#fictional medic showdown

[fictionalmedicshowdown]

Yellowfang (Warrior Cats)

she takes no shits and is wiling to murder

Dr. Gregory House (House, M.D.)

He is an asshole

[medic-matchups]

Welcome to the Medics Tournament!

Rules

Characters must be considered/consider themselves to be a medical practitioner of some form (this includes healing magic and mental health) - If they're likely to a take the healer class in an RPG send them in for submission!

All are welcomed regardless of qualifications, morality or dubiousness of practice

Characters must be fictional

Don't submit the same characters twice, but feel free to submit different and/or ones from the same franchise.

Don't be discouraged if your nomination doesn't make it into the bracket or loses a bracket

Please be civil - This is just for fun.

Discretion

Mod is not in any way qualified or studying in any medical field. So any mistakes or offensive comments made were not intentional and please correct me at in such situations.

Appropriate tag warnings will be added as best as possible but comment/send an ask if there are any missed.

Misc.

Mods goes by Snake (They/Her) and Asclepius (Any pronouns)

Propaganda is allowed - aside from posts under the tag make sure to send it via ask/submissions.

Main tag is #Medic-Matchups

Ask tag is #Medic-Matchups Asks

Tags for other polls is #Other-Polls

Character Submission Form

Visibility/Inspiration Tags

(If anyone here wants to untag dm)

@time-traveler-tourney @sun-n-moon-showdown @britishaccentcharacterpoll @ultimatepinkgirl @character-of-all-time @nonbiney-swag-competition @adhdvsautismbracket @ultimate-sword-showdown

[wiypt-writes]

Rawhide

Ch 14: Every New Beginning Comes From Some Other Beginning’s End.

Summary: The dust settles after the battle and finally, you get to return to Avengers Ranch at Stark Wood.

Warnings: Smut (NSFW) talk of injury…language…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction. I do not own any characters contained within, bar the reader and any other OCs that may be mentioned. I do not give consent for my work to be reposted/translated to any other site. Please comment, like and reblog.

W/C 5.5k ish

A/N: So here it is, the final chapter. Thank you to everyone who’s read and supported this series, and to my beta @spectre-posts

There will be an epilogue at some point, but for now we leave out Alpha Steve and his Omega to their happy ever after. This has been fun to write, I hope you all enjoy

Rawhide Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 13

You know those scenes in movies? The ones that come at the end of a heroic showdown, or battle. There’s silence, and then the rain starts, or the clouds clear. And the heroes stand there, bloodied and bruised, wiping the filth off their faces whilst some cheesy, melancholy yet rousing overture plays in the background.

Well, the reality is somewhat different.

There was no music, no heroes in fact. Just those who remained from both Shield and Hydra, stood in a silent cease fire. All around you, the wounded were being tended to by Medics, Natasha included.

Hydra factions were approaching Shield ones, their hands were up in surrender in most cases. But some held out a single hand, extended in front of them in displays of amicable concession, ready to shake.

It was surreal, you really couldn’t grasp how two factions that had been so bloody and violently opposed to one another could now be working together the way they were, but then, you guessed such was the nature of war.

It made all the bloodshed even more pointless in your eyes, but it was exactly as Steve had said; whilst Shield and Hydra existed, so would the divide.

Simply telling someone their opinions were wrong would never work, a person has to be given the opportunity to explain, to understand, to debate. A chance to see reason and logic, and not just stubbornly believe that they were the only ones with a valid point to make.

And that was what had been lacking from the whole Shield/Hydra set up from the start. The Civil War hadn’t solved anything, it had simply pushed Hydra and Shield even further apart, which had come at a heavy cost to people like you.

Now, you hoped, that would change.

“Y/N…” Steve’s voice cut through your thoughts loud and clear. You turned your face to look at your Alpha, and his eyes locked on to yours. “It’s okay…it’s over.” Then you realised his lips weren’t moving. His hand was pressed to the mark on his neck. “Are you hurt?”

As you watched, you raised your own, shaking fingers pressing to the intricate gold infinity loops. “I’m fine Alpha…”

With a nod, he dropped his hand and held it out for you to take. As Steve pulled you to him, you felt something cold and wet drip onto your head.

It was starting to rain.

You turned your face to the sky and closed your eyes.

*****

In the hours following the battle, Steve was bustled off to an emergency WSC meeting with Tony and Fury. As you waited for them to return, you’d taken up seat with the rest of the team in Natasha’s hospital room as she led there having been patched up. The doctors hadn’t been too pleased about the blatant flaunting of the 2 visitors at a time rule, not to mention the fact that you’d refused to leave Commando outside…but one look at Bruce’s angry face had made them back off.

“Are you ever not eating?” Sam looked at Peter, who was sprawled in one of the chairs, his arm in a cast whilst the other was stuffing his face with potato chips from a bag which sat on his lap.

“He’s a growing boy.” Bucky teased, his bruised face breaking into a teasing grin, “aint that right?”

“Hey, I saved your ass out there.” Peter pointed at him, “if I hadn’t tangled that dude up in my ropes and slingers, he’d have shot you straight in the back of your head. You got sloppy, stopped watching your 6.”

The room fell silent, before Cling roared with laughter. “He has you there, Buckaroo!”

“Piss off.”

“Now now, no need to resort to that kind of language…” Natasha snorted.

“You know, if you weren’t already in a hospital bed…” Bucky glared at her.

“You’d do what?” She scoffed.

You smiled to yourself, simply listening and watching as your friends exchanged well natured insults and teasing. You felt a large hand softly rest on your shoulder and you turned with a smile to look up at Thor.

“Are you okay, little bird?”

“I...yeah. As okay as I can be, I mean, I shot my brother…”

“Oh, I’ve lost count of the amount of times my brother has shot or stabbed me.” Thor waved his hand. “Your brother only has himself to blame. He was offered a way out, but he couldn’t let go of his pride or beliefs.”

“He’s always been a stubborn asshole.” You gave a wry little smile, “just like my father.”

“Yes, and just as my father predicted, it was that same stubborn line of thinking which brought Hydra to their knees. You were ready to sacrifice yourself for your mate, and still Hydra didn’t see that as an act of bravery on your part, but a sign of weakness on the part of your Alpha.” Thor took a deep breath, his hand running through his dirty hair. “Maybe now they can start to understand that tenderness and kindness are not signs of weakness and despair, but manifestations of strength and resolution.”

“You sound like Al Capone…” You shook your head.

“Who?

“’Don’t mistake my kindness for weakness’, seriously? You don’t…” you snorted and then shook your head. “it doesn’t…not important.”

“Well, indeed.” Thor merely raised his eyebrow as he nodded. “That was your brother and Rumlow’s biggest mistake. The underestimated you, when I’m fact, you are stronger than many Alpha’s I know. Stronger than me, stronger than Steve…and their inability to understand this, is what led us here.”

You looked at Thor, blinking as you swallowed. “I don’t…I doubt that…”

“You doubt it? Do you think that Steve would have the strength to kill Bucky, should he have needed to?”

“I…”

“And I can tell you know, for all the times me and Loki have fought, I’ve never tried to kill him.”

You swallowed. “I…I didn’t set off wanting to kill him, I just…it would never have ended. And I was so angry…I hated him…I still do. I don’t care he’s dead.”

Thor smiled, and shrugged, “and no one will or can blame you for having those feelings, but I leave you with this thought. If you were so weak, Omega, do you think you’d be able to sit here as you are now, admitting to those feelings? Admitting that you don’t harbour any guilt at all over your own brother’s death? Omega’s can be as strong as Alpha’s, if not stronger when it comes to the protection of their so called pack.”

You blinked, but before you could reply the door opened and Steve’s huge frame filled the doorway. Behind him, you could hear Tony arguing with a nurse.

“Yeah, and my money is paying for all this, so if I want to hold a disco in this room I will…” He pushed past Steve into the room, and looked round. “Well, this looks like fun. Can anyone join?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, “if I pretend to be dead will you go home, Shell Head?”

As Tony bit back with some smart ass quip, your eyes flicked to Steve. His face was bruised, nose a little misshapen. His lip was split, as was his left eyebrow, all evidence from the battle and the blows he’d taken from Rumlow.

He was also favouring his right side, his left leg having been stabbed by the knife Rumlow had been fighting with.

Your feet moved slowly toward him without thought. Your head tilted just a bit as your eyes looked over the battered features of his face. Ever so gently, your hand lifted to his bearded cheek. He sighed, his eyes closed as he leaned into your palm, with the air of a dog seeking out touch and comfort. “I will, Mega, once we get home.”

“Home? As in…”

“The ranch, yeah.”

