#do you think she deserves to come in a medical stream?

[iftitah]

she's talking on a call with her parents about how it was her luck and gods will what got her into this college who's gonna tell her of course no one because you know 🤡🤡

[transformers-spike]

"Is this why the Autobots are fond of humanity? To indulge their sweet heat cycles? How many human mates has Optimus taken for himself? It seems as though their motives to protect them were never altruistic, much less noble." PLEASE, PLEASE GIVE US A SUB-STORY WHERE THIS TIME IT'S OPTIMUS AND A HUMAN SO IN THEIR HEAT CYCLE PLEASEEEE

Idk am I creating a humans in heat universe for the TF Fandom? I know people like making the bots go through it but I think the humans being affected is so much funnier. Just begging these massive robots to fuck us lmao

How must it feel to burn from the inside out? Betrayed by your own body, rendered unable to function by the fire in your core. You described it as an aching, an insatiable need to appease the hormones overtaking your nerve endings. A mere touch is enough to worsen the ache, it’s what your body dictates in the throes of a heat cycle.

Cybertronians are forged by Primus Himself, their interfaces exist for recreational pleasure and bonding, but your species is biologically programmed to reproduce, like most of the fauna of your planet. It’s a systemic sacrifice, one rendered obsolete by the sentient status of your species. Drugs have been produced to suppress your heats, or at least lessen the effects. Unfortunately, among a dozen varieties of medication, you are either allergic or completely immune to them, leaving you susceptible to your hormonal whims. He is sorry. You must go through so much pain every few months, but you barely show it, brushing off his concerns with a laugh, saying “it is what it is” and moving on as though your body isn’t on a timer. He admires you for it. In spite of your discomfort, you haven’t given up. Once, you told him: “So what if they don’t work on me? I just gotta roll with the punches and hope for the best, it’s been my M.O. since I got the damn thing.” Meeting them for the first time… was turbulent to say the least, but you’re safe and sound, relocated to Jasper, having adjusted to your new life with the help of Agent Fowler. You’ve told them many times you’re infinitely grateful to be in their lives (barring the near death experience at the servos of an Insecticon). For them it’s a pleasure to ease your burden. You’ve eagerly established your consent, although only Arcee is the right size to properly take care of a human. Digits and glossas can only do so much compared to a spike. He tries not to pry, your privacy is yours to divulge at your leisure, but he cannot ignore the charge building up behind his interface when he sees you with the others. Yes, he is an occasional participant, but he will rather cover shifts and allow them some well-deserved respite in your berth. They deserve it. He dares not imagine Arcee’s spike pumping in and out of you, satiating your aching body, filling you to your limit as you beg for more. 

Your scent lingers in the air, caressing his sensors, a gentle hand tugging him along by the servo, pulling him in your direction. They try to keep it to themselves, but his team is beyond a doubt intoxicated by your presence alone. Thankfully, it has (almost) never impeded their judgment during missions; perhaps it has even served as motivation to make it back to base in one piece. He tries to ignore the gleam in his old friend’s optics after quelling your urges, if only for a night. Or Bumblebee's praises coming to you as a slow stream of beeps while he nuzzles your face. Or Bulkhead cradling you to his chassis like a precious artifact as you discuss what late night movies you should watch. Or catching Arcee kissing you over the mezzanine and pulling back with a smile she hasn’t worn since Cliffjumper’s death. You bring them together in your own special way, even if you blush and sheepishly deny it, claiming you should be thanking them instead  Recent discoveries have yielded an impressive increase in energon and brought forth new opportunities. With unparalleled quantities at their disposal, they can now mass displace. The transformation is no small feat, it exhausts their system and rapidly drains their energon level. But he will not forbid Bumblebee from using it to play with the kids as long as it’s not in excess. Nor to join you during heat cycles. Much like Bulkhead. And Wheeljack. And especially Ratchet. Primus forbid, his old friend has every right to enjoy himself to the fullest after all of his back-breaking work. He’s been meaning to pay you a visit, but he hasn’t found the time until now. In the temporary abode you set up in the base, away from the prying eyes of the kids, you prepare yourself for another heat. Some refurbishing was done to meet your needs (in no small thanks to June Darby and agent Fowler’s financial help); the mattress and the mini fridge was a given, but you’ve added a variety of personal belongings and entertainment; a television, a writing desk, a few “bean bags” here and there, and a pile of old magazines to scrapbook. He wonders if you consider this place your home more than your actual house in Jasper. You greet him while downing a bottle of water, holding up your hand to signal for him to wait. Once emptied, you place it next to the mini fridge, among a wide array of bottled water crates. That would explain the groceries June had brought in with Arcee’s help. As a medical professional she’s especially fretful over your condition, doing her best to prevent the risks of heat cycles, bringing you plenty of calorie dense fuel to combat the massive loss of nutrients. He has not forgotten the fear they experienced when they found you shaking from the deficit, having completely overlooked your hunger in a midst of desperation. In this form, he can appreciate the full extent of your body without fear of hurting you, kneading the supple flesh beneath his digits as you giggle and pull him into you. He does not tower over your reclined form as much as he encases you in a careful hug, hearing the rapid thrum of your human spark directly against his audials; he may sense your pulse rate, but experiencing it is a new wonder of its own. You tell him you missed him and you wish he would let himself go and come out to “obliterate your pussy” more often. He nods and apologizes for his absence even as you shush him and insist he enjoy himself as well. He is… the largest Cybertronian you’ve taken, you remark while adjusting to his size.

“Except maybe Wheeljack,” you add cheekily, already bucking into him. Your composure evaporates as he works you up, not to say that he is much better. He steadies himself over you, charge trickling down his interface as your walls clench around him in a vice-grip. You beg him for more, plead that he frag you until you can’t take it anymore, but he has grown used to your requests and knows when your body has reached its limit. You whimper and claw at his back plates, flush against his frame yet dragging him closer as though to merge your human spark to his.

If only he could.

Slow and steady, he frags you through your overloads, each one adding a new surge of spark down his frame until he comes to his end. You are small and shaking, but in this form he can properly hold you against his chassis and comfort you through the afterglow, bringing you another bottle of water and a Clif bar (chosen for the human scaling a mountain with “If you eat this you can kill God” in big bold letters).

You stir and sit up on shaky knees to accept his offerings. Halfway through your meal, you eye him up and down.

“Are you going to stay some more?” you ask with hopefulness, still chewing on the “ultimate nuts and banana power” concoction advertised on the packaging.

“I’m afraid not, Ratchet has been hard at work deciphering Decepticon encryptions, I will be taking on his duties for the night,” he tries to break it gently, expecting crushed expectations, not your bemused expression looking up at him.

“So you’re sending him my way?” You give a chuckle. “Wish we could have spent more time together, but work is work. Just…” you crawl into his lap and hug him as tight as you can, head resting against his chassis. “Please come back tomorrow. Or after tomorrow. I miss seeing you this way. I won’t get between you and… whatever you have going on, but please visit me more often. You have no idea how nice it feels to be around you.” His gaze softens, glowing faintly against your hair. “So I’ve been told,” he says, a smile on his lips. “As long as it lightens your burden.”

[moody-alcoholic]

These Violent Delights

Chapter 12 - Revelations

Summary: Poly 141 x fem!reader, a/b/o alternate universe 5.2k words. The truth is coming out grab your popcorn.

CW: a/b/o alternative universe, a/b/o dynamics, typical a/b/o universe tropes (scenting, heats, scuffing), Pregnancy, talks about termination of pregnancy, abortion discussion, use of weapons, blackmail, mentions of bombs, all my homies hate Graves, language, angst, lots of crying - all hurt no comfort, mentions of past abuse, mentions of past SA, lots of guilt, mentions of suicide.

Previous - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Tears are streaming down your face when John walks into the room. His eyes go wide and he strides over to you. You’re not even trying to hide your scent anymore. Your arms shake as you throw yourself around him, sobbing into his chest. 

“Hey, what is it?” he asks before looking back at Dr. Piper. She waits for a moment, seeing if you will calm down and tell him. 

“There’s no easy way to do this,” she starts, turning around and picking the test up. “She’s pregnant.” You hold your breath as you wait for John to take the news in. 

“She’s on birth control,” John says, shaking his head. You let out a sob. He breaks away from you and it makes your heart ache. 

“Yes she is,” Dr. Piper sighs. 

“Dr. Miller,” you breathe. 

“What?” Dr. Piper asks.

“He was giving me injections. Before my heat, for the hormone blocker,” you say between sobs. John looks at Dr. Piper.

“Why would he need to give you injections for Simon’s hormone blocker?” she says. You can hear anger rising in her voice. Dr. Piper doesn’t get angry, you’ve barely heard her raise her voice. You feel guilt hit you as you sniffle. John moves in front of you pulling your chin up to look at him. 

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and commanding. You swallow the sob catching in your throat, looking in his eyes.

“You need to tell Dr. Montgomery everything Dr. Miller did to you.” You nod looking back down at your knees. You can hear the disappointment in his voice. His hands leave you again, and you feel like you’re drifting further away from him.

“What about the pregnancy?” John asks in a lower voice. Dr. Piper sighs. 

“We don’t even know if a pregnancy could even be viable. Her entire reproductive system has been changed due to the chemical, just like how you guys can all knot.” 

“So what do we do?” 

“I will order the medication for a medical termination. The fetus is only two weeks along. It can be terminated with medication.” You feel sick, your hand pressing on your abdomen. You don’t want a baby, not now. You’ve completed your job though, you’ve been a good omega. It’s your only goal, to birth more alphas and omegas.  

John lets out a long sigh as he moves away from you. Maybe he thinks you’re disgusting now. Maybe he doesn’t want to be with you again. You deserve this. Dr. Piper is right.  Why did you need injections for Simon’s hormone blocker? John turns back to look at you, his fists clenched, and dread comes over you. Maybe he’s going to hit you. You deserve that much. He turns to look at you, his hand coming up. 

You close your eyes preparing for the strike. 

His hand lands on your cheek, his thumb rubbing it. You open your eyes letting out the breath you’ve been holding. You look up in John’s eyes. He looks sad. He’s not going to hurt you; he’s never hurt you before. You swallow the lump in your throat. He lets his hand drop and heads for the door. 

“What are you going to do John?” Dr. Piper asks. 

“We’re going to find Dr. Miller,” he says, turning back quickly and then leaving the room.

John’s heart is thumping hard in his chest as he makes his way down the stairs. You’re pregnant. Clearly this is no accident. Dr. Montgomery seemingly already has her suspicions. Dr. Miller has been up to more than just forcing your heat.

“Everything alright sir? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Soap chuckles nudging Ghost. John walks over to them without saying a word. He stands for a few seconds then rests his hands on his hips. 

“Is this place clear?” he asks eventually. Everyone looks a little confused looking around each other.

“What do you mean?” Soap asks. 

“Bugs, is the place clear of bugs,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. He can smell his own anger in the air. 

“Yeah it’s clear,” Gaz says, taking a step towards him. He can smell Gaz trying to calm him. John starts to pace, wondering how he can explain it, if he should tell them about the pregnancy. 

“What’s wrong John?” Laswell asks, standing up from the desk. 

“We need to know what Dr. Miller has done to her,” he says. He looks around at them all. He’s not going to tell them about the pregnancy, not yet. 

“Ghost, Soap, go back to his room, strip the place. I’ll stay with Laswell and Dr. Montgomery to find out whatever we can. Gaz, when the doctor’s done you’re to stick with the omega. From now on one of us will be with her at all times. Understood?” he says. The chorus of ‘yes sirs’ comes back to him as he looks round the room. Soap and Ghost leave. Hopefully they can find something. 

“What are we going to tell Shepherd?” Gaz asks, coming to stand next to him. 

“Let me worry about that. You focus on your job, which is making sure the omega never leaves your sight. Keep her in the barracks, I'll get someone to pick up dinner for you both,” Price says.

“Is she alright?” Gaz asks. John folds his arms looking over at him. He wants to tell him, the thought of it swimming around in his head. If not just to have someone else know. But the less people who know, the better.  

“When we know what he’s done to her we’ll have a better idea. She’s okay,” he says. Gaz nods and follows him over to Laswell. It’s not long before you’re coming down the steps with Dr. Montgomery behind you. Your face is still puffy but you’re not crying anymore. You walk straight over to him with the doctor's hands on your shoulders. You won’t meet his eyeline. You won’t even look at him. He can sense your guilt, let alone smell it.

Dr. Montgomery won’t protect your scent, it's not her job anymore. Gaz walks round and your head pops up to see him. Price can smell his nervousness. Gaz isn’t stupid, he knows somethings wrong but he doesn’t push anything, throwing his arm over your shoulders and turning to walk you to the exit.

“I can watch her,” Dr. Montgomery says. Price shakes his head.

“Need you to help us with Dr. Miller,” he says, gesturing for her to come over and sit with Laswell. Price watches you leave with Gaz. He can’t tell if he feels disappointed or mad. He’s not mad at you, he’s mad at himself. At Dr. Montgomery. They were all supposed to keep you safe and they failed. 

Now he has to deal with the consequences. John stands behind them as Laswell types on her laptop. She has access to the CIA’s database which should help make things easier. It doesn’t take her long to find out Conor Miller was a fake name. It came back to a man who was found dead, a suspected suicide. So they have the identity he took, but they still don’t have his name. 

It’s not long before Soap comes back with a laptop, he puts it down in front of Laswell.

“Found it hidden behind a wall panel,” he says. “LT’s still scrubbing the place.” 

Price nods as he looks over at Laswell opening the laptop. 

“How long do you think it’ll take to get in?” Soap asks. 

“Few hours to bruteforce it probably,” she sighs. Ghost walks through the door next slamming a notebook on the table. Dr. Montgomery picks it up, opening it to the first page, a piece of paper falls out. She picks it up and unfolds it. She reads it. Price moves over so he can get a better look.

“ Fuck, ” she says under her breath as she finishes reading. 

“What is it?” Soap asks. 

“I know who he is. Dr. Miles Ashford. Hale's personal bitch.” Dr. Montgomary stands up pushing her chair back. Laswell types the new name into her program.

“How did you not recognize him?” Ghost asks. 

“He’s the perfect plant. I think over all the years I worked for Hale, I’ve only ever seen him once, maybe twice.” She runs her hand through her hair. “He would be Hale’s man on the surface taking care of his estate so Hale could stay in the bunker for months at a time.” 

“So he and Hale were close?” Soap asks.

“I guess so. Hale didn’t trust anyone but he kept Ashford around, even when it turned out he was an alpha. I’m pretty sure he’s the only alpha he kept alive.” She explains. John is about to open his mouth to speak when the door to the lab crashes open.

