#look at him trying to stand like a real human boy and failing

[good-realtor-bad-realtor-dynamic]

I found these Glenimages of the four guys at the BlackBerry panel yesterday on random news sites. Also found some photos from the premiere later in the evening on the same news websites.

somebody get peepaw home he's looking a little dead-eyed from all this human-human interaction

[wickedsmille]

broken and still breaking

uhhhh, this is a little fic technically titled Angsty McAngst Pants Angst in my notes because Jason goes to his Re-Welcoming/It's A(n Alive) Boy! gala then gets triggered into a PTSD episode of dying which Tim helps him through. It was SUPPOSED to be gen but then they started flirting and bantering so. Welp.

Buyer beware cause I haven't beta'ed this, aforementioned PTSD episode, mild depictions of blood and injuries and what nots.

Alright then *thigh slap*

------

If it weren’t for the overwhelming feeling of being settled in his own skin, Jason would’ve told Bruce to fuck a cactus for offering to make Jason Peter Todd a real boy again. On principle alone he nearly said no. Besides, creating aliases is fun. James Austen, John Red and, to be nothing if not a mature adult with refined tastes, Dick Dickins. So many others, too. He could get the utilities at a new safehouse hooked up under Stephen Wolfe’s name then turn right around and renew Emmerson Bronte’s license at the downtown DMV.  

See? Being legally dead has allowed him room to express himself creatively in a way that has nothing to do with experimental ammunitions and testing the limits of the human body. One might even say it’s a healthy passtime. Sort of. Relatively speaking, okay. He’s not a perfect person, wouldn’t even dream of entertaining the thought. Not when he’s had so much practice turning the inside of someone’s skull into a modern day Picasso. 

But he’s been trying. Is trying. 

So, rather than testing the integrity of Bruce’s dental implants, Jason bit his cheek so hard it bled, swallowed back every bitter, snide remark dancing along his tongue and nodded tightly. He can’t think about the way Bruce deflated after. How his eyes went soft and the weight of the cape and cowl fully slipped off to reveal an infinitely exhausted but relieved Bruce Wayne, Failed Father Extraordinaire. If Jason does, he might ask himself what it was all for anyway and if any of it really ever mattered. Those kinds of thoughts lead to nothing but self-imposed isolation and self-destruction. 

He’s definitely regretting his decision as his gaze scans over the crowded ballroom of the Grand Hotel in downtown Gotham. A sea of opulence swims below the upper landing he has stalled out on. Men and women stand around in circles, chatting one another with plastic smiles etched into their faces. The sound of faked laughter grates, making his jaw clench and his teeth grind together. Wouldn’t it be just his luck that the food tables are all the across the room.

“Ha, ha, ha. Oh my, this little thing?” a woman simpers loudly at the bottom of the stairs. “Why, it was my mother’s.” She fingers the delicate gold chain around her neck. On the end is a diamond large enough it could feed a family of four in the Alley for a couple years.

A man across from her, entrenched in his own conversation partners, tips his head back and holds his belly as he chortles. “Mr. Campbell, you’re in luck! I have a penthouse in uptown and a condo on the westside and they’re alright but, if you’re looking for a sound investment, I suggest getting a cabin or three in the Northwest. Best decision I ever made!” he says blithely like there aren’t families and children sleeping in their cars because every apartment building is leased up and the list for voucher programs are thousands long.

Jesus fuck, he did not miss this.

Being a Wayne again means he gets the horrific honor of taking a half-step into the limelight. At first, Bruce wanted to do a full spread. Interviews and press conferences, staged sightings by the paparazzi and several welcoming events. Jason promptly shut him down by threatening to find every copy of his adoption papers and burning them. He’d rather chew off his own arm and beat Bruce with the appendage than do any of that. The compromise? A single gala as a re-introduction then Jason could fade into the background once more. 

So long as you don’t cause a scene, Bruce had said sardonically, knowingly. Bastard.

With the implied threat to his privacy, Jason has smartly decided to be on his best behavior. Even though the simple, black suit he’s wearing feels too tight and too hot. Though his hair is stiff from all the product in it. Despite the shiny leather shoes pinching his toes. No matter the way he feels like everyone is staring at him even if they’re not. 

Sure, quite a few of the guests are surreptitiously staring, thinking they’re oh so clever with the way they side-eye him before quickly looking away. They’re subtle, or so they think. It’s not like everyone is facing him, gazes boring into him. He almost thinks that would be better. At least he’d have a good reason to sneer and dip out scot free. Would it really be a scene if he were to loudly trip coming down the stairs? He’ll feign embarrassment at drawing attention to himself if it means he can back out. 

An elbow bumps into his side, making him jolt. Jason’s head whips around, intending to give whoever has invaded his personal space a thorough tongue lashing until he sees Tim. Calm, cool, collected Tim holding two champagne flutes, one held towards Jason. He’s smiling softly with his head tipped to the side in an unspoken question. The gold and white of his corset vest contrast well with the black of the rest of his suit and make the blue-gray of his eyes pop without washing him out. Tim would look right at home if he were down on the floor swimming with the other sharks. Goddamn him for fitting in so well.

“I’ll back you if you want to leave,” Tim tells him. “Due to your violent bout of diarrhea and uncontrollable gas.”

Snatching the offered glass out of Tim’s hand, Jason drains the entire thing in one go. “I hate you,” he murmurs miserably, only partly meaning it. Then he snags Tim’s own glass and downs that as well. 

A thoughtful frown makes its way onto Tim’s face. “I’d be careful. Getting tipsy won’t actually make this any easier to navigate.”

“Stop talking like you know me.”

Tim shrugs amiably. “I might not know you as well as I’d like to but I know them.” 

He inclines his head towards the dodos guffawing over their latest insider trading power plays and gossiping on whose husband is sleeping with which of the help. Or lamenting on how finicky children can be, not realizing their kids aren’t really the problem because they’re capacity for introspection matches the frigidity of their hearts somewhere below absolute zero. Jason tries very hard to not bite and snarl at Tim since he’s one of the blue bloods. Born and bred for the hoity-toity bullshit with a silver spoon shoved so far down his throat he must’ve been gagging on it. 

Tim isn’t like that and never has been, he reminds himself. In fact, for all the ways Jason had to show Tim how to effectively coupon stack and explain why he microwaves his sponges, Tim is as far removed from the vultures and roaches and leeches they’re surrounded with as he could be given his upbringing. For one, Tim isn’t a total douchebag. Unthinking at times and eccentric, but not outright malicious. He can be surprisingly sweet like when he requests Alfred make one of Jason’s favorite foods when he knows Jason will be coming over for dinner or upgrading Jason’s helmet when his own tech know-how fails him without Jason ever needing to ask. 

The guy is a squishy ball of good intentions wrapped in a deceptively tiny package which has never, not once, held him back from putting dusty, crusty board members and hardened, violent crooks in their place. Once he’d had a chance to actually get to know Tim, Jason found himself feeling grateful. Bruce didn’t concede to just anyone stepping into Jason’s pixie boots. At least he went for the best. 

“If you knew me any better you’d have a key to my apartment and a drawer in my dresser,” Jason drawls, steering the conversation away from the swarm of jewels and silks he wants to pretend doesn’t exist.

“I already have a key to your apartment,” Tim points out. 

