her strap massages your inner walls with every thrust, rubbing up against the wet heat while her hand works on your hardening cock.

Damn her, she has always been painfully good at controlling your body…!

“Fu-uuck!”, you groan, eyes squeezing shut again, your tongue poking out of your mouth. You only feel her, feel her so deep in her, feel her body curled into yours as her hips thrust powerfully.

“That’s it, pet!”, she cheers, laughing at your display of the pleasure she grants you.

You’re already twitching in her hand again, your hole squeezing her strap eagerly and drooling onto the floor between you each time she pulls out even a little bit.

You’re so close, so, so, so close to cumming already. You groan, find yourself craving the orgasm and becoming more and more desperate for it.

“Please..aa-ahh, please!”, you gasp, louder and louder the closer you get.

You’re so hard, so close…!

Of course, she knows.

Again, you feel her teeth dig into you, crying out and moaning loudly as she drinks. She does always insist, your blood tastes even sweeter when on the edge of an orgasm, feeling nothing but the pleasure she grants you.

You beg again, plead shamelessly for the orgasm you know only she can grant you.

Thankfully, it seems she’s in a good mood today.

Another series of powerful thrusts into you, and you’re pushed over the edge. You scream as you finally reach your orgasm, cumming against your chest and the chair, twitching and moaning helplessly as she bottoms out in you, thrusting and groaning, biting into your soft flesh.

You’re panting and smiling once you calm down, slumping onto the chair, your hole still throbbing around her and squeezing her strap.

Just when you think she’s in a kind mood today, you feel her hands back at your cock and cry out at the feeling of the cage against you.

“Please!”, you whimper, plead.

She only chuckles darkly in return, pressing a kiss to the bite mark now placed on you.

“Be good, and we will get to do this again~”

[mystieris]

The Gods' Rage Forms

So in Urban Gods, the gods look mostly like normal humans, but when they become enraged, their elemental and animalistic sides begin to show through. Here's some ideas of how they manifest throughout the story. All of them grow taller, lose the color in their eyes as they glow with a golden light, their teeth elongate and sharpen, and in most cases their fingers turn into claws.

Hades - Hair bursts into blue flames and ram horns grow out of the sides of his head. The sound of screech owls trilling can be heard from all around as shadows wrap around him, whoever he's mad at and bleeds around the room.

Zeus - Bull horns extend out the sides of his head, hair flares out with static electricity, thunder can be heard as storm clouds gather around and eagle feathers grow out of his arms.

Poseidon - Hands can turn to horse hooves at will, coattail turns into a dolphin tail, waves can be heard crashing even when no water is around, and his hair turns into sea water, whipping around wildly.

Hera - cow horns grow out of her head and peacock feathers begin to grow out of her head and arms and the sound of roaring lions can be heard.

Demeter - Her wheat crown rearranges to resemble the feathers on the the head of a Gray Crowned Crane as the screeching of pigs can be heard, and she grows out a serpent tail.

Persephone - the sound of bats squeaking fills the air as deer antlers extend from her head mixed in with her flower crown and dark-colored butterflies begin to fill the room, making it look darker.

These are all the ones I've really written or had ideas for so far ^^ I might post what happens to the other gods later as I think of more. Follow me I'd you're interested in hearing more about this project! :)

[piperjistic]

Golden Heart - KFP

“You’re the best of us, Po.” Po blinked. Po blink again.

Tigress wears a soft and small smile, as if what she said has no weight- no- it made perfect sense for her to say while everyone downed a bowl of noodles after a hard day of training. Well, if Chi had to used then yes, it was definitely a hard day.

“What? Me? No-“

“No it’s true Po! You are!” Monkey chimed in, tapping his chopsticks together. He was smiling as well. They all were. Like they all reached a consensus without speaking. Or maybe they did the night before, who knows?

“But you guys are the Furious Five!?!”

Crane shrugs. Mantis also shrugs, replying. “So? What does that got to do with that?”

Po couldn’t believe it. The Furious Five, the ultimate kung fu fighting team that trained under the Master Shifu and Oogway. They think he’s better than all of them? No, that can’t be right. He closes his mouth, frowning. They’ve spent years together training, living, and, well, everything. They must not be thinking straight from hunger. “Alright, enough. You guys need to eat your food, you’re going delirious from hunger.”

“All of us?” Viper questions, wiggling her chopsticks at everyone.

“We are not delirious. Delirious would be me not wanting to eat your cooking.” Monkey said, Mantis nodding as he promptly stuffs a noodle into his mouth. “Mmmm…!”

“I highly doubt all of us is delirious, especially Tigress.” Crane chirps, holding his bowl to his beak. Tigress sharpens her eyes on him, he immediately shrinks.

“What’s that suppose to mean-“

“We love your cooking Po,-” Viper cuts in; reeling the conversation back in. “-but we love you more. And we truly believe you are the best of us because of who you are and what you’ve done for us.”

Po’s expression hasn’t budge from confusion. He sets his chopsticks down. “What- But???”

“Po, what’s so confusing about this?” Tigress presses on, a twinge of agitation in her voice. He exaggerates his gestures towards them to match his voice.

“You shared your pain together!” They all shrug..

“But not our laughs.” Monkey replies fleetly.

“And definitely not our bellies.” Mantis jokes. Crane follows up.

“Oo- and definitely not a more gracious Shifu. I mean-“

“Until you.” Viper finishes. Okay, that was an coordinated defense attack(?). Maybe they weren’t delirious.

“Po,” Tigress takes a softer tone, catching his eyes immediately. “You’ve done so much for us that you probably won’t realize until later, but we-… I, at least, want to properly say thank you for it. Thank you for feeding us your delicious noodles. Thank you for opening our eyes to a life that includes more than just kung fu. Thank you for giving Shifu closure and easing his soul. Thank you for everything. You have… such a way with words… you have a heart of gold. Pure and shining like the sun.” She places her paw on top of his.

His eyes widen, surprised by the public display of affection. Though his surprise at finally understanding what they meant overrides it.

“Wait so are we talking about the noodles or-“ Tigress massages her temple.

“Po-“

“Okay! Kidding…! Mostly.” He whispers the last part. “So my character?”

“Yes!” They say in unison. Crane pinches his brow, recapping for him.

“You have a heart of gold, your the best of us.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m the best-“ Monkey cuts him off.

“You’re going to be.” Then Mantis raises his claw to Po’s open mouth.

“You’re gentle, kind, forgiving, and appreciative.” Tigress tries not to grumble the last part. Viper giggles.

“And we love you for that.”

The panda was stunned by the big display of affection before him, even repeated to him no less. All for him? Really? “Aww you guys-“

“What’s this racket at this time of night?” Shifu stands at the door, frowning as usual.

They all deadpan. “Po.”

“Ah.. I see. Makes sense. Goodnight everyone.” He continues moving along.

“Whattt- Hey wait a minute!” Po trips out of his seat to follow their kung fu master. They all laugh and sigh. Now they can finish their meal in piece and let their master quell the panda.

[aloneinthehellfire]

Chapter 5: Wounds

Fortress Of Memories

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, scars/wounds, general violence but it's over pretty quick

[A/N: i kinda hate this chapter was it was needed to progress the story so pls bear with. i also rushed in editing this so if i missed anything, pls let me know :)]

Wounds

Present Day. Hawkins Memorial Hospital. Upside Down.

- Will, Mike, El, Dustin, Lucas

“I can’t hold them all off!”

El cries barely registered in Will’s mind as he ripped off his mask and applied pressure.

Mike was attacked, a Demogorgon managed to claw at his goggles and now all Will could see was the blood marking his best friend’s face, barely moving, as he shook in fear.

El did her best to take out the majority of the Demogorgons circling them, ripping them apart and throwing them further away to allow more time. But the more she destroyed, the more emerged from the shadows. And she knew this was One’s doing.

Lucas was running out of arrows, Dustin doing his best to spear any monsters that got too close. They knew they weren’t going to make it. But they had to keep fighting.

“I’m out!” Lucas yells, his heart almost beating out of his chest. All he could think was that if he died right now, he would have failed Max, and she’d be lost forever.

“You’re okay!” Will was insisting over and over again, tears streaming down.

Mike’s hand grabbed onto Will’s wrist, holding tight, as tried to open his other eye. But he couldn’t.

“Shit!” Dustin’s spear flies out of his hand and he ends up on his back, the Demogorgon approaching him with its wide mouth. Arms outstretched, claws on display.

“Dustin!” El cries, turning to help her friend. But one after another lunges at her, forcing her to stay and fight them off.

Dustin feels his breaths becoming shallower, scrambling backwards. He sees the Demogorgon jump at him and his eyes squeeze shut.

A screech catches his attention, looking up to see the creature was now lit up, flames burning its grey skin as it struggled against the pain. He frowns, but another lunges at him and he lets out a scream.

Before its claw can touch him, the Demogorgon is struck by a weapon, causing it to topple over. Dustin cranes his neck to see something beating it to death, over and over again. With a squint of his eyes, he can just make out a silhouette of a baseball bat. A nailed bat.

“Henderson!” Steve’s voice called out to him as the older boy runs towards him, crouching down. “Shit, man, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah.” Dustin stammers out, grabbing Steve’s hand and lifting himself from the ground. “What-”

His question is answered as he looks around him, hope humming in his chest.

Robin and Argyle were making quick work of lighting bottles and hurling them at the creatures, the fire dancing between the creatures and knocking them down. Behind them, Jonathan and El were holding off any attackers, Jonathan’s sharpened club plunging through Demogorgon chests while El threw them with her mind.

One by one, the monsters decreased in numbers and Dustin lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah!”

He turns to celebrate with his friends before his stomach drops. Mike.

Lucas was now crouched beside Will and Mike, frantically trying to keep his bleeding friend awake.

El rips apart the last Demogorgon, panting for breath. Jonathan places a hand on her shoulder and she offers him a smile, wiping away the blood dripping from her nose.

Jonathan lets out a sigh of relief, turning around. Then, with the drop of his face, he rushes over to where everyone was crowding around. He manages to peer over Steve’s shoulder as the guy was wrapping something around a boy’s head. Mike’s head.

“Mike?” Jonathan panics, eyes trailing over the blood pouring down the boy’s face, staining his skin.

“I’m… okay.” He replies, allowing Will and Lucas to help him sit up before he winces, shaking his head. “It hurts a lot.”

“Here!” Robin calls out, pulling something out of Argyle’s backpack and thrusting it into Steve’s hands.

“When did we bring paracetamol?” Steve wonders out loud, Lucas giving Mike a water bottle while Steve hands him a few pills.

“When we realised you were coming.” Robin says casually, earning a glare, “Hey, whenever we go anywhere, you’re constantly getting into fights.”

“Where did you guys come from?” Mike frowns after swallowing, head pounding. He was pretty sure he was losing his hearing in his right ear. He was certain he had lost sight in his right eye.

“How about we get the hell out of here first, yeah?” Steve says and they all nod, eager to get off the street crawling with monsters.

Will and Dustin looped their arms under Mike, helping him up. But, as soon as he got onto his feet, he felt himself wobble, the boys almost dropping him until Lucas stepped forward. He slung his backpack off and handed it to Dustin, turning around and lowering himself slightly.

“Get on.”

Mike doesn’t think he’s heard him properly until he shrugs, looking back.

“Look,” Lucas places a hand on his shoulder, expression unreadable, “If you’re worried I’m gonna drop you, don’t be.”

“He did work out an excessive amount last year.” Dustin nods.

“Okay.” Mike breathes out, too tired and in pain to argue.

Will and Dustin help him up, Lucas securing his friend onto his back and giving everyone a nod.

“Alright, everyone stays together, Lucas and Mike in the middle.” Steve orders and they all fall into position.

Walking up the street, their weapons never lowered, El leading the group and keeping her eyes peeled. Jonathan manages to catch up to Will, bumping his shoulder.

They would leave the exchanges and greetings to later. First, they needed to get the hell out of enemy sights.

Present Day. Elm and Cherry. Upside Down.