The ranch, it sounded so pleasant coming off his lips. You’d missed it. The feel of it, the way it enveloped you like a den, your little nest by the window. You were desperate to feel that warmth, the feeling of 'home'.

“So, Steve….” Bucky spoke and Steve looked over, “what’s happening now? What did the WSC say?”

“Just what we all agreed on. Shield and Hydra, both go. Well, go in the sense that they can’t be segregated in the way they are.” Steve took a deep breath, “so the WSC agreed to a joint Congress. Reps from both factions to be elected, democratically. And there will be a number of Constitutional laws past, which make Omega rights basic human rights across every state in the country. That means that even states which end up with a ‘red’ representative will have to abide by them.”

The details made a breath in your chest hitch quietly, but Steve sensed it. His eyes flicked to yours and he noted that little quiver in your lip.

“It’s…it’s what should have happened last time,” Sam shook his head, “instead of carving up our country and leaving red and blue to police their own states, the WSC should have been braver and we should have listened to each other. Maybe if we’d done that instead of feeling a desperate need to contain the threat as opposed to listen and reason, Rumlow would never have gained the support he did.”

There was silence as everyone took the news in, before chatter turned to what was going to need to happen next. But, after fifteen or so minutes, you saw Steve shift uncomfortably, and that was when you gently touched your mark.

“Home…”

He turned to you and nodded.

****

“Man, I need a shower.” Steve groaned as you headed inside, the smell of home overwhelming you.

“Plastic wrap.” You smiled softly.

“Huh?”

“To stop the sutures in your leg getting wet. Trust me, it works…”

By the time you’d located it, he was upstairs; a trail of gear and tactical uniform pieces showed you the way.

The shower was running and you watched as Steve stood, his upper body bruised and battered, just like his face. Your eyes scanned down, following that strip of hair which trailed all the way from his chest right down over his Adonis belt, to the thick, wirey patch between his legs.

You kept going, over his toned upper thighs, your eyes stopping at the left one, a clean white bandage wrapped securely around it.

"You gonna let me wrap that up?"

“Do I have a choice?” His voice carried an air of amusement

"Nope." You tore off a piece of plastic wrap and squatted down to secure it over the bandage and around this thigh. Steve simply watched you as you wrapped his leg and then stood. "Time to get the grime off."

“Would now also be the time to suddenly give into the pain I’m in and ask you to come help?” Steve whispered. He swallowed, and as you looked into his eyes you could see he wasn’t joking. His mask was slipping. “I’m too old for this shit."

“Oh, Alpha.” You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek, fingers sliding into his beard. The steam from the shower filled the farmhouse bathroom. The mirrors were fogged up and the air grew thick. “lemme take care of you.”

He nodded, and then merely watched as you stripped from your own filthy clothes and held out your hand.

It was a complete role reversal, you moving Steve into position with a wordless command. And he simply happy to acquiesce as you guided him under the warm spray.

But was it really? Was it a true role reversal? Or was it just that being with Steve allowed you to be a full Omega. Your caring nature, the desire to nurture and love were not only needed here, but wanted and appreciated. They weren’t just traits that were taken for granted, to be used and abused.

You started with the soap and sponge, building a lather that was thick and sudsy. Your delicate touch held his hand in your free one while you held him still to wash his arm. The lather began to turn from white to gray as you scrubbed away the dirt and grime from his wrist and up toward his shoulder. You gently turned and twisted his arm, by way of your locked hands, to clean his skin. Then you moved up and across his shoulders to the other arm, paying careful mind of the cuts and stitchless wounds that littered his skin.

The colors of war washed down your body with the pooling water at your feet. Down the drain went blood and mud, sweat and tears. Your hands roamed softly over Steve's back before you brought the sponge and your own body around to his front.

Gently, the sponge in your hand cleaned away his face, those striking blue eyes of his entranced by your movements. You slid it down the side of his neck, over the curl of his shoulder.

"I love you," you whispered.

Steve smiled, his eyes blinking slowly. “I love you too, Mega…”

"Kiss me, Alpha."

With a soft sigh, he leaned down, his lips pressing to yours gently.

Your hands gently cupped his bearded cheeks and held him there. As your tongue slipped over his lips, you heard him whimper a little. It was a sound you’d never heard from an Alpha before.

You tipped your self forward on your toes and deepened the kiss. Your fingers slid through his beard and into his hair as you steadied yourself.

His hands softly slid from your hips to your back, splaying across your skin.

You forearm pressed against his neck, just at your bonding mark without intending to. You felt him shiver, a spark flowing through the pair of you. You could hear his thoughts, a jumble of arousal, relief but also fear…and guilt.

You pulled back just a little, "tell me, Steve."

“You…I almost lost you. I let him get the better of me and you had to…had to step in.”

You bumped your nose with his, "I'm right here....safe. Because of you." You spoke softly, assuringly, your eyes closed.

He shook his head, “no…you saved me. You’re the reason we’re here. You…your courage and your brains. Not me. You came up with the plan. You…” he swallowed and dropped his chin , “I failed you.”

"Steve Rogers, you look at me right now," you pulled back. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again. Ever!" you weren't shouting or raising your voice. In fact, your voice was filled with emotion, sad emotions because he felt that way. Your eyes were misty as you bore into his.

“I’m your Alpha. I should be able to keep you safe…that’s twice now I didn’t…”

"I don't fault you for it, and I never will. I, we came out on the other side of it." You kissed his lips, "and we came out of it together."

Steve took a deep, shaky breath as you looked up at him. “I love you, Steve. My alpha…”

"Omega....my omega."

You purred a little and moved back, your nose nudging at the mark on his neck, inhaling the scent over his mating gland.

"I wanna love on you, Alpha," you speak against his neck.

Steve swallowed, the tendons and muscles in his neck tensing as he gave a slow nod, and then he bowed his head in submission.

“I’m yours, Omega…”

You were gentle with your hands, dragging your fingers down his neck and over his shoulders. You did this while you kissed him, your tongue slowly, softly exploring his mouth.

Your hands moved down over his chest and his abs. One rest agaisnt the lower indent of his Adonis while your other gently took his cock.

He gave a grunt, his arm moving from your back and he planted his palm against the cool tiles just to the side of your head.

You stroked him, giving him a twist as you slowly dragged your hand up and down his shaft. His jaw was slack, forehead pressed to yours, eyes still open.

You glanced up at him and bit your lip. You could see him releasing control but there was something in that stare that showed you his Alpha side was pacing.

"You're holding back," you smirked. But your wrist picked up the pace and your palm grew a little tighter.

“Yeah…because you…” he grunted a little, “wanted control.”

"And I've got it," you turned your neck presses your lips into his wrist before dropping to your knees.

“Yeah…” the hand that wasn’t resting against the wall slipped into your hair, “you do…”

Your lips wrapped around his tip and your throat opened around his length as you swallowed him. Slowly, you drew back and forth against him.

His head dropped forward, eyes flickering shut as his soft noises of satisfaction filled your ears.

Your hands settled on his thighs, careful to avoid the bandage as you slowly increased your speed and hollowed your cheeks.

Not only could you hear him, you could feel him. The tension and his raft of emotions were clearing, you could sense it.

You kept up, taking care of his needs, his desires.

You knew he’d given in completely, when his hips started to slowly move in time with your actions.

You hummed around him. It was instinct and lust that took over.

His hand tightened slightly in your hair, but his hips didn’t pick up any more pace. He was letting you control, as much as he could.

You pulled off and switched to your hand, the pressure and rhythm not ceasing from your mouth.

Steve’s breathing was fast and shallow, you could feel him twitching in your palm,

"It's okay, Alpha. Let go."

With a low growl, his hips began to rut forward as he fucked your hand.

"Thassit, Steve..."

“Fuck, Y/N…”

"Let go, Alpha, you want to. Nice and easy, baby..."

His ruts became a little quicker, and you tightened your grip. Your eyes flicked up as Steve’s looked down and you could see the wanton heat he was feelin inside reflected in his expression.

His hips stuttered, and with a choke and a little whimper you felt him pulse in your palm, his warm seed mixing with the water as it trickled down your arm.

The Alpha in him growled but the Steve in him dropped his forehead to the tile as his knees gave way. But he managed to keep himself upright as you slowly got to your feet.

Your lips tenderly kissed his, still providing the soft care you sensed he needed.

“Sweetheart…”

"Yeah?"

“As much as I’d love to, I don’t think my leg could take me railing you against the wall.”

Your clean hand ran through his wet hair, tucking a bit back behind his ear. "It's okay, I'm okay. This isn't about me, Steve."

You cleaned him up and cleaned yourself up, standing by to help him out of the shower incase that stabbed leg faltered.