Rolling his eyes, Jason stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Yeah, but you come over so I can make you buy pizza and kick your ass in Mortal Kombat. Not fucking you into the mattress and making you breakfast in bed after.”

“You never asked, did you?” Tim asks him slyly.

Just about every coherent thought in Jason’s mind fucks off into some deep, dark hole. Leaving him a flustered mess with vague recollections of waking up sticky and wanting. So his witty, top of the line comeback is, “Nope.”

“Eloquent as always,” Tim laughs, patting Jason lightly on the shoulder like he didn’t just break Jason’s brain. “We should get down there before they start chattering about how egregiously anti-social we are.”

All the clamboring what if’s and could be’s get ruthlessly, shamelessly smothered and die a quick and violent end so he can get himself back on task. “I don’t want to,” Jason says petulantly to drive the conversation back to safer, calmer waters.

Now it’s Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. Huffing, he points at Damian to the far left where he’s leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed tightly. “Suck it up. If he can do it, so can you. Now come on.” 

Tim holds out his elbow which Jason bats away with a scowl. He can make his own way down the stairs, thanks. Telling Tim as much, Jason nearly trips over himself when Tim challenges him to put his money where his mouth is. There’s a reason Tim is his favorite because it’s just the thing he needs to unstick his feet and get him moving despite the way his skin prickles the closer they get to the main floor. Although Tim had been joking when he volunteered to escort Jason down, he finds himself wishing he’d taken Tim up on it if only for the grounding comfort of a familiar touch as the smooth soles of his shoes land on the polished floors. 

Graciously, Tim does see him through the crowd to the food tables Jason had been eyeing up. As a kid, they were an oasis. It’s hard for others to talk to you when you’re stuffing your face as fast as you can while chewing as slowly as possible to delay and discourage conversation. Plus, it’s good. A little bland because the chefs have to cater to the tastes of so many, watering down their usual Michelin star flair to a point that probably pains them. But still good in spite of it being pretentious.

Once satisfied Jason can be his own keeper no longer in need of a handler, Tim drifts off. He switches over from the insufferable geek Jason has come to like to the smoothed, glacial veneer of a corporate socialite. The totality of the shift leaves Jason reeling. One thing he’s never understood, no matter how much he puzzled through it and tried to emulate it, is how Bruce and Tim can switch between the two extremes so flawlessly. It’s like trading out coats for them. A flick and a swish then, poof, like magic they’re entirely new people. What that says about their psyches and the inherent fault in their neural wiring is something he shies away from.

Jason tucks in with gusto when an older woman in an inappropriately low cut halter dress and coiffed hair sets her sights on him and starts striding over. With nimble fingers, he loads up the plate his grabs and shoves whatever in his mouth, hoping the age-old trick still works despite being over a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier. 

Score because it totally does. She wrinkles her nose at his puffed out cheeks and actually sniffs haughtily when he chews purposefully with his mouth open. He even smiles, masticated mush on full display, and waves cheekily. The woman redirects her steps to take her closer to where Dick is holding court about twenty yards out. She joins the gaggle of women and men magnetically drawn in by Dick’s natural charm. He doesn't quite fit like Tim and Bruce do but he has his natural personality to make up the difference.

Unlike Jason. Which he has no problem with. He’ll take himself, authentically cynical and caustic and brutally honest, over being a fake fuck any day. 

The bacon wrapped, maple seared figs don’t settle well as more people attempt to approach him. Even for him, there’s only so much he can eat. Rapidly, he’s reaching his limit. The twisting viper pit turning his stomach inside out isn’t helping his appetite either. So far he’s been successful in warding people off but his stomach flips, signaling his need to find a new method to avoid unwanted advances and carelessly hurtful words. 

Setting his plate aside, Jason casts his gaze out across the crowd once more. Being tall does have its advantages. Like being able to pinpoint where exactly the rest of the family is and relatively what they’re up to. Dick is wholly unaccessible with the amount of attention he’s getting. He can keep the center stage, Jason is trying to move behind the curtains. Bruce is similarly front and center with his own gathered horde so that’s a no go even if he thought he could handle it without fisting Bruce’s collar and dunking him into the champagne fountain in the corner. 

Damian is somewhere. It’s a toss up whether Jason just can’t see the shrimp or he’s faded into the shadows to either eerily stare out at the crowd from a corner or making his way towards a Bat bothole to go on an ill-advised patrol. As helpful as it would be to have Cass, she’s no better handling these things than Jason so Stephanie has been guiding her. Her attempts at bumbling but Stephanie is nothing if not determined and relentless. It’s why Jason likes her even though he hates those qualities, a reflection of his own, weaponized against him. Duke, the lucky duck, got to skip.

Then, there’s Tim. He’s making amiable small talk with a couple to Jason’s left. They’re too far for Jason to make out the words but close enough Jason feels comfortable weaving between bodies to reach him. So what if it makes him needy or weak. Everyone has to take a knee from time to time and he doesn’t need anything more than a temporary crutch to get him through the next hour or two before he can leave without causing a fuss. Tim is crutch-shaped. It makes sense. 

Saddling up to Tim’s side, Jason inserts himself into the conversation. The man speaking stutters, words petering out as he looks up, up, up at Jason. Jason flashes what he hopes passes as a polite smile. He’s not sure it works when the guy recoils minutely. The woman, his wife Jason assumes if the three-figure rock on her finger is anything to go by, gives him a flat grimace he assumes is supposed to be a smile.

“Jason, it’s good to see you. Enjoying the party so far?” Tim asks him, voice level and almost serene.

“It’s a blast,” Jason deadpans, bumping his hip into Tim’s as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.

“It is a fabulous venue,” the woman says. “We were delighted to get the invitation and haven’t been disappointed yet.”

Yet. Goddamn. He forgot just how snippy these people could be. 

“I’ll be sure to pass your praise along to our event planner,” Tim replies so Jason doesn’t immediately make an ass of himself. “By the way, Jason, this is John Anders and Mary Ann Anders. They’re the founders and CEOs of Anders Packaging. Wayne Enterprises is lucky to call them partners.”

“Jason Wayne,” Jason introduces himself. He holds out his hand which John hesitates to take but social norms win out. Jason makes sure to squeeze on the side of too tight and doesn’t stop till John winces. He goes easier on Mary Ann though, maybe he shouldn’t have because she digs her nails into the skin of his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

When Tim’s hip bumps into him, Jason reads it as the warning it is so he backs off. Tim takes back the reins of the conversation to steer them away from Jason himself. The transition back to dull, unassuming chatter is easy when Tim is the one leading. The tension from John drains away as he falls under Tim’s spell. Jason does feel some small amount of respect for Mary Ann as he notes she isn’t as enamored with Tim’s performance as her husband is. She gives Jason a shrewd look as if to say I see you both, I’m watching you and, yeah, he kind of likes her and hates that he does. But she probably hates him right back since she has to like him. Or pretend to.

Jason rises to Mary Ann’s challenge when she narrows her eyes at him. It becomes a game where they both adopt an air of cordial confidence whenever Tim and John are looking. Then they cast it aside for suspicion and mutual distaste when the other two aren’t. It’s kind of fun. If Mary Ann doesn’t think so, sucks to suck. Jason has had an entire lifetime of pissing people off by doing nothing but existing to hone his craft of being a nuisance without lifting a finger.