- Nancy, Y/n

“So this monster… it’s big.”

Nancy was trying to wrap her head around all the information you were giving her. It was coming to you in flashes, some part of your brain still scrambling to retrieve important information.

“Yeah.” You breathe out, glancing around you as you walked with Nancy. It had been a long time since you felt afraid of the Upside Down, unsure what would jump out of the shadows. “And Vecna controls it. So does Eddie.”

“I’m sorry you’ve had to go through this.” Nancy whispers and you stop, looking at her with a smile.

“Nance, you don’t have to keep apologising, okay? I’ll deal with it all once this is over.” You nod, continuing your walk. “But at least this monster is easy to spot, you know. Huge wings, three heads, gaping mouths, sharp teeth-”

“Gaping mouth?” Nancy’s eyes widen and you slow to a stop, frowning.

You’re unsure what she’s getting at until your memories reveal all, remembering Nancy’s sobering visions. She had talked of Hawkins fall, death and destruction. But most of all, she had warned of a creature with a gaping mouth.

“The worst has already happened.” You say, biting your bottom lip as you grip your spear tightly. “This thing is bad but if we get to Eddie, we at least have some shot of controlling it.”

“Right.” Nancy agrees just as a sound echoes from the darkness.

Abruptly stopping, you both look to eachother. Nancy pats her body before her face drops, looking back at you with a whisper.

“I don’t have my gun.”

“What?” You frown, shaking your head. “Why don’t you- oh.”

You both exchange a look and you swallow your guilt; Nancy would have her weapon if you didn’t attack her. Instead, you shift your body closer to hers, spear held out and eyes scouting the area.

A few seconds ticked by before you noticed it, the faint outline of breath hitting the cold air. Lowering your spear, you step forward, ensuring Nancy was protected. Considering how low the breath fogged, you knew exactly what you were dealing with.

The creature pounces at you and you lunge forward, striking your spear up and through its stomach, a loud and unsettling screech filling the silence before it dropped.

Planting your foot on the body, you use your strength to pull the spear out and step back, barely breaking a sweat. Behind you, Nancy lets out a small gasp.

“Where did you learn to do that?” She asks, eyes wide.

You look down at the demodog by your feet, sucking in a breath.

“You have to strike before they do.”

4th November 1984. Junkyard.

“Steve! What are you doing?!”

Once Dustin started yelling, you turned around to see the door of the abandoned bus close and your breath hitches. You were hesitant, looking between the shadow of your ex-boyfriend outside and the young boy next to you.

After a moment, you let out a sigh of frustration. “Fuck it.”

You grab the can of hairspray out of your bag and jump off the bus, instructing Dustin to stay inside. Then, you slowly approach Steve who reacts with a small jump when you start rifling through his pockets.

“Woah, woah, what are you-”

“Got it.” You mutter to yourself, stepping back before lifting your head to see confused eyes staring back. “What? You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

His shoulders slump as he takes a step towards you, “Can we not fight right now?”

“You’re the one making it a fight.” You raise an eyebrow just as a twig snaps in the distance.

Steve spins around, bat held out, and shifting himself in front of you. Even if you weren’t getting along, he wasn’t putting you in more danger than you already are.

“Guys! Behind you!”

You turn around and notice more of the dog-like creatures emerge from the shadows, eyes widening.

“You’re seeing this too, right?” You ask, back to back with Steve.

“Yep.” He breathes as you circle around.

When the first strikes, Steve swings his bat and hits it squarely in the chest, sending it tumbling across the path with a yelp.

The cry for help encourages the others to attack. Steve fights off as many as he can before a growl catches his attention, turning with a panicked breath to where one jumps at him.

Unable to bring his bat up in time, Steve stumbles back, preparing for the pain, until suddenly a scorch of flames engulf the creature, leaving it screeching on the ground. His eyes travel to the source, finding you stood with his lighter and a hairspray can, panting.

“Told you.” You shrug and he nods in gratitude.

“Behind you!” Dustin yells and Steve spins around to bat away another.

But, as he does so, another stalks towards you and you raise your arm, ready to use the fire to your advantage.

And yet, it just stares at you, tilting its head. So, you hesitate.

Bad decision.

It attacks and you don’t react in time, the force of its weight pushing you to the ground, causing the can and lighter to tumble from your hands as your back hits the cold floor.

Its claws slash at your chest, tearing skin, and you scream, managing to kick it off and scramble away.

You fumble around for your weapon, finding it’s too far to reach, just as the creature approaches you again. Instead, your eyes catch something glinting in the moonlight and you glance back at the threat.

The demodog stares at you once again and you hold your breath. You knew what to expect this time.

Just as it pounces, you grab the metal pole beside you and strike it upwards just before it collided with you, the pole piercing the flesh as it let out a terrifying screech, body collapsing on top of you.

Steve uses as much force as he can to drive the nails into another demodog, watching it fly into the side of an abandoned car. Taking a breath, he runs a hand through his hair and looks behind him, his heart stilling.

You were led on the ground, one of those creatures on top of you.

“Y/N!” Steve runs over to you, skidding across the floor and finds the demodog isn’t moving. With a forced shove, the body rolls off of you and he looks down as you let out a shaky cough.

Propping yourself up on your elbows, your widened eyes stare down at the monster beside you, its claws still coated in your blood.

“Shit, Y/n.” Steve gasps and you look down, your shirt torn in three red gashes. His eyes find yours, holding worry. But you don’t have time for comfort.

“Guys! Move!” The kids yell from the bus and you both look behind you, seeing the faceless creatures approaching.

Steve grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet, and keeping hold as you sprint towards the bus, knowing these scars would last you forever.

Present Day. Hawkins Public Library. Upside Down.

- Eddie

Vecna disappeared once the kids were rescued from the Demogorgons.

Eddie had stayed put, watching as the bigger group carried off the wounded one, sure to stay close together and move quickly.

A breath leaves his lips, one he hadn’t even realised he was holding. Was it… relief?

The giant creature above him lets out another roar and Eddie holds his hand up, ordering it to stand down. And it does, retreating back into the rubble of the library building.

He had felt some sort of fear, watching the Demogorgons attack. It was strange, the feeling. He hadn’t felt it since seeing you with tears streaming down your face.

You. Eddie frowns at the memory, causing his eyes to drift across the scenery. The last time he had seen you, Vecna was instructing you to take one of the intruders. But since then, he hadn’t been told anything.

The building he had helped you carry the body to was North and so, with a spread of his wings, he jumped from the building and headed to you. Something just didn’t feel right. And he was hoping you would have the answers he so desperately needed.

But, when he arrives, you aren’t where you’re supposed to be.

The house is empty, his chest feeling heavier the further he searched. Why was he worrying? What was he worrying about?

The last room he checks seemed familiar to him, as if he had been there before. He searches the desk top, noticing the box of shoes. And then, a diary, opened to the last entry. Without having to look, he knew what date was there. But why did he know that?

Then, as he sweeps the room, he sees the shrivelled remains of vines discarded on the floor by the foot of the bed. From closer inspection, they had been cut with a sharp dagger. His heart skipped. You had a dagger.

“Find her”

Vecna’s voice pounds in his mind and he straightens, ignoring whatever it was screaming inside of him to wake up. Wake up from what?

Walking towards the window, he drives his elbow through the glass and smashes it to pieces. With a sharp whistle, he steps back and waits for the flutter of wings to approach him.

Demobats flock into the room, perching on any surface they can find, screeching at his orders. Wordlessly, he holds up a dead vine. He didn’t need to speak to command them.

With an ear-piercing chorus of screeches, they fly away from the building and into the distance, shadows blackened against the burning red sky. He stands by the window, watching, waiting.

Eddie was going to find you.

Present Day. The Palace Arcade. Upside Down.

- Will, Mike, El, Dustin, Lucas, Jonathan, Robin, Steve, Argyle

In fear of Mike bleeding out, the group located a safe building to hide in, their efforts leading them into The Palace Arcade.

Dustin stood by the door, standing guard, as the others rushed in and set Mike down. His heart was beating fast, watching as Mike lets out a groan. They should have listened to Will and taken the longer way around.

His eyes drift across the space, the arcade machines still stood in their respective places, not updated since 1983. Then, his gaze lands on a familiar game, causing him to turn around and stare out of the window. Madmax reserved the rightful crown on that leader board.

Robin panics as she roots through Nancy’s backpack, throwing out any thing that relates to first aid with shaking hands. They were going to find her, whatever it took. But Robin couldn’t bear facing her friend with the news that her brother had died. No one else should have to die for this to be over.

When she sets down the last of it, Steve grabs as much as he can and leads Mike to the back room for privacy, nominating himself to treat the wound since his experience of losing fights had strengthened his abilities in this area.

The air is thick with worry, El and Lucas sat side by side trying to take deep breaths from the guilt they were feeling.

Jonathan looks around for his brother, noticing Will sat on the floor by a machine, head leant against the back.

He joins him on the ground, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna be okay.” Jonathan comforts and Will nods slowly with tear stained cheeks.

“Yeah.” He agrees, taking a deep breath. “Thanks for saving us back there.”

“You’re my brother.” Jonathan states matter of factly, bumping his shoulder. A frown appears on his face and Will widens his eyes.

“Right. I guess you’re wondering why we’re here.”

“Damn right, I am.”

“Hey, you’re not meant to be here either!” Will complains and Jonathan sighs, rubbing his face.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad I was.” He looks at Will, tightening his lips, “I can’t lose you, too, buddy.”

Will’s face drops. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers out before widening his eyes. “I have so much to tell you.”

“Me too-” Jonathan begins, but Will is already rambling.

“Lucas thinks there’s a way to get Max back, so we came down here with El to try and figure it all out but then you’ll never guess who we ran into.”

Jonathan’s breath hitched, lowering his head and staring at his shoes. Did Will know?

“Who?”

“Eddie.”

Jonathan whips his head up, eyes wide. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah. I mean, it was weird. He had wings.”

“Wings?”

“Hm.” Will nods, scrunching his forehead, “And I know I never actually met him, but he was nothing like how Y/n used to describe him.”

The mention of your name makes Jonathan’s mouth run dry, guilt seeping into his chest. He had to tell him.

“Will-”

“We think he’s being controlled by Vecna.” His brother continues, nodding quickly, “Maybe. And if Eddie is alive, then maybe-”

“Y/n’s alive.”

Will stares at him, barely moving, as he searches for any sign he didn’t hear him correctly.

“W-what?”

Jonathan leans closer, lowering his voice. On their way to rescue the kids, the others had made a promise not to mention you until they had found Nancy and killed Vecna. They didn’t need any distractions, nor a useless load of hope for something they didn’t understand. But you were their sister. And Jonathan just couldn’t keep that from Will.

“We saw her. She… she’s not the same. I think she’s being controlled, too.”

Will’s eyes were gleaming with tears once again, eyebrows softly scrunched together. “Can we get her back?”

“I hope so.” Jonathan breathed, shaking his head. “She’s in there. I just know it.”

“Then we’ll find her.” Will nods. “All of us. Together.”

They share a smile, the hope of reuniting with their sister warm in their hearts. Even if they couldn’t kill Vecna, maybe they could still save you.

“Where’s Nancy?” Dustin’s voice calls out and Jonathan’s stomach drops for a whole new reason.

“Uhh…” Robin sends a panicked look to him, trying to find the words. “She… well…”

“Kidnapped, bro.” Argyle mumbles, chewing through a protein bar.

“Kidnapped?” El widens her eyes, sharing a look with Lucas who appeared to be just as surprised. “By Eddie?”

“Eddie?” Robin frowns, raising her voice, “Wait, Eddie is alive too?”

“Too?” Dustin questions, joining everyone in the space now with a confused look, and Jonathan stands up.

“Okay, let’s all just-”

“Yeah, sister Byers is up and about too, dudes. She stole Nance and just disappeared.” Argyle chuckles, “Crazy stuff, am I right?”

There’s a wave of silence before a cough sounds from the back of the room.

