#i hope i did this justice

[mischieffae]

Yes please Thor 1 Loki smut….maybe with plus size reader 👀👀👀

Your wish is my command 😈

Devotion

Summary: After returning from a vigorous battle, Loki finds solitude in your welcoming company. Tending to his minor wounds, your hands are not the only thing that gives him pleasure that night.

Pairing: Thor 1 Loki x f!reader

Genre: Smut, 18+

Warnings: plus size reader, body worship, breast fucking, no use of y/n, praising, mentions of wounds, pre-established relationship, usage of old norse sayings

Music that inspired the writing

Smells of various floral arrangements filled the air with an intoxicating aroma, the room's golden hue glittering against their petals. You have prepared the room for your lover's return from battle, the brutal onslaught lasting for many suns and moons. It had begun to weigh heavily on your mind, each night causing you to lose more and more sleep from anxiety. But you had to remind yourself that your significant other was not a mere mortal, but a GOD of pure strength and cunning wit. It would take a lot more than a mere blade to bring him down to lay upon the earth.

He was unstoppable.

Heavy gilded doors began to slowly open as you turned towards its sound, your heart racing in your caged chest wildly in anticipation. There, your beloved stood with sweat upon his forehead, his usual clean leather attire covered in dust and crimson shades of his enemies essence. A small cut formed on his upper left brow, his raven short locks tousled around his chiseled features as he released heavy breaths. It made your breath halt in your lungs, his lithe form moving towards you in a graceful motion.

" Elskuga ... " ( old norse for lover )

You could not hold back your wide smile, hands outstretching in his direction before finding home in his damp hair. His soft lips trailed along your heated cheek, nostrils flaring while giving a pleasing sigh in relief.

" Have you missed me? ", he murmured sensually, your fingers moving to cup both sides of his pale face while gazing in those eyes that haunted you for days.

" More than you know... "

Your brows furrowed with concern from the cut upon his forehead, a tender finger lifting to graze along it curiously. You could've sworn you heard a small hiss in response, his eyes never leaving you as you gazed him over.

" Come, let me tend to your wounds my love. "

Loki held back his protest with self control, settling upon a fur covered chair with a gentle huff. Your smile never faltered as you began to brush a damp cloth against his wound, blood staining the white cotton with each motion. It reminded you of the many times you would clean his cuts from your adventures as children, always after a long day of rough housing with Sif and the Warriors Three. You were often the healer of the group, Thor insisting that it was your path in life. Perhaps it was, though you would rather join them on their outlandish escapades.

However now you have found purpose in the arts of mending.

" Are all these flowers for me? "

A small giggle escapes your lips, his head lifting to gaze into your eyes with mischief.

" Only if you came back victorious, which you have definitely proven to be true. "

The Prince released a small hum in approval, a hand lifting to gently graze along your thigh against the silk of your dress.

" And would you have done the same if I came back defeated? "

You pause your movement, eyes glittering with playfulness before finishing cleaning his cut.

" We all know that would have not happened, my love. "

You both chuckle in earnest, his smile causing your heart to clench in your chest with pure adoration.

Loki gazes upon you as if you were a beacon a light, entranced by your beauty and utter kindness. The two of you haven’t engaged in this romantic relationship until the year prior, your hearts intertwining the moment you confessed your love to him. Since then you have been inseparable, and of course this spurred on gossiping within the palace's halls of the scandal between a prince and a commoner. But neither of you seemed to find a care in the world, often blocking out those whispers with shared kisses and giggles in front of their stares.

Love often found it's way.

" Ek ann þér .. " ( I love you )

Those words slithered from his lips with a lustful tone, the verbiage causing a heat to stir deep within your belly. It was a siren calling, your body moving to settle upon his lap with a soft sigh in acceptance. You needed this more than anything, your body craving for his touch since the moment he left Asgard's walls nights before.

And perhaps, he needed this more than you.

" Take me, my love... "

It was all he needed to hear, a pained gasp emitting before crashing his lips against your own. He was starving for you, tender hands lifting to trail along your curvy frame with purpose. Every touch caused a hitch to form past your lips, the noise swallowed as he drove deeper with his tongue. Loki settles his hands to cup your tender breasts with vigor, hips pulsing upwards as you both moan heatedly in response.

" - ... Loki ... "

You pull away for air with short pants, his mouth slack whilst moving to ghost along your sensitive throat wantonly. You could smell the dirt and grim upon his leather attire, nostrils flaring with the intoxicating aroma. It was causing your mind to melt within your skull, unaware of the sudden change in movement before you were snapped back into reality from the gentle lay upon the bed. He wanted to absolutely devour you, pupils blown from his arousal as he panted above your frame.

" I need you ... Need you ... ", he begged under his breath, shaking hands moving frantically to pull upon your silk intricate dress.

He needed this off you now, as if you would suddenly disappear if he wasn't fast enough. You arched your back to give him better access, the fabric unveiling your gorgeous form for his eyes to swallow greedily. To him, you were a GODDESS, each dip of your body and each little plump area a pure masterpiece. His hands couldn't help but softly kneed everywhere, to the softness of your hips to the roundness of your belly.

Loki released a gentle groan in anticipation, your breaths sounding lightly as you gazed with pure adoration. Your long locks tousled around your features like a halo, a perfect fitting for an angel such as yourself as he thought to himself. The both of you could stay this way for eternity, never once hearing the outside world. Only the two of you, basked in each other's love.

If only it were that simple.

Your needy whines snaps the prince back to reality, his jaw slack as he tenderly massages your chest with a pleased moan from the fullness. It feels divine, each motion causing your heart to flutter in response. But you wanted to feel MORE of him, and with this thought your hands trail downward towards his trousers in hunger.

His eyes snap in your trailing, chest heaving with excitement before lifting to your blown pupils with uncertainty.

" A-Are you sure? You don't... "

A small hush escapes you, fingers finding their purpose to dip within leather. You grasp his heated manhood with a gentle embrace, his lips parting to emit a wanton moan.

" I want this more than anything, my love.."

It was all he needed to hear, that confirmation. Those words were his utter demise, as if a mask cracked and began to unleash his true potential. A guttural groan escapes him as he quickly moves to unveil his cock, your hands still grasping it's hardness as it twitches with excitement. You guide it to lay between your heavy breasts, his back arching forward while pushing the twin flesh together.

" ... Open your mouth .. "

Gods you could die right here and now, your brows knitting together in concentration as you open your plump lips willingly for his pleasure. Tonight, this was for him, all this pent up energy from his previous battle to all be released. The Prince couldn't be more lucky to have you in his stead.

" That's a good girl... just like that... "

With a twist of his hips, Loki begins to thrust between the mounds of flesh with slow sensual movements. The tip of his cock brushed along your bottom lip gently, your tongue occasionally popping out to catch a taste of pre-cum that dabbled on the head. He was so beautiful above you, once slick raven hair now tousled around his flushed features. His mouth slightly open with tight brows in concentration. He can't get enough of you, each roll of his hips causing a gentle moan with a clench of his jaw.

" So beautiful - ... f-fuck... "

It was not often you heard the Prince of Asgard say such vulgar words, but when you did you could not help but smirk in victory. You, of all people were bringing royalty to fall upon his own knees.

That was all you needed to feel that success.

Your hands moved to wrap your fingers around his wrist encouragingly, his hips moving more into a frantic pace.

" That's it my love... I got you ... ", you whisper softly, your eyes never once leaving his as your mouth begins to suckle upon the tip of his reddening cock. He's an utter mess, small whimpers escaping him as the base of his member is nestled between your tits. His hands are almost painfully grasping you, not that you mind of course but actually edge him on. Your cheeks hollow to suction more firmly, each roll of his hips driving the tip deeper into your willing mouth.

" I-I'm gonna ... ", he cannot breathe as he snaps his hips with a final thrust, body convulsing with a loud wanton whimper as he spills his seed on your plush tongue. You've missed this taste, a moan of your own emitting while you continue to suckle every last drop. His fingers are digging into your breasts, head rolling forward with heavy breaths. He is utterly spent before you, a smile forming on your used lips before releasing with a lewd pop.

" Norns -... "

It was then that he pulls away from you, finally falling to lay on top of your soft frame with heavy gasps in relief. Your hands lift to brush lovingly in his short locks, the side of his cheek resting on your chest to hear the quickness of your heartbeat.

The Prince has found solace in your company, and that thought alone was enough to send you into pure contentment.

[r0sel0v3]

--𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦--

𝐈 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐭! 𝐀𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐠𝐧 (𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 @phuuca! )

𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐤 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞!

-𝙵𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚜 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚔𝚎𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚛𝚊𝚠𝚒𝚗𝚐-

(Video recording of the process, I slowed it a bit to not make it crazy fast)

[twiixr4kidz]

thinking evil thoughts rn (Gideon x Julie x Reader trouple trouble) (they're all insufferable)

oh my god YES???? HELLO??? im literally obsessed with gideon and julie's dynamic LMFAOAOA

gideon x reader x julie headcanons!!

ok like you said, THEY ARE INSUFFERABLE!!!!!!

gideon is evil at heart and julie??

she is an ENABLER.

SHE WILL ENABLE YOU

SHE ENCOURAGES YOUR EVIL ACTS AND SHE THINK IT'S HOT!!!!!!!!

i imagine she encourages you and gideon to commit tiny little baby crimes, like stealing a snickers from the walmart checkout

she also has like, so many plans to take over the world

yknow who else does??

GIDEON!!!!

dating gideon and julie means you are automatically wrapped into their "we're gonna take over the world and be evil" schemes and you have to be okay with that :3

also the scene where julie leaves gideon at home and she's like "I'LL MISS YOU FUCKING MORE!!!!"

there are so many moments you'll have with her like that

julie loves people aggressively

she's a bitch at heart (and i mean that in the most endearing way) and you're never gonna be free of her attitude if you're dating her

as for gideon, he's much softer with you

although there will definitely be times where it's like you and gideon vs. julie

you guys like to get on her nerves!!

think the scene where lucas comes over and him and gideon trash julie's apartment

there are so many antics

feel like the three of you would get in 1v1v1 pillow fights over the tiniest things

sometimes it's for fun, other times it's a full on war between the three of you

but at the end of the day, they would take over the entire world not just to make themselves happy, but to make YOU happy

:33 they're the sweetest partners even tho they're evil and insane

[xieni-logs]

HII!! I saw your requests were open, so can I request something fluffy with Arlan from hsr?

