#little guy who scrambles and skitters

[theramblingvoid]

Hallowrove kept the Singing Mandrake from Bag a Legend and carries it everywhere with them in their pocket. His name is Sneeve. He's good protection, in theory, that Dangerous score is no joke - he might be a singer but he still reverts to shrieking and biting most of the time. Primarily though, his uses are 1. As a distraction (throw him and run in the opposite direction) 2. As the regrettable opposite of a distraction (pet him the wrong way and now every monster, constable, and anything else you might be hiding from within a 10 mile radius knows where they are) and 3. As the eternal source of despair from friends who might prefer not to be in the company of a screaming vegetable. Still, as annoying as he is sometimes, Hallowrove really does love that thing. Sneeve sleeps in a bucket of fresh mud by the door in the swamp cabin. He's an intruder alarm and an alarm clock both. <3

What are some silly facts about your fl characters? I’m talkin the fun stuff! Stuff you don’t get to talk about! Stuff that seems inconsequential to others but you think are fun! Stuff you’re embarrassed to share because it’s “not important” ! Little things! Big things! Whatever you want to talk about but don’t get to!

[pucksandpower]

Puppy Love

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you’re definitely not jealous of the tiny sausage dog who seems to take up every second of your boyfriend’s attention … but it sure feels nice when Leo decides he’s a mama’s boy and Charles gets a taste of his own medicine

You stroll into the spacious living room, eyes narrowing as you spot Charles sitting on the couch, a tiny dachshund puppy curled up contentedly on his lap. “Charles … what is that?”

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Surprise! Meet Leo, our new puppy.”

You shake your head slowly. “Our puppy? I don’t recall agreeing to get a dog.”

Charles scratches Leo’s velvety ears, eliciting a blissful tail thump. “I know, I know. But look how cute he is! I couldn’t resist.”

Crossing your arms, you try your best to seem stern despite the puppy’s heart-melting adorableness. “We haven’t even discussed this. A dog is a huge responsibility.”

“I’ve thought it through,” Charles insists. “Leo is the perfect breed for our lifestyle — small, low maintenance, and they make amazing companions.” He holds the drowsy pup up with a beseeching expression. “How can you say no to this face?”

You bite your lip, wavering. The puppy really is criminally cute with his soulful eyes and ridiculously long body. “Well … I suppose we could give it a trial run,” you concede. “But you’re taking care of him.”

Charles beams. “Deal! You’ll fall in love, I promise.” He sets Leo back on his lap, rubbing the puppy’s belly. “Who’s the best boy? You are!”

Watching them bond, a prickle of jealousy stirs in your chest. Is this what you signed up for — playing second fiddle to a canine?

Over the following days, Charles is utterly smitten, devoting every spare moment to Leo. He takes the pup everywhere, cooing over him incessantly and showering him with treats and toys. Meanwhile, you often find yourself … ignored.

“Charles? Are you listening?” You frown as he doesn’t respond, too busy dangling a chew rope just out of Leo’s reach in a teasing game.

You huff out a sigh. “I guess I’ll just make dinner for one then.”

Finally, he glances up with a distracted, “Hmm? Sorry, what was that?”

Throwing up your hands, you stalk into the kitchen, simmering with a childish sense of being replaced in your boyfriend’s affections. Stupid dog ...

A few nights later, you’re getting ready for bed when Charles appears in the doorway, Leo tucked under one arm like a furry purse. “Hey, I need to run out for a bit. Can you keep an eye on Leo?”

“What? Why?” You pause in the middle of removing your makeup.

Charles grimaces. “ I … may have waited until the last minute to get his puppy pads and food refilled.”

You groan. “Fine, I’ll watch him. But just this once!”

“You’re the best, thank you!” Charles drops a kiss on your cheek before setting Leo down with a stern, “Be good for your maman, okay?”

He dashes out, leaving you staring at the puppy sitting innocently in the middle of the bedroom floor. Leo blinks up at you, tiny tail wagging.

For a long stretch, you simply regard each other in silence. Then, hesitantly, you sink down to sit cross-legged. “Well? What am I supposed to do with you?”

Leo waddles over, sniffing at your knee before clambering into your lap with surprising determination for such a little guy. You tense, unsure what to do as he turns in a few circles and settles with a contented sigh, warm weight pressing against you.

Huh … he’s actually kind of cuddly.

Tentatively patting his silky fur, you admit, “I can see why Charles likes you so much.”

Leo’s only response is a sleepy snuffle, lashes fluttering shut. Despite yourself, you can’t resist smiling at how peaceful he looks, tiny paws twitching as he dreams. Maybe this dog thing won’t be so bad.

That notion lasts until Leo startles awake with a high-pitched yelp, legs scrambling as he leaps off your lap and takes off running. “Leo? Leo!” You give chase, wincing as his claws skitter across the hardwood in his panic.

Finally, you catch up to him quivering under the living room sofa. “Oh no, it’s okay!” You stretch out on the floor, clicking your tongue soothingly. “Come here, little guy. I’ve got you.”

Leo whimpers, but after a few tense minutes of coaxing, he creeps out just enough for you to scoop him up. You settle back against the couch with him bundled in your arms, murmuring reassurances as he trembles.

“Shhh, you’re safe … good boy ...” You press a tender kiss between his floppy ears, stroking him until his quaking fades to contented wriggles. As your apprehension melts away, a fierce protectiveness blossoms in your chest. This precious little soul is yours to care for now.

When Charles returns, he pauses in the hallway, tilting his head quizzically at the sight of you reclined on the sofa with Leo completely passed out on your stomach. “Having fun over there?”

You glance down at the slumbering puppy with a soft smile. “Actually … yeah. I think Leo and I are going to be just fine.”

A delighted grin spreads across Charles’s face. “I knew you two would hit it off!”

Over the ensuing weeks, you find yourself increasingly enamored with your four-legged child. Leo shadows your every step, bouncing around underfoot until you inevitably scoop him up to snuggle close. You start pushing all the throw pillows together to create a special nest for him on the couch. Charles teases that you’re getting a little carried away with spoiling the pup rotten.

“Oh, hush,” you retort without any real bite, nuzzling Leo’s plush cheek. “My baby deserves nothing but the best, isn’t that right?”

“Baby?” Charles arches an amused brow. “I think someone’s going overboard.”

You stick out your tongue, cuddling Leo closer with a playful glare. “Don’t listen to your papa. He’s just jealous of our bond.”

“Hey, I’m not the one treating him like a literal infant!” Charles laughs, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s ears. But the puppy twists away with a protesting whine, burying his face against your neck.

Charles pauses, brow furrowing in a brief flicker of hurt. You think nothing of it until the same thing happens again at dinner … and on your evening walk around the block … and at bedtime when Leo kicks up a fuss about sleeping in his own bed instead of yours.

“Leo, come on!” Charles groans in frustration when the puppy darts under the dresser instead of coming to him. “What’s with you lately?”

He shoots you an aggrieved look, ruffling a hand through his tousled waves. “Ever since you started carrying him everywhere, he won’t leave your side. You’ve turned my own dog against me!”

You shrug innocently, scratching behind Leo’s silky ear when he peeks out to flash you an adoring gaze. “I can’t help it if he knows who his favorite parent is.”

“Favorite parent?” Charles splutters. “That’s my dog you’re talking about!”

You gasp in mock offense, gathering Leo up to press a loud smacker against his fuzzy head. “Don’t listen to him, baby! Papa’s just grumpy because I’m better at cuddles.”

Charles narrows his eyes at the giggling puppy now practically swimming in your embrace. “Is that so? We’ll see about that.”

He swoops in to snatch Leo away, cradling the squirming pup against his chest. “Who’s the favorite, huh? I’m the one who picked you out, you little traitor.”

But Leo simply strains back towards you, pawing at Charles’ arm with distressed whimpers until you take him back. He immediately settles with a contented sigh, licking your chin gloatingly as Charles gapes.

“Oh, that is war ...” Your boyfriend mutters, stalking away with hunched shoulders.

You blink after him in confusion before shrugging it off in favor of cooing over the dachshund. “Did mean old Papa try to take you from Mama? Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t let him.”

From that point on, a constant battle for Leo’s affections rages between you and Charles. He’ll try enticing the puppy with treats or toys, only for Leo to bypass them entirely in favor of your open arms. You can’t help but preen victoriously every time Leo cuddles into your embrace with a sigh of pure bliss.

“You’ve turned him against me!” Charles bemoans one evening as Leo dozes contentedly on your lap, stubbornly ignoring the tennis ball being waved enticingly in front of his nose. “What’s a guy got to do to get some puppy love around here?”

You smirk, idly stroking Leo’s velvety ears. “Guess he just prefers spending time with his one true love.”

“Yeah, yeah ...” Charles grumbles, but you catch the fond curl of his lips as he watches you fawning over the pup. He flops down beside you with a theatrical groan. “Unbelievable. Replaced in my own home by a hairy sausage.”

You gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t call my baby such things!” Scooping up Leo, you pepper his fuzzy face with smooches until he squirms happily. “Did you hear what Papa said about you? He’s just jealous!”

“I am not jealous!” Charles protests, even as his gaze tracks the gentle way you cradle the puppy. There’s a wistful edge to his voice when he murmurs, “Remember when you used to look at me like that?”

You pause, registering the plaintive note. Slowly, you shift Leo into the crook of one arm so you can reach out and cup Charles’ cheek with your free hand, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “Aww, my poor baby,” you tease gently. “Don’t worry — there’s enough love to go around for both of you.”

Charles leans into your touch with a huff, darting eyes betraying how much he misses your undivided attention. “I’m starting to doubt that.”

“Well then, let me remind you ...” You lean in until your lips are a hair’s breadth from his, holding his gaze as you murmur, “I happen to have the world’s biggest, most annoyingly persistent crush on this one race car driver.”

A shiver ripples through Charles, his breath catching. Before he can respond, you close the scant distance in a searing kiss, lips molding hot and desperate as you pour every ounce of adoration into the embrace. Leo gives a disgruntled squeak at being squished between your bodies, quickly wriggling free to skitter off with an offended sniff.

You hardly notice, too busy mapping the contours of Charles’ mouth with hungry sweeps of your tongue, muffling his delicious groans by deepening the kiss. By the time you finally break apart, you’re both left panting harshly, gazes locked in a blissful haze.

“Still think I only have eyes for the dog?” You rasp, relishing the way Charles’ pupils are blown wide.

He swallows thickly. “You make a … convincing argument.”

“Mmm, I try.” You lean in to nip at his kiss-swollen lower lip with a sly grin. “But I’m more than happy to keep making my case ...”

Charles growls low in his throat, hauling you forward until you’re properly straddling his lap, bodies flush. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Breathless laughter spills from your lips as he surges up to capture them once more, hands roaming eagerly over your curves. In that heated moment, the puppy is forgotten as you pour all your focus into worshiping each other, affections firmly realigned.

Well … until a tiny bark sounds from nearby, followed by indignant grumbling and the patter of tiny paws. You reluctantly break the steamy kiss, rolling your eyes fondly as Leo hops up onto the couch to shove his way between the two of you.

“Easy there, troublemaker,” you chuckle, stroking the puppy’s silken fur as he clambers between you and Charles, yipping happily now that he has both his humans’ full attention. “See, baby? I told you there was enough love for all of us.”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “It’s a good thing he’s cute.”

You grin, leaning in to rest your forehead against his as Leo snuggles down with a contented sigh. In this perfect cocoon of warmth and adoration, you can’t imagine anything better.

And if the three of you stay snuggled up on that couch long into the evening, trading lingering kisses and delighted giggles as Leo’s little tail thumps happily … well, no one has to know.

[luvst4rc0r3]

“Mistletoe Mishchief”

Jinx x F!Reader

WC:1473

NOTE: GUYS I WANT IT TO BE CHRISTMAS AGAIN😭😭

The apartment was a disaster zone of glitter, tinsel, and tangled lights. Jinx had gotten a little too enthusiastic about the decorating process—like she did with everything else in life—and now, half the decorations were strung haphazardly around the room.

“Jinx,” you called out, holding up a strand of lights that looked like it had been through a war. “How did you manage to break this and tangle it at the same time?”

“I told you,” Jinx replied from across the room, balancing precariously on a chair while attempting to tape a paper snowflake to the ceiling. “The decorations were trying to kill me! You should be thanking me for saving your life.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back a grin. “Sure, babe. You’re my hero. Now get down before you fall and break something���preferably not yourself.”

Jinx stuck her tongue out at you but hopped down anyway, her combat boots hitting the floor with a thud. “Where’s Isha? She’s supposed to be helping us!”

As if on cue, your six-year-old child came skittering into the living room, holding a sprig of mistletoe in her hand. Her wavy blue hair was a wild mess, and her cheeks were flushed with excitement.