“Nancy’s gone?” Mike’s worried and tired voice sobers everyone immediately.

Steve had done a good job of wrapping him up. A long cotton pad stretched across the right side of Mike’s face, covering his eye and ear, secured with tape. His face was cleaner, too, but the faint red of blood still stuck to his skin. And the scar running from his nose and across his right cheek, stopping just at his jawline, didn’t go unnoticed either. He was lucky Lucas had shot the Demogorgon when he did, otherwise Mike would have lost his life.

“Okay.” Jonathan sighs, standing where everyone can see him. “We came down here to kill Vecna. But, when we did, we ran into Y/n.”

“She’s alive?” Dustin asks and he nods, slowly.

“But she’s being controlled.” Jonathan explains.

“Just like Eddie.” Lucas adds and Steve widens his eyes, running a hand through his hair.

“So what happened to Nancy?” Mike insisted, sitting beside El on the bench and she rests a comforting hand on his leg.

Will averts his eyes, focusing on his brother.

“When Y/n found us, I…” Jonathan takes a breath. It was his fault. It was all his fault.

“She managed to grab Nancy when we weren’t looking.” Steve steps forward, crossing his arms. “We think Vecna is trying to scare us, using Y/n to do his bidding.”

Jonathan looks to him in surprise. Steve simply nods at him, shifting to look when Lucas spoke up.

“So, how do we know Nancy is okay?” He asks the question that was burdening their minds and Robin lets out a loud sigh.

“We don’t.” She says truthfully, “But we’re gonna do anything to find her, right?”

“And how do we know we can get Y/n back? Or Eddie?” Mike questions, shaking his head. “I want them to be okay, but Eddie had changed. Physically. Did Y/n have anything like that? You know, wings?”

“Eddie has wings now?” Robin frowns and Dustin nods.

“We’re thinking vampire.” He shrugs and Lucas sighs.

“No, you’re thinking vampire.” He retorts, “But the demobats definitely did something to him.”

“You like Rocky?” Argyle suddenly asks, showcasing the rock in his hand to the girl next to him and El raises her eyebrows, nodding.

“He’s… lovely.” She smiles and he hums happily.

“Y/n wasn’t like that.” Steve says, shaking his head. “She was just… cold.”

“But we can reach her, right?” Dustin asks with wide eyes. He had always been fond of you, treated you like you were his family. Because, in truth, you were. If he could get Eddie back, he wouldn’t think twice of saving you, too.

“Yeah.” Steve breathes out, and Robin risks a glance at her best friend. She knew how bad he’d been feeling since telling Jonathan the truth. She obviously knew about your history, but you and he had been close, regardless of if you were involved romantically or not.

“How do you know?” El questions quietly and Robin widens her eyes just as Steve looks startled.

“We… we could tell.” She offers, only to receive doubtful looks.

“You could tell?” Lucas raises an eyebrow, “How?”

“Uh…” She tries again and Steve clears his throat.

“Because she’s tried reaching out for help before.” He shares and the silence from the room urges him to continue. “Six months ago, at Weathertop. I… I thought I imagined it. Imagined her. I mean, she wasn’t there the next time I went.”

“And you’re sure it was real?” Mike was the first to speak, looking up at the boy above him.

“After today… yeah.” Steve nods, noticing Dustin’s avoidance of his eyes completely. He expected that, especially knowing how you and Dustin were as close as siblings.

“Shit.” Lucas finally breathes, rubbing his face.

“I know.” Steve hums, but Lucas shakes his head violently.

“No, no, I-” He takes a deep breath and El frowns.

“What is it?”

“I…” Glancing between concerned faces, his shoulders slump. “I saw her too. Six months ago.”

Wide eyes were scattered across the room until Argyle burst into nervous laughter.

“Well, damn, I didn’t see that coming, dudes.”

taglist: @h-ness1944 | @ali-in-w0nderland | @dylanmunson | @silky-luxe | @mothmanatemycat | @sattlersquarry | @sadbitchfangirl | @fangirling-4-ever | @averagestudent03 | @gnnnne | @munsonology | @vintagehellfire | @bokuto-kinnie | @crissicat13| @katie-tibo| @harrys-tittie| @the-world-is-a-mess-and-so-am-i | @lxvesickreality | @fracturedarkness | @frogers | @we-out-here-simping |

[another-corpo-rat]

Shot by the dear @halsin💕

Victoria Crane Netrunner | Affiliation: Arasaka

“You know something I don’t? I doubt that but go on; I’m curious how you’ll waste my time.”

A snake in the rat’s nest, between her natural ease in lying and quiet brutality there was little doubt that Victoria Crane would flourish in the corporate life. Climbing high off of her mother’s shoulders and then higher still off the backs of beaten down peers, making sure to dig her heel into their spines, Victoria has managed to create her own niche within Arasaka. One she defends with tooth and claw.

She has had a hand in several company projects and missions throughout the years, garnering her own reputation as an individual best avoided in cyberspace. Her name gained extra polish due to her ongoing association with Adam Smasher.

Once deftly subtle in her approach, working with the cyborg for so long has taught her the effectiveness of tossing a grenade now and then.

Relationships

Partners: Adam Smasher (Current, Mainline) Unnamed wife†

Relatives: Marion Victoria-Diane Crane (mother) Joseph Benjamin Morris-Crane (father)† Angelo Victor Morris (half-brother)†

Biography

1990s-2020

Born in England in the mid-90s, Victoria was primarily raised by her mother while her father worked in the NUSA. Throughout her youth she would be repeatedly called her mother’s ‘mini’ due to their similarities in both appearance and temperament.

This temperament would be sharpened against the whetstone of her peers during her school years, aimed pointedly at those she felt didn’t belong anywhere near her social circles. She was notably unmoved following an announcement that a classmate had committed suicide, and hardly bothered when a friend of that classmate laid the blame for their death at her feet. This individual would later have to drop out due to their parents losing their jobs and standing within Arasaka.

Upon completing her education, Victoria immediately moved into a corporate job – working for Arasaka’s London Counter-Intel department. Her quick ascension through the pay brackets was accelerated by an unquestionable skill in netrunning and nepotism.

2021-2023

In 2021 Victoria was transferred to the Night City offices. Reunited with her father, she simultaneously learned of his affair and second family. Their relationship promptly crumbled.

She was kept busy during the Fourth Corporate War, assigned as the company netrunner for a hired merc, she worked with them until their attempted defection to Militech. Sloppy in covering their tracks, Victoria became quickly aware of what they were planning and alerted her superiors – she had the pleasure of zeroing them herself and did so with a brutality unique to netrunners.

Following this, Victoria was assigned to work with Adam Smasher. Throughout 2022 they would work several missions together, but Victoria would not meet the cyborg in person due to deeming it unnecessary. It was late in 2022 and through sheer luck that she happened to step into the same elevator as him on her way to a mission briefing. Their first words exchanged in person were allegedly insults.

Still, the duo would develop something of a camaraderie. One of their recorded mission communications included Smasher encouraging a less bloodless approach in how Crane should deal with her familial issues. While she agreed, Crane also claimed she didn’t want their suffering to end ‘too quickly.’

Present in Night City on the night of the nuking, Victoria was not operating within the tower as Smasher felt it stupid to have his netrunner present where the action was going to take place. This decision kept Victoria alive. She would jack out of her chair following comm disruption and repeated failure to re-establish contact with Smasher, only to look out in horror as she witnessed the sky turn red.

2023-2050s

Victoria would return to the London offices after the bomb, certain that Smasher had been lost in the attack. She would claim the contrary but it was clear to any who knew her that she was not herself for some time afterwards. Her fury at learning her father and his second family had survived was uncharacteristic as she had destroyed personal property and outright threatened the life of his mistress.

It wasn’t until 2026 that Victoria learned of Smasher’s survival. A notable relief gave way to her usual coldness in a matter of minutes. 

She would operate primarily from the Arasaka tower in London, assigned once again to be the netrunner for an Arasaka-hired merc. Enthralled with the familiar brand of violence, Victoria and the merc would marry in the late ‘30s. Neither of them were particularly loyal or loving.

Following her marriage and due to his ailing health, Joseph would reach out and try to repair their shattered relationship. While his attempts would amount to naught and achieve little else than further agitating Victoria, she made copies of his neurological research knowing they would prove useful for her own project idea that had taken root.

Joseph died in 2039 and perhaps in a last-ditch effort to make amends, had left a majority of his wealth and belongings to his daughter. Victoria would dispose of most of it and sell anything of value, but she kept a painting he had purchased specifically for her (the original of Landseer’s Man Proposes, God Disposes.)

In 2042 Victoria returned to Night City when her wife was on an operation. While she waited for her to return in the AV Hangar, she was instead reunited with Smasher who was also involved in the op. He greeted her with the news she was a widow, her wife having “gotten herself killed.”

The two would leave the hangar together to ‘catch up.’ Within a matter of days, she was reassigned as Smasher’s personal netrunner.

2053-2076

In 2053 following Smasher’s assignment as Yorinobu Arasaka’s bodyguard, the Arasaka heir attempted to replace Victoria, removing her from the position and assigning another that he personally selected. Smasher would burn through a number of these replacements in a matter of months, with the longest surviving only forty-six days.

In this interim, Victoria had dedicated her time to a personal project called OIZYS.

She returned to the role of Smasher’s netrunner within the year and would continue to work on OIZYS during lulls between work Arasaka assigned to Smasher and any personal gigs he took on.

In 2056, the project would see a successful test that confirmed its viability. Victoria pitched the project to Arasaka, successfully gaining funding and permissions for further tests on company-provided subjects.

In the same week as this successful run, her father’s former mistress would vanish following a public spectacle at a celebratory dinner for her half-brother. Angelo, placing the blame on Victoria for her treatment of his mother through the years and demanding that their father chose while simultaneously rejecting his attempts to amends, hired a fixer to plant a bomb under Victoria’s car.

The attempted murder failed, instead killing her building’s valet. In the days that followed and with the gossip mills churning, a number of Angelo’s illicit activities from the 2020s onward became public. This included videos of him in the midst of orgies, drunken slander of the Arasaka family and NUSA government officials, recordings of his calls concerning the attempted car-bombing, and his involvement in recording the torture and murder of a NCPD’s officer’s son.

He would commit suicide by the end of the week. With no family to arrange a funeral and his friends in hiding, his body was dumped in the municipal landfill.

In 2061, OIZYS had changed as Victoria was ‘highly encouraged’ to incorporate an experimental nanite technology into its operations. While the nanites solved a trigger-delay issue, they were also more aggressive than anticipated and would not stop in their assault after the amygdala had been overwhelmed.

The project was deemed a success and Arasaka has used it successfully against a handful of international targets, however Victoria and a small team are still working to iron out the kinks. These efforts have been slow-going both because of the experimental status of the nanites themselves and the uptick in work Smasher performed for the company at the direct behest of Yorinobu.

2077

Following the sudden death of Saburo Arasaka and the aggressive actions of Yorinobu in the wake of becoming CEO, Victoria became suspicious of the man’s intentions. Like many, she saw through the inconsistencies with his poisoning story but would bite her tongue to see what direction he would steer the company.

Unhappy with said direction, she acts as if her hands are tied due to the influx of work that has landed in her lap with Smasher’s promotion to Head of Security. However, some have noted her free time spent in the company of Michiko Arasaka.

Cyberware

NetWatch Netdriver Mk.5 Self-ICE | Ex-Disk | Visual Cortex Support Favoured Quickhacks: Ping | Short Circuit | Contagion | Cyberware Malfunction | Reboot Optics | Suicide

Cyberoptics, EMP Threading, Chromed cyberarms with claw mods, Chromed collar, Optical Camo, Syn-Lungs, Titanium Bones, Lynx Paws, and a Midnight Lady

Weapons

“Charon” A personalised M2038 Tactician that deals electrical damage. Rarely used but always on-hand.

“Lancehead” A gold and black balisong tipped with neurotoxin. Victoria’s preferred method for dispatching anyone who gets too close. This weapon was a gift from Smasher, she claims that holds no bearing on her favouring it.