“What the hell is going on!?” Shepherd shouts as she strides across the room over to them. 

Shit.

“Price, I let you do your own thing and now I'm learning you’re tearing the base apart?” he asks, stopping in front of Price.

“We have a situation, and we’re investigating,” Price says, standing his ground.

“And when were you planning on telling me what’s going on?” 

“When we had more concrete information,” Price responds. Laswell stands up from her chair to come to stand next to him. 

“What’s happening then?” he asks.

“The omega was attacked. It turns out Professor Hale planted a scientist,” John explains.

“Attacked how?” Shepherd asks. 

“She was injected with a drug that forced her heat,” Dr. Montgomery explains. Shepherd crosses his arms as he takes in the information. 

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“She’s okay, she-” 

“She’s pregnant,” John interrupts her. There’s silence in the room. John keeps his focus on Shepherd. He clears his throat. 

“It was my understanding she was on birth control.” 

“She is. I suspect this has been going on for a while and someone has given her contraceptive suppressants,” Dr. Montgomery says. It makes the hairs on the back of Price’s neck stand up. This has been going on for a while. You never said anything, and they never caught it. Now look at the mess they’re in. 

“We have a name. Dr. Miles Ashford. He’s Hale’s personal assistant. He stole an identity, that’s how he managed to stay under the radar. According to Dr. Montgomery, he would mostly work above ground outside of the lab. Hence the reason no one recognized him,” Laswell explains. “I have put it all in the report.” 

“Well, I assume plans have already been made to deal with this?” he asks. Dr. Montgomery nods. “How could this happen? I thought you ran a pretty tight ship in this lab. Now you’re saying Professor Hale managed to plant someone in here?” 

“You were the one who set out the rules, I followed. It’s not exactly the type of work someone wants in their resume, the whole thing is based on trust,” Dr. Montgomery says. John can hear the spite in her voice. 

“Where is he now?” Shepherd asks.

“We assume back with Hale,” John says. “He went MIA a few days ago.”

“You’ve put all this in the report?” he asks, looking at Laswell.

“Of course. We’re still working on gathering all the information,” she says.

“I’ll get Graves to send out a search party, maybe they can find something,” Shepherd says. John nods. “When will the report be done?” 

“By the end of the day I’ll send what we have,” Laswell says. Shepherd puts his arms back down at his side, and he looks round the room. 

“I’ll set up a meeting for tomorrow morning.” He nods at John then turns, heading to leave. As soon as the door is shut behind him John turns around, everyone’s eyes on him. 

“She’s pregnant?” Soap asks first. John nods.

“What’s going to happen?” Ghost asks next, his arms crossed. 

“Termination. We don’t know if the pregnancy is even really viable,” Dr. Montgomery says.

“What does she think?” Soap asks. There’s silence again.  

“She’s scared, confused. She feels guilty,” Dr. Montgomery says. There’s an edge of something in her voice. She sounds almost annoyed. John can see Ghost’s eyes burning into her, he has that look in his eyes. The one he gets when he doesn’t trust someone. Price will have to talk to him later. 

“We’re all to blame here. We all let her down. Now it’s our job to fix it. Then we go after Hale,” John says. Ghost’s eyes move back to John. John nods at him.

It’s going to be okay. Keep your head straight. 

Ghost sighs, blinking then turning to Laswell.

Fine.

John looks back at Dr. Montgomery. 

“Let’s get back to work,” he says, crossing his arms and watching everyone move. Soap and Ghost leave again slamming the door behind them. John pinches the bridge of his nose. It’s going to be a long day. 

Johnny switched with Kyle a few hours later. Kate had tried to show them how Kyle connected the cameras and microphones up so they could decode them but it was like trying to teach an old dog new tricks. After a while she got frustrated and John sent for Kyle. 

“How is she?” Piper asks.

“Sleeping,” Kyle says, going over to help John. That’s good, you need to rest after your heat. As long as you’re resting, you’re calm. 

Kyle seems to have a knack for computers, and he knows his way around them. He managed to pull some audio files from the microphones he started decoding yesterday. Nothing of use though, just generic conversations. It could take days to decode the rest and go through them. 

Kate managed to get into Ashford’s laptop quicker than she thought. Piper had been sat down going through everything, mainly just research on things she had asked him to work on. She was working her way through the documents from the oldest first. She straightens up in the chair as she reads through a document dated before your heat. 

“ Shit, ” she says reading the document. It confirms what she already suspected: contraceptive suppressants. She knew deep down this was always Hale’s plan. To have a ‘pure’ omega. He wanted to get you pregnant so you could give birth to what Hale considered a ‘purebred’ omega. Guess he didn’t care if it was him who got you pregnant or not. 

The only reason you’re on birth control in the first place was because he would invite his friends to fuck you while you were in heat. Piper slams the lid of the laptop down, getting up and going into her office, slamming the door behind her. 

She’s angry but she shouldn’t be. This is her fault. She should have known, she should have been paying closer attention. There’s a knock on the door. 

She swallows the tears, wiping her eyes. She doesn’t deserve to cry. The only one who’s suffered here is you. It’s always you who suffers. She clears her throat and opens the door.  

“Found something?” John asks. She nods, standing to the side so he can walk in. She closes the door behind her. 

“He was giving her contraceptive suppressants,” she sighs, managing to keep her voice steady. 

“Any long term effects?” he asks. 

“No, it should be passed through her system already,” she says.

“Anything else?” he asks. She shakes her head; she hasn’t found anything yet. He sighs, nodding.

“I’m sorry I let this happen,” she says. Now is the time to apologize. 

“It’s not just your fault. She’s our responsibility too.” 

“I should have known not to trust any alpha that was still alive. It’s so obvious. Hale made a habit of killing alphas,” she sighs. 

“Yeah well hindsight is 20/20. You can’t blame yourself,” he says. She looks up at him. “You’re helping now, you’re fixing your mistakes, and that's what matters.” 

“You can be angry,” she says. He smiles.

“You’re not solely to blame. You can’t take it all on your shoulders. We’re going to get through this. We need to work together,” he says, taking a step towards her. 

“She’s never going to be safe John, not until Hale is dead.” 

“I know. We’re going to get him. I promise,” he says. She smiles; she believes him. 

“Chin up. She’s going to need your support. She’s going to need you more than ever over the next few days.” 

“You’re her pack, she will always need you more than me.” 

“Which is why it’s important we work together.” He pats her shoulder and she smiles at him. 

“Keep looking. Let me know if you find anything else,” he says, leaving the room. She lets out a breath as she’s left alone. She knows he’s right, but it’s not going to change her mind though. She’s always going to blame herself.

Piper is alone in her lab for the first time in what feels like forever. She sits down at her desk. Her computer is gone. John had Kyle search it. She had nothing to hide, so it didn't take him long to clear all the computers in the lab. It was only Dr. Ashford’s hidden laptop that had anything. 

John told her she should come and eat with them. She’s not hungry though. They said they were done for the day but she can’t relax yet. She just needs a few minutes alone. She should have never trusted anyone. She should have known something was up. Dr. Ashford really was the perfect person for Hale to slip in. She should have known something was wrong when an alpha came forward. 

She remembers the culling, remembers you being forced to watch. The smell of blood in the air, your fear, the nightmares. It went on for weeks, months. Hale killed them all, apart from Ashford. He needed someone on the ground. According to Kate the person who’s identity he took had a family, wife, and kids. His death was ruled a suicide, but they all knew better now. 

She sighs, letting the guilt eat at her. She put your life at risk and she didn’t even know it. They don’t even know what he had been up to other than the contraceptive blocker. She gave you a full check and couldn’t find anything. She is just hoping it's nothing too serious, and now with you being watched 24/7 and Dr. Ashford presumably with Hale, you should be safe. 

She shakes her head leaning back in her chair looking up at the ceiling. You’re never going to be safe until Hale is dead.

She’s not sure what is going to happen next. She hasn’t been privy to John’s plan. All she knows is they’re stuck here for now. General Shepherd seemed to understand the gravity of the situation but he blamed John. It’s her fault too. She has to take some of the blame. Commander Graves has been busy, so he hasn’t been around which is good because you’re scared of him. The calmer they keep you, the better. 

The sound of the door opening makes her jump. She looks out her open office door, and she can smell alpha in the air. She looks at the time. It’s late and she smiles. It must be Simon. She could use a chat with him right now, even if he does seem mad at her. She doesn’t care if he just wants to remind her how much of a horrible person she is. She could use his company. 

Suddenly, she sits up straight in her chair, the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. Simon wouldn’t have let the door slam, and she wouldn’t be able to smell Simon. He hides his scent so well. She stands up as the figure walks into her doorway.

“Don’t move,” Ashford says, aiming a pistol at her. She holds her hands up, lowering back down into her chair. His alpha is strong in the air. Fear too. He’s not used to this. 

“I could scream. People would come running,” she says letting the adrenaline fill her with confidence.

“Then both you and the omega would be dead,” he says walking into her office, closing the door behind him. She swallows the lump away. She can’t let him know she’s scared. She has to use everything to her advantage.  

“What are you doing here? I thought you would have been back with Hale by now,” she says. His hand is shaking slightly. He’s not comfortable with a weapon in his hands, he doesn’t look comfortable doing this at all. Maybe she can use that to her advantage. 

“I can’t leave without the omega,” he says. 

“Right, well I’ll just go get her then,” Piper says, throwing her hands up and standing up.

“Sit down,” he says, his voice louder this time, more commanding. His alpha is stronger, the ground after rain and blood, just like the Professor. Iron thick in the air, her nostrils flare as she breathes it in. She always associated it with blood. It makes the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and she sits back down. 

“You’re going to bring her,” he says as a matter of fact. Piper scoffs, shaking her head. 

“Why do you think I would do that?” she asks, crossing her arms. 

“I assume you figured out about the suppressants, the drugging?” he asks. She nods, where was this going?

“Well, there’s a tracker in her neck,” he says, watching her face for a reaction. She keeps her expression neutral. She doesn’t want to give him anything. She feels sick. Of course Hale would find a way to get a tracker in you. Yet another way she let you down. She swallows the guilt away. She can’t let him know what she thinks. 

“You have 24 hours to get her. There’s a truck, parked in the lot. It’s the only one with a yellow stripe on the back left tire. The door will open with the keys under the driver's seat. Drive out the west exit, and tell the guard you have a special transport for Ashford, they’ll let you through. Drive 2 miles west until you hit a bent stop sign. Stop at the sign and get into the passenger seat. I’ll meet you there,” he says. She looks at him confused, she shakes her head.

“You’re crazy, seriously fucked up if you think I’m helping you,” she spits, leaning forward in her chair. 

“Look, I didn’t expect you to help. In addition to the tracker there’s a bomb in her hip,” he says, shrugging. Piper’s holding her breath. She can’t help it, nerves slip through. He's lying, he has to be.

“If you tell anyone or fail to follow the instructions, then I'll set it off.” 

“You’d kill her, and what would that achieve? Throw away all of Hale’s work for nothing.” 

“I know I won’t ever have to do it. I know you’re going to follow the instructions and bring her,” he says smiling. It makes her feel sick. He has to be lying, for your sake he has to be. 

“What makes you think I’m going to help you?” she says, sighing and shaking her head.

“Because you love her, and I don’t think you want to see her harmed,”  he says, the smile still on his face. He’s not wrong, but bringing you back to Hale, it would be a death sentence. He might as well kill you. 

“How about you take the rest of the night to think about it. You have until this time tomorrow.” 

“What if I just tell Captain Price, or General Shepherd about this?” 

“You found all the cameras in the lab right?” he asks.

“Maybe.” 

“There are others, ones you’ll probably never find. Besides, she has the tracker in her, we’ll know where she is at all times. Oh and the people paying Shadow Company? Professor Hale is footing half the bill. It’s probably best if you follow the instructions,” he sighs. She can tell he wants to get out of here. 

Hale is paying Shadow Company. That's how he managed to get back in the base. He’s starting to get fidgety. Maybe she can stall him, keep him here until someone comes looking for her.

“Why are you telling me all this? Why not just kill me? Get the omega yourself?” She asks. 

“And go up against her pack? They’ll tear me to shreds. They trust you, and she trusts you. She’ll follow you to the ends of the earth. Of course you can ignore the instructions and she’ll die. You can tell them and she’ll die. It’s your choice,” he says, shrugging. Not much of a choice. 

“What about me?” she asks. 

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. I'm sure Professor Hale is looking forward to seeing you again though. He asked for you alive,” he says backing up to the door. He wants to leave. She can’t let him.

“How did you even get back in here? There are soldiers everywhere.” Fuck. He already explained this. She’s panicking trying to stall him.

“Have you not been listening?” he laughs. “They work for Hale! I’m on a first name basis with half the staff here.” 

“Why not just get Shadow Company to take her then?” she asks. He sighs like he’s getting bored of her questions.

“I’d rather skip the bloodshed. Graves too, he cares about his company's image.” 

“You really are a horrible person,” she says as he opens the door without taking his weapon off her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Remember, yellow mark on the wheel, bent stop sign.” He smiles walking out the door. She sits there for a second, not quite believing what just happened. 

Move! 

She springs up out of the seat. She should chase him. He only has a pistol. She’s sprinting out the door turning to the exit of the lab. It’s dark and starting to rain as she frantically looks around. It’s like he’s vanished into thin air. 

She’s failed again. 

She wants to scream. Instead she balls her hands into fists letting her nails dig into her hand. She looks around for any kind of movement, but there are so many buildings, he could have easily slipped into any of them. She should tell John. He’d start a search and probably find him before he had a chance to leave. 

She can’t though. She remembers the bomb inside you. She wishes it was fake and he was bluffing. She remembers Hale working on that technology; he had managed to get it to the size of a pill you could swallow. There were a lot of gruesome deaths from that. 

She should have fought him. He only had a pistol. She should have risked it.  

If she died, he wouldn’t be able to get to the omega. Your pack would keep you safe.

Stupid. Pathetic. She’s let you down again.

She walks back into the lab. There’s a tracker in your neck. A bomb in your hip. Piper goes into her office, closing the door behind her and sinking to the ground. Her body is shaking now as the adrenaline wears off. 

She can’t let you die. She doesn’t have a choice. She sobs into her hands. 

She just hopes you’ll forgive her.

It’s early in the morning when Dr. Piper wakes you by shaking your shoulder. You blink awake. It’s only just turning light out. 

“Morning,” she says. She looks distracted by something. She’s never woken you like this before. You smile at her sitting up. She goes to pick up your slippers. 

