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duskamethyst · 4 years ago

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stranger danger.

a/n: did i sit on top of my car to imagine this? sure did. a part of the jujutsu hub collab! thank you vee @suna-reversed for organizing this horny event for us horny people.

word count: 3.8k

genre: smut, nsfw, pwp

warnings: dubcon, literally dumbass porn, degradation + praising kink, daddy kink, gun play, mentions of alcohol consumption, dui and death, public sex, overstimulation, squirting, creampie, implied kidnapping

pairing: criminal!toji x f!reader

summary: dozing off in a parking lot seems dangerous but it seems like the right thing to do. that is, until a mysterious man taps on your window.

you shouldn’t have trusted yourself. you’ve vowed to yourself not to drink tonight, especially when you were driving to the city by yourself. maybe one drink wouldn’t hurt, you thought. but that one drink led you to another until you eventually found yourself light headed and could barely walk in a straight line let alone drive home.

so now you decide it’s best to just stop in a random parking lot and doze off for a couple of hours until you’re certain that you’re sober and ready to continue your journey back home. thankfully the lights are on and there are a few other empty cars in the lot, giving you somewhat a sense of security.

even though you aren’t completely sane at the moment, you make sure the doors are locked, turn off the engine and roll your windows down slightly to allow ventilation. if you could avoid a possible car crash, might as well avoid dying from inhaling some fatal gas. so you push back your seat and close your eyes to let sleep take you over.

but it isn’t for long until you hear a knock on the window.

startled and confused, you instantly get up thinking it would be one of the securities patrolling the area, telling you to scram but you’re only met with a rather handsome man, tall and brawny standing next to your car.

he leans down to your eye level and glares at you intimidatingly before he speaks, “get out.”

in such a panicky situation, your heavy cluttered brain doesn’t really tell you what to do nor what the hell is happening so you only stare back at him tongue tied, unable to properly gauge the situation thanks to both chemicals in your system and adrenaline pumping through your veins.

“are you deaf?” he snarls with anger distorting his face.

the sharp eyes piercing through you coupled with the discernible scar on his lips go so well into his menacing demeanor and you’re aware he’s getting impatient. unsure of what to do, your hand reaches for your keys to turn on the engine, thinking it’s best to leave but he bangs on the window as if to tell you that isn’t what he wanted.

“i only told you to get out. so, get the fuck out. now.” toji waits for you to comply, but instead you just sit there frozen and he sighs in exasperation. “look, i have a fucking gun. and if you don’t do as i say, i won’t hesitate to shoot your brains off. you don’t need it anyway, right?”

toji fishes out his gun, waving it in front of you in warning. “and you’d be fucking dumb to think it isn’t loaded.”

the threatening sight of the firearm is finally what makes you unlock your doors and he immediately swings the door open and pulls you out from your vehicle by the wrist. toji eyes you up and down, taking a special interest in the mini skirt you don with a filthy smirk across his face. he peeks inside the car briefly, delighted over the fact that you’re all alone in the middle of the night– in some deserted parking lot, no less.

“where were you from?” he suddenly asks with less gruff in his tone. the eyes raking up and down your smaller frame so flagrantly makes you feel small and vulnerable.

you lick your lips to return moisture lost to parched skin as your eyes shift from his gun to his face. “a party.”

“a party, hm?” he does a double take on your whole skimpy outfit, sending a plethora of titillating thoughts to run in his head and waking up his primal instincts. he hasn’t gotten his dick wet for a while and opportunities don’t come by so easily when he’s a man on the run. he’d have to be an idiot to let this chance slip through his fingers.

“must’ve put a lot of thought on your outfit tonight. why don’t you give me a little twirl?”

toji deliberately taps the gun on the side of his thigh, reminding you what could happen if you either scream or run. getting the hint, you decide to entertain him, knowing well that you could end up with a bullet in any part of your body if you try to escape.

but do you oppose the idea of a sickeningly attractive man trying to check you out with a weapon in his hand? not really. if anything, the alarming nature of the affair only gives a delicious thrill to your already messed up nerves.

his predatory gaze is fixed on your voluptuous curves and the little sway of your hips as you gracelessly turn around in your heels, making blood rush straight down to his cock before telling you to stop.

“get in front of the car.” he urges.

“huh? why?”

toji cocks the loaded gun in front of you, his expression turning stern and serious once more. “no talking, just do it.”

you walk towards the front with the gun behind your head, careful not to miss your step until you’re facing your car.

“hands on the hood.” he demands, dark eyes silently watching you do as you’re told like a well-trained dog.

you’re certain he can see your ass cheeks peeking underneath the hem of your skirt as cold air hits your skin. the thought of a pair of eyes staring you down hungrily forms an anticipative knot to pull tightly in your stomach as your mind wonders about the dirty things he might and could do to you.

the next thing you feel is the cool metal of the barrel under your skirt, making you shudder as it caresses your puffy folds before dragging upwards to hike up the hem of your unbearably short skirt in favor of checking your panties but oh, what a delightful surprise– not a single thread underneath it all.

“no panties?” he bites back a groan when he notices the glistening slick coated around his black gun. “don’t tell me you’re getting off to this?”

“‘m not–” you deny meekly despite the blossoming heat between your thighs growing bigger when you feel the tip of the barrel against your drenched cunt again.

“don’t lie. you’re a little slut aren’t you? went to a party without your panties on– something tells me you’re an attention whore.” he mocks, poking the gun against your entrance only to observe your little squirms.

“not a slut!” you whine giddily as you spontaneously grind against the long barrel in seek of relief for the dull ache that has formed in your core.

“no? you’re gonna tell me you’re not jerking off to my gun right now?” he chastises with a satirical smile on his lips, feeling his cock harden even more from watching the way you’re eagerly rubbing against the gun he currently holds in his hand.

“i– i don’t know what you’re talking about.” you try not to let your words slur as you play coy, even when breaths are already hitching in your throat.

“oh yeah? ‘cause that cunt is positively leaking right now.” you whimper at his words, being bad and filthy never felt so good– especially to a man you don’t even know. “bet you want me to fill that needy cunt.”

“mhm!” you mewl, gyrating your hips even more salaciously once you manage to find an angle to rub your sensitive clit, sending waves of sensations to every fiber and nerve in your body.

“now that’s an honest little slut.” he coos with amusement lacing in his voice. “why don’t you beg for it?”

you tilt your head back towards him, bottom lip jutting out into a cute pout and eyes pleading. “please..?”

toji lets out a huff, “not good enough, sweetheart.”

your eyes narrow at him, hoping he can read the desperation in them as you call him in the softest mewl that you've used to numerous guys before. “daddy.”

“hmm?” he strokes your clit by rubbing the gun back and forth and watches you quiver with a lopsided grin across his face.

“w-want– need your cock, daddy.” you pant in a shameless expression of your need for him.

“what do you need daddy to do to you, pretty girl?” he studies the barrel, now smeared with your slick.

“need daddy to fuck me– fuck my little tight cunt.”

toji draws his gun away and raises it at the back of your head. “then, get on your knees.”

you don’t need to be told twice as you instantly turn around and face him, the gun now pointing directly to your forehead and follows you even until you’re already kneeled in front him.

“you went a little too fast there, didn’t you?” he chuckles, the sound is smoky and alluring. “so eager. now, take off my pants.”

your hand reaches up to unbuckle his belt and undo his button before pulling the zipper down and tugging off his pants and briefs hastily. your mouth waters at the sight; his thick cock is already throbbing, tip flushing red and leaking precum with a prominent vein on the underside – causing you to quickly disregard the life-threatening weapon in front of your head.

seeing you blatantly gawk at him causes pride to spiral in his chest, as if you’ve never seen a dick before. but is it bad for toji to assume that you've never seen a dick as big as his?

“getting nervous now?” he teases. “fuck that. put it inside your mouth.”

toji exhales sharply once your tongue carefully licks off the salty pre on the tip, rousing him further with only kitten licks until the barrel nudges your head in warning, forcing you to stop your ministrations.

“are you asking to get a hole through your head?” he scowls, showing apparent irritation.

“no.” you answer meekly.

“then? i told you to put it inside your fucking mouth.”

“‘m sorry, daddy.” you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and give it a few pumps up and down his shaft in hopes to please him and calm him down. “promise i’ll be a good girl.”

“then stop fucking around.”

without a second to waste, you wrap your lips around his cock and hollow your cheeks, squeezing and milking his cock with your tongue and throat as your head bobs up and down. you graze your tongue on the underside and slowly drag upwards, following the curve of his vein before giving a harsh suck on his tip, drawing out a loud groan from his throat.

“look at daddy.”

and you do, fixing your gaze with his darker ones as you slobber his cock with so much drool and you relax your throat in order to force yourself down to the base, devouring him whole even as he tilts the gun next to your head.

“wish i had my phone right now. you should see how you look.” his other hand reaches the top of your head, holding you in place and causes you to choke slightly before jerking his hips forward and begins to fuck your throat.

squelching noises resonate in the silent air, mingled with his grunts. drool starts to seep from the corners of your mouth and tears begin to well up in your eyes as his heavy balls slap against your chin.

“boys must really love you, hm?” you can feel the tension in his fingers as he puts monumental effort into restraining himself and he finally draws his gun away. “just taking it like a good girl.”

you can only whimper around his cock, the praise making you feel hotter that you find your hand between your thighs to push a finger inside your wet cunt.

“fuck– yeah, keep touching yourself like that.” he growls, the sound rumbling in his chest as the vibrations from your muffled moans are slowly sending him to the brink of an orgasm.

you’re too immersed by your own finger pumping in and out to even care about the ache that has formed on your jaw but the moment you feel his cock twitching, you both know it won’t be long until he breaks down.

“you’re gonna swallow all of it. got it?” he states more than questions, feeling his balls tightening as he starts to lose the last remaining control he owns.

you hum in response and flutter your eyes close and you wait until his hips still before he spurts thick ropes of cum down your throat, invading all your senses with the bitter taste of his load.

once he has emptied, you pull away with your tongue gliding along his length, not forgetting to lick off the sensitive slit to clean off any remnants.

“open your mouth.” he demands. you part your puffy lips and stick your tongue out, showing your obedience to his prior order and a delightful smirk makes its way on his face upon seeing that you’ve downed every drop of his cum. “good girl.”

“to be honest, i didn’t think you’d cum quickly.” you blurt out bluntly.

his brows furrow and his face contorts into a scowl. “‘fuck did you say?”

you shrug nonchalantly. you don’t know where it’s coming from either– the alcohol still lingering in your veins or the fact that you feel beyond proud that you’ve made him, some guy who claimed that he wanted to rob your car cum so fast. “well, all the guys told me i give the best head but none of them ever–”

“get up. face the car.”

toji clicks his tongue as you blink at him in confusion and he grabs your arm to pull you up on your feet before spinning you around and bending you down on the hood with his body pressing against your back. you swallow nervously when you feel a nudge against your ass, his dick is still hard despite the fact that he has cummed just a minute ago.

“you’re gonna regret that. once i fucking ravage that little cunt, you’re gonna be begging for me to cum quick.” he leans down to your ear as he threatens, sending shivers up and down your spine.

“i’m sor–”

“no. i won’t give a shit if it hurts you or when you cry for me to stop.”

toji gives a harsh smack on the plump flesh, making you jolt in surprise. with your hands down on the hood, he lifts up one of your knees on top of the car, causing you to spread wide open in an instant before he impatiently pokes the tip of his cock against your pulsating hole.

“but that’s what you want, right?”

your eyes roll back, lips parting in an appreciative squeal as you feel his fat cock stretches you out accompanied with a delicious burn when he sinks in deeper.

“mmh– s-so big–!”

“yeah? never had a dick this big before?” toji pulls out almost completely, eyes fixed on the cock glistening with your slick under the street lights, not missing the white cream attached onto the skin.

“n-no– ah–!”

toji cuts you off with one hard slam of his hips, drilling his cock into your tight pussy in a brutal pace while you keen and whimper as it brushes against your walls, each stretch and drag inside you so exquisite while deep crescent shapes of his nails form on your pliant skin as he holds you firmly by the hips for leverage.

“no wonder you’re so fucking tight. stupid boys didn’t know how to fuck you right.” his words thrum in a burst of heat as he growls in your ear, breaking through your every thought.

you tilt your head towards him with heavy lidded eyes and meet his lust addled gaze. your mouth is gaping in breathless moans, tongue slightly lolled out from your lips as you try to reach closer to his scarred lips, wanting to crash your lips onto his before it stretches into a devilish smirk and you feel warm liquid lands on your palate.

“you looked like you were begging to taste my spit.” he mocks. toji watches as you eagerly swallow it down your throat and he lets out a brittle chuckle. “dirty slut.”

your pussy flutters upon hearing how he degrades you, causing you to buck your hips wildly against him in an attempt to meet his thrusts.

“you liked that, didn’t you? i can feel you clamping down on me like a fucking whore.” he derides, fucking you harder and deeper until your world is reduced into nothing but the way he makes you feel completely stuffed and filled, the cockhead kissing your cervix with each deep strokes.

“please– make me cum, daddy–” you keen as pressure pulls taut in your lower stomach, the slick noises are so loud that the both of you can hear them even through your moans.

your body flushes against his, so close together and you can only focus on the sounds of flesh against flesh, the salacious rhythm making you more delirious.

“then, cum for me. let me feel you gush all over me.” toji brings his fingers to rub against your clit, easily tipping you over the edge by pressing tight circles until you find yourself crashing down with an orgasm exploding throughout your body.

“you want more?” he taunts, helping you ride out the aftershock by continuously rutting his hips into your cunt and not giving you the slightest chance to recuperate.

“ah– ‘s too much–” you whimper as soon as the pleasure begins to numb and you clutch onto his wrist tightly to try and pry his hand away from your sensitive clit.

“too much? don’t think that i’m done with you yet.”

toji finally draws away from you, but only turns you around to face him and effortlessly puts you on top of the hood with your elbows propping your weight. with his hands, he spreads and keeps your legs apart before sheathing his cock back inside your pulsing cunt again, completely mindless of your pathetic sobs. he lifts up your top, not surprised over the lack of bra underneath and he intently watches the way your tits bounce with each merciless pound of his cock.

“s-stop– please–” you whimper feebly as you try to shut your trembling legs together but he doesn’t budge and only keeps his grip on your thighs even tighter, stretching out your pussy for him wider.

“fucking take it.”

toji ignores your plea and his head dips low to your chest, latching his mouth onto one of your nipples and starts to flick it with his tongue coupled with harsh sucks until he pulls back with a pop and watches as the nipple stands erect before assaulting the other, swiftly sending sparks of pleasure down to the bundle of nerves.

“might as well keep you around. be my personal fucktoy. would you like that?” he grins up at you to see your jaw slacking, mouth falling in a wide ‘o’ as the burn down your core begins to cease.

“yesyesyes– make me your slut–!” your toes curl, making your heels drop down to the ground while your knuckles turn white from squeezing your hands into balled fists too hard.

“yeah? you’d do anything for a good fuck, huh?” he sneers at you, although he’s fascinated with your state of arousal.

“mhm– need daddy to fill me up with his cum–” your back rests against the car, reveling in the feeling of his cock abusing your swollen cunt like you’re nothing but a sex doll.

“but daddy’s not gonna cum yet. not even when you’re tightening around him like this.” toji slams your hips down closer to him, fucking into you deeper and harder with his heavy balls smacking your ass.

“t-too deep–! daddy, i’ll–” you babble, losing the ability to form cohesive words as you feel a strange knot twisting rapidly in your guts. the feeling is too intense and unbearable– the refined drags of his vein brushing against your spongy walls is anything but agonizing.

“come on. use your big girl words.” he drags out slowly and quickly pumps back into you ruthlessly. “or are you too dumb already?”

“i’m gonna–”

toji lifts up your legs over his shoulders as he leans down closer to you and he nips on your pulse point, causing your body to tense as your hands find home in his dark locks and tight shirt.

as soon as he lets go, your pupils are blown wide as pleasure washes throughout your body and you feel yourself gushing around the cock still buried inside you along with a broken moan from your lips. the release is oddly more relieving than your prior orgasm, making your body feel lighter as your mind ascends to a state of euphoria. you find yourself panting heavily as you squirt all over him, staining his black shirt with clear fluid and with some of it dribbling down to his thick thighs.

“making such a mess on daddy.” he groans as he feels your walls convulse around him rapidly, milking his cock dry and slowly dragging him down to his own high for the second time of the night.

you can only look at him in a cockdaze with no particular thoughts running inside your head, each one formed gone like popping bubbles. your eyes glued onto every bit of his features; the brows furrowed in concentration, the lips parting in grunts, the damp matted hair against his forehead and you drink the sight of it all even when you’re not sure if you’ll remember it all the next morning.

“fuck– it’d be a shame to not cum inside this pretty cunt, right?” his thrusts turn sporadic, dick twitching as a telltale of his pending orgasm that’s soon to crash down over him. he didn’t need to hear your answer as he ruts into you faster, hips stuttering out of control before a low, guttural sound escapes his throat as he shoots hot ropes of cum, flooding into your womb and stuffing you full with his seed.

and once he lets go of your legs you can feel your whole body sore all over, but you can’t bring yourself to care nor whatever is going to happen after this when the man in front of you has given you what you truly wanted and made you feel satiated like you’ve never felt before.

toji pulls out his spent cock and runs a hand through his hair before putting his pants back on. a cocky smirk graces his lips at the sight of your fucked out body, still splayed on top of the hood with his cum dribbling out from your pussy.

he presses your cheeks together with one hand and forces you to look at him, even as your lids are getting heavy to lift.

“i was serious about you being my fucktoy– and stealing your car.” he cackles. “so, do you wanna be in the back seat or do you prefer the trunk?”

enjoyed this work? wanna buy me coffee? :)

#toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji smut #jujutsuhub collab #toji x reader #toji x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #tw; dubcon #tw; kidnapping

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 2 years ago

Note

I got some more angst for ya >:]

What about a Shamura x reader where S/o was attacked by dissenters(Pre-Narinder's betrayal) and dies in Shamura's arms? Like Shamurais trying to comfort S/o as they're like, bleeding out and maybe s/o is apologising or something? Maybe after they take their last breath, and Shamura breaks down, they say "I knew this would happen, had I only known it would be this painful..." or something?

I am feral for angst rn XD

As Shamura was meeting with their fellow bishops, you were out in Silk Cradle picking fresh beetroot for stew.

Today was the anniversary of your relationship with the visionary bishop, so you wanted to prepare a special meal for them once they returned home.

How you both came to fall in love remained a mystery to the other cultists, though Shamura had foreseen your proposal and knew fate was calling for you to be together.

Yet they pretended to be surprised just to see your smile when they said “yes”. Thus, you were blessed with their love and the knowledge that this was simply meant to be.

Although they didn’t exactly unveil every detail of how far the relationship would go, you were content with whatever they told you.

You still did work in the cult, though you were the only one allowed to express intimacy with them. You’d always greet them with a kiss and compliment them on their looks and smarts, telling them they're the most beautiful creature in all of the lands.

At times the mighty bishop became bashful, and their heart grew fonder of you with every gesture of love. Even the temple guardians teased them about this from time to time, though they only chuckled and waved them off.

However, that didn’t mean jealousy wasn’t rooted in some of the cultists. They couldn’t see how you were “worthy” in any way when they’ve worked hard to gain their leader’s attention and blessings.

And for the few zealous ones, that jealousy inevitably led to dissention.

You’d come to realize this when a few hooded followers showed up out of nowhere, surrounding you on all sides.

“Oh! Greetings, my friends.” You smiled as you held the basket of beetroot with two hands. “Do you all need something?”

“Yeah. An answer.” One of them dropped their hood, revealing their glowing red eyes. Clear signs of dissention. “What made you so special, huh? Why did the Wise One choose you? Do they not love us anymore?"

"Yeah! Why do you get to hog all their love?!"

You frowned at their unwarranted hostility. “Of course they love you all. I assure I am not trying to take away any-”

Another cultist knocked the basket out of your hands, spilling the vegetables all over the ground. You scowled and stared at them in anger. “Hey! What's your problem?!”

"You."

"...what did you say-?"

But as you stepped forward to confront the one who said that, you failed to see the dagger they pulled out from underneath their cloak, stabbing you in the chest. You were horrified, only managing to make a choking sound as the blade was pulled out of you.

Looking down at the wound, you put a shaking hand to your chest, collapsing to your knees. “Why...? I..I-I’ve done nothing to any of you...” You struggled to speak.

“What you’ve done was make our leader soft...weak.” They spat, the others muttering in agreement. “Love doesn’t win wars. Only violence and bloodshed! They would be better off without you. We were going to just leave..but we wanted to make an example out of you first. Of how this pathetic cult should-”

“No...NO!! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!!”

You and the cultists saw Shamura rise up from their portal, shocked at the scene before them. Although they tried to scatter, they were all suddenly locked in a paralyzed state, forced to remain still and face them directly.

When the bishop saw you on the ground, they immediately rushed over, catching you and holding you in their lap before you could fall over.

You gazed up at them, seeing their tearful eyes. Warm blood trickled down from the corner of your mouth, but you did your best to smile at them. “I-I’m sorry, my beloved..those dissenters just...c-came out of nowhere.”

“No, no, it’s..i-it’s not your fault.” They tried comforting you, even though they knew this exact moment would come. And they couldn’t change fate no matter how much they begged or cried. “They will pay. And..y-you’ll be in Narinder’s hands soon. I’m so sorry..I..I never had the strength to tell you-”

“Don’t feel guilty..” You reached a hand up, feeling them hold it tightly. “I’m happy for the life we..m-managed to have together. I love you, forever and always.”

“..I-I love you, too. Rest easy, my sweet.

“Goodbye, Shamura..don’t forget me...”

As you took your final breath, the tears rolled down Shamura’s face. They gently set your lifeless hand down, before staring at their terrified followers with hatred.

“Allocer.”

The aforementioned witness was summoned. But it didn’t take him long to see what had happened, and he bowed his head in sadness. “My deepest condolences, Great Leader. Shall I punish the dissenters?”

“Yes. I want them all executed immediately...with acid.”

“Acid?”

“Lower them into an acid bath.” Shamura spoke hoarsely, never taking their eyes off your body. "I want their screams to be heard all throughout the land..so every creature here knows the pain I feel."

The dissenters whimpered in fear, though the bishop glared at them all. “That’s what you all wanted, right? Violence?! Bloodshed?! YOU TAKE ME FOR A SOFT FOOL?!! Well congratulations..you now know a violent and painful execution awaits you all.”

Allocer nodded his head. “I will prepare the temple, my lord. You all are coming with me.”

And with that, he disappeared, taking the dissenters with him to their fate.

Only when Shamura was all alone did they finally weep, still cradling your body and wishing they could have prepared sooner for this.

How they wished to hold you until the end of time...

"I'm sorry, my beloved. I knew this day would come...but if only I had known it would be this painful..”

#clanask #cult of the lamb x reader #cotl x reader #cotl shamura #bishop shamura #tw death #angst

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thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

Text

"Mine." || Part 2.

Summary: Din shows you who you belong to just to discover something life changing.

Warning/Content: 18+ ONLY. NSFW. Fingering, oral (female receiving/male receiving), P in V, a hint of degration, slight breeding kink, dirty talk, ROUGH SEX. Dom!Din, jealous!Din and tatted Din. I would add another tag but it would give away the ending.

Paring: Din Djarin/Female Reader

Part 1.

A/N: I also do not ever write smut, this is my first fic with full sex in it so if something does not seem right please, please let me know. Thank you, hope you all enjoy!

His lips don't give in, pressing his tongue until it feels heavy against your own. Fingertips unforgivable as they sting your skin with how rough he was moving your face for he had a better angle to kiss you at. He's ruthless, pissed, marking his territory, claiming you his.

Anger warmed his whole body and honestly he wasn't even sure it was jealousy anymore just the sheer fact that life has separated him from you and from his son, it's unfair. As he pulls away, brown eyes dark with meaning, lips bruised and puffy from your own. "Tell me." He urges, "You're mine, I want to hear you say the words."

Dins’s eyes following every movement of your eyes as they move from the creases in his forward to the facial hair that peppered his jaw. "You know I'm yours. I'll forever be yours Din."

His eyes are starting to soften but find you reaching for his hand to press it against the thick colum of your throat and squeezing fingers over his feeling the air restrict just enough it burns for there is just enough air passing through, making you dizzy. The deep burn of desire inside the deepest pit of your stomach just wanting him to fuck you hard, remind you that your place is with him; imaging sitting on his lap on the golden throne he will soon own, truthfully where ever the hell he wants you because you without a doubt are putty in his hands. "Please remind me, I need it so bad."