Notes

Victoria has modified her Contagion hack to attack aggressively, causing death more often than naught in its onslaught. Even those who survive the initial upload may die days later from the prolonged assault on their organs.

Smasher is the cause for her cyberarms – having deliberately crushed her right arm in early 2023 following a flare-up of carpal tunnel. She opted to get both replaced.

Her titanium bones and syn-lungs were not wanted modifications but were necessary after Smasher’s AV was shot down by juiced-up Animals. Her lungs were punctured by her ribs when he was tossed on top of her by gravity.  

Divider by Saradika

[queenhells]

@xluciifer ;; [ LOVE ]:  sender  tells  receiver  they  love  them  during.

nsfw prompts. accepting, selectively.

her mouth is wrapped nicely around him when the words tumble from his lips. hands tangled up in the mass of her hair, his head reeled back, pulling up and out of his throat like a prayer while he is half way into hers. she could reach her hand down and pull out his spine slower than the words drawled from his lips.

her own lips draw back, sharpened canines softly and delicately graze his cock while she moves off with a pop. lilith's hand moving up so that a thumb wipes off the saliva and precum that drools out of the corner of her mouth. lilac eyes softly glow in the dim-lit of the candelight, staring up at him while he hazily stares upwards at the ceiling. her fingernails, idly and softly, graze across the back of his thighs while she sits before him. she stares up at him, cranes her neck to view him for when his head comes to and looks down at her, their gaze level.

clawed hands grab his hips, moving above him until his hips are level with her chest. a hand moves to his length pressed between her breasts, pressing a kiss to his lips best she can, then purring against his jaw:

❝ say it again for me. ❞

[owlespresso]

luterius's folly. sylvain jose gautier. chapter 3 of polioctics. chapter 1. chapter 2.

tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, manipulation, aftermath of noncon, toxic relationship dynamics

You hardly remember getting into the sleek black car Felix called for you. You recall the ride home, the leather upholstery sticking to your thighs, the lush green of the city’s outer limits blurring into a stony slate grey. The massive hillside manors give way to hold department buildings and crumbling brick, a poignant reminder of the distance between you and them.

It jams the gears sticky in your head as you clamber into your apartment, clamber into the shower to scrub the remnants of last night from your skin. The water scalds down your back, a welcome refuge from the thoughts which rattle and writhe in your head and underneath your skin. When you finally clamber out of the shower, morning’s grey light is just touching in through the windows. 

You want to call them. You want to demand an explanation so badly—want to know the whys and hows and what it all means, where you stand now. But you don’t. You dry yourself off and keep your shaking hands away from your phone, no matter how many times it rings and vibrates. 

You crack open an old, dusty textbook. It’s a volume you loaned once upon a time from university, and after the course you had been too preoccupied to return it. It’s sat on your living room bookshelf ever since, and now you comb its contents in bleak search of distraction. It’s the only book you have yet to read.

The Roman legions do not have the answers to your burning questions, but you find temporary refuge in the dates and times and tales of strategic heroism and monstrous conquering. The hours pass one after the other, until the wild pang of hunger claws at your growling stomach, too sharp to ignore. The pantry is empty, with the exception of some old bread and perishables which you won’t likely ever eat.

Takeout would be the most reasonable option, but cowering in your apartment and shoveling down greasy food would only make you feel worse. You want something to do, something to keep your hands busy and your mind active.

Thus, you throw on your most comfortable pair of shoes and hit the streets, venturing to the grocery store on the corner. Drifting through the aisles reminds you of the last time you cooked. Ingrid and Sylvain visited. You remember the succulent smell of onion and roasted meat, all cooking in one pot. Ingrid’s hands were soft when she handed you a knife to chop the carrots with. She scolded you for its bluntness, clucking her tongue as she sharpened it as best she could with your limited equipment. Sylvain laughed, light and rich, asking her to go easy on your haggard, busy self.

The once warm memory only fills you with trepidation now. A part of you is grateful for the cold that sweeps in on you the moment you step foot outside, chill prickling your cheeks and lungs filling with crisp air. You let it settle in, covet it, curling your stiff fingers around the strap of your bag. 

The store is cozy and family-run, with tight aisles and sale signs hand drawn by the owners’ daughter. You spend extra time lingering in the lanes, reading product labels you had never bothered with before. Thirty minutes later sees you back out the door and onto the brumous streets, wind sharp enough to make your eyes water. You spent a tad more than you would have liked to, but you can’t overstate the value of having little treats to look forward to after a long day. You’re feeling more than content with your purchases, already fantasizing about the warm, creamy penne ala vodka in your future.

Your hurried steps chug to a half at the sight of the man lingering before your door. 

Sylvain looks remarkably unsure of himself, loitering in the middle of the hall like a lost child. He straddles your door like he’s trying to become one with it. His neck is craned, eyes narrowed in a squint as he stares at his phone, thumbs frantically typing. You could laugh, if not for the pit which opens up in your stomach, appetite squashed and groceries suddenly feeling twice as heavy.

Forcing a smile, you finally speak.

“Hey,” you murmur, and Sylvain’s head snaps up. He blinks his eyes wide before his expression settles into a smile, the easygoing kind that doesn’t meet his eyes. “What’re you doing out here? You have a key. I don’t mind if you let yourself in.” you step past him, shoving your key into the lock. 

It’s unlike him to show up to your apartment unannounced. Or maybe he called, and you hadn’t known because you left your phone at home. Regardless, your stomach sinks as you feel him stride in behind you, door opening with a soft click.

“Forgot it at home,” he admits sheepishly. “Here—let me get that for you.” When he reaches for your grocery bag, you turn it loose automatically, like you’ve done no less than twelve times before. You’re sure he does the same for every girl he spends time with, but the gesture feels nice, nonetheless. You wonder, briefly, if any of the other girls have apartments like yours. Or does he mostly date the well-off daughters from the families he had grown up with? 

“Really?” you blink. “You usually don’t forget that kind of thing.” you motion for him to drop the bag on the kitchen counter, before beginning to sort through and store your acquisitions. “Is everything alright?”

“What can I say? I was so excited to pay you a visit that it just slipped my mind,” Sylvain schmoozes as easily as he breathes, and you don’t know whether to be offended at the blatancy or upset at yourself because it’s working. It’s unsettling, how easily you fall back into your typical banter.

“Well, better to forget it than lose it. I don’t think the landlord would appreciate having to replace another key,” you remark wryly, bustling around Sylvain, who has shouldered into the kitchen to place the pasta on its designated pantry shelf.

“I don’t think the landlord appreciates doing anything he’s supposed to,” Sylvain replies with noticeable disdain. “He left that leak upstairs alone for what? Four months?” He puts the sauce ingredients away, too. “You planning on cooking tonight?” he raises a brow. “Don’t get me wrong, I love your cooking, but you look exhausted. Why don’t you let me treat you?”

“Are you sure?” you blink, pointedly avoiding the reason for your fatigue. You bury the hazy memories deep deep within the furthest recesses of your mind. If Sylvain doesn’t feel the need to bring it up, then it must not have been terribly important to him. You can leave it at that. You’re happy to leave it at that. “You don’t have to.” But you aren’t in the habit of refusing a warm meal, or in the habit of denying him.

“I want to,” Sylvain says, and it sounds like an oath. “I like spending time with you. And spending money on you. You know that, right?”

“Well, I,” you stammer as he takes your hands, so small in his own. He’s got wide palms and elegant fingers, a pianist’s hands, you remember telling him.

“Because sometimes it really doesn’t feel like you know how much you mean to me,” he continues, plowing through your noncommittal mumblings without hesitation. It’s so different from the flimsy, idle flirting you’ve become so familiar with, that you’ve learned to ignore.

“I—” How did you respond to that? “I just… didn’t want to assume…”

“I know, because you’re sweet like that,” Sylvain says with a forlorn sigh. He threads his fingers through thick red locks.

“We can go out, if you want. I’d like that,” you say, both to change the topic and to appease him. He knows this as well as you do, but he doesn’t argue. A smile teases the corners of his lips.

He shepherds you out of your apartment and into the black car waiting out front. The restaurant you pull up to but fifteen minutes later is a diner, not too expensive, but not bargain bin cheap. Much to your relief, you are seated on the less crowded side of the diner, granting you a relative amount of privacy. 

It’s comforting at first, as you shuffle into the dark blue booth, until you come face-to-face with Sylvain, whose intentions you are still floundering to comprehend. He looks completely and entirely at ease, idly perusing the menu with hooded brown eyes. And he’s more dressed up than usual.

Sylvain, born into wealth and prestige, takes a special delight in dressing in ways his father would simply despise. But today, he’s in a clean blazer and button up, leaving you even more unsettled and uncertain. 

Maybe he just felt like dressing extra nice today. Maybe you’re overthinking it.

“So… the landlord fix the heat, yet?” he asks. Was he at all going to address what happened last night? Or had it all been some feverish dream conjured in your drunken stupor?

“He did. It more or less works now,” you reply with a weak laugh. Sylcain tilts his head and squints, before sighing.

“Alright. I thought a change of scenery would help, but you look ready to explode. Do you wanna talk about what happened—”

“What did it mean?” you blurt out. “Why did you do it? Has Dimitri not been… available enough recently? Is that why?”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Sylvain’s eyes widen, his hands raising in a gesture of surrender. “One at a time. Give me a second here.”

You settle into an uneasy silence, staring at him over the pickles and coleslaw the waitstaff brought out to the table, left untouched.

“Sorry,” your voice dies into a mumble.

“I—I know what happened last night was really sudden, but I want you to know that it was all completely genuine. What Dimitri and I have is… unconventional, sure, but it wasn’t anything like that. I wasn’t using you or anything,” he spits out the word ‘using’ with a grim shiver, as though repulsed by the idea. “Have you… ever heard of an open relationship?”

You have. From reality television and message boards in which mostly women complained at being pressured into them. The concept, whilst foreign, seemed untenable in the face of modern dating and all its challenges. Most of what you saw were complaints, rife with envy. Though, perhaps r/relationshipadvice isn’t the best source of unbiased information for these kinds of things.

Regardless, you likely should have expected this from someone as experimental and affectionate as Sylvain. Not because of his negative reputation. You’ve never put much stock into the nasty rumors spread about him. If anything, you should have expected it because of how open he is, how his affection is easily immense enough to blanket multiple people.

“Well, we’ve been talking about it—with Felix too—”

You’re incredulous. “You’re dating Felix too!?” 

“Probably should have started with that, huh? But yeah, for a while now. He’s told us to keep our yaps shut about it. You know how he is,” Sylvain shrugs noncommittally, glancing around for good measure, as though Felix would burst from the walls just to strangle him.

You can’t imagine Felix telling anyone about having a girlfriend, let alone two boyfriends who are also intimately related with each other. So you nod again. Before Sylvain can respond, a waitress returns to take your orders with a flat smile. You order something simple, lighter fare in case your stomach happens to revolt against you. Her gaze lingers on Sylvain for an extra moment, clearly appreciative. Because, despite what numerous scorned ex-partners may insist, he is a very handsome fellow.

“Anyways, as I was saying, we’ve been talking about this for a long time, and we want you. All three of us.” Sylvain says.

Huh? You must not have heard him right. 

“I’m sorry?” You say with wide eyes and a blank smile.

“All three of us want you.” Sylvain repeats, and the revelation is enough to send you slumping back into the seats. 

The three of them? And you? The very idea is laughable, an absurd concept dreamed up after a serving of bad beef. You would have had an easier time believing that you wer simply a warm, wtt hole for them to fuck—a spur of the moment choice meant to spice things up one of their countless nights together. You’re friends, which means you’re easily accessible. The feelings wouldn’t be any deeper than they. They couldn’t be. What have you done to warrant such affection?

“I don’t know what to say. To that.” you say numbly.

“You don’t have to give me an answer now,” Sylvain soothes, voice honey and molasses. You drag your index finger down the side of your glass, savoring the sting of the wet, cold condensation. “I know it’s a lot to take in. I just wanted you to know that you mean so, so much to us, and that last night wasn’t some fluke.”