“Come on, I need to check something,” she says. You nod, pulling your slippers on as you follow her out the room. She seems nervous, like she’s in a rush. It must be something important. The sun is just coming up, the fog settling across the fields and the tops of the trees. You like that. You breathe in the fresh scent of pine before you get into the lab. 

The place seems like it’s even more of a mess than you remember. You follow her straight upstairs. The only room that seems to be in order is the medical room. There’s a new machine in here now. 

“Hop up on the bed,” she says, sitting down on a stool and going over to the machine. You nod, getting up on the bed and laying back. You watch as Dr. Piper moves closer to you. She seems fidgety, and it's making you nervous. 

“What’s that for?” you ask as she pulls your shirt up to your chest. 

“Ultrasound. It lets me see inside you,” she says, keeping her answer short. 

“So you can see the—” You don’t know what to say, fetus? Baby sounds wrong. According to Dr. Piper it’s no bigger than a seed. Pregnancies move quicker than normal for omegas. If you were to keep it, you would only be waiting around 4 months.  

“It’s only a week or so along, so there won’t be much to see,” she says. You nod, watching her fiddle with the machine. She squirts something on your skin. It's cold and it makes you gasp. 

“Sorry,” she says before reaching over and bringing some kind of weird looking scanner to your abdomen. You expect it to hurt but it doesn't. Dr. Piper looks focused on the screen you can’t see, frowning as she presses buttons now and then. She stays silent moving the device round your lower body. 

“Can you see it?” you ask after a few seconds of silence. She looks back at you for a second, she nods. 

“Can I see it?” you ask. She shakes her head.

“There’s not much to see, I’m checking everything is in order before the termination.” You sigh, nodding. You don’t want a baby right now, and you know John definitely doesn’t. It’s no one's fault, only Dr. Miller—well Dr. Anderson—and he’s gone now. You still didn’t understand who he was. You’d never met him. You didn’t even know Professor Hale had an assistant. She moves the device around to your hips looking up your sides before finishing up on your stomach. 

She sighs, putting the scanner back in its slot and looking over at you smiling. You smile back sitting up as she wipes the gel off your stomach. 

“Does everything look good?” you ask, pulling your shirt back down. She doesn’t say anything, just pushes the ultrasound machine away before standing up off the chair. 

“Do you trust me?” she asks suddenly. You look at her confused as you get off the bed. 

“Of course I trust you,” you say. You can smell her scent calming you in the air. It makes you relax but you can tell there is something going on. Hairs stand up on the back of your neck as she takes a step closer to you.

“What’s going on?” you ask. “Is there something wrong?” Your hands press on your stomach. She shakes her head, one of her hands landing on your shoulder. 

“You’re going to have to be brave okay?” 

You nod. You’re not sure why suddenly fear rises in you. She pulls you into her arms. You can smell her. She smells good, safe. Of course you trust her. You close your eyes, hugging her back.

It happens quickly her cold hand moves up to the back of your neck, before you can react she digs her nails into the sensitive skin. You yelp as pain shoots down your spine. Your hands fly up instinctively to pull her hand away but she squeezes tighter. You feel like you can’t breathe. You won’t have long left, a few seconds maybe. 

“Why?” leaves your lips your own voice sounding foreign in your ears. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says. You see tears running down her face. Your vision goes fuzzy, and your body goes limp. You try to hold on but you can't. The last thing you remember is Dr. Piper lowering you to the floor.

Next Dividers by Plum98 & gild-ui Beta reader and editor - rememberwren

[bonefall]

So, I'm writing an essay on the whole STATE of misogyny in WC for one of my university classes, and I was wondering if I could ask you a couple of things! No pressure of course, please feel free to say no!

A) Could I reference your good takes with appropriate harvard referencing and links back to your blog?

B) Are there any specific moments from the books that you think should be covered the most?

C) The end result will be a visual essay, so it's like those fun infographics people on Tumblr make on like ADHD and stuff, so when it's done, would you like to be tagged to read it?

(Sorry for anon, I'm nervous lmao, but if you'd be more comfortable I'll resend this off anon)

AAY good topic! You've got a lot to work with. Absolutely feel free to reference anything I've written, and tag me when you're done.

While you're here and about to write something so legitimate, I'm also going to recommend you check out Sunnyfall's video on gender in Warrior Cats. She breaks down the arcs into numbers, directly comparing the amount of lines mollies have to toms, and examining the archetypes women are usually allowed to be.

I think it's a must-have citation in a paper about WC misogyny.

...and, I think it's insightful to look at the WCRP Forum thread about the video. Note how the respondents immediately come into the thread to complain about how the video is too long so they didn't watch it, dismissing Sunnyfall as not being entertaining enough to hold their attention, even whining that she starts with statistics to prove her point, which I'm convinced she did exactly because they would have cried that she "had no evidence" if she didn't.

I am not a scholar, so I don't know how to document or prove that the books have an impact on the audience outside of anecdotes. But I think if you do write a section about fandom, it would be worth mentioning the in-universe and metatextual apologia for Ashfur and its reflection in the real world discourse, the authorial killing of Ferncloud because of fan complains, and the utter defensiveness against the discussion of misogyny you see outside of Tumblr.

You may also want to check out Cheek by Jowl, a collection of 8 essays about sexism in xenofiction by Ursula K. Le Guin. There's a very unique manifestation of authorial bias in animal fiction, having a lot to do with how the author views "the natural world," and it's worth understanding even though Warrior Cats are so heavily anthropomorphized.

So... Warrior Cats Misogyny

I think discussing individual instances can be helpful, but I'd implore you to keep in mind what's REALLY bad about WC's misogyny is framing and the bigger picture.

Bumble's death is shocking and insulting, but it's not just that she died. It's that the POV Gray Wing sees her as a fat, useless bitch who took his mate so she deserves to be dragged back to a domestic abuser, and he's right because the writers love him so much. It's that Bumble's torture and killing only factors into how it's going to hurt a man's reputation.

It's how Clear Sky hitting, emotionally manipulating, or killing the following women,

Bright Stream (pressured into leaving her home and family)

Storm (controlled her movements and yelled at her in public)

Misty (killed for land, children stolen)

Bumble (beaten unconscious, blamed nonsensically on a fox)

Alder (child abuse, hit when she refused to attack her brother)

Falling Feather (scratched on the face, subjected to public abuse and humiliation)

Tall Shadow (thrown into murderous crowd, attacked on-sight in heaven)

Rainswept Flower ("blacked out" in anger and murdered in cold blood)

Moth Flight (scratched on the face for saying denying medical treatment is mean, taken hostage in retaliation against mother for the death of his own child, which he caused)

Willow Tail (eyes gouged out for "stirring up trouble")

Is seen as totally understandable, forgivable, or not even questioned at all, when killing Gray Wing in an act of rage would have been "one step too far" with the ridiculous Star Line.

"Kill me and live with the memory, and then let the stars know it would only matter if a single one of your murder victims was a man."

It's the way that fathers who physically abuse their kids out of their ego (Clear Sky, Sandgorse, Crowfeather) aren't treated anywhere near the same level of narrative disgust and revulsion the series has for "bad moms", even if they're displaying symptoms of a post-partum mood disorder (depression, anxiety, and rage), an umbrella of mental illnesses 20% of all new mothers experience but are heavily stigmatized with (Sparkpelt, Palebird, Lizardstripe).

It's Crookedstar's Promise giving him two evil maternal figures in a single book, while bending over backwards to make every man in a position of power still look likeable in spite of the fact they're enabling Rainflower's abuse. Leader Hailstar is soso sorry that he has to change Stormkit's name for some reason, in spite of leaders being unaccountable dictators the other 99% of the time, and Deputy Shellheart functionally does nothing to stop his own son from being abused or even do much parenting before or after the fact.

It's the way men's parental struggles are seen sympathetically, and they don't have to "pay for it" like their female counterparts (Crookedstar's PPD vs Sparkpelt's PPD, how Daisy and Cinders are held responsible for Smoky and Whisper being deadbeats, Yellowfang's endless guilt for killing her son vs Onestar's purpose in life to kill his own), even to the point where a father doesn't have to have raised their kids at all to have a magical innate emotional connection to them (Tree's father Root, Tom the Wifebeater, Tigerstar and Hawkfrost).

It's less speaking lines and agency for female characters, being reduced to accessories in the lives of their mates and babies, women getting less diversity in their personalities, with even major ex-POV characters eventually becoming "sweet mom" tropes.

You could zoom in on any one of these examples and have an amoeba try to argue with you that "Oh THIS makes sense because X" or "Ah well my headcanon perfectly explains this thing" or "MY mother/girlfriend was abusive/toxic/neglectful and I've decided that you are personally attacking ME by having issues with how a character was written or utilized," but the beleaguered point,

That I keep trying to hammer in, over and over, across books worth of posts,

Is that these are trends. More than just a couple one-off examples. It's the fabric that has been woven over years, showing a lack of interest in, or even active prejudice of, women on behalf of the writers.

LONG STANDING trends, which have only gotten worse as the series progressed. From Yellowfang being harshly punished with a born evil son who ruins her life in TPB and the mistreatment of Squirrelpaw that begins in TNP, all the way up to the 7 Fridgenings of DOTC and Sparkpelt's PPD being a major character motivator for her son Nightheart.

So, I would stress that in your paper, and structure it less as "the Sparkpelt slide" and "the Yellowfang slide," and more as "The paternal vs maternal abuse" slide, and "the violence against women" slide. They're really big issues, there's tons of examples for each individual thing.

Anyway to leave off on a funny, look at this scene in Darkest Hour that I find unreasonably hilarious,

"Everyone who matters to me; my truest friend, my sensible and loyal warrior, the wisest deputy I've ever known, and 2 women." -Firestar, glorious idiot

He can't even think of a single trait for either of them what the hell does "formidable pair" mean lmaooo, when I finished a reread about a year ago this line killed me on impact.

[discocannon8002]

I thought of this and kind of wish it was reality for me (the good parts. The bad parts already exist somewhat for me.) so here you go have a very small little… story? Idk what it is. But it is angst with a good ending so be warned. None of these names are our real names.

Tw: sh, self loathing, medication, slight swearing, depression, suicidal mentioning, blood

“I’m pathetic.” the shaky voice that left my lips only seemed to prove my point.

In the bathroom and sitting on the floor. I can’t even sleep without meds, without talking to many of my meds. I never take more in a day than the Max on the bottle, so it’s not really overdosing, right? It doesn’t count, it shouldn’t, it can’t.

I look at the bruise in the strange place on my hand where I had striked myself multiple times. Probably more than one hundred times now.

“Fuck.” I mutter under my breath. As far as people know, I don’t swear. I shouldn’t swear; I can’t swear.

As far as people know I’m innocent. but in reality I’m far from it. This was never supposed to go this far, never supposed to leave marks. I thought I could stop on my own. I thought it didn’t count as self harm because it never caused marks or anything more than a slight headache. Never any blood or injuries, just pain.

Pain because I needed it. Pain because I deserved it. Pain because I needed to hit something, needed to get my anger out, and I didn’t want to hurt anything else so I hurt myself. That was all it started as, all this was supposed to be. It was supposed to go away with my depression, my depression was supposed to go away!

I’ve been taking my medicines!! I’ve been doing what I’m supposed to do, so why is it getting worse again? We got rid of the medicine that stopped working after seven years of making my life better, we got rid of the medicine that made me feel this way. I have the new medicine that helps with my newfound mood disorder. We got rid of my period because it always made me suicidal—always made it worse. We did it! We did all of it! Why can’t it just be better?!

why can’t I just be better, why can’t I do things right, why can’t I do history?! I do math so well, why do I have to be so bad at history? Whys can’t I be independent? Why do I always have to get others to help me instead of helping themselves?! Is this why Lily is so distant??

I tear up as my fists collide with my skull again. I should be better. I need to be better. Why am I not better? In the chaos, I knock the scissors off the counter, I grab them. I stare at them for a bit, and I wonder… what would it feel like? To make marks, to draw blood? What would it feel like, would I feel better, would the pain go away? I’ve already taken every anxiety medication prescribed to me tonight. I can’t do any more with medication. Just one little cut. I bring the blade towards my wrist.

“Bee?” A voice startles me out of it, I quickly bring the scissors behind my back as my head snaps up to the person who spoke, and my breath hitches. Lily.

No. No no no no no no no, she can’t know—this isn’t her responsibility, I’m supposed to take care of her! She’s my younger sister, I have to—to—I have to—

“Bee, come on, let me have the scissors, okay?” Her voice seems gentle, but it seems like a trick because her eyes are narrowed, is she upset? Did I make her angry again?

I hiss in pain, squeezing my eyes shut. I hadn’t realized how tight I was gripping the scissors. My shaky hands appear in front of me, I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. Blood.

My tight grip had caused the blades of the scissors to press into my skin. Two lines of blood could be made out through the red liquid streaming down my hand. But I do deserve it. I let Lily find me like this. I deserve it.

I feel the scissors being gently pried from my grip, but I don’t dare look up at her. I don’t want to know what she’s thinking, or feeling. I don’t want to see that look of anger or disappointment or annoyance. I’ve already seen it too many times on her face.

I hear a soft clatter, she’s probably put the scissors down. My gaze is still turned towards the ground, I see a sort of face being formed in the growing pool of thick red liquid in front of me.

“Bee? Can you look at me, please?” Her voice was unsteady, and right in front of me. What? But she was standing up, wasn’t she?

I hesitantly look up and am surprised to see her face just about in front of me, but still about a foot away. She’d crouched down in the time I was looking down. Her eyebrows were furrowed, but her eyes didn’t look angry. She looked almost worried.

“Bee…” she sighs, before bringing me in for a hug.

For a moment I’m frozen in shock. She never hugs me. But then I hug her back with the clean hand. And for a moment we stay that way, just two sisters, hugging. It should be the most normal thing in the world, but for somebody who doesn’t hug much… this hug meant she really cares. I sniffle through tears I didn’t know existed.

“let’s go upstairs, yeah? let’s… let’s get you cleaned up.” She whispers, sounding like she’s also crying, which is confirmed as she pulls away to help me up.

She did care. And I was not alone.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Hi! I don’t know if you still doing reactions, if not - no problem!

Companions reaction if they see F!Sole being killed in front of them? Could you add Maxson’s reaction as well, please?

It’s awfully sad, but I would love to know their reaction

Goodness, this one was rough 🥺 I did my best, though, and hopefully it seems accurate! It's been a few since I've played with a couple of these companions, but I tried! 💗💗💗 Thank you so, so much for the request! 😊💞💞💞

TW: Chems and alcohol usage, violence, blood and gore, suicide

Cait - The Combat Zone was full of death and full of pain, but despite having seen death upon death, she still shuts down as soon as she sees her best friend lying there on the ground motionless.