She tugs on your shirt, waving the mistletoe like it was a trophy. “Look what I found!” She signs.

“Oh no,” Jinx said, her eyes narrowing. “She’s got ideas.”

You laughed, kneeling down to Isha’s level. “What are you up to, kiddo?”

Isha grinned, her gap in the front teeth making her look even more mischievous. “I’m gonna put this up and make you guys kiss!”

Jinx cackled, clapping her hands together. “I love this plan. Ten outta ten, kid. Go for it!”

“Wait—what?” you said, but it was too late.

Isha scrambled onto the couch, mistletoe clutched in one hand, and climbed onto the armrest like it was her personal jungle gym. Holding the mistletoe high above her head and squinting to make sure it was positioned just right.

“Careful!” you called out, hovering nervously nearby in case she lost her balance.

“I’m always careful!” she stops to sign back, which was the biggest lie you’d heard all day.

Jinx snorted. “She gets that from me.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, shaking your head.

Finally satisfied with her positioning, Isha beamed down at the two of you.

“Christmas rules, huh?” Jinx said, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “Who made those up?”

Isha points to a Santa nutcracker you guys both bought a couple months ago.

Jinx looked at you, her grin so wide it was practically splitting her face in two. “Well, we can’t argue with Santa.”

You sighed, pretending to be exasperated, but the warmth in Jinx’s eyes made it impossible not to smile. “Fine. But only because I don’t want to disappoint the kid.”

“Pfft. Sure, sure,” Jinx teased, stepping closer. “Definitely not because you wanna kiss me or anything.”

Before you could retort, she grabbed you by the waist and pulled you in, her lips meeting yours in a kiss that was softer than you expected. Jinx was all chaos and sharp edges most of the time, but moments like this reminded you of the tenderness she tried so hard to hide.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were pink, and her usual cocky grin had softened into something almost shy.

“Merry Christmas, toots,” she murmured

“Merry Christmas, my love,” you replied, feeling your own face heat up.

Above you, Isha let out a loud eugh! before collapsing into giggles and signing, “You guys are so gross!”

Jinx laughed, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Oh, we’re gross? You’re the one who made us do it!”

Isha stuck her tongue out, then leapt off the couch signing, “I’m getting cookies!” bolted toward the kitchen.

“Don’t eat all of them!” you called after her.

Jinx wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as you both watched your daughter disappear into the kitchen. “She’s a menace,” she said fondly.

“Wonder where she gets that from,” you teased, leaning into her.

Jinx grinned, unrepentant. “What can I say? She’s got good role models.”

The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of laughter, cookies, and Jinx attempting to turn the leftover tinsel into a scarf for Isha. The tree looked a little lopsided, and there was glitter everywhere, but as you sat together on the couch, Isha curled up between you with her head on Jinx’s lap, you couldn’t imagine a more perfect Christmas.

I miss Christmas😭

I want food

[the-and-sign-anon]

Stationary Shop

Word Count: 931

BSD Masterlist

Ranpo was one of your dearest friends and he knew exactly how to take advantage of that. Whenever he was bored around the office, you were the first one he’d bother. He took to asking you riddles, playing games, or seeing how quickly he could set you off on a tangent. 

Kunikida tried to discourage him from this behavior, but the young genius didn’t tend to listen to anyone. You didn’t mind most days, having adapted your schedule to work around his wandering attention. It surprised you to some degree then, when his habits changed.

Ranpo certainly wasn’t leaving you alone, but now he tended to try to entertain himself during work hours, then stuck to your side as soon as you stood up to gather your things. You would lead him along the streets and go your own way at one particular street corner. He insisted you didn’t need to accompany him from there, so you listened. 

Ranpo knew he couldn’t keep his two friends apart forever. Poe was an engaging young man who reveled in his attention. You were an absolute sweetheart who practiced nearly endless patience with him. Unfortunately, Ranpo also knew, in his infinite intelligence, that the two of you were sure to hit it off and he couldn’t risk the idea of becoming a third wheel. He treasured you both too much to let you form some kind of relationship that didn’t involve him and end up alone again. 

Like all good things however, it came to an end eventually. You were in a little store you loved visiting intending to get more of your favorite pens. Dazai teased you for being picky, but you had a reliable type of pen and preferred to stick with it. The best place to get them was this very store, so you stopped in to pick up more and got to chatting a bit with the cashier. 

She was just leaning over the counter to show you photos of her new kitten when a raccoon plopped down on her phone, startling you both. 

“Karl! Get back here right now!”

A man with thick dark hair hanging past his eyes scrambled to grab hold of the creature while the cashier snatched her phone back. The raccoon jumped down to the floor and skittered off between the shelves, forcing his apparent owner to pursue it. You tried to help out, dropping your pens on the counter and darting around to the other end of the aisle to corner it. 

The furry little beast skidded to a stop at your feet, staring up at you long enough for you to gingerly pick him up. He sniffed at you incessantly as you cradled him in your arms, allowing the man to shyly approach you. 

“Karl, that was completely uncalled for! You come back here right now.”

You looked him over for a moment, taking in his loose waves and the dark coat he wore despite the bright sunshine outside. He was… cute. And clearly a fan of animals. 

“Are you okay?”

You wiggled your fingers at the raccoon as it slowed its sniffing and looked between you and his person. 

“I’m so sorry, Karl is usually much more reserved than that. He’s just upset with me today I suppose.”

“It’s alright. Maybe your little friend was just looking for a change of pace. You okay over there, Aoki?”

“Yep! Hey, Poe.”

The man- Poe- offered a slight wave around the shelf before turning back to you. He kept his physical focus on Karl. The raccoon chittered at you softly before wiggling around to return to Poe. He clambered up on his shoulder to watch you from there with his tail hanging down across his neck. 

“He’s pretty cute.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to make sure the compliment doesn’t go to his head.”

“A big-headed raccoon just won’t do, huh?”

You reached out and Karl leaned forward to press his snout into your hand while Poe tried to ignore your proximity. He wasn’t blind, you were clearly cute, which he was never prepared for. He wasn’t the most confident guy in general, and your immediate affection for his beloved animal companion made it even harder to keep himself together. 

Against his own desire to keep talking to you, he stepped back and flickered his eyes around before they landed on what he’d come in for. Poe bent down for a moment to snatch up two bottles of jet black ink, then shuffled back towards the checkout counter. 

“Here are your pens, Y/N. See you again soon!”

“Thanks, Aoki. It was nice to meet you, Poe and Karl.”

You offered a sweet little wave and a shining smile on your way out the door. Poe stared after you until Karl nudged him, forcing him to turn away. Aoki had a knowing look in her eye while she rang up his purchase, but opted not to say anything directly. She’d met him enough times to tell he wouldn’t handle any comments well, so she just smiled as usual as he left with his fresh ink. 

In spite of all his passion for mysteries and his desire to stump Ranpo, Poe found himself thinking of nothing but you. When he put pen to paper, the only words that flowed were about you. For the entire evening, Poe moaned miserably to Karl about suffering such an intense distraction. He’d never before been rendered unable to think of his stories. Perhaps Ranpo could help him if this didn’t resolve itself quickly. After all, he had mysteries to create.

[writtenjewels]

Piano Man part 4

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Jason tried to be careful as he held the flower. He didn't want to crush it with his trembling fingers. It was so stupid, but the moment he saw it on his table and confirmed that no one else in the lounge had one, he hoped it came from Salim. It didn't make any sense—why would Salim give Jason a flower? The guy had enough to focus on with his music; he probably didn't even know Jason existed.

And yet he hoped. Jason looked Salim's way and for a moment their eyes connected. Salim smiled at him, making Jason's heart race. The older man leaned forward and Jason took a step forward, thinking Salim wanted to talk to him. But then Rachel got Salim's attention. I shouldn't bother him when he's working, Jason decided, sitting down instead.

The songs seemed a little more energetic and uplifting than usual. Jason didn't have a great ear for music, but it definitely sounded different from the usual mellow tones. He always watched Salim but tonight, it felt like Salim was watching him, too. Whenever Salim wasn't playing—and even sometimes when he was—he would look Jason's way. The first few times this happened, Jason didn't think anything of it. But it kept happening, and it made his heart skitter every time.

Finally the last set was over and the last few patrons got up to leave. Jason took his time getting up from his chair. He watched Salim close the piano lid and turn Jason's way. His face lit up seeing Jason there. After a quick glance to check what Rachel was doing, Salim climbed off the stage.

Oh, shit. Is he...? Jason's heart went wild, his face feeling hot. Yes, Salim was headed his way. Jason's mind scrambled, his limbs locked, his lungs barely able to take a breath. Salim made it to his table and gave a warm smile. That warmth slid all the way down to Jason's toes.

“Hello,” Salim greeted. “We haven't met yet. My name is Salim. Did you like the music tonight?” Jason's mind was blank so all he could manage was a nod. “I'm glad to hear that. I, ah... I was feeling inspired.” Salim's expression turned shy.

Say something, you fucking moron! Don't just stand there! Jason was furious at himself for freezing up. This wasn't like him at all.

But Salim... The softened lines of his face, the way he seemed to glow when he smiled, his dark eyes so pretty they could be jewels, the pleasantly low timbre of his voice... And his outfit. He wore a dark collared shirt and dark pants to help him blend in and not take attention away from the singer. The clothes looked good on him, flattering his broad figure. There was a hint of color—a gladiolus tucked in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Jason. My name.” Holy fuck, that was awkward. “Nice flower,” Jason blurted out.

“Thank you.” Salim touched the flower, his smile soft as he looked at Jason. “It was from a secret admirer.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one.” Salim's tone turned lighter, almost teasing. “But the only ones who got flowers had admirers, and this one had no note or message. I just assumed.”

“Huh.” Jason was very glad that the low lighting and his baseball cap shielded his face enough to hide the blush. He twirled the lily around by the stem. “Guess I got one, too. Found this at my table.”

“It's lovely.” Salim's smile was growing. He tilted his head to one side. “Who do you suppose gave it to you?”

“I donno.” He bit his lip, swallowing down his nerves. “You, uh... you got any thoughts on who gave you that flower?”

“Just one,” Salim answered. “I thought if I reciprocated, he might--”

“What?” Jason's head snapped up. “You thought it was from me?” He could feel the blush spreading down to his neck now. How had Salim known?

“I hoped it was from you, Jason,” Salim corrected, and Jason swallowed. “I always see you,” Salim continued, “and... I... it feels like you're the only one who sees me.”

Jason reached out to him on impulse. He touched Salim's arm, pulling him a little closer. The idea of being seen, even in a dark space where attention should have been elsewhere, made him warm all over. Jason reached up to push the brim of his cap up, letting his face be more exposed.

“I see you, Salim,” he said softly. “You're the only one I see.”

Salim leaned into him, nudging the hat until it fell off his head. Jason didn't even mind. “I see you, Jason,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down his spine. He tilted his head up, pulling Salim close.

When he kissed the man's lips, he felt an excited burst in his chest. Salim tugged him forward, molding them chest to chest. The kiss continued, their mouths shaping against each other, exploring and tasting. Jason finally broke away to breathe.

The rest of the room seemed blurry, but he could still see Salim, the man's face glowing and his eyes fixed on Jason. Neither could imagine looking anywhere else.

[angelmichelangelo]

*while visibly sobbing with happiness* KAPPA'S CONSTELLATION IS BACK??? oh mannn me and my ninjaturt friend are so hyped for all the Hurt you'll bring us this new year, fyi. if prompts aren't full, “You did so good. Don’t worry, you-you did so good.” with 2k12 leo's big brother complex guilting the hell out of him while mikey's hurt but mikey's just deliriously happy his brother is proud of him :"")

and if you're in a 2k3 mood instead or are already writing that duo, “Shit. Shit, that’s a lot of blood.” and/or “Get away! You’re hurting them!” for mikey and raph on a mission. raph's gruff mannerisms shifting to him straight up yelling when help *does* come. aaaaargh im sick!!!!

happy writing!

SORRY THIS TOOK ME FOREVER TO GET AROUND TO!! i appreciate these fic prompts with my whole heart, just know i plan on filling both of these but here is the first one i put a little spin on it if you don’t mind :3 ENJOY, FRIEND!! 💗

x

When the gunshot rings off in the back of the darkened alleyway, the sound of it reverberating against slick, wet brick; the bullet zipping through the short distance between the nozzle of the gun and in through Mikey’s shoulder, it makes everyone jump.

“Oh, shit,” the Dragon utters with disbelief, weapon clattering on the ground right beside where Leo now lay, sprawled out, dazed and confused before he has the sense to kick the thing away with his heel, sending it skittering towards Donatello who kicks it back even further all whilst Raph gets to work on the poor sucker that fired the shot with a crack of his knuckles.