Silence settles between the both of you. And Sylvain seems content to leave it at that. He gives you the time to absorb all he’s dropped on you. Time feels liquid, the smooth jazz and cool color scheme of the decor urging you into a hazy, almost semi-conscious state. You stop thinking, after another minute of quiet. You don’t want to think. Not right now. Not when you’re so tired.

You’re not sure how much time passes. When you blink back into awareness, it’s to Sylvain gently calling your name, his fingers stroking up your forearm. The touch is gentle, but you jerk backwards and immediately feel horrible when his face falls. 

“Sorry. I was just… thinking.” you murmur. 

“No, that’s okay. I was just asking if you wanted to have dessert here, or go for something after?” Sylvain gives you another winsome smile, steering the conversation away from the tangled, gnatted mass it has become in your head. It takes hardly a moment to slide back into the usual tempo, to think about something else, something else, anything else. It’s made easy when he steers the conversation, letting you rattle on about your latest passions. He rests his cheek on the palm of his hand, smiles soft and eyes as fond as you have ever seen them. His ability to simply listen and continuously feign interest endears you to him immensely. For a moment, if only briefly, you can pretend someone is genuinely interested in what you have to say.

It’s a different, more adult type of playing pretend, which he’s likely honed over years of stuffy corporate meetings and charity balls and donation drives his father uses to curry favor with the general public.

Still, it’s nice to be indulged.

Like the gentleman he is, he pays for dinner. And then dessert. He escorts you home with a hand on the small of your back. He opens doors for you, leaves you at the door of your apartment with only a small embrace. It’s hard to believe that this Sylvain and the one you encountered last night are one and the same. It becomes easier when you remember how little you give in return.

Maybe, last night was the least you could have done for him in exchange for the adoration he insists on lavishing you with.

It makes sense, but it leaves you feeling distinctly hollow as you trudge in and out of the shower for a second time. An hour after you return home, you’re already wrapped up in bed. The blankets and pillow cases are freshly washed. They still smell of the flowery detergent you used, cool and buttery as you nuzzle into the cushion, let yourself sink into the folding embrace of the sheets.

Two hours later, you jolt awake, staring into the nighttime dark with wide, wide eyes.

Are you pregnant?

[a-what-without-who]

❝she loves me like a dog❞ but actually in a way of ❝my teeth will only cut your lips❞

from a perspective of the most angry and unimaginably terrifying people. from those, who are irredeemable in their own way and can't hide their claws and teeth. why? it simply is, it was and it will be the only possible way to live. to survive. to love animalistically, not being able to tell whether the other one will hold you in a hug or will hold you in a chokehold. or will put a chain on you.

in a way of than one dog, that scared you in a childhood. that dog, that watched you from a neighbour yard with the boiling dread. it only guards the neighbourhood house, why should it be scary? you know that this dog's hunger isn't satisfied. and you know that this house is almost abandoned. the owner of this house isn't willing to give enough to this creature. feed its hunger, fullfil it, this is the kind of hunger that simply can not be fulfilled.

daisy sharpened her teeth with all that hunger and it made them fangs; she totally isn't the person who simply loves like a dog, she is that one stray dog or even a wolf who will bite, whose hunger takes all of her own being. the relief of giving in to destruction, the joy of leaving claw marks from only a touch. but at the same time the joy of feeling warmth of others hand, softness and tenderness of something as simple as this. just because she knows how cold the winter nights are. this warmth is like an unknown nourishment she didn't even know she was longing for. but still she was and will be chained to herself. it feels awfully like hell but at the same time it feels real. it helps feel her existence real.

thus, this is a kind of love that feels awfully a lot like a desperate violence. and basira knows this. she truly knows.

[just-some-friendly-fun]

Ace and Airachnid, perhaps? :O

"Oh, little scraplet, where have you gone?" A voice cooed with evident venom to smother out the bitter sweetness. The corridors of the citadel stretched long ahead and were only echoing with the sounds of Airachnid's appendages clinking across the floor. Her optics scanned relentlessly, glancing around every possible pillar she approached that could've sheltered the presence of a youngling behind them. Yet not one was kind enough to grant her this satisfaction. This could only make Airachnid feel more thrilled to find the young cybteronian.



"Hehehe," 

A giggle resounded, forcing Airachnid to look up with a glint of excitement for what was soon to be her victory. She laughed to herself before whispering lowly, "found you, little one," she hissed, keeping her steps light enough to creep over to another intersection of the corridors, tracing her fingers up the material of the pillar before grabbing at it to launch herself into their view. She raised her arms in a threatening manner, digits poised, hissing with the high hopes of getting to drink in the look of fear… Yet nothing was there for her to drink in. Her anticipation went cold the second her optics met none other, glancing down towards the spot where she presumed she heard the voice. Only to lower herself down and pick up what remained of a recording device of sorts. It was beaten-up but still efficient enough to spew back the same laughter she heard, “hehehe!” it spouted, much to her displeasure. Airachnid scoffed, dropping the device as it slipped out another crackling giggle that became lost in the static, fizzling out.

"Well, aren't you a clever little thing," she praised, half-heartedly impressed herself yet more irritated above anything from getting fooled by some child’s toy. 

"Why, thank you," a voice replied, forcing Airachnid to crane her neck and trace the origin as she met a pair of glistening red optics pinned down at her from the ceiling. The youngling had propelled themselves from the shadows of the plafond with a fierce grunt and dropped, claws poised. Airachnid leapt back and with swift motion caught the youngling, narrowingly avoiding their sharpened talons. She sent Ace tumbling across the floor before pinning an appendage over the center of their chest. The young femme gasped and wriggled, furiously swiping at the air and spewing incomprehensibly with a tone full of fire. Airachnid found it amusing until their tantrum deflated, realizing their plans of escape were thwarted completely.

Airachnid laughed, mostly for the show she had gotten to witness and the tasteful feeling of a sore loser's defeat. She stretched her sharpened digits, watching as Ace narrowed their vision at her, "I win. For the fourth time in a row now, little scraplet," Airachnid bragged, nearly drawing her claws close enough to grab Ace's face-- yet not a single droplet of fear or retraction was made. Instead, Ace went limp and stared at her, completely relaxing her expression.

Airachnid paused, waiting for a moment longer before sighing disappointingly, lifting her appendage back from their chest and servos now crossed over her chest, "you're no fun anymore," she complained, "you used to scream and shout so much when I chased you down, now where's that fire?" 

"Gone," Ace shrugged, sitting upwards to speak, gesturing with her hands to every word, "I noticed you were enjoying those moments whenever I did, so I've learned even if I don't win. I still can keep the reward of satisfaction away from you, so now you'll only be half satisfied with your victory," 

The sleek femme rose her optical ridges, raising her shoulders with interest, "clever, it's almost frightening,” They remarked, rolling their optics. Ace perked up at the word, deciding to chase after the con as she decided to depart from their game of– what was originally “Hide and Shriek”

"Almost?" Ace pried, watching as Airachnid quickened her pace. 

"I didn't stutter," 

"Then how can I be more scary?" The femmling chirped, running up to the femme to catch up after her pedesteps.

Slowly yet surely, Airachnid slowed her steps, finally looking down to the youngling with enthusiasm, "Be like me!"

She paused, abruptly speaking before thinking, "Obnoxious?" 

Now that definitely pricked under Airachnid’s surfaces. She gritted her teeth for a moment, hiding her fangs behind purple lips as she lowered down with knitted brows, "Hold your glossa, before you lose it, little bug," 

Ace did as she was commanded, swallowing down her nervousness to nod. As much as the back of her mind continued to fester with urges to continuing pushing the cybertronian’s nerves. But even so, Ace was genuine in her wonder, waiting for what the femme would continue to say. 

They rose back up, arms still crossed before raising a hand out to swing it about, following their explanation, "and no, being obnoxious is what Starscream does best," She said, invoking a chuckle from Ace, "you have to be like me, a huntress,”

Ace pressed her dermas shut, looking away for a second as if to process and then– she looked back, "How?"

Airachnid sighed between gritted dentas again, almost creating a hissing noise, "Hhhgh, there's a lot you have to know..." she rose a digit in front of the child’s face, "but listen very well, Ace.” The child perked up, eyes glowing like a flare. She leaned in intently, moving back to grant the femme some space before she started informing, "always be one-step ahead of your prey, you are the hunter," she dramatically swung a hand, sharply eyeing down at Ace as her energon went cold from the stare she was washed with, "and if your enemy ever tries to make you the prey…” The insecticon leaned in close, raising her fist, "turn their expectations against them and show no mercy," her digits flung open with a “shhng!” As Ace jumped at the noise with a gasp. Silence held the room for a moment while Ace’s spark raced for a second, looking to Airachnid who was stifling a chuckle much to her embarassment. They reeled back and allowed the laugh to slip through their intake, wandering away, “See? I still got you!” 

Ace raced after the insecticon as fast as her two pedes could carry her unlike six legs could carry them, exclaiming while the hallways echoed with her laughter, “No! That’s not fair!!”

[chaosbuzz]

rook

“time was not passing… it was turning into a circle.”

wisps of smoke from a snuffed out candle • goblets misting on a table • a sudden storm on the high seas • sundials in moonlight • a flash of claws and teeth • skulls on the mantlepiece • a beating heart • fungi on a damp log • “checkmate” • fairy circles • the winning hand in poker • a murder of crows • dragon scales • sharpening a knife • hidden treasure in murky pond water • a glittering gem

hummingbird

“i still tend to decay / back into myself.”

quiet smiles • new ideas • freshly baked cookies on christmas eve • dried flowers pressed between pages • blowing dandelion seeds • green fields far as the eye can see • dog snuggles on a sunday • guided meditation • laying in the sun • listening to the universe • folding an origami crane • learning from history • friendship bracelets • being tucked into bed • a doe with her fawn • an old polaroid

falcon

“i ask god to send a swordsman / and god says ‘look at your hands.”

dried blood under fingernails • knife to a gun fight • thorns on a rose • tearing down barbed wire • the screech of a hippogriff • the oncoming storm • three rounds in the ring • “in peace, vigilance” • stepping on broken glass • intense eye contact • adrenaline rushes • leather jackets and combat boots • crime scene do not cross • onyx statues • bitter nightshade

owl

“I do not know what hunger is for / or what to hunger for.”

wire-rimmed glasses on the bedside table • dog-eared pages • candles burning all night • to do lists • unorganized nightstands • piles of unread books • the crunch of autumn leaves underfoot • cozy sweaters in the fall • clear crystal balls • goal trackers • the scratching of a quill • untested potions • ivy on old houses • keeping multiple journals in leather notebooks • late night regrets

lark

“the truth would be death-dealing and i prefer fairy tales.”

stepping out of your heels • gold tassel curtains • surprise birthday parties • bright strawberry dresses • popping a balloon • a swipe of paint • glowing neon signs • bookshelves arranged by colors • getting a song stuck in your head • old things made new • listening to the universe • champaign rose • dancing in the rain • “what’s your poison?” • riding a horse on the beach

[weeping-gospels]

She already carries a fancy for him. The more he speaks, the more she accepts what he has to say, her stoic expression softening into acceptance and a twinge of excitement.

Was he a human being guised as a monster? Or perhaps something greater? Either way, his very core drove the scientific side of her brain buck wild with enchantment.

“ You have not met my deal of rodents, Professor Crane ~ ,“

Circling him slowly like a vulture eyeing up her fresh kill, his name rolls off her tongue like sugar, each ‘r’ rolled with a feline’s purr to it. Just as he surveyed her she was observing him as well, knowledgeable eyes tracing his tall figure and noting his peculiar choice of costume,

“ Skaven. That is what my realm calls them. They are enlarged, mutated rodents that took up a great deal of where I come from — incredibly intelligent when it comes to science and creation, dangerous with their incisors and claws that are sharpened on a daily basis, and even the other races capable of forming a band that will not be broken by betrayal are outnumbered by the likes of the solo, armored vermin. There are no ‘friends’ in Skavendom, I am afraid. I have been studying them for nearly the entirety of half of my lives and well nigh every time I witness the practice of survival of the fittest amongst even blood related brethren. “

A hum. She enjoys listening to her self go on a spiel about her discoveries.