“Do you need to eat?” You asked as you both made your way to the bedroom wrapped in towels

"I could. It's been...been a long few days," he sighed as he took a seat on the edge of the bed. "I'm fucking exhausted."

You grabbed a clean set of clothes for him and checked his bandage after the saran wrap and it was fairly dry. "Can you manage getting dressed?"

“I’ll be fine, I’ve had worse. Trust me.” He smiled, his hand reaching to scratch commando’s head as the large dog laid it on his knee.

You bent at your waist and pressed your lips to his damp forehead. Then, with a smile you left him and headed for the kitchen.

Whilst you and Steve hadn’t been back to the ranch for a fortnight or so now, the other guys had. More so to make sure the livestock were okay and that no one had been in the house. But right now, you were simply grateful that meant your kitchen and fridge were stocked with the basics you needed. Milk, eggs, butter, yoghurts and some cheese sat in the refrigerator and your pantry was still stocked.

It wasn’t long before Steve smelled the delicious aromas and slowly brought himself downstairs, his trusty pup at his heel in support. A warm feeling spread through his chest as he saw you at the stove, stirring something in a pan.

He didn’t think he’d ever tire of this, seeing you happy, safe, in your shared home.

You’d made tomato soup, grilled cheese, and a bag of frozen fries which you’d tossed in a little rosemary and sea salt to give them a little bite.

Neither of you talked much as you wolfed your food down, and when through, neither of you took much convincing to head up to bed.

The weight of the past few weeks hadn't settled within you. You knew it was over, the battle, the war.

Your brother.

But it felt as if you were still in it. As you pulled back the bedding, you scoffed a bit. This was too normal, too routine. It was just odd. Your heart and your instinct pulled you to care for Steve and his needs. You blocked the rest out.

With a groan, Steve sat on the side of the bed, rubbing his hands through his hair.

"Are you alright?" You asked with a soft worry.

“Yeah…” he assured you, as he gently shuffled between the covers.

"Okay," you whispered and did the same.

Steve rolled to his side and looked at you. “I love you.”

You turned your head and gazed back, "I love you, too."

His fingers trailed down your neck. You moved over to him, your own hand reaching out to thread your fingers through his beard.

His eyes fluttered closed and a sigh escaped his nose. "You're worried," he spoke softly. "I can feel it."

“About you.”

He sighed, "'Mega...."

“I know. I can’t help it.”

"It's over, sweetheart. It's all over."

The implications of what he said suddenly started to sink in. “I guess…yeah…”

And then the tears came.

You sobbed until there was nothing left in you. A shuddering to your chest.

Steve kissed your head and pulled back to look down at you. Your face was wet from your salty tears, your eyes swollen.

His hands moved to swipe the tears from under your eyes.

“I could've lost you. I...everything, I..."

“But you didn’t. And we’re here. Yes, there’s a bit of a way to go but, well, I have this feeling. This time it’s done.”

You could only nod as Steve took a deep breath. “we move on. No more fighting. And…” he moved and slowly rolled you into your back, “we…build our life, our home, our future.”

"I think I like that idea.”

"Well, I'm glad you do." Steve chuckled "because you feature quite heavily in all of it."

You smirked, "how so?"

"Well, "Steve kissed down your neck to your collarbone "I mean we are bonded. For life. It's a soul bond. You couldn't leave now even if you wanted to."

You stretched your neck, "a rarity at best. But I don't want to leave."

“Good.” He kissed across the dip of your throat. “Then you’ll have no objections to marrying me.”

You stilled, "Steve...."

“Yeah….”

"Did... Marry you?"

“Mmmhmmm. I mean…” he moved and propped himself up to look at you, “technically we don’t need to. We’re bonded. That’s the main thing, but…I’d like you to, if you want.”

"I...yes," you gasped as you read the look on his face.

“Yeah?” His mouth curled into a smile.

"Yes," you nodded with a smile of your own.

You whimpered as he kissed you, your hands carding through his beard and to the back of his neck, cradling his head.

“There’s…something else I wanna do.” You whispered against his mouth.

"What's that, baby?"

“I…I wanna go back to Texas. Once the dust has settled and, well, the WSC have done whatever they’re gonna…”

Steve blinked. “Okay, that’s…”

“Just to visit.” You swallowed, “my mamas grave is there and…” you looked down a little, avoiding his eyes, “Colin’s will be somewhere. I left so fast, I never got to say goodbye, and thank him for what he did. I know it’s stupid, they ain’t really gonna be there…but…”

"Hey," he sat up a little more, his weight on his good knee and elbows, "we can do whatever you want. Whatever it is."

“Thank you.”

"There's no need to thank me," he blinked. "I'll spend the last of our days giving you everything you deserve."

Your eyes filled and Steve softly kissed the tip of your nose. “Now…I said I didn’t think I could love on you in the shower…but I think I could manage it just fine here, doll…”

"Okay," you whispered with a small sniffle. "I'm yours."

“I know…” his nose nudged at your bonding mark, scenting your gland.

You inhaled and you preened, elongating your neck as the tip of his nose moved along your tendon. His tongue then traced the line of the golden infinity loops, making you whimper as it sent jolts through your body.

Your hands curled back around his neck as he did it again and a third time.

“Steve…”

"Sweetheart...."

“Need you…”

“I’ve got you, baby. Always.”

And he did.

It felt like no time at all before he had you both out of your sleep wear, when in fact Steve took his time, undressing you slowly and gently. It was like you’d been in a trance, simply allowing him to caress and love on you.

It felt good, damn good. A sensual relief that had been building in you for some time.

He made you cum twice with his mouth, and when he finally crawled back over you, slotting his hips between yours, you were more than ready to feel him.

You gasped and sighed as he stretched you. Steve made you feel full and satiated just from the simple action alone. His hands slid up to find yours, fingers laced together as he gently pressed them to the pillow at either side of your head.

It was breathy, your connecting bodies were punctured with sighs, whimpers and quiet moans. Your words were soft and whispered. His eyes never truly left yours. This was an Alpha loving on his Omega in every pure form.

His thrusts were slow, deep. Your hips rolling together, your body sliding up the bed as he moved in and over hou.

You were holding out, enjoying the feel of him consuming every part of you. His scent, it settled you, his warmth comforted you. His phsycial being weighed you down like a secure blanket. The taste of his tongue on yours was encompassing and delightful.

Both of you could sense the other was holding out, you could feel Steve’s self control almost thrumming around his chest and limbs.

You nuzzled his bonding mark, "together, Alpha."

He groaned and managed a breathy nod, his head moving so he could see your eyes again.

“Let go, Steve..."

He gave a low, rumbling growl and then you saw it, that flash of gold round his beautiful blue irises.

You reacted instantly, your body tightening arou d him, curling into him, your own eyes streaking that reflective gold. The connection, the bond, ignited between you and your souls connected in one universe. A galaxy surrounded your vision and it was just you, and just Steve. United.

His forehead pressed to yours as you trembled beneath him, your hands tightening in his.

You whimpered in his ear. The exhale through your nose fanning his skin. The aura grew bright and then it faded as the warmth of your release blended with his.

For a while you both lay there. Whilst he wasn’t knotted, neither of you wanted to move.

He never pulled out, never pulled away. Rather, when his senses came too and his vision returned, his arms released yours. Then those built and strong arms wrapped around you. With a nudge to his left, he rolled so you were on his chest as he lay in his back.

You sighed happily, and snuggled into him, your head tucked under his chin.

And as you lay there in his arms, the darkness of the room was comforting.

“We can go for a ride tomorrow.” Steve’s deep voice spoke, breaking the silence. “Take the horses up to the hill. Just you and me.”

“And Commando,” you moved and pressed a kiss to Steve’s chest, just above his tattoo.

“And Commando,” he chuckled, kissing your head.

You closed your eyes, a contented smile on your lips. And then, for the first time in weeks you heard the barn owl that lived in the rafters, high about the stacked haybales screeching outside.

His arms tightened just a little as you both lay there, sated, safe and satisfied..

Alpha and Omega.

Soul mates, lovers, partners, equals.