I'm so deprived from arlan x reader content im dying over here-

Boyfriend!Arlan x Reader (RQ)

Boyfriend!Arlan who would set time aside during his day just for you. he's not one for pda when he's working but if he's off the clock, you're free to do whatever! he'd never admit this, but he loves it when you hug and kiss him right as he signs out. he's a bit embarrassed about pda, especially in front of his coworkers, so please keep it to holding hands, hugs, and small pecks on the cheeks. you can save the rest for when you and Arlan are in private.

Boyfriend!Arlan who would tell you to run and not look back during a legion attack. he'd say it all serious and you'd have no choice but to listen to him. and when it's all over, he'll run up to you and give you the tightest hug he can muster without hurting you. once the matter is settled, he'll get time off for rest and injuries which will all be spent with you. Arlan is clingier after an attack and much more physically affectionate; he'll be the one insisting the two of you hold hands and he'll be the one to initiate hugs and kisses.

Boyfriend!Arlan who would unconsciously cuddle you whenever the both of you slept together. the first time you guys slept together, he was a nervous wreck even though all you two were doing was sharing bed- nothing more! he even set pillows between you and him as a border. how surprised you were when you woke up to a sleeping Arlan clinging to your side, his head by your shoulder with his arms and legs wrapped around you. at first, he denied it, but now Arlan is very forward about wanting to cuddle you before bed.

a/n: hii this is my first ever request, i hope i did your request some justice!! gosh, he's one of my favorite characters (and the only 4 star i havent gotten even though i have 2 of his lightcones and an entire +12 relic set ready for him) and i just realized, i dont know that much about him so i read thru his entire wiki page for this .·°՞(≧□≦)՞°·.

[neve-0001]

YOU. YOU MENTIONED SCHOOL OF ROCK IN A POST... I AM #1 SCHOOL OF ROCK FAN FOREVER AND EVER. Can we get a doodle of Dewey or Summer pls :3

YES, IN FACT, I DID.

i was so excited when i got this request and decided i was gonna draw it asap. but then something hit me.

oh no. does this individual want movie/jack black dewey (and summer) or musical dewey …

i hope at least one person gets the ‘i am steve’ and ‘stick it to the man’ references (adam hazbin hotel mention)

and yeah so that worried me because obviously these two are very different. so i drew doodle headshots of both! i would love to know what you were expecting though LOL

also, i drew both summers! (movie and musical versions) i hope i did them justice. i imagine them meeting and at first hating each other and both of them wanting to be the better summer, but then eventually getting along and being the best summers together <3

teehee i love them both. i hope i fulfilled this request well 😭 and if there’s any other iteration of school of rock… well.. woops. i only know these 2.

aaaaaand if you were looking for alex brightman dewey, i have this old artwork of him i made at the beginning of the year, enjoy!

school of rock deserves more love.

[pocket-watcher]

Hey, I made this post and I feel like others in the notes didn’t quite get my vision. Do you wanna give it a shot? I’d love to see how you’d do it! https://www.tumblr.com/deep-under-her/751391614309646336/one-of-my-favorite-things-in-hypnosis-stories-is

Hey! Sure, I’ll take a crack at it! Let’s start a little differently to normal then, shall we?

She was deep in trance.

The spiral still spinning round and round.

The drool dribbling down her chin.

Around and around, she followed it with her head.

“That’s it… just how deep do you think you can go, hmm?” He said with a wicked grin on his face.

She sat there circling again. He watched her in fascination, until her empty voice spoke up.

“S-so deep, Master… you make me go so deep…”

It was as if every word was a struggle.

“You’re precious. So cute kneeling and staring like that.” He commented, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“A-and.. you’re p-perfect Master…”

Master tilted her chin up away from the spiral to meet his gaze.

“What was that, doll?”

“You’re - you make me feel so warm… so safe…” she sighed dreamily.

“I’m glad. You are safe, you know. I won’t let any of those pesky worries get to you. Not whilst you’re mine. And you love being mine, don’t you?”

“I love being yours.”

“Such a good, obedient girl.” He traced her skin lightly, earning little gasps from his plaything. “You sure are vocal tonight. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”

She knew Master was toying with her. He wanted to hear her voice hitch. He wanted her to try and form sentences. But she’d never disobey an order.

She met his eyes once more.

“I-I think your eyes are beautiful…” and she meant it. The almost grey of the blue drew her in. She’d always loved blue eyes, but these were something much more special.

Master chuckled.

“As do I. Your eyes when they roll back into your head are such a sight…”

“And you’re always so good to m-me,” he grazed a sensitive spot, “you always make me feel so good.”

He waited for her to continue. Stopping his hand in place.

“You’re amazing Master. I- I want to be yours forever…”

“Aren’t you a little flatterer, doll. Looking for a reward?”

The word triggered her mantra.

“My reward is obedience. And my obedience is pleasure.”

“Good girl… aren’t you? So obedient. So mindless…”

“I love you, Master.”

“I love you too, doll.”

[c0re-m3]

Drew the silliest (Piepoe and Pir) together (silly!!) @awakenthebeing I HOPE YOU LIKE IT EEK!!!

[pocket-lad]

AOH my god has this been done before wait. Huge Adelaide “death” scare (not dead !! Never . But def roughed up and unconscious) I’m unsure where this could fit into any of the amazing fics u made but we need Ian inconsolable , I want this man in tears almost if that man even cries. All the angst. (then the insurmountable relief and softness when she wakes up lol) You characterize him super well, I’m so curious to see what you could possibly do with this idea..

Let's tear this man down >:)

~

Alan marched into the bunker with Ellie, intent on locating a gun or two to take these raptors out. And then they were out of here for good. It was a shame he also had some devastating news to deliver - news that might get him killed by something other than a dinosaur.

It all happened in the blink of an eye. They were in a large clearing, maybe a mile from the visitor’s center, when a herd of Gallimimus wheeled directly toward them. It was so fascinating, the way they flocked like birds. He honestly could have sat there all day.

But they were very large dinosaurs, and he was in charge of three exhausted, vulnerable people. Urged on by Adelaide, Lex, and Tim, Alan sprinted back the direction they came, each hand holding onto a child for dear life.

A big log rested on the grass ahead, and it offered as good of protection as any. Without slowing down, he and the kids leapt over the side then pressed their backs against it, waiting for the dinosaurs to pass. But as he did so, he felt the infinitesimal weight on his shoulders disappear and a faint scream filled the air.

When he realized what it was, it was too late. Alan’s head whipped around to locate Adelaide and catch her, but the moment his eyes landed on her was the moment of impact.

Before her body could tumble off the side of the log, Alan gathered her up and held her close to his chest so that they could wait out the herd. She wasn’t moving.

The dinosaurs disappeared, but Alan was too scared to pull Adelaide into the light. He sat there, blinking and breathing, nothing more.

“Dr. Grant?” Lex said, worried by the sudden shift in his demeanor.

That was all Alan needed to pull himself out of it. He slowly extricated his hand from his chest and laid his palm out flat.

Adelaide laid limply in his hand, her limbs bending every which way and her hair splayed out across his palm. Alan floated her around, trying to get a good angle to see if her chest still moved. When he couldn’t see anything, he held her up against his ear. He didn’t hear anything, either. He had no way to know if she was breathing.

“Is she okay?” Tim asked.

“I don’t know.”

***

Malcolm was going to kill him. There was no world in which Malcolm didn’t kill him. Alan couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. It was now a matter of how to break it to the man.

The first thing Alan heard when he entered the bunker was, “Where are they? Where is she? Are they okay?”

The only sound that followed was the hum of the emergency lights.

There was no point delaying the inevitable. Ian, Ellie, and Hammond watched Alan intently as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out an impossibly tiny person. Ellie already knew what was coming. She couldn’t bear to watch, yet somehow she couldn’t force herself to look away.

Alan held Adelaide out on his palm.

“What - what - what’s this?” Ian asked.

Alan closed his eyes. “Ian, you have to understand-”

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, you bring me - you bring me Adelaide right - right now.”

“Ian-”

Ian quickly snatched Adelaide from Alan’s hand and held her up to his own eyes. If her chest was moving, he sure couldn’t see it. In an effort to quell the sudden burst of anger and sadness and fear and guilt, his jaw tightened so hard he thought his teeth would shatter. He slowly raised his gaze up to Alan. “What happened?” he seethed.

“We were running and I jumped over a log. She fell from my shoulder and I couldn’t catch her in time. I’m sorry.”

Ian looked Adelaide up and down, his eyes flickering back and forth in disbelief. She was so small, even smaller when she wasn’t awake to try to make herself look bigger. Even collapsed and unconscious, putting no effort into holding herself up, she was still so light. He gently nudged each of her limbs into place so that she at least looked comfortable. They moved all too easily under his fingers. 

“Della,” he whispered. “Della, come on. We’re going to get out of here, Della. Adelaide, come on.”

“Ian-” Ellie interrupted, tears welling in her eyes.

Ian ignored her. He held Adelaide to his chest. Maybe his rapid heartbeat would wake her up. She complained that it did that sometimes when she slept in his pocket. He frantically pulled her away to check. Still asleep.

The sound of clanging metal caught his attention. Dr. Grant was in the middle of pulling a couple guns out of storage. He didn’t even look bothered by the circumstances. Ian’s face turned red as an unbridled rage bubbled up in his chest.

Without thinking much about it, he shoved Adelaide at John Hammond, who instinctively reached up to hold her. Ian would need both of his hands for this. He lunged from the table directly at Grant, relying solely on his one remaining good leg. He more so fell into Alan, but grabbed him by the shirt collar and pinned him against the wall with his body weight. The gun clattered to the ground. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Get off of me!”

“You killed her. You son of a bitch, you bastard, you killed her.”

Alan couldn’t procure a response in his struggle to get the tall, heavy man off of him. With the help of Ellie, he was finally able to push him away, back toward the table he came from. If it wasn’t for Malcolm’s wilting leg, Alan wasn’t so sure he would have won that fight.

His clothes rumpled and his patience growing thin, he regarded Malcolm as he leaned against the table, panting. He looked in bad shape.

“I am sorry, Ian, I really am. But those kids are out there and we have to go find them before something happens to them, too.”

Ian wasn’t listening. He shot up - Grant’s irritatingly calm voice was all that was needed to prompt a round two - but Ellie eased him away again. His leg screamed in pain. He slowly slid down the side of the table and slumped to the ground. His conversation with Hammond came rushing back.

“She’s three inches tall, John!”

“And who brought her here?”