“ Suppose I could say the same about..these unrecognizable things. “

And she gestures to the mass of mangled corpses before them.

“ Survival of the fittest. They were too meek to persevere. But who cares? The mortal population is without a doubt — overpopulated. What is one or two or thirteen carcasses? Some loaded up harlot somewhere along the way will pop out thirteen more. Three hundred and eighty five thousand meat bags are roughly born every day.

Overpopulated. Crawling with greed, selfishness, and unbridled desire.

‘Tis why I choose to reside in places with a significantly lower population of the breeding gnats. “

The Dhampir then stops rambling to turn to him, looking him up and down,

“ Enough about my findings.

What of yours, Professor ~ ? I do fancy someone of my league ~ . Tell me your findings and studies. What is your purpose in this wretched world? “

“ This..is not the plague. “

Confusion danced upon her pale features as the shaman stepped out into the open, glancing at the sickly green gas that crawled along the ground like insects. At first, she presumed it was a plague - ridden magic akin to her own — but upon further inspection, this component lacked the necessary ailments the plague contained.

Even worse, Betty was calmly studying the gas from a good distance as the mystery figure was having a field day using the civilians as his own personal test subjects, her senses certainly picking up on the screams and gagging but harboring little to no care for them. She’s not a heroine. Those days of risking herself for others were long gone. Her life — or lives — were way more important than the lives of mice and guinea pigs.

“ Mmmm…

You there. “

Calling out to the Scarecrow, the Dhampir boredly lopped her head to the side of her shoulder, exposed fangs lifting upwards in a snarl,

“ Are you finished playing around with these rodents? I have inquiries for you. Hurry it up. “

She possesses no fear — only the audacity to speak to someone so dangerous so lowly.

@king-crane

[lover-of-skellies]

One Fear

Cosette doesn't like being forced into tight spaces, and Monty finds out the hard way

Another blurb that I physically couldn't stop myself from writing. So ye. Once again, this is yet another fnaf based thing

Cosette let out a high-pitched shriek and thrashed in her captor's hold, her eyes wide and her sharp teeth bared. Monty let out an exaggerated groan, once again attempting to push her into a charging station, "Kid, c'mon! Your battery's gonna die and you're gonna crash at this rate. Is that what you want?" The little mime immediately shook her head, her arms and legs flailing as she fought against the alligator's grip. She swiped at him with her hands, her sharpened fingers scratching away tiny flakes of paint from his arm. In response, he growled lowly, trying harder to force her into the charging station, "Then quit fightin' me! I'm just trying to help you, small fry!" 

The mime raised her hands and signed, "If you really want to help, then let me go!" Understanding what she was saying with relative ease, Monty shook his head, "Can't do that, sorry. Look, your battery is super low, and you shouldn't be running around like that. What are you supposed to do if you crash somewhere that no one can get to you?" She hissed at him in response, and he sighed, "Fine, whatever. You won't cooperate, so we're gonna have to do this the hard way, aren't we?" Without giving her a chance to respond, he forced her into the charging station. Before he could get the door shut, her head spun around, now facing him. Her legs swiveled around to face him as well, and she swung her body up, wrapping her legs around the alligator's arm. Her arms followed, winding around him as tight as possible, and he stared at her in disbelief as she gripped onto him, her clawed fingers scraping away his paint.

The whites of her eyes flickered and faded to black, and she offered him a freakishly wide, sharp-toothed grin, giggling before craning her head to the side and lifting herself, somehow sinking her teeth into part of his hand, leaving a noticeable dent in the metal. Monty immediately released his hold on her, internally beginning to panic as she refused to let go of him, only biting down harder when he began to shake his arm. He shouted at her to let go, which earned a muffled giggle from the mime. Nearby, Roxanne and Chica stopped what they were doing, glancing at each other and debating whether or not to help him. 

Monty began attempting to peel her off of himself with his free hand, and she growled loudly, her jaws remaining clamped down on his other. She unwound her arms from his arm, choosing to roughly grab onto his free hand, and the gator shouted again as she ripped off his index finger and haphazardly tossed it aside. That was it. Roxy wasn't sure about Chica, but this was her cue to go help the alligator. She trotted over to them and called out, "Hey, kid! What are you doing?! You can't rip apart your friends; that's bad!" Cosette released Monty's hands and hissed at Roxanne, her teeth still bared. Roxy's ears flattened against her head and she growled back, reading into the mime's behavior as challenging. 

She reached out, grabbing onto Cosette's torso. As she started attempting to pry her off of Monty, Cosette tightened her legs more around his arm, rotating her upper half just enough to swipe at the wolf. Roxy growled again, "Kid, what is your problem?! Seriously, you don't have to act like this!" Cosette responded by tearing off one of her studded bracelets and throwing it. Roxanne gaped at her before narrowing her eyes and roughly yanking on her, still attempting to pry her off of Monty, "Ugh, you're so lucky that Freddy's not here! He'd be so, SO disappointed with you!" The mime growled louder at her; she couldn't care less about what Freddy would think at the moment. She had one objective, and that was to make Monty regret trying to shut her in what was essentially a big box.

It was at that exact moment that another familiar voice spoke, causing Cosette to immediately fall silent and freeze in place, "Oh my! What's going on here, hm? Whatever game this is, it doesn't look like anyone's having very much fun!" Cosette's attention immediately shifted to Sun, who was now standing several feet away. His arms were crossed over his chest, and there was an underlying seriousness to his words that she knew all too well. She immediately released Monty's arm all together, dropping down to the floor to run to Sun. Knowing what she wanted, he opened his arms to her and leaned down, easily catching her when she leapt and latched onto him, her arms winding around his neck. As she turned her head and hid her face, he sighed, absentmindedly raising a hand to rub his fingers through her hair. 

He took a moment to observe the open charging station, the state Monty was in, and how agitated Roxanne seemed before reaching a conclusion about what could've happened. Although it was brief, two bright white pupils could be seen in his otherwise empty eyes, and he lowered his voice a few octaves, "We would appreciate it very much if you didn't force her into anymore boxes. Please and thank you." The pair of band members were silent, staring as he turned and began to carry Cosette away. 

When they arrived back at the daycare, Sun made a beeline for their charging station, and Cosette tightened her grip on him. Sighing again, he slowed to a stop, "Cosette, how much battery life do you still have?" The little mime hesitantly met his gaze and signed, "One bar." The taller animatronic made a face at her, "Oh geez, that's not good. Nope, not at all. We really should get you into a charging station, you know." The whites of her eyes faded from black back to their usual white, and she flicked her tongue at him in silent protest. Sun hummed, tilting his head in thought, "Would it help if we kept the door open? I could stay here with you too if you wanted, since I just finished cleaning up." 

She shrugged her shoulders and lowered her gaze, trying to avoid his. He tilted his head to the other side, "Hmmm.... What if we used the extension cord in your back? We could plug you in somewhere with that, and then while you charge, we could sit together and I could tell you a story or three." With much reluctance, she gave a tiny nod and signed, "Ok. Can we go to your room? I want to be up there, away from everyone else." Sun nodded back, "Of course, we can do that. Anything for my favorite helper!" The mime couldn't help but smile, and this caused Sun to perk up, giggling and ruffling her hair as he began carrying her back to his and Moon's room, "There we go! That's what I like to see!" 

The trip to the taller animatronic's room passed by quickly and in relative silence, save for the sound of him humming the daycare theme. Setting her down, Sun twirled a finger, "Turn around, sunbeam. I have to open that hatch on your back to get the extension cord out." Cosette playfully rolled her eyes and turned her back to him, rolling up the back of her shirt and staying still, allowing him to open the compartment in her back, carefully withdrawing the cord and looking for an outlet. Finding one, he moved to plug her in, watching as she seemed to perk up a little. He took a moment to search his internal library for stories she'd like, and after selecting a few, he sat down on the floor and leaned back against a wall, smiling warmly as the smaller of the two immediately seated herself on his lap and cuddled against him, offering no protest when he wrapped an arm around her. 

The first story was told without interruption, before Sun noticed the way her eyes were slowly beginning to drift shut. His expression softened slightly and he continued his storytelling, and it wasn't much longer before Cosette drifted off to sleep. Processing the situation, he allowed his counterpart to take over, fulfilling his programming's need to put others to sleep. Looking down at Cosette and understanding that that was what she was doing, Moon felt himself relax, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on her arm. Remaining asleep, she cuddled closer to him, and he watched her quietly, his eyes flickering and fading to solid white.

This was oddly peaceful, and although he could certainly appreciate that, he knew it wouldn't last long. As soon as she had a full charge and woke up to see him there with her instead of Sun, she would immediately fly right back into her usual habits, following him around and seeing how much he'd tolerate before he snapped. As soon as her nap was over and he was free, he knew he'd be heading off to find Monty. The alligator started this, so the alligator should be apologizing for it. Cosette shifted, still asleep, as she lifted a hand to grip his neck frills. He could only stare at her for a moment before shaking his head and sighing; whatever. This wasn't cute. She was annoying. An absolute pain and a thorn in his side. There was no way he'd ever settle for doing this again. Not ever. Not as long as she still dedicated so much time and energy to being as irritating as possible to him.

In their shared mind, Sun could be heard murmuring a single word, "Liar." 

[ragingbookdragon]

Of Nights So Hollow, Of Legends So Great

Night Culture AU!Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 1.8K Warnings: Angst, Uh..Scary? I guess?

Author's Note: This is based on the wonderful @bunnvoid Night Culture AU and I felt compelled to write this at midnight because I couldn't stop thinking about it. Bunn, I hope I did your ideas justice! Honestly, I keep going back and forth between the drawings to make sure! I had fun writing it! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

It was said that at the heart of every legend there was a grain of truth. Legends are just pieces of history fabricated beyond wildest belief, built upon by centuries of retelling, each story sewing a new thread into the tapestry from whence it came. But that’s all that legends are. Threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable.

***

The old castle was a legend. Perhaps not the castle itself, but what supposedly resided inside. Supernatural creatures that skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out fresh blood in the night. That was one form of the legend, if you believed it. The other form was that of creatures who skirted down cobblestone alleys and between taverns, seeking out evil and destroying it where it plagued innocence.

The chateau lied in the midst of the Devilwood Wilds, just outside the City of Old Gotham. Even during the days when the sun would peek through the gray clouds, it appeared gloomy, blackened stone walls, charred shingles and shutters. The giant Devilwood and Shadow trees prevented sight of the doors of the castle; only the top could be seen, to get the real view, one would’ve had to go into the forest. There was another legend: the horrors of the Wilds.

Whispers on the school-grounds told of a creature, big and terrifying that could be summoned with ritual stones and fresh bat blood; those that summon the beast are never seen again. The adults were less convinced of the idea, though they still forbid their children from reaching even the edges of the forested area. Whilst they believed those that went in were never heard from again, it wasn’t from a creature eating them, but a lack of guidance. Starvation. Wild animals. The freezing fog that made your breath turn to frost.

Timothy remembers hearing those whispers when he passed the old schoolhouse. His mother and father didn’t let him interact with the common children, instead his lessons were taught by private tutors from the wealthiest lands, paid for with the Drake treasure of gold and gemstones.

What more so Timothy remembered was the inhuman being that appeared in his father’s manor, striking down his mother with a slash of black magic, his father following. He remembers the way his father’s eyes rolled back in his skull, fear spreading through his body as he hid in the corner of the room, whimpering and crying. And he most certainly remembered the cold hand of the demon sliding between his shoulder blades before it dug into his skin, piercing his flesh, laughing as he cried out in pain as pricks spread out along his back and down his arms.