Mikey kind of just stands there for a moment, his arm limp and unmoving at his side, as a trail of crimson slowly and steadily leaks out of the bullet hole now ripped right through the scales and tissue and muscle of his shoulder.

He gawks at it, eyes widening with his cocktail of shock and slight panic as it spits out more blood against green.

By the time the other guy is unconscious under the crunch of Raph’s fist colliding against bone, Leo has scrambled to his feet, with Donnie not far off at his heels to get to their little brother.

“M’fine,” Mikey is quick to assure them both as they simultaneously start to flap. “Went right through I think.”

With a quick inspection from Donnie, it would appear to be the case, more red leaking down the back of his bicep, pooling sticky wet in the crevices of his shell grooves.

“Damnit,” Donnie scoffs, already rummaging about in his belt for supplies of some sort, but comes up short with a frustrated scowl. “Come on,” he’s urging him on. “Let’s get you home.”

The gang member is tossed into the pile of leaky, stinking trash bags, landing across them with a soft oof from where he remains barely conscious, limbs ragdolling where Raph lets him fall.

It’s both Leo and Donnie that shoulder their brother on the walk home, even when he jokes that he has full use of his legs, thank you very much, Leo doesn’t let up, allowing him to rest his weight against his side with his good arm slung around his shell until they arrive home, Raph leading the way, rubbing over sore, overused knuckles with his fingers.

“Pain? Scale of one to ten.” Donnie is already asking as they walk him through to the lab, and Leo feels his veins tighten when Mikey drops heavily into the plush little office chair with a tired little wheeze grazing past his front teeth.

“Six,” he says, and then because he’s Mikey, he goes on to say: “Actually. Six point four two. But if I do this,” he says, gingerly lifting his wounded arm upwards until he can’t anymore, wincing despite his grin. “It’s like, at a steady six point four two eight.”

Donnie has already gotten his first aid box laid out on the table before them, leveling him with a deadpanned expression only really truly reserved for him.

“So just a six, then?”

Mikey’s bright eyes catch Leo’s where he stands in the doorway still, beaming at him with his usual mischievous mirth about him and says,

“Well, yeah, that’s how math works. Wanted to make sure you hadn’t hit your head too hard during the fight, Dee.”

It takes no time at all for Donnie to patch their little brother up, telling him about fifty million times in the space of just a few mere minutes to stay still whilst he attempts to stitch him up both ways on the entry and exit wound.

“Think it will scar?” Mikey is asking him when he’s done, twisting around to admire his brother’s handiwork rather excitedly.

Donnie sets his medical tape away and clips the box shut sharply. “Eh. Possibly. Does it matter?”

Mikey is lifting his gaze up again to search for Leo. Still grinning. Still finding the entire situation just hilarious.

“If it’s from a kickass gunshot wound then yeah, duh,” he says likes it obvious, drawing out a long suffering sigh from Donnie who simply chooses to walk away, possibly in search of Raphael to tend to bruised, split knuckles, leaving just Leo and Mikey alone in the lab, the thrum of the algae pool the only sound to fill the room until Mikey hops up off chair and inspects his shoulder once more with round eyes.

“Wicked,” he says with a breath.

Because Leo’s little brother would think being accidentally shot in the shoulder would be cool. He would want a scar out of the whole ordeal because it was for sure something that he was going to milk for possibly until the very end of time and then some.

Baby blues skirt upwards, catching Leo’s watchful, unwavering gaze, and suddenly his smile is faltering, and the excitement glimmering behind his eyes dims slightly, and he takes a calculated step forward.

“Hey.” He says, voice steady. “Leo. You good, bro?”

Leo swallows, or at least he tries to. It’s like he’s sunk a golf ball into the back of his throat, all hard and lumped up and refusing to budge, strangling out his vocal cords when he tries to say as normal as possible,

“Hm? Oh yeah. I’m fine.”

Mikey doesn’t look convinced, and I’m hindsight, Leo should have known that busting out the dreaded F word would have tipped off his baby brother senses because he takes another step closer and fixes him with a Look, capital L.

“I mean. It was a pretty close call back there, huh?” His little brother says, offering him a one armed shrug. “But… but we’re all good.”

His mouth lifts into the tiniest of grins. “Raph had fun beating the snot outta that guy at least.”

Leo feels his stomach lurch. Mikey had… Mikey had pushed him out of the way. He’d… he’d taken that bullet for him as it’d zipped through the air. If he’d maybe been an inch to the left, or if the guy had slightly better aim…

He shudders, something icy taking place underneath his skin where it doesn’t want to leave, setting frost into his veins, he recognises his hands are shaking maybe a split second too late, because Mikey gets there first.

“Lee,” his voice soft, calming, all the things that should in theory, pull him ashore from his drowning panic and keep him anchored, but all Leo can think of is: I let him push me, I let him get hurt because of me.

The panic attack has already begun before Mikey can do anything more to chase it off, but he can close the distance between them, take Leo’s hands up in his and sink them to the floor where they sit, cool metal pressed beneath his legs, a warm thumb working slow circles over the backs of his knuckles.

“I saw that the new Thai place on 46th opened up finally,” Mikey says, his voice feels like a memory where it kind of just hangs above Leo’s consciousness, boring holes into the wall with his hard stare. “I think we should check it out some time. They do that khao pad that you like, y’know?”

Leo gulps, drinking down stale air to settle heavy in his lungs.

Fingers wrap around his and squeeze. “You did so good,” his little brother whispers to him, voice quiet yet so loud in how confident it was. “Don’t worry about me. You did so good.”

That breaks Leo’s frozen resolve, blinking, warmth is brought up to his waterline yet he doesn’t let them spill just yet as he forces words up past flattering teeth.

“Of course I worry, idiot.” He doesn’t mean to say it so sharply, wincing at the shape of the words as they leave his mouth, crowding under the hold of his brother, whom just laughs with a breezy feel to it and clings to him tighter.

“I know,” Mikey assures him gently. “But we could go in circles with the whole blame game here, bro. You know that, don’t you?”

And it was true; he was better off not getting into the trap of bouncing the blame back and forth off themselves if he didn’t want to waste an almost perfect afternoon.

So he allows for Mikey’s fingertips to trace shapes and a flurry of words across the back of his hand until his breath evens out and his chest finally stops its spasmic rhythm to allow air back into his lungs.

When they get up off the floor, Raph and Donnie re-emerge, looking nonplussed as to why their other brothers were peeling themselves off the tiles with a series of over exaggerated groans and grunts.

“There’s that old horror flick playing on TV,” is all Raphael suggests; with a quick glance, his knuckles already tended to with a thin strip of gauze. It was all code for two words:

Turtle pile.

Like telepathy, it was unknown how all three of them just knew what it was Leo needed in that moment as he shook the leftovers of his anxiety out from his limbs and patted his little brother gently on the lip of his shell before following them all out towards the lounge, where a black and white movie and a nest of blankets was sure to await him.

And later that night when the credits roll and there’s warmth now lingering at Leo’s fingertips instead of that bitter, awful cold, and he’s got two brothers dozing off at his side, and one near enough asleep fully, nestled in beside him, he hears his little brother speak up from where he was snug beneath his blanket,

“I’m alright, Leo,” he tells him, and when Leo glances towards him, he watches his eyes flutter shut, his face relax and his body sag against him with a blissful sleep that awaited him.

And as Leo watched on, letting the credits come to an end, for once he could shut off his anxious, rabbiting mind, and let the words sink in to truly believe them.

[yiplee]

READ PART ONE ⬆️

Mysterion still hasn’t revealed his identity. Professor Chaos is still conducting his plans, and everyone is scrambling to find out who the mysterious do-gooder is. Two friends have found out Mysterion’s identity, and Professor Chaos finds out they know.

(This sounds really dramatic but they’re all still kids playing lol. Think of it as like in the episodes)

Note! This is a ticklefic, so if you don’t like that, just keep scrolling

Double note: this fic is really super long I worked really hard for you guys 🫵

———————————————————————

Mysterion had called a nightly meeting between himself, Toolshed, and Human Kite in their superhero base. He was perched on the windowsill which he entered through, the wind blowing through his cape as he looked down at the two other heroes.

“So, you two haven’t told my identity to anyone? You’re sure?” Mysterion asks, his voice low and gruff. His demeanor is very serious, as if he didn’t even need to pretend to play the part.

“Yes, we understand why it must remain a secret.” Toolshed nods, trying to match his serious energy.

“You’ve explained a thousand times…” Human Kite mumbles.

“But I must.” Mysterion insists. “With you two knowing my identity, that could easily turn into three, into four, into-”

“Into everyone?” Interrupts a fourth voice, as Professor Chaos steps out of the shadows, causing the other boys to gasp.

Mysterion only glared. “Chaos. How long have you been listening?” He demands, his tone scathing.

“Long enough to know that those two are let in on your little secret!” Professor Chaos chirps up smugly, lifting his head high as he begins pacing while he speaks.

“So…how did you do it, huh? How’d you get it out of him? Because I know he wouldn’t tell you.” Chaos asks, his gaze flickered to Toolshed and Human kite.

The awkward memory makes Mysterion cringe as Chaos mentions exactly how the two discovered Mysterion’s identity.

“Um..” Toolshed started, as all eyes turned to him. “He..he did tell us! Because he trusts us!” Toolshed claimed, hoping Chaos would believe it.

“Bull hockey.” Chaos quickly shuts that down. “Now, tell me, how’d you get it out of him?” Chaos asked again.

“We..” Human Kite started, but Mysterion shook his head warningly.

“I can tell Mrs.Cartman at any moment that you boys are down here. You’ll all surely be grounded for..well..forever!” Chaos warns.

Toolshed and Human Kite gasped, but Mysterion shook his head. “He’s bluffing!” He said. “He’d also get grounded forever.”

Chaos laughed. “I’m never not grounded. I have nothing to lose.” He reminds them. “Now talk.”

———————————————————————

Mysterion was “trapped” on a crate in the basement, with “sharks” below him. The plastic shark toys whirred and moved around on the ground below him, as Professor Chaos stepped onto a smaller crate in front of Mysterion, slipping off his tinfoil gloves and cracking his knuckles.

“This won’t work.” Mysterion started, holding a brave face as he saw Chaos’ hands inch closer.

“Oh, but it will.” Chaos chuckled, as he leaned forward with his fingers wiggling, skittering them across Mysterion’s sides.

He drew a sharp inhale, holding his breath. He held a stubborn, unmoving frown as he fought the need to pull Chaos’s hands away.

“Don’t bother acting like it’s not getting to you.” Chaos chuckled. “I already know from the others that this works.”

“You’re terrible.” Mysterion grunted, still fighting back his reaction as Professor Chaos’s fingers scribbled across his belly and sides.

“No, Mysterion, I’m Chaos.” He said coldly, digging his hands into Mysterion’s armpits.

He stiffened, face reddening slightly as he pressed against the wall behind him, his scowl trembling.

“Just tell me your name and it’ll aaaalll be over..” Chaos taunted, as he swiped his fingers faster in Mysterion’s armpits.

“N-nehehehever!” Mysterion grumbled as he began to crack, his scowl flinching and twisting as he spoke.

“Come on~ I know you can’t resist this~ Coochie coo~” Chaos taunted him, as he scribbled his fingers down Mysterion’s ribs and into his waist and hips.

Mysterion couldn’t take it anymore. He gave a sudden squeal as he erupted into low, gruff giggles. The edge to his voice was already slipping.

“Aha, you’re breaking!” Chaos cooed. “Come on now, tell me what I wanna know. Tickle tickle~ Is this a good spot, huh? Is Mysterion ticklish here?” He continued teasing, as he skittered his fingers faster across Mysterion’s waist and up his sides, causing him to shriek.

He broke into Kenny’s frantic, breathless giggles as he began squirming, thrashing, and pushing at Chaos’ hands.

“Hmm~ who does that sound like? Clyde? No, he would’ve cracked faster..” Chaos began to devise who the mystery hero was by his loud laughter which was now filling the room.

“Craig? Maybe..but Craig’s more stuffy and snorty..” he went on, as he dug his hands back into Mysterion’s armpits, making his laughter jump to a higher octave.

“IHIHIM STILL NOT TEHEHELLING YOU AHAHANYTHING” Mysterion tried his best to sound menacing through his giggles as he made the promise.

“Come on now~ help me out. Do I hear Craig in there, or what?” Chaos continued, digging into Mysterion’s armpit with one hand, venturing down his side to his belly with the other.

“IHIHIM NOHOHOT SAHAHAHAYING!!” Mysterion retorted, thrashing and squirming to get away.

He was used to getting tickled through a thick parka, but his outfit for Mysterion was a lot lighter, and he was having a really hard time holding back.

“Come on, tell meee! Coochie coo~ tickle tickle~ come on!” Chaos continued tickling and teasing, but Mysterion wouldn’t give in.