Finding yourself blaming it on how sexy he is when he's angry, the way his cheeks colored red as he pulled on the your hair, forcing you too look at him as he asked if you fucked another man. It may be that the separation from the man weighed heavy on your heart. Seven months is a long time, the lingering desire to grow. Satisfying yourself didn't even come close to him.

The soft moan against your open mouth from the words is enough to have you soaking, fingers dip into the soft fabric of the tunic, harsh fingers grasp the tie of the robe and when it doesn't budge rips it right off, throwing it over his shoulder with a snarl against your lips. "You missed me sweet girl, you need me?."

"Yes."

"Maker -." He gasps at the feeling of small hands cupping his erection through his pants, hips bucking to meet them with certainty, lips hot against your own with one goal. "Greedy girl. Not happy unless she's touching a cock."

The way he talks as if you're not even there, patronizing but oh, it makes you mewl and tut hips against his hardness which throbs underneath you. A fire inside ignites with an endless flame, desire seeping to form into the throb between your legs. A problem that only he can fix. Absolutely starved for him, his touch, his lips as they press your own. Moaning softly with praises for his good girl.

His hands arr greedy as they cup your breasts, pinching the nipples a little to rough until they puff and sting, it hurts but he doesn't seem to care much as Lips press against the warmth of your neck, kissing, nipping any part of skin he can manage, purple marks left it the wake, tongue soothing the bruising skin, heart stammering against his chest at the thought of Luke seeing them. His voice is rough, calculating as the pads of his fingers lift your face from seeing what he's doing from you using the plam of his hand to angle it towards the headboard. "You want to see? I don't think you deserve it, haven't been a good girl. From what I remember you picked his side over mine."

"Did.." You try to speak but the thigh between your own stops you, heavy as it presses against your clit and makes you gasp. "...Not."

"Surely did but look at you now. I wonder what he would think if he saw how cock dumb you get." Din's’s hand falls between both of your legs to his hard member squeezing it through his pants, throbbing under his own palm.

He's teasing, testing the waters to see a reaction out of you, he's so so close but biting the inside of your cheek manage to stay quiet.

It has to be quick as hands press against the mattress under you, tightening your trunk to use the new found strength he didn't know about to flip yourself from under him. Din is quicker though, halfway through pulling you closer for it's impossible to escape his arms, pulling you to straddle him as his back lands on the bed with a huff.

You really do try to move but he's just too strong, hair filling the gaps between his fingers as he pulls your lips against his again, teeth clashing as a moan vibrates his chest. "You're not going anywhere cyar'ika."

Anchoring yourself against his lips, pushing down roughly on his hardness as you cry against his lips as a hand lands on your ass, skin taunt and red instantly at the roughness.

"You're upset." Words whispered against his chest, fingers running over the outline of the square jaw teasingly, tongue reaching out to lick it. He feels his own eyes roll into the back of his head with a whimper. "Let me make it up to you, I wanna taste you in my mouth again."

Muscles scream and ache, sore already from his brutal grip but it's the least of anyone's concern as you sink into knees between his large, muscular thighs squeezing them teasingly. Mouth pressing over the cloth covered skin of his inner thighs, mouthing him through the fabric as his face turns red. His fist roughly tightening in hair until it's so tight it hurts when he pulls your head back to pick your haze towards his face. "Don't tease me girl, you're not going to like what happens if you keep it up brat."

Your mouth waters watching his taunt muscles bunch the fabric of his shirt at the collar pull the beskar and shirt in one go careless of where it lands. He's bare now, muscularly lean as his hips press himself into your hand, a reminder of the task but you can't find yourself to look away from the tanned, creamy chest right above his heart, eyes reaching the black lines of words. "Another one?"

The one on his neck was large, a symbol of what he claimed was leadership but in plain English right above his heart made your heart beat faster. Shaky fingers trace the curves of letters on his pec, skin soft. Your name, it was healed and black already starting to fade, it's been there for some time now. Heart stammers against his chest as he hears the softness of your tone, "Why?"

"It belongs to you, I thought it was only right."

Despite the swelling of your heart finger’s play with the waist band of his pants before curling around them pulling them just enough that they're almost revealing his throbbing erection but his finger's cupping your jaw hault all actions forcing you to look at him through hooded eyelids. "I want to hear you want it."

“Please.” A shock of pleasure running straight through his body to his throbbing cock, “Can I touch you? I wanna suck you off, please, please let me.”

You must look pathetic on your knees, eyes welting with tears of the new found discovery on his chest, bottom lips slightly pouting that he stopped you in the first place. Big doe like eyes never leaving his, you sound so fucked. "Please..."

A small groan leaves the half naked man's throat pressing his thumb against your chin roughly, while his other fingers leaving a trail along their wake on their way to your breast cupping gently, teasing you just a little more.

The way he stares at you, as you wait for any gesture, any tilt of his head to say you can. He's testing you seeing if you're even capable of behaving but little does he realize when it came to him his girl would so anything he asks. It's intimating, feeling his eyes shift over you, tall even sitting down, towering actually.

“Fine, only because you asked like a good girl." Din's finger help you as he lifts his hips to move the pants and boxers up and over his ass and to the floor leaving him completely bare. After so many months it's a beautiful sight, hard, throbbing under your touch, an angry pink that just wants relief.

Tongue meets the delicate skin of his balls first, a soft huff of relief falling from his lips as you continue to lick a stride against them, taking one into your mouth almost as fast.

The Mandalorian actually chokes, the feeling of you after so long as him falling from his elbows to lay flat against the bed. Hands gathering your hair into a messy pony tail, not only for a better view but to taunt that he can take control anytime.

He's about to warn you about teasing him again when he feels a small kiss against his inner thigh but his tip pushing past your lips as him bitting down on his lip so hard he swears he tasting blood. "Sweet girl, so-- good."

The mixture of salty pre-cum and saliva makes it easy to move him past your lips until he reaches the deepest part of your throat, holding him there a few seconds to taste the saltiness of him until your nose feels the dark hairs of his abdomen Warm and tight around him, fingers gripping harder as his hips involuntarily buck into you deeper, choking you until eyes start to water.

After that you waste no time taking him inside your mouth to the point that your lips were completely around him as him he hits the back of your throat with every stroke. Adding his own hips to the mixture as the intense feeling of your gagging only vibrates against him, the sounds that fill the room are filthy, wet and slippery as spit begins to dribble down your chin.

"Maker --." He squeezes his eyes shut feeling the distant building of heat run down his legs, warm his belly. "Did you think about this? Think --." He can't even finish a sentence with how deep you take him, throat already staring to ache but every time his cock pierces the threshold of your throat soothing it instantly. "Think about sucking me off?"

Head nodding frantically as one of your hands slip just to relieve the pressure between your legs but his own around your wrist stops you. A soft whine makes around him makes it almost impossible to push away but with every ounce of self control he has he pulls his throbbing cock from your mouth, the thick line of spit that comes that connects you two makes him want to explode on your face right there.

Din pulls you up by your arm onto his lap once again as fingers waste no time to reach between your legs, thee slick of your wetness coating the tips of his fingers as he pulls the pants from your hips. “You're so wet honey, is this all for me?"

He doesn't even give you the chance to reply as fingers dip down to your wet slit, sticking a finger in your gaping hole a quarter of the way with one goal in mine to coat them in some wetness before slipping it past his lips, wanting a taste. "Just as sweet as I remember, want you to taste."

With his face only inches from your own, it's so filthy. The way he pulls his fingers from between lips, his own string of spit as the appendages slip past your own lipsb rolling against your tongue before closing your lips around them. “Such a dirty girl aren’t you?”

The heat of Din's chest flushing your breast is enough to have you dizzy with bliss. He's so sexy like this, confident, radiates with new found power that turns you to putty in his hands.

You can't help as you lean forward to capture his lips again tongue eagerly meeting his. Din kisses back instantly, the taste of you being exchanged passionately through the heated kiss as hands falling to the back of your hair, tugging it gently as hips buck as you lower yourself against his cock. At this point Din feels his heart pounding against his chest, doesnt believe the way you dry hump, he wouldn't even call it that: the wetness that soaks his thighs is anything but dry.

It almost physically hurts not being inside of you, hot a ready against you, gentle fingers hook at your hips effortlessly flipping your whole body weight until your hands and head push against the softness of the mattress using fingers to bring your ass towards him until it's presses against his own bare hips. “Ass up baby.”

Din couldn’t help but groan at the sight of you, naked, pussy in the air for him, ready to be used in any way he sees fit. A rough hand kneading the flesh of your ass cheek, other one coming up to spank you so hard you gasp as it sends tingles of pain down sore legs. His lips coming down to the point of attack pressing a small kiss against it, then using his hand to run over the bubbling spot, welt red with pulsing pain. “You looked so pretty with your lips around me around my cock but seeing red with my marks makes me want to destroy you."

"Please, please.." At this point you don't know what you're begging for but Din's not ready to give up that easy, he's not done reminding you that you are without a doubt his.

A large hand guides down your back feeling the grooves of your spine against his own fingertips until hand reached the back of your neck with one hard grab but then down back down until he reaches your ass kneading both cheeks so close to your throbbing heat. A lingering blaze of heat where his fingers were as he pushes your head deeper into the matress. "Beg me to touch you needy girl. I don't think I'm convinced you want me anymore."

"I do." The clock of his tongue tells you he's disappointed, panic tearing through your throat as his finger moved further from where you need him most, tears of frustration prickling eyes as his hand pushes your head deeper into the mattress. “No! No -- please touch me. I want it, need you so bad, lay here every night thinking of it." With one last crack of your voice words spewing at any effort of some type of relief. "Do whatever you want to me, fill me up bear, I wanna be yours.."

It's only for a second, the way he tenses and throbs between your ass cheeks, chest doesn't dare move, not believing the words that came from your mouth. Soft kisses against the back of your thighs, lip meeting with your clit that sends a shock up your spine, goosebumps breaking out at the euphoric feeling. Din didn’t waste any time as he puckers his lips and sucks on your heat, tongue trusting inside of your tight hole enjoying the sounds coming from you as he mumbles against you, "Want me to fill you up sweet girl? Want my seed deep in you?"

Wet, sloppy noises falling from where his lips connect to you the sounds he was making with his lips and tongue are almost sinful as a rush of heat runs through your body hand coming down on your ass, a little awkward at this position but it's more to show how serious he is. "Answer me."

"Yes! Oh, yes! I want you to feel you all night."

The tip of Din’s tongue flickers the soft bundle of nerves making you mewl, his finger filling you snuggly and to the brink without warning, not wasting any time they leave only to come back and reach that spot in that makes your eyes roll back into your head. The sounds falling from between your legs were heavenly, wetness dripping from your thighs to the bed but he could care less about right now.

“I’m gonna cum.” The devilish smirk was not visible to your own eyes as pulls his finger from the wetness, eyes running over your swollen pussy puffy with pleasure.

"Wha?” The orgasm haze was starting to take over leaving you slightly drowsy as tears sting with frustration groaning into the pillow trying to lift your head but Din's hand in your hair prevents that pressing you back against the soft material.

“Good girl take what they're given." He growls harshly but the gentle kisses against your neck say otherwise; soft and wet soothing the spot where he grabbed earlier. Words dangerous as lips chaste over your ear, "You can remember that the next time you stick up for him."

Din is kneeling between your thighs, leg against your inner knee spreading your legs just enough for he can fit. Arching your back against him, silently begging to end your misery already.

The sounds of his hand using your wetness to jerk himself off behind you otherresting against your ass and squeezing the softness. He doesn't give any warning, the sudden feeling of a burning but pleasurable stretching causing a small gasp to fall from lips swollen from all the biting from the previous finger fucking.

Din’s finger come behind you to tease the bundle of nerves, making your whine as he sinks every inch of his cock until he's nestled so deep it's hard to breath. It's a delicious burn, one that makes you so light headed it's hard to even form words. "Maker, Din."

Din's hands rest against the swells of your ass, eyes tilting towards the filthy sight of him snuggly pressing into you, testing the waters with one deep, slow thrust. The sound you make is straight up sinful, makes him groan on his own accord as you clench around him.

Hips snap faster watching his cock disappear and reappear into your silky opening over and over again a wave of pleasure tingling his spine every time he hits the spot that makes you dumb. He wants to comment on it but can't form words at the sight of his cock covered in your arousal, it has his thighs shaking with heat, stomach stirring with the familar feeling of relief, his whole body on fire. With every push of hips, strokes steady, long and rough hitting to fill you every single time.

The sounds falling from you mixed with pleasure and pain but it felt so good having him in you again. Din loves it, hips rolling into you, pussy dripping between the two of you, smearing his thighs, leaking down yours. Eyes trained your bouncing ass as he listens to the squeals of his name.

Back arching pushing him deeper inside of you to hit that spot that makes you cry as a hand rest against the small of back giving him a better angle to fuck you senselessly. “Din, oh maker, so fucking good."

"Yeah sweetheart? Missed me huh?"

Nails digging into the flesh of your hip as sweat begins to bead on his forehead and chest, heat washing over his whole body as he feels himself grow closer and closer to giving you want you want most. “i’m so close bear, please let me..” you manage to mumble as the pleasure pinches your voice hoping he doesn't steal this one from you as well.

"Want me to fill you up sweet girl? Tell me you want it.

"I want it so bad, want to feel you for weeks." There is no doubt in any of your minds you will.

"Come for me, give it to me." Your orgasm hits you instantly clenching around him so hard he chokes. Din on the other hand continues to drive his cock deep inside of you a small whine falling from his lips.

With the last of his trust he explodes, cum lining you, filling you to the brink. Maker, there's so much as it drips between you and onto the bed, he doesn't dare move trying to keep whatever he can manage in. Taking a second to recover with heavy pants against your back before fingers hook around you turning you to face him as you both breath with heavy breaths.

Sagging into the matress completely spent, chest rising and falling to match the pattern of your thumping heart. Eyes blurring in a haze even though it's only temporary your limbs feel heavy as a gentle hand cups your cheek tilting your head in which you can only guess his direction. Din doesn't move, keeps himself burried deep inside of you, not daring to break the warmth he's missed.

"Are you with me Cyar'ika?" The post sex haze wearing away but he's till blurry, you're too tired as eyes slowly begin to shut.

"I want to go with you. I want to go home."

There was no home, Din knew exactly what the words meant, a metaphor for himself, he would forever be your home. It was sweet, made him warm and blush but lazy lips trail from your shoulder pressing his face into your neck with a sigh, words whispered breathlessly. "You belong here, I will come back when you are ready."

"I don't want you to leave." The words are hard to process as hot tears slip past your eyes flushing the cold skin of his cheek.

The way the words sound so broken, gasped out with emotion is soul crushing. Din presses his face deeper, cheek against cheek as the tears burn. "I'll try and visit more.. it won't be another seven months. Luke will have a way to communicate with me for emergencies." He pauses, hands rubbing over your hair to comfort in any way that would help, lifting his face until your nose bumps his own. "I wouldnt able to live with myself letting you leave here yet... You have come so far, you have so much more to accomplish my sweet girl."

"Stay an extra day." Tomorrow morning was coming too fast, it breaks your heart knowing it would be months before laying eyes on your Mandalorian again. Din turns his head not being able to look you in the eyes that he can't, he promised Bo-Katan that he needed one day then he would be back to the war, it was bad timing as it is. The sniffles against his neck, the whine as he shifted inside her once again made him crack. "Anything for you baby, I love you so much. I'm sorry for before, did I hurt you? I -."

"It's okay, It's been a long time Din, I understand. It was perfect." It's doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand, the uncertainty of seven months and you couldn't find yourself to blame him.

It's funny how missing someone works, it's been weeks since he's left but in the morning you find yourself not being able to move from the bed, the sheets still smell like him. Remember all the soft spoken words, the promises that he'll be back to you home, to him where you belonged.

Luke sits in front of you, Grogu on his lap as you try and concentrate but the small hands against your stomach make you frown, head tilting down at the green fingers that coo softly. He's been doing that very often lately. What a weird little creature.. cute but weird.

The soft huff that falls from Luke makes you pause, now question his eyes with your own. He closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, accomplishing what you failed to do. The force is strong with him, murmuring things of the past and impending future.

Now his hand covers the child's who lays his forehead against it. "He senses life. I feel it."

The words stun you, momentarily pausing as your mouth falls open. "I saw the future, I saw your baby due in months time. Another generation of Jedi."

And the heir to the Mandalorian throne.

#din djarin fan fiction #the mandolorian imagine #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din dijarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian spoilers #the mandalorian #the mandolarian #din djarin

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98prilla · 5 years ago

Text

Shifted

Thomas decides to see what all the Side’s animal forms would be. It does not go so well for Anxiety.

This is set pre accepting anxiety, and diverges a little from the cannon of that episode, fair warning.

He is terrified. His heart is pounding as he pulls further back into the shadows, hiding under the couch. He can hear the others out there, talking, laughing, having fun. This isn’t fun.

“An owl? Really, Thomas, owls aren’t even actually smart, their eyes take up much of their cranial cavity.”

“Come on, kiddo, they are symbols of wisdom. And those wings sure must be nifty! I’m having a pawsome time myself!” A groan at the pun.

“I always thought Logan was a bit bird brained.” Roman mutters. “But seriously, a dragon? While the scales are quite flattering, it is a bit strange, considering I usually fight them.”

“I don’t know, Roman, I guess cause you’re always talking about questing I just settled on a fantasy creature. It is pretty cool." He rolls his eyes at the huff of pride he can hear as Roman no doubt puffs up his chest, flares his wings.

“Speaking of strange, where's anxiety?” his ears flatten against his head, pulse picking up again. They’re talking about him.

“He should be here. I did summon him.” Thomas, confused. He curses his inability to sink out in this form.

“Perhaps he has taken the form of a smaller animal and is hiding.” He almost hisses, could Logic shut up for once?

“Aw, maybe we should look for him! He’ll probably be so cute!”

“Please. That weirdo is probably a venomous spider or a little parasite. Who cares, where he is?” yes, thank you Roman, for once being not a moron.

“Patton, if you’re worried perhaps you can sniff him out. You are a cat, after all.” No. Nonono. Logic, shut it!

“Good idea, Logan. Give it a try!” and he is outta here before he even knows what he’s doing.

His terror skyrockets and he shoots out from under the couch to the startled yelps of everyone else. Everything is big, huge, compared to him, the living room seems endless.

The stairs, he just needs to get to the stairs and he'll be able to physically enter the mindscape, he’s so close-

Then there is the flap of wings, a victorious shriek, and talons are digging into his shoulders pinning him down.

“Well, what have we here?” He shoves aside his fear, proud as his voice comes out just as scathing and steady as ever.

“Get off, you overgrown lizard.” He bites out, Roman’s scaled head coming into view. He glares at Roman’s laughter.

“Anxiety, kiddo? Is that you?”

“No, its Joan, yes it’s me, Patton, now get off, Roman!” His heart is beating fast, too fast, and his words are wavering. He is afraid, afraid, afraid. He hates this, hates it, he just wants this to be over.

“Hmm. I don’t think I will. Think about it, Thomas. We have the opportunity here to get anxiety out of our way for good.” His stomach drops, his blood goes cold, he is shaking.

“Roman, what are you suggesting?” Logan, he can’t be considering this, please no, please!

“I mean, we don’t need to vanquish him. We can keep him like this. Put him in a cage, or something.”

“I'm not a pet, you idiot, and you can’t keep me like this forever.” He hisses out.

“Oh contraire, little mouse, we can keep you weak enough you don’t have any choice.” His heart lurches as he is lifted up, Roman's wings buffeting him, they are in the air.

“Roman, put me down! I… please! Pleasepleaseplease…” he is crying now, begging, because he can’t, this can’t be happening, they can’t actually intend to keep him locked in this form, weak and powerless, in a cage.

The floor seems so far away, and he feels sick, from the altitude shift or what is happening or both, he can’t tell. The anguished terror is filling him and he lets out a broken, choked sob.

This is what he gets, for thinking he could ever be accepted, for thinking he could ever be tolerated, much less liked. All he’d ever done was his job, and this is his reward.

“Logan, what-" he lets out a squeak despite himself as a blur of gray rams into Roman, sending him spiraling off balance.

Then he feels the talon’s grip slip, and he screams. He is falling, flipping through the air. From this height in this form his bones will break, shatter, with his luck his neck will snap. He has time to cry for help, before he impacts.

“Gotcha!” The halt is jarring, and he is shaking, instinctively flattening himself to make as small a target as possible as he tries to get ahold of himself. He realizes it’s soft, the ground.

He looks up and nearly screams again, instead flattening further. Patton has caught him, sitting on his back haunches, he is caught in Patton's front paws.

“p-p-put me d-down. Please.” His voice is a whisper, trembles making him stutter, but Patton instantly complies, much to his relief.

He hears a shriek and looks up, just in time to see silver talons coming right at him, then they crash into him and he feels a ripping pain in his shoulder.

He can hear Patton yelling, Logan screeching, Roman growling, and it is loud so loud and all he can think is he is about to die-

“Enough!” Thomas yells, and suddenly the ground isn’t so close, suddenly he is stumbling to his feet, lunging for his normal spot on the stairs, reaching it in two strides. He lets out a relieved sob as he clutches the bannister, looking back at the others.

Logan has landed in a heap on the couch. Patton and Roman are tangled around each other on the floor. Patton's gaze meets his, worried.

“kiddo, you’re bleeding.” He lifts his hand numbly to his shoulder, mildly surprised as it comes away sticky and red. He lets out a broken, bitter laugh.

“Gee, wonder how that happened. Not like someone was trying to kill me, or worse hold me captive and torture me for my whole existence." His voice is raw and instead of biting sarcasm, it comes out as an almost whisper, red rimmed eyes glaring at the floor as he shakes, from latent fear and pulsing anger.

“Anxiety-" he half successfully chokes back another sob, harsh laughter tearing at his lungs.

“no, know what, it’s fine. It’s fine, Thomas. I always knew I wasn’t wanted. I was an idiot to hope you might… might ever actually change, actually want me around. Hell, even care about me like I care about you and keeping you safe.” He can barely stand, he doesn’t know if it’s from the pain and blood loss or the adrenaline fading or the panic attack he can feel pressing against him, tightening his chest.

“Kiddo…” he shakes his head.

“Y'know, if you really wanted me dead, all you had to do was ask. I would’ve done it myself.” He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t see the pained shock on Patton's face, the suspicious surprise on Roman's, the horror on Logan’s. The pain on Thomas's. Instead, he flips up his hood, hugging himself as he wordlessly sinks out.

He managed to lock the door before he collapses to the floor. His chest feels like it's being squeezed by a boa constrictor, his ribs crushed and all the air shoved out of his lungs. His vision narrows to a dark pinprick, gaze unseeing as he sees Roman's talons again and again, falling and splattering against the floor, bones shattered, bars, a cage, closing in, pressing him tight, he can’t breathe, he’s choking, he’s dying, god, he’s going to die here. Why not? He laughs hysterically, that’s what they want, may as well give it to ‘em.

“virgil, no. It’s not what we all want. Come back to me, stormy. Focus on my voice. You can do it, Virgil.” Virgil. None of them know his name. Only, only…

“Dee?” he chokes out, blurry vision focusing enough to see Deceit, holding his hands in his lap, rubbing circles on his knuckles.

“There we are. Hello, dearest.” Deceit reaches up, softly wiping away his tears, brushing back his hair.

“I’m an idiot. I’m a stupid idiot.” He mutters.

“No. Virgil, you’re not. It’s ok.” He hisses in a breath of pain as Dee places a hand on his shoulder, vision going speckly at the slight contact. Dee pulls away, eyes wide, face darkening to fury.

“You’re hurt. Vee, you’re bleeding" he just shrugs, another sob clawing its way out of his throat.

“Doesn’t matter.” He whispers. Deceit hisses, and pulls him onto his lap.

“It does. Even if they don’t care, even if they don’t love you, I do. It matters to me. You will always matter to me. You’re my baby, Virg. Even if you’ve left the nest, you’re still my little rain storm. Got it?” He feels Dee's extra arms removing his hoodie, then all six are cradling him against Dee's chest, holding him tight and safe and secure, letting him relax and melt into the touch, knowing Dee will never let anything hurt him. He feels Dee press a kiss to his head.

“you’ve wiped yourself out, love. I'll take care of that nasty shoulder gash. Get some sleep, dearest.” Weakly, he clings to Dee's shirt. He doesn’t want him to let go, he doesn’t feel safe, if Dee lets go.