Ian had been too eager, blinded by his pride. He wanted to be the one to show Adelaide the world. She told him she didn’t want to come here. She was scared to leave the house, to travel far away, to be around a bunch of unknown giants. She was so scared that a human would take her away. Ian laughed it off at the time, thinking she worried too much, and that if he showered her it wasn’t so bad, maybe she’d open up more. He thought he knew what was best for her. He should’ve listened.

From the beginning, it was painfully clear that it was only a matter of time before someone got hurt. The park was doomed to fail, perhaps even catastrophically, and when dinosaurs were the main attraction…He just couldn’t imagine the ones to get hurt would be him or Adelaide. But the systems that fail don’t reward those who predicted their failure. Failed systems don’t discriminate. They take down everything in and around them.

“Give her here,” Ian muttered numbly. Hammond nodded, gently handing her over. Adelaide’s head lolled from side to side as he did so. She looked the same. Still unmoving. Still unconscious.

In the heat of the moment, Hammond was the closest and only option. If Ian was going to beat the hell out of Grant, he didn’t want Adelaide’s delicate body anywhere near the fray, so he pushed her into Hammond’s hands. Ian trusted Hammond, in most aspects, about as far as he could throw him, but he trusted he would keep the borrower away from harm for a few minutes. He trusted him with the task more than Grant, at least.

Ellie bent down to Ian’s level and rubbed his arm in reassurance. Then she was off with Alan to do something. Save the kids, maybe? Ian wasn’t paying attention.

His eyes bored into Adelaide for an eternity, searching for any sign of life. If he stared long enough, he was bound to catch a twitch of her hand or a flicker in her eyes. She was bound to wake up.

For once, Hammond didn’t say anything. He didn’t have any smart comments or consoling words, and for that, Ian was grateful. If Hammond opened his mouth, he was going to get hit.

A single tear leaked out of Ian’s eye and trickled down his cheek. And then another. And another. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t cry. His face didn’t contort and his breath stayed relaxed, but the tears built up too much and the dam broke.

One landed on Adelaide, drenching her face and shirt. Ian moved her out of the way.

It was his duty to protect her. She was always so confident and full of life, it was hard to imagine she wasn’t as durable as any other human. But she wasn’t. She was tiny and fragile. Ian forgot that, or maybe he ignored it. Either way, his blindness got her killed.

What was he supposed to do now? Take her back to Texas? And then what? Adelaide would be gone forever, with nobody to remember her except the few people who made it off this island.

“Why don’t we get you into the car?” Hammond suggested. Ian’s tear soaked face and dead eyes made Hammond falter for only a second before he continued. “They may need a pickup when they’re done.”

Ian didn’t want to move. But the world kept on moving whether he wanted it to or not and Adelaide deserved to go home. It was time to leave.

Hammond carefully helped Ian to his feet and supported him as they made their way to a Jeep. Not once did Ian look away from Adelaide. Not when they left the bunker, not when they left the building, not when Hammond situated his leg in the Jeep, not when they pulled up to the visitor’s center.

Not until he heard Dr. Grant’s voice. “Mr. Hammond, after careful consideration, I have decided not to endorse your park.”

Ian glared at him, and in their brief moment of eye contact, he saw the guilt plastered all over Grant’s face. He’d live with that guilt for the rest of his life. Good.

The presence of the people around him slowly came to his attention. Ellie and the kids stared at Adelaide.

They were worried. Maybe sad. He knew that. But the way they stared wasn’t like the way he stared. It was an invasive stare that would make Adelaide undoubtedly uncomfortable if she was awake. Instantly, Ian closed his hand around her and held her to his chest so that they couldn’t gawk anymore. They didn’t deserve to look at her anymore.

“Dr. Malcolm, is she-” One of the kids asked.

“Yeah, yeah, um…she’s…” He took a shaky breath.

“What are you going to do?”

“I uh, don’t know. What do you think I should do?” Ian asked. When he looked up, he saw it was the girl talking. Lex.

“Um…”

“No, really, cause I haven’t - I haven’t the foggiest idea.” The intensity built as he spoke. What kind of ridiculous question was that, anyway? What are you going to do? Kill John Hammond and Alan Grant and tear this whole island to the ground. That’s what he was going to do.

“Let’s leave them alone, okay?” Ellie suggested quietly.

Alan helped Ian into the helicopter when they arrived. He climbed in and pulled his hand away from his chest. Maybe this time…

But still she laid there, as dead to the world as before. Her face was slack, her body bruised and bloody. And there was nothing Ian could do to fix it. There was always something Ian could do to fix it. There was nothing Ian could do to fix it. 

Alan spoke. “Ian, believe me, I never-”

“Just - just don’t.”

“I did everything I could-”

“Hey, uh, I said DON’T.” Ian’s voice boomed throughout the interior of the helicopter. The space fell into an uncomfortable and agonizing silence. They lost so many people, but to have one of the dead trapped inside with them as a constant reminder…

Ian blinked away the oncoming tears as he slammed his head back against the headrest, studying the ceiling. He absently stroked Adelaide’s arm. He always liked to feel her in his hand, to know she was right there, safe with him. She was always safe in his hands. If only he had kept her with him when he lured the T-Rex away. But no, she just as easily could’ve gotten herself killed there as well.

Ian handed Adelaide off to Alan the previous night because he knew he would watch after her. Because Alan was a dinosaur expert and an all around smart, level-headed man. He would take better care of her than Ian could. Logically, the choice he made was sound. So why did just looking at Grant bring on such bitterness and hate? Why was he filled with so much regret? Why did it hurt so bad?

The world passed them by. Pelicans flew alongside the helicopter, uncaring and free. Hammond regarded the mosquito trapped in amber that sat atop his cane with detached interest. Alan and the kids fell asleep. Ellie watched them, wishing she could take a picture. Ian didn’t feel anything, save for the cold, lifeless weight in his palm.

A loud gasp for air accompanied by a large spasm in Ian’s hand drew everyone’s attention.

Adelaide was soaking wet and disoriented. Her back protested her startled jump into consciousness, a sharp pain radiating up her spine, through her neck, and into her head so that she could hardly move.

She tried to recall the previous events. There was a field. Dinosaurs. Running. She was thrown into the air and then…nothing.

She was in a hand. It was warm and spongy and she could feel the life pulse beneath her. Whatever they were doing and wherever they were now, Adelaide almost thought it was better she didn’t know. Almost.

Ian’s mouth fell open. If he couldn’t believe Adelaide was dead an hour ago, he sure as hell couldn’t believe she was alive now. But she was. She may have been extremely hurt, extremely scared, whatever, but she was alive, and the gaping hole in his chest left behind by her death flooded with relief so strong it was nearly tangible.

Ian regarded the borrower with the same intensity he did when he first snatched her out of Alan’s hands. His eyes jumped back and forth, searching not for a sign of life this time, but for a sign that she was hurt. His hand stayed motionless, frozen due in part to shock.

“Adelaide,” he breathed.

Adelaide blinked her crusted eyes open. Just lifting her arm to wipe the gunk away sent another flare up her back. She could have sworn that that was Ian’s voice. But she was probably dreaming again, and to get her hopes up would be to have her hopes dashed. Again.

“Ian?” she whispered tentatively, still unable to see through the haze.

Air came at her fast, and before she could brace herself, Adelaide was pressed into dark fabric, held tight by the hand. No matter what dinosaur they were running from, she did not want to be in this position. She thought Alan understood that.

Not only that, but it hurt. Whatever caused her to black out, it did a number on her body, and there was no way it could stand this pressure for much longer. She wiggled around as much as her poor body would allow, pushing and shoving along the way.

Adelaide thought she felt something along the lines of a laugh come from the Bean with the way the chest abruptly contracted and expanded and the way she could hear the expulsion of air through the giant lungs.

Why would he laugh? What was going on?

Gravity forced her into a prone position as the hand pulled her up into the air, and light emerged all around her.

They were not on the island. At least, they weren’t in nature. The world around her was metal. And the person holding her was not Alan. It was Ian. Ian was alive.

“Oh my god!” Adelaide cried.

“Oh my god yourself!” Ian said.

“Oh my god yourself! Ian!” She scrambled to an attempted stand but settled for a seat. She surveyed the palm around her, grabbing his thumb with both hands and pulling it close. She ran her hands along the skin. It was real. He was real.

The thumb suddenly sprouted a mind of its own and pushed inward, nudging Adelaide’s shoulder. She flinched but remained unbothered because it was Ian Malcolm, alive and in the flesh. A large drop of water splashed down next to her.

Adelaide just nearly dodged it, the quick movement hurting her back. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was the water itself. It was a tear... Ian was crying? Crying wasn’t something Adelaide thought he was even capable of. Something must’ve gone horribly wrong, but she couldn’t think of anything so bad that it would make him cry. Who died?

Instead of asking any helpful questions, the one that came out of Adelaide’s mouth was, “Is that why I’m wet?” It didn’t escape her notice that she was still soaked from the torso up. Not only did Ian Malcolm cry, but he cried on her. Gross.

“Della, we thought you were dead.”

“W-What?” Adelaide had blacked out a number of times in her life, most of them being around Beans. Something about the toll of living in a constant state of fear…Regardless, it wasn’t unheard of for her to go unconscious from time to time. Before she could ask why they thought this time was any different, Alan’s voice came from across the helicopter.

Right. There were other people here too.

“You fell when we were running from the Gallimimus,” he said, and for once it was the giant who had trouble maintaining eye contact. “I couldn’t catch you in time. I am so, so sorry.”

“No, you don’t - you don’t get to talk to her,” Ian said.

Adelaide jumped in. “Woah, calm down. I should’ve held on better. That’s my fault.” She shifted her focus. “Thank you, Alan, for watching over me.”

“Don’t thank him,” Ian scowled.

“I can thank him if I want to thank him!” Adelaide shouted, but doing so caused another flare in her back. Ian’s thumb returned, gently resting on her chest. The weight forced her to lie down, which she assumed was his intention. If she had the strength to fight it, she would have, but laying down did feel nice.

Alan watched the pained movements. “You hit the ground hard. I’d take it easy if I were-” His advice was cut short by a glare from Ian.

Adelaide rolled her eyes. “It’s okay. We’re okay. We’re going home.” She slowly scooched over until she was resting up against his chest, relishing in the soft fabric of his shirt and the heat that human Beans seemed to have an endless supply of. “You know I’m never letting you out of my sight again?” It was only partially a joke.

Ian chuckled. “Oh, you think I’m going to let you out of my sight? Cute.”

Adelaide’s body vibrated in time with his voice. “I am not cute,” she insisted.

At the same time, she curled her body up even further against his chest, pulling her legs close and feeling the slight rise and fall as he breathed like the gentle rocking of a ship. As the minutes passed, she paid attention to his heart rate while it progressively slowed down. He really was worried about her.