Suddenly, Professor Chaos felt multiple hands grab him and pull him away from Mysterion. Toolshed and Human Kite?!

“I thought you two ran off!” Chaos gasped, as he was pushed to the ground and the three heroes suddenly surrounded him.

“I think it’s time to teach this villain a lesson.” Mysterion said, now out of breath, but mostly back to normal.

“Oh Jesus! Fellas, wait-!” Chaos was interrupted by his own shriek as all six hands started skittering, scribbling, and poking all across his midsection, drawing out as much squealy, boyish laughter as Chaos’ body would permit.

“BLAHAHAHAHASTED HEHEHEROES!!” He shrieked, trying to stay in character. “CEHEHEASE THIHIHIS MAHAHAHAHADNESS!!”

“Oh? But I thought madness was your middle name!” Toolshed teased, as he dug into one of Professor Chaos’ armpits, and with another hand, skittered across one side of his ribs.

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it yourself?” Mysterion added, scribbling his fingers across Chaos’ belly and waist.

“Yeah, get a taste of your own medicine, Chaos!” Human Kite added, his fingers spidering up and down the villain’s other side.

“GAHAHAHAHAH! WAHAHAHAIT PLEHEHEASE!! I GIHIHIVE UHUHUP!” He shrieked, trying to thrash and protect his ticklish flesh, but the three heroes always found another spot.

“Alright, let’s let him breathe.” Human Kite said, pulling his hands away, quickly followed by Toolshed. Mysterion continued at it for another few moments before stopping as well, leaving the villain exhausted and gasping for air.

After a long moment of thought, Mysterion held out an offering hand to Professor Chaos.

“Truce?” He asked hopefully, getting a thoughtful look from the other. Chaos thought hard for a moment, reaching out for Mysterion’s hand…

Before getting up himself and turning, dashing away in evil fashion. “Never! I’ll get my revenge for this, you darn good-doers! I swear it!” He called, as he scrambled out the window.

Suddenly, a light turned on above the basement. “Eric? Is that you? Are you raising an army of feral cats in the basement again?” Liane Cartman’s voice was heard from outside the basement door. The three other boys quickly scrambled out the window as well; leaving the light on as they all shoved their way through, falling onto eachother as they ran out into the night.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 12/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

“Don’t forget, we have dinner with your parents tonight,” Diana says as she double checks the contents of her briefcase.

“Yep,” he confirms, then pops the last bite of his toast into his mouth.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, slipping her feet into her heels. “How’s your head?”

“A little sore, but I’m fine,” he answers.

“That’s good. I’ll see you tonight, then,” she says, kissing him quickly on the cheek and rushing out the door.

He hears the garage open, the rumble of the car’s engine starting up, and then it’s just him and Frenchie, and the quiet of the empty house.

“What do you think, Frenchie? Should we take a quick w-a-l-k?” he asks, and Frenchie’s tail begins to thump loudly against the floor. “Yeah? A walk sounds good?”

The dog stands abruptly, pacing back and forth behind his chair excitedly.

It’s a mild morning, chilly but with the promise of a warmer afternoon. He sets off with a brisk pace, hoping to get his heart pumping in lieu of an actual run, which he was advised to avoid for at least a few days. Frenchie trots happily beside him, her tongue lolling out the side of her smiling mouth.

He waves as he passes by familiar houses with familiar occupants, though he’s never learned their names. Lady-with-bowlcut and Short-shorts-guy are what he knows them by, but everyone knows Frenchie due to her tendency to go on adventures if the front door is left open when he runs the trash out to the bin.

“Morning,” he calls out with a wave, and Old-hunchback-man nods and raises his coffee cup in response.

They pass by a house he thinks of as The Children’s House, due to the lawn that is cluttered with ride-on toys and decrepit sports equipment. In the summer, joyful shrieks can be heard over the splashing of water from the back yard, and at Christmastime theirs is the house with the most lights. It makes him feel both happy and sad, The Children’s House, because it’s everything he hoped for and everything he doesn’t have. For himself, as a former child, and also as a person who had always imagined himself as a someday father, but never ended up walking that path.

As they near the driveway of The Children’s House, a small towheaded boy skitters down the pavement with bare feet, his eyes wide and zeroed in on Frenchie.

“Can I pet your dog?” the child asks hopefully, his hands held carefully behind his back as he waits for permission.

“Sure,” Jeff answers, signaling Frenchie to sit.

The boy runs his hand down her silky coat, smiling happily.

“Dogs like me,” the child declares, unashamed of his self-promotion.

“Aiden! Get back in the house!” a voice calls from inside the garage, and he looks up to see Mother-of-children standing in the open doorway, clutching her bathrobe closed.

He waves, and she bobs her head tersely, and the child gives Frenchie one last pat on the head and scrambles back inside. They finish their walk, each contemplative in the way that man and beast are, and then he dresses in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt before driving into Philly.

His office is a disaster. Books are strewn across the floor, intermingled with shards of splintered wood from the shelf that was lost in the scuffle. His first appointment isn’t until noon, which gives him a couple hours to get things back in order. He starts by picking up all the books and stacking them into the categories by which they’d formerly been organized.

The profession of therapist was never one he had in mind when he set out to study psychology. He’s always been fascinated by the human mind and corresponding behavior, and the links between what has happened to us and how we behave as a result. But sitting down in a room with a single person, unpacking their traumas and guiding them to a place of higher understanding that might allow them to overcome it, wasn’t exactly what he’d planned for. He stumbled into it, like so many things. And, as is often the case for people who are good at things that they don’t necessarily enjoy, it stuck.

He unearths a book from beneath a bust of Carl Jung and sits down, brushing his fingers over the raised letters on the cover. Parapsychology: The Controversial Science. It’s one he’s read many times, though not in several years. One that he and Diana used to discuss at length over coffee in his apartment in Alexandria. He wonders, not for the first time, how they’ve landed so incredibly off course from where they began. Two young professionals, both interested in strange and unexplainable phenomena, joining the FBI with the hope of being a part of finding the answers, but instead finding each other. Now, over a decade later, they are a lawyer and a therapist with a mortgage and a dog. A picture-perfect life, by all accounts. But not the one he’d imagined leading.

He sighs, standing and setting the book in a stack with others that fall outside the bounds of commonly accepted research. He finishes cleaning up the office, and by 11:45 all evidence of Mr. Porter’s tantrum is erased, save for the missing shelf. He checks his notes in preparation for his noon appointment, uses the bathroom, fills his water glass and restocks the tissues. He gets to work.

-

He dozes during the ninety minute drive to his parent’s house, feeling the strain of his injury after only a half-day of work. Diana listens to talk radio and clicks her fingernails impatiently on the steering wheel, sighing with relief when they pull into the long paved driveway of the Dutch Colonial house.

“We’re here, Jeff,” she says, patting the top of his thigh to rouse him.

They park, retrieve a bottle of wine and a loaf of focaccia from the back seat, and approach the front door. He lifts his hand to knock, but before he can make contact, the door swings open and reveals the worried face of his mother.

“Jeff,” she says haltingly, giving him a once over from head to foot. “How are you feeling?”

He glances at Diana with furrowed eyebrows. It wouldn’t be like her to inform his mother of his little encounter with Mr. Porter, but it’s clear that she’s worried about his well-being.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he says lightly, but the concerned pinch of her face doesn’t let up. “Can we come in?” he asks with a shy smile, and she steps aside to allow them entrance.

“I’m going to put these in the kitchen, Teena,” Diana informs her as she makes her way down the hall. “Is there anything I can help with for dinner?”

“No, thank you, Diana,” Teena replies blandly, still inspecting her son as though seeing him for the very first time.

“Are you okay, Mom?” he asks, touching her shoulder, and she jumps a little, regarding him with surprise.

“I’m fine, Jeff. Just fine. Let’s go have dinner.”

He follows her into the kitchen, where Diana is uncorking the wine. His father is standing at one end of the long counter, a pleased smile on his mouth.

“What’s the latest with the Spurious deal? Any movement in Baltimore?” Diana asks, setting out four glasses.

“Everything is going swimmingly,” his father replies. “Perfectly to plan.” He turns to look at his son and his smile broadens, deepening the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. “Jeff! It’s wonderful to see you, son. How are you?”

“I’m good, Dad. Yourself?” he answers, offering his hand to shake.

“Nonsense, Jeff, give your father a hug,” his father insists, stepping past the proffered hand and extending his arms.

He smells like Old Spice and stale cigarettes, and the hug is brief and somewhat awkward.

“When did you become a hugger, Carl?” Diana asks teasingly, and Carl balks.

“A father should hug his son,” he says defensively.

“Dinner is ready,” Teena pipes in, her demeanor still standoffish and perturbed. “Carl, will you please cut the bread?”

“Of course, my dear. I’d be happy to,” Carl says jovially, and they file into the dining room, wine glasses in hand.

Teena has prepared meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas and a green salad, and they discuss local and national politics while they eat. Diana and Carl have an easy, practiced banter, while Teena is quiet and sullen. He catches her watching him each time he looks her way, an apprehensive expression on her face, and thinks to himself that he’d like to get her alone later and try to find out what’s on her mind.

“Oh, did you tell Jeff about the foundation, dear?” Carl interjects, and Teena shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“No, you go on ahead,” she says, pushing peas around her plate with her fork.

“Great news,” Carl says, beaming at him. “The Children’s Leukemia Foundation has established a grant in Samantha’s honor. It will be awarded annually to the family with the greatest need, and will cover the complete cost of treatment and housing. Isn’t that incredible?”

“Wow,” Jeff says, taken aback. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know that something like that was in the works.”

“Nor did we, son. It was a tremendous surprise. What a beautiful way to remember your sister,” Carl says. “They’re calling it the Samantha Ann Spender Hopes and Dreams Grant.”

Jeff nods, forcing a smile. He looks over at his mother and finds her staring vacantly at her water glass, her eyes shimmering.

“Dinner was delicious, Teena. I’m going to step outside for a smoke,” Carl says as he pushes his chair back and stands.

“I thought you were going to quit, Dad,” Jeff says sternly, and Carl brushes him off with the wave of a hand.

“I’m an old man, Jeff. Let me enjoy life’s little pleasures, eh?”

“I’ll join you, Carl,” Diana says, stacking her plate on top of Teena’s and taking them both to the kitchen. “My little pleasure is inhaling the second hand smoke.”

Alone at the table, he watches his mother until she lifts her head and pushes her mouth into a thin smile.

“That’s great, about the grant,” he says, and she nods. “Still hard to talk about, though, huh?”

“Yes,” she rasps, then takes a sip from her water. “I think it may always be difficult to talk about your sister.”

He stands from the table and lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then clears all the dishes and cutlery. In the kitchen, he’s rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he has the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He flashes his eyes over to the window and finds Diana and his father standing side by side, her arms crossed over her chest and his hand holding a lit cigarette to his lips. Upon realizing that he sees them, Diana lifts one hand and waves, smiling. He waves back, but something in the back of his mind is sending him a warning signal that he doesn’t understand.

He’s grateful when Diana offers to drive home. Streetlights flash in bursts of red through his eyelids as he calls forth hazy memories of Samantha’s final days. Her pale, drawn skin, the dark hallows under her eyes, her dry, cracked lips. At twelve, he understood and yet also could not possibly understand what was happening. That his little sister would be gone forever, that there was to be no recovery, no coming back. For months after her death he dreamt of alternative explanations, of bright flashing lights and bad men taking her away. His parents finally sent him to a therapist in an attempt to help him understand the finality and the senselessness. Samantha was gone. Dead. Not lost, not missing. Never coming back.

They slump through the door at nearly midnight, and Diana hands him his blood pressure medication before she heads upstairs to get ready for bed. He swallows the pill and an entire glass of water, then takes Frenchie for a quick walk. By the time he crawls into bed, Diana is already snoring softly, but he finds himself tossing and turning, unable to succumb to sleep. When he finally drifts off, he has the dream again. The one where he is frozen in fear, and Samantha is calling for him, and there’s nothing he can do. He’s helpless, just like he was in reality, to help her.

It’s a truth he will seemingly never be able to recover from.

Tagging @today-in-fic ay

[acutiewithagun]

Taglist: @oleander-nin @purple-flagz @itsyagurlchip

Wordcount: 1,675

Mic Testing - Chapter Four - Chasing The Feeling

"No, Melvet, you have to stay here!" 

You scrambled around your apartment, chasing your newly acquired spider yokai pal. It dodged under the coffee table as you skidded across the carpeted floor. You landed to a stop on your rug burnt knees. "Melvet! Come here." Reaching under the coffee table, Melvet skittered out and rounded into the kitchen. Where your roommate was laughing hysterically, grasping the countertops so as to not keel over.