[zimithrus]

10 Shows (gifs), 10 People 📺

Tagged by the lovely @isleofair, thank you so much for including me! This one looks like a super fun one! 💚💚 These aren't going to be in any particular order, just 10 shows that I liked enough to incorporate into my personality or just really really liked growing up 😆🌟

1 Inuyasha

My very first anime I watched with the actual knowledge of what anime even was. Shout-out to my big bro for getting me into it when I was 10. Helped me make one of my very best friends to this day and I have such fond memories of this anime. 💗

2 House MD

My favorite medical drama to watch! Some episodes had me thinking 'I can't believe my mom was okay with me watching this show' 😆 I still remember so many episodes vividly and I really want to re-watch it all again now that I'm an adult XD

3 Chrono Crusade

Oh lord the things this show did to my teenage brain 💗 I shit you not I would finish this series and then REWATCH IT ALL OVER AGAIN ON THE SAME DAY, I was hardcore obsessed with this show!! Permanently altered my brain chemistry, and unfortunately in the process I watched it so much I ruined it for my older brother 😂😂 To this date this show has one of the most powerful shows of intensity coupled with the most bittersweet ending I have ever seen 😭 Like literally, hmu about this show because there's no one else I know that even KNOWS what this show is and I am always down to talk about this one any time!! (This gif of Chrono was too cute not to use!!)

4 Tiger & Bunny

This show. These two. Holy shit. 💯 they've definitely altered my brain waves too XD This show has some of the most dynamic characterization, design and storytelling I've seen in a long time! I definitely got into it later in life but I'd say I got into it at just the right time. An anime about the nitty gritty of superhero life specifically made with adult audiences in mind 💚

5 Code Lyoko

I was obsessed with this show when it first launched on cartoon network! A unique blend of 2D and 3D animation with all kinds of dangers and hijinks. The 3D is definitely a little aged but I think it still holds up well for a show made in '03. Me and my brother used to quote this show all the time and giggle over the dumb jokes so much that my mom dropped the rule of needing to be excused from the dinner table for reasons I can't remember XD Shout-out to Odd for being my first introduction to a cat-like person with his 3D model 💜

6 Case Closed / Detective Conan

Murder mystery anime for the win!! Still ongoing even after 28 years of airing 💯 I'm going through and trying to complete an entire series watch!I didn't get into this one until 2011 with the 6th movie (they played it at our library's local anime club meeting) and only watched the dub until recently, but at least I have a lot to watch! 💚

7 Xiaolin Showdown

I loved this cartoon! Fun, exciting, well rounded characters and villains, amazing plots and fun times all around! I remember they even had a contest for this show to design your own weapon that would be later added into the show! Jack Spicer is a hilarious villain and shout-out to Chase Young for being my first fictional crush ever 💚

8 Pokemon

Raichu my beloved!!! 💚💚Aside from Raichu, I loved this show growing up. Ash was such a fun and likeable protagonist for me as a kid and heck this show is even the reason why I have my irl nickname in the first place. I legit teared up when Ash was finally no longer the main protagonist of the series anymore lol!

9 Avatar: The Last Airbender

Ironically, we did not have cable at the time this show was at the height of it's popularity, so I was only able to watch it when my parents took me and my brother over to our friends house. (Our parents were friends so naturally all us kids were friends too!) But we would all get super excited when this show was on, especially if the episode was new! I think we used to pretend to be the characters? XD And I remember the eldest sister of our friends came by one day with avatar fruit snacks for us all, it was awesome 💯💚 Zuko still has one of the best redemption arcs I've seen in a show 👌

10 Tsubasa: Reservoir Chronicles

A middle school favorite!! For months I wanted everyone in school to call me Sakura 😅 Still have my DVDs and a few manga books for this series. Loved it a ton even if the anime itself never did wrap up the story completely. The OVAs were bad-ass though, and a lot of the OST is still downloaded to my ipod 💯 (Yes I still use an ipod in 2024 lmao) (Looks familiar? The Manga artists of Cardcaptor Sakura, Magic Knight Rayearth, and Chobits also made this one - CLAMP!)

Holy fuck this took way longer to pull together than I thought it would! I think I spent over an hour?? XD But it was super fun anyway!! I will see if these cool cats would also like to do this one! (I can't think of 10 sorry! XD)

@prismaticpichu @up-sideand-down @kazeshxni @thatrandomartistyoufound @aerislei @enide-s-dear @waifujuju @nicoroni

And of course no pressure if you aren't feeling up to it!! 💚💚

[derangedanomaly]

whwheh i feel like strange saying this but everyone being like really possessive over fictional ppls is like. i dunno it’s like upsetting because i also wanna joke around and have fun but everyone seems so serious like i don’t wanna have a sans fangirl showdown lmao. anyways NEW CREATION !!! got a bit long with this one. yugioh anon at it again >:3c

summary: you’ve gotten your leg injured while not paying attention in the courtyard, slamming it directly on the concrete path. coming back inside. you’re in the middle of cleaning the stray rocks out when someone (we know who) barges in. reader wears skirt but no real gender. reader is not exactly friends with anyone, pretty new but knows blade the best. reader is also a little dumb but that’s okay we love them <3

Sunsets never became dull no matter how many times you looked to the skies above. Soft pink, like cotton candy coating the top while it mixes in with a light orange. Some lines in between seemed more red if you squinted. Ugh, squinting at the sun is not a good ide-

THUNK.

White blinded your eyes for but a few seconds and in the next moment your hands and knees allow your body to hover over the ground. Tears prick at your eyes, but you use the back of your hands to rub at them. If anyone saw you crying over a few scrapes, surely you’d get made fun of. Being lucky enough to avoid any servants seeing you fall over after staring at the sun was a one in a million chance, but they can’t be far. You don’t think the servants can smell blood like Ted, so you’re set to go!

Well. You don’t think any of the servants can smell blood, however hiring vampires doesn’t seem beyond Nightmare’s capabilities. You raise your body carefully and stand up. Actually, you think he’d definitely hire vampires for the aesthetic. He’s rich enough and has plenty of bodies to keep them fed. Fear of becoming one of those bodies encourages you to walk a bit quicker than your regular pace to your room.

Air stings at your wounds while you head to the one place you feel comfortable tending to your injuries. Any tears have long since stopped as you’ve been walking (read: jogging away from possible vampires) which clears up your formerly blurred vision. Looking at your hands, very few rocks are stuck in and they seem quite small. Not anything picking them out with tweezers won’t fix. You’d check your legs in your room, but you didn’t exactly feel any rocks that would be a concern. As you turn your head back up, you spot your door down the hall. You would thank Nightmare for the room placement, but you doubt he did it for your benefit. Maybe it’d make him move you due to his strange “no positivity” rule. That isn’t exactly how he explained it to you, but you were fairly sure he just didn’t like happiness. Stopping at your door, you pause before realizing you can just use the back of your hand to twist it open. Not even a creak comes from the door as you gently push it open. Finally, your room!

You set off to your bathroom and grab a clean cloth with the tips of your fingers pinching it in your hand. With the other hand, you grab a small soap dispenser. Pushing the dispenser close to your chest, you reach out your other hand and wet the cloth under the sink faucet. With a few cautious steps, you sit back down your bed. You’re like, fairly sure this is what that guide said that one time? Take a soapy wet cloth and gently dab it on the wound? Then tweezers and the medication and bandage? Well, it can’t hurt tha-

THUD.

“Fuck- What do you need Blade?” You question, closing an eye after he scared you into pushing the cloth a bit too hard on the wound. “What are you slamming doors for? Go mess with Ace if you wanna scare people, he’s probably messing with his film set or something.”

Blade lets out an amused huff at the idea. “I’ll fuck with him in a bit.” His face gets a bit strange as he examines you. Can skeletons blush? Probably not? Is he having a magic overload or something maybe? His cheeks are a bit red and one of his eyes has a white dot now.

“Are… we good?” You ask, scooting a bit away from him. He approaches anyway. Leave it to Blade to take a hint, huh?

Blade stops just at your feet and kneels down in front of you. He grabs your thigh and you would move back, but his grip is firm. Despite the strange way he’s acting, he does seem to be fussing over your injuries. The cloth is snatched out of your hand as he dabs it correctly on your knee, then moves on to the other, and the process continues for only one hand. Blade looks up at you when he’s done, but doesn’t say anything.

Maybe he wants… “Uhm, tweezers are in the top drawer?” He walks over and opens it. Yep, guess he’s taking care of you. How did he even know? Why did he even care? You weren’t that stupid that you didn’t know he was a murderer like the rest of the magic skeletons in the household.

Blade heads back to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. He’s… got a surprisingly gentle way of removing the pebbles. Thinking about it, he’s killed a lot of people. Perhaps he learned some anatomy or something to do it better? Doesn’t sound like him at all, but could be an order from Nightmare. Silence is the loudest noise you hear while he picks them all out. It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would.

He smirks at the hand he didn’t clean with the cloth for a moment before looking back up at you. “I don’t think we have all that much human medication. Normally when people get hurt they’re kinda meant to. I can bandage it for you, though. You gotta have some sort of clean clothes you don’t really care about here, yeah?”