She knows what it means. She has seen her fair share of death and murder, and given the fact that they had nailed her in the back of the head with a bullet destroyed any chances of survival.

However, her mind refuses to let her consciously realize the fact that it's death. That her savior has been shot down. The one person that believed in her and saved her from her own certain death despite Cait not being able to save her.

She blindly murders every last one of them, unable to think it through as she went through the motions. It then fully sets in upon her what precisely that this meant.

Cait feels like she's losing her breath, and the only thing she can think about is somehow trying to save her person. Cait staggers over to her, collapsing onto her knees as she crawls the rest of the way, her body not having the strength for anything else.

She holds her in her arms, begging her to come back to life as she looks down at her. F!Sole is the one standing between her and addiction. She's the one that keeps her on the straight and narrow and that inspired to be a better person in the first place.

Without her, Cait has nothing now. She is nothing now.

She quickly reverts to her old ways, no one there to stop her from abusing the chems. She does not see the use in trying to avoid killing herself now. There is no one left to live for.

Piper - Piper and Blue. The unbeatable team that had managed to keep up that streak for several months now.

Until today.

A loud scream rips itself out of her throat as soon as Blue is shot, her eyes going wide and her heart plummeting to her feet.

She puts a bullet in the heads of the people remaining before rushing over to her Blue, too worried about her best friend to worry about exacting revenge. Some part of her was hoping that she had made it. She had to.

This was her Blue. Her invincible Blue that had overcome all of the odds thrown at her. Her story couldn't end here. Not so soon. Not before it had played itself out and it had the happy ending that her Blue deserved.

But she knew in the back of her mind that there was no surviving a hit like that. Railroad spikes to the chest were almost a certain death sentence.

Piper grips her face, too scared to feel for a pulse as she looks at her best friend in the entire world. She shakes her, pats her face, does anything she can to try to search for that beautiful life that always animated her every move.

Piper slowly lowers her head to her Blue's whispering, begging to the Heavens to please bring her back. Please just let her come back.

But she was gone. And it's just Piper. Just as lonely, terrified, and devastated as she had been that night her father had been killed.

A week or so later, tears streaming down her face and making it nearly impossible to write, she labors over an article that she puts in the paper. It is titled "The Vault Dweller: Inside the Hero of the Commonwealth." It's a longer title than she normally goes with, and while she has had few words since it happened, her article has so many written words that it is pages and pages long. When Blue died, so did Piper's voice. At least for now.

Curie - This was not fear. It was pure terror.

Curie lets out a horrified screech, her training as a medic forgone completely.

Thankfully, F!Sole had managed to deal a fatal blow to the guy, so she does not have to worry about clearing anyone out. She almost falls in the process of her scrambling over to get a look at her, and she examines F!Sole's wounds carefully. They were definitely fatal ones, but accepting that meant accepting losing the one person that saved her and the one person that loved her enough to give her an entire life.

Curie desperately searches for any stimpaks she has in her bag, stabbing them repeatedly into F!Sole over and over as desperation increasingly tightens its clutches. She's supposed to be able to fix these things.

She is a doctor, and she's supposed to be able to save people. If she can't save the most important person in the world to her, does she really deserve to have the ability to pursue any manner of medical field?

Once she has used all of the stimpaks in her bag, she takes the ones from F!Sole's, going over and over again as her vision becomes more and more blurry.

When she at last runs out of them, she allows herself to burst into sobs, collapsing on the woman as she presses her forehead against her chest on the opposite side that the wound had gone into. She closes her eyes, a flood of tears staining the now-reddened vault-suit.

She had lost everyone that ever cared about her, and worst of all, she had been worried about herself being injured. She now regretted not worrying more for the protector that she had perceived as being so invulnerable.

She cries for weeks but she continues in her medical work. However, despite the weakness of the tears, she now carries her protector's large, modded combat shotgun strapped on her back. She will never let anyone she cares about die again on her watch.

MacCready - Her shot had downed the last guy, but as the man was collapsing, he managed to get one last good hit on her.

His hit had just been luckier than hers.

It had been a headshot, and she instantly fell, hitting the ground with a sickening thud and a new, shining bullet hole in her forehead.

He almost lets out something akin to a scream, but he contains himself, and he stumbles over to her. His jaw feels unhinged from the rest of his face and he just looks down at her as he falls to his knees.

He is just staring down at her, and his jaw is slackened even still. He feels like it has never fully shut since he saw her.

He does not know what to feel. He does not know how to react, and all he can think of is how alone he feels now. He supposes that a few tears fall down his cheeks, but he cannot even really feel them given how he just looks down at her in horror, unable to help the curse that slips from between his lips despite his best efforts.

After what feels like an eternity of just staring at her, he takes off his hat and sits it on her head. She was always trying to playfully steal it while they were on the road, and he thinks of those moments now as he gives it to her to have forever. It's funny the thoughts that one has in times like these.

He gets up then, knowing he has nowhere else to go but home.

He goes back to his son, numb inside. But as his boy comes running over to him, excited to see his father, he collapses on his knees and hugs him. He holds him for what feels like forever and surprisingly, Duncan stays in his arms without protest.

MacCready allows himself to really cry, the comforting warmth of the last living person he cares about coaxing it out of him. He keeps the tears silent, but they nevertheless fall.

Deacon - If this was some sick joke, Deacon was definitely not loving the punchline.

His heart in his throat from the moment she fell, he rushed to her and dragged her away as best he could. He only stopped when they were in safety and he had lost them.

He collapsed to his knees, praying it was just a lie. He had told so many lies in his life that surely reality could somehow start turning into one big lie, too.

But as he tried to make jokes and tried to somehow wake her up from this, he was quickly realizing that this was about to be one of the harshest, realest truths that he had ever faced.

And as he realized that, the jokes fell from his tongue along with the tears from his eyes, every lie he had ever dared tell her resurfaced in his mind, and regrets overwhelmed his every sense.

Lies were who he was and came second-nature, but how could he have ever told her a lie? The one person that was truthfully and honestly the only person he fully trusted without question or a single doubt.

The one person that trusted him without question or a single doubt...

As time passes, he withdraws more than ever before, and his lies become even more ludicrous until no one really knows the truth about he himself anymore. He cannot afford for anyone to get that close again.

Codsworth - Codsworth feels as if he is shutting down when he sees his Mistress lying there on the ground.

He saws through and lasers the rest of the enemies, and he comes to her, hovering over her as he looks down at her. He calls her name a few times, grabbing her arm gently with his pincer, but she does not reply.

He finally brings himself to scan her despite his fears, and to his horror, his worries were confirmed. He just stares down at her as he keeps her arm in his grasp, processing and unable to come to a solid solution.

Finally, the poor robot's programming ultimately cannot handle the trauma of it all.

First sir, then young Shaun, and now Mum? He cannot deal with this. It can't possibly be true!

So he carries her to their old home in Sanctuary, continuing to treat her like his mistress. She just says a little less now and does not eat like she should, but she's still his mistress. He sets her at the table and puts her in bed, helping her as much as he can. She is not as mobile as she used to be, but he guesses that it must have been because of that terrible accident from before.

"Mum, you are looking quite skeletal! Here! Eat up! You don't want young Shaun and Sir to see you in this state!"

Hancock - He was hoping that this was one of those bad trips. The ones where crap happened and then he was back on his couch at the state house like nothing happened, Fahrenheit looking down at him as she prodded him to get up and have something to eat.

But it wasn't.

Turns out, he was sober. She really did fall there in front of him. She really did take that hit to the chest. And she really was looking like she was stone cold dead.

He shook himself from the shock, going into action as he quickly killed the remaining goons. He then stopped next to her, talking to her quickly and determinedly. She could not be dead for real. It was too surreal. It could not possibly be right or true.

But she is.

She's there in his arms dead and he can't do a thing about it.

So he just holds her, tears sliding down his irradiated cheeks as he shakily speaks to her, addressing her softly as he tells her all of the things that he wishes he had said while she was still alive and able to look at him with that beautiful, fond gaze that she always turned upon him or any of her found family.

Eventually, he brings her back to Goodneighbor once he has cried his tears, conjuring the strength and the words to give a speech for the hero of the Commonwealth. Goodneighbor would give her a proper send-off. The one that someone as amazing as her deserved.

Danse - It never failed to amaze him and terrify him with how things could go wrong so quickly.

As soon as he so much as saw her hit the ground, he was freaking out. It was controlled on the outside, but to anyone that knew him, they could have easily seen the uncharacteristic manner of how his firing became more rapid and less focused.

He made his way over to the woman, stopping in front of her as his power armor blocked the view of any potentially remaining enemies. A few bullets bounced off of the back of his armor, and he kept his head ducked, extending his hands to her as he desperately grabbed her, trying to see if there were any signs of breathing.

There is so much blood and so little movement. She does not appear to be breathing and he cannot even properly check her pulse because he has not left his power armor.

He spins around, throwing a few calculated shots and blasting any remaining enemies before quickly exiting the power armor.

He brings her into his arms, feeling for a pulse as his breathing is getting increasingly out of control. Try as he might, there is none and he cannot even try to see if she could be breathing still because tears are blocking his vision.

He had just lost yet another best friend.

If this is after Blind Betrayal, he finds it harder and harder to have a reason to live, and he eventually decides he does not need to live anymore. He can't be in a world without her.

Preston - One minute, he is shooting down the bad guys with the General and the next moment, he realizes that the only lasers he sees are coming from his own musket.

He quickly spots her, but not where he expects her to be. She is lying on the ground, and he instantly feels his heart in his throat.

He fires a few more lasers, doing his best to land hits to enemies' chests, and he rushes over to her, skidding to a stop on his knees next to her. The movement is cushioned by his armor, and he comes to a stop as he tries to wake her up, his entire being utterly panicking. He grabs her shoulders, pulling away anything covering her neck, and he feels for a pulse.

There is not a single thing that he can feel and he feels his heart dropping. He quickly moves to her wrists, ripping off the Pip-Boy and any armor in the way, and he feels for a pulse on both. Still, there is nothing.

Preston tries his best not to cry, knowing that it will do no good at this point. Besides, he had lost a general before. He had lost people before.

But she is different. She is his final hope. She is the Minutemen as the Commonwealth knows them now. Her bright smile, those hopeful eyes, and that steadfast nature is what inspires people to be better. It is the face of the Minutemen now and the person that brings his childhood dreams of heroes to life.

She is not only that, but also his friend. She cares for him like few others ever did. She is truly like family or the closest thing he has to one now.

But she is gone. He breaks down as he truly accepts the fact that he has lost his General and the last true hope of the Minutemen.

He eventually goes on to try to lead the Minutemen himself despite his reservations. He knows that he does not quite have her undeniable charm, but he knows she would have wanted the Minutemen to keep thriving despite her death. So he keeps trudging on.

Valentine - It was always supposed to be him.

He was an old, grisly detective and a synth on top of that. Not even one of the pretty synths either. He was nothing but a copy and paste of some dead man's memories put into a ramshackle body. He was never meant to go on this long.

But here he was, F!Sole lying dead on the ground and him standing there not knowing what to even start to do.

She was so full of life, vibrancy, and beauty despite everything that had happened to her. She had hope. Hope to find her son and hope to make a positive difference in the Commonwealth.

Nick came over to her, and he knew that if he were capable, he would be sobbing right now. He knelt down beside her, his good hand caressing her bloodstained cheek as he softly moved to close her eyes. His heart was so deeply aching right now despite not even having one in the literal sense.

He would need a few minutes. Or a few years... to even begin to push past this one.

He is never quite the same after that and it takes every bit of his strength to keep doing detective work. It is the first time in his career that he truly considered retiring. But he oushes on because he knows she would've wanted him to keep helping people and doing good out there. Just like she did.

X6-88 - Coursers are meant to be fast, effective, and practically invincible. However, humans, despite how formidable some can be, are indeed not.

She falls just as he wipes out the one that knocked her down. He was milliseconds away from saving her from what was doubtlessly a fatal hit.

He moves over to her quickly, something irrational in him compelling him to check her even though he knows the truth.

Sure enough, her lifeless form remains there on the ground, the shotgun wound having mangled her face so terribly that she was almost unrecognizable.

X6 almost feels like throwing up, and he is shocked at himself on multiple accounts.

How could he have failed so badly and allowed this to happen? He is literally made to accomplish a mission quickly and efficiently and his mission is her. He is supposed to always protect her. He owes that much to her after she had cared for him and seen him as something more than his basic purpose.

Even though he had always been reluctant at best about her attempts to make him human, the feelings he is experiencing now are undoubtedly something different than what his programming originally intended.

He keeps his sunglasses on, terrified of the tears that are slipping down his cheeks and terrified of removing the glasses to wipe them away because it will be admitting to himself that she had always been right. It will be admitting to himself that he is not empty and unfazed by her death.

It will be admitting that his entire purpose is gone now.

He eventually returns to Sanctuary after the funeral takes place, having no idea what to do now. He ends up finding more solace in going out on his own and eradicating the filth of the Commonwealth than by staying in one place for too long. He's maintaining her legacy somehow.

Dogmeat - It all happened so fast.

His human was fighting for one minute and then she was on the ground, lying there still as could be. He instantly turns his attentions to who had hurt her, and he attacks, ripping out their throat mercilessly as he takes on anyone else who was around.

When he finally is finished, he comes limping over to his human, coming to check on her. She still has not gotten up. He sniffs her hand, licking it softly as he snuffles at her fingers. He leans toward her face, offering her another lick to try to wake her up.

All he can smell is blood and it is overwhelming his senses. He also smells something else... It smells like those bad men when they fall and don't get up after his human shoots them with the fire sticks.

Is she... Never going to get up?

He waits for a long time, hoping that she will prove him wrong, but he slowly realizes that she is going to be just like those bad men.

They hit her with the fire stick and now she is not going to get up.

He woefully howls, pain in his heart.

He had let her down. He was a bad dog.

But he stays by her, refusing to eat, drink, or do anything as he waits for her in hopes that maybe she'll wake up. One particularly cold night, he suddenly feels warmth and her special whistle for him. He looks up, his tail wagging as he spots her.

She looks different. She seems younger and seems less troubled, but it is definitively her. Dogmeat excitedly gets up and bounds toward her, and she gets down on one knee, wrapping him in her arms as she buries her nose in his fur. He happily licks her ear since it is the only thing he can reach.

She got up. He knew she would.

Strong - He is shocked but quickly very angry.

He quickly crushes a few skulls before stepping over to her to see if she is truly dead.

To his utter fury, she is gone.

He also feels a twinge of something else that he can't quite explain. His eyes are leaking and he doesn't understand why. It distorts his vision and he hates it.