Warmth bled down his back as black feathers pushed from his skin and Timothy panted as his fingernails grew in length, sharpening as they darkened. He remembered scrambling to his feet, darting away from the creature as he ran. Forgetting the corpses of his family and staff around him, throwing the door open, bursting into the night, and sprinting down the street, leaving a trail of bloody, black feathers in the direction of the Devilwood Wilds.

***

The first night was the least remembered but the darkest. Violent and corrupting nightmares slithering inside his head as he tossed and turned along the frigid ground in a feverish deathlike state, the wings at his back only growing in size.

The second night was less nightmare-ridden, but much more painful. Timothy had pierced a wing on a stray Devilwood tree, the syrup like poison only infecting the wound. He was hungry and cold. Exhausted and scared. He tried to remember all the books he read as a child of the knights facing the elements for a week in order to ascend knighthood; he couldn’t seem to recall a thing.

The third night seemed to be his last. He lay huddled up against a raised Shadow tree root, the ebony wood providing stability for his wounded wing. Timothy sniffled, dragging his knees to his chest as he lay his chin on his arms, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach as it ate itself in hunger.

A tree branch creaked above him, and he craned his neck up, eyes widening when he saw the glowing eyes of the masked creature. The legends were right. The creature’s head twisted sideways, reminding Timothy of an owl, then the other way, like it was observing him. It made a noise and he scrambled to the floor of the forest, curling his injured wing above his head and over his body to protect himself.

THUNK!

Timothy whimpered, ready to be torn to shreds, but when no vicious claws or snapping teeth came at him, he carefully peered between his open wing. There lie a satchel, as long as his forearm and as wide as his middle was. He looked up towards the tree branch to where the creature had sat, but there was nothing there anymore; he glanced around, it wasn’t in sight.

He blinked and shuffled towards the satchel, untying the drawstrings with fumbling clawed hands. Inside lay a pair of thick wool socks, a small blanket, and another small bag. Timothy pulled it from the satchel and opened it; half a loaf of bread and a chunk of meat the size of his hand were stowed inside.

Timothy forewent the etiquette he was taught as a child, giving into his ravenous desire as he devoured the meat. It was tender and juicy, the glaze a mixture of honey and cinnamon.

A memory flowed to his mind, the dinner after the rising of the first star, his family and staff all surrounding the dining table, a divine feast laid before them. The smiling faces of his mother and father stilled his hunger and he placed the food back in the satchel, uncurling the wool blanket. Timothy lay underneath the raised Shadow tree roots, one wing curled around him, and he fell into a restless sleep with tears frozen on his cheeks.

***

When he awoke the next morning, his wing was no longer torn and infected. A new feather had appeared where the wound had been. Timothy wanted to learn to fly. He’d owned a bird once. A Ruby Firebird, with long, crimson-colored feathers and big ruby eyes. It had been his only real friend and he’d watched it a lot. It couldn’t be that hard.

He stretched his wings out, unable to fight the urge to touch them with a single black claw. It tingled. Timothy blinked and beat them, unsure. He beat them again, this time a little harder, keeping at it until with each beat he was able to blow the long grass flat against the ground. A giddy smile came across his lips when the tips of his toes grazed the ground.

What he had not counted on was how tired he was going to get after only a few brief minutes of trying. His wings felt sore. Timothy would try again tomorrow to rise above the tall grass.

***

The creature would appear at odd times during the night and Timothy had stopped feeling the cold fear in his gut when it did. It never came near him; it just watched with the cocked head, back and forth, then would drop the satchel again and disappear. Sometimes there were scribbles inside. He didn’t know what they meant; but he knew the language. Thaatisgani. An old language his writing teacher had shown him one day. A language long died out amongst the common and even the elite folk.

Timothy wanted to know what it meant. He wanted to know what the creature was. His determination drew him to the front of the castle during the night of the harshest season storm. Lighting crackled across the sky, the thunder rolled along the clouds and the rain came down in torrents. He was freezing and soaked to the bone and the weight of his wings had him crawling up the steps, collapsing at the door.

He weakly raised a clawed hand, one nail scratching the black glazed door and he descended into darkness.

***

His mother liked to wear scented oils. They smelled of Queen’s Briar and Golden Belladonna. Before he was older, she used to let Timothy sit beside her when she would apply them to her wrist and ears. She would smile at him and tell him stories of far away lands.

Warmth spread across his eyes, and he rolled over in what he thought was his dream, only to roll onto the ground, landing awkwardly on his wings. Timothy whined and unfolded himself off the ground, rubbing his eyes, only to see the creature a hair’s breadth away from his face.

Timothy choked on his fear and scrambled away, only for the creature to grab his shoulder.

“Stay.”

He halted, looking back at it. “You speak the common tongue?”

The creature stared at him. “You are Timothy Drake. Son of Earl Drake.”

“I am,” Timothy responded, then looked at his hands. “But my family is…is dead.”

“Killed by a slithering demon from the Farstead realm.”

Tears prickled Timothy’s vision. “It killed my parents and cursed me.” He looked at the creature. “I’m a monster.”

“You’re cursed to believe what you think you are.” The creature waved a glowing hand and Timothy blinked in shock as the wings disappeared and his hands turned to normal. “It’s merely an illusion. You’ve only been tainted with cursed magic.”

It was much too complicated for Timothy to pull apart now. “Can I be healed?”

The creature blinked its glowing obs. “Cursed magic cannot be healed…but it can be trained.” They leaned forward, getting in his face. “I can teach you to control and transform.”

“You’re not going to eat me?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“…Yes.”

“You hesitated just a bit right there.”

A bottle rolled out from the corner of the room and the creature sighed, turning its head to it. “Richard. Jason. Come here.”

Two young boys, not that much older than Timothy appeared from behind a corner, guilty looks on their faces as though they’d been caught eavesdropping.

The creature nodded to Timothy. “Take him upstairs. He is dirty and tired.”

The tallest one, Jason, crossed his arms over his chest. “Just like that, Bruce? You’re going to take the witch boy in?”

“Pot-kettle,” Richard coughed, smiling when Jason elbowed him.

The creature, now known as Bruce, sighed. “Take the boy. He is tired.”

Jason and Richard obeyed, each hauling Timothy up under the armpits, leading him to a dimly lit staircase.

“Are you two going to eat me?”

“Yes,” Jason replied without hesitation.

“Jason!” Richard barked. “Stop.” He looked down at Timothy. “We’re not going to eat you Timothy…we’re going to help you. And that includes having a warm bed to sleep in and hot food to eat.”

Tears once again gathered in Timothy’s eyes, and he lowered his head as he sniffled. For once since that night, he felt safe.

These were the legends that prowled the city streets. They were supposed to be vicious and dark, evil and bloodthirsty, not ribbing and warm.

But then again, what are legends, but threads twined together, woven greater and farther than the original fable?

[ahatintimepieces]

The Bedridden Prince

And one more gift fic for the incredible @smieska-draws‘ sick au! Hattie’s forced by the shadow Queen to bring her prince tea! But the manor is creepy and Hattie’s dreading her encounter with the prince. Meanwhile Luka’s fever spikes and well... he’s having a rough time...

Word Count: 3573. CW: emetophobia, illness, vaguely painful transformation

Hattie gripped the thermos in her hands as she slowly climbed the steps to the manor that were slick with ice. She nearly slipped on the top step and stumbled forward as she caught herself. The eerie manor groaned in the whirling wind that held winter’s bite. She stepped through the powdered snow in an effort to keep from sliding on the ice again and crossed over to the front door. It was unlocked and creaked open.

She entered the dim hallway. Scorch marks dragged across the wallpaper and ashes dusted the floors. Swallowing thickly, Hattie tried to remember the shadow Queen’s instructions. Vanessa needed someone to deliver tea to her prince. She had been very particular about making sure Hattie used a tea set with winter scenes on it so that the prince would think of his queen while drinking the tea that was supposed to ease his aches and pains that came from a terrible illness that left him bedridden.

Hattie had asked what kind of illness and if it was contagious, but Vanessa had dismissed her and gone back to the village to boss her subjects around. Normally, Hattie wouldn’t think much of it, but the fact that the manor was in such a desolate part of the forest and how everything about the manor seemed extra creaky and creepy, she was nervous about what state the prince would be in.

Or if he was even human as she suspected the queen wasn’t.

It was when she was halfway across the hallway that a crash exploded above her, shortly followed by a horrible, retching sound. She jumped, nearly dropping the thermos, as she craned her neck. Terrible sounds of furniture being slammed around, and splintering wood came from the floor above. The ceiling shook and dust and ash fluttered to the ground like snow. The retching became haggard as it dissipated. Pained, distorted groans took its place. Heavy thumping and clatters followed the groans as something large moved around the upstairs.

Hattie bolted into the kitchen.

She carefully shut the door behind her, not wanting to alert whatever was upstairs to her presence. Blessedly, the sounds were muffled down in the kitchen, and Hattie was able to calm her pounding heart.

Until she thought about how it was more than likely that the thing making those sounds was the prince. And she had to bring him a cup of tea.

Great.

Because she did not want to face the brunt of Vanessa’s ire, she shook her head and summoned her courage by searching for the specific teacups Vanessa wanted her to use. Probably since they were used so often, there were a couple identical cups in the sink, all with some sort of purple residue, and one or two clean ones on the counter. Since she wasn’t asked to clean the old cups and she didn’t want to stay in the manor for longer than necessary, she grabbed a clean cup and unscrewed the thermos.

She was supposed to leave the thermos for him too, so that when he finished his first cup, he could refill it himself, but a sudden and frightful sound of glass shattering came from upstairs. It startled her so badly that as she was finishing pouring the cup of tea, she whirled around and dropped the thermos. It tumbled to the ground and an amber tea with a twinge of purple seeped into the carpet.  

Hattie froze as a doleful lament reverberated with the wind howling outside. Even after it faded and the only thing that she could hear was her own heart pounding against her ribs, she waited a few extra seconds. Finally, she stooped down to pick up the thermos with trembling hands. There was only a couple drops left. Deflating, she poured the last bit of tea into the cup and then lowered the thermos into the sink. Now the hard part.

The teacup rattled against the saucer as she slowly exited the kitchen. In the hallway, the thumping and low, agonized groans were clearer and much more unnerving. The door across from the kitchen taunted her as she listened to what sounded like claws scraping against wooden floors.

She took a deep breath, and then another. Finally, she willed a foot forward. She jolted when a layered cry that pitched into a whine resounded above. A bit of tea sloshed out of the cup and landed onto her fingers and the plate. The liquid was hot enough to be uncomfortable, but at least it wasn’t scalding.

The cry had seemed… rather sad. And though her heartrate was as swift as the spread of wildfire, a small part of her began to worry about the ghastly creature as it thumped around with anguished cries. That worry for the creature’s sake was enough for her to overcome her fear. Carefully, she crept into a dusty billiard room.

Snow danced outside the windowpanes and the light that reflected off of the snow cast a pure, gentle light into the dark room. Hattie crossed through the room and over to the stairs, where the unnatural cries of the creature were magnified as the staircase funneled them towards her. The stairs creaked underneath her boots, and the cup balanced on the plate clattered unsteadily. The tea rippled.

Hattie reached the top of the staircase and stood, petrified, in the shadows. At the end of hallway littered with used, burnt tissues, a terrible creature hunched in the corner.

The creature was enormous in the cramped hallway, with a torso that ended in a long, winding tail. He had two lanky arms with pronged claws, currently tearing into the ground. His head was round and a mane of the same purple fur that covered his body was currently slicked back. The purple fur had a pattern of flowers printing across his arms and chest. Vines trailed down his twitching tail and petals traced an eye that gleamed gold.

The creature retched. Vile globs of golden, molten liquid were expunged from the creature’s throat. The scent of burnt acid and smoking wood reached Hattie and her breath caught in her throat. The flames flickered momentarily from the puddles forming by his claws, but it didn’t burn through the wood. Squinting, Hattie could see ash crusting underneath the gold, spreading as the searing goop cooled.