You scowled at them as you continued the chase. "You know you could always help me." They continued roaring with laughter as you tripped and fell to the floor. Groaning you got up once again as you swiped at the small white creature. You unfortunately missed as it swiftly ducked into an open cabinet, one your lovely roommate oh so kindly opened for it.

"I'm going to be late at this rate!" Rummaging through the cabinet your digits graze the fluffy critter. "Well maybe you should have picked a different day, it is my day off, I want some excitement." You shoot them a glare as they raise their hands in defense. "I didn't pick the day or time, I wasn't a part of the meeting for scheduling." You quickly shoved your arm into the cabinet, wincing at the jabbing of the wood against your shoulder. You manage to snab the sneaky spider and pull it out. "And you, little guy, need to behave. I'll buy you grapes if I get a good report."

Melvet gave a playful salute, or at least attempted one as you stood up. You carried the small creature to your room and placed it in it's little area that you had finished setting up earlier in the day. You gave it a small head pat as you closed the door of your bedroom and pulled your jacket on. Walking past the now gasping for air traitor, you snatched your keys with a wave. "Alright, I'm out, I'll be back in an hour or two." As you turn the doorknob your roommate pipes up. "Oh, and remember to pick up that book I asked for." 

You gave a teasing shake of your head as you swung open the door. "Of course, anything to earn a favor." They let out a scoff and a smile as you closed the door behind you. You straightened out your carefully picked outfit as you started walking down the stairs. You had planned almost everything, what you would wear, what you would say, how you would get there.

Entering the virtually empty sidewalk, you started your five minute trek. It wouldn't take long and you left just before most workers got off. The breeze was chilly, but felt nice as you quickly closed in on the building of your destination.

It was a small radio station, extremely more listened than your music, but the location was small. You opened the glass door and walked up to the line at the reception desk. There were a few people in front of you as you patiently waited. You noted a pretty mad human man second in line. He seemed to be glaring at the calico cat yokai receptionist. You frowned, wondering what she did wrong.

Well it became that man's turn and almost immediately the yelling started. "Get me a meeting, now!" He slammed his hands on the desk, startling the receptionist. "I'm sorry sir, but you still haven't given me your name or the name of who you want the meeting with." The man slammed his hands again. "Just get me a meeting you stupid feline!"

You're not normally a confrontational person, but you're making an exception for today. You politely excuse yourself to the front of the line and snap your fingers to earn the man's attention. "Hey, this lovely person is working their best to help you. Insults, yelling, and physical actions are not needed." The man seethed as he glared at you, the sweet looking receptionist gave you a grateful look. "But this mutant is refusing to get me a meeting." You sighed and shook your head. "For one, you don't know if they are a mutant or yokai. Second, a meeting with who?"

The man stuttered slightly as his face turned red in embarrassment. He then shot the cat yokai a glare and stormed off. You gave a breath of relief and went to the back of the line. You were sweating with nervousness over the entire situation. But you knew you did the right thing, besides he was yelling so loudly and just being rude.

Eventually came your turn as you walked up to the desk. You gave your name and appointment time, hoping that would be enough as your dumb producer never gave you the name of who you were meeting. Out of gratitude the thankful cat yokai checked the database and managed to find your meeting. They gave you a smile as they directed you to the room you would need to be in. You gave them a smile in return as you started your way to your destination, giving the cat a wave as you left.

You made a few turns, getting lost a few times before you finally made it to the room. Repeating the lines you planned to say, you turned the handle of the door and opened it. Revealing on the other side two separated areas of the room. On one side it had all the equipment used to play the music on the radio station, as well as the accursed ads. On the other, only separated by a wall and large glass window, had a desk with chairs and microphones. You walked into the room as you spotted two people, one blonde human man who was on the shorter side, and one mutant that looked like a chameleon. Giving them a smile, you waved.

Catching the attention of the man he sported a bright smile and gestured for you to join him at the desk as the chameleon pressed a few buttons. You sat down as the man held up a hand and started what appeared to be a countdown. Once all his fingers were down he started talking excitedly. "Well hello there listeners, we have a special treat with us today. As one of you has persistently requested, we got one of our very own local singers to join us for a little interview. So tell you about yourself." He motioned for you to talk into the microphone in front of you.

"Oh, um, hello. I write and perform my own music." You nervously gave your stage name as the man gave you a thumbs up. "Now, the locals call you Superstar. Mind telling us a bit more about that?" You blushed and let out a groan of embarrassment, earning light chuckles from the two people in the room. "It started when I first began performing at a shopping district. I tend to perform from seven in the morning until about six at night. So naturally over time I got to know the shop owners pretty well." The man nodded as he gave a slight hum. "Very interesting, the kind listener that asked for you did have a list of questions they wanted answered. Do you mind answering them?"

You rubbed the back of your neck. "Sure, I don't mind." The man flashed a grin as he pulled out a sheet of paper and started asking basic questions. What music do you write? What's your favorite color? Those types of things. But as you neared the end of the interview the last question caught you off guard. "Alright, how do you feel about mutants and yokai, and would you ever consider dating one?" You looked puzzled at the questions but answered with a smile. "I think they are interesting, but people nonetheless. I guess I don't really feel one way or another about them."

The man gave a nod as he set the paper down. "Now that we are down with the viewers' questions we'll have a few songs played and then get back into it. How's that sound to you?" You give a return nod, feeling a bit more comfortable with the situation. "Sounds great." The man gestures at the chameleon and with a nod music starts playing as the microphones get muted.

You stretched as the man got up and started conversing with the chameleon. You watched them as they talked quietly, not wanting to disturb their conversation. They both looked at you and walked over, the man extending his hand. "Hello, nice to formally meet you, you can address me as Mike." Shaking his hand the chameleon also extended their hand. "And I'm Sabrina, as you can tell I'm a mutant." You let go of Mike's hand and shook Sabrina's, introducing yourself with your real name.

"Sorry for doing this out of the blue, one of our listeners has been emailing us about it for months. We had to do a bit of digging but we finally found your producer, not a lovely person." Mike laughed at his comment, but the three of you had a silent understanding of each other. The person was awful and greedy. "Anyway, thank you for coming in on such short notice. My daughter actually loves your music. As I was digging for information on you, she managed to find you at that shopping district and fell in love." You gave a polite smile and a laugh.

"Well I'm glad someone else likes my music." A beep cut off the conversation as Mike sat down again and Sabrina walked back to her station. Mike did the countdown again before talking again. "And we are back, hope you didn't miss us too much." You smiled as Mike relaxed in his chair. "Now I have just a few more questions for our lovely small artist." You give a hum and a nod. "Alright, ask away."

"Has anything strange happened in your time of street performing?" His smile dropped slightly as the words left his mouth.

[misdreavusmishap]

⚡️⚡️ RO-TO-TO! VIDEO INCOMING. ⚡️⚡️

A large crowd of Kricketot are gathered around the camera lens, seeming to panic and loudly chirp amongst each other. I don’t even remember starting this recording, so they must’ve done that by themselves by accident. Given the residue static around the video feed, I also must have fallen asleep.

“HEY, HEY!! WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL? WHAT’S WRONG??”

I shake myself out of the crowd, flying upwards, looking around the ground a little, spinning around once or twice to fully check the surroundings. At eye level, most of everything seems fine right now.

“.. EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT. WHAT IS THERE TO-”

“... HEY, YOU GUYS SMELL BURNING?”

The Kricketot squinted towards me for a second, looking between each other and buzzing their legs back and forth via incomprehensible speech. A crash and a crackle seem to roar from behind, the Kricketot only panicking more at my complete dismissal of their concerns, scattering away while looking past me. This only makes the situation more confusing, before I turn back and properly look up at the trees.

They’re burning.

And fast.

The Kricketot who were once gathering around me now swarmed Derek, who was not-so-peacefully asleep, supposedly trapped amidst another nightmare. While the first time this happened was a mild inconvenience, this could actually cost lives. This is something I couldn’t just let him sleep through. I shot over, screaming at the Kricketot to back up and get as far from the blaze as possible.

“DEREK.”

I fully ran myself into his shoulder, even using my antenna to try to get him to wake from his nap.

“DEREK THIS IS NO TIME FOR BEAUTY REST. DEREK. DEREK I AM INCREASINGLY SERIOUS.”

The man grabs at his own shirt, murmuring “no..” to himself; not in a dismissive manner, but instead rather fearful. Oh, great!!! Wonderful. I fly around in circles, turning my volume all the way up, scrambling, yelling, SOMETHING. This is horrible. Terrible, even, and it’s only going to get worse if I can’t get him up to help. Behind me there are already odd Kricketot trapped underneath fallen tree limbs and leaves, a few of them attempting to use Round to fend the fire off from themselves. While this may work for a while, it surely won’t work forever.

I have to try again.

I float still for a moment, the video feed growing the darkest it has in comparison to other attempts. It even seems to break a little, small rips of static coating the edges of the screen, and yet, a blue-cyan ripple of plasma prevails the dithering. The water-type spider, waking in response to the sheer amount of static, skitters a short distance from the scene. The recording almost stops, lagging incredibly hard for a few moments, it holds a single frame for about five seconds, before..

SNAP!

“AAGHH..”

The man jolts awake, the deep blue in his veins glistening a painful cyan. He grips his wrists, wincing, doubled over in pain. I’m left in shock, no pun intended, for a while, but I likely need to act fast, and there’s no way he would do that by himself. I float down in front of him, tapping my foot on the grass.

“HEY GENIUS. WE GOT A BLAZE TO DEAL WITH. CHESTO BERRY, NOW. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.”

I pull out the Chesto berry from behind me, tossing it up in the air and kicking it towards his hands, of which he catches. He looks at me as if I’d just told him the sky is red, before turning to his left and finding that might as well be the case.

“Ohhhh… no, no no no NO NO”

He completely dismisses the berry offer, scrambling to stand up and snap one of his pokemon off from his belt, yet to realize that his Pokemon is already out of his ball behind him. The spider gives an unimpressed look to the camera, then turning to poke his owner with one of his legs. Derek jumps back, surprised, dropping the Net Ball to a terribly close patch of burning grass! I swoop down, picking up the ball, tossing it back to Derek as he readies himself to command his ace.

“Lotus- Lotus, Bubble Beam, quickly.”

The Araquanid stumbles, facing the flames with directed rage in its eyes. After a brief recoil, the Bubble Beam shoots violently, droplet after droplet splashing and making charred, circular clearings in the fire. The spider digs its tarsal claws further into the dirt, anchoring itself, as the pure force of the move seems to be sending this creature back due to the weak and thin structure of its legs. As well as this is working, the spider’s helmet is rapidly decreasing in size without a proper known water source nearby to replenish its water-type moves. Patch after patch, the fire is fizzled out, only to be filmed by heat immediately after. And, after not too long, the water helmet reduces to a singular bubble beneath the spider’s mouth. Lotus seems shocked, trying to continue attacking, though completely ineffective.

“AGH, NO!”

Derek reaches into his pockets.. only now realizing the only things he forgot to pack; ethers and elixirs!... how wonderful.

“Light.. Ghhhhghh…”

The man drops his head, burying his face in his hands briefly, before hazily snapping back up to command his partner.

“LOTUS. ICE BEAM.”

The spider looks back at him, completely confused, but after a short thought seems to shrug it off. Though, as soon as he prepares to fire, another person enters the clearing, both Derek and the camera turning to him in almost perfect sync. Derek must’ve jumped a foot in the air in response to the crunching of leaves underneath boot-covered footsteps.

It’s … I don’t know who this is. A man with blue hair. Who is this guy???

⚡️⚡️ RO-TO-TO! VIDEO END. ⚡️⚡️

ooc bonus feature! this video features Thomas from @prettyskitty973! :3

[empressofthelibrary]

October prompts #24 for hawk characters of your choice

Fog, huh? I think I'll grab Charley for this one... Leaning mostly on his pre-Crisis backstory, and picking up a bit of worldbuilding from Hawkworld that's been driving me nuts.

---

Charley snapped awake, shoving himself up from the stone. His throat burned, the bite of the wire fresh as he gasped for air. He scrambled to his knees, desperate to fill his hungry lungs. His hands, of their own accord, ripped the helm from his head and threw it aside. It skittered on the stone, clanking as it vanished.

But as the adrenaline faded and his mind cleared, Charley realized something.

"...Garth? Garth, where are you?" He pulled himself to his feet, looking around. A dense fog had rolled in, so thick that Charley could barely see his hand in front of his face. "Garth! Oh, god, dude, you can't be dead. Please, answer me!" He took a slow step forward. There had been a cliff's edge around here somewhere. "Garth!"

Where the hell had this fog come from, anyway? It had been a clear, sunny day just a moment ago, before the Wildebeest's attack had driven him unconscious.