You nod and gesture to some you don’t exactly care for. Those are some of the cleanest clothing you have seeing as you rarely ever wear them. Blade prances over to the clothes, grabbing them and bringing them back. He kneels down in front of you again as he ties the clothing around each wound except for the one hand he didn’t clean. You’re about to ask when he holds your wrist. Oh, good he didn’t for-

Blade takes the injured hand, shiny with small amounts of blood oozing from it, and licks it. An ecstatic grin spreads across his face, even more so when you wince. Before you can ask what the hell that was and why he did it, he gets up and tilts your chin to look at him.

“You know, you taste far too good, little lamb.”

With that, he exits the room as your face heats up. That wasn’t attractive at all in any way, so why is your face doing that?! Why are you feeling flustered?! DID HE JUST LEAVE YOU TO BANDAGE THE OTHER WOUND?!

The thing about people getting possessive over the characters honestly upsets me too. I want everyone to be able to enjoy them at the fullest! I'm a little sad about the way people are possessive over the characters.

This was really good! As always! I loved it! ^^

Blade's always just unpredictable lol. Well, to be fair, all of them are- but you know. TT

[sawbones-showdown]

it’s about time for a SAWBONES SHOWDOWN!

now, out in the wilds of tumblr dot com, we’ve seen a lot of strange little guys fight to the death in the miniature coliseums that are Poll-Brackets, but we’ve not seen much from a specific genre of fellow that I feel would be Particularly Suited to such an activity.

and that is, of course, FICTIONAL EIGHTEENTH- AND NINETEENTH-CENTURY DOCTORS!

so let us go forth and SUBMIT SOME SURGEONS!

here are some guidelines about the precise flavor of fellow that I am looking for:

fictional doctors preferred. while fictionalizations of real doctors may be entered, we’ll have to go case-by-case on this one.

your blorbo does not need to hold a medical license to qualify! if they perform the office of a physician, that’s enough for entry.

should operate primarily between the years 1700-1900, or in any setting heavily inspired by these eras

you may submit as many characters as you please, but each one only once, if you would be so kind

questions? ask away, if there’s any confusion.

ENTER YOUR FINEST DOCTORS, FROM NOW UNTIL APRIL 21 AT MIDNIGHT CST!

this is partially inspired by what’s being done over at @medic-matchups and @weirdstrangeguybattle! very good fun happening over there!

[xkcd-bracket]

Doctor Strangelove - Character in a movie about nuclear war by Stanley Kubrick

The Doctor - Ambiguous reference to either the main protagonist of the science fiction series Doctor Who or the emergency medical hologram in Star Trek: Voyager.

[shastafirecracker]

ohhh I really liked ep 2! nebraska redemption speedrun? really well done with the internal conflict of the townspeople and Rosa (tho I will miss mr background voice yelling “which dumbass threw the grenade?!” a legend). subtly sprinkling in the fact that the leeettle bugs are actually baby worms. sad babygirl face… fury road vibes when they get way out in the sands and then turn back because you’ve got to save the places and people that are already there…

can’t wait for roberto to die in the jeneora rock showdown that results in the fifth moon incident and then for us to timeskip up to Meryl relentlessly searching for her lost mark with her new junior reporter milly thompson in tow -manifesting as hard as I can-

not that I hate Roberto, he’s fine, but my GIRL

Oh also I really really liked the character redesign on gofsef - making him smaller and papa Nebraska a little larger puts all the humans within a believable spectrum of scale, but his implants and modifications still deeply own the fact that “lost” tech clearly includes medical options that are fictional but still grounded? like it brings clarity to the environmental storytelling I think - in manga and 98, the magnitude of phenotypical differences between human beings was so large that it was kind of unclear how that was possible. Like are there mutations, are there mega roids, are there superhumans, what’s happening here. But now gofsef looks like he could have started out as a large but normal human man, and this end result is mad science fuckery, yes, but not impossibly so.

Really setting the stage for the power of prosthetics and also the power of drug enhancements if we fiiiinally get a proper rendition of the eye of michael

stampede is winning past my jaded-bitch barriers and starting to make me feel real hype again

[its-suanneschafer-author]

You missed your chance to get Hunting the Devil free, but it’s still available in paperback and ebook.

For buy links, go to: https://suanneschaferauthor.com/hunting-the-devil/

“There’s plenty of sharp, suspenseful action to savor here in this impressively poignant, hauntingly realistic, and searingly moving tale. Schafer intensively explores themes of racism, violence, war, and human welfare. Vivid, boldly written, life-affirming historical fiction drawn from the horrors of the Rwandan genocide crisis.” —Kirkus Reviews

When biracial physician Jessica Hemings volunteers for a medical mission in Rwanda, she becomes entrapped in the maelstrom of Rwandan politics and the enmity between Hutu and Tutsi. Her US passport doesn’t afford the security she’d hoped for as her Tutsi-like features plunge her into horrors of the Rwandan Genocide. Dr. Cyprien Gatera, Jess’s superior and a Hutu militant, commandeers her clinic, forces her to treat his wounded, and then slaughters her patients and her adopted sons. She escapes and finds refuge at Benaco refugee camp in Tanzania.

There, beset by grief, hatred, and PTSD, Jess vows revenge. With the help of Michel Fournier, a French lawyer-turned-war-correspondent, and Dr. Tom Powell, her ex-lover, she searches for Gatera who has fled Rwanda to escape post-genocide reprisals. When an unknown informant passes information to Jess about her nemesis, she returns to Rwanda, despite warnings from the Belgian Secret Service that Gatera plans to assassinate her. In their final showdown, Jess must decide if revenge is best served cold or not at all.

Part medical procedural, part global political thriller, part vigilante novel, and part fractured romance, Hunting the Devil moves from the dusty washboard roads of Rwanda to an inner-city hospital in America to the Natural History Museum of Belgium to the halls of the International Criminal Tribunal for Rwanda in Arusha, Tanzania as it deftly traces one woman’s journey toward justice.

[lizzyverydizzyyo]

I'm wondering about a lot of us here, so let me know in this post: do you like more realistic scenarios (and tropes) for whump or more fictional ones?

Do you prefer fictional ones like villain/hero torture or showdown? Kidnapping and/or torture of important/intelligent person to give up secrets or help whumper(s)? Superpower/magic settings for whump? Monster/non-human whumps? Medieval/royal/monarchy whumps? Dystopian whumps?

Or do you prefer more realistic ones, like accident whump (car accident, building not-up-to-code breaking/collapsing/fire hazard then whumpee buried in rubbles)? Natural disaster whumps (stuck in forest while camping, thunderstorm, avalanche)? Abusive family/partner whump? Sickfic/illness/medical whump? Actual warzone whump (not like heroic ones or something)?

Or do you prefer the ones with overlapping category that can be realistic to some extent but also unlikely in day-to-day life at the same time?

[deadrayg2mf]

Taken by the Snowmen by Maggie Alabaster

It’s taken me 3 packs of cigarettes, a full night's rest, and a consultation in the mirror with myself, a medical professional*, to write this review. I went in for some light-hearted silliness on a blizzardy night and found myself cold, limp, and dumbfounded after reading these 37 pages. I drug myself through the trenches of what is, unabashedly, Frosty the Snowman (x3) porn to bring these words to you.

A witch, longing for love, brews a potion meant to conjure her dream man. After what is an alleged failed attempt, she dumps it outside in the snow and settles in to go to sleep. Upon waking in what she first confuses as a dream she finds, not one, not two, but three, honest to God, snowmen in her home. I am saying three large balls of snow perfectly stacked on each other with twig like arms, scarves and hats of matching colors, and you would hope a button nose. Wrong. Realistic faces, human like noses, smoldering eyes, mouths described as a slash in the snow shaded in a hue of blue. Spoiler, there is a tongue in there.

Isaac, the youngest of the three, sweet as a pea and loves to cook. Felix, the middle child, the only one with an English accent. Why? Good question, no answer. Finally, Kell, the eldest by four minutes, the typical bad boy. Known for kicking ass and asking questions later, I’m sure. It’s her dream man, split into three... split into three again... Anyways, they are here to pamper her, mind, body, and soul.

This is a smut book review blog, of course they have dicks. What’s more? They have snowballs. Their cum? Glittery, cool but pleasant, “refreshing” as I recall it described. Do they melt? Only for her. 

Now can I describe to you what being plowed by a snowman is like? No, I cannot. I literally read the story where you’d think it would explain, yet here I am. Apparently, it must not be much different than regular old Jimbo coming for the weekly showdown. The writing is vague and nondescript, which for a short story isn’t surprising, but for a short story with such a bizarre premise as three snowmen brothers come to make your dreams come true, you’d think there would be a little bit more.

Professionally*, I can say this story is an alternative to a crazy man with an ice pick or a professionally performed lobotomy. There is too much nonsense delved into and not enough explanation or decently written sex scenes for this to be categorized as anything other than A Complete Atrocity on Mankind.