Ian watched her settle in. Adelaide was correct - she wasn’t cute. She was absolutely adorable. And absolutely alive. And they were absolutely going home.

[tastic-in-its-finest]

Strike Midnight

Ao3

For the @tss-october-ghostwriters event, the prompts transformation, full moon, midnight, ancient, and a little bit of magic were used :)

Warnings and tags: Minor violence, tw blood, mentions of murdering/killing, and animal attacks

Summary: To improve an imperfect world, he does what needs to be done. Roman, a human, hunts the feral and out of control monsters in his path while sparing the misunderstood, along with his twin brother Remus.

However, it's hard to hunt a werewolf when it turns out to be your own brother.

Written by: @tastic-in-its-finest, for my lovely Giftee @edupunkn00b

...

He searched every corner and crevice yet couldn’t find it. Roman checked almost every burrow, climbing many trees of the dark and deep thicket of the forest to survey the area. He knew he wasn’t trying as hard as he should. He wasn’t desperate enough to cannonball into a lake just yet. Yet the ancient bracelet he was trying to find seemed unreachable.

He was given instructions by Janus, a snake deity, of which surrounding area to look, and bribing them with the sweet ‘rewards’ to come with it.

He could try to enjoy the rewards, if not for him, then for his brother Remus. He didn’t hate the Janus, harboring only a slight dislike for him since he’d met him, but they bonded over theater and a love for drama. And he wasn’t about to let his brother down, who was enthralled with any ideas Janus had in mind, even if they were clueless of their prize.

He took a short break to wait for the impending sunset, in the middle of a semi-open clearing with rocks nearby, he could mentally hear Janus scolding him. Where is he meant to find this anyway? Janus didn’t tell them too many specifics to find the bracelet; like a key hidden under a rock.

Well, what did he have to lose?

Looking under one, two, three stones, and the fourth, much larger and stuck in the ground. He pulled harder, and harder, before it popped out and he almost decked his beautiful face. It isn’t stuck to mud however, a shiny silver pendant, or bracelet somehow found itself lost. The bastard who stole and threw it away knew where to hide it. It was the exact description he needed.

“Eureka,” he whispered, drying the wet and dirt, wearing the ancient bracelet, golden, fabulous, the smell of metal grazing his wrist, quite charming, preparing to speak with Remus about his discovery.

A hesitant twig broke close, near one of the large bushes. Roman felt eyes prying the back of his head. He wanted to think Remus was attempting to scare him, poorly, but Remus knew better.

The handle of his sword proved a sturdy grip, seethed in his lightweight holster for now, he waited.

“Show yourself!” He yelled, as he swung his sharp sword out and a fast figure tripped him down, standing unfazed in front of him dark and stormy. A sharp face he found all too familiar these days.

“You.” He pointed his sword, finding the means to pull himself up while looking at the unimpressed emo nightmare, V, short for vampire, held an black spider web umbrella one-handed, big enough to cover him completely.

“You’re too easy sometimes… princey,” Roman glared, remaining serious, yet slightly relaxing the tip of his sword towards the vampire's turtleneck.

“What sort of a nickname is that?”

The pale emo grinned, “If you don’t want to be called a prince, don’t act or dress like one,” the vampire gestured towards his favorite red sash over his hunting clothes.

“Should I call you a dark and stormy knight then, cause that’s exactly what you are,” with layers upon layers of black and gray clothing in the hot grueling sun.

“Real original of you.”

“It’s the only thing I can call you, unless you give me a name.”

“In your dreams.”

His name was not V, but he was called Virgil. Stuck in an open area, one of his many obstacles, he ran into him, all of his stamina diminished, the sun already tiring him. The extremely skilled and dangerous monster hunter, his sword resting near his side, ready to strike him at any moment, “What’s your play vampire?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

"My brother will be here any minute. I'd hate for him to kill you before I do,” he playfully tapped him, but Virgil internally wondered if he was being serious or not.

"Lower your sword, then we can talk," Virgil tried to put the most nonchalant voice imaginable, he cringed when he croaked the words out. The hunter listened.

"...Have you been stalking me?"

Virgil couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t flatter yourself, you’re not the only reason I’m out here,” he stepped forward, looking distantly behind Roman. The side dense area of trees were difficult to traverse by, more difficult with an umbrella no less, however, he could make a run for it, only, a sharp and cold blade tapped and pressed the tip of his bicep before he could move forward.

He blinked rapidly, “You want to do this now?”

“We don’t have a truce at the moment,” The hunter flashed a cocky grin, stance in the ready. He was testing him, always, but Virgil never wanted to believe he couldn’t be. Didn’t think he noticed the wooden stake slotted near his sword holster. Make sure he never touches it.

“Cocky, princey,” Virgil looked into the deadly rays of the sun, the dark umbrella his only protection, assessing his situation. He put his hood up.

From what he could gather, it was a pure coincidence they met again. But Roman was ready to defeat him this time, defend his honor and beat his brother to the kill.

He took the first swing, missing by an inch, another, another, and another, the monster ducked, shielding the blow meant to strike his face as his back sizzled from a lack of protection. The vampire hissed, scratching Roman’s cheek, burning and painful.

Backing away, Roman got stunned by such a violent reaction, furthermore, V remained in defense. Taking a chance, he kept stepping forward, swinging fast, failing to kick his chest, and swiping his legs from under him with a katana. The fiend stumbled into the grass. He tried stomping to the side of his pale face yet rolling out from under him, swiping at Roman’s spine, getting a hard grip on his hands, flipping him onto his back as his hood fell off.

Groaning in pain, pushing himself up, the monster tried kicking him to the ground while he was vulnerable. Roman ducked, slashing the torn Umbrella. Hissing, cowering and retreating from the sun, Roman rushes forward and trying to pin him to the tree, his head hit it too hard, knocking him out cold.

Roman leaned on the tree, catching his breath, the vampire lucky enough to be left in the shade of the leaves. Seething his sword, somehow without a trace of vampire blood, in his holster, fitting the wooden stake in his hand.

Standing over V, blissfully unaware of what could be a stake about to be driven in his heart, turned Roman’s stomach. He gripped the stake, he could do it, rid the world of one more evil. Yet he blanks trying to search for an evil deed V committed. He isn’t feral. This wasn’t honorable, it felt so wrong. He would have hated to be murdered this way.

The stake is slit in its rightful place, along with neatly folding the umbrella. Leaving after his slight distraction.

…

Remus is having the time of his life. Swinging upside down on trees, squeezing his bum into every burrow, and cannonballing into a lake to find an eensie weensie ancient trinket bracelet thing and the magic to neutralize the strengths of those who weld it. He was given sort of clear instructions by his close friend Janus, an idea of the whereabouts, and the sweet long morningstar to come with it.

Like any good friend, he lamented on a large stone, reeking of wet dog, cuddling his stick and staring at his reflection in the water, throwing small stones that emerged in the water at himself. It was going to be hard to earn his trust back, after what he did. One bracelet and he can have his weapon back instead of using a sad and sharp stick to murder monsters when he needs to, and of course, Janus’ unconditional love that he cherished more than anything. If only he could see how hard he is trying now.

Echoing through the thicket, a low whistle drew his attention, a call to warn him of his twin's return, in case Remus tried stabbing him.

“Back so late?”

“I have what we need, let's go,” Roman’s shoulders were unusually tense, Remus didn’t question it. Pulling out a large map to guide them out of the unfamiliar area.

“Want to make time for hunting feral werewolves or Rougaros?”

“Well, if only he thought about that on a night other than a full moon,”

“Boo, you’re such a bore. We can do both.”

Roman gasped, feigning annoyance. They crowd the map. Only a few paces north to reach Umbra, a magical spirited place, reachable by oak trees where Janus resided most of his time. The journey was easy however long it was, hopefully they could get back to do some proper werewolf hunting.

…

The confusing fuzziness began to emb. The bark was rough on his pounding head and scarred back, the tingling burn on the side of his face slowly reconstructing the skin, remembering how he ran away and the umbrella broke.

The hunter is nowhere in sight, he waited, and nothing came of it.

Virgil huffed, moving the umbrella folded neatly in his lap, flexing the panel, a large obnoxious ripe in the fold, great.

Moving along, he couldn’t believe the hunter let him go with only a mild headache. It could have been much worse. Dying wasn’t too far of an option. Probably sparring him out of pity, he wouldn’t doubt it. Virgil just wanted to leave the clearing.

His boot clinks, glaring down, a round metal bracelet under his foot. He reaches down, probably something the prince owned. He tries it for himself, a sudden wash of drowsiness and fatigue traveled from his arm, a scary amount of relaxation as he couldn’t see sharper or hear farther, he yanked it away shrieking.

He’d rather not touch it ever again, but maybe he really wanted to get back at the hunter, maybe repay him for not killing him, as pathetic as it sounds. He pocketed the bracelet and avoided touching it as he squeezed through the bushes, following an obvious trail left by its rightful owner.

…

The sunset started, yet the sky wasn’t fully darkened. Remus’ watch going off and being silenced immediately to watchfully and carefully listen to any howls from werewolves, ready to use his long stake for one they both heard close by. Whilst his brother preoccupied himself, Roman read the map, not surprised if they’ve been walking in circles for the past hour.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Remus took a peek over his shoulder.

“Of course,” he sighed, “We have a long way to go,” Remus held a manic grin, mussing, “Not too far, we can run there.”

“Too risky,” folding the map in his pocket, preparing to traverse first through the tight narrow trees, sticks stabbing his torso, through the rough patch then another path, passed the building, and arriving at the tree, Roman imagined it all going perfectly, hating chopping through the bark. A high pitched whistle turned his attention.

Remus froze, a finger over his lip. Roman stops moving, confused. While it might have been funny to see Roman become frazzled and get attacked by whatever growled in his ear, Janus would chastise him, and Roman would never forgive him. Roman looks petrified, a hand easing down, reaching for his sword.

Remus turns his head around, a black threatening wolf stalks behind them, big, with human eyes, a werewolf, staring at Remus through the trees, a far enough distance where they can run, the closeness of the trees restricting their movements, they decide to run.

Roman is ahead, breaking and hurting his arms as he hurls himself out of the forest.

Remus can’t breathe, he feels the warm breath and slobber on his legs, fighting, fight to get out, he jumps getting yanked by his leg, a sharp and tight bite on his ankle, he kicks its snout shouting, shielding his face, the long jaw chewing on his tough leather jacket, with no weapon but a stupid stick.