Tim looks at him askance, drawing Jason away from his silent feud with Mary Ann and back to the conversation. 

“I thought it would be fun,” John laments ruefully.

“You’re adventurous,” Mary Ann says as she pats his arm. 

“I suppose so,” John replies, giving her a small, genuine smile. “I certainly have a better appreciation for remodelers! Doing the kitchen in our summer house? Never again! I was trying to knock out the cabinets with a hammer for ages until Mary Ann grabbed me a crowbar.”

Jason’s blood runs cold. He abandons the game with Mary Ann in favor of racking his mind for a graceful, or graceless if necessary, way to leave. 

The mention of a crowbar sinks its hooks into his mind, making it run syrupy slow. Too slow to slink away before John keeps going. 

“Now that did the trick! It still took me an hour but, whoo, let me tell you. That is a workout,” John laughs. The arm he has around Mary Ann’s waist unwinds and he takes a step back to give himself some more room. Then he’s miming swinging his arm back and forth. High above his shoulder then down and across, grunting from the effort and smiling from the humor of it all. “You have to throw your shoulder into it. Really get into it. It was fun!”

John laughs again but it’s not John. Not to Jason. It’s too high, too loud. The sound echoes in his head and amplifies with every reverberation. He would cover his ears if he knew it would do any good but it’s all in his head. Now would be a good time to leave, decorum be damned. But his feet feel rooted to the spot and every muscle is coiled so tight he’s shaking with it and immobile. Jason's hands start trembling as John keeps going. On and on and on about his skill with a crowbar. Proud of himself for it. 

In horror, Jason watches as John’s smile keeps curving and twisting into a rictus grin so wide it should be splitting his face but it isn’t. The white straight line of his teeth shift and dull to a pale yellow while all the color of his skin drains away to an unnatural white. The charcoal gray of his suit bursts into color Purple and green and red. So much red. John’s hand isn’t empty anymore either. Now he’s swinging a real crowbar with the end of the metal dented from where he used it to shatter Jason’s femur and tailbone. 

Jason watches as John as the Joker pummels Jason as Robin right there on the ballroom floor. A deep dark red spreads out across the ground. Jason as Robin screams and pleads. Snot and blood and a broken jaw making it difficult to form words but he knows what he said. He was calling out for Bruce. But Bruce never came and the pool of blood has spread far enough he’s standing in it and Jason can’t do this anymore - 

He’s off like a shot. All the restless, animalistic panic inside him zips through his veins. His chest heaves with the effort to suck in as much air as possible but it’s never enough. There’s nothing but the jagged, wet sound of him breathing and the pounding beat of his pulse in his temples. Maybe someone is yelling his name, too, but it’s muffled like someone is holding his head underwater. The elite, esteemed guests gawk at him as he flies by and he doesn’t understand why they aren’t in a tizzy about the dirty warehouse they’re in. 

When he reaches the door, it isn’t locked with a winding length of chain. His hands scramble to clutch the knob of the door but it opens easily under his hands. Over the din of the crowd behind him, Jason can hear the tick, tick, ticking of the bomb. But the door leads to another warehouse so he sprints to the next door, hopping over the puddle of blood on the concrete. The next door opens without issue but it leads into a small, black hole. Yawning and bottomless and hungry.

“Get out!” someone commands from close behind him.

On instinct, he lashes out but whoever it is isn’t having it. Their arm smacks into his wrist, redirecting his punch. Then there’s hands on his chest, shoving him back and into the void. He expects to be falling endlessly but his ass crashes into the ground, arms buckling from the way he catches himself to keep from toppling over completely. He hasn’t even completely settled on the floor before the darkness is chased away by a bright cascade of light from above. Shadows lurk in the corners, wriggling and writhing like a mass of worms and maggots. 

“Jason, Jason,” someone says urgently. They try again gently, “Jay.”

“I need you to breathe with me,” they say, tone brooking no argument. It’s all a serious, low tone Jason can hear clearly over the he ha, ha, HA in his head. “You need to follow me. Fuck. Okay, okay. Can I touch you?”

He wants to understand who it is crouching next to him but the black spots dancing across his vision, the blurry edges of it, keep him from piecing it together. A hand encircles his wrist and he tries to twist away from it. They’re strong though. Stronger than he thought they’d be. His hand is planted firmly on a plane of smooth, warm fabric. The fingers around his wrist pop lose and disappear completely so he moves his head up until the pads of his fingers brush against skin. 

Then he latches on and squeezes with his teeth bared and all the higher thinking of a cornered wolf spurring him on. 

“J-Jay,” they choke out. “Alright then. Feel that?” 

They draw in a comically large breath around the pressure Jason is putting on their windpipe. The pulse beneath his fingers is thumping hard and quick but controlled. Up and down their throat presses against his hand. Unconsciously, he finds himself mimicking the movement. His focus narrows down to the rhythmic movement of their throat and the stuttering attempts his chest is making to imitate it. 

“Jay,” they say faintly. 

Jason becomes aware of two things immediately. He’s in a spacious store room. It smells like a hodgepodge of herbs and spices co-mingling into something overpoweringly herbaceous. The smell is enough to tickle his nose. Several overhead lights are shining down on the packed shelves of nonperishables and Jason and Tim. Because Tim is there with him, on his knees in front of Jason with his pants rucked up and jacket rumpled. With Jason’s hand around his throat and the pale skin of his face a worrying shade of red.

Like he’s been burned, Jason’s arm snaps back. The dimples from Jason’s fingers fade, leaving red indents sure to turn a nasty purple later. Tim gasps loudly and pitches forward onto his hands. He coughs and sputters, rubs at the tender skin of his throat. Checking for any cartilage damage, Jason realizes.

He did that.

The thought has Jason leaning to the side and emptying the contents of his stomach. It’s disgusting. Everything he ate earlier comes up for an encore but its decidedly less appetizing this time around. The bitter taste on his tongue makes him gag even after he’s done. All he can smell is bile as shame wells up, threatening to muscle everything else out because he was choking Tim. Fuck the food. They can get more food. If he seriously hurt Tim, they can’t get a new Tim. 

“Why didn’t you stop me,” Jason rasps, clearing his throat and spitting it out onto the rest of the mess. Not like it's salvageable anyway. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

Tim looks up at him sharply. He pushes himself back onto his haunches. Defiance draws his shoulders up and back. Out of them all, Tim has never let him get away with shit. The kid spat in his face even after Jason beat him to a pulp. Never once has Tim backed down from Jason’s misdirected anger or shown fear the times they’ve needed to play fight for the villains intent on pitting them against one another. Dick lets his guilt bleed through too much and lets him be lenient with Jason. In contrast, Bruce is as immovable as Tim but where Tim is kind and even sweet at times, Bruce is a complete and utter asshole.

“It worked, didn’t it?” Tim snarks. 

Jason really hates how little Tim values himself sometimes. Especially given Jason’s own high regard of Tim. 

“Never do that again,” Jason orders, whole body quaking with the aftershocks of his episode. PTSD, one doctor had told him. A normal side-effect of The Life, Jason had privately corrected him.  

“LIke to see you try and stop me,” Tim says, cheeky and sharp with a half cocked grin to match. 

This fucking guy.

“Can I hug you now?” Tim asks with a hint of hostility hiding in his tone. 