Would I read again? Never.

Would I recommend? Not even to my worst enemy.

*Ray is a fictional character and not a licensed medical professional.

[fictionalmedicshowdown]

Wen Qing (Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed)

She is delightfully bitchy but has a heart of gold. She embodies "do no harm but take no shit." She's loyal, she's a protector. She's brilliant and ahead of her time. She deserved so much better. (She's also played by THEE most beautiful woman in the world, but that's neither here nor there.)

vs

Baymax (Big Hero 6)

HE’S A GIANT HUGGABLE AND ADORABLE ROBOT!!!!! He’s also so badass as well when he’s out fighting with the rest of Big Hero 6!!! He’s such a sweetie and I just love him so so much!!! He cares so much for everyone, and I love his interactions with Hiro, they’re so so sweet!!! The original movie made me cry so much, it’s one of my favorite movies of all time, and Baymax is one of my fav Disney characters!!!

[kiingocreative]

The Structure of Story is now available! Check it out on Amazon, via the link in our bio, or at https://kiingo.co/book

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Ways to Set the Tone

Let's review several story world elements that can each directly or indirectly shape the overall tone of the world. It's worth noting upfront that great story worlds do not exist in a vacuum. They are explored *through* story. And with that in mind, some of the elements that set a story world's tone are *storytelling* elements rather than worldbuilding elements. As we'll see, it's actually possible for a story world's tone to change based on the perspective from which we're exploring it.

Genre

A genre is a sort of story archetype that carries with it promises and expectations. Readers of different genres expect and even *demand* different things. Fantasy readers want to be in awe of the uniqueness of a strange new world. They want to be immersed in a magic system with mysticism and mythology. Science Fiction readers want to be in awe of technology. They want to see scientific theories, the scientific method, logic, and a world driven by technology. Romance readers want wooing, swooning, seduction, playful banter, and physical connection.

Each genre implicitly influences the tone of a story due to these reader expectations. The story will focus on certain subject matter as dictated by the genre.

Consider a prototypical Fantasy story world. Perhaps there are dragons, castles, fairies, elves, and magic. There may be a general sense of wonder and whimsy but the events are taken seriously. Now consider a prototypical Western story world. There are cowboy boots, saloons, and six shooters. Perhaps the subject matter has a somber, sober tone such as in *Hostiles*.

Now consider a Western with the tone and archetypes of a Fantasy. The subject matter may take on a bit more of a magical realism. Now consider a Fantasy with the tone and archetypes of a Western. Perhaps there are archery showdowns at high noon outside of the fantasy saloon. If we were to give a Science Fiction world the tone of a Western we might end up with something like *The Mandalorian*.

Right off the bat, our choice of genre influences our story world's tone.

Level of Reality

Some stories adhere more closely to our reality than others. Consider a crime procedural versus Alice in Wonderland. A story trying to be nearly "100% reality" would show the time it takes to travel, the biological functions of characters, the quick exhaustion from fights, the repercussions of breaking the law, etc. A character who broke their leg wouldn't be up and ready for the next fight after a few scenes. Sometimes, reality can put a bit of a damper on drama.

And so some story worlds are meant to be more realistic than others. Some worlds are more metaphorical than literal. They don't focus on the time it takes for a wound to heal or the time it takes for the horses to rest because that's not the point of the story.

Different audiences will come to a story for different reasons. And they'll have different expectations. Audiences expecting a medical procedural or crime procedural will have much different expectations than those expecting a fantasy. The level of reality that we choose to incorporate can have a lot to do with the genre we choose.

But even within the same genre there are varying levels of reality. Consider a "hard" (i.e. rule-based) worldbuilding story such as The Lord of the Rings. While the world diverges from our own in the subject matter, it's not as divergent as it *could* be. It incorporates many elements of our own reality. It has familiar physics, roughly familiar biology, familiar weather, etc. Consider, on the other hand, a soft worldbuilding story such as Spirited Away where many of the "rules" of our world are thrown out.

What level of reality do you want to incorporate into your story world? And what counts as an inconvenience in your story world? Will flies annoy characters? Will characters have to worry about food and water? Will you keep a medical thesaurus by your desk so you can document exactly what would happen to the human body under certain conditions? Or will you brush aside those details in favor of a more metaphorical story where the inconveniences are more about relationships than about the physical story world?

What limitations of our world are you integrating into your story world? Can a character be shot 73 times and keep going? How quickly will characters become dehydrated? What counts as danger for a character? Will your story be primarily about the struggle against other characters or will it incorporate the struggle against nature? What's the narrative weight given to the inconveniences of your story world?

Can the laws of physics be broken? Does your story world allow magic? If so, does that magic have a technological or scientific explanation? Is there teleportation? Can characters travel faster than the speed of light?

As a general principle, the more you adhere to strict reality, the more research and expertise will be required in order to establish and maintain that realism.

Subject Matter Focus

Story worlds that focus primarily on plans, strategies, and tactics feel vastly different than those that focus primarily on relationships and reflection. In this way, the subjects we choose as our focus can have a strong influence on a story world's tone.

How raw will our story world be? Do we avoid profanity and sexual activity or lean into it? Do we shy away from the details of a torture session? Do we let the audience use their imagination or do we explicitly show every detail? These choices have an effect on a world's tone.

Tone is also influenced by where we put our narrative weight. Will we spend a great deal of time detailing the equipment and mining procedures of the subterranean inhabitants? Or do we spend the majority of our time in the high council chamber as another political debate takes place? Are we more focused on the train of thought and analysis of a mystery or on the intricacies of fingerprint and blood splatter analysis?

What's taking up the majority of our focus as we explore the world? Are we more interested in the forest or the trees? The caves or the rubies? The calculated strategy or the blossoming themes? The people, the land, or the technology?

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[ciceroisthefamilycat]

The conclusion to the VA/BL reread with Silver Shadows and Ruby Circle (here’s the post on FH, here’s the post on the VA closers SB and LS)

I think I forgot to emphasize this in the last post: it is bullshit that Adrian still had the Alchemist-paid-for apartment after the events of “TFH” and only becomes more unbelievable that Trey has it still in “SS”... I do not get it

Like with SB and LS, I would make a lot of plot changes in the adaptation.

Silver Shadows

Fun fact: her golden lily on this book cover actually flashes a little gold in the right lighting, and I love that

This one, especially the majority of Sydney’s stuff in the first half or so of the book, was much better than I remembered.

Adrian’s stuff had me far less forgiving. I realize he’s struggling with a fictionalized elevated form of bipolar disorder and he developed addictions in trying to self-medicate over most of his adolescence/early adulthood so far, but as far as his actions go... the part where he blackouts for something like three weeks while in Sydney’s chapters she’s so certain he’s going to rescue her... it really frustrates me. Especially because Richelle writes him as self-flagellating over it, but Sydney immediately reassures him “oh, no, I just got the gas turned off, you couldn’t have really done anything...” as if those three or so days weren’t a big deal with the way the time crunch worked out later... it’s one of those heavy-handed things where I don’t feel like Richelle ever actually makes Adrian own up to his errors in the same way the rest of the main characters have to. Including: Wesley Drozdov and his motley crew show up again, and Adrian plays big hero and outs their dabbling attempt on Sydney, and then with Keith later on thinks to himself “at least I’d taken no for an answer from girls” as if he hadn’t insistently pursued both Rose and Sydney (including the scene at Alicia’s Victorian inn in IS) and been revealed to have dabbled at least once. Like, good that he’s trying to make up for past behavior, but again and again it comes off to me as glib or insincere (in the way it’s written- that he’s some model that is exempt from causing harm). This especially pisses me off in the way he treats his mom for sticking in a loveless marriage to his dad (did Adrian forget about his mom’s affair with Ambrose btw?) for financial security, and even with the hypocrisy being pointed out to him and him begrudgingly admitting it in his mind, or he drags Nina to Sonya’s to try and get her compensated for her work and she’s all googly eyes at him, but his acts of chivalry feel empty. And this extends to Marcus, too, to a lesser extent. Look, I love Carly (all the Sage sisters mean the world to me) and I’m glad that she became an advocate for fellow survivors and I get what Richelle was trying to do in empowering survivors with Carly’s character, but Marcus’ star-struck admiration of her (being made speechless by her strength) felt weird and make me uncomfortable.