“Roman!” He punches, punching as hard as he can until Roman finally stabs it’s head. The wolf whimpered and cried, scattering away into the darkness.

“Are you ok?” Roman kneels down.

“Where were you?!”

“Remus-“

“You watch me get mauled by a wolf and ask me if I’M OK?!” Roman didn’t know how to respond.

“… Are you?” It quieted, Remus never got so frustrated before, it felt off.

“Sorry. I’m fine, check for bites,” Remus prompts his arm, rolling up the sleeve, Roman finds nothing but a tear in his jacket.

“All good, but your leg…” ominously, his boot is torn, notably a sliver of skin, Remus shrugs, pulling off his boot, no need to roll his socks, exposing a long nasty fresh bite on his ankle.

His heart sunk. Was— was he about to turn? No, no, they had until midnight, reach the Umbra and Janus will cure him before he feels anything.

Remus pushes his boot back on, unable to walk properly, letting Roman support his body with his arm on the path.

“Stay calm. You’re going to be fine, I promise,” it was beginning to turn dark.

Doubt seeped in.

“How much longer?”

“Just a bit, past the building, near the tree.”

Remus starts laughing, “Imagine me turning and ripping into your face, blood everywhere, then both of us wouldn’t make it with Janus’ stupid pendent.”

“Don’t think like that,” Remus was silenced for a moment, giving Roman time to check his wrist for the bracelet. All the rest is bare skin.

He lost it.

“… I don’t have the pendent anymore.”

Remus starts to laugh hysterically, Roman jostles him, “Hey, it doesn’t mean anything. Who cares about the pendent, we need to get you someplace safe.”

He hurries his pace, and Remus goes uncharacteristically quiet.

Numb, unconsciously going from zero to hundred, to hearing every chirp, creak, snap, Roman’s booming echoing voice and his own, to utter nothing. His ankle hot flashes every now and again, aching, throbbing, and in need of rest. Remus should have suggested Roman cut off his ankle in favor of ridding him from turning into.. a werewolf, slowly starting to accept that to be his reality, and how unsafe Roman would be once he does.

He needed to get away from him, away, run, limp as fast as he could.

Remus gently loosens his grip then pulls away from Roman, “Remus! What are you doing?”

He couldn’t let Roman get hurt, or bitten.

Roman holds him in a tight embrace, Remus scratches his face instead, straying away from the path running and half limping, going through a narrow path to lose his trace.

Roman covers his bleeding cheek, regaining his focus and chasing after Remus, weaving through the deep forest, his footsteps getting further away, lost to the wind of the woods. He continued forward. Sighting the large building in the distance, reaching the gate and the entrance to the abandoned boarding school from the map, left slightly ajar, pushing through and closing behind him, an air of death and a bone chilling cold, as if something invisible watched him, the place abandoned for years.

The caved in roof glowed the full moon's light on Remus, curled into himself stomach growling, he is a physical ball collapsed in the room, barely holding himself together. Roman slowly whistles, and kneels, rubbing a comforting circle on his back. Remus looked up to him, his eyes more navelly green and sharp, but he smiled a toothy sharp grin upon seeing him, contracting in pain again, shriveling.

He shushes, calms him down, doesn't let his emotions get to him. They can prevent this from happening.

The door creaks open. He can hear Remus’ breath hitch, the animalistic panic in his eyes, no, he rubs more circles and stares at a surprised and concerned figure, in all black and gray, a broken umbrella in his hands.

He’s going to kill that vampire.

He rushes as fast as he can to not disturb Remus any further, “V, what are you doing here!?”

“I-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” V backed into the loud door cowering, the bracelet held in his hand snatched from him, “You had this?” Roman couldn’t believe it.

“Leave now,” Roman couldn’t stress enough how in much in danger he was there.

“I wanted to-“

Roman grabbed his neck scruff, pulling out his stake, “Go, I mean it or I will make you!” V’s eyes widened, about to protest or argue.

A large crack interrupted the room, turning around, Remus’ hand was covered in fur, nails sharpening into claws, ears pointing and morphing, screaming in agony, Roman couldn’t look away. Roman lets go, stepping closer, V holds his shoulder, preventing him as his clothes ripped and his back arched of brown fur, except for a silver streak.

(Wolf?) Remus growled, he couldn’t recognize him, and he was stalking towards them as if they were a fresh meal.

“Truce?”

“Truce.”

Wolf Remus snarls and bites the air, they dodge out of the way. Roman held the handle of his sword, but he didn’t feel the urge to pull it out, even with a hungry, feral, and vicious wolf lunging at him, he used his fists, barely able to miss Remus from biting him, scratching him instead. He’s too large, it’s too easy to let him overpower. He couldn’t hurt him, but he needed to defend himself, he took out the stake… he couldn’t do it.

V pushed Remus from attacking Roman again, but dazing him for a bit, “Look, I know that’s your twin, but you are going to need to wake up right now or he is going to have to live with the fact that he murdered his own brother!!” V yelled, bringing all of his attention to him, toying with Remus, giving Roman time to readjust his focus.

Virgil jumps out of the way of Remus’ lunge on the opposite side of the room, letting one of the twins think over his options, to which they barely had any left. He had no inkling of what to do, other than distract Remus until morning, his stamina during the night was exponentially better, yet he could tell he was already losing his focus and Roman would be bit, skilled hunter or not.

At that moment, he remembered the numbness and tingling feeling of the bracelet, making him more powerless than he’d remembered in a long time. It seemed him and the hunter had a similar idea.

“V pin him down!!” Roman waved the bracelet in the air, along with gaining the wolf’s attention. Virgil sprints towards the doorway, gripping his abandoned umbrella, jumping on the wolf's back and blinding him with its leftover remnants. He wiggles and snarls trying to throw him off, a hand on his snout, torso, lightly stepping on his leg and balancing himself.

Roman rushed over, pinning the furry pastern, sliding on the jewelry, holding it in place until it took effect. His escaping efforts faded into slow breathing, enough Virgil removed his blindfold and respectfully removed his strong hands and feet from pinning him, almost lulled to peaceful sleep. It took a long time but then he stopped moving into a slumber.

V and Roman shared a deep breath of relief as they waited until morning.

…

During the night, Virgil and Princey were careful to make a makeshift bed for the werewolf, they debated keeping watch, neither were too comfortable with watching the others sleep and letting the other watch over them, collectively deciding to stay up most of the night.

Virgil zipped up his jacket, needing to leave early to avoid the sun and any prolonged interact with the twins bound to end in despair, seeing the Prince succumbed to sleep either way, he tiptoed to the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Prince stared at him, somewhat close to the exit, standing up.

He sighed, “I have to leave before the sun rises, since someone ruined my umbrella,” the hunter blushed in embarrassment, “I apologize for that.”

V couldn’t stop thinking, if he didn’t intrude, he never would have caused such a butterfly effect.

“Look, I feel like a major jerk. Here,” Roman thought he must have been glaring. V rummaged through his pocket, he pulled out a lavender paper colored roll, “What’s this?”

“Wolfsbane bandages, it’ll heal your wounds and his so.. yeah,” V awkwardly walked to open the door.

“V, or, whatever your name is, thank you. Don’t let me catch you,” they shared a smile, the dark of the night beginning to lighten.

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

He probably was going to regret this.

“My name… is Virgil,” he noticed the hunter's eyes widen before softening again, mentally assessing the name and accepting it.

“See you around.. Virgil.”

He gave a military salute, “See you Princey.”

He closed the door behind him.

…

The next day in Umbra

Remus felt completely fine, a sore throat and a headache, along with a few bruises cooled by the bandages the hot and mysterious vampire they’ve been hunting for months, given to Roman while he was out cold, were his only issues.

“You can’t move in your state darling. I know it’s going to be impossible. You’re the best couch potato I know, why don’t you stay for a few days?” Janus tried convincing him to remain hostage in Umbra, surprisingly Roman agreed.

The calm and alluring waves of Umbra smoothened his muscles, the hot chamomile tea mixed with potion infusion Janus brewed eased his ribs, and Roman checked on him every now and then while he laid on bed rest. Roman didn’t talk much about what Remus did as a werewolf, his memory went blank, he barely remembered that he had even gone inside the boarding school without one of Roman’s passing comments. But he knew did remember Roman happy to see him awake.

His eyes blared open, blinking ever so slightly to a ruined ceiling laying on the floor. Remus was running, his ankle throbbed, he found a gate, then…

“Remus?” Remus was running away from Roman, he was about to turn into a werewolf.

He hummed in response, the blankets enfolded with his naked body were ragged but warm.

“How are you feeling?” he tilted his head.

Remus grinned, “I’ve never been better.”

...

[caregivingchrysalises]

hii! i often go non verbal and i'm a bit afraid when it happens because i think it would be bothersome for others if i couldn't speak so i just wanted to ask if it would be ok with you if a little didn't wanna speak, i guess i'm just asking for some reassurance. thank you for writing such an amazing blog, you help out tons! have a good day!!

oh my darling of course it’s okay. you’re never ever bothersome sweetheart. being small looks and sounds differently for every little dove. your regression is never a burden angel~ you are safe and encouraged to express yourself in whichever way makes your heart happy dewdrop. there’s nothing to be afraid of dove,, your prinx promise to provide you with the respect, space and items necessary to ensure that you are taken care of lovebug. papa will do everything ze can to comfort and reassure you little star,, your needs and wants are always worthy of love and care honey.

there are so many ways to express oneself without words precious~ whether it’s through butterfly shaped flash cards with different options or our own “secret code” of hand signals used to share feelings and wishes big and small your papa is dedicated to providing you with the love and care that makes zer lovebugs heart happy.

{i have been working on a blurb that’s founded on these feelings, but worried myself that i repeated so many phrases of reassurance and pet names~ but if that’s something you’d like to see please do let me know!}

{masc terms for a genderfluid caregiver}

~you are cherished, atala

[typewrite-dragon]

Committed to Flesh and Ink - Elsewhere AU - TMA

Something indeed lurks in the dark and it wants to feast on yours fears. There are some who want to stand against them and wish to keep them from overwhelming those who share the world with them.

Two of these people are Champagne Pailyu, The Archivist and Head of the Keay Institute Archives, and Gerry Delano, Archival Assistant.

Gerry wants every tool he can get to help manage the Fears. Even if it costs him his humanity.

--

This is a bit of a concept based off of @dcartcorner 's Reset: Elsewhere AU. Specifically set around how Gerry got his tattoo.

“You said you used to do tattoo work?”