Jason can appreciate Tim’s innate ability to understand him and all the ways Jason would outright reject him if he were nicer about it. The contrast to Dick’s antsy need to use touch as a comfort is stark and wonderful. Grumbling, Jason nods his head at the nasty puddle of ick next to him. 

Tim rolls his eyes so hard Jason’s surprised they don’t pop right out of his skull. “Oh, yeah, like I don’t deal with worse on a nightly basis.”

“Touche,” Jason mutters. 

He scoots closer to Tim and away from the gross. His palms stay flat on the ground but Tim shuffles to fit himself against Jason, molding them together as he winds his arms around Jason’s neck. One hand buries itself in Jason’s hair. The nails scratching at his scalp break apart the gel in his hair. It kind of hurts but it keeps him present and helps chase away the jittery feeling in his limbs. The other hand splays across the broad expanse of his shoulders. This close, he has no choice but to follow the rise and fall of Tim’s chest so the quickened pace of his breathing slows to normal. 

Jason’s gut says to push Tim away and maybe even kick him in the jaw for daring to touch him. The impulse dies a quick death as warmth spreads out from his center. It’s soft and sweet and gentle. He presses his face hard into the curve of Tim’s neck and breaths in Tim’s overpriced cologne. Although he’s bigger than Tim, he feels protected like nothing can touch him in this bubble of fragility they’ve created. Finally, finally his mind goes blessedly silent and he settles back into his own skin, not the phantom corpse of a boy who lost more than he ever gained and was cut down before he ever really had a chance. 

Shifting, Jason moves so he can wrap his arms around Tim’s torso and cling tightly to the back of his suit jacket. The ribs of the corset vest flex under his hold. Aside from a quiet grunt, Tim doesn’t say anything. To be a shit, Jason makes them flex again. A warning rumble reverberates from Tim’s chest straight down into Jason’s bones, shaking out the cobwebs of memory and making him puff out a breath through his nose in a parody of a laugh. 

“How do you breathe in this thing?” Jason mumbles into the damp skin of Tim’s neck.

“Force of will and spite,” Tim tells him succinctly. 

“Anything for fashion.”

“More like anything to make Mr. Williams as horrendously uncomfortable as possible after he let slip a couple choice words to me at the last gala.”

“Your commitment to pettiness is unrivaled.”

“Have you met yourself?” Tim accuses him incredulously. 

“I don’t have a commitment to pettiness. I am pettiness.”

The sound of Tim’s easy laughter washes over Jason. He can’t help but to join in even if his own is weak and half hearted at best. Things feel less heavy than they did, less inevitable and better. So much better. Tim still hasn’t let him go and he has no intentions of releasing Tim either. 

With the silence comes the realization of what happened and how it must have looked to everyone else. Jason curls into himself, arms tightening around Tim. In an uncharacteristically small voice, he gives life to his uncertainty and shame. “Everyone saw, didn’t they?” he asks. 

Tim shrugs as much as he can in the vice of Jason’s arms. “You were more subtle than you think you were. Nothing a quick cover of explosive diarrhea won’t fix,” Tim tells him lightly. The callback and absurdity of the idea forces a bark of laughter from Jason. More subdued and serious, Tim adds, “Besides, it doesn’t matter. To hell with them. What matters is that you’re okay and everything else we can fix.”

“Trying to say I can’t be fixed?”

Making an irritated noise, Tim bops his head into Jason’s in chastisement. “I’m saying you don’t need to be fixed. You are who you are and we wouldn’t have it any other way. If it means you need more support, we’re happy to give it but you don’t need to be fixed, Jason.”

“Cool it on the soliloquy, Timberly,” Jason teases so he doesn’t start tearing up. “Ain’t nobody wants to hear your bleeding heart.”

“Charming as always,” Tim sighs, resigned, but he still hasn’t let Jason go.

So Jason smothers the poisonous voice in the back of his head whispering about Tim backing away to leave him cold and bereft, mocking him then relaxes entirely in the safe space Tim carved out for Jason between his arms.

[ssentimentals]

joshua + halloween prompt

creature: siren

note: look at me, as always being late to the party :D open ending here cause i'm incapable of writing angst and i made sirens capable of transforming into humans for plot. enjoy!

'they change their appereance. it's a myth that sirens exist only in the deep deep oceans.'

joshua blinks, shaking himself out of the stupor. evening in unfamiliar tavern turned into a horror story night and at first he didn't even listen to what old woman was saying, but then he got pulled in by the story just like all other random travelers. her soothing voice paired with a horrifically gore story about siren who lured in all kinds of innocent men and women had everyone under some spell; joshua's head feels a bit dizzy like he's tipsy even when he only had a one glass of ale.

'they eat your soul,' woman finishes in a spooky whisper. 'and the worst part is that you'll give it to them willingly'.

shiver runs up and down joshua's spine and he bristles at the cold wind from open windows. he stares at the storyteller, who collects her small payment from kind strangers, counting her coins - joshua searches his pockets to give her some change as well. it was entertaining even if he feels a bit unsettled, like something is pulling at the pit of his stomach. he finds some coins to spare and opens his mouth to call for the old woman, when someone slides up at the seat next to him.

'hello, stranger.'

joshua traveled east and west, south and north, but he's never seen someone as beautiful as you. part of him wants to pinch himself to see if you're real and not a figment of his imagination; the aura you give off is too majestic and out of this world. he stares and stares, knows it's rude but he can't help it - your beauty pulls him in like a vice. 'hi,' he breathes out, gaining back his ability to speak.

you smile and lean closer, gesturing towards his glass of ale. 'is it good?' joshua nods. 'can i try it?'

'uh.' it's not like this is a weird request but he's never met bold women and during his travels he rarely met women at all; joshua fears his social skills are somewhere in the dirt now. 'yeah-yeah, sure.'

every move of yours is gracious and for joshua everything happens in slow motion: the way you lean in, how you take his glass in your hands, how you tip it and never close your eyes, maintaining eye contact with him as you take a sip. it sends big enough sparks to start a fire in his chest; joshua holds his breath while you put the glass back, licking your lips in the way that cannot be considered innocent at all.

'sweet.' you conclude, never once looking away from him.

ale is not sweet. ale is generally bitter and this one here is not even good, but joshua's mind fails to register that. in fact, his mind fails to register anything apart from your big eyes that draw him in, refuse to let him go. without thinking, he pushes his glass in your direction with: 'you can have it'.

joshua is usually smoother than this, that's the thing. usually it's him who has other girls blushing and stuttering over their words, eating up from his palm. he's handsome and he knows it, uses it sometimes for his advantage. but right now he's the one scrambling, trying desperately to come up with anything to make you stay. 'is there anything else you want? i can get you something to eat, what do you want?'

joshua knows the answer before it even leaves your lips: 'you.'

he feels it then. when you are this close - when did you even manage to get this close? - he can feel something. it's hard to pinpoint what exactly, but it is something. something that makes hair on his arms stand up and goosebumps awaken. something that dulls ringing alarms in his mind that scream at him to sharpen his attention, to maybe get away, to-

'don't fight it,' you whisper, rising your hand to gently caress side of his face. 'what a pretty boy you are. why are you fighting?'

joshua doesn't know. he's not very aware that he's fighting but even if he's been unconsciously fighting something, all the willpower leaves him, when your other hand snakes up his thigh. god, you are unreal. a goddess sent to him from above, a gift from-