Wildebeest... Charley whirled, shoulders tensing. He'd always had sharp eyes and good ears for a human, but those talents only went so far. And this fog is heavy enough even Superman'd have trouble with it, he thought to himself.

"Where are you," he called. "C'mon out, you damned coward!"

"Bold words, little warrior," a voice spoke behind him. "Though I wonder who you speak to. I know it cannot be me."

Charley spun around again, fists raised, ready to fight this new threat. A shape began to emerge from the mist, a winged humanoid silhouette. As she approached, she raised one arm, and the lantern she held began to glow a brilliant white. Charley held up his hands, squinting in the sudden light. But once the spots cleared, he could see this strange woman.

She was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Two tall black wings emerged from her shoulderblades, silver claws pointing up at the second joint. Two more, he realized, wrapped around her hips, over a skirt of black leather and armored plates. She wore a breastplate of shining silver, high at the neck, over a shirt of dark chainmail. Silver bracers covered her wrists, and the hilt of a sword peeked out from between her higher wings. Her hair was jet-black, shot through with silver, held back from her face by a winged headpiece that could only be described as a crown. She smiled, gentle, and Charley could see the laugh-lines and crows-feet that marked her face. But her eyes -- Her eyes were windows into the infinite, the dark void of space, swirled with stars and galaxies.

"Who... Who are you," Charley whispered. His throat still ached, but his voice would have been hushed anyway. Something about this woman felt powerful, impossible. Standing in her presence, Charley felt like the scared, awestruck child who had been left to explore the Watchtower, a few years and a whole lifetime ago.

The woman laughed. "Have my adoptive children forgotten me so quickly? Did your fathers and mothers not teach you of Mar Rhigan, little warrior?" She shook her head. "No matter, no matter. You've fallen in battle, in the defense of your friend. There is no more noble end." She held out her free hand. "Come! You'll have a seat at my table, and you'll dwell in my lands in peace."

"Wait, what?" Charley looked around. "I -- Are you saying I'm dead? I can't -- I'm not dead, that's ridiculous." He turned, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Okay, Donna, this has gone far enough. I'm sorry about the party, I was stupid. You guys can come out now! Garth? Lillith?"

Mar Rhigan's brow furrowed. "Ah. Of course. You are so young -- Forgive me, you all look like babies to me." She stepped forward, cupping Charley's cheek to turn him towards her. "You have died, little one. And you have earned the rest of all Thanagarian warriors."

Charley pushed her hand away. "What are you talking about?! I'm not Thanagarian, I'm as human as the next guy."

Mar Rhigan shook her head. "If that were true, it would not have been me who came to collect you." She frowned, then, tilting her head to the side. "But you... You are not one of mine, are you? You did not know me. And you do not embrace the reward you've earned."

"Reward?" Charley was near hysterics. "What reward is there in being dead?! For god's sakes, I'm barely old enough to drink!" Legally, anyway. "I can't -- I can't be dead, damnit. I still have so much of my life to live!"

Mar Rhigan crossed one arm over her torso, holding the other as she rested her chin in her hand. The lantern floated beside her. "Strange... You are dead, little warrior, make no mistake. But..." She trailed off, lifting her head to look at something past Charley's shoulder. "Ah. Perhaps I am wrong, in that at least." She smiled again, and the lantern's glow grew brighter. Then brighter, and brighter still, until it was blinding.

Charley covered his eyes, turning away, as the world turned white.

"...Son? Charley?" Arms hooked beneath Charley's back and knees, lifting him away from the stone. "Ch'al, son, please, please wake up..."

Charley dragged his eyes open, peering up at his father's face. "...Dad?" The word rasped against his throat, and he winced in pain.

Fel Andar sighed, relieved, and pressed his forehead to his son's. "Shh, it's okay. Let me get you aboard the ship, I'll get you fixed up."

[showfallmediamaintenance]

[Transcript begin]

[Something metal impacting a tree, splintering the wood.]

Okay... that was the best hit I've gotten in a while. Just gotta keep doing it like that.

[Edgar swings the crowbar at the tree once more. Sending more splinters flying.]

Sir? What are you doing?

GAH!

[Edgar drops his crowbar, and hastily picks it back up.]

Whoops, sorry.

Dude! What the fuck? Don't do that!

Um.

Wait. How long have you been there?

[The new person shuffles awkwardly.]

Sorry... I just wanted to know what you were doing. I've been here for... 13 minutes. Sorry.

It's... fine. As for what I'm doing, I'm practicing swinging this crowbar.

Why? Are you like, Gordon Freeman or something?

Ha! I wish. I... someone... has someone I care about deeply, and I need to work on getting in good hits, or else it's game over.

[The other person takes a pause.]

Well. You should adjust your grip, you're losing good range with your hands being up that far. It's good for controlled hits, but close range combat is tricky.

Really? Uh, thanks.

No problem, man. Um, I'm Liam. By the way.

[Edgar fully turns to face Liam.]

I'm Edgar, nice to meet you.

Edgar? Hm. Reminds me of a character I saw on a show a while back. You ever seen 'The Mechanics Lament?'

[A short pause. Edgar takes a deep breath.]

No. I... I don't exactly like Showfall's stuff... ah, anymore.

Huh, well, you look just like the character. Anyway, uh.

[Liam shuffles again, observing Edgar. Finally noticing the state he's in.]

Christ, are you okay? Like, actually? You look fucked up. Like, really fucked up.

[Edgar chuckles, there is fabric movement as he puts his left hand up, trying to stop the other man from worrying. Liam gasps.]

HOLY SHIT. THERES A HOLE IN YOUR HAND! DUDE. YOU'VE GOTTA GO TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW. HOLY FUCK–

Woah! I've already been! It's fine! Don't worry!

Are– are you sure? Because that looks a little freaky. You could fit like. Two fingers through that.

If it wasn't okay, I'd still be at the hospital.

Thats... fair.

[Edgar sits against the tree he's been hitting.]

Wanna sit with me? I'm in need of a break, but being alone with my own thoughts is... not good for me.

Uh, sure. You seem alright to me.

[Liam sits down next to Edgar.]

So, how long have you been doing... this? For?

A few hours, tops.

Huh.

[A mechanical retraction sound can be faintly heard.]

Adam, not now!

Huh? Who's Adam?

[A click! As Adam detaches and falls to the ground, skittering out in front of the two. Causing Liam to yelp and scramble backwards.]

AGAIN? SERIOUSLY ADAM?

WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? WHY DOES IT HAVE A NAME? WHY IS IT MOVING ON ITS OWN?

Liam, I'm so sorry, I wasn't going to mention it.

That seems like something you should mention?!

Um. Not really, man. Where would I slip that in? 'Oh, hello random guy in the woods, this is my sentient prosthetic arm who's named Adam. Nice to meet you!'

[The two laugh, bringing the mood back to 'somewhat relaxed.' Although, Liam still sounds a little shaken when he speaks.]

Hey, he um... wrote something.

Huh? What... 'Candied Crush now please.' Seriously?

[Edgar sighs.]

Fine. Take my phone.

[Adam skitters over to Edgar as he is given the phone, and he begins quietly playing Candy Crush.]

You seem a lot less weirded out by Adam as I thought you would be.

I'm weirded out, I'm just good at not showing it.

Ah, well. I'm glad you didn't run away or whatever, I would've if I were in your place.

Huh, well. I need someone to talk to.

By the way. How old are you, kid? You don't look older than... what, 16?

Bingo. 16.

The hell are you doing out here by yourself? You look... no offense, but you look very dirty.

I've... been out here for a few days. I got kicked out by my parents.

The fuck? Thats so shitty, I'm sorry dude.

Eh, it could be worse.

[A short silence.]

It could be worse, yeah. But it should be better. You can stay in my apartment if you need.

Huh? Wait, really? You mean it?

Of course, you got a phone? I'll put the address in, maybe my number as well. Would you want that?

That would be nice. Thank you so much, man.

No problem. It's a bit far from here, I'd recommend taking an Uber or something when you can. Are you alright to go alone?

I should be okay. I... seriously can't thank you enough.

Again, no problem, stay safe, Liam.

You too.

[Liam stands and walks away.]

Alright, Adam. I– how long has that light been flashing? God damnit–

[Transcript end]

[justingrxnt]

aurormax​:

The other Auror Commanders of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had received invitations for the evening’s soiree. They were well-born, their families weren’t disgraced. But she was not Commander Maxine Squint, here. She was just Max, brought along only because someone of better stock wanted company.

And aside from her co-workers, and Theo… Max had no idea who anyone here, was. Not personally, at least. She saw their faces in newspapers and knew their names, vaguely, but Max didn’t know any of them personally. So when Theo went out to answer an urgent owl, Max was left alone in the ballroom full of rich wix who wanted nothing to do with her.

Max raised her chin and strolled to a table with some prepared refreshments, admiring a champagne tower that was constantly refilling itself, before taking a glass and having a sip. It tasted deliciously expensive, and Max hummed, wishing she could see the bottle to find it in a store some time.

She hummed over the beautifully adorned grazing table, taking a selection of dried fig, cheese and cured meat to taste in one swift mouthful. Max was just about to try another concoction when a green, stick-insect looking creature scrambled across the table, grabbing the dried apricot out of her hand. Max gasped, spilling her champagne as she pulled her hand back.

She looked around incredulously as the creature shoved the dried apricot into its mouth, swelling the little thing’s head to almost double in size. She reached for a different piece, but the creature swatted her fingers away, spreading itself over its mount of apricots protectively. “Well, am I allowed any of them?” Max asked, raising her brows at it.

@justingrxnt

Maeko had belly laughed when she saw his ascot, Slytherin green and vines of gold, matching the green-and-gold vine patterned vest that doubled as a men’s bodice, beneath his black suit and black dress shirt. He hated going to these damned pureblood functions, often coming as Maeko’s eye candy but also to represent the every-wayward Grant Clan, here to shake hands with anyone who wanted seats to the show as long as they greased their way through certain countries and kept the ICW off their backs about certain performers, performances, and... associates they had. It was the kind of work Justin hated and had escaped as soon as Maeko was drawn into a dance with some gorgeous brunette he didn’t recognize. Likely someone who wanted a marriage contract or to feel her up, both would result in him hovering with his fists and a soft smile that he’d been told was distinctly scary on his usually genial face.

So he retreated to the refreshment’s table, where several large potted plants resided behind the buffet filled with food so far out of season, country of origin, and frankly made far too ostentatious to be considered real food. But he was mostly interested in the colony of bowtruckles in the plants, several which skittered across the table to make a jump at him, three made it but the fourth had decided to make a detour for a snack right out of another guest’s hand.

Justin laughed low in his throat, “Looks like this guy has made a claim over the whole feast of ‘em,” throwing out a tendril of magic to the bowtruckle, who snapped its eyes towards him. He couldn’t quite mind-speak with insects, even magical ones; they hovered on the edge of his magical purview, but he could exchange general thoughts with them. This one is clear and loud - don’t get crushed. Though, as the woman tried to make another playful grab for an apricot, there wasn't so much as an inkling she'd hurt the creature. “You’ve got a gentle way about you, considered bowtruckles are both mischievous and nervous creatures by nature. Though also vindictive when suited, their bites sting.” Justin grabbed a plate and reached for a few apricots, the bowtruckle skirting his fingers as he plucked them, and a few choice slices of brie, apple, and jam.

“Here you go,” He handed the plate over and wrinkled his nose, pulling his wand out to clean up the spilled champagne, “let’s not get kicked out of these far too fancy digs tonight, darlin’, we’re both too pretty, for such a scene.” He couldn’t help but flirt, rolling his shoulders back. 

The other Auror Commanders of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had received invitations for the evening's soiree. They were well-born, their families weren't disgraced. But she was not Commander Maxine Squint, here. She was just Max, brought along only because someone of better stock wanted company.

And aside from her co-workers, and Theo... Max had no idea who anyone here, was. Not personally, at least. She saw their faces in newspapers and knew their names, vaguely, but Max didn't know any of them personally. So when Theo went out to answer an urgent owl, Max was left alone in the ballroom full of rich wix who wanted nothing to do with her.

Max raised her chin and strolled to a table with some prepared refreshments, admiring a champagne tower that was constantly refilling itself, before taking a glass and having a sip. It tasted deliciously expensive, and Max hummed, wishing she could see the bottle to find it in a store some time.

She hummed over the beautifully adorned grazing table, taking a selection of dried fig, cheese and cured meat to taste in one swift mouthful. Max was just about to try another concoction when a green, stick-insect looking creature scrambled across the table, grabbing the dried apricot out of her hand. Max gasped, spilling her champagne as she pulled her hand back.

She looked around incredulously as the creature shoved the dried apricot into its mouth, swelling the little thing's head to almost double in size. She reached for a different piece, but the creature swatted her fingers away, spreading itself over its mount of apricots protectively. "Well, am I allowed any of them?" Max asked, raising her brows at it.