Champagne Pailyu looked up from the files she was reading over and raised a brow at the disheveled man leaning against the doorway. He wore a comfortable sweater vest over a button up shirt that he rolled the sleeves up on and kept unbuttoned. Somewhere in the Archives she was sure was his jacket. Poorly dyed black hair revealed that his natural hair color was blond. He had it haphazardly pulled back. Champagne wondered if he would ever let anyone else dye his hair or if he did it himself to make a point.

“‘Hello, Champagne. How are you doing, Champagne? Has anything tried to eat your face off lately?” She responded blandly as she pulled a small page marker post-it and tacked it along the side of the paper she was reading.

The woman in question had long sunset and copper hair that was currently braided back. With the colder damp weather, she was comfortable being cozied up in a thick oversized pink sweater pulled over her own white button up shirt. 

Gerry rolled his eyes at her, he would never admit the small huff was a laugh. The woman was the most polite person he had ever met, but she could be just as blunt as he was.

“Has anything tried since I last saw you?” Gerry asked as he walked into the office.

Filing cabinets filled the room along the walls, some old and overstuffed. Filing boxes filled the rest of the room. Each one was labeled in bright neat letters. Flesh. Dark. Eyes. Web. There were more lurking about and some had combinations. There were other things drawn onto the boxes and filing cabinets. Wards to keep things in… or out. Knowledge was just as dangerous as the things they tangled with.

Champagne snorted and waved her hand in the air. There were bandages wrapping her fingers, slightly stained, “Yes, actually. I shoved it back where it belonged so my face is whole.”

“Your face might be, but your hands don’t look like it.” He wasn’t worried. Gerry Delano could not afford to be worried. It would just be a terrible thing to lose a valuable resource like the woman who looked up at him with eyes that nearly matched the old amber colored light bulbs in the archive. Champagne looked at her hand and wiggled the fingers, “Eh, it is fine. Just some nasty little Flesh monster. Blood often reinforces my work anyway. I cleaned it thoroughly and will heal. At the most slightly marked, but not enough to become a big problem. Just another scar for the collection.”

Two of the most notable ones that she didn’t bother to hide were the large claw marks across her throat and the curious hand shaped burn on her wrist. Gerry didn’t ask how she earned them, even if part of him nagged to do so. He couldn’t tell how much was the Eye or was his own morbid curiosity.

Asking would mean he cared.

He didn’t care.

“Right. So, back to my first question.” Gerry pushed forward and he leaned his hip against her desk, arms crossed over his chest.

Champagne leaned back in her chair and looked up at him, “Yes, I used to be a professional tattoo artist. Shop and everything. Technically still am. Why?”

“I realized I can’t rely on you to bind things and seal them away all of the time.” Gerry responded and he watched her brow raise silently and a flicker of annoyance in her features before she smoothed them over. He wouldn’t admit to the pang of guilt he had as he quickly added, “We’re not always in the same place and you are dealing with plenty here, Archivist.”

“Champagne.” She sighed at him, “I keep telling you to use my name, Gerry.”

He wouldn’t do that. Archivists were a dime a dozen. Why bother learning a new name when another one would soon take their place?

When she noticed he wasn’t contributing more or bothering to correct himself, she sighed and studied him, “You want a tattoo, I take it, to enable you to bind the fears? You realize it took me years to learn how to do this? To learn what my gifts were meant for?”

“Sure, but I don’t have years. I’ve seen you do it. I have a basic idea. I need to be on the same level they are.” He told her, studying her features as she carefully schooled most of hers, only allowing bits and pieces out. It was something he appreciated, the professional distance between them. She had been integral in taking down the head of the institute, but there was a cost to such a thing. A tangled web woven by more than one. A ritual interrupted and the place of power claimed in such a way so the burden was shared. Neither losing their humanity as a whole, but he was certain his upbringing gave him a head start. Yet she took the position that risked so much more. Gerry was not sure how much was happenstance or choice, if he just happened to hand the Eye a more suitable vessel than himself.

Champagne pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something quietly under her breath. She must have been really annoyed to be showing this much to him.

“Quick and dirty will hurt. It will take a piece of you with it every time you use it. The only way to be on the same level to be able to tie them down is going to be… the cost is too high, Gerry. Working for me… being here already marked you. You are going to have to reach for that part of yourself and risk your humanity every time.”

“Whatever it takes.” Gerry told her firmly, even if his heart had begun to pound harder and his palms started to sweat. He understood what she was telling him. That this was just another way to go about shaving off bits and pieces of himself. Yet, if it got the job done and there was one less monster in the world, then he supposed it would be worth it.

“Guess you will just need to outlive me to deal with me when the time comes.”

There was a sudden quiet after Champagne took a sharp inhale and she seemed to be mentally counting down. Eyes closed as she did so and Gerry watched her go incredibly still. There were so many unspoken reasons for why that upset her. Her hands curled into fists for a moment and then relaxed. She wasn’t even entirely sure how she got wrapped up in this in the first place, just coming across a strange man in America. Yet here she was, in London.

“Fine.” She broke the silence with a single word. It was sharp like glass.

Then her tone softened with resignation, “Let me finish what I am doing and we can do it tonight if you would like.”

Guilt again that Gerry was determined to ignore. He didn’t care. He couldn’t risk that. Maybe she was stronger than them both. Maybe she would keep her humanity longer where he would lose his own, and it was her who would have to learn a new name.

Then again, maybe someone else would one day need to bind her and replace her and the cycle would continue forevermore.

Part of him hoped not.

The awkward silence was made worse when Champagne simply picked up her file and started reading again where she left off. The room felt colder, though he was certain that was just his emotions betraying him before he could squash them. “Right. Tonight then, Archivist.” He turned away and left the office.

He didn’t hear when she softly whispered her name.

+~+~+

Gerry was startled out of his reading when he heard sharp knocks on his door, nearly upending his chair at the sound. A grimace and he snapped.

“What do you want?”

When the door opened the familiar tinge of guilt returned and he smothered it quickly.

The prickly attitude was something Champagne was used to. She was also used to sneaking up on someone easily. It wasn’t a function she could turn off. Though Gerry normally wasn’t so skittish. Probably running from his own thoughts again. It was something she could empathize with. Gods knew she spent a lot of time running.

“I’m done with work. Rest went home.” She held up a worn leather messenger bag as she stepped in further and closed the door. It was something she always had with her. Gerry had always figured it simply held whatever people normally carried back and forth. Except now he was really looking at how the leather strained.

“Oh.” He looked at the time and then was aware of how his eyes ached and the body’s need to stand up.

Awkward silence stretched once again and Champagne took it upon herself to break it, “We have the Archives to ourselves. Where do you want to do this?”

“Here is fine.” It was as even as he could make his voice when it sunk in that they were doing this. Part of him wished she would have said no, but he knew that if he asked anyone else or he tried to figure it out himself, it could go badly very quickly. He already had too many close calls. He didn’t want this, but he had to do something.

“Alright. Let’s clear your desk off.” Champagne set the bag down by the desk and started to scoop up one of the stacks of files.

Gerry hesitated before he got up and grabbed another stack, something to ignore the tension between them. He could tell that she didn’t want to be there either. Didn’t want to permanently mark him with fears and have them woven into his skin.

Where he treated the files callously, Champagne handled them carefully. The desk was cleared quickly and he watched her set the bag on his desk and start to pull out bottles of ink, inspecting each one. Then it was a tattoo gun. Sealed needles. A variety of other tools laid out over a silicone mat she rolled out and disinfected first. It was neat and organized and clean.

“Do you really carry that everywhere with you?” Gerry found himself asking. An old itch that begged to be scratched. He suddenly wanted to pick up and look over every tool and ink. Tools that were meant to create and were not tainted by Fear.

Champagne nodded without looking at him as she prepped her gun and pulled on gloves. There was tension still there and the fact she wasn’t talking to him nor looking at him dug at the guilt he wanted to ignore.

“Why?” He couldn’t sit with the silence. Couldn’t sit with the fear gnawing at him. Needed something else to focus on.

For a moment Gerry thought Champagne had not heard him, or she just refused to answer. Definitely the silent treatment as she continued to look over everything and check that it was all working.

“Sit down and take your shirt off.” Champagne said finally.

The unexpected order startled him out of his thoughts and it took a moment for him to process, “What?”

“Sit down and take your shirt off.” She repeated firmly, “Or at least enough to expose the non-dominant arm. I am thinking shoulder down. Enough to hide it if needed.”

There was a snappy response he wanted to give to her. A million other responses to the order to remove his clothes came to mind and then died when he met her amber eyes. They were unreadable and her expression carefully blank. He could tell she was upset.

“Sure.” He finally said, pulling off the sweater vest and tossing it onto the chair. He  knocked his hair askew in the process. Gerry didn’t try to fix it as he started to unbutton his shirt. It was something for him to focus on. Instead he tried ignoring the way his fingers almost fumbled with every button. It was hard. The way that he still felt fear even when he desperately didn’t want to. Fear that made him nearly jump out of his skin when gloved hands gently rested on top of his, stilling his movements.

He looked up enough to look down at Champagne. There was concern there, a look he had seen countless times before from her. He always forgot that she was that much shorter than him. Sometimes she felt like she should have been taller. He hardly ever saw her outside of this place and he couldn’t tell if her eyes just gave the illusion of glowing or if they actually were that bright.

“You don’t have to do this.” Champagne told him softly, “I am alright being the one to bind things. It doesn’t make me lose parts of myself to do so. I am just naturally weird.”

Her silence was as intense as the emotions she openly displayed in that moment. Gerry realized that it scared him just as much as the fears. That she could See him in a way that had nothing to do with the Watcher. It made part of him want to run and curl up in a corner. It was a part of himself that he argued with often. That he made him regularly decide that Fears would be faced out of spite, even when everything made him want to flee. The fear he felt now had nothing to do with the Fears, at least that was what he told himself, but he still wanted to run. Maybe he could face this head on out of spite too.

“I do, Archivist.” Gerry told her, voice trembled slightly. He supposed he could not hide everything.

Champagne rolled her eyes and sighed at the continued insistence to call her Archivist. The stubbornly placed wall between them. The instinctual response of correcting him died at her lips, however. After all, she was going to mark him with something that would be a tool that tore away at him piece by piece. That risked losing someone that she might care about. It was so easy to care.

Easy to care without committing entirely. Without letting them know. Sure the actions bled through, but it never was voiced. Perhaps in agreeing to this, she had no right to demand she be addressed by name.