“I’m staying, darling. I’ll stay as long as you want.”

“remus-"

“can rain down all the hell he wants. Until you’re better, they deserve it.” He finds he can’t argue with that. He falls asleep to Dee humming softly, stroking his forehead and holding his hand, his other arms working to gently bandage his shoulder.

Deceit sighs as he hears a crash. Looking up, he sees Remus kick in the door, eyes aflame.

“who hurt him? Who’s ass do I gotta beat until it falls off?”

“hush. I just got him settled.” Dee replies. In three strides, Remus is beside him, head cocked unnaturally far to the side, like a snapped neck.

“He’s ok?” Remus asks, neck snapping back to a normal position with an audible click.

“yes. Keep an eye on him, please?”

“What? Where're you going?” Remus asks. Deceit’s eyes flash.

“I am going to go see what exactly those half-witted buffoons did to send him spiraling. Then I am going to determine whom it is I need to beat the shit out of.” Deceit growled, stepping away from the bed.

“Boo, you never let me have any fun.” Remus pouts. He instantly stops as Virgil lets out a small sound, immediately climbing into the bed with him and spooning around him. Virgil curls against him immediately, stilling as he clings onto Remus.

“Thank you.” Deceit murmurs from the doorway. Remus nods.

“I'll take care of our little stormy night. You go teach ‘em a lesson, Dee.” Remus replies, relishing the sharp fanged smile Deceit flashes him, before sinking out. As an afterthought, he snaps, replacing the door, before turning his attention to Virgil, trying to mentally send him all of his love. Virgil is more of a brother to him than Roman has ever been, and he hates seeing him hurt.

“hang in there, vee. Dee'll fix everything.”

“I highly doubt he wants to be called right now.”

“But he was so scared! We have to help!”

“I don’t know Pat, seeing us might make it worse.” He clears his throat. He meets three sets of surprised eyes with steel. Thomas yelps and falls backwards, catching himself on the wall.

“Who is that?!”

“Deceit, you scurrilous snake, what are you doing here?” his eyes narrow at that.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Roman, was I not wanted here at this exact moment?” his voice is a perfect mimicry of Virgil's, and to his satisfaction it makes Roman flinch.

“Thomas. This is Deceit. He is responsible for the lies you tell not only others, but yourself. I am puzzled as to why you have appeared now. To my knowledge, no lies have been spoken.” Logan explains, and his hands ball into fists.

“Oh, truly, why ever would I be here? It'ssss not like Anxiety returned bloody and injured, in the midsssst of a panic attack, talking about how nobody wantssss him and it doessssn't matter. I’m sure that hassss nothing to do with it, Logic.” He hisses out, spitting Logan's title like it burns his tongue.

He can see Patton's guilty face out of the corner of his eye, knows whatever happened, it wasn’t him. But Roman… yes.

“So Thomas, dear, care to explain what happened?” He asks, sickly sweet, turning his gaze to Thomas, who has a slight frown on his face. As an afterthought, he notes that Thomas isn’t afraid of him, despite his scales and sharp fangs. Interesting.

“I thought it would be cool to see what everyone’s animal forms would be. Logan was an owl, Pat was a persian cat, and Roman was a dragon. But we didn’t see anxiety anywhere so we thought he was small and hiding and maybe too scared to move. Pat was gonna find him, then a mouse shot out from under the couch and Roman…” Thomas trails off, eyes shifting away, but it’s enough to confirm his suspicions.

“Roman. Care to continue?” Roman meets his ice cold gaze imperiously.

“gladly. I captured the fiend in my claws. Hurting him was an accident. I merely meant to catch him while he was small and couldn’t hurt us and contain him. Keep him small, so he’d stop bothering Thomas. It’s not like we need him, anyways.” Roman scoffs.

Rage is filling him. Because Roman truly thinks he is in the right, truly thinks he didn’t do anything wrong, and his voice is proud as he speaks about traumatizing Virgil, who is the youngest, the smallest, the most vulnerable to start with. How dare he?

Before he can think, he has crossed the room, he rears his hand back and slaps Roman hard enough to send him reeling backwards.

“You are a heartless, soulless bastard. I told him not to come, I told him he’d get hurt but he didn’t listen. You know why? It’s certainly not because he wants to be included, he doesn’t yearn for your acceptance, it doesn’t break him a little more each time you all dismiss and send him away unwanted. He definitely doesn’t just want to be liked! He never has a hard enough time just being himself, being afraid, all the fucking time, and you have certainly helped make him feel right at home.” He hisses, ignoring the tears stinging at his eyes as he whips around, facing the rest of them.

“And you’re no better. How do you think it feels, knowing the person who conjured you doesn’t even want you? How terrified would you be, surrounded by people who have never showed you kindness, who have admitted their distaste, small and defenseless, being threatened to be put in a cage? His worst fear is something happening to Thomas and being unable to reach him, to react and help. It’s his job to protect Thomas, and you were threatening to keep him away, to put Thomas’s own safety at risk for your own stupid biases! You were threatening to make his nightmare real, and not a single fucking one of you said otherwise, did you?!” He yells, slowly looking at each of them in turn. No one will meet his eyes now, not even Roman.

“you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve his name. No wonder he hasn’t told you. You’re a bunch of ignorant bullies. And you’d say I’m the bad guy. You all picked out the most vulnerable and pounced.” He shifts his head, turning to Thomas, a curling, empty smile on his face.

“It was a fucking pleasure, Thomas. I’ll be taking my leave.” The lie is bitter and acrid on his tongue, tasting of ash as he sinks out.

He returns to Virgil's room, immediately hurrying to his bedside, because he is crying, despite Remus's attempts to soothe him.

“Vee, what’s wrong?” he asks. Virgil glares at him through his tears.

“you said you were gonna stay!” he lets out a soft breath, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I know. I just had to check on something. But you know Remus would never let anything hurt you, right?” Virgil nods, leaning back into Remus's arms.

“That’s right, starshine. You’re safe.” Remus whispers, rocking Virgil gently, who responds by pressing his face into Remus's chest.

“You’re staying now, right?” Virgil mumbles. He smiles, slipping under the covers.

“I am. No lies this time.” He murmurs as Virgil lays down, curling into him. He reaches out with all six arms, pulling Remus closer, hugging both of them and sandwiching Virgil in warmth and safety.

“What was it?” Remus asks lowly, once Virgil is out again. He sighs.

“Shapeshifting, animal forms. He was a mouse. Roman was a dragon. Threatened to keep him locked up. It got physical.”

“You mean Roman was a bitch and attacked Virgil unprovoked.” Remus's voice is flat, and he shoots him a soft look, one of his hands slipping into Remus's.

“I’m going to kill him.” He squeezes Remus's hand.

“Later. We can work on murder plans later. Right now Vee needs us.”

“Anxiety, it’s dinner time!” Patton's voice trills. He opens his eyes with a groan, freezing instantly.

This… isn’t his room. It isn’t even the commons. He’s laying in soft bedding. He realizes he’s in a little plastic hut. His heart speeds. He looks down at himself, human, good.

He flinches as the house is lifted up, leaving him exposed. His breath catches in his lungs, Patton is looming over him, he is giant. He skitters back, realizing his back is pressing against metal wire. Cage, he is in a cage, he is tiny, in a cage.

He scrambles, trying to claw his way out, trying to bend the wire enough to wriggle out.

“hey, now. None of that kiddo.” His stomach flips as hands squeaze around his waist and he is lifted into the air. He is barely as tall as Patton's ring finger, he is so high in the air as Patton places him down on his palm.

“patton please, please, just let me go, please!” he begs, feeling tears slipping down his face.

“Aw, I know kiddo. But this is better for everyone. This way you’re still around but don’t bother Thomas.” He stumbles as Patton places him back in the cage, doubling over and choking on sobs as a small food dish is placed inside, the shadows of bars shading his face.

He is still begging, pleading, screaming, for Patton, for anyone, to let him out, let him go, but he knows no one is coming, and the bars are pressing in, and soon there won’t be any more space, any more air.

“hush, stormy, shhh. It’s ok. It’s ok, lovely.” His eyes fly open, and he clings to Dee, feeling all of his arms cradling him tight as he sniffles into his shoulder, sobs shaking his thin frame.

“Just a dream, Vee." He feels Remus's hand on his, feels the terror and residual fear draining out of him as the nightmare is removed from his mind. The pros of dark creativity. Remus can steal other people’s bad thoughts, bad dreams, but then he experiences whatever the thoughts were. He hears Remus's sharp inhale as he sees it, feels his hand tighten it’s grip.

“thanks ree.” He manages, his voice hoarse and sore.

“Virgil, love, we should talk about it. I only got minor details from them.”

“what’s to say? They were going to keep me in a cage, they d-didn't want me.” Dee draws back a tad, looking down at Virgil's face, eyes hidden behind his bangs.

“did anyone help? Surely not all of them went along with this.” He shrugs, taking a deep breath.

“R-roman g-g-rabbed me in his talons and st-started flying. But he yelled… I think L-Logan tried to stop him. He was an o-o-owl. I think he rammed Roman and made him drop me. P-p-patton c-caught me. And… and he put me down, right away, when I asked. I… I don't think they woulda let Roman k-keep me.” He mumbles out, shaking. Dee feels his heart breaking, can feel the murder on Remus's face.

“That's good, Virge. They were trying to defend you.” Virgil shakes his head.

“but they didn’t. Only p-patton even cared I was h-hurt. Thomas… Thomas didn't say a-anything.”

“but he changed you back.” His brow creases as he looks out from Dee's arms at Remus's words. “if he agrees with Roman, he wouldn’t have changed you back.”

“He's right, lovely. Thomas doesn’t hate you. I know that. That is fact.” He sighs.

“Doesn’t feel like it right now.” He mumbles.

“I know. And that’s ok, Virge.” Dee kisses his head softly. He startles at a knock on the door.

“Remus, see who it is?”

“If it’s princey stab him for me.” Virgil mumbles, making Remus chuckle and ruffle his hair.

“Gladly, stormy.”

He throws open the door, leaning in the doorway with a cocky grin, teeth sharp and eyes glinting.

“Well, well, hello there Daddy. Have I been naughty?” he teases, moving to block Patton's view of the room.

“Remus… what… what are you doing here?” Patton asks nervously.

“Apparently playing the butler. Y'know, Patton, in the movies the butler is always guilty of murder.” He tilts his head slowly, relishing the fear that races across Patton's face. “Now, what are you doing here, daddio?” Patton fiddles with his sweater sleeves, a frown settling on his face.

“I just… I know he probably doesn’t want to see us right now, heck, maybe ever, and I don’t fault him for it. Today… today was bad. Really, really bad. I just want to make sure he's ok. And apologize. We… we chewed out Roman. His actions were unacceptable. Just… I would never let that happen. He’s not… he’s a person, and I don’t always agree with him, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to take away his voice or opinion. Can you just… pass that on, for me? Please?”

Remus looks back at the bed, softening as he sees Virgil uncurling from Dee, sitting with his knees pulled to his chest, leaning against Dee, who has an arm around his shoulders. Virgil looks up at Dee, a silent question.

“No lies.” Dee murmurs, and Virgil bites his lip. “You wanna let him in?” He asks softly. Virgil hesitates, but nods.

“If he means it... yeah.” Virgil mumbles.

“He does. Remus, stop playing. V- Anxiety says he can come in.” He calls, catching himself before using Virgil’s actual name. Remus sighs, but steps aside.

“Well? Come in then.”

Hesitantly, Patton steps inside the dark room, taking in the soft, dark carpet, the dark to light purple gradient painted on the walls. There are also posters for bands carefully hung in frames, and a few posters for movies that Anxiety must like. He sees fairy lights strung across the ceiling that sparkle like stars without the main lights turned on.

He lets out a soft noise of hurt as he takes in Anxiety, knees pulled to his chest, his shoulders hunched. His eyeshadow is smeared all over his face, his eyes red and puffy. He glances at Deceit, not as surprised to see him here, tilting his head. Deceit nods minutely, and he sits down next to Anxiety, legs dangling over the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him, to give him space.

“hey kiddo. How’s your shoulder?” He asks.

“better. Dee helped. It still... still hurts.” His voice is quiet and unsure and hoarse.

“Yeah. I think it would be pretty strange if it didn’t. I’m glad you’re going to be ok, though. Even if it hurts now, it’ll feel better eventually.”

“will it?” He is surprised as Patton pulls him into a hug, startled, but after a moment he leans into it, tucking his chin against Patton’s shoulder.

“I have never wanted you to die. I have never wanted you to leave. You’re one of my kiddos, kiddo, and that means I stand up for you when something hurts you, no matter who or what it is.”

“i’m scared. I hate... I hate being small... I hate... it’s so big, everything... I could drown, in a puddle, I could be crushed by a book, I could be stepped on, I could be crushed, I could get hurt and no one would know, no one would realize or find me. I could be caged...” He chokes out, fear flooding through him again. “I could be caged and my influence squashed, and then no one would protect Thomas, look out for dangers, keep him... keep him on task, keep him motivated to d-do better. I c-can't... trapped, and b-bars and it-it's too much... too small...” He is shaking again, on the edge of hysteria, but Patton is rocking him, holding him.

“Oh honey... I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. We didn’t know you were gonna be that little. I’m sorry we didn’t ask permission first, we weren’t thinking. I promise, promise,” he pulled back so Anxiety could see his eyes, tears spilling down his own cheeks, “that I will physically fight anyone who suggests we do that again, who even dares to mention putting you in a cage. I nearly did fight Roman, Logan had to hold me back.” That gets a weak laugh out of Anxiety, imagining Logan holding back a kicking and spitting furious Patton. “I love you, kiddo. I really, really do, and if anyone has a problem with that, has a problem with you, they’ll have to go through me first.” Patton’s voice is fierce, and he doesn’t have to look at Dee to know that he isn’t lying.

“T-thomas-”

“Is worried about you, kiddo. I came to check on you cause he wanted to make sure you were gonna be ok. What you said... really, really scared us, but we didn’t wanna summon you, because we knew you probably didn’t want to be summoned. He’s sorry, too. We all are.”

“Even Roman?” He asks, bitterness in his voice. Patton hesitates, sighing.

“I don’t know. I think... I think he’s sorry he got yelled at, sorry he got in trouble, sorry we didn’t agree with him. But I don’t think he’s sorry for what he actually did to you, said to you. Which makes me angry, because he should be sorry, but he isn’t, and if he isn’t, I can’t change that. What I can do is make sure you are going to be alright. I can learn what else we shouldn’t do without asking your permission. I can be better at speaking up when Roman threatens or takes jabs at you, and eventually, hopefully, his attitude will change as he learns none of us are going to enable him anymore. I’m sorry it went this far.” He blinks, surprised. He didn’t expect Patton to acknowledge Roman’s inability to see his own wrongdoings. He didn’t expect Patton to admit to his own shortcomings. He didn’t expect Patton to be... honest.

“What would you like us to do for now, Anxiety? Clearly, you have two people who love you very much helping your right now, so I feel ok leaving, if you like. I just didn’t want you to be alone, when you were so upset. Thomas... all of us, want to speak with you about what happened, to try and make ammends, but we’ll do that on your terms, so there’s no rush. Just, whenever you’re ready to talk, we’re ready to listen. If you like, I can bring you meals, if you don’t wanna leave your room for a while. I wanna keep you healthy, and I know if I leave you to your own devices it’ll be chips and soda for every meal.” He lets out a little snort at that, because Patton is right, of course, and he’s already calmed down so much because Patton is being so nice, and he knows Dee would have told him if Patton had lied.

“that all sounds good, yeah.” He mumbles, shifting out of Patton’s hug, pulling his knees to his chest once again.

“ok. Is there anything else you need, or would like me to do?” He bites his lip, thinking.

“Just... just let them know I’m ok? If they’re really that worried about me.” Patton squeezes his non injured shoulder once as he stands, smiling gently.

“Will do, kiddo. If you ever need anything, or just want some company, don’t be afraid to call me up.”

“I... might.” Patton smiles again, soft and warm.

“I love you, Anxiety.” Patton turns away, but before he sinks out, Virgil steels his courage.

“Virgil!” He shouts, and the room seems to freeze. Remus is staring at him in wide eyed surprise. Deceit has stopped rubbing his back, and Patton falters mid step, before turning to face him, something akin to awe on his face. “That’s... my name. My name is Virgil.” A huge smile blooms across Patton’s face, his eyes light up with tender joy, and he sniffles, wiping away tears.

“Virgil. I think that’s a lovely name, Virgil. I know I'm usually a blabber mouth, but it when it counts, I can keep a secret.” Patton winks, sending a smile flashing across his own face as warmth blooms in his chest. With a wave, Patton sinks out, and he collapses back against Deceit with a long, low sigh.

“You sure about that, Virg?” Remus asks, from where he’s leaning against the wall, having simply observed everything.

“yeah. Yeah I... think I am.” He feels Dee press another soft kiss to the top of his head.

“Proud of you, lovely.” He smiles, closing his eyes as he feels Remus settle on the other side of him. He is still scared and afraid and knows the nightmares won’t leave him alone for ages, now. But he also knows that at least Patton is on his side. And Patton is almost more of a mama bear than Deceit. If the two of them are looking out for him, he knows nothing will hurt him like this ever again.

#sanders sides #virgil sanders #roman sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #thomas #deceit sanders #unsympathetic roman #mostly he's a dick #pre accepting anxiety #sympathetic dark sides #minor injury #virgil angst #platonic anxceitmus #hurt/comfort #Angst with a happy ending #shape shifting

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ufonaut · 4 years ago

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now that it’s finally over i gotta say i’m still thinking about how absolutely abysmal three jokers is but most of all how geoff johns, a man who’s been in the comic industry for more than a decade, isn’t simply a bad writer but fundamentally misunderstands everything that’s come before him. he, like scott snyder, writes a bruce wayne that is an absolute narcissistic asshole with very few redeeming qualities, instead of -- as better writers have managed again and again -- a traumatised man trying to prevent what happened to him from ever happening again, a man who cares deeply and genuinely and tries to help as much as he can. believe it or not, at this point in time, it’s more revolutionary to portray batman as an actual hero and a fundamentally good person rather than whatever antihero stance geoff unsuccessfully tries to go for

similarly, geoff’s writing is always annoyingly full of conflicting and nonsensical themes. giving the above motif to joe chill doesn’t do anything a random mugging wouldn’t do (a twist of fate! victims of circumstance! if you wanted to lean on the parallels between bruce & joker then the randomness of their respective tragedies is the way to go) except shift the blame for what we’ve been taught to read as One Of The Worst Things To Ever Happen on the shoulders of people experiencing genuine systematic oppression. batman’s existence is uncomfortable to justify when you get into those kind of discussion, i get it! i do! but this is the verifiably cold take of a person who watched joker 2019 and thought arthur was the bad guy, not the billionaires and people in power making his life hell

conceptually making something out of the wayne murders isn’t bad per se (telltale did it wonderfully with the mob hit thing, a personal fav) but the above looks like a very unfortunate pattern in the context of geoff’s villains often being activists supposedly taking it too far by wanting to ensure universal healthcare and stopping homophobia & racism etc (the stargirl ISA), people rightfully fighting against what’s basically a universe-wide attempt at a fascist regime (sinestro vs the guardians) or mentally ill gay characters who’d never never been antagonists until geoff got his hands on them (todd rice/obsidian in jsa 1999, who geoff goes as far as to say might’ve been “born bad”). like, what’re you trying to say here, geoff? do you see how This looks?

another one of geoff’s Worst Offences in three jokers is also definitely how deep his misunderstanding (or hey! maybe hatred) of tkj seems to run. tkj was envisioned as the final batman story precisely because alan moore could not see joker’s cruelty rising above what he did to barbara, that was the unthinkable and it had been reached. end of story. and i agree! pushing joker’s edginess with every present day comic has made him absolutely unbearable but most of all, in the immediately relevant sense, geoff johns has clearly heard tkj is one of the most critically acclaimed batman stories in history and his takeaway was “oh its because joker shot barbara” rather than the actual reason (humanising joker). portraying pre-joker as an abusive husband and would-be father when moore clearly & intentionally avoids that

(”i don’t see him as a violent man so his fists aren’t bunched up or anything like that”, tkj script)

(”the anger is obviously directed at himself rather than at his wife”, tkj script)

and having bruce say he’s known joker’s identity since the moment they met because he’s ‘batman’ but has chosen to protect jeannie ‘cause she’s in some sort of witness protection type deal is, quite frankly, absolute bullshit. the tragedy of tkj is that The Man From Before was a completely average person, maybe even a good person with dreams and aspirations but so insignificant and invisible that he leaves no trace behind when he disappears. he’s not an everyman, he’s a nobody in the most real sense! a person that’s become untraceable through the hand life’s dealt him! the complete opposite of bruce and yet ending up at the same crossroads! why would pre-joker even go through all the trouble of getting involved with the red hood gang in the hopes of him & jeannie never worrying about money again if he didn’t care about her?

on that subject, is it really so hard to understand that joker is doing his whole plan in tkj not because he is a monster (no such thing) but because he sees himself as one and is trying to prove that anyone exposed to as much trauma as him would react the same way? joker’s thing is never about dying with batman or senselessly destroying lives or what have you but about proving it’s not just him. it’s a very base human desire of wanting to know you’re not the only one who’s ever gone through this

that’s why the miracle of bruce saying “maybe i’ve been there too” hits so hard when it’s meant to

the killing joke remains one of the greatest batman stories precisely because it never once claims joker is more than a man, whereas three jokers is doomed to fade into obscurity or be remembered as yet another geoff johns catastrophe

#tkj #batman #joker #three jokers #oh yeah im tagging it i dont mind. i spent too long on this #u can reblog #long post /#long post

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harcourtholmesii · 4 years ago

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In This Here, Beautiful World... (Part 1)

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Pairings: Medic X Heavy / Scout X Miss Pauling / Scout’s Ma X Spy / Soldier X Zhanna / Engineer X Original Character / Saxton Hale X Maggie

Warnings: - Swearing - Physical Abuse and Violence - Verbal Abuse - Minor Gore - Implied Death

Words: 1913

Summary: When the world goes to shit, in order to survive, you need to be ruthless, and you need to be prepared to do whatever it takes. When nine strangers and their families come together to fight back the zombie plague, tensions will rise between them all, threatening to pull them apart and kill them from the inside-out. It’s a shitty summary, I know. ^^

Enjoy!

‘Hey! Yo! I got a delivery here for a Mister Brookes!’

Jeremy hammered his fist against the door, louder than the first time. He had been standing out here for a good twenty minutes, waiting for this douchebag to open the door. The boss would kill him if he returned with cold pizza or if he got a call from the tenant saying he never received the order.

Jeremy shifted from foot to foot, his sneakers squeaking lightly against the cracked linoleum floor. He couldn’t just wait here forever! He was already running behind schedule and he needed the money!

He pounded his fist against the door again; a neighbour poked her careworn face out her door to peer at the disturbance.

‘D-Do you mind keeping it down, young man?’

‘I wouldn’t have to be loud if this guy would just open the door!’ He continued to pound his fist, hearing how the hinges whined under his abuse.

The old lady shut her door when it became obvious he wouldn’t stop. For a moment, the thought came to Jeremy’s mind that she might be calling the cops. He wouldn’t stay here anymore if that was the case, and he sure as shit wasn’t leaving a perfectly good pizza on this ungrateful dick’s doorstep.

He stomped down the hall, passing by the old lady’s door. He could hear her speaking to someone on the inside, but he didn’t stop to wait for the sound of sirens. It wasn’t like he was trying to disturb the peace; he just wanted some fucking tips!

He leapt onto the railing of the stairwell, letting his weight skirt him down the metal of the banister. He whipped down one flight, and then another, until his feet planted themselves firmly on the first floor. He pushed the glass doors out of his way, the frame cracking loudly against the brick of the building.

He trotted down the stairs, looking about left and right for some dumpster. Instead, the sight of an older man pushing a small trolley of garbage bags and raggedy clothes caught his eye. Jeremy felt the anger lessen, if only a little. He hated seeing people roaming the streets like this, without a home or place to go to. Filthy rich dickheads and politicians wouldn’t spare a single coin to them and it made him sick.

He approached and simply cleared his throat to get the scraggly man’s attention. He couldn’t see his eyes beneath the unwashed hair, but as he offered the pizza pie to him, those hands shook excitedly, reaching out and taking it with hesitance. Those tanned hands opened up the box, the smell of melted cheese and cooked meat wafting into the air.

‘T-Thank you…’ Jeremy just nodded, offering him a lazy wave of ‘don’t worry about it’. He took off at full sprint down the street, leaving behind the apartment and the man in his dust. He had to be quick back to the restaurant, so his manager wouldn’t get pissy.