Fury fueling him, he yells and growls, but as much as he wants to stomp on her or throw her or take out his anger somehow on her since she's the reason he's feeling whatever way that he is now, something stops him. Amazingly, he doesn't even feel like eating her like he feels like eating most dead things they come across since they have no other use.

He just watches her for a long moment before deciding to yell one last thing.

"Tiny human lied!!!! Tiny human didn't take Strong to milk of human kindness!!!"

He leaves her there where she fell and heads out. He will find the milk by himself.

Maxson - They were out with an entire group of soldiers, but he had commanded her to take point.

And when she hits the ground, she falls directly at his feet.

In a rare moment of questioning his own decisions, he stares at her in disbelief. But he quickly comes to life, ripping through the remaining enemies with his gatling gun. He spends a little extra time on the one that downed her, but he tries not to make that fact obvious.

He kneels down beside her, feeling for any manner of a pulse, and one of the scribes they brought with them begins the effort in attempting to resuscitate her.

But after a short time, he knows it is no use, and he commands the scribe to stand down. He looks over her, silently and wordlessly takes in her loss as well as he can with watchful eyes of his soldiers all around him.

She was one of the best, and despite having lost quite a few that he cared for-- Danse being among them-- he had not lost most of them with them being shot down right in front of him.

He does not cry, the callouses of war and battle preventing him from breaking down in front of the group that they had brought out with them. He had to be a strong leader.

However, once they bring her body back and make plans for a funeral with all of the honors that she deserves, he locks himself in his quarters and lets the tears fall. She is someone that he will not soon forget.

[corner-stories]

grazed

Mia Dearden. Scars. Reflections. Old Friends. 1458 words. (ao3.)

Death had visited Mia Dearden many times, but never seemed to be looking for her in particular. It always seemed to seek the people around her, the ones who had finally arrived at the bitter end. 

Death arrived in her childhood home when she found her unmoving mother in the bathtub. Death arrived in the alleyway when she saw a friend succumb to the cold spell plaguing Star City. Death arrived when Albert Davis fell to the ground, trails of blood spilling out from where the arrow struck his heart. 

Death would only ever grace her, leaving reminders through the scars on her skin, the aches in the muscles, or in that diagnosis all those years ago. Death would become an echo in her brain, mocking her relentlessly for having the audacity to survive.

Why didn’t you die instead? Why did you make it out? Why do you deserve to live? 

Mia Dearden did not believe in a higher power, but sometimes she would escape a deathly scuffle or dodge a fatal blow, then look up and think. She would not give thanks, express relief, but simply wonder why — Why her? Why no one else? 

Why not her friend Roberta who froze to death in an alleyway? Why not her mother who was too depressed to realize what she was doing? Why Albert Davis in the absence of any other option?

If there was a God somewhere out there, then he was truly a sick bastard. 

Today Death had greeted Mia Dearden a lot more closely. In a mission she couldn’t even remember the objective of, she had just barely dodged a gunshot meant for her head. The sound of the firearm bellowed through the air like thunder, the bullet that grazed her face ripped through her flesh like a knife. 

And Speedy nearly screamed, falling to her knees and holding her hand at a spot just beside her right eye. When she looked to the ground she could already see droplets of red hitting the concrete. Her hand was gloved yet she could feel it getting wetter and wetter as she stemmed the wound. In seconds her eye began to sting. 

And what was she to do? Death had come so close yet she was still alive. She was bleeding, but she could still stand. The assailant was getting away, now dashing through the alleyway and getting farther from her reach. 

So taking a breath into her lungs, Mia knew what she had to do. She reached to her belt, to the scant medical supplies Speedy kept on their person, and grabbed some gauze. She affixed a bandage to her face, parts of the material covering her right eye completely, then grabbed her bow once more, her own blood staining the handle. 

And she ran, adrenaline pumping through her veins and helping her move forward. 

Death had tried to come for Mia Dearden again, but not Speedy. Mia Dearden could have died and that could have been the end of it, but Speedy still had a chance to fight. 

And as long as a glimmer of hope existed in that dark night, then she had no reason to give up. 

…

…

…

An hour later the chaos had ended. The assailant had been captured and punished for his crimes. 

Mia retreated to her home base for the night, knowing full well that her own blood was beginning to accumulate on her uniform. 

In the bathroom she put down the quiver, then reached for her bandages. When she pulled them off and removed Speedy’s mask, the wound underneath was disturbed and caused a new stream of blood to form. At least she was in a better state to handle it. 

Utilizing the first aid kit under the sink, she cleaned the wound on her face, wincing more and more as every wipe removed the dried blood and exposed a small medley of torn flesh. Judging by the trajectory of the bullet she would ultimately keep her eye, but the skin around her right temple would likely be mangled and misshapen for the rest of her life. 

Even now Mia could tell that it would be more than a scar or a blemish. It was a warning — a reminder that could tell the world of Death’s relentless pursuit of her. She had gotten much closer to meeting her end, perhaps too close. 

Yet despite it all Mia could only be filled with resolve — determination to wear the mark no matter what it said, a steadfast willingness to to look Death in the eye after their numerous scuffles and tell them to keep trying. 

In a way, Death treated her like everyone else — vowing to find her eventually and  neverending in its pursuit. For the longest time it had never been a matter of when for her, but where. So Death could keep chasing her because she would keep running. When her time would finally come then Mia could face it — perhaps sit down, take a breath, and greet Death like an old friend. 

…

…

…

A month passed since the day she had been grazed. The redness of the wound had disappeared and in its wake was uneven, misshapen, but ultimately healed skin. She was now used to feeling the rough texture whenever she touched her right temple or seeing her altered reflection. 

She was still Mia Dearden, but perhaps just one scar heavier. 

The last month had been spent predominantly in Seattle, a place where Speedy could make it on her own. But as a result she would go through long stretches of time alone, without a family member nearby or even a friend. And a part of her was dreading the reality that eventually one of her loved ones would see her like this. Ollie would certainly be terrified to see it. 

But on one certain day Mia found herself in New York, having been called to Titans Compound to assist her team with a mission. Apparently, they missed having a designated marksman on the team.

So utilizing a teleporter Mia arrived early, finding the meeting room completely empty and illuminated by fluorescent lights. If she recalled, a handful of the old San Francisco Titans now operated in the Compound, but she wasn’t sure which ones. 

Nonetheless, when she sat down in the first vacant chair and wondered what everyone else was up to lately. Last she heard, Kon was doing some kind of menial job in the Daily Planet mailroom, Bart was studying at engineering school, and Cassie was wrangling the next generation of Titans on the opposite coast.

Before Mia could delve too deeply into the reality that the only major thing to happen to her lately was the gnarly scar near her eye, she heard someone step into the room.

She spun around in her swivel chair to see Bart Allen standing in the doorway. 

It had been way too long since she last saw him, but ultimately he looked the same — boyish, adorably disheveled, and ultimately very sweet-looking. The only difference was that he was just a bit taller. 

Mia gave her old friend a smile. “Hey.”

Bart returned it with a grin of his own. “Hey- whoa.” 

Mia immediately knew what he was looking at. For a brief second she could see his brain running a million miles an hour, desperately searching for the right thing to say. At least he was actively trying to be polite about it.

“Uh… what…” he said, then sucked in a breath and avoided her gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine,” Mia insisted, shaking her head. She leaned back in her chair and pointed to the blemish on her right temple. “Handgun round, missed me by that much.”

Bart’s gaze widened slightly. “Shit.”

And somehow Mia laughed. It was the first thing she could find herself doing, letting a hearty chuckle escape her chest. She wasn’t even sure what she found so funny, just that her body’s first instinct was to react in a certain way. At this point, laughing it off felt like the only thing she could do. 

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But I still look better than you.” 

Bart’s response was to wrinkle his nose, clearly amused. “Let’s be real, that’s not a hard hurdle to jump.”

And Mia smiled wider than she had in a long long time. 

It was odd — despite the separation between the two heroes, despite the wildly different lives they led, the second they were in the same room again they seemed to get along without a hitch. In a life as crazy as hers, Mia was just relieved to know that she didn’t just have Death to consider an old friend. 

[elisethetraveller]

Continued from; zaunrising

She’d be fine regardless, the shimmer in her blood stream guaranteeing that Jinx would heal. However, it’d take a bit of time, and most certainly hurt. A bullet in her side, and getting her back slammed against a wall right before she managed to shove a knife into someone’s side multiple times, was not a fun time. When Elise had come up, Jinx had been coherent enough to offer a little wave with one hand while the other held loosely onto the bloodied knife. “Hey, Lise… you know, I’ve had better days.” Eyes on Elise, she blinked as the woman picked her up. “What’re you doing?” Calm at first, she actually relaxed into Elise’s grasp. The calm note disappeared immediately the moment Elise mentioned medical treatment. An immediate panic hitting her eyes, as she shook her head, squirming in Elise’s arms. “No! No, no, no, no, no! Not again, let me down, not again.” It had nothing at all to do with trust, or a lack of trust towards Elise. In that moment, all she could think of was Singed standing over her, and the pain shooting through her body. The bullet in her side, and her injured back, hurt far less. “Let me down!” That panic was on the verge of turning into a defensive kind of anger, and that to violence. The hold on her knife tightening, and the blade turning to be pointing at Elise even if it wasn’t pressed up against her. Yet.

Jungle or town street was the same, and as the mage appeared, she couldn't help but take her time. Glancing around, making sure there weren't more threats. People Jinx hadn't either killed or driven off. The street was a slaughter, blood, the still gasping-and-dying, and the dead. She would send someone back to check for survivors once Jinx was safe. Even if they deserved to die, a life saved often earned information. And assuming the carnage was their allies, they would hardly be an issue after this.

"Hey, it's going to be alright." She was by no means strong, but Jinx was hardly the biggest person. With a deep exhale, Elise got her into her arms and began moving. "Let us get you somewhere safe and fixed up." The comment about better days earned a snicker. "I surely would hope not. You need to look after yourself, young lady." They were close to her home, but the walk was slow with the extra wait.

"What happened?" The doors opened the second Elise was within sight. Muffled voices asked questions and were dismissed as she sent some to look after the survivors. A turn down a hallway, and they were in her clinic.

"I am going to-" The explanation was cut short as Jinx, whom she had thought passed out, began to struggle. Almost toppling over, she shouldered the wall to stay upright, though not dropping Jinx was a different matter. "Jinx pleas-" Giving up, she let herself fall, taking the brunt of the hit and letting Jinx scramble away if she wanted.

"It's-" Holding flat palms out, her eyes drifted from the knife to the trail of blood on Jinx.

"Please let me help, Jinx." Despite their metallic shine, her eyes were soft, pleading almost, as she watched the younger struggle. "I will not hurt you or do anything you don't want me to… If you want, we can go somewhere else." It seemed that the room was what had triggered this. "Just…Breath, look around. You are safe."

( @zaunrising )

[haikyuuwaifu]

7

Breakeven: The Script

Masterlist

Warnings: Drama, Mild Angst, Mentions of Violence/ Villain attack

They say bad things happen for a reason But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding 'Cause she's moved on while I'm still grieving And when a heart breaks no it don't break even, even, no

Izuku let out a groan, as he tried to situate himself on the hospital bed. Blinking blearily, he looked around the room in confusion. “You’re awake!” Iida declared, waving his hand for a nurse. Izuku had a tube attached to his mouth, and he was groggy as he tried to figure out just where the hell he was. A few minutes later, Uraraka came barreling into the room, a team of medical personal following behind her.

Minutes later found Izuku breathing on his own, sipping water slowly as he finally gathered his bearings. “What the fuck happened Midoriya?” Tenya questioned, as he clicked on the news. “I don’t remember.” he mumbled, closing his eyes as his head throbbed. “You don’t remember being reckless?” A voice sneered, as the occupants of the room looked toward the door. Izuku was not expecting to see a furious Enji, or Kachan’s equally furious parents. “I don’t know what you’re saying.” Izuku mumbled, unable to look toward the man. “He has a small bout of amnesia.” The doctor provided, swallowing as Mitsuku gave him a steeley glare. “Stay the fuck away from my son.” She snarled, pointing an accusatory finger at the man. “I don’t know what happened Auntie but I’m s-” “Save it.” Enji snorted, moving away from the door. “We all know how genuine your shitty apologies are.” “The nerve of some people.” Uraraka huffed, reaching out to grab the mans hand in support. “Everything will be fine.”

Hours later, everything was not fine, as flashes of what had happened the day before started coming back. There was a robbery, and he hadn’t been called to the scene, but he was in the area. The robbery itself turned out to be distraction. He remembered an explosion, something about the ground becoming unstable, and a hoard of villains going on the attack against civilians. He remembered seeing Kachan, the two of them getting into an argument, and then nothing. Iida had stated, that the two heroes got into an argument, but no one knew who started it. The villain themselves had been captured and taken in for questioning. Uraraka only huffed, and stated that Bakugo deserved the reprimand she was sure he was going to get. The two heroes had gone to the cafeteria, leaving the man to his own devices. 

With a force stronger than anything he’d ever seen, Izuku’s door was busted open, falling off of its hinges. “You!” Y/n snarled, making her way into his room. Everything around her floated, as her eyes seethed with rage. Izuku had never seen her so angry before. “How fucking dare you, think to open your mouth after everything you did.” She snarled, as the objects in the air began flying toward the man. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about!” Izuku cried, holding his hands up to protect his face. “Katsuki is in surgery because of you!” she snarled, as Iida and Uraraka tried to make their way into the room. “He is fighting for his life on the table, because of you!” Izuku winced, as Uraraka tried to call security. He knew no one was going to get into that room until Y/n wanted them to. “It was an accident.” He whispered, blinking away his tears. “He’s fucking dying.” Y/n screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “He’s fucking dying, because of you! At the door, Uraraka was screaming for someone to deactivate her quirk. Aizawa stood by, watching as Y/n got everything out of her system. “It was a fucking bank heist, and that was just a cover.” Izuku snarled, glaring at Y/n. “Did you expect me to just not do my job?” “It wasn’t a fucking  cover up. You were being fucking wreck less, and stupid because you wanted to save the fucking day. Y/n snarled, shaking her fist at him.