“You asked me to trust you enough to get rid of the last head of the institute. I did and I am here. Trust me to take care of binding. Of pushing back the fears so you do not have to.” She had tied herself there. He did too, to a degree. He could go out further than she could. Gerry was still more Web than Eye. Less about seeing and more about feeling and following the tugs where they took him. Instinct.

She would be hurt if he didn’t come back from those ventures.

Not that she could just say that. Not to him. Not when he kept himself so distant.

Guilt clawed at him a little harder. She could leave, in theory, provided she continued to feed the Eye. It was easier here, closer to the Institute. Where he could keep watch. He could bring her back stories of places further away… if he ever told her any. Gerry realized he didn’t tell her very much either. Didn’t feed the very thing that tied her there.

That she willingly tied herself to for the sake of others.

Champagne trusted him enough to follow through on his plan. She now was just asking for one thing: to trust her to do the hard part so he could keep his humanity a little longer. Something forfeit as soon as his mother saw fit. He stood in the legacy handed down to him.

A legacy he did not want, and yet here he was, partly bound to this place.

“I can’t trust you. I need to do this.” He said quietly, taking a deep breath and shaking off her hands, forcing them to be steady even when he did not feel it. He resumed unbuttoning his shirt and didn’t look too closely at the regret of lost touch.

“Stubborn ass.” Champagne muttered, taking a step back and sighing as she returned to preparing. It didn’t surprise her that he voiced his distrust, but oh did it hurt.

That earned her a soft scoff as he got far enough down to pull his arm out from the sleeve and he shivered at the feeling of the cool air on his skin. He looked over to see what Champagne was doing. Mostly it seemed to just consist of her fidgeting with the tools on the table. As if making them all just right one last time would make it better. He sat down and cleared his throat, getting her attention.

Champagne looked over at him and opened her mouth to say something before quickly looking away and grabbing one of the markers she needed. It took a few breaths to fight off the warmth on her cheeks, but she managed it and cleared her own throat.

“Right. Alright then. I don’t have all of the tools for designing it and making a transfer, so I'm going to freehand it. Doesn’t need to be complicated, and I have an idea in mind.”

Champagne looked him in the eyes, “And seeing as we are integrating this into Fear. I need you to give me a Statement.”

Gerry scowled, “A Statement? Really. You can’t just do it without?”

“You said you needed to be on the same level they are. You want it to be effective? Then  you need it to be your tool to work with. So it needs to be your Statement. Your Fear is what I will weave into this.” She explained.

In the end, he was going to have to trust her. In hindsight, he should have expected that. He was the one demanding a tattoo after all. Demanding an ability that took her years to learn. Having the skill to do so was perhaps an entirely different matter.

“Fine, do you want a tape recorder too while you’re at it? So you can transcribe it?”

Champagne shook her head and she seated herself on the edge of his desk and reached for his wrist, “No, I won’t need that. I’ll be transcribing it onto your skin, in a fashion.”

“Have you done this before?” Gerry asked warily, yet he still gave his arm to her easily enough. It was the most physical contact he had allowed with anyone. It surprised him to see how much he did trust her.

“Not with Fears.” Champagne admitted, “But same concept. Impressions have always told a story, but the story means the most to the one telling it rather than the listener.”

“Impressions?” There was that damn genuine curiosity that creeped out.

The woman tilted her head as she started to gently draw lines from his shoulder down the arm, “Ever since I was young, I have always gotten… strong imagery off of others. Something significant and important to them that is always close to the surface. As soon as I could hold a pencil, I would draw them. I thought I just was hit with inspiration, but I always felt those pieces would belong to someone. The reactions to their owners have been mixed.”

Gerry studied her bitter smile and then craned his neck to study the lines she was drawing, “No wonder the Eye took to you.”

“Yeah, I suppose it was either that or the Lonely.” She said and hummed, “I suppose the End was an option, but I am ambivalent about my mortality. I think the patron needs you to be afraid of it.”

“Fancy way of saying you have zero self preservation.”

“Like you are any better.” She then tapped his nose with the end of her marker, “So, Statement. How about… what led you to getting tangled up in the Web.”

Nose scrunched up at the act and he rolled his eyes at her choice of words, “Alright. Fine. Suppose I owe you anyway given you helped overthrow my Mum. I should start with that.”

Champagne nodded and she took a deep steadying breath, “Statement of Gerry Delano, Archival Assistant, taken from source and committed to flesh and ink by the Archivist and Head of the Keay Institute Archives, London. At your leisure.”

Gerry watched her as best as he could while he started to tell Champagne about Mary Keay, his mother. It was something he had not told anyone, and as soon as he started with his childhood he found it hard to stop. He thought he knew what it was, but she had not needed compulsion to get him to speak. One of the few damn people who had dealt directly with the wretched woman, he supposed, deserved to know.

It would be a hefty meal for the Eye. A little less humanity for the both of them, he supposed.

The lines she drew were careful and stretched from the boney joint and down to just a few inches above his elbow. Varying lengths of straight lines that even crossed over his collarbone and towards his heart. Then she began to make graceful arcs. He was admittedly impressed by how easily she created the design. It made him wonder what her first Impression of him was.

The design was quickly evident that it was a web. A fitting thing for him, but he noticed that some of the arcs began to form eyes. Little dashes for the pupils in the form of thin slits. Whatever words were falling from his lips were ignored now as he recounted his childhood growing up roaming the halls of the Institute. It was like his body went on autopilot while he stared at her work in morbid fascination.

He was still talking when she stopped and inspected her work, pulling his limb this way and that to watch how the muscles shifted the temporary purple linework. Now he was certain her eyes were glowing as pieces of her hair fell forward, shrouding her face in shadows to contrast luminescent amber eyes that seemed to almost contain a soft halo of an eerie green.

When she let go of his arm and met his eyes, there was a mix of terror and a strange thrill that ran through him. He was sure he stumbled over his words, and part of his mind felt like it suddenly had cobwebs as he tried to focus hard to pinpoint what he was actually saying. Was he still talking about his childhood? About the number of assistants and archivists that had fallen in his mother’s efforts to build her legacy? Gerry was not sure anymore as his lips moved and words just kept spilling out like water. Everything was automatic, things pulling on his mind like he was a puppet and his chest aching with every voiced pain and fear he had thought he buried.

A thread of panic coursed through him and he started to try and move, trying to push away the cobwebs that prevented any clear thought outside of his story. Tried to get himself to stop speaking. Instinct screamed at him to stop. Stop before she committed it all to Flesh. To stop spilling his life story to the Archivist with glowing eyes. To stop telling her all of his secrets and reveal the large gaping wounds that she could dig her needle into.

He blinked when she touched over his racing heart so gently and he felt his vision blur. Eyes burned as tears formed and began to fall. It was such a kind gesture in contrast to an act as cruel as making him relive that story.

Gerry was sure he saw sympathy on her features, but he could not make out the apology she murmured over the sound of his own voice. Despite tear blurred vision and a fuzzy mind, he was aware of every single thing she was doing. He could somehow still see her face as she chose the color of ink. A small blend of two colors, a little amber orange and the deep blue based black, but still as dark as he often tried to make his hair as the darker hue drowned out the lighter.

Gerry watched her adjust her grip on the tattoo gun through persistent tears. Listened to its loud buzzing sound and the Fear in him spiked with Knowing. His vision blurred more, and yet he was aware of her coming closer. Every second of the gun nearing was excruciating. He wanted to change his mind so badly, but he no longer had control.

It was a familiar feeling, a terrible one. It became worse as he felt the stinging of needles hitting his skin. Did he make a sound of surprise? The needles hurt, a rhythmic relentless burn that did not seem to numb itself as she worked. Yet her touch was so gentle, so careful, it was almost enough of an anchor despite the loss of control and Fear. Was that why she incorporated the eyes? To weave her influence into his? To give him a fighting chance?

Would the use of that ability shred her humanity as much as his own with every use?

He supposed that was appropriate, he was her assistant after all. They shared the burden of that terrible place, now dedicating themselves to gaining control over such forces to keep them in line. Try to reduce the number of victims. Sacrifice their humanity to save the humanity of others.

Though Gerry always heard Champagne say it was simply a matter of maintaining the “ecosystem”. Whatever that meant.

Gerry did not want to sacrifice his humanity any longer, but it was too late. Had this even been his idea? Was it ever his choice or was the Web just pulling him into spilling his guts out as distinct symbolism of that fear marked his skin? Burning wretched lines with blood oozing out with every prick of the needle. Even if he wanted to, he could not will himself to pull his arm away. Instead his arm was stretched across Champagne’s lap and cradled there as she studiously traced over her guide while he spoke through barely restrained whimpers about lost control.

He just wanted to have control over himself again.

Soon enough something soft was being dabbed against his face and he startled. Eyes blinked to finally clear away tears and he saw the apologetic face of Champagne. Eyes no longer glowed as she carefully wiped away his tears. He suddenly felt exhausted, pressure in his head no doubt from crying and he could do nothing but slump forward and rest his head against her lap.

“I’m done.” She said softly as she wiped carefully at his face. Gerry had no idea when she had finished. Apparently she had time to clean his arm. It still stung horribly, but it was eased by whatever cooling ointment she had spread over it, “I’m sorry.”

Gerry made a sound of dismissal at her apology and he tried to push himself into a sitting up, but a wave of vertigo hit him and he grumbled incoherently.

“I thought your name was Champagne.” He mumbled into her skirt.

“Excuse me?”

“Champagne… sham pain… that felt pretty damn real to me.” He slowly enunciated each word through his exhaustion. His entire body started to tremble from the effort.

A loud groan and she actually laughed. It wasn’t a cruel sound. It was… nice.

“That was terrible. Look, let’s get you into that spare room I know you pass out in when you work too much. If you are feeling up to it later, I owe you a drink. For now, water and painkillers and at least one meal bar.”

Gerry made a noncommittal sound and he let her ease him upright into the chair. He looked over at the swollen red of pale skin with stark lines of black sprawled across his skin. It shined with the ointment she put on it.

The rest was a hazy blur as he found himself led off to the quiet room that always seemed to always be clean. He swore he saw her stuff something discreetly under the pillow as she went through the effort to make him comfortable. He was too tired to argue with her, to tell her to bugger off. Gerry did not want to admit that it was nice to have something so gentle after facing painful memories.

It felt grounding to have a bottle of water pressed into his hands as well as some pills he didn’t immediately recognize. A meal bar was also pressed into his hands and somehow he was able to eat it without fail. Maybe it was the Web again, or it was just the gentle insistence of the Archivist.

The Archivist. She was a terrifying force. He helped make her that way. He was too tired to regret that now. Too tired and numb to feel any more fear as he was pressed down into the bed and covered with a blanket. Her cool hands smoothed his hair from his face.