He ran at great speed down the bustling city streets, dodging about those that got in his path. Families, businessmen and construction workers had little time to part ways for him. He compensated for their lack of awareness by leaping over the guard railings, jumping the hoods of stationary traffic and racing through the wavering legs of scaffolding. He got the odd call from some of the workers, but it had become a common enough practice, Jeremy was almost ignored by bystanders.

The wind whipped his hair and face, threatening to throw the delivery cap off his head. Finally, he rounded a corner and into the shop, in time to see his boss glowering from across the counter.

‘You’re late.’

‘Yeah.’ He muttered, replacing the empty pack onto the shelf. He threw himself into compiling the list of orders and strangling his waist with a rubber apron. ‘I know. I know. Guy wasn’t home or was ignorin’ me. I tried!’

‘So what happened to the order?’

He hated the shakedown. This was not the first time that Jeremy had arrived back to the store, hands empty of payment.

‘I just left it on the doorstep.’

‘Are you kidding me, Jeremy?’ The boy rolled his eyes, roughly taking the pizza cutter and beginning his work on dividing the pie apart. A fly buzzed in his ear, which he swatted away in disgust. ‘You know to wait for the customer to open the door!’

‘I woulda been there the whole fuckin’ afternoon!’ He barked back, cutting into the pizza harder than he meant to. The box splintered beneath the pressure and the blade near sliced his fingers. He slammed the lid down, and started upon the next one.

‘Did you call them?’

‘The phone’s been broke’ for a while now! I can’t call them with that garbage!’ He was lucky that this place had been so lax with language. He and the manager often shared bouts of abuse, but it made it easier to adapt. Instead of shutting his lips, he could hurl curses back at the useless prick behind the counter. He knew it tested the man’s patience, and certainly didn’t encourage the man to keep him around, but he put in the effort. And the man couldn’t deny that he was the best delivery boy he had, not to mention the only one.

‘You keep this shit up, Jeremy, and you’ll be outta here faster than your mother can pump out another brat!’

Oh, now that was too far!

Jeremy could take this shit when it was aimed at him, but at his family, at his ma specifically, he wouldn’t stand for it. He didn’t even want to work at this shitty pizza place anyway!

He threw off the smock, tossing the prepared pizzas across the steel table and at his ex-manager. He leapt over it, and with hands clenched, hit him once across the nose. There was the spatter of blood and the satisfying crack of cartilage, as the man was sent reeling back and into the tubs of sauce.

Barbecue, crème fraiche and tomato sauce went flying all about, coating the man head to toe in the expired spreads. Jeremy tore his shirt as he ripped his nametag off and tossed it into the dickhead’s shocked face. Guess he hadn’t been expecting someone like Jeremy to fight back.

Jeremy may have been scrawnier than his brothers, but he was fast, and more than a little anger fuelled his strength. He leaned down on the tile, gripping the man’s collar tight and lifting up the mess just enough that they nearly met nose-to-nose.

‘Don’t you ever talk about my ma again! You even look in her direction, even get one whiff of her perfume, and you’ll lose those nuts of yours, you got that?!’ He dropped the shaking mess of a manager back into the sea of red, white and brown.

Then Jeremy stormed out, slamming the door shut behind him.

He didn’t run off like he had done to get to the restaurant. He took his time, instead, to simmer down. He didn’t want his ma to see him like this. He knew she’d be disappointed that he lost another job, and he couldn’t just tell her what that dickhead had said. He just hoped she would forgive him for being so brash.

He passed by a number of stores, all at various points of shutting down for the afternoon or for good. Graffiti created a continuous line for him to follow along; signatures, doodles and even grand pieces of street art provided a guide as to his location, wherever he was in the city. An electronics store was still playing the local news as he passed it by, detailing some local flu hotspots, and an old music shop had been packed up into several wooden boxes.

The townhouse he lived in with his ma was at the end of a long street, between two apartment buildings that crammed it tightly between them. It appeared as if squashed by the neighbouring buildings; three storeys tall, with a pair of windows to each floor. It was an icky cream colour, with a small rooftop garden that had two lines of wet clothes waving about in the breeze.

Jeremy plucked a key from beneath the mat and entered inside. The lights were on, and he could hear in the room to his left their old, junk box playing some fitness program. He sighed, feeling his shoulders sag as he attempted to release his fuming breath and calm himself before he met his ma.

She spoke first when he entered the living room.

‘You’re home early.’

She pulled herself back up from a stretch, turning to offer him the warmest smile he ever did see. He stuttered with apologies, attempting to tell her what happened without mentioning what that asshole had said. She just fluttered her hand, as if shooing away his discomfort and his excuses, rounding the old couch and bringing him into a hug.

He relaxed immediately, returning the affection with a tight squeeze.

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. You can always find another job; one much more suitable for the fine, young man you are.’ She said. His ma always knew exactly what to say. ‘I couldn’t be more proud of my boy. You held out for six months, Jeremy. You blew your last record right out of the water!’

He huffed a breath of laughter, the only sound he could manage with all this praise. He knew, through the smile and the gentle words, that his ma was a little bit upset. He needed a job; just so he could support her as his brothers did, if not just himself. Her work as a pre-school teacher had been able to keep them all above water, but the old townhouse was falling apart without the necessary care.

His two eldest brothers, Mark and Kieran, had left about a year ago; both of them attempting to pursue some apprenticeships in engineering and hospitality. The third oldest, his brother Blake, had been talking with their ma recently about moving in with his girlfriend out of state.

Lucas, Julien and Oliver had stayed in school, but hadn’t gotten the grades to gain any kind of scholarship. They were still at work, no doubt, doing more than Jeremy ever could. They could put up with the bullshit demands of customers, and the abuse from their managers. But this was the third job that Jeremy had left behind this year alone.

‘Why don’t you come sit down, and you can tell me what really happened?’ She kissed his cheek and guided him to the lounge. The fitness program was switched to the news, but turned down until the broadcast was a mere mutter.

Jeremy felt embarrassed to say much to her, but he knew that his ma wanted to hear what he had to say. As he spoke, detailing the list of demands he had suffered through that day, the news station switched headlines. Unbeknownst to Jeremy or his ma, a fast-acting viral infection was rapidly spreading through several different hotspots across the city. If they had been paying any mind, they would have seen the havoc being caused from the crappy cellphone footage.

They only noticed when a scream radiated from the television, the one recording the chaos suddenly on the ground.

Another, sickly man, had his face buried deep into his intestines.

#Team Fortress 2 #TF2 #TF2 Fanfiction #Heavy X Medic #Scout X Miss Pauling #Spy X Scout's Ma #Saxton Hale X Maggie #Engineer X OC #Soldier X Zhanna #Fanfiction #TF2 Fanfic #HarcourtHolmesII

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fikazephyr · 3 years ago

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chateau (collapse of the king)

date: july 23rd times: unspecified, immediately after the council meeting locations: just outside city hall

“you knew? you KNEW, and you STILL LET HER GO?!?!?”

the life of a pack’s protégée son, especially a life knowing destiny has been pre-determined, is exceptionally simple during times of peace. it’s no wonder how he feels now, as his family and other meeting attendees filter out of the building, blinds him. he can feel the alarm from his pack-mates, the fear from his younger siblings, the guilt from his father. in turn, he’s sure they can feel the absolutely molten wave of rage mummifying the moment around them. his skin is red-hot to the touch. while he knows micah could withstand it, he shoves through his friend’s concerned touch and approach, through the crowd of residents between himself and his parents, and stops mere inches from his father’s face.

his hackles are raised. only a beta could ever dream of challenging an alpha, and it’s a rare occurrence even then. while he stares into his fathers shamed but stern eyes, their irises two calm seas of gold, noah’s own eyes shine a fiery orange-gold- the color they turn right before an official petition of challenge, or pack defection.

“noah, you’re not thinking rationally now. we just need to get you inside before the moon-” he can feel his father’s desperation to calm the situation. the elder’s hands hover by the younger’s shoulders, holding him back with sheer implication- but noah doesn’t care about implication right now. all he’s seeing is red.

“ cut the bullshit, YOU KNEW !!! ” the shout-slash-bark cuts his alpha’s sentence short. they’ve never fought this way before, they’ve never had to. noah’s never known what rebellion against the pack meant, but if it means he’d have to leave seraphina’s safety in the hands of his parents, in whom his trust is wavering, he might soon find himself without a pack. “she’s out there investigating for us and you KNEW THE DANGER SHE’D BE IN !! ” he pushes forward against his father’s own stance, shoving into the elder wolf’s palms and forcing him to step back a few feet. noah knows his father would never publically accept a challenge, and he’d have no chance at controlling his beta in this moment.

noah’s eyes flicker to just behind his father, where his mother stands with the children shielded behind her. it’s the only reason the orange intensity of his irises dulls in the slightest. his glare shoots back to his father, who’s managed to step back a few more paces. he wants to say more, wants the elder to know this isn’t over- but the cutting temperatures of his wolf form trying to emerge starts to burn away his clothes, emitting steam from his skin. he closes his eyes in a quick motion, jerking his head to the side, jaw clenched and shoulders heaving with each deep breath he tries to dampen the anger with. ...it doesn’t work.

before anyone else can try touching him, he growls and turns on his heels before breaking into a sprint in the direction of the woods. he jumps up onto the hood of a car in his way mid-sprint, jumping off of it and shifting into his wolf farm while in the air. the remains of his clothing land on the street just beside the car, still simmering with smoke. the cloud of emotions coming from his pack-mates doesn’t help his inability to control his temper, and some distance would be good- but more importantly: he has to find her.

he reaches the edge of the city quickly, and stops just outside eastrath woods, right where he had left seraphina just days before. the pack’s emotions are just a dull ache now, though he’s sure they can still feel the rhythmic beating of his own heart ablaze. a howl is the only thing he offers them- not to his parents, but to his packmates, his siblings, before he disappears into the woods.

#noah #self.noah #salem.event001 #mention: seraphina

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echo-bleu · 5 years ago

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By The Sword

Malex Musketeers AU. I’m reposting this little series here (from AO3) ahead of the @alterarnm fic I’m hoping to finish by Thursday (movie fusion, though it’s a show). This was originally written for the Whumptober prompt “Stab Wound” but it also fits with today’s theme “Pre-1900s”.

Alex barely makes it all the way to the garrison before he collapses. He falls to his knees the moment he's inside the large doors, with no energy left in him to make it to his quarters.

“Captain!” someone calls out. “Liz! Maria! The Captain's back, and he's injured!”

“Alex!” This time it's Maria's worried voice. Alex feels her crouch beside him. “Alex, what's wrong? Where are you hurt?”

“Shoulder,” he murmurs. Maria gently pries his hand away from the wound on the inside of his left shoulder, not far above his heart, and hisses.

“Alex, you got stabbed?” she asks. “Kyle, get over here!”

“Alex!” Liz calls, joining them.

“I'm okay,” Alex murmurs, trying to stand back up.

“No you're not,” Maria says. “You have a stab wound and you've lost a lot of blood. Now how about you let us get you to bed?”

Alex just nods and relents. Liz slings his right arm around her shoulders and pulls him up. Alex tries not to put too much of his weight on her, but between the bloodloss and his leg, he's unable to stand under his own power. Liz supports him without flinching, though. She may be short, but she's stronger than she looks−otherwise she would never have made it through Musketeer training.

Maria stays on the other side for balance, though she doesn't touch his arm. Alex is grateful for that, because he almost passed out the last time he tried to move his shoulder. The three-hour ride back to the garrison has been hell.

Kyle, the garrison's doctor, joins them halfway to Alex's quarters, his medical bag in hands. He helps Liz lower Alex onto his bed and immediately starts removing Alex's leathers.

“Your shirt isn't salvageable, but these can be cleaned,” he says, handing them off to Maria. “Good leather is pricey.”

“Kyle, no offense, but we don't really care about his uniform right now,” Liz says, annoyed. “How about the wound?”

“Get me some water to clean it out, and I'll tell you!” Kyle rolls his eyes.

Alex only barely follows the conversation, exhausted. He grits his teeth as Kyle runs a wet cloth on the partially scabbed wound.

“It's not life-threatening, as long as it doesn't get infected,” Kyle diagnoses. “But it definitely needs stitches.”

Alex winces. He expected it, but it's never fun. He's had his fair share of injuries over the years−more than his fair share, actually, since an infected wound took his right leg in the last war. Everyone expected him to retire then, or at least retire from the field, as he'd just been made Captain, but he got thoroughly bored of desk work after a week, and Liz and Maria were simply not as good a team without him. So he worked his ass off to get back on his feet and train to fight with his new prosthetic, and within less than a year, they were the best Musketeer team of all Antar again.

Liz hands him a glass. “Bourbon,” she says. “You're going to need it.”

Alex nods his thanks. He barely has time to swallow the drink before Kyle digs into his injury, checking for dirt, and he arches back, biting back a scream. Liz offers him a cloth to bite onto.

“I'm going to bind your arm to your chest for now so you don't tear the stitches,” Kyle says when he's done with the stitching. By then, Alex is exhausted and covered in sweat, so he doesn't protest. His leg has definitively cured him of his tendency to take injuries lightly, anyway.

He gestures to his leg, which is painful and raw after the abuse it took today. “You want me to remove it?” Liz asks. Alex nods.

“So, who was it this time?” Maria asks, while Liz pulls of his boot and works on the latch of his prosthetic.

“My father's men, who else,” Alex answers tiredly. “But they had someone else with them, I couldn't see his face.”

He could swear he recognized his stance, though. But it's impossible. The man it belonged to is long dead. But the way he ducked left, right before plunging his blade into Alex's shoulder…

Alex doesn't know many people who can fight that well. He's one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom, even now, and this person bested him like he already knew all his tricks.

He ponders on that for a long time, after the other file out of his room. He's spent but restless, the pain preventing him from sleeping for more than a few minutes at a time. He can't find a comfortable position to lie in. His free hand keeps going to the pendant around his neck, as his thoughts wander. He traces the gold ring, and then the medallion, without opening it.

Why did this man, cloaked and hooded, remind him so much of the man he once almost married?

He swipes at his eyes before the tears can fall, angry with himself for letting his thoughts take him there. Of course that man wasn't Michael: Michael has been dead for ten years. The anniversary is coming up, Alex realizes. He died the day their wedding was set to take place, a reflection of his father's twisted mind. Ten years, in less than a week. Maybe that's why Michael was on his mind so much today.

Sitting up, Alex decides he's done lying in bed. He can be careful of his arm and still make himself useful. Putting his prosthetic and his boots back on is hell with only one hand, but he manages after a few minutes. He rummages his chest for a clean shirt and pulls it over his head awkwardly, leaving the left sleeve empty as his arm is strapped to his chest.

“Alex!” Liz exclaims from the courtyard, when she sees him coming down the stairs. “You shouldn't be out of bed yet!”

“I'm fine,” Alex says. “Don't worry, I'll be careful.” He knows Liz is just as scared as he is of him getting another infection, but he really wants to shake off her concern. This whole business has put him in an awful mood, and the fact that he's light-headed from bloodloss and in pain doesn't make it better. “Anything happen while I was gone?”

“The king requested us to escort his children tomorrow back from the summer palace,” Liz says.

Alex sighs. “Are we on babysitting duty again?”

The twin prince and princess, Max and Isobel, who are about Alex's age, aren't really as annoying as children, but they tend to scoff at having bodyguards, and regularly ignore the Musketeers' safety requests. They like to travel a lot, especially between the royal houses all over the country, and the king has taken to requesting his best Musketeers to guard them since the latest threats on their lives, even though it should be a job for his royal Guard. But everyone knows Valenti's Musketeers are better fighters than Manes' Red Guard, especially with Alex Manes at their command. Something that angers his father to no end.

“They're not that bad,” Liz shrugs. “You won't be going anyway, you're injured.”

“And you're not saying that at all because you have a crush on Prince Max,” Maria interjects, handing Alex a bowl of soup as he sits at the table. “How are you feeling?” she adds to Alex.

“I'm okay,” Alex says. “Just sore.”

“You're the one who keeps flirting with Princess Isobel,” Liz retorts to Maria. “What, you thought I hadn't noticed?”

Alex shakes his head at his friends' antics. They've been inseparable ever since he first joined the Musketeers. They're the best of friends in every situation, funny and supportive. With them, he even forget, sometimes, the life he left behind.

“What's got you so worked up?” Maria asks, and Alex realizes he's gotten lost in his thoughts again. His hand has made its way to his pendant against his will, and Liz and Maria are both giving him knowing look.

Over the years, they've become really good at gauging his moods, and especially at noticing when he's taken by bouts of melancholy. He's never told them anything of his former life, and he doesn't intend to, but they know which subjects to avoid.

“Sorry,” he says. “Just...I hate being injured.”

“We know,” Liz says, putting her hand on his arm. “But you still need to rest up, okay?”

“I know,” Alex sighs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone march up to them. “And I guess it's time for me to report,” he adds, standing up to welcome Commander Valenti. “Commander.”

The woman looks him up and down with severe eyes.

“Captain. Who did you piss off this time?”

Six days later, Alex is in the foulest mood. He's been dreading this anniversary for months, and it's proving as bad as he thought it would be. Everything is going wrong. His arm still isn't healed enough to use, now resting in a sling, so he's been on desk duty for the last few days, and he's remembering exactly why he hates it. And then, whether the effect of his injury or simply the time of the year, the nightmares started. The anniversary of the day he lost his fiance and the day he lost his leg are just two days apart, and it's always a bad time for him, filled with alcohol and fevered dreams.

His team is set to spend the day at the palace again, and this time the King specifically asked for his favorite Musketeer despite his injury. Alex doesn't understand why, but as he's not bed-bound, he has no choice but to obey. He hoped to be able to take the day off and drink the pain away, but the universe is against him. To top it off, both his shoulder and his leg are killing him, and he's forced to ask an aid to hold his horse's reins on the way to the palace, because he barely has enough balance to keep himself on the saddle.

“Come on,” Liz tries to motivate him, as he mopes on his horse. “It's going to be okay. There's to be some kind of celebration planned, for some noble guy who just came to court.”

“That's usually not good news,” Alex remarks. “Means we'll have to be twice as vigilant.”

“Leave that to us,” Maria says, bringing her horse to his other side. “Just because the King requested you doesn't mean you should overtax yourself.”

“My father will be there,” Alex sighs.

“And you can't help showing off your Musketeers in front of him, in hope that he'll acknowledge your accomplishments someday. Alex, you don't need him. Everyone knows you're better than him.”

“He's still the Prime Minister, and he has the King's ear. He could have me executed if the fancy took him to see me gone.”

“The King loves you far too much for that,” Liz says. “That's why your father is reduced to sending his Reg Guards to fight his battles and try to off you in a skirmish.”

Alex sighs and readjusts his sling. “We're here,” he says.

As usual, the day at the palace involves a lot of waiting around and standing guard, far more than Alex's leg should really be put through today. But sitting in front of the Royal Family is simply unthinkable. He watches Prince Max and Princess Isobel, lounging in comfortable armchairs under a canopy, with envy and a twinge of resentment.

“Who's this?” Liz asks him, midway through the day. She discreetly points to a man on the other side of the canopy. He's wearing red like the Red Guards, but his uniform is richer and perfectly clean, and his stance isn't that of a guard. He has a hood over his head, hiding his hair and his face. Alex frowns. Someone who can get away with hiding his identity in the middle of a royal event must be high-ranking, probably from the Royal Family, but he can't think of who that could be.

“Watch him closely,” he tells Liz. There's also the option that he's an imposter.

He's not. Minutes after Liz notices him, the man approaches the canopy at a sign from the King. The king stands up, and everyone immediately stops talking.

“I would like to introduce to the court my natural son, Michael,” the King says, one hand on the man's shoulder. Alex feels his breathing pick up, like his body has already figured out what his brain refuses to understand.

The mysterious man reaches up and removes his hood.

“Thank you, my King,” he says, kneeling quickly. “I have lived my whole life in the shadows, and I will go back to a modest life as soon as my purpose is complete. I have come to court for one reason only: to challenge Captain Alex Manes of the Musketeers to a formal duel.”

Alex gapes. Liz and Maria rally around him, confused. “What?” Liz frowns.

Michael stands back up, and turns to look straight at Alex. It feels like a punch to his gut.

“But why? Alex, do you know him?” Liz presses in a murmur. The court is getting agitated, the announcement raising eyebrows. A King introducing a natural-born son to give out a title and a land is not uncommon, but for that son to challenge the Captain of the Musketeers? That's unheard of.

“Yes,” Alex mutters, still in shock.

“Who is he?” Liz asks.

“Michael was my fiance,” Alex says. “My dead fiance.”

“What?”

“He can't be alive,” Alex breathes. “It's not possible. He was hanged because of me.”

Liz looks about to shake him, but she's interrupted by Michael raising his hands. “Do you accept?” he shouts across the space between them.

“But he's injured!” Maria shouts back.

“No,” Alex says, squaring his shoulders and taking a step forward. “Reparations are deserved. I will duel you. Choose your field of honor.”

He meets Michael's eyes for a moment, and the emotions are almost too much to keep inside. Alex feels like he's going to burst. Michael is alive. The man he's missed so much that he would have ended his life, had the Musketeers not given him a purpose again.

Michael takes a step back and looks toward the King, who nods.

“You will duel here,” he says. “The two of you are likely the best swordsmen in my kingdom. This should be entertaining. Please refrain from killing each other, though. Although my court may well be bloodthirsty enough to enjoy the show, I have uses for both of you.”

Michael bows deeply, and Alex scrambles to do the same. His leg gives out of under him, and Liz has to hold him up as he straightens again.

“Elizabeth and Maria will serve as my seconds,” he says when he's balanced again, waving at his friends. “Who are yours?”

“Oh, I was hoping for sweet Maria,” Michael tilts his head. “Are you as good with the sword as you are in bed?”

Alex looks at Maria in shock.

“I didn't know who he was,” she whispers hurriedly. “It was just a drunken hookup.”

“I know Michael,” Alex murmurs back. “He's a charmer alright, but he didn't approach you by chance. He was fishing for information.”

Maria frowns in anger. “I'll stay with my friends, thank you,” she shouts across the field.

“Then, will my King allow his daughter to second me?” Michael asks, bowing respectfully. “Obviously the heir cannot risk a hair on his head,” he adds with a smirk to Max.

“Did you have to make me second choice?” Isobel whines.

“You can never be a second choice, dear sister,” Michael assures.

It's only then, that the King's proclamation from earlier makes it to Alex's brain. Michael is the King's son. How is it possible? A man who came to him poor and alone, with no family and no name, is the King's bastard? A man, as he discovered, convicted and branded for thievery?

Did Michael know his heritage, back when they were together? Did he hide that from Alex, too?

For the first time today, Alex looks over to the chair to Max's right, a little to the back, where his father sits. Jesse Manes gives him back an enigmatic look. Alex has no way to know if he knew about this, if he knew that Michael was alive and who he was this whole time. He closes his eyes in dismay.

“I will allow it,” the King says. “Now prepare yourself.”

“Alex,” Liz shakes his good shoulder. “Are you sure you can do this? You don't look good.”

“I'll be fine,” Alex says. He doesn't know if that's true. He's the one who taught Michael to fence, and even back then, he was amazingly good at it. God only knows how much he's improved in the last ten years. And he's able-bodied and uninjured, while Alex can barely stay on his feet.

He's read to be beaten, though. It's only what he deserves.

He removes his sling, keeping his left arm close to his body. It's useless, but he needs to be able to move for balance. He gives Maria his hat and his blue uniform cape, and draws his sword. He'll give Michael a run for his money, if nothing else. Michael has always enjoyed the challenge.

Trying not to limp too much, Alex approaches Michael, in the middle of the field everyone else has vacated. They have an audience, a good portion of the court. Duels are a highly-valued form of entertainment to the noble class.

When he's close enough to Michael, he turns toward the King to bow deeply, then gives Michael a smaller bow, without taking his eyes off him. Michael returns it with a smirk.

“You look good in blue and leathers,” he says, low enough that only the two of them can hear.

“How are you alive, Michael?” Alex asks in the same tone.

“Not thanks to you,” Michael shrugs. “I've come for revenge. You had me hanged!”

Alex averts his eyes.

His father gave the order, when Michael was exposed as a thief and a fraud, and Alex wasn't strong enough to stop it.

That's why he joined the King's Musketeers. To become strong enough.

“Fight!” the King shouts.

Alex raises his sword.