'hell.' suddenly old woman's voice rings in his ears and he turns sharply, looking at the storyteller who now stands right next to him. 'go back to where you came from.'

pointed nails dig into his thigh painfully and joshua hisses at both this and how your grip on his face tightens. he doesn't see how your face confronts into a grimace but he catches dangerous glint in your eyes, when you turn to the other woman. 'leave,' you say but it sounds like an order. 'it's too late now.'

when older woman turns to joshua, he sees so much regret and despair in her eyes that it almost triggers panic in him. he almost sits up straighter, almost takes her hand. almost reaches out to ask what's wrong. almost, because before he can do any of that, you turn his head to your side, leaning so close that he can feel your breath on his face. 'come with me,' you whisper, looking right into his soul. 'i'll sing for you, my dear.' your hands find their way into his hair. 'i'll make you happy, i'll make you mine. don't you want to be mine, hm?'

your nails scratch just slightly but your grip on his hair tightens when you make him turn to the right, away from the old woman. joshua is hypnotized, lets you treat him like a ragdoll, almost moans when your tongue traces his jawline. god, yes. yes, yes, yes. he's saying it out loud and he has no idea, needing more of this, needing anything you can give him, willing to beg for it. he closes his eyes in a bliss and doesn't see how your smile turns predatory and how your eyes gleam with bright blue for a second before turning back to black. he doesn't see how you turn back to the old woman, whispering something to her in a language that no one knows. he doesn't see, he only feels and he feels like he's floating, when your lips are on his neck and jaw, when your nails dig painfully into his shoulders.

'pretty boy,' you whisper again and there's something raw in your voice, something he hasn't heard before. 'all mine, yes?'

'yes,' joshua confirms, following you as a puppy when you lead him from the bar.

his mind tingles with questions but when he thinks of them his head only starts hurting. you coo at him, all lovingly, walking in hurried steps closer to the shore. 'what did i tell you, hm? don't fight it.'

right, don't fight it. joshua nods dumbly, lets himself be whisked away. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when you start singing. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when you pull him into the water. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when your face and skin slowly start to change. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when water reaches his chin. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when your entire face distorts, turns white and blue. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when water enters his lungs. he looks into your beautiful eyes, when they turn blue. your beautiful eyes are the last thing he sees, when sea takes him under.

a/n: so. ugh i hate spooky stuff, i don't think that can even count as 'spooky' but oh well. this one is for @rwithkali and i know it's not what you meant but it is halloween, so sirens as monster creatures it is! - nini

my other seventeen works are here

my formula 1 works are here

[team7-headquarter]

Team 7 introductions are like:

Naruto: I want to obtain POWER so I can force people to look at me like an actual human being and not a monster, haha! They won't ignore me or isolate me anymore! They're gonna BEG ME and put their lives on my hands and— Oh and ramen. All the ramen. And maybe prove to everyone that they are dumb ass fuck for not believing in me? Yeah, prove them wrong, that's cool! And and and Iruka-sensei is cool! I'm so happy when someone does the bare minimum and respects my life and acknowledges the fact that I'm just a kid and that I'm suffering (one of) the craziest discrimination acts applied by our government Hokage...

Sakura: you know how the first real goal I got like the first thing I wanted for myself after years of being bullied and being nobody and wanting to disappear was the affection of this boy? Well, all these other girls think I don't stand a chance and that they'll get the boy, so I'm gonna win the boy and laugh at their faces. Does it mean that I need validation and affection and attention and love? Not, what are you saying, I have a perfect normal life and parents that are totally involved in my life and I am happy! So happy! I wouldn't know what sadness or loneliness is like! Never! I'm normal and totally nothing to worry about!

Sasuke: you'll find that the things you like in life are meaningless when you carry the trauma of being the sole survivor of a genocide committed by the brother you loved and adored. I want him dead which shouldn't be surprising given that we live in a society ruled by violence, right? I hate a lot of things because I'm painfully aware of how miserable our reality is. Since this is my trauma, no one else has the right to do something about it. They certainly didn't seemto have the balls to go after him, even when they call him criminal, so I'm gonna kill Itachi myself. Obsessed you said? Try enjoying life when you know someone can commit genocide and no one would give a fuck and the government won't do a thing. Try caring for others knowing they can get kill any day and you'll have to look the other way. I dare you to.

Kakashi: *most emotionally neglected adult in the village, abandoned as a kid, saw his father do the right thing and get so socially pressured he ended up commiting suicide and the government didn't give a shit, forced to become a perfect weapon at young age to show off the village strength, forced to become an elite assassin as a kid, people in the village widely making fun of his trauma and acting like he's just weird / peculiar and not on the verge of losing his mind for real, a champ at dissociation and a minute more away taking roots in front of the graves of his mistakes because he spent way too much time there in self-punishment, basically the most miserable jounin in the whole village*

Kakashi: hm, I won't let you get to know me or get close to me because everything I touch dies and I don't want to get attachments because you're soldiers and you might die and it doesn't matter that I have history with two of your families and that you all remind every single minute of the boy I watched die and the girl that I killed and the boy used to be. You will never know any of that. I am a whole man with a whole life that you'll never know because I am just your superior here and you must obey me in our missions. I'm definitely not hiding the fact that the village just failed me and set me up to be the one who failed you all in case you get killed or lose your shit once and for all.

[hopefulromances]

my queen is back 😭😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍

just a little thought, a kindergarten teacher that has this girl-next-door/miss honey/sweetest human ever vibe and jamie meets her and is just ✨️lovestruck✨️ and maybe little snippets of how their relationship evolves, sorry if it's a lot 😭😭😭 I had a dream about this

I'm here again! I hope I can do this justice! This is such a sweet prompt!

The first time he saw her, she was carrying a large box of - what looked like - homemade planets. He was coming home from a run as she tried to open the door to her car while juggling the large box in one hand. Trying and failing he should add. Being the gentleman he is, Jamie ran over to assist.

"Here let me help you," he said, taking the box out of her hands.

"Oh, thank god," The woman sighed out, straightening up. Finally, Jamie could see her fully. She was wearing a space themed dress and wearing Saturn earrings. She smiled brightly at him as she opened the door. "That was a real struggle."

Jamie was fucked.

She looked between him and the box before moving to take the box out of his hand. Jamie snapped out of his stupor in time to move out of her way. "Let me... there we go."

He place the box down in the car, dusting his hands off. "That's a new PR for me, lifting the entire solar system."

The woman laughed and Jamie thought he could feel his heart leap out of his chest. He smiled at her, liking the idea that he could make her laugh.

"I'm a kindergarten teacher," She explained, motioning to her whole outfit. "Today is planets."

Jamie's eyes shot down and up, trying to be discrete as possible in his checking out of her body. "Gotcha... solar system, makes sense. Gotta teach them the about the mother serving pasta or something."

The woman laughed again, her hands flying up to cover her face. "I think you mean noodles. Or nachos as some people say."

He felt himself smiling again. The woman was blushing, trying to keep her face hidden behind her hands. He held out a hand for her.

"I'm Jamie."

She took his hand, finally revealing her blush fully to him. "(Y/N). And I know who you are." Jamie's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Fuck, sorry, that sounds weird, my boyfriend... or ex-boyfriend I should say, was a big football fan."