The room became dark, but not uncomfortably so, a dim lamp left on at the desk in the room and light refracted by several water bottles left behind and several more meal bars that tasted neither bad or notably good.

Gerry slept off and on for days, and for the first time he did not dream.

Yet, he could not get rid of the feeling of amber eyes focused on him through cobwebs in his head.

[queen-rainy-love]

Hi hope im not bothering you!!

Can you do a scenario of Gumball stealing Mint Choco’s violin? And Cherry says that he’s taking this “rivalry” too far (hc of mine lmao). He says its fine, and that its better than exploding his stage. Pancake agrees with Cherry and tells him that Avocado will get mad at him, and says he has seen Mint Choco being stressed out too much if he doesn’t have his violin. Gumball thinks about it, but shrugs it off and tells them he think MC can do fine without his “precious little violin.”

Annnd…then we see Mint Choco having an entire meltdown about his missing violin. He’s hitting his head with his hands and walking around in circles with his eyes closed, not responding to his friends (going nonverbal). Vampire, Herb, and Sparkling are trying to calm him down. Herb holds Mint’s hands and reassures him that Rye, CC, and Almond are finding his violin. Mint Choco cries and shakes his head trying to tell him “No they’re never gonna find my violin” but Vampire tells them they will. Sparkling also says that whoever took it will face the consequences.

Almond and Rye eventually finds Gumball with the violin. Clotted Cream demands Gumball to come with them. They all go to MC and Gumball sees Mint Choco’s hair disorganized, tear stains, and he looks a bit sweaty. Almond pushes Gumball gently towards MC, and Rye tells him what he wants to say to MC. He tells him sorry for messing with him and for stealing his violin, and gives him it back. Mint Choco stares at him but simply “Hmph!” And stomps away from him, of course harshly getting his violin back.

Vampire tells Gumball he’ll probably accept his apology but also says this: “You really should’ve done that, he’s autistic and he gets extremely overwhelmed.” Gumball asked him what does autistic mean. Everyone just sighs in disappointment, and CC and Herb explain it to him. Gumball says: “Oh…I really messed up, didn’t I?” Sparkling tells him that he did but says maybe this will teach you not to mess with anyone else. Almond also punishes him by making do community service for a week.

(fun fact: this happened to me in 3rd grade before I got diagnosed with autism 💀👍. Sorry for projecting my experience. Sorry for also bothering you—)

(Also this is a 1/2. Part 2 soon.)

Hello! This doesn't bother me! I don't mind writing this. Also, this will be the first time I've written a character with autism, so please let me know if I did anything wrong.

Let's go!

*The scene is set in the Parfait District of the Cookie Kingdom. We follow Gumball, Cherry, and Pancake sneaking around Sparkling's outdoor bar. Sitting right on the bar was a green violin case.*

Cherry: *concern* Are you sure this is a good idea? Don't you think this rivalry thing is going too far? Won't we get in trouble?

Gumball: Don't worry, cuz. It'll be fine. And besides, this is better than exploding his stage with paint. I'm not dealing with Aunt Avocado again.

Pancake: I agree with big sister Cherry. Mom will get mad at you if you do this. Plus...I've seen Mint Choco stressed out whenever he's away from his violin. I don't think you should do this prank.

*Gumball thought about his prank a bit more. But he brushes it off and grabs the violin case. He then runs off, with Cherry and Pancake running after him.*

Gumball: (I'm sure Mint Choco will be fine without his precious little violin.)

*Three minutes later, the scene changes to Mint Choco having a meltdown. He hits his head with his hands while walking in circles and his eyes closed to keep tears from falling. Vampire, Herb, and Sparkling tried to calm him down, trying to get a response from him, only to find out that Mint Choco has gone nonverbal.*

Herb: Mint Choco. *gently grabs Mint Choco's hands* Everything is going to be okay. Rye, Clotted Cream, and Almond are looking for whoever took your violin. Let's sit down and-

Mint Choco: N-no! *starts shaking his head* No! They're not gonna find it! Never gonna find it!

Vampire: Hey...it's okay. They will find it. They're the best searchers in the kingdom.

Sparkling: And those thieves will face consequences once they're caught. I'm sure of it.

Herb: Let's get you to sit down and we can get you something to drink. Would that be okay? *Mint Choco nods* Alright.

Sparkling: I'll get you some grape soda to drink.

*Meanwhile, Almond, Rye, and Clotted Cream were still searching for Mint Choco's violin. They looked around to find the green violin case.*

Clotted Cream: Where could it be?

Almond: It should be around here...*notices Gumball holding something familiar.* Hey Rye...

Rye: I see him. Oi! Boy! *Gumball flinches and turns his head around* Whatcha got there?

Gumball: N-nothing!

Almond: Really? Because I don't remember your cannon being that small and green.

Gumball: Um...

Clotted Cream: Save it. We already know. Go give Mint Choco his violin back. Now.

Gumball: And if I don't?

Clotted Cream: We'll tell Avocado about this prank.

Gumball:...Fine...

*The group walked all the way back to Sparkling's outdoor bar. Occupying there was Mint Choco, Vampire, Herb, and Sparkling, three of each were keeping an eye on Mint Choco and making sure he was alright. Gumball was shocked by what he saw. Mint Choco looked nothing like he usually looks like: his hair was disorganized, his face had tear stains running down his face, and sweat was dripping off his face.*

Almond: Go on. *gently nudges Gumball toward Mint Choco*

Rye: You better tell him you're sorry for all that you did.

*Gumball walked up to the older Cookie. He took a deep breath before speaking up.*

Gumball: Um...Mint Choco? *Mint Choco looks up and his eyes widen as Gumball hands over his violin case* I...I'm sorry for taking your violin. I was just pulling a prank. I didn't think it would go this far. I'm sorry.

*Mint Choco looks at his violin case, then at Gumball. Before Gumball could say anything else, Mint Choco harshly yanks the violin case away from Gumball.*

Mint Choco: Hmph! *stomps away*

*As everyone watches Mint Choco stomps away, Vampire flicks Gumball's forehead.*

Gumball: Ow!! I apologized! But he didn't accepted it!

Vampire: Oh don't get him wrong. He'll probably accept your apology but you really shouldn't have done that.

Gumball: How was I suppose to know that he'll react to like that?!

Vampire: Well, he's autistic! He gets extremely overwhelmed!

Gumball: ...What? Autistic? What is that?

*Everyone sighs, leaving Gumball feeling a bit dumb.*

Herb: You are a child...but you should still know about this. You see...Autism, and I'm simplifying this a lot, is where a Cookie has difficulty in social and communication skills.

Clotted Cream: Now, not every Cookie has the same symptoms for autism but there are some similarities that do contribute. Like a delay of spoken language, a.k.a. going nonverbal or being sensitive to loud sounds.

Herb: And Mint Choco will have his anxiety heightened if he gets triggered.

Gumball: Oh...I really messed up, didn't I?

Sparkling: You did, but hopefully, this will teach you to not cross a line with other Cookies. Pranks are only funny when everyone finds it funny, not just you.

Almond: That's a good lesson and I think you should also have a punishment to really let the lesson sink in. Community service for a week.

Gumball: ...That's fair.

[ssolessurvivor]

"I've never felt this way about anyone before," - confession from kingcenred x)

the feels - always accepting! - @kingcenred

Those words linger in the quiet of the bedchamber, the fire lit across the room though they don't exactly need its warmth. And while they are intimately familiar with one another, tonight it seemed things were moving rather leisurely. Logan hadn't minded the way their hands simply wandered one another's forms, exploring and savoring while their kisses remained steadily devouring but soft in their aftertaste. Those words hit him like a physical weight that he does not mind carrying, not even a little bit. To have Cenred's love, affections and attention is all Logan could ever want. Not a realm or a crown, but a man.

HIs hand comes up to rest on Cenred's cheek, the thumb idly stroking the stubbly skin there, gazing into those fathomless eyes. "Is it an overwhelming feeling? It sits in your heart, keeping you warm when I'm not around." That hand on the King's cheek slides up into brunette hair. "Does your heart beat as fast as mine when I so much as look at you?" He knows he's blushing, this philosophical side is embarrassing, but sometimes he doesn't know how to say things simply. "I think it's safe to say...I feel the same way about you. Sometimes, it's staggering." He adds that last bit with a smile and an airy chuckle, entirely mortified at what he's just spewing between them on his loose tongue.

[lothcatthree]

“I’m not sure I should be the one to talk to you about this, Padawan,” Anakin manages, “You’re nineteen. I’m sure you can find another alpha to tell you this.”

Anakin says it as if the thought of another alpha anywhere near Obi-Wan doesn’t make bile twist in his stomach, as if it doesn’t tinge the edges of his vision with red. 

“But I don’t want to ask another alpha,” Obi-Wan says. He picks his head up and tilts it back carefully, his movements slow as if Anakin will spook. Anakin watches with increasingly heavy eyelids as Obi-Wan leans back to rest his forehead just underneath Anakin’s chin, a strand of hair brushing the skin and pink lips appearing in the horizon of Anakin’s vision.

Anakin can’t speak, can’t tear his eyes away from the shadow of long lashes, the point of a nose tinged pink from the cold. Obi-Wan leans back further, a small, purposeful step backward, and rests his shoulders against Anakin’s ribs. Anakin can only hope that his Padawan can’t feel how his heartbeat has begun pounding in his chest.

“You shouldn’t be asking me, Obi-Wan,” Anakin rumbles, but can’t stop the way his thumbs brush from Obi-Wan’s throat and up to his cheekbones. Obi-Wan blinks up at him slowly, and Anakin murmurs, “You shouldn’t be looking at me like that, either.” 

“And why not?” Obi-Wan’s question is immediate, his gaze unyielding. He leans a bit of his weight back into Anakin’s chest, and Anakin takes it easily.

“Because I’m not a good man,” Anakin breathes and rubs a thumb over Obi-Wan’s cheek, his fingers caressing the exposed arch of the omega’s throat. “I’m not a very good Master.”

Obi-Wan hums again and nuzzles the top of his head into the base of Anakin’s neck. Nearby, a bird chirps in the branches. Anakin inhales deeply and tries again to dig his heels in from where he’s barely keeping the prison cell door of his instincts closed.

the rest on ao3! rated e, 7k words

obi-wan getting a harsh mid-mission lecture that he's Absolutely not listening to

[nilgans]

my @palestaticexchange gift for @presentablemichael ! I hope you like it :D

[omentu5]