I’ll be posting part 2 in the next few days, and then the new stuff Thursday or whenever I manage to finish it.

#roswell new mexico #alteraroswell2020 #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #whumptober2019 #alex whump #violence tw #blood tw #wound tw #mine #echo's fanfiction #musketeers au

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typinggently · 5 years ago

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So what do you think Feral™ Bruce’s relationship with his kids would be like? Somewhere in my bones I feel that he’d have a better relationship with all of them than in canon, but I wonder what you think! Love your blog, btw!!!

Hello Love!!! Thank you so much for your message! 🥰🧡🧡

I took some time to reflect on this and really think it through, since there are two problems: 1) I only really know about the “fandom favourites”, as in Dick (who I know most about since I used to read the 50s comics as a kid), Jason, Tim, Damian. And thus I felt a little unqualified since I know so little about the girls etc.

2) Rob is 33, which means the Robins would all have to be VERY young. Realistically, I guess, we could assume timeline-wise Jason would’ve died not too long ago? But I’m just going to ignore realism. So, without further ado

Feral Bruce and his Robins

Dick: Bruce adopting Dick makes sense to me, since the grief over his own lost family is so fresh in his mind. He’d lay eyes on this heartbroken child and immediately jump into action. However, due to his age and personality, this wouldn’t have a TRACE of a father/son relationship. Not even close. They’re chaos siblings, with Bruce as the messy rat and Dick as the adoring golden boy. He’s super proud of his older bro and tells others about how cool he is, which everyone 100% buys because it’s Bruce Wayne, of course he’s super cool. They don’t know that Dick’s definition of cool is “he slipped on his own 3 hour old puddle of sprite and did a funny backflip”. Now - as they grow older: I say they’re rather close due to their shared history(&shared grief), and they’re in a way rather similar. Similar fighting styles (both acrobats and very graceful, while Dick is more of a show-off while Bruce is more erratic), similar sense of humour and taste in films etc. I also think they don’t have a dramatic falling out, Dick just fucks off. Bruce is definitely sad about it, but I think he respects Dick’s need for personal growth since he himself isn’t exactly an overbearing cuddly person and most likely shut himself away for a few days at a time in the past. Idk. I think they get each other really well. So yeah, their relationship is def better!!

Jason: Bruce sees a kid trying to hotwire the batmobile and recognises a kindred spirit. Jason pros - he has a lot of that chaotic energy Bruce has. Jason cons - he lacks the grace and self-control. In general, I feel like pre-Joker Jason and Bruce had a rather good relationship as well. Once again not really that father figure thing, though. But Bruce moved up from”chaotic older brother” to “cool older brother” - since he now has a bit of a grip on how to treat teenagers, even though Jason doesn’t take to his rules as well as Dick did (I see many a person interpret Bruce as kind of lenient and clueless, letting the kids run wild and free, and while I agree with the base levels of that, I’m p sure that Bruce in any version is so built on self-control, that he’d impose that on others as well. Strict meal plans, exercises, etc). Jason’s death is a thing I really don’t know how to handle, because Bruce has such a thin skin. Frankly, I don’t know how he’d survive something like that. Grief is terrible and heart-breaking, and I’m not sure how well-equipped Bruce would be. It’s a very, very dark time. Red Hood is another thing. Bruce can barely fight Harvey, so I don’t see how he’d manage to interact with Jason. I honestly think he’d completely pull back from him. I don’t know how they’d heal from that and I’m not sure how Bruce would deal with the core of Jason’s anger. Fighting him is one thing (which he absolutely cannot do), but understanding him and trying to mend what’s broken is another. Very difficult. Very heartbreaking.

Tim: that would just be a mess. There aren’t any real descriptions of Batman, because his contact with civilians/the GPD is minimal and can you trust villains? They say his fighting style is erratic, but can you trust them? Can you believe Riddler, madly gnawing on his hat, when he tells you Batman threw a comically large plush bat at him and then bonked him over the head with a “bat-knocker”?! What I’m saying: Tim figures the “I love the Ritz. I just wish they had soda-fountains. They have the room and people would love it. A fountain of sparkling-cool orange soda in the hall, catching the light and making those nice ambient sounds. That would be glam. What was the question?” - act is an act, but he’s not at all prepared for the actual Feral Bruce Experience™️. He drops himself off on Bruce’s doorstep and holds his whole “I know who you are” speech until Bruce opens the door and the guy is wearing a kilt and a “world’s #1 Bat” shirt, drinking hot beetroot juice and greets him by saying “how the fuck did you get past the sprinklers?” In short - Tim didn’t expect to be the responsible one here. In general, I feel like they’d get along well, still, considering Bruce is so enthusiastic about learning and bettering himself. However, I do feel like his erratic rat-nature would clash with Tim now and then.

Damian: Bruce’s first instinct after hearing he’s a father is to learn how to raise a baby, so he panically throws together a huge pile of Infant Care books from the library, Damian (10+) standing right next to him. That said, he’s very concerned about being a good father figure and raising Damian right. He loves the other boys, of course, but he never really saw himself as their father. This is a new situation for him and he doesn’t feel like he’s up for it. So now he tries to be a good influence, which results in him knocking on their doors at 1:30am all “remember not to drink coffee past midnight!” while holding a pitcher with Earl Grey.

Which brings me to the end note: Bruce is actually a great influence, he’s just not aware of it. He enforces healthy eating habits and a strict exercise routine. He’s got great posture and reminds his boys to sit/walk straight and stretch. He’s very cultured and studious in a very un-pretentious way, setting a great example for the boys.

But most importantly - he’s so true to himself in such an unapologetic way that everyone else feels free and encouraged to be themselves, too. While his eccentric behaviour could be interpreted as self-centred narcissism, he makes it extremely clear that he cares greatly about each and every one of them. He’s incredibly compassionate and they all know that he loves them dearly.

They all learn a lot from him when he’s not looking, and whenever he notices some little piece of evidence for just how much he’s influencing them, he turns into a mess, eating carrot sticks in the kitchen at 2am with big teary eyes while Alfred makes him tea. (Alfred is the real father figure, of course, but he’s insanely proud of Bruce for handling his responsibilities so well and doing so good with his flock of Robins)

I’m very, very soft. Bruce deserves the world. He loves his family a lot, even though he seems to take them for granted or forget about them at times. And they love him, too, although he’s a bit strange.

(So, to make it short: they DO have a great relationship. Just a tiny bit rocky at times, but I feel like this Bruce is less emotionally repressed and thus a lot of issues would fall flat? They know he cares)

#feral bruce hours #DC #im soft soft SOFT

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winchesterbrotherstan · 5 years ago

Text

SPN- The Usual Suspects (2.07)

Pairing: Olive Winchester (OC)

Summary: A case goes side-ways, Dean is left cornered, and it’s up to Sam and Olive to get him out of the mess. Olive falls fatally ill, and Sam must team up with a law enforcement officer.

Warnings: lots of coughing, blood, mentions of drug use, gun threats, uh ghosts and like... the usual??

Word Count: 8547

Baltimore, Maryland

Outside a motel room, a SWAT team gears up. It’s dark, and the few people outside have scattered. Someone stays closeby, but only their face is hidden. They’ve got their hood pulled up, one hand is in their pocket, and their other arm is in a makeshift sling. They’ve got a dog on a leash, and they do their best to stay in the shadows.

In a police station across the city, a sheriff enters an interrogation room and sits down.

“Well, first I thought you were just stepping up your game. Credit card fraud, breaking and entering, and this one…” he looks over the file with a sigh, “puzzled me. Grave desecration. But still, these are a long way from murder. Then we get a fax from St. Louis. Where you’re suspected of torturing and murdering a young woman. However, no one could prove anything, of course, because you died there. But I gotta tell you something. You look pretty healthy to me.”

The detective moves, sits on the table. “Now we know. Karen Giles isn’t the first person you’ve killed. But I guarantee you she’s the last.”

At the motel, the SWAT team stands outside a second floor room, ready. They knock the door down with a battering ram, and the person inside immediately puts their hands up. One of the detectives steps forward, keeping her gun on the person.

“Going somewhere, Sam?” She asks.

There’s a rifle ready to shoot the middle Winchester through the heart, and he swallows hard, eyes set in disgust as he looks at the woman.

In the police station, the detective shoots the prisoner a dirty look before getting up and walking out. The prisoner is Dean.

The person standing in the motel parking lot pulls their hood back, watching as Sam is dragged from the room. It’s Olive. She pulls the hood back up, turns on her heel, and walks off.

***

The detective that cornered Sam enters his interrogation room. She places a coffee cup on the table, and Sam glances over, but continues to pace by the window.

“Thought you might be thirsty.”

“Okay, so you’re the good cop.” Sam assesses. “Where’s the bad cop?”

“Oh, he’s with your brother.”

“Okay. And you’re holding us why?”

“Well he’s being held on suspicion of murder.” The woman adjusts her sleeves and a look of shock washes over Sam’s face. “And you? Well, we’ll see.”

“Murder?” Sam repeats, leaning onto the table.

“You sound genuinely surprised. Or are you that good of an actor?” The woman smiles.

“Who is he supposed to have murdered?” Sam squints.

“We’ll get around to that.”

“Well, you can’t just hold us here without formal charges!” Sam is growing more and more upset.

“Well, actually, we can. For forty eight hours, but you, being a pre-law student, would know that. You see, I know all about you, Sam.” She picks up a file folder and opens it. “You’re twenty three years old. No job, no home address. Your mother died when you were a baby, your father’s whereabouts are unknown. And then there’s the case of your brother, Dean. Whose demise was, well, just a bit exaggerated. Feel free to jump in whenever you like.”

Sam leans against the wall and folds his arms over his chest.

“Shy?” She teases. “No problem. I’ll keep going. Your family moved around a lot when you were a kid. Despite that, you were a straight-A student. Got into Stanford with a full ride.”

Sam says nothing. They haven’t mentioned Olive, and he’s not sure whether he should be relieved or worried. His mind spins. There’s got to be a record of her somewhere out there. Sure, she wasn’t born in a hospital, and she almost never went to the doctor, and she went to school under fake names, but there’s gotta be something.

The woman closes the file. “Then about a year ago, there was a fire in your apartment. One fatality. Jessica Moore, your girlfriend. After she died, you fell off the grid. Left behind everything.”

Sam says nothing, but he looks up through his eyelashes. “I needed some time off. To deal. So I’m taking a road trip with my brother.”

“And your little sister.”

Sam’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t think we forgot about little old Olive.” She smiles. “Such a strange name.”

His nose twitches in anger. He picked that name. She smiles again, wider this time.

“Where is she? We didn’t find her in the motel room. The bathroom window was open, but she couldn’t have jumped. Two stories is too high, don’t you agree?”

Sam says nothing.

“Where is she, Sam?”

He leans further into the wall.

“How’s that road trip going for you guys?”

“Great.” Sam shrugs softly, then takes the chance to derail her. “I mean…” A smile grows on his face. “We saw the second largest ball of twine in the continental US. It was awesome.” He pulls up a chair and straddles it.

“We ran Dean’s fingerprints through AFIS.” The detective comes to the end of the table.

“Okay.”

“Got over a dozen possible hits.”

“Possible hits.” Sam repeats. “Which makes them worthless.”

“But it makes you wonder. What are we gonna find when we run your prints?”

“Well.” Sam smiles and pounds his fist on the table, every movement dripping with sarcasm. “You be sure to let me know.” He points at the cup. “May I?”

She nods. “Please.”

“Great.” He takes the cup, smells it, and then takes a sip.

She leans over him, eyes intent.

“Sam. You seem like a good kid. It’s not your fault Dean’s your brother. We can’t pick our family. Right now, detectives in St. Louis are exhuming a corpse. They’re trying to figure out how your brother faked his own death.”

There’s a scream from outside, and against all common sense, on instinct, Sam’s head snaps up. It’s Olive’s scream.

“Get off of me!” She screams, squirming.

She’s dropped Jinx off at a safe place. The Richmonds will pick her up and take care of her until this is over. Olive is being dragged through the police station, kicking and screaming. She’s managed to nail two men in the crotch, and has sent a mug full of pens to the floor.

Back in the interrogation room, Sam’s face is pale. The detective turns back to him with a smile.

“Is that baby sister Olive?”

He glares.

“She’s sixteen, isn’t she? Has been for a little less than a month now. She can be tried as an adult. Look, Dean’s a bad guy. His life is over. Yours doesn’t have to be, and neither does Olive’s.”

Sam turns with a glare. “You want us to turn against our own brother?”

“No.” She shakes her head. “We’ve already caught him cold. Red-handed at the Karen Giles murder scene. We just need you to fill in some missing pieces.”

“Why would I do that?” Olive spits from her seat in a third interrogation room.

They’ve cuffed her down, and she knows she could break them, but that would lead to another issue they couldn’t solve without making an even bigger mess.

“Because we can talk to the DA for you, kid.” The detective who had talked to Dean sits across from her. “Dean’s gone. You don’t have to be.”

She grits her teeth, composes herself, and then spits in his face.

“Go to hell.”

The man wipes the spit from his face angrily and stands.

“Fine. Just remember, I tried to help you.”

Sam begins to talk, voice quiet. “My dad and Tony Giles were old friends. They were in the service together. We’ve known him since we were kids, you know? So we came as soon as we heard about his death.”

Cafe, Before

“Here.” Sam placed three coffee cups down and slid into his chair.

Dean handed him the newspaper he had been reading. “Anthony Giles.”

“Who’s Anthony Giles?” Sam squinted.

“Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out.” Olive pointed at the article she and Dean found.

Sam scanned over it, mumbling out loud. “Throat slit, room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints.”

“Keep reading.” Olive grinned. “It gets better.”

“Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant.” He scoffed.

“So we’re thinking either somebody messed with the tapes-”

“Or we’ve got an invisible killer on our hands.”

“My favorite kind.” Dean smiles. “What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?”

Sam scoffed, and Olive snorted.

“I’m not Scully, you’re Scully.”

“No, I’m Mulder.” Dean fought back. “You’re a red-headed woman.”

“Hey!” Olive whined. “Can I be Scully? I’m a girl.”

Dean and Sam shared a look, and each broke out into a smile. Dean patted her head and Sam gave her hand a squeeze.

“You’re too little to be either, bug.”

She rolled her eyes with a huff. “Fine, fine. Let’s go check this out.”

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Would’ve been kind of hard for Dean to kill Tony, considering we weren’t in town at the time.” Sam is still straddling the chair, hands in his lap.

“So tell me what happened next.”

“Okay, uh, that when we went to see Karen.” Sam sighs. “She was barely holding it together. We just wanted to be there for her. You know?”

Giles House, Before

Karen sat on the couch, on the verge of tears. She flipped through the forms the siblings had handed her and sighed shakily.

“Insurance. I totally forgot about the insurance.”

“We’ve very sorry to bother you right now, but the company is required to conduct its own investigation. You understand.” Sam smiled sympathetically.

“Sure.” Karen nodded, pushing her glasses back up.

“Okay. Um, if you could just tell us anything you remember about the night your husband died.”

“Um… Tony and I were just supposed to have dinner. He called and said he was having computer troubles, and that… that he had to work late.” She sniffled again. “That was it.”

“Do you have any idea who could’ve done this to him?” Olive’s voice was sympathetic.

“No.” Karen shook her head. “No, it’s like I told the police, I… I have no idea.”

“Did Tony mention anything, you know, unusual to you? In the days before his death?” Dean asked.

“Unusual…” Karen trailed off.

“Yeah, like strange.”

“Strange?” She repeated.

“You know, weird. Weird noises, uh, visions, anything like that?”

Sam cleared his throat and glared at Dean, and Olive sent him a similar look.

Could you be any less subtle?

Karen turned to glance at Sam and Olive, who immediately switched back to the looks of concern and pity. She looked down again, and the two younger siblings shot him a look again.

“He had a nightmare the day before he died.” Karen shrugged.

“What kind of nightmare?”

“Uh, he said that he woke up in the middle of the night and there was a woman standing at the foot of the bed. He blinked and she was gone, I mean… it was just a nightmare.”

“Did he say what she looked like?”

“What the hell difference does it make what she looked like?” Karen spat.

Dean squirmed, and Olive leaned forward, voice gentle.

“Our company is just very thorough. I understand this is an upsetting process, but we just need to ask a few more questions, and we’ll be on our way.”

Karen nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry. He said she was pale, and that she… she had dark red eyes.”

The siblings nodded as they each made a note.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

“So I gave Karen a hug, told her to call me if she needed anything, and that was it… end of story.” Sam shrugs.

“Sam, I am trying to help you here.” The detective hisses. “But you have got to be honest with me. Now, we have an eyewitness. Someone who saw two men and a young woman fitting you and your siblings’s descriptions breaking into Gile’s office.”

“Okay.” Sam sighs. “Look, Karen called us later, said that there was some stuff that she wanted from Tony’s office. But the police weren’t letting her in. Like, a picture of the two of them in Paris, and some other stuff. Look, it was wrong to enter a crime scene, but she gave us the key!” Sam puts his hands up in protest.

Giles’ Office, Before

Dean picked the lock, and he ducked in first. Olive followed, and Sam went last, shutting the door behind themselves. Each ducked under the police tape with ease. Sam shone his flashlight on a pool of blood on the floor.

“Hey. Giles’ body was found right about here.”

He rummaged through his jacket pockets and pulled out the newspaper from earlier. “Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “What do you guys think? Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?” He emphasized.

“Yeah, maybe. I mean, he did see that woman at the foot of his bed.”

Dean picked a paper off the desk. “Look at this.”

Olive took the paper and held it where Sam could see it too. danashulps was written all over it, in small print.

“Dana Shulps. Name?” Sam suggested.

Dean picked another paper off the desk. “I dunno, but it’s all over the place.” A grin broke out on his face. “Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”

Sam shone his flashlight over the glass table and paused. Olive looked up at him.

“What is it, Sams?”

“Do me a favor, breathe onto the table.”

She eyed him, but did as he asked, pulling away when she realized that danashulps was written all over it.

“What the fuck?”

“Well, I’d say we’ve officially crossed over into weird.

“Maybe Giles knew her.” Dean suggested.

“Or!” Olive perked up. “Maybe it’s the name of our pale, red-eyed mystery girl.”

“Alright, let’s just see what we can find.”

***

Dean let out a loud groan, and Olive sighed from her spot on the couch. Sam was at the desktop computer, typing away.

“There’s not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There’s not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of fucking Shulps.” Dean complained.

“Great.” Olive huffed. “I can’t find anything either. Sams, what about you?”

“Nothing. No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least.”

“So what now?”

“Well, I think I’m pretty close to cracking Giles’ password. Maybe there’s something in his personal files, you know?”

“By close, you mean?”

Sam shrugged. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

Dean glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Awesome, so I guess I just get to uh… hang out.” He sighed, then grumbled something under his breath.

Olive got up from the couch and sat in the other red chair, watching as Sam worked. Dean began to click his tongue, and both younger siblings turned with similar looks of annoyance.

He paused, and once they both looked away, he started to make fart noises with his mouth. Olive stifled a giggle, and Sam sighed.

“Dude, seriously!”

“Alright, I’m gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?”

“Great.” Sam huffed.

“Be careful.” Olive smiled at Dean as he stood.

He leaned down and kissed the top of her forehead, then shone his flashlight at Sam. “Keep going, Sparky.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

“Then Dean went back to Karen’s place to check up on her. I mean, you know, she had obviously been upset earlier.” Olive huffs.

“So why didn’t you and Sam go with him?” The one from before, who Olive’s figured out is named Sheridan, asks.

Olive half shrugs. “I had to take care of some lady things. Sam came with me to the motel.” She pauses. “How did you know he was there, by the way?”

“We found the motel matchbook on Dean when he arrested him. Now-”

“How’d you know where to find me?” She questions.

“Let’s quit dicking around. Now you two were with Dean the whole time you were in Baltimore. Why separate now? Because your brother left you. To go kill Karen.”

“He didn’t kill anyone!” Olive shouts.

The anxiety is ramping, and it’s making her fractured arm hurt.

“I heard the 911 call!” Sheridan slams his fist on the table. “Karen was terrified! She said someone was in the house!”

Giles House, Before

Karen was on the couch in her pajamas, crying. The TV was on, but low. She wasn’t watching. She blew her nose, and heard something as she did. She took her glasses off to rub her eyes before quickly putting them back on. She noticed a figure in the mirror across the room.

She let out a frightened yelp and stood, turning the lights on. There was nobody there, but she turned into the bedroom and shut the door. She dialed 911 and put the phone to her ear.

“Hello, emergency services.”

“Hello? I think I saw someone in my house.”

“What’s your address?”

“It’s 421 Clinton Avenue. Please, can you-”

A click, and the call was disconnected.

“Hello?”

The printer on her desk flicked on and began to rapid-print sheets with the same thing from Tony’s office.

danashulpsdanashulpsdanashulpsdanashulps

Karen fumbled around for a flashlight, and finally turned. She turned to be face-to-face with the ghost. She screamed.

***

Giles House, Before

Dean knocked on the door. “Karen, you in there?”

He got no answer. He looked around before bending to pick the lock. He opened the door and tried the light in the entryway. It didn’t work. He shut the door behind himself and ventured further into the house. He went up the stairs and turned into the bedroom. He pushed the door open to see Karen lying on the floor in a pool of blood. He turned and noticed the printer pages.

“Seriously, what the hell?” He grumbled.

He knelt by Karen’s body, noticing bruises on her wrists. He slowly picked up one of her hands.

“Freeze.”

Dean cursed to himself. Behind him, two cops had their guns trained on his head.

“Stay on your knees. Hands where I can see them. Now!”

He complied.

First Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sheridan sits in an observation room, where he can see Dean, who is handcuffed to a table. The detective that had been with Sam, Ballard, enters.

“You getting anywhere with him?”

“No. Just a lot of wise-ass remarks.” He grumbles.

“What about the girl?”

Sheridan rolls his eyes. “Nothing. Her story matches his down to the last detail. You?”

“Same with Sam’s.”

“Hmm. Yeah, well, these guys are good. I’ll give them that.” Sheridan crosses his arms over his chest.

Ballard sighs. “If we don’t get Sam or Olive to flip, we have nothing but a lot of circumstantial evidence.”

“Hey. We’ve got Dean at the crime scene with blood on his hands. And we caught Olive trying to steal a car. Juries have convicted for less.”

“Yeah, but…” Ballard sighs. “I mean, where’s the murder weapon? What’s the motive? You talk about reasonable doubt.”

“Diana.” Sheridan leans in and touches her face. “Do you have reasonable doubt? We keep leaning on these three, one of them will tumble. And don’t forget about St. Louis. I’m telling you. This Dean guy is our guy.”

Ballard sighs. “I know Tony Giles was a friend of yours.”

“Yeah.” Sheridan nods. “He was, he was a good friend.”

“Look, and I know you just want to clean this mess up quick, but some on. Tony knew a lot of criminal types, I mean… maybe we’re just-”

“Criminal types?” Sheridan cuts her off with a snarl. “He was a defense lawyer, for fuck’s sake. Of course he knew criminal types.”

“Alright.” Ballard sighs. “Let’s get back at them.”

“No, you know what? Let em stew in their juices for a bit.” Sheridan glances around to make sure nobody is nearby. “Come here.”

He pulls her into a kiss.

In the interrogation room, Dean huffs.

“Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps, Dana Shulps. Dana- Dana Shulps.” He mumbles to himself, eyes closed.

He’s stiff cuffed to the table, and he’s got his hands laced together as he thinks.

Sam, hands free, pulls a pad of paper and a pen to himself. He writes Dana Shulps in print, frowning as he thinks.

Olive is still cuffed to the table in her interrogation room. Her wrists are beginning to hurt, and her leg is bouncing up and down, shaking the entire table. She mutters curses as she looks around, in thought.

“It’s not a name, it’s not a name, it’s not a name.” She squeezes her eyes shut.

Sam huffed as he got to work. “Anagram, maybe?”

Dean continues to mumble to himself, looking up when there’s a knock on the door.

“Mr. Winchester?” A middle aged man pokes his head in.

“Yeah.” Dean grumbles.

“Hi, I’m Jeffrey Kraus.” The man walks in. “I’m with the public defender’s office. I’m your lawyer.”

Dean deadpans. “Oh. Thank god. I’m saved.”

Kraus sits, and Dean leans forward. “Hey, could I uh, steal a pen from you? Maybe some paper?”

“Sure.” Kraus hands the items over to Dean, who goes to town. “Uh, well, the police haven’t found a weapon yet. So that’s good. But uh, they got your prints. And well,” the man chuckles, “literally blood on your hands. And with your police record, uh…” he trails off when he notices that Dean isn’t paying attention.