Ex-boyfriend, huh? So, she was single then. "Well I hope you still support."

"I do" she answered quickly. "I definitely do."

She blushed again. God, that was cute. The two stood in silence, smiling at each other for at least another minute before (Y/N) looked down at her watch.

"Oh, shit! I have to go!" She cursed, starting to turn around. She mad a 360, trying to find herself before turning back to face Jamie. "Sorry, I have to go. I'll see you around. Thank you for your help." She grunted as she ran into her side mirror. "Fuck, sorry, I'll uh... I'll see you around."

He waved at her as she got in the car and started to back up. As she did, on the other side of the driveway, Roy stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You stopped your workout to fucking flirt?"

...

The next time he saw her, he was doing a charity event for the local elementary school. Roy had set it up through Phoebe's school to get some of the team to go play with the kids. And lo and behold there she was with her little class.

Today, she was wearing a dress that had a football pitch decoration on it with football earrings to accompany it. She was busy making sure all the kids were in line, ready to meet the footballer that she she didn't notice him come in.

But one of the boys pointed at him and shouted excitedly.

"It's Jamie Tartt! Jamie Tartt!" He cried out standing up. (Y/N) turned and saw him, her blush returning to her cheeks. She covered her cheeks with her hands and turned to calm the boy down.

Jamie smiled and walked over to the lad.

"Hello, there," he greeted crouching down to the boys level. "Have you been a good lad today?"

The boy nodded furiously, suddenly becoming very bashful. He grabbed onto (Y/N)'s dress and hid behind her skirt. She knelt down and whispered in his ear.

"My name's Simon," he stated loudly, holding out his hand.

Jamie shook his hand and smile. "Nice to meet you, Simon. I'm Jamie." The boy giggled pulling hand back to hide his face. "Do you want to play some football with me and my friends."

Jamie nodded over to where Sam and Isaac were standing. Simon nodded again reaching his hands out from Jamie. Jamie took the boy and hoisted him over his head so he sat on his shoulders. "Alright let's go, lads!"

The boys stayed for much longer than they were required to. Play with the children for several rounds of football and several set ups of headers until one boy hit the ball too hard and broke his nose. After that, they finished up by signing whatever the kids handed to them from jerseys to notebooks and even an eraser.

After all the children left, Jamie found his way back to you.

"So, you teach kindergarten," Jamie mused, walking up to you.

"I teach kindergarten," she agreed, turning to look at him. "And you are excellent with children."

"Would you want to get drink tonight?" Jamie's question surprised himself. (Y/N) raised her eyes and surprise and that blush that Jamie loved so much came over her cheeks.

"Yeah, sure. I'll be done in a few minutes, would you wait?"

"Yes I would, definitely."

...

Well the first date went well. And so did the next date and the date after that and soon it'd been a few months and they'd been seeing each other regularly. (Y/N) started going to games and every now and then she's come to school with gifts for the students, which they all loved.

Jamie loved to pick her up from work. She always worked later than she should and Jamie figured out just the perfect time to get her as she was leaving. Today Jamie had picked her up along with some Chinese take out for a relaxing night in. She was sitting on the couch, leaning against him, showing him the papers she was grading as Jamie fed her fried rice.

"Simon still talks about you in all of his writing," She told him, making a mark on the paper.

"Honestly, babe, how you can read that shite is impressive," he commented squinting his eyes at the paper.

"Please, your handwriting is way worse," she teased, marking an 'A' at the top of the page.

Jamie scoffed in faux offense. "My handwriting is not that bad."

"Yes it is!"

"No it's not!" Jamie grabbed her sides, tickling her aggressively . (Y/N) let out a squeal and desperately tried to get away from him but Jamie just grabbed her and pulled her back into him.

"Jamie!" She giggled, her cheeks turning red. "Stopppp!"

"Tell me that my handwriting isn't the same as a kindergarteners," Jamie demanded, never letting up his torment.

"Fine! Your handwriting isn't quite as bad as the kindergartners."

Jamie finally let up, letting (Y/N) catch her back as she fell back into him. As she laid there, head on his shoulder, letting out a chuckle as she caught her breath, Jamie felt something shift inside him.

"Hey... I love you."

Her eyes widened and she turned to look up at him. "Really?"

He nodded, his own cheeks turning red under her gaze. She shifted, turning around and resting her hands on his chest. She leaned down and kissed him softly. Jamie made a noise of appreciation as she did, his hand coming up to rest on her neck.

"I love you too, sweet boy."

And that is how Jamie fell in love with a kindergarten teacher.

[flusteredfools]

(Summer Daze again- sorry!!!) Was there ever a moment where Sun or Moon genuinely hurt Reader's feelings, or upset them that caused them to back off or avoid the boys for a while? How did Sun and / or Moon react?

First, please don’t be sorry!! I love answering asks and ones for my Fics/Au’s are especially delightful as well as help me flesh more of them out if it’s not something I’ve already focused/touched on so it’s really really nice and helpful!! I’m not sure how close I am to starting the main fic so I’m not too worried about spoiling things that will be in it; though for those who do mind, you might not want to read this if you have good memory and will most likely remember it later in a few months or so XD

(included some rough doodles before I start the next batch of ych prizes XD)

Moon, not so much, but only because conversations were already so few and short between him and the reader; his silence slowly lost its edge as Reader accepted he just is soft spoken and short with his words. So even if/when Moon wanted his silence to bother them, it never hurt too much after the first few times. 

Sun, though, made it crystal clear that he didn’t like Reader from the start, and while not quite bullying (as he would NEVER let that happen to anyone under his watch) he certainly tried his very best to make things as difficult for them as possible. And while it did make them feel sad (after all it's not fun to have your new coworkers not like you) they accepted there had to be a reason for his actions and tried to work through it while hoping the two would eventually come around and the three would be friends one day.

That friendship became a bit of a double edge sword though, as once they started to get closer, Sun had started to lash back out and at that point, Reader couldn’t help but take it personally; friends one day but not the next makes for a confusing struggle. 

The final wound that broke their hope was an overheard argument Sun was having with Buck (The human counselor from Team Fauna), where Sun (who still couldn’t be honest with himself) shared what he claimed were his true feelings before Moon could stop him as Reader turned the corner to where they were standing. 

The immediate hurt that washed over their expression as their eyes filled and overflowed with tears had both bots’ processes stuttering in panic as Reader turned to run away, choosing to hide in the woods to cry their heart out alone. Moon shouted after them but couldn’t get himself to move out of his frozen shock, and Sun was still just as equally frozen; he’s said plenty of borderline mean things but he’s never made you cry before, it was the first time in his whole existence he truly felt such a deep regret over his actions.

Once they manage to get themselves moving, the two try searching for the Reader and despite knowing the trails and forest well enough to map every path without looking, fail to find them. Eventually Reader leaves the woods and quietly stumbles back to the shared cabin at night; only entering once they believed the two bots were charging in their sleep mode to hide under their blankets for some restless sleep. 

The next day both celestials were greeted with short and forced pleasantries and awkward smiles that they knew held no real joy. Moon had attempted to smooth things over, to at least help rebuild the foundation of the shared relationship; but it seemed you had resolved yourself into believing none of it. Even though the ‘truth’ shared was only by Sun; Moon wasn’t spared from the cold distance, excuses Reader would make to stay away and keep themselves busy with tasks that didn’t require either co-counselor. 