“I saw them! They were attacking civilians!” “No! You fucking asshole! One of them had a hallucination quirk! And you fucking fell for it, because you refused to listen to the intel!” Y/n snarled, throwing another object at him. “My boyfriend is on a fucking table because you were careless, and reckless, and fucking stupid.” Y/n sobbed, as the shield by the door finally dispersed. “Arrest her.” Uraraka sniffed, pointing toward Y/n. Security made no move to enter the room, as Shinsou made his way inside, his father following suit. “I told you to arrest h-” A slap echoed throught the room, as Miruko the bunny hero, laid into the other woman. “Get the hell out uravity, before I have you thrown out.” She snarled, looking down at the brunette. “She attacked him!” She cried, holding her hand to her cheek. “He’s the reason why her boyfriend is laying on an operating table right now, so I think she’s well within her right.” She hissed, glaring down, as Iida moved to help Uraraka up. “We need to let them sort this out.” He mumbled, looking away. Aizawa stood at the end of Izuku’s bed, his eyes narrowed slightly. 

“One of the villains had a powerful hallucination quirk. He snagged you into his visions as soon as you stepped within range. If you had stayed behind the tape, as every hero off duty, and the surrounding civilians were advised to do, then you would have known exactly what was happening.” “But I saw t-” “You saw what he wanted you to see.” Aizawa hissed, as Shinsou sat with Y/n still on the floor. The woman sobbed softly into her best friends chest, as Rumi stood in front of them, ever the vigilant  bodyguard. “Bakugo was called to the scene, and he was briefed on what the situation was. He was prepared to handle things until you showed up and fucked it all up.” Aizawa continued, glaring at the other man. “Instead of being a help, you were a fucking hinderance. Because you went on the attack.” He snarled, shaking his fist at the other man. “You activated your quirk and started fighting everyone in the fucking vicinity, like the careless moron you are.” Izuku shook his head, realization hitting him like a freight train. “No one could fucking handle you, not at 100%.” He sneered, closing his eyes. “You were about to go for a civilian. A kid that had thrown something at you for being a bad hero, when Katsuki barreled into your path. You had turned your attention away from the kid and onto Bakugo, and I’m glad he gave you the beating of your life, but he fucking paid for it, when he took a full fucking cowling to the fucking chest.” Aizawa snarled, eyes glowing red. “He took a full fucking cowling and I was too late to stop it, when all you had to do was stay away and follow protocol!” he screamed, as Izuku flinched. 

Before he could say anything more, Enji and Yagi made their way into the room. “Bakugo is out of surgery.” Enji mumbled, as Shinsou scrambled to get Y/n off the floor. “We’d like to speak with Midoriya.” Yagi whispered, patting Aizawa’s shoulder. “We’ll meet you in the waiting room.” As the room emptied, Izuku was left staring at his former mentor, and Enji Todoroki, newly promoted head of the Hero Commission. “What you did today, was despicable.” Enji snarled, giving the man a glare. “It should result in the expiration of your license permanently.” Yagi muttered, as Izuku made to protest. Yagi held his hand up, “We’re going to do an evaluation. You’ll be meeting with a specialist, and they’re going to evaluate your mental health. From there, we’re going to decide what the punishment is going to be.” “I’m the #1 hero!” Izuku hissed, clenching his fist. “You can’t do that to me!” “Izuku, we’ve kept track of all your reports over the last number of months. Of every case you’ve worked, and every patrol you’ve been on. Through your own agency and others, people have pointed out your reckless behaviors as of late.” “You’re a fucking menace to hero society.” Enji sniffed, looking out the window. “The way you’ve been acting as of late, is not what the #1 hero should represent.” Yagi sighed, running a hand over his face. “You almost killed Bakguo with your carelessness.” “It was an accident.” Izuku mumbled, looking away.

“Accident or not, you were lucky it was someone as strong as Bakugo. You’d be sitting in Tartarus right now if it had been a fucking civilian.” Enji snarled, flames taking over his form. “You’ll be evaluated, and when that’s over we’ll be discussing the reparations you owe to the community, and the reparations you owe to Bakugo.” Izuku could only stare down at his sheets, unable to look the two men in the eye.

Prev/Next

[jaxteller87]

Booty Call 4

I wanted nothing more than to put the day I had behind me. First, the kid that’s been prospecting under Tig shot his mouth off at a dive bar outside of Charming and got taken away in cuffs for a drunk and disorderly. To make matters worse, the little bastard couldn’t keep our table’s name out of his mouth, and yours truly got the call from the cop shop. After a heated debate at the clubhouse, Clay decided the kid wasn’t Sons material. Let’s just say that it wasn’t the first mistake he made, and if it were me, I would have told him to kick rocks weeks ago.

After that, Bobby had a little run-in with a pop-up club coming back from an Elvis gig and put his bike down. Nothing serious; he just thought his old Fatboy could keep up with those Japanese crotch rockets but learned real fast that they don’t. Fortunately, he was more scared than damaged, but working on his old 88 back at the shop proved to be more of a chore than a favor.

Needless to say, when I came home to find Amber lying in bed with tears streaming down her face, I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t even know what to say, so I stripped down to my boxers and I climbed into bed with my girl. She knew I was there, but she didn’t say anything initially. The room was heavy with silence, filled only with the sound of her sobbing.

“I’m sorry,” she sniffled. “I can’t do this now. I thought I could, but now that my parents are gone, I’m in no shape to be your girlfriend, especially the girlfriend you need.”

“Hey,” I said softly, brushing away her tears. “Don’t I have a say in what type of girlfriend I need? You haven’t heard me complain, have you?”

“No. But, Jax, I’ve made you wait, and you seemed so happy last weekend. I don’t see that same happiness within you anymore. I know deep down the problem is me. And while there is no easy way to say this, I think it’s best to break things off now. Especially before either of us gets hurt. You need to move on. I’ll never be what you want. More importantly, what you need.”

“Did you get into Piney’s medical weed or something?”

“What?” she wiped the tears from her cheeks, “No, but you need to listen to me. Please, for—”

“Hey, stop that right now,” I said firmly, looking into her eyes. “You are enough, and you will always be enough. You understand? I’ll wait as long as I need to have you as my old lady. Days, months, years—if that’s what it takes, I’ll be here. I’m in no hurry if you’re in no hurry. If you want to make it official tomorrow, I’ll be a the altar waiting. Whatever you want, darlin’.”

A faint smile crossed her face as she let out a small chuckle. “Like I’ve been saying since we were five years old, you’re stuck with me, Amber Lynn...”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Amber whispered, her voice barely audible over her sobs. Another wave of tears rolled down her face, but the panicked look of sadness wasn’t behind her eyes anymore. She had a weary look of relief instead.

I was ready, and I truly felt she was as well. For some reason, though, she just needed more time in order to convince herself of it. It would take Amber a good year to get back on her feet after her parent’s death, so I moved across the country to join her in New York for a while to help her get through her grief. Her depression would get so bad at times that I would be afraid to leave her alone. On the bright side, if there were one, it was a good chance for us to have some time away from Charming, just the two of us.

No club. No Gemma. No Clay. No Mayans. Just Jax and Amber.

During our time in New York, I met Amber’s best friend, Mary. She was a badass chick, full of life and spirit. Part of me felt like Mary was the type of woman Amber thought I should be with, and while she was cool, she wasn’t it for me. The biggest thing I’ve grown to appreciate about Amber is how her personality compliments mine. When I’m having a rough day, she knows how to keep me leveled. When she’s having a bad go at things, she finds comfort in my words. We don’t argue, at least not like other couples. To say the least, I love her, and I love what we have.

When we moved back to Charming, Mary would often visit, and as it just so happened, she was the only other person I’ve ever met that could make Amber feel better when she had a depressive episode. But sadly, Mary passed away unexpectedly, which was unquestionably a devastating blow for all of us.

After Amber and I started our little family, we welcomed our daughter into the world, which we named Mary after Amber’s late friend. I remember when Amber would often get butterflies which she believed was a sign from Mary, reminding us that she was still with us, watching over our little family. I bet she still gets them now, but she doesn’t always tell me. I don’t know if I believe that kind of life-after-death stuff, but if it makes Amber feel better, then I’m happy. Who knows, she could be right. There are a lot of things out there smarter people than me will never know the answers to.

Our journey was filled with pain, loss, and heartache, but it is also filled with love, strength, and the bond that holds us together. Through it all, we stood by each other and always will, supporting and loving one another unconditionally. And to this day, our love prevails, bringing us closer than ever before.

[spookyzach]

For the Ler questions:

19. 37. 45.

Thanks for the ask! Please, everyone, feel free! We LOVE doing these!

19 - Ideal tickle room

(SpookyDaddy speaking here) Oh goodness, I think my ideal space would be so much fun to build! (Stay tuned for that, because we're working on it already~) but I like the idea of the decor being a collective effort. Probably a lot of art that princess has made, she's an incredibly talented artist. Maybe some movie posters? The kind of carpet that isn't *too* fluffy but still feels confused and nice on bare feet. Cameras strategically placed at corners and important sight lines both for live streams and so we don't miss anything after the fact. 😏

Big queen or king size bed, and a big, sturdy wooden square frame going over it at each side and above. One day we're going to set up those cargo straps that click and tighten when you pull them so princess can be spread eagle but standing.

Other auto includes would be: a gyno chair, my special wooden ankle stocks, a large sturdy table affixed with segufix/medical restraints, a rack to hack up our straitjacket, and a big closet to store and display all our toys and tools 😏

Maybe a black and purple color scheme 🤔

37, which vibe?

Jocks: lers but secret lee's hidden among them 😏

Nerds: very doqn the middle switch, but whatever one their feeling on a given day they feel it 10/10

Loners: definitely lees, their standoffish probably comes from being worried someone might find out what happens if their rive gets poked 😏

Cheerleaders: I'm gonna go with switch again, the sort of person whose a vicious ler but knows if someone had them by the soles of their feet they'd be done for.

Goths: despite the similarity with the bdsm aesthetic being common, I still have to go with lees. I think we all remember the angry goth video tickle abuse made 😈

Band geeks, and drama members; switches. That whole room full of people? I think once someone was outed as ticklisg they'd feel every single eye on them thinking the same thing. Who can say? Maybe whoever got outed as ticklish intended it 😏

Hipsters: switches. I know plenty, and I swear they all are 🤣

Teachers pets: lees all day. I think we all know what they want to do for extra credit, or how they can convince the teacher they deserve a second chance at a test they slept through~

45- clothing removal

Oh. Goodness~ I think @spookyqtie has gotten off easy on this lately. She doesn't really like to wear socks unless it's really cold out (I suspect she also just likes knowing that SpookyDaddy here is always going to notice or look 👀) but this is something I've actually been planning for quite some time, I think she needs to experience the delightful anticipation of slowly, teasingly, evilly removing clothes.

Already all tied up, and feeling the protective cloth just inch off your feet more and more? The cool air, the increasing feelings of vulnerability?? 😏 I'm all about it. Giving I mean. I'm definitely COMPLETELY immune to the effects of this myself, though. *nods*

We're planning a private beach trip in the next 2 weeks or so, and we've already are planning to make a bunch of buried in sand content, it's a favorite of SD's. I'll have to keep this on mind with princesses sandals, won't I? 😈

[loreweaver-universe]

And that's where I was told to split the episode.

The snakes are pretty cool! I like how many of the mutant races are musical, and I definitely appreciate the rock more than what the cats were playing. Great character designs, too. I wonder, will this just earn Kipo safe passage, or will the party now have a second set of allies?

Also, Kipo is obviously a Bard, and Benson is obviously a Rogue, but I'm having trouble pinning Wolf down. Is she just a Fighter, is she a Barbarian based on her background? She fights with...hrm, would you class that as a staff or a spear? I'll have to do some thinking on the subject.

That’ll be it for today’s liveblog! Tune in tomorrow at noon EST for the start of episode 12 of Kino's Journey, or you can tune in to my Twitch channel today at 1 PM EST where I’ll be doing either a speedrun of Ghost Trick: Phantom Detective or starting Final Fantasy IV!

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Thank you all for tuning in, and thank you to my 44 blog patrons, who make it so I can do this for a living!  I’ll see you next time!

IN OTHER NEWS:

I recently completed my first playthrough of The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom!  You can see the full playlist of those streams by clicking here!

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It’s your kindness and support that lets me do this stuff, and I wouldn’t be where I am without all of you to do it for.  Thank you all so much for your support, and for tuning in every episode!

[kadavernagh]

TIMING: Current LOCATION: In the woods PARTIES: Regan and Metzli SUMMARY: Metzli found a dead raccoon and has just the right thing in mind for it: a little art and necropsy sesh with Regan. But Regan has something else in mind, and decides it's necessary to address the dead elephant in the room -- that Metzli doesn't feel quite right. Or alive.

Regan hoped coordinates would suffice. It was always difficult giving qualitative directions for locations in the woods, especially those off the beaten path. But this was one of Regan’s favorite streams, only a couple of miles from her cabin, and she decided, after much deliberation, that she was willing to share it with Metzli today. Them offering a raccoon carcass was a kind gesture, one Regan didn’t think she deserved, and she would do her best to be accommodating in return.

She could feel it, or them, roving through the forest. A nucleus of death inching closer to the coordinates she provided. Even when Metzli had stood away from that dead gull, Regan could feel the waves of death rolling off them. Like they’d stepped on a mouse and it clung to the bottom of their shoes, or they covered themselves in decompositional fluids instead of cologne. Regan was never wrong, not when it came to death. It just didn’t make sense. So as Metzli emerged from the trees, exactly where Regan felt they would, she kept a curious eye on them and the raccoon. Perhaps she could do some more experimenting today.

“Metzli. Welcome.” She nodded, absent a smile or excitement in her tone, but seeing Metzli was not bad. “I come here sometimes. Look for fish and frog bones among the pebbles.” Regan sat down on a river-battered rock by the stream and stuck her fingertips into the water. It helped the pins and needles die down a little. “Why don’t you find a location for the raccoon? One suitable for the art you wish to produce.” And one, Regan hoped, far enough away to provide some answers.

Just as before, Regan had provided specific coordinates, making it easy to find where she stood comfortably. She looked in her element, almost at home, in a way. Metzli stood just out of sight for a few beats, watching Regan watch the area they were standing in. They knew she couldn’t see them yet, they were a master of stealth, but her eyes bore into them anyway. It was almost hypnotic, and Metzli had to blink away the unfocus to bring their legs to move again. 

“Regan.” They bowed their head, eyes devoid of emotion and lips barely giving a discernible smile. If the last time Metzli and Regan were together was any indication of her version of fun, they were excited to see her in her element. Last time was for them. This was for her. “Yes, ma’am.” Metzli replied, sliding off their bag of materials while keeping the trash bag containing the carcass in their hand. 

Metzli hadn’t processed an animal in years, and never in a medical way, but they figured the two of them would need a dryer location. Something away from the stream. Their intense gaze hovered over the landscape, stone and shrubbery decorating it. “Hmm…” Metzli strode toward a particular flat stone. It had a slight incline and a few ridges, but with Regan’s expertise, they didn’t think it would cause her any problems. “How is this?” They pointed, delicately placing the bag on the rock.“Will this work?”