“N-nesssss” the creature hissed once he spat out the last of the burning globs. His tail thrashed behind him and his claws flexed. He pulled his head back and turned, blinking in a daze as his glowing, fanged mouth pressed into a thin line. The glow highlighted the pair of sharp fangs.

The blank look on the creature’s features flashed with recognition and his gaze zeroed in on the trembling teacup in Hattie’s hands.

Her heart leapt to her throat.

“Nesssssss!” The creature’s eyes widened, and he whirled around. His tail thrashed against the walls as he clawed his way across the carpet, swiftly charging towards Hattie.

At the sight of the large purple monster lunging towards her with claws leaving scores in the carpet and golden gunk dripping his maw, Hattie did the only thing she could. She dropped the teacup and ran back the way she came.

*

Luka had been in bed, sinking back into the pillows, when his fever spiked. It started with a burning in his chest, and he began panting as he numbly tried to air himself out. His sheets were kicked off of the bed and he carded trembling fingers through hair matted with sweat. The constant aches and pains that plagued him since the illness began in earnest sharpened and he sputtered as he flew forward, clutching at his shirt.

His stomach twisted and he felt bile rising. Slapping a palm over his mouth, he stumbled out of bed. He headed straight for the wastebasket that was filled with and surrounded by tissues covered in purple snot and stained by black ash. But his legs felt like they liquified and he dropped before he could reach it.

Searing bile bubbled in his throat and he willed his legs to function, but he couldn’t separate them. He had to use his elbows to crawl within arm’s reach and barely manage to yank the wastebasket in front of himself as his stomach emptied.

It burned. He couldn’t register anything but the heat swelling in his head. He couldn’t feel how his hair lengthened into a mane. He couldn’t feel the fur spreading across his skin or how his tail thrashed behind him as his back arched and stretched. Tissue burned in the wastebasket as globs of the horrid tasting goop slipped from his open jaws.

A whine escaped as he threw up. Squinting his eyes shut, he clenched his combining fingers. They melded together and claws extracted from his pronged hands. It wasn’t until his stomach slowly settled that he pulled away from the wastebasket.

He had grown much, much larger, but as he lifted his head to dizzying heights, he could only groan as he desperately looked around for something to cool his head. His vision was blurred with gunk and his stomach still ached. His legs weren’t working but anxiety took hold over his muddled thoughts and he clawed his way through the bedroom. His tail knocked into furniture and split a stool on his way out.

“Ne-nessa.” His voice was slurred as he circled the nursery connected to the bedroom. “Pl-pleeeessss. H-hheeeennnggg.” His tongue felt thick, and he let out a cry when he knocked his head against the ceiling. His eyes burned and hot droplets of flaming gold oozed out like tears. He hissed at the heat.

“C-cooooold,” he choked out to the empty manor. The hot tears pooled, and he whined as he continued to aimlessly wander out into the hall. His tail thrashed as he tried to use his legs. It knocked into a bookshelf which toppled over with a crash. He barely heard it.

Everything was just too hot! He couldn’t focus as his whole body burned and ached. Through the fog that was his mind, he remembered the faucet in the bathroom could provide cold water! He snaked down the hall in desperation. His claws clutched the door handle and he shoved himself through the cramped doorway. Turning towards the faucet, he looked up above the sink and!

There was a monster staring back at him.

Panic overwhelmed him and he scrambled back, flipping over his tail and, for good measure, he smacked it against the monster! The sound of shattering glass accompanied a sharp pain in his tail, and he let out a wail that intertwined with the mournful cry of the wind. With fear and pain spurring him on, he darted back into the hallway, retreating from the terrible creature with glowing eyes and a fanged mouth and that horrible purple print spreading over fur.

He paced, groaning as he ached for comfort but not knowing where to find it. His stomach twisted and he pulled himself into the corner, having enough foresight to limit the mess he made, but unable to think through his actions enough to run to the toilet or wastebasket.

Crouched in the corner, he trembled as he waited for the worst to pass. Clawing into the wood, he retched until his stomach was empty. Finally, the ache in his stomach abated and he spat the rest of the gnarly tasting bile from his mouth.

“N-nesssss.” He just wanted her to be there, to chase the fever away.

Leaning back and panting, he turned, looking down the hall. His gaze narrowed on the teacup.

Vanessa!

“Nesssssss!” He slurred out in excitement. Vanessa! Help! In his fevered state, it did not dawn on him that the figure in the stairway was far shorter than Vanessa, nor did he understand why she dropped the teacup and ran!

“Ne—sa!” Luka tore across the carpet frantically. “Com—commm back! Pleasssss!”

He followed the girl as she flew down the stairs and out into the hall on the first floor. Unable to redirect his momentum when he entered the hallway, he slammed into the wall. He shook his head before looking up in time to see the girl slip out the front door.

“No!” He yelled with a cracking voice. “Nesssa! Pleass!”

Please help. Please, please help.

He scrambled after and clawed his way to the front door.

“Ness!” he cried as he flung himself through the door and out onto the snow.

Snow.

He made eye contact with the girl who had already cleared the stairs leading to the porch. She watched with wide eyes. A relieved smile played across his dazed features, then he dropped.

Steam billowed around his shrinking form. Fur receded, but his skin remained purple with flowers and vines blooming across his body. His tail split and he groaned as the burning in his head and chest cooled. He was still feverish, and his head felt stuffed from illness, but it was a far more manageable temperature.

Then, the ice began to set in with an unforgiving chill. The wind bit into his skin wet with melted snow and his sweat. A violent shiver tore through his body and he pushed himself up on trembling arms, panting.

“Are you alright?” A voice called.

Luka jolted, looking up in a daze. His mouth hung open as he stared at the small child wearing a purple tunic, yellow cape, and a matching top hat. His chest burned with a golden light that cast a faint glow against the back of his fangs. He blinked, rubbing at his gunk-filled eyes with similarly glowing irises.

“Are you…” the girl paused, “the prince?”

He nodded as he rubbed his eyes. What was he doing, again? Why was he outside? He last remembered being in bed… and something about Vanessa? The wind whistled, reminding him that he needed to go back inside.

“We need to—oh!” Luka jumped when he lowered his hands, surprised to find that the kid had climbed the steps and was standing right next to him.

“Let’s get you inside,” she offered and held out her hand.

Luka nodded, letting her yank him to his feet. His brain whipped around his head from the sudden movement, and he flung himself towards the outside wall of manor for support. While lifting a purple hand to his head, he groaned.

“Sorry,” the kid said quietly.

Luka slowly shook his head, and when he was steady enough, reached his other hand out and waved it dismissively.

“W-we sh-should—” His teeth chattered. He swallowed thickly before forcing himself to articulate, “We should go inside.”

“Yeah.” The kid slipped her hand into his and gently tugged him back into the warm manor.

He continued shaking from the cold of his illness and kept his palm pressed against his forehead. The kid said something, but it was just background noise as he fought to remain conscious. He suddenly felt so tired, and his legs threatened to buckle underneath him.

“Hey!” The kid gave his hand a squeeze and he blinked, glancing down in confusion. She repeated, “I spilled your tea.”

“Tea?” Luka echoed, crinkling his nose. Suddenly, realization hit. “O-oh! Vanessa sent you then?” A wave of sorrow crashed into him and he sniffled. “That means she’s too busy to come herself, isn’t she?” Whoops. There go the waterworks.

Before Luka could stop himself, hot, salty tears dripped down his cheeks and he stumbled under the weight of despair. He pulled his hand away from the kid and tried to wipe at his tears, but they came in unrelenting waves. His chest shook from his crying as every part of him shivered.

“Hey!” The kid was startled by his emotional outburst.

“A-apologies,” he choked out.

He just missed Vanessa so much (though his fever and fatigue didn’t do his increasingly brittle emotional state any favors). It felt like it had been ages since he’d last seen her, and even though she sent others to take care of him, or he would wake up to steaming tea by his bedside, he missed being held. He missed her cool hands abating the worst of the fever. He missed hugging her tightly and feeling safe with her nearby as he slept. He missed waking up from fevered nightmares to his beloved’s soothing embrace. Lately, his nightmares were his only company.

A hand gently patted his hair, and the touch was enough to cause his tears to falter. He looked up at the kid, eyes wide.

“Let’s get you to bed,” she said matter-of-factly.

He nodded. Right. Bed.

She helped him up again, slowly this time, and gently led him down the hall and towards the billiard room.

“Do you always turn into a monster when you don’t feel good?” she asked as they reached the stairs.

“What?” He tripped on the first step and immediately thrust out his arm to catch himself on the railing. His head throbbed with pressure and he paused, waiting for it to disperse. While he waited, he muttered, “you certainly have an active imagination!” He couldn’t help but crack a smile, baring one of his fangs. It dug into his lip and his smile fell.

No… no! Haha… it was just her imagination. He would remember if he had turned into a monster, right? But it was disconcerting that he couldn’t remember how he had gotten outside… No! It was probably just sleep walking or something.

He eyed his purple hands with an edge of nervousness.

“Hmm.” The kid sounded unimpressed. “Well, anyway, I was supposed to deliver tea, but I spilled it all. Vanessa’s gonna be mad.”

“Oh, I’m certain she wouldn’t be.” Luka smiled as they slowly climbed the stairs. “She would understand! But if you’re worried, you can tell her you delivered it and I won’t say anything to the contrary.”

“Really?”

“Really.” His stomach wasn’t feeling well anyway. He would manage with just water.

“You’re a nice prince, then! When you aren’t being scary.” She nodded like she just discovered something.

Luka quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t really understand what she meant by scary, and it made him a little anxious to think about what the answer could be, but he let it slide.

“Thank you! But you don’t have to call me Prince, or anything. My name is Luka.” He forced a smile.

“I’m Hattie!” She beamed up at him.

“Very nice to—” a tickled rose in his throat and he turned away and into his elbow. He slowed to a halt and Hattie waited with him as he coughed. His chest rumbled with his haggard wheezing, but finally, he expelled a glob of purple phlegm tainted with more ash than usual. He wrinkled his nose before lowering his arm with the goop clinging to his sleeve. Clearing his throat, he weakly said, “Nice to meet you, Hattie.”

“Nice to meet you, too!”

Hattie kept him steady as he stumbled towards the bedroom. They were both surprised to find the furniture a mess. The bedside table was overturned, and the poor stool was merely splinters! When Luka expressed his bewilderment, a knowing look flickered across Hattie’s features, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

Deciding to worry about the furniture later, he shuffled over to the large canopy bed. He dropped down, going limp as soon as he reached the mattress. His uncontrollable shaking grew worse, as if knowing he was too weak to fight through it any longer. He numbly yanked the sheets around himself and grunted as he nuzzled into a tight cocoon.

Hattie told him to wait a moment and he nodded, slipping into a bit of a stupor as he shivered under the blankets. In what simultaneously felt like ages and no time at all, Hattie appeared with a glass of ice water.

“Drink!” she commanded.

He shifted, extending a hand and accepting the glass. He was too tired to sit up properly, so he drank at an angle that left him spilling a bit onto the mattress next to him, but he didn’t care. The water was sweet and refreshing and felt good on his raw throat. He drained the glass in seconds. After, he blindly reached for the bedside table, forgetting it had been knocked over. He dropped the glass, and Hattie had to hurry to catch it before it shattered against the floor.

“You need sleep,” she observed.

He nodded, flopping back into the pillows.

“Thank you, Hattie,” he mumbled, feeling his fatigue slowly overtake him.

“Do you need anything else?”

He shook his head, meeting her bright blue gaze.

“I’ll be back, probably!” She waved as she headed for the door. “Try not to be scary next time, okay?”

He returned the wave weakly as she slipped out of the room.

He watched Hattie leave with fear squeezing his chest. He didn’t want to be left alone again, but she was just a child. Certainly, she shouldn’t be taking care of him and, heaven forbid, she shouldn’t risk catching whatever he had. No. She needed to leave.

He shifted under the covers, pulling them tightly over his eyes as he squeezed them shut. He tried to force his ailing body to sleep. If he was asleep, he couldn’t feel the acute ache of loneliness.

And he was so tired of feeling lonely.