“Mr. Winchester?”

Nothing.

“What are you doing?”

“I think it’s an anagram.” Dean grunts.

“A what?”

“Same letters, different words.” Dean explains as he continues to scribble.

The paper now reads:

dna shulps

dan shulpas

land pushas

supash land

push landas

plush danas

He pushes it over to Kraus. “Uh, do me a favor? See if you recognize any of these words. You know, local names, places, anything like that?”

“Do you understand how serious these charges are?”

“I’m handcuffed to a table.” Dean scoffs. “Yeah, I get it. Humor me. Take a quick look.”

Kraus sighs and pulls the pad of paper over to him. “Well, I don’t know about s-u-p, but Ashland is a street name. Not far from here.”

“A street.” Dean repeats.

He takes the pad back, tears the paper off, and begins to scribble again.

“Let’s start with where you were the night Anthony Giles died.”

“Can you get in to see my brother and sister?” Dean looks up quickly.

“Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here.”

“Hey, thanks for the law review, Matlock. But, if you wanna help me.” Dean holds up the two scraps of paper he’s written on. “I need you to see my brother and sister.”

Third Interrogation Room, Present Day

Olive unfurls the note and snorts.

Lil,

Ashland Street

Call richies if you’re alone

-Phil

“I hope that means something. He was adamant I get that to you.” Kraus sits across from her.

Olive rolls her neck. “Yeah, thanks. How far exactly is Ashland Street from here?” She crumbles up the note and looks up, expectantly.

“Uh, maybe a ten minute drive. Miss Winchester, if you don’t mind, I’d really like to-”

“No.” Olive shakes her head. “I don’t need a lawyer to talk me through this. They think Dean’s a killer, they found me stealing a car, and they’re gonna pin Sam and I as accessories. They’re gonna bring up everything we’ve ever done, gonna bring up the fact that our dad is gone, gonna say Dean had blood on his hands, and that’s gonna be the end of it.”

Kraus sighs. “You’re sixteen-”

“They’re gonna try me as an adult, I know.” She nods again. “Look, Matlock, why don’t you go talk to Sam? He’s prelaw, full ride to Stanford. I’m sure he can help you work out a strategy for us.” She smiles a sickly sweet smile, but it’s full of anger and poison.

Krau sighs a third time before getting up and exiting the room.

Second Interrogation Room, Present Day

Sam reads over the note Dean sent.

Hilts-

It’s a street

Ashland

-McQueen

Kraus sighs. “I hope that’s meaningful. But I’d like to discuss your case now.”

Sam gestures to the chair in front of him. “Sure thing, Matlock.”

Kraus sighs again. “You three really are siblings, aren’t you?” He sits. “Now, as you know, the DA might be interested in-”

A knock on the door, and then Ballard barges in.

“We need you.” She looks at Kraus. “With the other one.”

Sam stares at the door after they close it. He huffs. Several people have crowded outside Dean’s interrogation room, watching as the digital camera is set up across from him.

“Counselor?” Sheridan grins. “Your boy decided to confess.”

“Mr. Winchester?” Kraus warns. “I’d strongly advise against that.”

“Talk directly into the camera, first stating your name for the record.”

Dean clears his throat and sits up. He leans forward and looks into the camera. “My name is Dean Michael Winchester. I’m an Aquarius.” A smile begins to creep onto his face. He knows that if Sam and Olive were to see this, they would roll their eyes and break into a cackle, respectively. “I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women. And I did not kill anyone.” His smile drops. “But I know who did. Or rather, what, did. Of course, it can’t be for sure because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we’re looking for some kind of vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?” Ballard spits.

“You know,” Dean shrugs. “Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?”

People in the observation room begin to laugh.

“Tony Giles saw it. I’ll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason, it’s trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain’t easy.” Dean shakes his head. “You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember redrum. Same concept. You know, it’s uh, word fragments, sometimes it’s anagrams. See, at first we thought it was a name. Dana Shulps. But now we think it’s a street. Ashland. Whatever’s going on, I’ll bet you it started there.”

Dean spreads his hands and smiles. His part is done.

“You arrogant bastard!” Sheridan shouts. “Tony and Karen were good people, and you’re making jokes!”

“I’m not joking, Ponch.” Dean’s lip curls up.

“You murdered them in cold blood! Just like that girl in St. Louis!”

“Oh, yeah…” Dean sucks in air through his teeth. “That wasn’t me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me.”

He smiles at the camera again, and Sheridan snaps. He picks Dean up by the collar, which is no easy task, as he’s 6’ 2” and about 170 pounds. He slams him against the wall, and although Dean is uncomfortable, he doesn’t flinch. He keeps his cold front.

“Pete, that is enough!” Ballard pulls him off.

“You asked for the truth.” Dean speaks calmly.

“Lock his ass up.” Sheridan spits, dropping Dean to his feet.

Another cop takes over and shoves Dean face-first against the wall, cuffing him. Dean grunts, but a sense of calm washes over him. He did what needed to be done. Sam and Olive would fix it from here.

Sheridan storms into Olive’s interrogation room, only to find her gone. He lets out a frustrated scream and throws a chair across the room. A breeze blows through the window, and he sticks his head out. It’s a five story drop, and the fire escape is at least six feet away. There’s no way she could’ve reached it.

“Where is she!” He shouts.

Ballard comes running. “Sam’s gone!”

She blinks, noticing that Sheridan is the only one in the room. “What?”

“What did they do? The fire escapes way over there! For both of them!”

“These fuckers.” Ballard hisses, showing Sheridan the note left on Sam’s table.

“Hilts and McQueen? Lil and Phil?” Sheridan spits.

“Hilts is Steve McQueen’s character in the Great Escape.” Ballard sighs. “And Lil and Phil are from the Rugrats.”

Sheridan lets out another scream.

***

Dean is cuffed once more, in a smaller room. Ballard enters, looking around, nervous. Dean huffs.

“Can we make this quick? I’m a little tired, it’s been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all.”

“I want to know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier.”

Dean hums. “Time Life. Mysteries of the Unknown. Look it up.”

She circles around to stand in front of him. “Let’s pretend, for the moment, you’re not entirely insane.”

Dean hums again. “What would one of these things be doing here?”

“A vengeful spirit?”

Ballard nods, and Dean pouts as he thinks.

“Well, they’re created by violet deaths. And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one. Like revenge on the people that hurt em.”

“And, uh, these things… they’re capable of killing people?” She asks, rubbing her neck.

Dean smiles, lining up his next smart-ass response, when he notices deep, dark bruises on her wrists, the same he had seen on Karen’s.

“Where’d you get those?”

Ballard sighs and pulls up her sleeves, seeing the bruises for the first time.

“I don’t know. It… it wasn’t there before.”

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you? The spirit?”

“How’d you know?”

“Cause Karen had the same bruises on her wrists. And I’m willing to bet that if you look at Giles’ autopsy photos, he’s got em too. It’s got something to do with this spirit, I… I just don’t know what.”

Ballard turns away, looking into the mirror.

“I know. You think you’re going crazy. But let’s skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? Died, pretty soon after. You hear me?”

She turns back to him, face drained of color. “You think I’m going to die.”

Dean sighs. “You need to go to Sam and Olive. They’ll help.”

Ballard’s shoulders fall. “You’re giving them up.”

Dean sighs again, looking away. “Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. Look for Jim Rockford and Angel Martin. It’s how we find each other when we’re all separated. Now, you can arrest them if you want.” He looks up at her. “Or you can let them save your life.”

Motel Room, Present Day

Sam sits at a desk, rifling through files. Somebody knows on the door, and his head perks up. The person knocks again, and this time Sam gets up. He tucks a handgun into the back of his jeans and looks through the peephole.

He throws the door open with a sigh of relief. Olive tumbles into his arms, shaking. He holds her, then realizes that her legs have given out, and she’s relying entirely on him. He picks her up by the waist and puts her down on the bed, kicking the door shut.

“Bug, what happened?”

She coughs, and a few specks of blood fly out. “I had to jump. I wasn’t gonna make it to the fire escape, so I just went straight down.” She groans. “I landed in a dumpster, my leg broke, and my lungs hurt. I’m mostly healed now, but… it still hurts.” She leans back onto the wall with a heavy sigh.

“Fuck.” Sam mumbles under his breath.

He sees the fear in Olive’s eyes and sits next to her, pulling her to rest in his lap. “Okay. Once we get all of this fixed, I promise we’ll go straight to Bobby. Okay?” He runs a hand through her hair.

She coughs again. “We’ve gotta get Dean.”

The door opens, and Sam whips the gun out, his other hand holding Olive protectively. It’s Ballard. She eyes the gun, and Sam hesitates. She gives a soft smile, and Sam puts the gun down. Olive doesn’t move. She’s scared she’ll cough up a lung, and she’s barely breathing as is. Sam notices Ballard’s eyes on her.

“You’ll have to sit here.” He gestures to the bed.

She does so. “I saw it.”

“What?” Olive speaks, then coughs again, ending with a groan.

Ballard eyes Olive again, then shows Sam her wrists. He takes her hands in his and winces as he looks over the pink skin.

“These showed up after you saw it?”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ballard sighs.

“Alright. You’re gonna have to tell me exactly what you saw.”

Ballard hesitates. “You know, I must be losing my mind. You’re both fugitives. I should be arresting you.”

“You can arrest us later.” Olive rasps. “After we get through this.”

“She’s right.” Sam sighs. “Right now you’ve gotta talk to me.”

Ballard nods.

“Okay. The spirit, what did it look like?”

“She was… um, really pale. Her throat was cut, and her eyes… they were like, this deep dark red. It appeared like she was trying to talk to me, but she couldn’t. It was just… a lot of blood.”

“Okay. There.” Sam points to the desk, and she rises, going to it. “I’ve been researching every girl that’s ever died or gone missing from Ashland street.”

“How’d you get these?” Ballard flips through the photos. “These are from crime scenes, and booking photos.”

“You have your job, we have ours. Look through them, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

She sits down and begins to look through papers. Sam turns back to Olive and presses a soft kiss to her forehead.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Okay, bug?”

Olive mumbles an agreement and lets Sam move her out of his lap. He goes to the bathroom, wets a towel, and brings it back, placing it on her forehead. He’s seen her sick like this before, but it’s never been this bad. Panic begins to grow in his chest as he fills a glass with water. He doesn’t know what to do. He needs Dean.

“This is her. I’m sure of it.”

Sam places the cup of water down on the nightstand and goes to stand at the desk with Ballard.

“Claire Becker. Twenty eight years old, disappeared about nine months ago.”

“But I don’t even know her. I mean, why would she come after me?” Ballard’s growing exasperated.

“Well, before her death, she was arrested twice. For dealing heroin. You ever work narcotics?” Sam suggests.

“Yeah, Pete and I did. Before homicide.”

“You ever bust her?”

Ballard shakes her head. “Not that I remember.”

“It says that she was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Police searched the place, didn’t find anything. Guess we gotta check it out ourselves. See if we can find her body.”

“What?” Ballard squints.

“Salt and burn em. It’s the only way to put her spirit to rest.” Olive speaks, eyes closed and voice thin and scratchy.

The panic flares in Sam’s chest once more. He needs Dean. She needs Dean.

Ballard sighs. “Of course it is.”

“Sammy, I wanna come with you. I wanna help.” She starts to sit up.

“No, no, no, Ollie. I can’t let you.” Sam rushes to her side, pushing her back down. “No, baby girl. You’re too weak, you’ve gotta stay here.”

“But I wanna help save Dean.” She whines.

“I know, babes, I know. But I need you safe, and that means you have to stay here.”

“She should be in a hospital right now.” Ballard states.

“No!” Olive jumps, then proceeds to cough, spitting blood into the crook of her elbow.

Sam rubs her back and shakes his head. “No hospitals. She can’t do hospitals.”

“Why not?”

He sighs. “Family issue.”

Olive groans, then rolls onto her side, looking up at Sam with puppy eyes. He sighs again, pushing her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t wanna be alone.” She whispers.

Healing large injuries drains her more than turning itself does. A broken leg is no small feat, and she’s definitely injured her lungs. But she had to get out of there, so she forced herself to begin to heal. Once she’s started, she can’t turn the healing process back off. It’s killing her.

She doesn’t want to be alone when she dies.

They both know it.

He helps her sit up, and they both ignore the grunt of pain that escapes her lips. He holds her tightly, but gently.

“Okay.”

2911 Ashland Street, Present Day

Sam leads them down into a creepy warehouse. Olive has her finger hooked in his belt loop, and her feet are dragging. She’s getting worse by the minute, but she refuses to let her mind slip away, not until she sees Dean.

“So what exactly are we looking for?”

“I’ll let you know when we find it.” Sam whispers.

They split up. Sam and Olive start up a flight of stairs as Ballard continues on the lower level. She turns around a corner, and sees Claire, standing by a window. She gasps, and Claire moves towards her, trying to speak.

“Sam? Sam!”

Sam and Olive share a look. Olive lets go of his belt loop and nods, and he runs back down the stairs, toward Ballard. Claire disappears.

“Hey! Hey, I’m here. What is it, what happened?” Sam looks her up and down, noticing that she’s unscatched.

“Claire…”

“Where?” Olive croaks, making her way down the stairs.

“Here. She was here.”

“Did she attack you?” Sam asks.

Ballard shakes her head. “No,” she hesitates, “No, she was just like… reaching out to me. She was over there by the window.” She points.

Sam and Olive share a look before Sam moves the shelves away from the window. Olive squints as the words printed on the glass become clear.

Ashland Supplies

She snorts. “That’s the word.”

“Well, yeah, now the extra letters make sense.” Sam fishes an EMF reader from his pocket and slowly makes his way to the wall, where the words are perfectly shadowed.

“What is that?”

Olive stumbles to follow her brother as she clears her throat. “Spirits and certain remains give off electromagnetic frequencies.”

“So, if Clarie’s body were here, it would tell you?”

“Yeah, that’s the theory.” Sam mumbles.

The EMF meter begins to purr, and Sam turns back around to a brick wall. He sighs and looks around. Olive spots a rusted crowbar and drags it behind her as she follows Sam. He plucks it from her hand and begins to break through the wall. Olive coughs as dust and debris fly through the air. She slumps down against the staircase, coughing every so often. Her head falls back when she’s not struggling to breathe, and her eyes are beginning to roll into the back of her head.

“There’s definitely something in there.” Sam grunts as he continues to break through the wall. “You know? This is bothering me.”

“Well, you are digging up a corpse.” Ballard shrugs.

“No, no, uh…” Sam chuckles. “That’s pretty par for the course, actually.”

“Then what?”

“I mean, it’s just… no vengeful spirit we’ve ever dealt with wanted to be wasted… so why the hell would Claire lead us to her own remains?”

Olive lets out another cough, this one sounding loud and wet. Sam pauses and stares at her. Her head is back against the wall, her mouth is open and bloody, and her eyes are closed. She’s pale, sweaty, and barely breathing.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Ballard shakes her head, snapping Sam back into reality.

He shakes his head, again glancing over his shoulder at the teenager sprawled on the ground.

“Here, gimme a hand.”

Together, they pull out a body that is wrapped in shrouds of cloth, and place it on the ground. Sam fishes out a pocket knife and cuts the ropes off, revealing the body. He sighs, looking back at Olive. Her eyes are shut, and her head is falling off to the side. Her chest heaves with each breath, and Sam can hear her wheezing. Ballard puts her wrists out, above Claire’s.

“Her wrists, yeah.” Sam turns back. “They’d be bruised just like yours.”

Ballard reaches out with a shaky hand, cautiously touching a necklace on the body. Sam perks up.

“That necklace mean anything to you?”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s rare. It was custom made over on Carson street.” Ballard’s hand goes back to her own neck. “I have one just like it.” She looks up at Sam. “Pete gave it to me.”

He huffs. “Now this makes sense.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s a death omen, not a vengeful spirit.”

“Excuse me?”

“Claire’s not killing people.” Sam sighs. “She’s trying to warn them. You see, sometimes, spirits, they don't want revenge. They want justice.” He nods to himself. “Which is why she led us here in the first place. She wants us to know who her killer is.” He pauses, and it clicks in his head. “Detective, how much do you know about your partner?”

“Oh my god.” Ballards face falls.

“About a year ago, some heroin went missing from lockup. Obviously, it was a cop. We never found out who did it, but whoever it was would need someone to fence their product.”

Sam snorts. “Someone like a heroin dealer. Somebody like Claire.”

Olive stumbles to her feet. Her lips are dry and her skin is devoid of color. Her fangs are peeking out of her mouth, and her eyes are watery.

“Dean’s in danger.”

Armored Van on a Highway, Present Day

“So I’m being extradited to St. Louis, huh?”

Dean gets no answer, so he tries again.

“And you just decided to transfer me yourself, eight hundred miles at two in the morning?”

Again, nothing. The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck begin to rise.

“This can’t be good.”

Baltimore, Present Day

“Okay. Thanks.” Ballard snaps her phone shut.

“What is it?” Sam asks, leaning forward.

He’s in the backseat with Olive. She’s in and out of it, and she looks worse every time they pass under a street light.

“Pete just left the precinct. With Dean.”

“What?” Olive forces her eyes open as she sits up, grunting.

“He said the prisoner had to be transfered, and he just took him. Dispatch has been calling but he won’t answer the radio.”

“Radio?” Sam repeats. “He took a county vehicle?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then they should have a lo-jack. We’ve just gotta get it turned on.”

Empty stretch of road, Present Day

The van pulls off onto the side of the road. Dean pushes the rising anxiety and leans forward.

“Pee break? So soon?” He taunts. “Might wanna get your prostate checked.”

Sheridan says nothing before he gets out. Dean listens as the footsteps circle around to the back of the van.

“Son of a bitch.” He groans to himself.

Sheridan yanks the backdoors open, and Dean inches away.

“Hey, man. I’m cool in the van. You go do what you gotta do.”

Sheridan grabs him by the jacket and hauls him out of the van, throwing him onto the wet ground. Dean lands with a grunt, squirming to sit up.

“You’re a cocky son of a bitch.” Sheridan spits. “You think those people in St. Louis are gonna buy that shit you’re peddling?”

Dean makes it to his knees and pants, staring at Sheridan.

“Here’s the thing. You’re not gonna make it to St. Louis. You’re gonna die trying to escape.”

Dean blinks, and Sheridan’s gun is out, pointed between his eyes.

“Wait!” Dean pleads. “Wait, let’s talk about this. I mean, you don’t wanna do something that you’re gonna regret later.”

Sheridan only cocks the gun.

“Or maybe you do.”

Olive growls from low in her throat, holding back a cough and the load of blood in her mouth. Sheridan turns at the noise, and Ballard puts her gun up. Sam tucks Olive into his side, shielding her from the gun. She’s shaking, and Dean’s eyes are glued to her.

His stomach drops. She’s dying. He knows it.

“Pete! Put the gun down.”

“Diana? How’d you find me?” The gun goes back to Dean’s head, and Olive feels bile rise in her throat.

Sam hugs her tighter.

“I know about Claire.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Sheridan shakes his head, gun still up.

“Put the gun down!” She shouts.

Sheridan drops the act, and a smirk grows on his face. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re fast. I’m pretty sure I’m faster.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“I didn’t do anything, Diana.” Sheridan shakes his head.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“It wasn’t my fault.” Sheridan scoots closer to Dean, and another growl rips through Olive’s throat.

She swallows what she can and spits blood onto the grass.

“Claire was trying to turn me in! I had no choice.”

“And Tony? Karen?”

Sheridan shakes his head again. “Same thing! Tony scrubbed the money, he got skittish, and then he wanted to come clean. I’m sure he told Karen everything.”

Dean’s eyes go back to his younger siblings. Sam’s holding the entirety of Olive’s weight, and he’s looking at Dean with big eyes. Dean shakes his head, and Sam looks about ready to cry. Olive lets out a weak cough.

“It was a mess. I had to clean it up. I just panicked.” Sheridan shook his head.

“How many more people are gonna die over this, Pete?”

“There’s a way out.” Sheridan looks back at Dean. “This Dean kid’s a freaking gift. We could pin the whole thing on him. Right? No trial, nothing. Just… just one more dead scumbag.”

“Hey.” Dean fronts.

Sheridan puts the gun closer, and Dean backs off, shoulders falling.

“No one will question it. Diana, please.” Sheridan begs. “I still love you.”

Ballard puts the gun down with a sigh. Dean’s eyes fill with tears as Sheridan’s gun connects with his head. A loud growl tears through the trees, and Sheridan is tackled to the ground. Dean rolls out of the way, and Sam pulls him up. Ballard tries to get a shot, but she can’t.

There’s another loud growl, and the tangle of limbs stops moving. Sheridan is down, and Olive falls to her knees, coughing loudly and violently. Blood sprays everywhere, and the second she stops coughing she begins to throw up. Sam rushes over, holding her hair back. Diana unlocks Dean’s handcuffs, and he joins his brother, watching as Olive fights to breathe.

Blood continues to drip from her mouth as she wheezes, chest heaving. Dean pulls her into his chest, and she begins to shake.

“So now what, officer?” Dean asks, cradling Olive like a baby.

“Pete did confess to me. He screwed up all your cases. Royally. I’d say there’s a good chance that we could get them dismissed.”

“You’d take care of that for us?” Sam looks up.

“Yeah. But the St. Louis murder charges? That’s another story. I can’t help you. Unless…” Ballard sighs. “I just happened to turn my back, and you walked away. I could just tell them that the suspects escaped.”

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, she’s sure, Sam.” Dean hissed.

“No, it’s just… I mean, you could lose your job over something like that.”

She shakes her head. “Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I’ll sleep better at night.”

Olive lets out another strangled cough, and Dean pushes her hair from her face.

“Is she gonna be okay?” Ballard asks.

“I don’t know.” Sam whispers, in shock.

“Where’s my car?” Dean calls.

“It’s at the impound yard down on Robertson.”

Dean groans, shooting Sam a look. “We need Dad’s journal, it could have answers.”

Ballard shakes her head. “Don’t even think about taking the car. You guys have to get out of here. I have to radio this in.”

The boys nod and Dean hoists Olive up. Coughs continue to rack her body, and she’s spitting blood everywhere. Sam takes her from him and they start down the muddy road.

“Dean, what do we do?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her like this before.” Dean hisses back.

“We’re miles away from Dad’s journal. We’ll never make it in time.”

Olive wheezes, then coughs again, choking on her blood and spit. Dean stops, panting. He shakes his head at Sam, who is staring back with wide eyes.

“Sam, we can’t do anything.”

Olive’s stomach heaves again, and blood is the only thing to come out. Sam sighs as he stops. The brothers kneel down, and Sam places Olive between them.

She stares between the two with tears in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

Dean pushes her hair out of her face with a soft smile. “We love you.”

Sam is trembling, enraged. He picks her back up and shakes his head. Dean follows, shouting Sam’s name.

“We have to be able to do something, Dean. I’m not gonna watch her die.”

“We don’t have Dad’s journal!”

“Then we call Bobby!”

“Sam, we don’t even know if Bobby knows.”

“We have to try!”

Dean swallows the bad taste in his mouth as he yanks out his phone and dial’s Bobby’s number. Olive coughs.

He puts it on speaker. “Hello.”

“Bobby!” Sam shouts.

“What’s wrong, kids?”

“Olive’s dying, we don’t know what to do!”

“What?”

“Bobby, we’ve gotta tell you something important.”

“You sister’s part Okami. I know. What happened?”

The boys blink at each other, but a groan from Olive snaps them back into reality.

“The healing process is killing her. What do we do?”

There’s a long sigh, and Dean watches the little color left in Olive’s face drain. Her chest heaves once more, and then she stops breathing. He drops the phone, snatching Olive from Sam’s hold.

“Olive!”

“Bobby!” Sam grabs the phone, in tears.

“Blood.”

“What?”

“She needs blood. Once a day, every day. It’ll make her stronger, she won’t get sick again.”

“Bobby, we’re not-”

“Gimme your knife.” Dean interrupts.

“What?” Sam’s eyes go wide.

“Give me your fucking knife!”

Sam doesn’t move, and Dean forces Olive’s mouth open. He slices his palm against her fang and groans as blood trickles out.

It falls in droplets, staining her teeth and her tongue. The phone call is long forgotten, and Sam is on his knees by their side. Olive’s eyes begin to twitch behind her eyelids, and Dean gasps. He squeezes his hand, bleeding harder.

A second passes, and Sam stares at Dean. Dean doesn’t look up from Olive.