On to Sydney’s stuff, holy hell her side of the story is dark. And this conversion therapy nonsense in it is part of why I desperately want canon queer leads in the adaptation (preferably Sydney herself, which would yes mean Adrian and probably Rose... that’s my prerogative). Is that potentially triggering? YES. But Richelle took that step when she laid it on so thick with the allegory. In the meantime, I love the supporting characters that Richelle drew up to be in the center with Sydney. Emma, Duncan, and the rest (the fellow detainees- not Sheridan... she can burn) and I want more of them (seriously, Richelle made some great underexplored groups with the Unpromised, the Keepers, the Merry Men, and then these additional Rebelchemists). There is a weird mention of Sydney having arranged some supply closets on one of the floors, despite whatever scene she did that in seemingly having been cut (there was also a line Rose ascribed to Victor at the end of Last Sacrifice about sending Jill away, so it’s not unheard of). When I first read the book (with a long break before), the degree to which Sydney was using magic in there felt illogical, but rereading directly from the other books, it is more justifiable. I think the Detainment, and Sydney’s struggles there, is some of the best writing Richelle managed in the books, and I don’t have any changes to that part.

But the escape... is actively worse than I remember it. There are glimmers of some great stuff in there- I mentioned in the last post how much I love when Sydney wakes up Hopper and sobs over him, and that still is powerful. But omfg Sydney (and Adrian) hold up the stupid stick so many times in these chapters. To be clear, first-off: Adrian should have gotten blood before they ever went into the desert. In the worst case, he and Eddie (the night before the infiltration) should have gone off to the side and done a feeding (doesn’t have to be Eddie, since I imagine he actually has a bad reaction to them since FB, but it does have to be someone willing). Eddie would have enough time to recover, especially with adequate food. Setting that aside, the actual events of the escape work for me. So I guess it’s more the after. Sydney and Adrian should have driven straight to Las Vegas (if they wanted to stop in the other town and change clothes and switch cars that’s fine with me- I even like the senior citizen tour they were on; p.s. we never learn if the Ivashkinator was shipped back to Palm Springs or anything, which is very surprising to me). Their decision to stay in a hotel overnight, even as much as Sydney did deserve that kind of relaxation, was stupid beyond belief. I would have preferred they got to Vegas, were spotted by Alchemists but made it to the Witching Hour without issue, and then Adrian got them a room, and that was the point where Sydney relaxed and slept. Consolidate some of that. Let Sydney have her luxury bath, and a haircut from Adrian, and other stuff there. Let her mention to him that the first photo she saw of him was taken near there, and hey, did he know Rose had bought a car in Russia that Sydney loved. And when Adrian goes down to make some money to further their escape, that’s when he realizes they’re being watched- there are too many yellow and orange auras. Let them have a less exorbitant wedding than in the book- no ridiculous mermaid dress that Sydney can’t expect to move in and that is ridiculously expensive (she can still have a beautiful stunning white dress). Let her start with the blue sneakers. Let Adrian find a place to get the ring made, if that’s necessary (or just use the dang cufflinks as are for the time being and pin them to the fancy attire). And Jill sends the chopper directly to the Firenze for an “Italian” wedding. They can still have the showdown with Sheridan on the roof- just simplify everything.

And then when they get to Court- let Sydney do more of the talking. Let her (righteously) call out the conditions in the reconditioning- the torture because she showed empathy to Renee who couldn’t even eat on her own, the torture they inflicted on Emma to break her- she didn’t betray her own kind, the Alchemists are repeatedly betraying their own kind, pushing them into the darkness of an empty hole. Oh, and this necklace around her neck, that Sheridan took for her own before Sydney reclaimed it, the morning glories were painted by the man she loves. And she rejects the Alcehmists having any authority on her. She’s a witch of the Stelle coven; she’s Sydney Sage Ivaskhov damnit. And when her dad tells her that if she doesn’t come with them, these will be the last words she ever gets to say to him? She gets to ask him if he knew what happened to Carly, if he let it happen under his own roof because he wanted a son like Keith more than the daughters he was blessed with. I want Sydney arguing her case, having her real communion. I said the same for Rose and Spirit Bound, and Sydney deserves the same here.

p.s. there are a lot of structural parallels between this book and BP/early SB- Sydney’s reeducation being like Rose’s time in Novosibirsk, the Tasarov escape from SB (which Eddie directly mentions) immediately followed up with a Vegas trip

Ruby Circle

Dang it. Look, I no longer hate the idea of Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. Their ending in RC was a lot better built-up (and a lot less bitter for Sydney) than I thought the first time. But the road to get there...

I hate the Jill being kidnapped by Alicia part (and I don’t buy the Warriors working with her). Honestly, just let them deal with Alicia during the events of Fiery Heart (when next to nothing else is going on). Like, Adrian and Sydney come off really badly in my head for “causing” her kidnapping because of a personal vendetta against them, when they came there to protect her in the first place (I realize the actual fault was with Alicia, but the feeling stands). Also the pointless scavenger hunt leading them from Pennsylvania (so conveniently, even though Alicia would have had to go there to set her traps after abducting Jill in the first place?) a month after the fact to whatever castle (then to Michigan) then to Palm Springs and the infiltrating the Warriors mission... it’s all too much (also I refuse to believe Sydney cast those stinging demons... that’s so dangerous I can’t even). Given the introduction of the Stelle in FH, and the unnecessary Malachi stuff, it works better to do that all then anyways. (I still want Jackie involved somehow of course) Instead of sidelining Angeline at Amberwood, she should get to be involved in the hunt for Jill (same as Eddie was for Sydney).

In other parts... Wesley Drozdov was never a good character. I really didn’t need even a mention of him in this book. I also... don’t buy how stigmatized Adrian was for marrying Sydney. I can see it being a scandal, or a laughingstock, the source of snarky asides and derision, but Richelle never built it in VA or the earlier BL books to being as heinous as she then tried to make it (so that Adrian could feel suffocated by Court, just like Sydney). I would have been much more interested in trying to see Sydney blend in, and take a stand in the Moroi world (and seeing her try to ally with nonroyal Moroi, but that also still not going super smoothly because they don’t like being on the same level as a human), and maybe her trying out her magic with the Moroi fighters that Mia and Christian had formed (that beautiful, blessed little moment), and then if it integrating there didn’t work admitting that it just... wasn’t going to. Rather than not even trying.

I understand that Richelle was building up with Adrian’s fears of completely losing it with Nina, but she just got screwed over in both of these books. (We’re acknowledging that it was wrong of her to kiss him in SS when he wasn’t even conscious, and moving on). And then Olive got screwed. And Neil got screwed. I said before that I don’t mind Sydney and Adrian raising a kid. But I mind a whole heck of a lot that Richelle killed (essentially) Nina and Olive both (in bullshit, tragic ways) and then wrote Neil off so that Sydney and Adrian would have to raise a baby. Let Sydney be pregnant. Let her be recovering from the most traumatic event of her life, she and Adrian forewent protection on their hectic honeymoon/escape, she’s going to be a mom to a Dhamphir and wow that’s going to be weird for her... and meanwhile this allows her to get through to Olive. To promise Olive and Neil that Sonya and everyone else will not use their baby as a test tube. Nina can still go up to the brink (maybe she passes it and the spirit trio of Lissa, Sonya, and Adrian have to heal her), there can still be a Strigoi attack at the Refuge in northern Michigan, but ffs cut the crap treatment of those three to pass on a readymade kid to Sydrian. It is a trope that I loathe. I also dislike the “ohmigod” fangirl characterization of Mallory, and while the Rand stuff was better than I remembered (that is to say, he is terrible and everyone acknowledges that and no one makes light of it the way I misremembered), I could do without it (especially since I’d prefer that if they keep Dimitri and Adrian cousins, they addres it much earlier).

Honestly, I would do the following:

the start of the season for RC (which doesn’t match its name??) has Sydney and Adrian locked down at Court and they can’t help like they want to, so they try to adapt and do what they can there, including Adrian trying to get Nina to calm down; their friends from Palm Springs and Marcus team up altogether and get an infiltration squad with the Warriors of Light; Eddie gets to participate; they rescue Jill, and get some of the data on the Alchemist/ Warrior collaboration

the Moroi Court finally gets into action on the age and family laws in earnest; meanwhile, Sydney is helping carve out a niche for the rebel Alchemists to work with the Moroi, especially for Strigoi hunting groups like what Mia and Christian wanted to organize; Jill and Sydney are helping each other emotionally recover from their respective hostage ordeals; Sydney realizes she’s pregnant, which helps Adrian realize in a dream with Olive that she’s pregnant, and finally sees her location marker

it’s “rescuing” Olive time; Neil gets to go too- with his presence, things don’t all go to shit; there is a Strigoi attack in retaliation for the new hunting groups, but heroes persevere and protect the commune; the data on the Alchemist/Warrior collaboration, and the Rebelchemists work with the Moroi, gives the perfect leverage now to get the Rebelchemists their freedom and establish Sydrian’s future together

SO, after rereading Bloodlines

I dislike Sydrian less than I did, though I still think Adrian could be vastly improved if adapted as a woman

the second half gave Eddie more to do, but still not enough emotional focus on him

man Amberwood and its supporting characters disappeared; I get that Adrian isn’t likely to settle in California long term, but can I please get more resolution to those characters, whether it comes from more focus in IS, or a graduation ceremony or something?