Neither liked it, not after knowing how sweet all the shared moments could be. The hurt Moon had felt only worsened and festered, turning into small fights with Sun over the loss of a wonderful friendship, let alone the loss of a budding love neither would now get to experience. It only took one moment to break everything, and now the two will spend every moment trying to fix it. 

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

“Sweetheart, if you knew the things I could do with you, you’d have run away a long time ago,” said the young man standing below the arch of the city gate.  If you looked at him full-on he seemed normal enough, but catch him in your peripheries and he seemed Wrong somehow.  Like he had too many sides to him, or like his limbs were just out of proportion, or like he moved with a grace that wasn’t quite human.  He reached out to run a finger along a stray lock of hair escaped from the pigtails of the young woman he was talking to.     

She groaned loudly.  “Don’t. We’ve known each other far too long for this bullshit.” 

The man grinned.  It was an unexpected grin, usually men like this are expected to smirk, or leer, or smile slyly, or even quirk an eyebrow if it came to it.  But the grin was real, open and glad, briefly washing away the aura of inhumanity and leaving merely a boy who very much liked talking to this girl. 

“But it’s funny.”

“I’ll kill you.”

“But it’s really funny.”

Let’s back up a bit.  Everyone knows that history repeats itself and certain outcomes always arise.  Violence is condoned through complacency.  Tyranny lasts for a while then tends to burn itself out.  Empires always end up toppled in the end.  These are our stories, at least, which crop up again and again.  The principle is true in other lands as well, they just happen to view different things as histories. 

Fulfaran was particularly high in story density as cities went.  It seemed you couldn’t turn a corner without running into a run-away princess, or a charming scoundrel, or a crone (crones were particularly bad – it was a 50/50 chance as to whether they’d try to destroy your life or give you genuinely good advice).  The markets were teeming with exotic goods, the castle at the top of the hill flew its banners brightly in the breeze, and there were established parts of town you went to only if you wanted to a. meet an orphan, b. meet a thief or c. fall down a hole.  Rather a good place for Reynard and Connie, who tended to be plagued by stories. 

Constance was a baker’s daughter who had been taken as a teenager to live in a tower by a witch in exchange for her impoverished family receiving enough gold to live on.  She never fully understood that witch’s motivations but that’s just how it went.  She had immediately proceeded with a number of escape attempts, most of which failed until Reynard had ridden below her window and she had bargained with him until he snuck a rope inside with her food deliveries.  He had claimed to be a prince, but wasn’t.  Connie knew he wasn’t quite human either, but he didn’t seem to want to talk about it and she didn’t want to pry. 

She had wanted to go home, but she knew the witch would try to exact vengeance.  So, she said her goodbyes for a second time and started out in the opposite direction, which happened to be where Rey was headed as well (or so he claimed, in truth he had no direction or purpose.  But he liked Connie, she was sensible and she made him laugh). 

Unfortunately, it seemed the two of them were not fated to have an easy path.  For one, events kept transpiring which forced Rey into situations where he was expected to betray Connie.  Said events seemed rather upset every time he simply told her everything and they worked out a solution together.  Connie, on the other hand, was continuously being offered chances to fight royalty and claim a kingdom.  It wasn’t that she wouldn’t like a kingdom, she commented once as the two of them wandered through the woods, but she didn’t think she had the training to run one.  She was, after all, a baker’s daughter.  She could make excellent bread but she didn’t care for administration. 

They also stubbornly refused to fall in love with each other, which seemed to make the stories very distressed indeed.  This was not helped by how within a few hours of meeting they had become firm friends – Connie rather thought they had been expected to be unlikely allies who hated each other at first.  But it wasn’t in either of their natures to hate very hard and she liked Rey – he was clever and cutting, but never cruel.

Eventually the events all became too much, which is why they had come to where they were, the main gate of Fulfaran.  The storied city.  Surely someone here must know how they could get out of this. 

Connie felt herself smiling back despite herself.  “Fine, it’s a little funny but I honestly don’t know how you can say stuff like that in public without wanting to curl up into a ball and die,” she said starting to walk again, under the gate into the crowds.  Rey fell into step beside her. 

“I have no shame,” he shrugged, “besides, I don’t know any of these people. No one’s paying attention and even if they were, they’d think it’s normal.  I’m pretty sure I saw at least three pairs of ‘people who definitely hate each other’ coming in after us."

Connie was going to reply, but she was cut off by a harsh voice that had snuck into their path. 

“Child! I see greatness in you—”

“Oh not today, thank you!” said Rey, doffing his cap to the aged woman in the dark cloak swaying before them.  Connie summoned up her best customer service smile, the one with just enough of a hint of rage in it that it tended to shut people up without them knowing why, and slipped past the figure. 

“Wait!” the crone cried, “there is a prophecy—”

“Probably not me,” said Connie cheerily over her shoulder.  “Try that girl with midnight-blue eyes over there, that’ll do the trick.”  She rolled her eyes at Rey who grimaced. 

“When we get to the inn we’re taking the most boring room imaginable,” he said emphatically.  “Nothing on the top floor, nothing with secret passages, just four walls and a bed.”  The two of them had long since given up on multiple rooms, or even multiple beds.  No matter how hard they searched every inn was always just a little too full. 

“We better do it quick, I want to sleep before dinner.  Who did you say this place was recommended by again?”

“Basically everyone I know who’s been here,” said Rey, scanning the buildings as they passed.  “They say it’s lovely, really quaint and unique. We should be there right around this corner—”

He halted.  Connie almost hit his shoulder but she hardly noticed, too focused on the inn they had found.  It was small and smoky, almost crumbling beneath the weight of the sky.  Hooded figures passed in and out, glimmers of gemstones sometimes flashing out from beneath their clothing.  The sign was covered in enough grime that it couldn’t be read and there was a large board on the front with dozens of papers stuck to it advertising quests, monster-hunts, missing people, missing dogs, various balls, festivals, and competitions, and the best shops to find weapons in the area.  Connie’s heart sank and Rey’s expression told her he was feeling the same thing. 

“I saw a TreacleTavern down the road,” he said under his breath.  TreacleTaverns were in every city and they were all huge and identical.  Connie nodded vigorously.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”  She all but shoved him back down the way they had come. 

As they left she shot one last look over her shoulder.  A young man was staring at them.  He had chestnut brown hair and an intense expression, as though he had seen them before.  He seemed oddly familiar to Connie, though she didn’t know how she might have met him. 

It was probably something very important that she would have lingered on had the circumstances been different.  Unfortunately for the stories, however, she was still extremely invested, come hell or high water, in getting her pre-supper nap.   

[chi-ow-hua]

Medics are messy.

Or, well, the medics themselves probably shouldn't be too messy, considering they are sometimes the only thing standing between a gruesome wound and Thanatos himself. Although medics probably shouldn't perform surgery while wearing flip flops, either, so maybe that's not saying too much.

But regardless of appropriate footwear (or lack thereof), the profession itself is messy. Blood. Muscles. Organs. Bones. You name it - Will has seen and touched it all.

He can vaguely remember being a bit grossed out, in the beginning. He supposes that would be the natural human reaction when confronted with gore. Especially of the real variety. He's grown out of it, though. Plus the perks that come with his position are nothing to sneeze at.