Her fangs begin to recede, and Dean watches, shaking. A small cough moves her body, and then she begins to wheeze. Sam drops his head to her chest. He hears her heart and he lets out a loud sigh, resting his head against her.

“Boys?”

Her voice is soft and unharmed. She sounds like she just woke up from a nap. Dean pulls her up and hugs her. She sniffs, reaching up to rub her eyes.

“How?”

Sam lets out a weak laugh and brushes her hair back. “Dean saved you.”

She leans into her oldest brother and looks up with a soft smile.

“Thanks, De.”

He laughs and kisses the top of her head before pulling her back into a second hug. “Anything for you, baby girl. Anything for you.”

Previous Ep: No Exit (2.06)

Next Ep: Crossroad Blues (2.08)

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ginnyzero · 4 years ago

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Completely Harmless Ch. 62

Completely Harmless An SSO SilverGlade Re-imagining Story (Or Fix it Fan Salt fic) By Ginny O.

When Lily and her friends wanted to buy horses and were directed to the Silverglade Manor and its myriad of problems, they didn’t expect to start a revolution. They were just a bunch a stable girls. Completely harmless. Right?

A/N: Things are only canon if I say they’re canon. Pre-Saving the Moorland Stables compliant for the most part. Posted in its entirety on my website. Posted in 2000 to 4000 word bits here. Rated T for Swearing Word Count 177,577

Chapter Sixty-Two Commence Rescue!

Pi tugged her hat low over her eyes. “Do I look evil?” She’d smeared green makeup on her face and hands. Her hair powdered with green chalk.

“Good enough for government work,” Lily said blandly.

Alex leaned into Tin Can’s nose. “We’ll be back in hours. I promise.”

Tin Can huffed and pawed the ground.

“No. You can’t come with us. That’s too many to get back off.”

Tin Can neighed.

“I don’t care if he’s going. You can’t. Lily needs him.”

Tin Can trumpeted now.

“Of course I need you. I don’t like it either.” Alex flung her arms around his neck. “I have to rescue them. I have to. I can’t leave them there, any of them. And you have to do your part.”

Tin Can lowered his head.

Lily took the harp case strapped to Nimbus’ side off. She handed it to Linda. “Keep it safe and remember, once you have the gate open.”

“Don’t stop playing,” Linda nodded. “Be careful.”

“That’s not exactly what this mission is about.” Lily smiled at her.

“Okay, don’t die,” Linda amended.

They hugged.

Linda let her go and touched Alex’s shoulder.

Alex turned and they hugged tightly.

“You’ve got this,” Linda whispered.

Pi cleared her throat. “It’s time.”

Linda and Alex parted and Linda grabbed Tin Can’s reins.

“Follow me, but not too closely,” Pi said. She tugged Saga’s reins and walked on. “Come on, Saga. Let’s get you to Justin.”

Alex patted her pockets. “Okay, I’ve got my chap stick.”

“He’s lucky it isn’t lipstick.”

Alex groaned. “Don’t start, Lily, please.”

They followed Pi taking care to hang back enough it didn’t look like they were following her. Pi led Saga straight to the site manager.

“Is this the horse?” he asked.

“Is this the horse? Of course this is the horse. Would I be bringing any other horse?” Pi glared at him.

The site manager held out his hand.

Saga reared slightly.

Pi sneered at him. “You think he’s going to trust a peon. Show me the container and I’ll get him settled. You must be new.”

The site manager scowled, but led the way to a container.

Pi let him open it. “I can take it from here. Tell Mr. Sands I kept my side of the bargain. I expect payment promptly.”

The site manager did more than grunt as he stomped off.

Lily and Alex waited until he was gone and slipped around the container. Lily backed Nimbus in beside Saga and they stepped inside.

Pi lowered her voice. “I’m going to shut and lock you in. The Baroness will be here soon. Hold tight. You’ll get there one way or the other.”

The doors shut.

They assumed Pi left.

A few minutes later, truck engines roared and halted nearby. Doors slammed.

“This is the Jorvik Rangers. Nobody move,” the Master Ranger yelled. “Who is in charge here?”

They waited holding onto Saga and Nimbus as they heard people running about and within fifteen minutes the chopping blades of a helicopter.

Mr. Sands spoke once it was quiet. “What is this, Annabella?”

“This is an eviction notice, John, effective immediately.”

Mr. Sands was silent for a few minutes as he read the papers. “This is a bold move for you.”

The Baroness’ voice turned dark and furious. “You have our grandson. You really believed that I would sit back and do nothing. I told you I was coming for you.”

“He came of his own free will.”

“I would believe that when the sun starts rising in the west. You may think he’s out of my reach and power, and you’d be wrong.”

“You have no power over me. I’ve always been the stronger of the two of us.”

“And you never understood that I don’t need magic to wield power. I will drive you off of Jorvik. You can live in your little oil rigs. Your games here in my county are over. I think you’ll find my arm is long enough to haunt you wherever you go.”

“There’s still time to change your mind.”

“We both chose our paths years ago. Get off my beach.”

The helicopter started again. And soon enough, the container moved. Lily and Alex didn’t dare say anything to one another. They didn’t know if they’d be overheard. The container swayed and settled with a clunk onto metal decking.

From the inside of the container it was difficult to know if they were moving or not. Engines faintly throbbed when they pressed their ears to the walls.

It didn’t take as long as the rowboat. In fact, the barges were about as fast as the ferry. Soon enough, they bumped up against something that rattled. The container lifted upwards, swung through the air and landed again.

Lily and Alex looked at each other. Show time.

The doors swung open.

Lily sniffed. “Why thank you, how magnaminous of you,” she said as she tugged Nimbus’ reins and sashayed out of the container.

Alex grabbed Saga’s reins. She smirked at them.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the men demanded.

“What? Pi didn’t say.” Lily widened her eyes. “Alex, I swore Pi was going to say something. She told me that she was going to send a message ahead.”

“Filthy witches.”

“We’re the new recruits. Pi trusts us to deliver Saga to--” Lily turned her head. “What was his name?”

“Jay, Jay,” Alex trailed off.

“Justin,” one of the men said.

“Justin, that’s the name.” Lily smiled. “So, if you’ll point the way.”

“First I’ve heard of new recruits,” the man said and glowered.

“Witches.” Alex curled her lip. “You can’t trust them. You just can’t.”

“Easy, Alex, I’m sure this is a little misunderstanding. Something must have gone wrong in all the commotion.” Lily waved her hand. She turned a dazzling smile on the man and bared her teeth. “Well?”

“Let the boss sort it out,” one of the men said to the other.

“Fine. I’ll only tell you once. Justin’s waiting at the helicopter pad for Mr. Sands to return.” He gave them directions.

Lily simpered. “Thank you ever so much. I’ll be sure to tell Mr. Sands and Justin that it was,” she paused.

“Number 47,” he growled.

“Number 47 that sent us. I’m sure he’ll give you your just reward,” Lily fluttered her lashes and led Nimbus away. “Glorious revolution awaits.” She sauntered off leading Nimbus.

Alex sniffed and followed Lily. She had a hard time keeping a straight face once they were out of earshot and given the noise it was relatively quickly. “Glorious revolution,” she drawled. “Laying it on a bit thick.”

Lily stuck her tongue out at her.

“Can’t believe they bought it,” Alex cracked her neck.

They already knew the way. Lily nodded at the guards who weren’t quite sure what to do with two young women brazenly leading horses and looking like they knew where they were going. “Hello, hello, good evening,” Lily said to each of them as they passed.

Alex glowered and kept her shoulders stiff. Her boots made a racket as she stomped down the metal walkways. She thought one word, murder. The men scrambled to get out of her way.

Mr. Sands disembarked from the helicopter. His face clouded with anger. “This is merely a setback. We weren’t acquiring what we needed from there anyways. Not with those meddling stable girls.”

Lily smirked.

The helicopter rose in the air, hovered, and flew away to the north.

Lily and Alex led the horses up the final stairs to the platform. “Mr. Sands,” Lily said boldly. “Just the gentleman I was looking for. Witch Pi sends her regards. And,” she stepped to the side, “the Dark Horse, as agreed.”

Alex tugged Saga forward and tossed her head. Her eyes landed on Justin.

“Wait,” the red hooded girl said. “I think I know the two of you.” She pushed her hood back revealing the face of Sabine.

Lily knew she’d recognized the voice.

“You’re,” Sabine pointed at Alex, “you’re the Soul Rider, Alex Cloudmill.”

“Was a Soul Rider, past tense, sweetheart,” Alex drawled.

“And you, you’re that stable girl from the Winery, Ell, something or other.”

“To be so insignificant you can’t even remember the name of the one who stole it out from under you.” Lily sniffed. “A stroke of genius on my part.” She stroked Nimbus’ mane. “My name is Lily and the Baroness trusts me completely. The same can’t be said about you, Dark Rider.”

Jessica pushed her hood back. “She has a point. You had one job.”

“Oh, like you were able to get the deed for Moorland Stables? That was your job and you bungled it.”

“Princess,” Mr. Sands said in a soothing voice. “Sabine.”

The girls turned away from each other and crossed their arms.

“You expect to win with help like this,” Alex gestured dismissively.

“Like we should trust you,” Jessica said sneering.

“You shouldn’t,” Lily said.

“We got here, didn’t we,” Alex pointed out.

That shut the two up.

“Take care of your horses with the rest, and we’ll discuss your change of heart,” Mr. Sands said. “Over lasagna.”

“I love lasagna,” Justin said with a grin.

Alex handed him Saga’s reins.

Saga snorted and rolled her eyes.

“What, you didn’t miss me?” Justin said. “I missed you.”

Saga turned her head to Alex.

“Wait,” Jessica said. “Where’s your horse, Cloudmill? That ugly one.”

“He repudiated me. The nag. He wasn’t about to turn against the Keepers.”

“My horse does what I tell him to do,” Sabine smirked.

“Maybe your horse doesn’t have opinions. Or maybe he does and you don’t know how to hear them,” Alex retorted. “I can always get a new horse, a better one.”

“A dark one,” Lily said in a sultry voice as she patted Nimbus’ side.

“Yes, a dark one,” Jessica hissed.

“This way,” Justin said and led the way with Saga reluctantly following him. He led them to a stable.

Alex counted the horses, six, including Saga.

“Who are the other horses for?” she asked.

“Katya and Elise, they’re in Pandoria chasing down Lisa,” Justin said as he backed Saga into a stall.

Lily chose a free one and put Nimbus into it.

“I know you two are up to something.” Justin frowned at them and took Saga’s tack off.

Alex leaned against the door. “Ohhh, we’re up to something.”

“Grandfather won’t keep you around. We already have four Dark Riders.”

“I never said we were angling to become Dark Riders,” Lily pointed out.

Justin blinked slowly. He snorted. “Generals? Are you crazy?”

Alex laughed. “We’re more competent than the other lot.”

“You need leaders,” Lily said.

Alex gestured under her chin hand flat. “Us.”

Justin snorted. “Come on, before they eat all the lasagna.”

Alex hooked her arm around his. “This is going to be amazing. You’ll see.” She turned her head. “Lily?”

“I need to check his hooves. He’s been fussy of late.”

Alex nodded. “Hurry it up then.”

“How will you know where to go?” Justin twisted his body to look at her.

“I’ll follow my nose.” Lily tapped it.

Justin shrugged. “We won’t wait.”

They left the stable. Not that it was a great stable.

Lily walked over to Concorde. “They didn’t even search us. Can you believe it?”

Concorde snorted.

“Okay, the Helmsman and Captain Brus should be in place,” Lily said. “Ready to get out of here?”

He nodded his head.

Lily found a halter and put it on him. She snapped a lead rope to it. Opening the door she let him walk out. “We have to hurry,” she said and ran out of the stable.

Concorde kept up at a trot. His shoes sparking on the metal.

Lily didn’t look to the left or the right as she jogged Concorde back the way they came, but not completely. The barge had docked on a different section of the rig than where the Helmsman could sidle up to the huge oil rig.

“Hey!” One of the men shouted.

“Oh, Number 47, the boss told me to move this horse,” Lily said. “You know how it is, you show up and they give you drudge work.”

He frowned at her. “The boss?”

“Mr. Sands,” Lily sighed. “You can take it up with him. I don’t want to be doing it.” She held out the rope. “Unless you want to?”

He backed up and held up his hands. “Carry on then.”

Lily nodded and continued. She slowed to a walk and they went down the stairs out of sight of the men.

The helmsman was waiting for them. “Don’t dally long,” he said.

“We won’t,” Lily said.

Concorde stepped into the boat.

The helmsman rowed away. Lily took out binoculars and looked over the sea. She could see Mr. Brus’ ship in the distance. She nodded to herself and headed back up avoiding all the guards.

She did follow her nose to the lasagna.

Alex sat in a chair with her combat boots up on the table. “I want to be on the winning side,” she said. “It’s that simple. Elizabeth won’t tell us anything. She orders us around as if we’re her servants to do her drudge work. She can’t even pick a simple bunch of herbs by herself. Every time you want to do something, she runs off and has to ask Fripp. You’d think a grown woman would be able to make up her own mind without the aid of a blue squirell. I tell you, Linda’s almost as fed up as I am.” She cut off a corner of lasagna and ate it.

Justin ate looking like he was actually enjoying the food.

Lily would have been more worried except Alex had told her lasagna was Justin’s favorite food and no matter how bad things were, he’d eat lasagna. She dished herself a large helping and leaned against the table crossing her ankles. “It’s simple tactics,” she said.

Jessica frowned. “Cloudmill, I can understand, but not you.” She turned her gaze to Lily.

Lily shrugged. “I go where I smell power. I don’t care who rules anywhere, as long as I get my piece of the pie.”

“You have a riding club.” Sabine sneered.

“You think far too small.” Lily raised a brow. “Of course, I have a riding club, sweetie. That’s part of the power here on Jorvik. If I was anywhere else, it’d be Girl Scouts, or cheerleading, or a sorority.” She waved her fork before cutting off another bite. “Here, it’s riding clubs. They get you close to the people in power and once you have their trust. You can get them to do anything you want. Stepping stones across a river.”

Jessica frowned. “We don’t need them,” she said to Mr. Sands.

Mr. Sands rubbed his chin. “Now, now, we might need them more than you think. My darling Annabella has kicked us out of her county.”

“She can’t enforce it.” Jessica sneered.

“Of course she can’t,” Alex drawled. “Not if we’re your agents in South New Jorvik County. They don’t have to know I’ve switched sides. Tin Can has gone somewhere to sulk. He’s not about to tell the Keepers of Aideen that he lost his rider anytime soon. We have a window of opportunity.”

“One that we can take advantage of,” Lily said.

“Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak.” Alex shrugged a shoulder.

“This must be considered carefully, but swiftly,” Mr. Sands said in agreement.

“Preferably before we’re missed.” Lily looked at her nails. She looked around. “I’m not sure this place meets my cleanliness standards.”

Jessica scoffed. “Don’t be a rube. We don’t actually stay here. We have palatial rooms at,” she yelped as Sabine elbowed her.

“It’s not a state secret that Mr. Sands has a mansion on Pine Hill,” Alex said raising her brow. “Linda’s been there, remember?”

“If she decides to defect, she’ll know where to join us,” Lily said and continued to eat.

Alex swung her legs down. “So, do we get a tour, or do I get to explore on my own.”

Justin stood up. “I’ll show you around,” he said with a look at his grandfather.

Mr. Sands nodded.

FOR THE ACCOMPANYING IMAGES PLEASE DO NOT REMOVE MY WATERMARK AND CONTACT INFORMATION. THANK YOU. I get it. Some of you might get excited and want to see this stuff in the game, especially the clothes, tack, and pets. However, the only way I want to see this in the game is if I get paid for it. If I see it in the game and I’m not paid for it, there will be hell to pay. You think I’m salty. I’d be angry. Personally, I’m not going to send this info to SSO. If you do, leave my contact information there! Don’t give them any excuses to steal.

Now, I’ll know you haven’t read this note if you leave me comments about how ‘salty’ I am about the game and if I hate it so much I should do something else. I am doing something else. It’s called Mystic Riders MMORPG Project. Mystic Riders however is a very baby phase game. You can check out our plans on the game dev blog. (Skills, Factions, Professions, Crafting, Mini-Games, 25+ horse breeds!) If you know anyone who would be interested and has money or contacts about game making, direct them to the blog.

#star stable #star stable online #sso #fan fic #jorvik reimagined #star stable salt #silverglade reimagined #completely harmless #many nods to ruth westside #you mean no Mr. Sands deux ex machina rescue cop out?#I mean that was a cop out

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currentfandomkick · 5 years ago

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Bio! Dad Strange Part 9

Jason returns, may be a 2 parter to cover tim getting kidnapped and the aftermath. Will let you know at the end. We are getting to Marinette dealing with Ladybugging soon.

Marinette wasnt sure what to think this year. She met The Barry Allen last year. She also figured out 2 heroes pre-flash revelation and two more after—in her defense Hero Stalker’s old theory on The first Robin did Batman in. it is not her fault 5 founding members have the multiple-persona game of a booger.

She was also Tetch (Mad Hatter. Doesnt deserve the name) and Mr. J’s, Jerimah’s, last victim before they died. Then some idiots revived Jerimah. She hates his cult a lot, okay.

Everyone was on high alert and trying to keep her inside. The thing is, she hates being inside. She’s inside for designing, sure. Research? She’ll live.

But 24/7 inside time?

Never a good combo with her.

Rose’s plants may be snitches, but they seemed to agree on the over coddling. She’s ten, can break phones by tapping them, and is defiantely more off her stickers than on at the moment.

The one on her was uring her into some alleyway. If she was reading the movement pattern right, a gang fight.

Lovely, she usually did these with some sort of supervision but they were all being rude and she needed time outside.

She checked her belt, a few pairs of ball weights tied together with one chain each to make bolas clipped to back. She has a taser in hand, and a few rubber bullet loaded gun on one hip and a stun gun her size in the other. She had a packet of zipties and rope up each sleeve. Easy to giftwrap and humiliate bad people, like Batman does.

She blinked once when she saw—new player? In a bright red full face helmet that looks horrible. And he’s holding that gun make all wrong to max out usage. Ugh, amatuers.

Some part of her groaned about a potential run-in with Batman and his new Robin—she was pissed about Tim not telling her still—and decided this was as good an anger management as any. New vigilante, maybe the sirens would help him find a team.

She snuck up behind a few members, quick to grab the guns and move them out of reach. No need to give anyone playing possum an easy out, right—she saw a mix of her people in with the gang. She needed to teip this guy up before he hurt the RKC street kids and honoraries tangled up in this.

“Hey helmet, if you’re gonna shoot them you’re holding the gun wrong.”

Helmet turned to see her. She didnt grab her usual harley-knock off outfit for helping today. She wanted to be Pixie Pop for a bit. And if the Rogues forgot that she’s Pixie well, better for her, right? Pixie just wore her hair like Tinkerbell and wore a bit of green.

The guy he was aiming at made to run.

Marinette grabbed a makeshift bolas and threw it at his knees. She recognized him from one of the RKC hit lists—human trafficker. He fell with them wrapped around tight and defiantely injured bith his knees with how the weights hit him.

“I, Pixie Pop?” Weird, no one had seen her as Pixie in two years. How’d he know it was her?

“Yeah. Havent been around much lately.” She threw another bola at another guy. “You new?”

“Talk after i kill these guys.”

Marinette rolled her eyes, because really?

She threw a knife to screw his aim into non-lethal on one guy. “Kick their ass first, some RKC are in here.”

Helmet oddly did as she said, switching from guns to—is that. A. Sword?

She twisted to punch the guy sneaking up on her. Helmet threw a sword and landed it in his shoulder.

“Thanks!”

“Holy shot you’re really here this time.”

“Did you get hit with feargas as a baby or something?” Her partner being prone to dellusions and good with weapons was a bad thing.

“Just came back from the dead is all.”

marinette hit the guy going for helmet with her stun gun.

“That’ll do it!”

Helmet turned to one of the guys, gun at the ready. She had a feeling Helmet needed a lot of help, or else one of Rose’s agents would be down.

“If you know about pixies, you should know she got an upgrade to having some trust dust.”

Marinette walked over to the guy, letting her tracker plant take a look. The flower bloomed and he got a face full of ‘filter-less pollen’ that’s as close to a truth serum as Rose could make. After all, people can turn sides.

“Truth pollen?” Helmet was staring at her closely.

“Yep.” Marinette turned to her victim. “Are you helping the traffickers?”

“Does infiltration and killing them count as helping?”

Helmet stared at them then.

“Which team?”

“HKT ma’am. How did you get rose to give you one of those?”

“Think for a minute who she gives these to.”

“Comanding officers of the the RKC reconn and interigation but there’s only 15 and i met them all when i joined in the fall.”

“Im the summer help when theyre not puppy gaurding. Now, i have to do zipties on the traffickers, think you can help?”

“I lost coordination from the pollen.”

“Of course you did.”

Marinette turned to see Helmet staring at her. Like she should be dead, not the new revival guy.

“Good enough.”

“I thought only Poison Ivy could do things like that.”

“I have a badass team, well, when they aren’t going overboard. One week kidnapped and suddenly im made of glass.”

“Pixie you are what, ten?”

“So? Two of my best friends went missing becuase no one stepped up, one of them resurfaced as an idiot a year later but still.”

Helmet stopped then. “Two?”

“Hero stalker went after our big brother vanished.. he came back as an idiot.”

Helmet paused. “Hey, you check the others and i’ll help you drop off the good ones at a doctor or something.”

“Zipties are at the ready. Mind doing your share?”

Helmet did as she asked, working with her until all was squared away.

“Okay, my tracker gave off a signal to the RKC to gather our guys here, and—why are bleeding?”

Helmet looked up at her then. “I am?”

“... you’re coming with me since i dont know if you need a transfusion, but i know a guy who can help.”

“I’m driving.”

“On what?”

“Motorcycle.”

Marinette let him walk her to it, and she got on first. He ‘drove’ them while the plant told her when to turn. They ended up at her dad’s clinic as ‘Mr. Smith’. He was so grounding her.

“Smith, i need help,” she tried.

Her dad came out and paled when he saw her carrying Helmet. Before he passed out he let her take it off. “Red hoodie... oh god he said he was revived.”

Her father worked out the blood bags while she checked the wound, bullet still in there. She got it out with tweezers. No major damage to the muscles and shit. How many scars did he have? Pre or post revival?

When he came to she turned to her father and said one thing.

“So this is my new brother. Dont try to get out of it, he kept me alive when i was comstantly pixie, and you said if he was in a bad place then you’d take him in, no questions asked.”

Strange sighed, nodded, and went back to fixing Helmet up.

The next day he was forced moved into an extra room by hers. Somehow there was already clothes his size and style in it.

“Pixie...”

“Im determined and my honorary aunt is a cat burglar.”

Helmet hugged her.

“So for the documents, what do you want to go by?”

Helmet said he didnt want it to be obvious, given who he was before.

“Its not like you were robin.”

“I was.”

“.... i know two robins now, pre-robining. What is my life?”

“ you are ten, calm down. And you knew dick?”

“Met him as Nightwing, not very friendly. But uh, remember hero stalker?”

“The idiot who followed me and B?”

“Yeah, so funny thing, it was a thing that he wanted to be Robin when you went off from Gotham, and then he somehow managed to convince bats to take him on.”

“That Child is Robin.”

“Will be another hero soon if he knows what’s good for him—he’s too easy to make.”

“Wait, you know who he is-is or—”

“I know 5 secret identities and want to lodge a formal complaint about heroes having no secret identity game.”

“Youre ten. I refuse to let you deal with legal things.”

“But illegal is still on the table?”

“I am a vigilante, of course it is.”

“Good, so can we tlak about how dumb Supes secret id is? I photoshoped glasses on as a joke and looked at my file and knew.”

“Wait have they found you yet?”

“No? I dont think so. Not the mom and step dad or father one yet.”

“But its.”

“I know, but i can keep multiple secret identities. They cant handle one. What is this bull they drop in my lap? No masks for two of them, and the three with cant even manage a basic gait switch?”

“I am so glad you noticed too.”

“Also we need to intervene with Hero Stalker.”

“Does your father know-know or...”

“Knows i know, but knows im not telling even in death.”

“Fair. So, heads up i am going to yell at the JL after killing B for impact.”

“How about beating him up instead and kidnapping Hero Stalker? Bats is fine just needs an adult working with him.”

“Maybe. If my mind wasnt so fucked i’d send the Dick a text or something about this, but i think he hates me so that probably wouldnt work.”

“We have planning time, that’s what my house arrest is good for. Now name.”

“... i want to go by Jay.”

“James work?”