@justingrxnt

[qu1etwolf]

Mysterious Strangers

Synopsis- Mysterious black clad man saves you from a group of would be assailants.

Word count - 1,515

Ship - Daredevil x fem!reader

Warnings - Typical violence, mostly fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N - Welp, this is my first Matt fic. Just a small little blurb. I was bored and not feeling great and this came out so......I hope yall like it.

You knew you shouldn't have been out this late. Not in the Kitchen of all places. It was an obscenely late hour, but your sister had called and your niece was sick with some kind of flu. She didn't want to leave her to walk the few blocks down the road to the 24 hour market for cold meds so she asked you. The joys of living in the same apartment building as family. 

The bag crinkles in your hand as your feet shuffle across the pavement. You accidently send a rock skittering across the ground, the sound echoing as it bounces across a grate. This city is never quiet. But the little stretch of alleyway between you and your building is almost always empty this late. 

You grip the bag a little tighter and step into the shortcut between the buildings.

"'Ey, whatcha doing out this late at night, honey?" A voice dark and dripping with malice calls out from a few feet behind you. He had clearly waited until you cornered yourself. 

You drop the bag and reach for the can of pepper spray you keep in your pocket. The same time your hand curls around the small canister, three more men step into the alley behind the large bulk standing at the end of the alley. 

"Look, boss, she's alone. Has some fight in her too." One of the other men chuckles and nods toward the canister in your hand.

The ringleader opens his mouth to say something else, but is suddenly silenced by a fist from a shadow you hadn't even noticed was there. You scramble back a few feet, fear nearly choking you from the inside. 

The lean masked man who threw the punch was moving with expert precision, landing a heavy kick to the center of a second man's chest. After the very audible crunch of someone's nose breaking the crowd of assailants scrambled as quickly as they could at a dead sprint away from your savior.

The assailant walks surprisingly softly toward you. He holds his hands up at his sides as if to seem harmless, though you know better. His form is covered head to toe in black with the exception of his lower face.

"Hey. You alright?" His voice was strangely gentle. "You're okay. I promise."

You blink wildly as you slowly slide the pepper spray back into your pocket and reach down to grab the bag that crashed down beside your feet. You don't take your eyes off of him. The strangest thing about this man standing in front of you wasn't the calmness he seemed to bleed out of his pores or the fact that he was completely ignoring his own injuries as if he hadn't taken a few punches to the face himself - the evidence of which was dripping down from the corner or his nose and from the small cut on his jaw.

No, the strangest thing was a mask of thick black fabric covering his entire face with no possible way he could see through it.

"You must be in shock. Come on, I'll walk you home. Make sure you get there okay. Alright, sweetheart?" You nod at his insistent tone and then laugh quietly at yourself when you realized he probably couldn't see it.

"Yeah, okay," you rasp out. "I have a first aid kit, too. And coffee."

While you couldn't see the entirety of the man's face, the smile he flashes you is blinding before he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and takes the bag out of your hand. 

You started down the alley and took a shaky breath. "You're….that guy everyone calls the Devil of Hell's Kitchen aren't you?"

His laugh came out a little nervous. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You know…you're not as scary as everyone says."

Right before you reach the door to your building he places a hand against your lower back. "Here's your bag back. I hope whoever it's for feels better. I can smell the menthol. Sick husband?"

"Niece," you say, as you accept the bag. "Wait. Smell the menthol?"

"Yeah, don't ask. You stay out of these alleys from now on. It's no good for your health. Got it?" He smiles again before stepping back away from you.

"Oh hold on there, mister. You're still bleeding. Just let me get this care package to my sister and I'm patching you up. No arguments. It's the least I can do."

He starts to mutter something about being fine but a pointed huff from you shuts him up with a chuckle. "Fine, fine. I could probably use that coffee anyway. It's been a long night."

He follows you like a scolded puppy though the door and up the stairs. You unlock the door to your apartment and usher him inside before rushing upstairs to quickly hand off the supplies to your sister. She lifts an eyebrow at your clear and obvious distress, but doesn't ask questions.

"I promise I'm okay. I'll call you tomorrow and explain. Right now I just want to get some sleep," you respond to her worried face.

"Alright, sugar. If you don't call me by noon I'm coming downstairs myself, got it?" She sternly nods at you after you agree to her terms before she closes her door.

You open your door to the smell of coffee already brewing and make a small surprised sound. 

"Thought I should go ahead and put a pot on, how was your niece?" He says from the center of your kitchen holding two white coffee cups, black cloth still covering his face almost like a blindfold.

"She was sleeping. Not to sound rude but…how do you see out of that thing?"

"I don't." He laughs abruptly at your question. "Before you follow that up with another question, yes, I'm blind. My other senses are just…very good."

You shake your head at that admission from him. Before grabbing a cloth from a drawer and dampening it in the sink. "I'm going to wipe the blood off your face and see if anything needs tending to. Okay?"

He nods after filling both cups and taking a sip of his.

You reach up with the cool cloth and swipe it down the edge of his cheek and under his nose. He cringes at you and grumbles.

You flinch. "Sorry! I was trying not to hurt you."

"No, no, no. That cloth is really rough. Feels like sandpaper. Like I said, senses are very good." He reaches over and pulls the cloth from your hand, patting the spots on his face much more carefully than you did. "The one on my cheek could use some doctoring, but my nose is fine. Didn't even break it." He stretches and rotates his torso almost cat-like, the barest hit of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "A little bruising here and there, I don't hear any cracked ribs. They really couldn't hit for nothing."

"Hear any cracked ribs?" You blink at him after composing yourself from watching the languid movements he made while checking over his body.

"Yeah, the bones sound…different if they're broken. You said you had a first aid kit?"

Five minutes later he was digging through the small box you sat on your small two person table. "You really should update this thing, a lot of the stuff in here is expired. I've got a friend who's a nurse. I'll see if she has anything spare and bring it by." He talks to himself as he grabs an alcohol pad and a small adhesive bandage from the messy contents.

He could have just as easily affixed the bandage himself but instead he smiled and handed the things to you. "Would you mind? I mean, you know, blind and all."

You shake your head and let out a sharp laugh before, much gently than earlier, wiping along the cut on his cheek with the alcohol pad. You carefully cover it with the small bandage and pat his cheek affectionately. "There. Good as new."

His smile grows just a tad bit wider as he stands and rolls his shoulders a little. "Yep, good job, doc. I'll get if I can grab you some better supplies for that depressing thing you call a first aid kid. Who knows when I might need tended to again? I'd better get going though. Take your niece to Metro-General, she sounds like she has a sinus infection, not just a cold. That cough sounded rough. I'm sure she'll be fine, though."

You blink at him and nod slowly, once again forgetting that he couldn't see you. "I…uh…sure, I'll tell her in the morning. Thanks."

All you saw was a flash of teeth in a broad smile before he vaulted out your window and onto your fire escape. He was gone by the time you got to the window to look. The only evidence he had even been there was the still hot, half-empty mug of coffee sitting beside the neatly repacked first aid kit on your small kitchen table.

Fic Masterlist

[lilguydredge]

Whoah!!! Whoah!! Another dulcet-toned hurgling among the stacks of books!! Another who appreciates a good warbling moan to fill a room with melodic gargling. A friend, perhaps???

The Lil Guy frisks and skips from side to side on it's mismatched limbs- little bony legs skittering while meatier paws slapped heavily against the floor. A half dozen little noodly arms snake out from the skull of it's back, simultaneously helping to pull it along faster and reaching to take one of Leon's hands and shake it with three of it's own.

"Ghbragl!!" It gargles in introduction. "Rghjrkllghh!"

Formalities taken care of, it continues it's scramble, going up and over Leon's back to investigate for itself; pulling at spikes, grabbing at tendrils and poking at unusual eyes.

Something nearby is hurgling and gurgling. (@lilguydredge)

Leon is in the middle of trying to figure out a place to sleep for himself, having torn up a bunch of books he considered not important and used their pages as an almost bedding. The urge to nest can be blamed almost entirely on the Plagas, some primal instinct fueling the need to craft someplace comfortable to rest. It's... Embarrassing, almost. But luckily he doesn't care about how Wesker feels, knows the Nemesis can't feel, and Birkin is caught up in his feelings and hardly explores the building. And so he feels safe enough to do this unorthodox thing, getting comfortable...

When he hears a strange noise to his left.

It's the territorial instinct that gets him on edge, tensing as he pokes his head around and tries to locate the strange sounds. It's when he nudges over a pile of books that he spots it, this... Thing. This weird thing that's hurgling at him. The harsh spikes and tentacles flare up in response and Leon gets closer to the ground, tail lashing out and thumping around.

... he makes chittering noises back.

[dreamerstreamer]

Love Bite

Pairing: vampire!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Vampire!AU] Despite how deadly it may appear at first glance, you love your vampire boyfriend with all your heart, so when Clay goes a bit too long without a drink, you’re more than willing to help him.

Warnings: tw// mentions of blood & general vampire shenanigans

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see vampire dream! this was lots of fun to explore, and i hope you all enjoy! <3

You scroll mindlessly along your mouse, your laptop screen illuminating your dim room with a pale glow as image after image pops up on your screen. Your assignment lies long forgotten on the side of your desk, the tab still open just a single click away.

“Whatever,” you mumble quietly to yourself as you click on another link. Your gaze briefly flickers to the calendar on your wall before you shake your head. “I still have another week to work on it—it’s fine.”

Letting out a sigh, you slump over onto your desk, pressing your cheek against the cool wood as you sweep your gaze over to your balcony window. Outside, the sky is dark, the vast expanse washed with a deep, navy hue as the stars begin to peek out from the shadows and gaze down at the bustling city below. It’s a little past midnight now, and despite how late it is, the streets are just as busy as ever. You only catch a small glimpse of the crescent moon hanging among them before your gaze drops to your balcony.

Yet again, it’s empty, completely devoid of life.

The sight makes you frown, and you tear your gaze away from the sight and back to your laptop, continuing your scrolling with a sulk.

It had been a little over four days since you had last seen your boyfriend. Not that you’re counting or anything, of course. It’s just that you’ve gotten lonely without him, and you’re starting to miss him more than you’d like to admit.

Having a vampire boyfriend and being a human isn’t always the easiest, but you’re more than willing to put up with it for him. You can still remember the day he had broken the news to you, having been fully prepared to sacrifice his life right then and there for you if you chose to call for a hunter. But you hadn’t—you chose to stay, to love him.

And love him you do.

There may be times where he has to disappear for a little while that leave you cold and wanting, but the time you do spend together more than makes up for it. He’s overwhelmingly kind, honestly stubborn, and always loves to put a smile on your face, no matter how bad of a day you may have had. You can’t possibly count how many times you’ve thrown yourself into his arms with the widest grin on your face, all just to feel him laugh against you with a soft kiss behind your ear. There’s no one else in the world for you, living or undead, and you are willing to wait for him. It’s embarrassing to think about, but you really would walk to the ends of the earth just for him.

Heat creeps up your neck at the thought, and you force it down with a huff, ducking your head back down again and staring at your assignment. You distantly think of your phone sitting next to your bed and the string of messages you had sent him a few hours prior, all of which remain unopened. Kicking your legs, you whine, burying your face into your arms upon your desk.

Tonight is just not your night, it seems.

Just then, you hear it—the unmistakable sound of nails tapping on glass.

Lifting your head, you blink, slowly turning to look over at your window. Squinting for a moment, you can barely make out the shape of a familiar silhouette standing on your balcony and leaning casually against the railing. His golden hair shines beneath the moonlight, and your heart leaps into your throat.

He’s here.

In an instant, you’re scrambling out of your desk chair and across the room. Fumbling with the balcony lock, you slide open the door with a gasp, the cool night breeze brushing against your cheeks with a soft caress. In front of you, the figure shoots you a crooked grin, his eyes flashing with delight.

“Good evening, sweetheart.”

Your heart melts at the sound of his ever-soothing, familiar voice, and you return his smile with one of your own. “Good evening to you too, Clay.” Scanning him up and down once, you gesture for him to come inside as you add jokingly, “You do know you don’t always have to come in through the window, right? I do have a front door.”

His grin only widens at your words, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he ducks his head to step into your room. “I have a reputation to uphold as a vampire, you know?” he hums. The glint in his eye dances with mischief. “Twilight was the one who said that windows are the way to go.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “Are you really sure you want to use Twilight as your vampire role model of all things? Why not use...” You pause for a moment, then lift a finger. “Dracula?”

A grimace skitters across his face as he pulls the balcony door shut behind him. “Dracula may have been scary, but he was also an old man and, like, super creepy. At least modern vampire fiction makes us sound less gross.” His eyes gleam devilishly. “And also hot.”