Carrying the raccoon’s remains around in a trash bag seemed a little disrespectful, but Regan understood that it might have been a necessity. Especially if wet decomposition was happening. And by the smell that hit her when the bag was open, that was precisely the case. Being in Metzli’s presence once again was also a worthwhile tradeoff, even if it confused her. The first time they met left Regan feeling wrong, too human, longing for something she had long discarded as an option. She had attempted to drown it out of her. Right here in this river, actually, down the way where the water grew dark and deep and no one could hear her gasping for air. 

“Yes, that will work nicely. You have an eye for this, which is not surprising.” She followed Metzli over to the rock and helped fish the limp racoon from the bag. Well, it mostly just kind of slid out, slick with purge fluid. She touched the animal’s tiny fingers and appreciated every little bone inside of them. While they were here to examine the animal, and Regan came equipped with a full set of dissection tools, she figured Metzli might have wanted to capture the animal’s likeness first. “Did you bring anything for your art?” She hesitated a moment, feeling a little guilty about asking what she asked next. Metzli had the right to enjoy being near the racoon, too. But… “I’d like to ask you to step away from it now. Go, um, over there.” Regan pointed in the other direction, right next to the stream. It would be far enough away from the remains for her to be certain of the source of her prickling skin. 

Looking back at the art bag closer by the river, Metzli raised a brow, turning back to Regan and nodding. “I did bring things. But painting take too long. Mostly bring sketch materials.” They looked at the corpse reverently, musing internally about how the use of graphite would give the remaining patches of fur life. It took a certain kind of finesse with pressure to get things like hair to feel correct. Something Metzli had mastered over the course of their life. 

Excitement began to brew, and with a blank face, they began to happily stim as they stared at the raccoon. A small thing that had developed not long ago. Metzli rolled their wrist over and over again, stopping immediately as they registered Regan had requested something of them. “Oh.” Their shoulders drooped bashfully, and Metzli looked back towards where they left their bag by the river. “Yes. Sorry. Will get bag too.” They turned on their heel and retrieved their materials, shouldering the bag as they stared back at Regan. 

“Do I stay here?”

When Metzli turned back to collect their bag, Regan stood on her toes, alert, like it would help her better triangulate exactly what she was detecting. “Yes, um… stay there.” As they split off from the raccoon, that one nucleus of death divided in two, and Metzli walked away with the bigger piece. A shiver jumped down Regan’s vertebrae when she looked at Metzli. What on earth did it mean? Why did they feel so similar to that lovely, pulsing raccoon? But below the familiar buzz of death, there was a dark, sinister edge, that feeling of wrongness she’d picked up on them – and others – before. 

“You’re sure the entire raccoon is over there?” Regan pointed toward the inert lump of fur, which, short of some patches of fur, looked to be complete. “None, um, in your pockets?” She knew better than that. What she was picking up from Metzli’s direction was far larger than a misplaced dead raccoon’s tooth or toe. As part of her training, Regan had been blindfolded numerous times, dropped in the middle of the woods, and told not to return until she located the desired remains. Had Regan not been able to see Metzli, she would have gone right up to them, mistaking them for something as substantial as a deer, albeit one with some pathology she could feel in her bones.

She didn’t understand, and she didn’t like that. She was above fear, like any force of nature should be, but the unknown still filled her with a dread that she couldn’t excise no matter how deep she cut. Regan stiffened. She had allowed some small part of her to hope that she was wrong, that it wasn’t something wrong with Metzli. But there was something profoundly wrong. She had spent time around next of kin who also happened to be guilty of homicide, was familiar with the way death clung to them, mixing with their guilt or fear. She didn’t think this was that.  

“Metzli. I am unsure about proceeding. We have something to address.” She looked over at the raccoon, all the more certain that the waves of death she felt against her skin weren’t just coming from there. “There is death on you, and I need to know why.”

Oh. Regan no longer wanted to continue, and a small inkling of something crept up into Metzli’s stomach. They thought the two of them were making great headway, becoming friends. There weren’t many people like them, and while it wasn’t bad, there was something comforting in knowing someone who matched their stoic disposition. It didn’t make any sense, though. Rejection was all too common for someone like Metzli. When were they last rejected? Had it really been so long that it now presented a negative effect? 

“Did I do something wrong?” The happiness that rolled their wrists was gone, replaced by a need to fix whatever they had broken. “Can fix.” Metzli stared off into the ground, wide-eyed and distant. “Very good at f-fixing.” They blinked, finally. Words were beginning to fail, but Metzli needed to understand, needed to do something. 

“Or is this requiring punishment? You can—” She could sense death. Was she like Siobhan? Was she like one of the banshees Honey had mentioned? The ones who thought people like Metzli to be abominations needing to make their death final? “You sense me.” They droned, brows stitching together like their thoughts. “Are you—I can tell you why.” Rocking back and forth on their feet, Metzli began to pace in a small circle. Nervous energy was still energy. They needed to use it. “Can you tell me why you sense? Think I know why but it is your truth to say. Not mine.”

“No punishment. No one gets to punish you, Metzli – never again. Úsáideann tú do scian féin anois. You wield your own knife now.” They were nervous, flustered, maybe even hurt, and Regan felt a pang of remorse. It was all she would permit herself. She strangled back the rest. She would be strong enough not to wield her own knife today. Strong and honest. But there was no one to make proud.

“Yes. I sense you. I sensed you last time, on the beach, and I sensed your presence today before I even laid eyes on you. But… it should have been the raccoon I was sensing. Only the raccoon.” Did they understand, somehow? As on edge as Metzli seemed, they had drawn the right conclusion. Why? Why had they expected this? “Why I sense…” Regan sucked in a breath of air and exhaled it through her teeth. It was a good question, and one that had eluded her for six years now – despite all of her own questions, all of her frantically leafing through old pages, all of her autopsies. She knew the answer Metzli was probably searching for; they wanted to know why she had such an ability. I’m a banshee was a terrible answer on several levels. It offered no satisfying biochemical explanation. It was also, as far as Regan was concerned, horse feces. A convenient name for some undescribed syndrome and inescapable duty, offering more questions than answers. 

“You can stop pacing. I told you, no punishment. Not from me, or from yourself. I don’t– can’t. I can’t tell you.” It was true enough. She didn’t know what to make of Metzli’s insistence that they thought they knew, or the tormented look on their face she’d noticed more than once. Were they still thinking of punishment, of their “master” and troubled past? “What I can tell you is that I’m never wrong about this. You can understand why this conflicts with what I know of people, of you, and the fact that you’re very obviously alive and well.”

Regan was right. Regardless of the way they’d always carried a knife, Metzli never seemed to have control. They held the knife, but never did they truly wield it. Killing Eloy, plunging the very knife he’d made them into him repeatedly, was the first time Metzli had ever felt like they had control. Ripping his head away, though? Well, that was their symbol of freedom. No one else could do the same. Eloy was gone, and no one would punish Metzli. Regan was right. They wield their own knife now. 

“Okay.” Metzli swallowed, “Okay.” They didn’t stop pacing, but they did stop the idea of punishment. “Need to pace. If I do not, head is all…wrong. Big jumble.” They hoped Regan would understand, just like they understood why she couldn’t give them a full answer. Revealing one’s nature not only took a lot of trust and bravery, but sometimes, Metzli learned, there was a certain obligation to keep it a secret. They wouldn’t force any answer out of her. If she ever felt safe enough, or was allowed to tell them, then that had to come later. For the time being, it seemed like she was struggling with her knowledge as a medical examiner and the fact that she inherently knew Metzli was dead. 

“Not know why I am like this. Or how. Wake up like this.” Looking toward Regan, Metzli slowed their pacing, avoiding eye contact. “It was long time ago and will sound like lie, but I do not lie. Hate lying.”

“Pace, then. If it helps.” She was familiar. Although Regan found herself pacing less and less, the longer she was in Saol Eile. Her anxiety had dissolved substantially, as had everything else along with it. Since coming here, though, the urge occasionally resurfaced, only to be denied.

Metzli knew something was unusual about them, something wrong, but they didn’t understand. Waking up in such a way… Regan’s fingers curled around the pendant of her necklace, but she stopped herself from squeezing. Pushed her hand and the ghosts away. “I believe I’ve heard enough. All there is to know. Right? You said it yourself – you don’t understand why you’re like this, or how.” Maybe there was more. Some kind of syndrome like her own, some flavor of horror story that this town was so fond of. Or maybe Metzli was just some unfortunate victim to strange circumstances, normal one moment and feeling dead the next. Such brushing off of the situation directly contradicted how being around Metzli felt in Regan’s bones, the certainty in her marrow, but what was there to do? Deceased was deceased and alive was alive, and all but one piece of evidence pointed to Metzli being very much alive. 

She waved her hand, inviting Metzli back toward the raccoon, and herself. She had proven her hypothesis, even if she didn’t explicitly know how it was possible. They might as well do what they came here to do. But there was one other thing, something that had bothered Regan on multiple occasions, even making her question if she was adding to her long list of failures. “There are others.” She looked at Metzli with her brow bunched together. “You’re not the only one I’ve been around who has felt… dead.” There was the child in the cabin. Leila from the thrift store. Others around town who made Regan’s head whip in every direction trying to understand where the body was. “Are they aware, too?”

Regan was trying to find some sort of answer hidden in the composition of the undead. Metzli knew, deep down, that they were unnatural. An aberration in what Regan knew as true from her line of work. She dove into the dead, picked apart their pieces to understand what they were in life, and what ultimately led them to succumb to the inevitable. To their obligation bestowed upon them at birth. 

With their rebirth—as Honey called it—what was Metzli’s new obligation then, they wondered? They’d already fulfilled death and returned, served an elder vampire to his every need, killed him, and now they were free. Everything came at a cost, but with their pockets and heart empty, Metzli couldn’t do much else but stare at the debt. Search for themself in every paint stroke, in every conversation, and yes, even in the carcass of a raccoon. Their hesitation before their freedom would never fall to a full stop in their independence. Metzli didn’t want to come up with an excuse that death has heard a million times before—that Regan had obviously heard herself too. She’d met others, it seemed. 

“If they are close, they know. I have girlfriend. And best friend. They know. They is—I mean, are…like me.” Metzli stopped pacing and wiped their hand repeatedly on their corduroy jeans. The hope was that the texture alleviated more of their anxiety as they stepped closer. It did, for the most part. Metzli managed to make eye contact with Regan again, voice back to its natural state of monotone. “Can tell you story when you want to hear it. Something happen before I wake up, but I want to learn about raccoon instead. I like how you explain things. Is this okay?”

So Metzli knew there were others out there who shared their same affliction. Regan’s thoughts turned to Leila and all of the others. Was it a coincidence, maybe something actually dead nearby, or did they have more in common with Metzli than Regan had thought? She wasn’t sure she wanted to know. 

“It’s… okay. I think.” She wished she could say it with more certainty. But the plain truth was that Metzli didn’t feel right. Being around death was like the stars aligning, her skin singing, a breeze running through her hair on the most beautiful, sunniest day of the year. Being around Metzli was blowflies crawling down her arms and a death rattle in her throat. In short durations, she could tolerate it, only because Metzli was – as she’d said before – acceptable company. But the air of wrongness nagged at her senses and was not, so far, something she’d acclimated to. She wasn’t sure what Metzli had experienced before this “wake up,” but whatever it was, she doubted it made them deserving of being pariah’d for something they couldn’t help. So Regan would try. She approached the raccoon and Metzli, and shifted the weight between her legs to help shake out some of those pins and needles. 

“Me too. I – what I mean to say is, something happened. Something sudden. That’s how I… sense.” And she could say little more than that, even if she wanted to. The details of a banshee’s dúiseacht were closely guarded. Cliodhna insisted upon it. Outsiders could not know what triggered such a transformation. They ought to not even know there was a metamorphosis, though she had less binding words in place to protect that particular aspect of it. Regan swallowed, tongue tied, and gave the raccoon’s musty head a quick stroke. It helped. “I’ll teach you. We can open it. I will name and share each organ, and you will repeat after me and get each one just right.” She pulled out the dissection kit, giving the lid a nervous tap with her fingertips, and setting it on her lap. There were several scalpels in there. Metzli would not be expecting it, and she thought it would be a pleasant surprise. Once they were ready. Once she was used to Metzli’s presence. “But first, I think… I’d like to watch you draw, Metzli.”

There was a change with Regan too, and there was a comfort to be found in that fact despite the obvious pain with it. It could only take something traumatic to create people like them. Anomalies that could take something damaged, dead, and decomposed, and call it beautiful. Metzli didn’t mind being that way. They didn’t mind being different. There was a solitude that was granted to them. A silence that made it so much easier to think.

Metzli supposed that was why being around Regan was so pleasant. There were comfortable silences in between each spark of conversation. Even then, the two of them delved into matters that few could understand, in a manner that even less enjoyed. Because of this—and the fact that Regan wanted to see them draw—it was easy to let a hint of a smile tug at Metzli’s lips. Though, to anyone who didn’t know them, it’d go unnoticed. 

“Yes.” They gave Regan a single nod. “I can draw. Do you want the drawing after? It will only be of the raccoon.” Metzli began to gather their materials and sat themself down, placing everything neatly on the ground. “You can sit next to me and watch page, but please do not get too close. I am bad at touch.” They sat with rigid posture, waiting for what Regan would do next. 

“I couldn’t ask for your work, Metzli. I don’t– it doesn’t belong to me. It’s yours to do with as you see fit.” Though Regan would cherish it. There was space on the raccoon shelf. There would always be space.

Right. Watching Metzli draw would mean getting close. They lacked a big easel like last time, which meant… Regan wanted to kick herself for essentially asking to get closer. It made Metzli happy, she could tell, but her skin was already complaining. She needed to move past it. Her skin had seen far worse. She had seen far worse. So Regan took a deep breath and approached Metzli, taking a cautious seat beside them. The pins and needles bit in deep, but only for a moment, before they subsided into a sensation that was simply uncomfortable, but not entirely unpleasant. “No touching,” she confirmed, “I’m also not – I mean I don’t think–” It was stupid. She cut herself off. Her decision to deny herself physical contact for the last six years was neither here nor there. 

For at least a couple of hours, she wouldn’t think about it. She wouldn’t think about how dead her companion felt, and she wouldn’t think about how dead she felt. The only death she wanted on her mind was that of the raccoon, beautifully rendered in Metzli’s sketchbook with the most adoring of detail, as everything outside of the page felt so insignificant in contrast.  