“Sure.”

“James “Jay” Smith then. And we are fixing your vilagante outfit.”

“What’s wrong with it.”

“Your helmet has a nose. And the who this is shit for discreet armour. I’ll get a rant in fifteen on armor history from a fashion obsessed friend and make something for you using that, ok?”

“Do i have a choice?”

“I am your little sister offically. resistance is futile.”

—

So the long awaited return of Red Hoodie/Red Hood/Jason Todd.

For refrence (as age is weird here) Jason looks 14/15 here, but due to dead years is technically 18

Tim is 12

Marinette is 10

Dick is 20something.

Bruce is 30something

Heads up, this will be a two parter for this summer. As i love the next part but need sleep.

@ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @emeraldpuffguide @dast218 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5

#maribat #maribat au #ml au #my au #my idea #marinette strange dupain cheng #marinette strange dupain cheng part 9 #bio! dad au #bio!dad strange #bio!dad au #this was so long guys #jason is back though #next one is chaos and tag-teaming and so much #its a ride and then we get ladybugging after

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salenakingston · 4 years ago

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Decided to kick things off by doing a sample prompt to try and get my work out there. I asked my fiancé to pick a prompt and I rolled with it. Thanks my beloved. Any other prompts I get will follow this same format. Might as well get that out of the way. Any warnings will be placed at the top and in the tags.

Prompt: “it could be worse.”

“You aren’t the one bleeding.”

“Look, you are still alive. Stop whining.”

Warnings: Bodies/Corpses, Blood, Cannibalism, Violence, Death

Timeline of Events: Pre-Whitegale Estate (Backstory)

Total Word Count: 2,169 words

What was once believed to be impossible became a reality when a single switch had been flipped, the world around every living being changing forever. Living in a day and age where crime and punishment was seen in just black and white rather than a spectrum came with their own set of consequences.

A blazing fire.

Rotting flesh.

Screams.

Anger boiled out from one source, unable to be contained by the loss that had been suffered. Sickly green and the sheen of silver surrounded the space. It consumed anything that it touched, much like the same orange that enraged there once before. The smell was disgusting, but there was a certain amount of pleasure that came with it. It meant that the fires were winning. Wires tore, fire blazed, and blood painted the wood, stone, and earth beneath.

And then there was the continued screaming.

So much terror, but almost like it was music. At least that was how it started.

Then its luster began to fade.

The voices and ringing grew louder.

Louder.

LOUDER.

SCREAMING.

The sound of metal clinking against tile echoed through the room. A tool had been dropped from a shaking hand, a hand belonging to a tired looking man. Even though he wasn’t that old, nearly all of his hairs had turned white. A ratted duster covered most of his exposed body, the smell of iron hanging in the air around him. Bloody and bandaged fingers gripped at the side of a metal table, bile rising in his mouth as he leaned over. This was not the first time something like this had happened, though rarely was it when he was awake. He must have been trying a new tactic.

As if any of the other ones he had already tried weren’t bad enough.

“Stop!” The man’s voice rang out in the seemingly empty air. A chuckle echoed in the back of his mind, a pain spiking along the side of his head. Hands tightened around the grip of the table, sure that if he were to let go that he would crumble to the floor. He couldn’t make it seem like he had given in, even if it meant choosing the illogical option of the two placed in front of him. Standing in the face of pain seemed a much more bold display than falling and clinging to the spot where the pain emanated.

The chuckling didn’t stop, and soon shifted more into laughter. It had such a taunting tone to it, mocking the man for his current position. A voice pushed its way to the forefront of any of his thoughts, “Aww, what’s the matter? Don’t like taking a walk down memory lane?”

“I am w-wor-rking.” The man stuttered out. His once confident voice began to deteriorate when this demon invaded. He couldn’t hide how tiring it was to keep fighting back.

His eyes flashed for a moment, green flickering to orange, “Come on Malceum. You’ve been picking at these bodies for hours. Let’s go have some fun.”

“No. I-I’m so c-clos-se. I ca-an f-feel it.”

An entire lifetime’s worth of knowledge could have been, no.. had been, crammed into the man’s head since magic and the unknown became as real as anything else. The coined title of a ‘warlock’ held very little meaning when their powers couldn’t be seen by any passing person that he came across. Most information had been very hard to come by, but he had managed. Desperation drove him to pursue this knowledge by any means necessary, consequences be damned.

He was already suffering far worse than whatever sort of law enforcement might be able to do to him.

He couldn’t stop working. Sleep was an afterthought. Food was something only to be taken when absolutely necessary, unless he was forced to by his tormentor. He was always so careful, every cut precise, each test ran to the finest process. His surgeon skills were placed perfectly to obtain anything he needed, and there never seemed to be a shortage of bodies for him to use, whether that came from work, or by his own hands.

Even through the bandages he could feel his skin coated with blood. Sometimes he disgusted himself at the level of brutality he would do to a corpse, but it all faded when he remembered who he was doing all this for.

No, he couldn’t afford to stop working for a moment.

But he didn’t like that. He didn’t like getting ‘no’ for an answer.

Eyes flickered again, that familiar feeling of bile beginning to rise in his throat. His head pressed to the table, dry heaving above the pristine tile. He wasn’t sure how long he would be able to hold onto himself before one of two outcomes were to take place. He would take over, or he would have to endure another punishment. It seemed that he was keen on the former of those two this time around.

Sickness was just a means of bending his plaything to his will.

After a valiant effort on his host’s part, the flames of his eyes finally faded, and in their place came those silted orange ones. How nice it was to be able to be the one in control again. Pushing himself back up, his arms stretched out, no longer feeling any sort of pain radiating, “Sorry my dear host, but you’ve been in here for far too long. Let’s go for a little evening stroll.”

Was it evening already? Just how much time had really passed since he had begun working? Everything just seemed to blur together for him.

They left the lab, tucked safely under his own office building. Being a private surgeon had its perks, especially when considering the country he lived in. Germany never did have a good reputation, but it with the people that lived here, or with other nations at large. The pay was alright, and good thing too when it came to getting more that was required for the project at hand. They turned around, making sure the door was locked out of habit, but mostly because he knew his host would panic otherwise.

They turned down the street, pulling the hood of his duster up. They had been sure to clear their hands before coming out here, but the same could not be said for the splatters of red staining brown along his chest. It didn’t seem to bother them anyways. They kept their head held high, not paying too much mind to the lights beaming down from lamps, or the glow that shined from the moon and stars above.

Well, now it was more a matter of finding some entertainment. That was the whole point of this anyways.

Orange eyes darted around the streets in front of him. Now then, what would be a perfect place? It’ll have to be somewhere secluded, or easy to access for such a thing. Maybe we should feast again. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

No…

A strong arm soon wrapped around their tiny torso, pulling him into a nearby alley. There wasn’t much of a point to fighting back, as this could be just the kind of entertainment that he was seeking. They were dragged further into the darkness, their eyes seeming to be the only thing that glowed against their surroundings. The tugging soon stopped, their body colliding into a brick wall. Well, wasn’t this just as cliché as it got? Right down to the number of bodies he managed to catch in the moonlight, their armed persons, and even some of them waving magic around as if it was supposed to be threatening.

Fools.

They should run.

But they won’t. You’re an easy target.

They brush themselves off, standing up properly before addressing the thugs, “What a shame you all must be to this supposed great country. Just living up to what the world thinks of us aren’t you?”

“This one’s sure got a mouth on him.” “Oh don’t worry, we’ll fix that.”

Typical, and stupid. They were the ones in danger.

Run!

They stepped forward, concern thrown out the window as they casually placed one hand on the closest thug, “Now listen here, I’m a very busy man. This has been fun, but I can guarantee this little interaction is going to be far too boring for me. Maybe I’ll be nice just this one time and let you all leave with your lives. How’s that sound?”

All of them seemed genuinely shocked, as if they had never had one of their victims act so bold before. But they knew how this was going to go. The group was going to swell their ego. They were not going to let this one man simply walk away. A pity that none of them ever learned. Oh well, guess he was going to have to take this. He would find a way to make this more thrilling.

They felt something insert itself inside them. More than one thing really. How dull. Their weapons tore along the broken man’s body, echoes of cries ringing in their head. Oh his poor, little toy. Laughter exploded from the man’s lips. There was hesitance around him, eyebrows raising, positions frozen. Their laughter didn’t seem to die down at all, and the longer it went on, the more wrong this all seemed to be.

Shines of silver began to shine from the man’s body, almost like tiny little threads were twirling around them. Without much warning, the threads, wires, took hold of their victims. The weapons fell from their body, clanging to the stone walkway of the alley. They stepped over towards one of their victims, an ear to ear grin stretching across their face, “Poor sods. I was willing to be nice, but you didn’t want to listen.”

Stop.

“You know, my host hasn’t had a good meal for a while. I would know, I am constantly watching him. Maybe it’s time we fixed that.”

Stop!

“Maybe I’ll even be much more generous and gift him some new test subjects for his little project. You all should be honored!”

STOP! They stepped close, the wires wrapping tightly around the victims’ bodies, specifically over their mouths. Couldn’t let anyone hear their screaming now could they? The last thing that thug saw was a row of sharp teeth, something no human should ever have. They sank into his flesh, ripping and tearing the skin before devouring the meat to their heart’s content.

He was disgusted.

He hated himself.

He never wanted a life like this. Why did he have to do this to him?

Wires dragged the new corpses back in the darkness, coming back to the door of a familiar office. It was unlocked, and then the man stepped back inside. His grin hadn’t faded, not even as he padded down the familiar steps to the lab, “That was actually quite fun, and look! Your stomach isn’t empty anymore. Aren’t I just so kind to you?”

Silence.

Once they came to the same surgical room, the bodies were tossed to one corner, as if they were nothing more than just trash. They stepped over to a mirror, arms lifting up to undo the duster. There were a few deep gashing along their chest, something only seemed to bother the one that had become nothing more than a voice. Their shoulders shrugged at the sight, “It could be worse.”

You’re not the one bleeding.

“Look, you’re still alive. Stop whining. As if I would let anything happen to my little pet. If you were dying, I’d be the first to know. You’re fine.”

No… he wasn’t. He hadn’t been for a long time.

But that’s why he was here in the first place, wasn’t he?

They guided their body over to the numerous medical supplies, hands coming together, “Come now, let’s get you patched up.”

The rest of the night dragged on, harsher than it needed to be with his form of healing. By the time Malceum had come back into the picture, his mind was more tired, and his body spent. He finally was able to make his way to bed, off to a sleep he knew would not be pleasant. When he woke up the next morning…? Was it morning? The sun was out, but time was broken to him. It didn’t really matter, not having anything scheduled for today.

A paper rested at his doorstep, a familiar news article about a brutal mauling in the city’s alleys staring him in the face. This was not the first time he had seen this, and was sure it would not be the last. Slipping into a cleaner duster, the man returned to the lab, iron smacking his senses. Right… his new subjects. Well… might as well use them since they were here.

Time to get to work?

A sigh, “T-Tim-me to get to w-work.”

#my writing #writing prompt #prompt answered #tw; bodies/corpses #tw; blood #tw; cannibalism #tw; violence #tw; death #novembria #malceum #The Good Doctor #alastair #please let me know if I missed any triggers #I think I got them all

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keelywolfe · 5 years ago

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FIC: A Bolt From the Blue

Summary: Edge wasn't a skeleton who was easily rattled, (heh). But when it's Blue's turn to be de-aged and Stretch is out of commission, it's enough to weaken the stiffest spine.

Tags: Pre-Spicyhoney, Pre-Relationship, De-Aged, Baby Bones, First Times

Notes: So, I have this weird not-really-a-series-but-it-is storyline of de-aged fics.

The stories are, in order:

A Little Edgy | A Lot Edgier | Keeping Elastic | A Bit of a Stretch | Ankle Biter

And now this one:

Read ‘A Bolt From the Blue’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

Edge was not one often taken hold of by shock.

Underfell was an effective teacher, one that taught the necessity of quick reactions, and a moment spent frozen in indecision was a moment that might end in dust.

But when Edge opened his front door impatiently to see who was knocking at it in the late afternoon when he was off-duty, he found himself in such a moment, staring in mute surprise at what lay before him.

Stretch was standing on his porch, but instead of his normal cocky smirk, he looked at Edge with a sort of dull confusion. One of his eye lights was blown out in a wide, diffused cloud and the other narrow as a pen light. Slung on his hip was a squalling baby skeleton, tears streaming down their small face as they rocked precariously on their perch. Neither of them were dressed to be out in the cold, only in shorts and t-shirts and to Edge’s growing horror, he saw Stretch was barefooted out in the snow.

“help me,” Stretch said weakly and he sagged to the ground.

The baby fell from his loosened grasp and for one brief, horrible moment, Edge imagined him hitting the porch, that fine, porcelain smooth skull cracking against the hard cement.

Barely in time, Edge caught him by the scruff of his shirt, the child briefly dangling in his unsteady grip before Edge managed to get an arm under him and hoisted the baby against his chest. He was bawling unhappily, reaching for his brother who’d collapsed in a heap on their porch, flakes of snow already collecting on his still form.

“Red!” Edge shouted and his brother appeared at his side, eye lights blazing and an attack already forming around him. The bones quivered, hesitated, then vanished as Red waved a hand, taking in the scene before him with the same aghast bewilderment as Edge.

His brother shook himself from his shock much quicker, “boss, what the fuck?”

“Here.” Edge rudely thrust the baby as Red, who took him automatically, then crouched next to Stretch’s prone body. Carefully, he checked Stretch over. His skull wasn’t cracked but a quick glance showed a heavy bruise on the backside of it, bad enough to explain his loss of consciousness. He gathered Stretch gingerly into his arms, warily looking out over their yard. There was no sign that the Swap brothers had been followed --and yes, looking at the child he could see indeed that was who was on his porch, Blue in miniature-- but if their attacker was still in Underswap, he couldn’t assume they wouldn’t find their way here.

Stretch wasn’t light and he was tall enough to make carrying him awkward, gangling arms and legs dangling. Edge grunted with the effort of carrying Stretch over to the sofa. Behind him, he could hear the door shutting and the locks snicking closed, the baby’s sobs trickling into unhappy hiccoughs.

“his hp is down,” Red said, low.

No shit, Edge almost said, casting an irritated glance back at his brother. His glance snagged, pausing as it took in something that seemed more out of a book of fairy tales than his own brother. The baby was expertly folded into Red’s arms, still sniffling but cuddling in close, his tiny skull resting against the fur-lined collar of Red’s jacket as Red rubbed a soothing hand down his back. He’d expected Red to plop the baby on the floor the moment the door was closed, but he only carried Blue along over to the sofa, the three of them looking down at Stretch who showed no sign of regaining consciousness with the change in scenery.

Blue whimpered again, struggling against Red’s hold to reach out for his brother, but Red didn’t let him squirm loose. “nope, hang out with me for a mo’, baby bones. don’t you fret, your bro’s gonna be fine.” His watery chortle as Red gave him a playful chuck under the chin was almost as surreal as seeing him as a baby at all.

Edge ran a couple of checks of his own. Stretch’s HP wasn’t the strongest to begin with and yes, he’d lost a point off his minuscule 5; even as a baby, Blue’s HP was at a hearty 20. But the worst contrast to his brother was that Stretch was so still, so quiet, that glaring bruise standing out against his pale skull. What sort of person attacked a Monster caring for an infant?

There was a certain anger starting to pulse in his own skull. As gently as he could manage, Edge lifted the hem of Stretch’s t-shirt, looked him over for more bruises but the one on his skull seemed to be the only one. He checked beneath his shorts with even more fastidiousness, keeping the touch professionally discreet. There was none of his growing anger in any of his brisk, careful touches, and still from behind him came his brother’s voice.

“calm down, bro, his hp ain’t dropping anymore, so he’ll be fine.”

Fine. He would be fine. Except how he’d been attacked in Underswap with his de-aged brother in his care. Briefly, he thought of their conversation after Stretch returned from his own second toddlerhood. His fear of...someone...that he claimed was gone. Perhaps not so gone as Stretch believed.

“He needs to get some food in him,” Edge said abruptly. He stood up and went to the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out the small container of broth he’d set aside to make soup with that weekend. Every movement was carried out with precision, from setting the pan on the burner to pouring the warm broth into a bowl, carrying it back out to the sofa with a spoon in hand.

Spooning out the broth a teaspoon at a time was an exercise in patience, dribbling it into Stretch’s slackly open mouth and coaxing him to swallow. Every droplet would go towards his HP and hopefully his consciousness, and Edge was nothing if not persistent in it, sitting on the side of the sofa and dosing out each spoonful.

His gaze kept straying back to his brother and Blue. Concerned as he was for Stretch, there were Mettaton shows not half as entertaining as watching Red sitting cross-legged on their floor playing patty-cake with a tiny baby bones with near disturbing cheer, and if Edge had a single regret in his life it would be that he couldn’t record that. Not only was it an excellent blackmail material, it was a shame Stretch was missing the sight.

His brother had dug out a pair of footie pajamas for Blue from somewhere, fluffy and almost too-large and the hood was drawn up over his skull with long, floppy bunny ears hanging from it. It seemed Blue had been starry-eyed from creation and his babbling laughter was charming, even as his lanky brother’s silence carried on.

It was only when the broth was nearly gone that Stretch groaned, finally rousing. He blinked at Edge and the smile that spread across his face was unexpectedly sultry for one with a head injury, “hey, handsome, when did you stop by?”

Edge reeled back, away from the languid hand that reached out to him, hyper-aware of his brother watching with amused interest. He ignored the heat of the blush staining across his cheekbones and said, “I didn’t, you came here.”

“...huh?...what do you...holy shit,” Stretch sat up suddenly, sockets going wide and wild. “blue?? where’s my brother--”

“he’s right here, honey bun, calm down.” Red scooped up the baby bones, who’d looked up when he heard his brother’s voice, already starting to whimper as he reached for Stretch. Red brought him over, settling him into the cradle of Stretch’s outstretched arms.

He snuggled the baby close somewhat desperately, nuzzled a kiss against the top of Blue’s skull while he giggled happily, “Pappy!”

“yep, pappy,” Stretch mumbled, “that’s me, kiddo.”

Edge gave them a moment before giving into the impatient need clouding his own skull and asked quietly, “Who attacked you?”

He wasn’t expecting Stretch to blink at him in confusion, “wha…? attacked me? no one attacked me, why would they?”

Instead of arguing, Edge reached out to lightly touched the bruise on his skull and Stretch hissed out a groan. “oh, man. so, undyne brought blue over after she’d asked him to stop by and i’m telling you, i have no idea what experiment she’s working on and why she needs to use skeletons to do it, but i’m about over this. anyway, she said it’ll only be a few hours, so i got blue into some clothes and dug out some toys for him to mess with. only, i guess i’m not used to having a baby underfoot anymore, he left some blocks in the middle of the room and i tripped. hit my head on the coffee table, i think. it’s a little woozy after that.” he looked around, a touch apprehensively. “so this is where i ended up, then? sorry about that.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” And if his relief was so overwhelming that his knees felt faintly weak, no one would know while he was sitting. There was no enemy waiting back in Underswap with nefarious intentions, Stretch and Blue were safe.

“nah, it’s fine, honey bun,” Red agreed. His mouth quirked up ruefully, “when we got the machine goin’, didn’t realize we were gonna end up trading babysitting duties, huh?”

“about the last thing on my mind, yeah,” Stretch sighed. Blue was starting to squirm and Stretch set the baby back on the floor.

Blue crawled happily across the carpet, crowing with delight, and as they watched, his joints began to sparkle with an unknown light. In one moment, there was a baby bones on his hands and knees, his bunny jammies scuffing against the carpet. In another, there was a still short but adult-sized Blue, who rolled over to sit, blinking down in bewilderment at his bones covered only in the shreds of pajamas.

Those bright, starry eye lights constricting to pinpricks as he frantically and ineffectively tried to cover himself with his bony hands.

“Can I please have something to wear?” Blue cried. His entire skull was suffused with the shade of his namesake, blushing deeply. Immediately, Red whipped off his jacket and slung it around Blue’s shoulders.

“chivalry ain't dead, huh?” Stretch snickered, ignoring the upraised middle finger Red offered him. “you know, if this is gonna be an ongoing problem, we need a better plan for baby clothes. a material along the lines of the hulk’s shorts would be good.”

Stretch shifted restlessly, one brow bone raised at Edge, and he realized Stretch was trying to get up. Hastily he backed away as Stretch stood, living up to his namesake with a groan. “welp, we can get out of your way. c’mon, bro, let’s head for home.”

Three voices protested immediately,

“I’m not wearing pants!”

“not with my jacket, he ain’t.”

“You don’t have any shoes!”

Stretch blinked at them all, “wow, okay, guess not yet.” He looked down at his bare feet, lifting one and wiggling his toes. “you have any boots without stilettos i can borrow?”

“The heel yes, a blade, no,” Edge said dryly. “Hang on. Brother?”

“yeah, yeah,” Red jerked his chin towards the stairs. “c’mon, blueberry, i got something you can borrow closer to your size.”

“Thank you,” Blue said, shyly, holding Red’s coat around him. That his shyness was utterly unaffected made it that much more charming and Edge watched in astonishment as a ruddy blush bloomed on Red’s cheek bones, his eye lights skittering around in search of a place to look.

“yeah, sure,” Red said, gruffly. “come on.”

Edge didn’t watch them going upstairs, leaving him alone with Stretch for the first time in weeks.

The last time was back when Red had been the baby bones, and that night they’d kissed, once, twice, three times, but nothing more had come of it. On movie night neither of them mentioned it or tried to corner the other, staying by their brother’s sides and if he’d felt those pale eyes grazing over him, Edge hadn’t tried to meet them.

It was for the best. Kissing Stretch had been a foolish impulse, they couldn’t be anything to each other. Stretch should be back in the safety of Underswap and nowhere near Underfell.

Except.

This was where he’d come, dazed and hurting, looking for protection. He’d come here and now Stretch was looking at him with those soft, pale eye lights, thinking Angel-knew what thoughts behind them as his tongue flicking nervously over his teeth.

“boots?” he prompted, and Edge nodded, but made no move towards the closet.

“Stretch--” Edge tried to say more and found he couldn’t. Any words that came to mind were meaningless, trite, and he stood there like a fool, staring into pale eye lights that were waiting on him.

Well, if nothing else, he was no coward.

Stretch’s sockets widened as Edge stepped closer, but he didn’t move away, only blinked once, twice, as Edge leaned in and pressed a light kiss to his mouth. One that Stretch deepened, teeth parting, and his tongue swept lightly over Edge’s own. Their fourth kiss and suddenly Edge wanted a fifth, wanted too many to count, oh, he wanted--

He drew back with a gasp, stumbling back out of the reach of hands that lifted towards him. Those hands fell empty to Stretch’s sides and the emotions on his face were too tangled to parse, only none of them seemed happy. He swallowed and looked down, “yeah, um, so. boots?”

“Don’t leave yet,” Edge blurted. He shouldn’t do this, but. Stretch’s unhappy expression shifted to confusion. “You need to eat something more than broth.”

A faint, lopsided smile curved up Stretch’s mouth. “so...you’re inviting me to dinner, then?”

He could play it off, Edge realized, scoff it away as teasing, nothing more than a meal to recover Stretch’s HP. He could and his inner voice shrieked for him to do just that, this was a dangerous game, didn’t he play enough of those, day in and day out?

But that was simply life in Underfell, nothing that he’d chosen. Nothing that he’d wanted, so very much.

Edge met that hopeful, uncertain gaze and only said simply, “Yes.”

“great,” Stretch flopped back on the sofa, bracing one bare foot against the coffee table. “me and red can hold down the furniture while you and blue get your gordan ramsey on.”

Almost, Edge snapped at him that he wasn’t a servant, his already raised hackles stirring. Before he could, he suddenly noticed Stretch’s hands were clenched in his lap, that his smile was a little too tight and tremulous. A dangerous game, but it seemed they were both willing to play.

“I’ll get started, then,” Edge said, slowly.

“i’ll tell blue when he comes down.” From the speculative glance he sent up to Red’s room, he was no more willing to check on them than Edge was.

Almost, Edge turned to the kitchen, hesitating, then rounded the coffee table, cupping Stretch’s chin in his hand and stealing another quick, soft kiss. Number five, he thought hazily, sighing as Stretch returned it.

Then he drew back, taking a moment to slap Stretch’s foot from the table before he went into the kitchen. For now, Edge planned to lose himself in cooking, give his churning emotions a chance to settle before they made butter of his thoughts.

Dinner first, they could decide on the rest later.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #underswap sans

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