You gulp, stepping back until your hand is brushing over the soft covers of your bed. “Well,” you ask softly, “do you think they got it right? The way they portray you guys?”

His lips split into a sly grin, his teeth flashing in the starlight. “I dunno, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he dips his head closer to yours. “You tell me.”

Your breath catches for all but a second before you’re gently pushing him away from you with a giggle. “Nice try,” you say, leaping onto your bed with a teasing grin, “but I’m not feeding your ego any more. You do that enough on your own.”

He feigns a wounded look, climbing into the space next to you with a hurt pout. “Aw, bummer. At least give me a kiss, then.”

For a second, you pretend to think about it, mulling the decision over in your head just to watch something needy spring to life in his eyes. Then, you smile, leaning in close to his face with your mouth hovering over his. “Just one.”

You only manage to see a sliver of his lovestruck smile before he presses his lips to yours, your eyelids falling shut. You can just barely feel his sharp fangs brush against the skin of your lip, and the thought makes you croon into his mouth. A certain fondness blossoms behind your ribcage, and your lungs almost feel as though they’re too tight to breathe. He’s cold against you, and when he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, you shiver at the feeling of his icy skin against yours. Everything he does sends a chill rushing down your spine, but when you part just a moment later, you already feel yourself missing his touch.

Brushing his nose over yours, you feel him inhale sharply against you, and the breath he lets out is positively trembling. “God,” he whispers into the side of your face, his voice rasping ever so slightly, “you smell so good.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at his words, and you feel warmth blossom across your collarbones. “I’m flattered,” you say gently, reaching a hand up to press against his shoulder. Instantly, he melts into your touch as you subtly shuffle back across your bed away from him. “But you’re the one who told me I’m not allowed to let you drink from me.”

His lips part for a moment, and you catch a gleam of the moonlight flashing across his fangs. Swallowing, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs with longing. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” His eyes dart up to meet yours, his gaze swimming with a deep, drowning sense of sorrow. “You know that I’d never, ever want to hurt you, right?”

A smile tugs on your lips, sincere and true. “Of course I do,” you murmur, “and I promise you that you won’t, even if you did drink from me.”

You pause for a moment, then slowly reach a hand up to your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his eyes widen at the sight, and you almost swear you catch an inkling of crimson swirling within his viridian gaze as you lean your neck to the side. “It’s okay if you want to, alright?” you whisper, swallowing.

His eyes are glued to your neck, and you can almost see the storm that rages just beneath his skin. Your chest aches at the thought, knowing just how conflicted he must feel right now. When he doesn’t move, you drop your hand back down to the bed, your gaze focused intently on his.

“I trust you,” you say, pouring every ounce of honesty you can into your words. “Can you trust yourself?”

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his lips parted as his emerald eyes rake you up and down. They’re wide with hunger, an expression you had seen many times before over the months, but not one you had become fully acquainted with. You fidget a little under his intense gaze, and you’re just about to open your mouth again when suddenly, his hands are reaching for yours on the bed.

You gasp as he intertwines his cool fingers between your warm ones, your heart leaping for joy. You let your eyelids flutter shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, drinking in your sweet scent as your warm breath tickles his cold skin. You love the quiet moments like this, the enamoured silences that envelop the two of you in your own little bubble as the world seems to slow down. Sucking in a breath, he shudders at your touch, his hand squeezing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly for you and you alone to hear. “You’re too good to me.”

You smile at his words, your heart fluttering in your chest, but something uneasy sinks into the pit of your stomach at the bittersweet tone of his voice.

He didn’t answer your question, a voice whispers from the back of your head. Why didn’t he answer?

A moment later, you push the feeling away, nudging it back into the dark crevices of your mind. Instead, you choose to focus on the feeling of his skin pressing against yours, soothing and soft as you relish in the moment. The moon’s crescent frown seems to deepen from her perch in the sky, but she remains ever silent, only watching with her patient, pallid gaze.

You’re probably just imagining things.

After that night, time passes by you at an achingly slow pace. Night after night passes without a single sign of Clay, and before you even know it, a week and a half has flown past you without so much as a call. You text him as often as you can, and more often than not, you do actually get a response. Seeing the notification of his name pop up on your phone screen makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you’re always eager to hear back from him, but you can’t help but miss him as the hours drag on.

An empty, hollow feeling sinks into your chest as you curl up in your bed, the blankets strewn around you haphazardly as you blink over at the closed curtains draped over your balcony window. You haven’t bothered to look outside for a few nights, now—you already know that he won’t be there, as much as you want him to be. Even now, you can imagine his grinning face and teasing pokes as clear as day. The loneliness gnaws away at you as you turn onto your side, facing away from the window.

You hope he’s safe no matter what he’s up to, right now. You know better than anyone that sometimes, he can be a little too reckless for his own good.

Letting your eyes close, you sink into your pillow, a galaxy of stars whirling around your head as you slowly feel yourself drift off into a murky dream. Flashes of bright grins and the sound of wheezing laughter trickles through your thoughts, and you sigh at the endearing memories that wrap around your heart. You can almost swear you feel a pair of hands wrap around your own.

All of a sudden, something prods at the back of your ear, restless and sharp. Wincing, you blink a sleepy eye open, your bleary mind sorting through the sounds in your head before landing on one.

Glass—that’s the sound of glass.

Someone is tapping at your window.

Your eyes shoot wide open, and in a whirlwind, you’re ripping the covers off your body and pushing open your bedroom curtains. On the balcony stands a hooded figure, his golden tresses just barely peeking out from beneath the low-hanging cloth. You swallow and grab onto the door lock, slamming it open just a moment later. You shiver at the night breeze nipping at your skin, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less about the cold, your focus entirely devoted to one thing and one thing alone.

“Clay!” you cry, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and instead, his hand reaches to the side to desperately grip onto the balcony railing, his knuckles turning white. Your eyebrows furrow with concern, and slowly, you take a step toward him. You haven’t even crossed the doorway separating the inside of your room to your balcony when he suddenly barks, “Stop!”

You freeze in place, your hand halfway reaching for his when he practically crumples against the railing, curling in on himself with a choked plea. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his chest with a ragged breath, “please. I’m—”

“Clay?” you breathe again, this time much quieter. You shuffle closer to the window glass, your toe just barely brushing against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

All of a sudden, a snarl rips out of his throat, guttural and beastly. You flinch at the sound for a split second, the worry in your chest only making your heart shake even more. His grip on your balcony railing grows even tighter, and you don’t doubt that it’s going to leave a mark on the metal.

“Don’t come too close,” he pants, his thighs shaking beneath him. “I—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You purse your lips at him, frustration and confusion digging at the sides of your stomach. “Then why did you come here?”

All is quiet, and he doesn’t respond. The only sound you can properly hear is his uneven breathing as he claws at the front of his hoodie, the fabric bunching beneath his touch. You flick your gaze over him again, and a cold realization suddenly washes over you.

“Clay,” you whisper, the tiniest hint of fear seeping into your voice, “when was the last time you had a proper drink?”

You are once again met with silence, but the way he suddenly stiffens does not go unnoticed by your watchful gaze. Something curls nervously inside your gut, and your lips curl into a frown as you dig your heel into the ground.

“Clay,” you say again, a little louder this time—a little more firmly. “How long has it been?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, he whispers so softly that it’s almost swept away by the wind, “...too long.”

A pang of sorrow shoots through you, a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. You were right. He’s thirsty. A sigh escapes your throat as you open up your arms, beckoning him toward you. “Come here,” you murmur with all the softness you can muster. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, and it’s then that you realize you haven’t seen his face this whole time. “Take off the hood,” you say gently. His shoulders tense at your request, and you quickly add a tender, “Please.”

His throat bobs as he gulps, and ever so slowly, his hands reach up to tug at his hood until suddenly, the moonlight is casting a glowing streak of silver across his face. Your eyes go wide.

His kind, lovely eyes, which are typically viridian green and swimming with adoration for you, are now painted a deep, scarlet red, his pupils dilated beyond belief as they lock onto yours.

In all the time you’ve known he was a vampire, you’ve never seen him like this before.

But strangely enough, you’re not afraid.

Instead, you gently reach for his hand, careful to only just lightly wrap your fingers around his. His gaze drops back to the ground again, and while you know he doesn’t have a pulse, if he did, you imagine that it would be going haywire right about now. “Oh, honey,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

Just as you begin to lead him inside to your room does he raise his chin once more, his jaw clenched tight as he takes in your soft, enamoured expression. As he steps inside, you reach behind him to slide the door shut before tugging him back toward your bed. Settling down on the mattress with a loose breath, you let go of his hand. His arms are still shaking at his side when he sits, and it’s then that you open your mouth again.

“Clay,” you say, your voice as clear as a bell, “you can drink from me.”

His crimson eyes widen, and the look he shoots you is one of pure, unadulterated panic. “I-I can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes,” you shoot back, reaching up for the collar of your shirt, “you can.” His eyes trace down the slope of your jaw before landing on the smooth skin of your neck, exposed and waiting for him. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands squeezing into fists beside him. “It’ll be alright.”

“H-How do you know that?” he blurts, his nails digging into his palm. “What if—what if I lose control and hurt you?” His face blanches at the sight, and he slumps over onto his lap, hanging his head in his hands. “I can’t let that happen.”

You sigh, and he clams up at the softness of the sound. “And it won’t.”

A moment passes in aching, tense silence. You resist the urge to hug him, knowing that initiating any more contact with him would only make him panic even more. “Last time I was here,” he suddenly whispers, shattering the silence with his head ducked down, “you asked me if I trust myself.”

You blink at him as he slowly raises his head, turning his gaze to look at you head-on. “I don’t, [Y/N],” he whispers. “Not one bit.”

Your eyes flash in the darkness of your room, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth opens. “But I do.”

He goes stock still before you, and suddenly, the words are flowing from your lips in a rush, unstoppable and dripping with honesty. “I know you, Clay, and I know you won’t hurt me, no matter how scared you are that you might. I believe in you, and I believe in us.” You press your hand to your chest, your fingers curling over your beating heart. “I love how much you want to make sure I’m safe, but right now, I want to make sure that you’re safe, too.”

If you were looking a little closer, you would have seen the glossy sheen in Clay’s eyes as you tip your head to the side once more, your shirt collar tugged down your shoulder. You bite on the inside of your cheek, your fingers squeezing the sheets. His crimson eyes almost look soft in the glittering starlight of the night, and you feel your chest flood with heat.

“Please,” you croon, your eyes never leaving his. “Go on.”

He eyes you for a moment longer. Then, he’s crawling across the bed toward you, his shaking hand reaching for your shoulder. Gently, he turns you toward him, his other hand cupping your cheek. Slowly, you feel his nose brush against your jaw, something cold pressing against your skin.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispers.

Then, he sinks his fangs in.

A sting shoots up your neck at the feeling, just barely there and slightly sharp, but it’s most certainly nothing you can’t handle. Heat pools around your collar bones as he drinks and drinks, and you feel your eyelids flutter shut. His lips, which are usually cool and soft when they meet yours, feel oddly warm for once, and you sigh at the sensation of your blood pumping from your skin.

You aren’t quite sure how much time passes with him cradling you against him and his mouth lapping at the side of your neck, but soon enough, you can feel a slight dizziness flit around your skull. A soft whimper escapes your lips and instantly, he breaks away from you, his eyes wide with worry as you lean against him for support. You press your forehead against his shoulder for a brief second before sitting upright once more, blinking away the vignette tinting the edges of your vision. In front of you, Clay’s lips are stained with a faint shade of red, but his eyes have returned to the brilliant shade of green you know and love. He grips onto your shoulders a tad tighter than before, his hands reassuringly rubbing against up and down against your arms.

“Oh, [Y/N],” he breathes, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of harm. “I-I’m sorry if I was too rough or anything. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but god, you taste so sweet and I—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Before he can even blink, you’re pressing your mouth to his, your tongue swiping at the seam of his lips. The uncanny warmth of his lips against yours makes your head spin more than it was before, and you feel yourself smile against him when you pull back. You can taste the slight metallic tang of your own blood on your mouth as you flash him a grin, his eyes wide with adoration as he drinks in the sight of you sitting before him.

“I’m okay, Clay,” you say with an earnest look. Tilting your head at him, your tongue darts out to swipe at the corners of your mouth. “Are you?”

His eyes never leave yours as he reaches forward to slip your hand into his, his fingers slotting between your own. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His pale skin almost seems to glow in the dim light filtering through your balcony window, and he strokes his thumb over the back of your knuckles. Something inside you suddenly unravels as he tugs you into his chest, holding you close to him as his arms wrap around your backside. You feel him rest his chin atop your shoulder, and you melt into his cool touch. Just as you let yourself let out a loving, hazy sigh against his chest, you feel him whisper into the shell of your ear.

“Would you maybe let me... have another sip?”