[thisoneisbatter]

Holy: Chapter Seven

This is a new fic that is completed but I think I’ll be rolling it out chapter by chapter because it is a long one. It’s brat tamer, jaded widower Sheriff Hassan in full effect. This fic does contain some very rough sex and consensual sexual violence in some chapters so please do not read if that is a trigger for you. Otherwise, please enjoy and leave feedback!

Holy

Chapter Seven

Word Count: 1k+

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Things start adding up, but it brings more questions than answers.

Hassan woke up to Leslie rolling over dramatically to get away from the sun streaming into his window. Her hair was wild on his pillow and her leg was thrown over his waist.

“Good morning, honey.” That was the third time he’d called her that. He made a mental note not to make a habit of it. He reached across her to his bedside table to look at his watch. It was after 7. He hadn’t intended to go into the office early like he usually did. The people from the state police wouldn’t be coming until 9:30 on the Breeze anyway. 7 was late for him, though.

“Good morning, honey.” She mocked back. He knew no kind deed would go unteased.

“I think it’s a good idea if I go into your house without you today to recover your mother.” He cut right to the chase. No sense in skirting around it. “If you don’t feel comfortable going into work, you’re more than welcome to stay here.”

“No, I want to work today.” She stretched her arms over her head, arching her back dramatically. “I think it will be good to take my mind off of things.”

Hassan snaked an arm under her torso and pulled her flush to him. His other hand gravitated to her face, cupping her cheek. He wanted to kiss her. He was so sure that if he let it, his body would do it without permission. He brushed his thumb over her lips instead.

“You were so sweet to me last night.” Her green eyes were dark and intense the way she was backlit, but her gaze still cut right into him. He tried to brush it off, scoffing like it’s what anyone would do. “No, Hassan, I’m serious. For once.” He gave her a pained smile. He didn’t for one moment regret the tenderness he’d shown her, but he was afraid of opening up more. It was already scary enough. “Why are you so good to me? I haven’t done anything to earn it.”

“Hey,” His hand had slipped down to the side of her neck. He could feel her pulse just below the surface. “That’s not-you don’t have to earn that. You deserve to be treated with care, Leslie.”

“Do you think this is all we’ll ever be?” She looked sad. Not the sadness she’d shown the night before. This was different, less raw, more gutting. It was something he suspected had been sitting with her for some time.

“This isn’t the right time to have this discussion.” He didn’t mean to be curt. It truly wasn’t the right time. He didn’t have an answer.

He thought about it all day. While he helped the medical examiner heft Cindy’s frail form into a body bag. While he rolled the carpet from the floor and stuffed the sheets into plastic bags. They didn’t exactly have a crime lab on Crockett. It would all be shipped away to almost certainly never be heard about again. An old woman collapsing wasn’t top tier crime anywhere else. They weren’t even positive it was a crime there on the island yet.

But still, he thought about what Leslie said. Would they ever be more? He couldn’t see a reason in any direction. What even was she to him then? A coworker, a subordinate, a young girl with a big mouth, a woman he occasionally took out his frustrations on. Was she going to be his wife some day? Would she want children? He was old and used up, tired of carrying on and on and on. Is that what she wanted? Leslie was so full of life and light and energy. Her mouth moved a mile a minute and Hassan rarely attempted to keep up. How would that work?

On the other hand, Leslie made him feel comfortable, wanted, accepted. She was in his corner in a place where very few people even wanted to be near him. She’d wiggled her way into his life, his bed, his thoughts, and she wasn’t going anywhere. It wasn’t the type of relationship he was used to, but it could be a relationship nonetheless. If he wanted it to be.

The Breeze left at 7:30 with the contents of Leslie’s living room on it, including her mother. Hassan drove home expecting to see her, but when he walked in he was greeted by his son and only him.

“No Leslie?” He questioned absently, toeing off his boots by the door.

“Don’t you guys like text each other?” Ali was already digging in the fridge, trying to will dinner to appear. “Why are you asking me?”

“Watch it.” He draped his coat over a chair and sat down, scratching his beard and breathing out the stress of the day.

“Is it true that someone murdered Ms. Cindy?” Ali sat down across from him, elbows on the table, hands planted between them firmly. Hassan didn’t answer. He simply shot Ali a pained, annoyed look. “What’s the point in my dad being a cop if I don’t get to know anything?”

“Have you considered that it may not be your business?” Hassan wanted coffee, but he also wanted to sleep. He settled for a cup of tea, crossing the kitchen to fill the kettle.

“Dad, Warren says that if Ms. Cindy just fell or had a heart attack or something you wouldn’t have called the cops on the mainland. And if Leslie did something you wouldn’t have taken her here to do whatever with her.”

The last sentence made Hassan wince a little. Teen boys suspecting that two adults are sleeping together is hardly notable, but in a small town things spread fast.

“So you’re a detective now?” He resisted the urge to shovel sugar into his tea. He intended to end this conversation quickly.

“So somebody did kill her?” Ali clapped his hands together, deciding that he was definitely correct. “What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know. That’s why we called the state police.” He sat down again, this time with his tea in hand and his most straight dad face. “If you hear anything, Ali, anything weird at all, you tell me. Okay?”

“I hear weird stuff all the time.” Ali looked smug, able to give Hassan information for once. “Ms. Keane has been pushing harder than usual lately for everyone to attend Mass. I don’t think that’s super weird because of who she is though. She left early yesterday, so we spent the afternoon with Ms. Greene’s class.”

Hassan sat forward quickly, startling Ali slightly. “What time did she go?” Leslie’s mom was cold when he checked her for a pulse. She had to have died sometime in the early afternoon to have cooled off that much. He wouldn’t know what the window was until the report from the state police came back, but it was something. Another puzzle piece on the table.

[danganronpasurvivoraskblog]

Kibin?!?! How'd you get here O_O?!

K-...Kibin...?

...

Egh...

*Rantaro hoists himself upwards to his feet and catches his breath. He reaches down and pulls the wire out of Shuichi’s pocket.

Took you long enough to show up.

I was on break, ok? You hire me, you get what you pay for.

Kuripa! Rantaro!

*Maya suddenly comes running in.

The upload is almost done. We need to insert...the...wha...

Wh-What the fuck is this...!?

*Maya stares in horror at the unconscious Shuichi and broken and bloodied Kaede.

You’re Maya Canzanilla, right?

...?

I’m Kuripa’s roommate and girlfriend, Kibin. Thanks for looking after him in my absence.

*She turns to Kuripa.

Put her down Kuripa. I think you and I both know you’ve caused enough damage today. Right? Any more and you might ACTUALLY kill her.

...

Yeah...Yeah, I gotcha...

*Kuripa drops Kaede, albeit gently.

KAEDE! SHUICHI!

!!?

*Everyone looks up, as Mii-Yu suddenly flies down towards them. Kuripa quickly steps back as she crouches down next to Kaede’s wounded body.

...

Kaede?

*She reaches out and places a hand upon Kaede’s temple.

...

Her vitals have diminished, but...she will not die if we can get her help quickly.

*Mii-Yu looks up at Kuripa.

How...How could you DO this?

I...

They trusted you! They BOTH TRUSTED you! With EVERYTHING! And you repay their trust with THIS!?

I am not human, Kuripa Kurafto...but clearly YOU aren’t either...! You’re a MONSTER!

...!

*Kuripa’s face becomes panic-stricken.

Please tell me you know some kind of medical professional nearby?

...I...

...Are you kidding me...!? You choose to go on this suicide mission and didn’t think to bring a FUCKING DOCTOR!?

How would I have known you’d beat her nearly to death!?

They may have been opposing us, but you went TOO FAR!

Ngh...!

I didn’t think a doctor would be necessary. I had assumed that the Future Foundation would agree to my terms and Four Kaiden would be able to help us on that front.

...Four...!

That’s it! Four! She’s not as medically intellectual as Kouji, but she could still concoct something to help them!

Then there’s only one thing for it...

*Kuripa picks up the unconscious Shuichi.

Maya. I need you to get these two to safety.

Huh...?

Find Four, and find the FF. Tell them what happened, and get Four to help Akamatsu.

Wh-Why me!?

You’re the only one who can do it! If Rantaro or I show up again, they’ll slap us in chains the moment they find out what happened!

*Kuripa thrusts Shuichi into Maya’s arms.

...I know I probably deserve such a thing but...

Not yet...Even after all of this, I’ve come too far to give up. I will not lay down and let myself be arrested until I bring Katagiri down with me...!

But if I can get these two out of this once and for all, I’ll take that chance. Please, you HAVE to do this.

...But I-

GO!

!!??

I WON’T ask AGAIN...!

...!

*Maya crumbles, and carries Shuichi away, tears streaming down her face.

...I’ll leave Kaede to you, Mii-Yu.

...

*Mii-Yu gently lifts Kaede.

Kuripa. I wish for you to know something. If your words are true, and that you really have deserted the Future Foundation...

Then they will not let you off easily. You just attacked and brutally wounded one of their agents. That makes you their enemy.

They WILL come gunning for you. For all of you.

...I know...But forgive me if this sounds narcissistic or something...

I welcome the challenge...If Komaru and the others think they can stop this, then I invite them to TRY...

...

*Mii-Yu turns and fires up her thrusters. She soars after Maya, holding Kaede.

...Well...That went about as well as it could have...

I doubt we’ll be seeing Maya again...It’s a shame, we really could have used the extra pair of hands...

...Did you retrieve the hard drive at least?

...Of course I did.

*Kuripa waves it around.

Let’s just get this fucking data and go home, alright! And when we do...

*He points at Rantaro.

I want YOU to answer me a few questions...

...I can promise that I’ll try.

[misaverawrites]

hi since your title says requests are open i decided to go for it! i love your greys writing, and i especially appreciate the owen fic. i was wondering if you could write something where he calms the reader down from an anxiety/panic attack? he always seems so steady in moments like that and i think it would make a great one shot. thank you, your writing is phenomenal! ❤️ (my pronouns are she/her)

Sanctuary (Owen Hunt x Reader)

a/n: i'm gonna apologize now for that other owen fic a bit ago lmaooo

tags: female reader, description of panic attacks, Owen holds you, kisses

summary: You have a panic attack and Owen helps you recover.

Sweat formed on your brow, everything was going wrong in this moment and you were at a loss on what to do. Her heart was beating too hard and you'd had to rush her into surgery. You were confident in your abilities but right now, you were at a total and complete loss. "She died, Doctor... You have to call it."

This was your patient. Jennifer Carlyle. 24 years old, born with a heart defect that was supposed to be an easy fix. It hadn't bothered her for 17 years until it did. You'd been with her every step of the way and you were the lead surgeon on her case. She was the first patient you'd ever lost in surgery. "Time of death... 9:35am." You then walked out quickly into the scrub room. You threw your surgical cap across the scrub room tears streaming quickly as you threw your gloves away in the medical waste bin. You see people leave the gallery and feel their eyes watching you as you begin to scrub, the minutes felt like hours as you do so, watching the janitors clean the O.R. and the morgue take Jennifer.

When you finish, the reality truly sets in. Jennifer was really dead, she was the first person to ever die at your hands. You knew she wouldn't be the last and that thought haunted you, deeply. Maybe I shouldn't become a surgeon. You thought, Maybe I still have time to become a cardiologist or pulmonologist. You couldn't deal with the idea of people dying because of you. You knew it was part of the job, you accepted it. Until now, when it happened to you. She didn't have any family, you didn't have anyone to tell. The feelings just bubbled in your chest as you began to trudge to the attending's lounge with a dead look in your eyes and the feeling of weight upon your shoulders and chest. It was becoming almost hard to breathe.

You open the door to the resident's locker room. Quickly slamming it shut, sitting up against the back of the row of cubbies, holding your knees to your chest. Your breathing becomes heavy and your chest becomes tight. You begin to wail, not caring who hears or sees it, as you do so; your mind begins to wonder. Maybe I don't deserve to be the chief resident. Thoughts like those flood your mind in a negative, angry flood of thoughts as the tears begin to flow more and more. You hear the door open, quickly shutting up and staying where you are. You hear footsteps and then see Owen, your boyfriend and teacher, as he comes to sit in front of you, eyes full of anxiety.

"Hey, hey, look at me," Owen murmurs, wiping tears away from your face as you shake your head, "Okay... just breathe with me. 1, 2, 3... in... 1, 2, 3... out..." He continues with the exercise as you follow him, trying your best to calm down, when you calm down enough Owen wraps his arms around you. Your breathing feels constricted once more as you keep thinking about Jennifer.

"It's my fault, Owen... She's dead because of me." You mutter into his chest as he shushes you a bit, rocking you back and forth for just a moment in time. "It isn't your fault, she just had complications from the defect and there was nothing you could do." He brushes his hand through your hair as you wail into his chest.

"I shouldn't be a surgeon, Owen. I can't handle it... I can't handle killing someone. They should fire me from the chief resident, I'm not good enough..!" You know what he's gone through, how many people died because of mistakes he made. "You're an amazing chief resident, love... and you're an amazing cardiothoracic surgeon... You still have a lot to learn but that's what the attendings are here for. You will be an incredible surgeon. I promise. You need to stay a surgeon to get there..."

You suddenly realize that you've calmed down just through talking to Owen, you're still hurting so much, you know it will hurt for a long, long time but, as Owen rubs your back and kisses your forehead with so much love.

You pull away from Owen, breathing in his scent as he helps you stand up and wipes the tears away from your cheeks with his thumb. He kisses your cheek tenderly, “I’m going to take you home, you can’t do any more surgery for the day. That’s an order.” He says in a voice that is stern, yet kind before kissing your temple.

He wraps an arm around you as the two of you walk out of the hospital, wrapped around him as he helps you into his truck. “Wait… my scrubs are still bloody.” Owen shakes his head, “It’s fine, promise.” He smiles kindly as he starts his truck, and the two of you drive off to your shared apartment. You sigh, exhausted, and lay against the seat. He smiles at you once more, you’ll always remember Jennifer and it’ll always hurt you even a little bit, but with Owen by your side. You know you can do anything, surgery or otherwise.

When the two of you get to your apartment, he leads you upstairs and opens the door. He walks you to your bedroom and helps you out of your scrubs into a pair of sweatpants and one of his T-Shirts. He helps you into bed and throws your scrubs into a tub to get the blood out. He kisses your forehead once more as he covers you with the comforter and pushes a strand of hair out of your face. “Get some rest. I’ll be home soon and make us dinner. I love you.” He whispers before turning the lights out to the bedroom.

You lie in the dark, exhausted and sorrowful for the woman you lost, but in this moment. You’re incredibly thankful to have Owen with you to be your rock and the love of your life.