Abe also disappeared which is strange

man, Sydrian have a lot of daddy issues. because their dads are both abusive jerks. but why oh why did Jared end up collaborating with the Warriors for tattoos? was it because of anger over ‘losing’ Sydney or just greed? I’m glad that Zoe and Sydney at least started to heal things, and that Zoe is ok where she is

we still never got answers on who restored Lee... Clarence only showed up for deus ex machina money and shelter and I guess blood (did Marcus ever get to speak to him again?)

minor grievance: Richelle described the Warrior recruits as being almost evenly distributed between men and women, with a slide toward men, before two pages later saying there were 30 potential guys and 13 potential ladies, and remembering that, oh, yeah, the Warriors didn’t really use women on the front line; I don’t want any of that subplot adapted I just... editing?

#DoBetterByOliveAndNinaAndNeil2030 (who gets to name their kid Declan?), #LetSydneyUseHerBeautifulBrain

[ahs-source]

Happy Friday! Thank you to those who submitted these fantastic works for this week’s Fanfiction Friday. Let’s celebrate these wonderful works, please check them out and share them if you liked them to spread the love!

Apocalypse Won. (WIP) by tenebrisaeternam (AO3) / @noxaeternum​​​​ (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Cordelia Goode | Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Apocalypse, semi slow burn?, almost like a Hades and Persephone au but not quite?, there will be smut, Eventual Smut, there's some science in this that may not be accurate, don't hate me for that | Last Updated 2020-02-22 (5/? Chapters) | 14008 words | Canon Divergent

In the showdown at Outpost Three, Michael is victorious and takes the only witch left alive back to the Sanctuary with him.

I’ll Come Back For You (Completed) by drowning_ophelia (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Reader | Tags: Reader-Insert, Antichrist, Original Fiction, Michael deserved better | Completed (5/5 Chapters) | 15075 words | Canon Divergent

Not even your wildest imagination, your impossible dreamscapes, could have prepared you for finding your savior in the man who was none other but the spawn of Satan. Michael Langdon

is there no way out of the mind? (WIP) by burnthevvitch (AO3) / @burn-thevvitch​​​​ (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Stalking, Obsessive Behavior, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Sexual Content, Mild Gore, Attempted Murder, Kidnapping, Stockholm Syndrome, Dubious Consent, Past Abuse, Violence, Killing, Psychological Trauma, Character Death, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Movie and TV References, Bad Ending, Bittersweet Ending, sort of??, last but not least, A little bit of projection, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry | Last Updated 2020-03-02 (5/? Chapters) | 12902 words | AU / Modern Day

The only thing Michael will ever have is his own isolation⎯ the one thing that will never leave him. Until the day, he saw her.

Fix You Series (Completed / Part of Series) by Lobo_Steele (AO3) / @crossdressingpirate​​ (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Michael Langdon/Mallory, Michael Langdon, Mallory (American Horror Story), Bad BDSM Etiquette, Light Dom/sub, Subdrop, Aftercare, Ambiguous Slash, Hand Jobs, Come Eating, Frottage, Non-Canon Relationship, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Angst, Alternate Universe - Time Travel | Completed (7 works) | 16125 words | AU / Post Canon Divergent / Time Travel

“You have bruises.” Mallory looks at Michael in confusion. The shape is familiar. “Are those fingers? Michael, did someone choke you?”

He shrugs. “They’re not that bad.”

Mallory notes his evasion. She wonders what he might have done to deserve them. She loses a few minutes admiring the dark smudges.

How hard did they squeeze to coax such a shade from his tanned skin? Did it hurt?

Did he like it?

Keep the Nightlight On (Completed) by jotunblood (AO3) / @cryptid-coalition​​​​ (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mr. Gallant | Tags: Nightmares, Pining, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Canon-Typical Violence, Ghosts, Knives, Blood Kink, Kissing, Sleep Deprivation, Psychological Horror | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 12768 words | Canon Divergent

Outpost 3 was haunted, both by what’d died there and what wouldn’t.

Obsidian & Angelite (Completed) by zeciex (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Reader, Michael Langdon x Original Female Character | Tags: Character Study, Magic, Evil Power Couple, Power Dynamics, Dark Character | Completed (18/18 Chapters) | 95895 words | AU / Canon Divergent

Oya has spent centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting, comes with an offer she can't refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they're bound by something bigger than fate.

Sunspots (Completed / Part of Series) by ellebelle9 (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: Alternate Universe, Michael trains with the coven AU, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, might get smutty???, slight animal horror, michael langdon is an actual feline who leaves terrible gifts, dumb soft teenagers in love, kinda slow burn, Canon-Typical Violence, oops it got smutty, millory, major character death followed by major character resurrection, this will have a happy ending if it kills me, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, big hades & persephone vibes, Everything Hurts and I'm Dying, side foxxay, everything was beautiful and nothing hurt | Completed / Part of Series (Part 1 of the Sunspots AU series - 29/29 Chapters) | 55433 words |  Canon Divergent

The tall, blonde boy stepped forward and held out a hand for her to shake. He had a cordial smile and eyes that were shockingly blue.

“Michael Langdon,” he offered politely. Something deep in Mallory’s chest fluttered and screamed to back away.

She did not want to touch him, she felt as if the earth might end if she did.

(Alternate Universe where the warlocks agree to send Michael to Robichaux to train under Cordelia. Michael meets Mallory and is set on a different path.)

Take me Home; (through fields of Deceivers) (Completed / Part of Series) by ASOUEfan (AO3) Relationships: Wilhemina Venable x Reader, Wilhemina Venable x Original Female Character | Tags: Dom!Venable, sub!Reader, Back Pain, pain control, Psychological Trauma, Angst and Feels, Grief/Mourning, Eventual Happy Ending, Situational Humiliation, Light BDSM, Heavy Angst, So much angst, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm Denial, Stripping, Abuse of Authority, Non-Consensual Touching, Sort Of, Langdon coerces her lets be honest, Kneeling, a little bit of choking, A lot more choking, Non-Graphic Violence, Shooting Guns, Angst with a Happy Ending, With A Twist | Completed / Part of Series (Part 3 of the A Saga of Solace and Sacrifice series - 12/12 Chapters) | 51576 words | Canon Divergent

Sequel to Say it Again. (This is the same reader as Say it Again. So dubbed Doctor!Reader.)

6 Months after the events of Say it Again, the Reader has managed to ease Wilhemina Venable from her pain medication, but in doing so takes the mantle of not only managing Miss Venables physical pain, but her psychological grief. For in discovering Miss Venables loss she can make sense of her behaviour and hopefully, help her through it.

But the arrival of Michael Langdon at Outpost 3 does nothing except worsen the situation; taking away Miss Venable's position as head of the Outpost, humiliating her during her Co-operating, and dropping a terrible lie that will lead Wilhemina down a dark path of revenge.

If he is lying, at all...

when I wake up (let me breathe) (Completed) by catbrains (AO3) / @gallabstract​​​​ (Tumblr) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Duncan Shepherd | Tags: Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Internalized Homophobia, Self-Esteem Issues, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Dom/sub, Sub Duncan, Dom Michael, Violence, Asphyxiation, takes place after house of cards 6x5, duncan has a lot of issues, michael is perhaps not the best, this timeline doesn’t really make any sense at all I know | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 7087 words | AU / Canon Divergent

After learning the truth about his own identity, Duncan Shepherd flees to a bar to drown his sorrows and pick up a pretty face. He certainly finds one in Michael Langdon, but he finds a lot more, too.

would you like to stay like this forever? (Completed) by SophieGraceJ (AO3) Relationships: Michael Langdon x Mallory | Tags: millory, midsommar au sort of, just the aspects of harga and the fiddler, and of course the may queen, and the dance, Death and the Maiden, because i'm obsessed with that trope, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Culture, May Day celebration, Swedish culture, Hårgalåten, zadison, foxxay - Freeform | Completed (1/1 Chapters) | 2230 words | AU / Midsommar Inspired

The witches celebrate the Swedish holiday of May day, partaking in the May Queen dance as a lesson on darkness and light and the harmony of them both. Mallory meets a man she knows as the fiddler in the Harga folktale, and the evil they were warned about. She realizes she is more susceptible to temptation than she thought.

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