Nico teases him for not liking horror movies, but the truth is that to Will they are just incredibly mind-numbingly boring. It doesn't matter how realistic the wounds or special effects look - hell, they could cut open a real human being and the injury still wouldn't faze him, no matter how gruesome. Because for Will, the worst part isn't the visual. That one he got used to pretty quickly, considering. It's everything else. It's the smell, putrid and overwhelming and always so horribly nauseating he swears he can taste it. It's the sound, failing organs frantically trying to fulfill their purpose in a desperate cacophany the movies can never get quite right (if they even remember to try.) It's the revolting knowledge that what you are feeling does not belong outside of a body, that it shouldn't be able to be felt like that.

They watch a bunch of horror movies anyway, because Nico knows how to press his buttons and manages to bait him into it every single fucking time.

("Please", Nico had whined in a tone he'd never dare use outside of his cabin. Maybe Will's shamelessness is contagious. Or maybe Nico knows that, without witnesses, nobody will ever believe him. "It's for the aesthetic".

Will had felt his lips contorting into a smile, even as he'd tried to keep on his mask of fake indignation. 'Aesthetic' is one of Nico's favorite words, along with 'vibe' and 'rancid'. Will kind of loves that he knows that. Nico can be as cool and badass as he wants, doesn't change the fact that he's an absolute dork as well.

"Come on, you know you're gonna give in anyways" And then, because the little shit knows what he is doing, he'd winked. And, well. Will is not too proud to admit that he is an absolute sucker for brown eyes. Especially these ones.)

He should probably be embarrassed about how easy he is, to be honest. But things like shame or propriety or even self-respect kind of go down the drain when you are perpetually exhausted and have seen basically the entirety of Camp in various states of undress. He used to think that that was the reason naked bodies didn't seem to have the same effect on him as on other people, but then the Michael-thing-that-shan't-be-mentioned happened and. Well. Let's just say Will is very aware that being a medic and having an active sex life are not mutually exclusive. Their father's slutty tendencies have been inherited by quite a lot of his half-siblings, as it turns out.

Besides, even if the movie itself is boring, Nico's reactions are hilarious. The jumpscares always get him, even if the fucker tries to deny it. And when a movie manages to really grip him, Nico will make sure to keep Will just slightly behind him. Will isn't sure whether that is a voluntary action or just instinct, but it always makes him swoon all the same. Nico is probably aware of it, freakishly observant as he is, but he never mentions it, so neither does Will. Gods forbid Nico stop doing it - that boy is jumpy even outside of shitty movies.

[fernsnailz]

OH ALSO. ik you said something abt how some aspects of your feelings on the shth game have changed - what would you say is different now? (again feel free to ignore this)

oh yeah! overall, most of my feelings about shth2005 have remained the same - that game is a contradictory mess and i adore it. i mostly have a few minor grievances with my big shadow 2005 analysis essay. i'll talk under the cut about some specific moments that i think a little differently on - if you haven't read the big shadow essay, i'd say read it first and then come back to read this post.

grievance #1: The Doom

"being Good or Neutral around Maria makes WAY more sense than taking the Dark path. The game’s morality system breaks so badly in [The Doom] that things start to make sense again."

i still mostly agree with my thoughts on The Doom, and the game's failure in design affecting the morality system is something that i think could prompt further discussion. but a couple of people pointed out that the hero mission is still an interesting indicator to shadow's emotional state on the darker paths, and i don't want to completely discredit that concept because i like it a lot.

The Doom's hero mission is grueling. 60 gun soldiers to defeat in a maze level is not something most players would be willing to do. but it may be something that shadow is willing to do on a darker path - rage leading him to hunt and eliminate every single human he can find is harrowing, and it's a malevolence that the darker paths of this game fail to really show. so as much as i dislike the morality missions in this game, i do think they're an interesting measurement of the lengths shadow is willing to go to if it means defeating his enemy. the guy just doesn't stop.

grievance #2: boy what on earth is that take about the hero cast

"They want Shadow to work for them because of a desire to prove their side of the cycle is the right one."

i'll be real with you i think there was a bit too much analysis going on here lol. the heroes want shadow's help because there's a literal alien invasion threatening to wipe out all life on earth. are they manipulative towards shadow? i mean sometimes, but i don't think most of them do it out of malice or intentionally, and i definitely don't think they really care about proving their side of the moral compass right during the Fucking Alien Armageddon.

the only hero character that i think would be deliberately manipulative (minus eggman) is sonic, and i don't think he would consciously realize it. best example i have of sonic's occasional manipulative attitude towards shadow is the whole "if he can't be forgiven, can you?" bit from the mr tinker arc in IDW. and this is really only something he does to shadow - sometimes he just wants to get under shadow's skin without realizing what he's actually saying. sometimes sonic's just an asshole! and i like that, it's an interesting aspect to sonic that i wish was explored a little more in shth2005, the game about his rival. idk that's all i have to say here

grievance #3: who is shadow even?

"to him, doing what’s “right” means giving as many people as possible that same chance at life. It’s not a justification of morals or a desire to be heroic that leads Shadow down this path - it’s just what he wants to do."

i've circled around my final opinions in my shadow 2005 essay a lot because honestly. i don't really know where i stand on these thoughts currently lol. shadow is inconsistent enough that i struggle to really pin down what exactly he deems as "right" or what he even wants to do most of the time - it's especially difficult to pin these things down when trying to cover shadow as a whole across the entire franchise, which is what i was trying to do here. because man, does this guy feel all over the place when you look at everything.

i think there's truth in the idea that shadow doesn't really care about protecting the people of sonic's world (this sonic channel story explores that concept a bit). at the same time, i think it's also entirely possible that this "i don't care what happens to others" attitude is a bit of a front he puts up (especially around sonic). and as silly and non-canon as i think the sonic twitter takeovers are, i do think they were kinda cooking something when they made shadow work at a soup kitchen. these are all somewhat different ideas and interpretations of shadow, but i think they're all plausible for this character. personally, i'd rather embrace the inconsistency then try to limit him to one worldview.

the only solid "truth" i can formulate about shadow's motivations right now is this: whatever he deems right, or whatever he wants to do, he decides for himself because it's his life. he doesn't do these things for maria, or for gerald, or for the rest of the world. his choices and actions are his own - maybe inspired by others, but not for them. and the things he decides to do are often inconsistent because he's an immortal, traumatized, teenage hedgehog - a paradoxical creation that's still learning how to live. he might be the ultimate life form, but it's more important to me that he's just shadow.

[obeymeluv]

Quick! Kiss Me! [Part 4: Leviathan]

I'm back. Let me know if the story is cohesive. It tried to copy itself more than once. I just killed the post and redid it. It was weird.

Note: I’ve taken some liberties with whether or not the boys have a “true” demon form. I personally believe that the in-game form we see is the one that’s easiest for humans to see/reason with/tolerate. I don’t think that’s their real demon form. I believe their true forms would be more monstrous and maybe have more traits in common with their symbolic animal. Another personal headcanon: Levi’s giant-ass aquarium isn’t confined to the back wall of his room. I think it can actually span at least two sides of the house and they just panel over it because he doesn’t want to be seen when he swims. So between layers of dry wall and such, there’s his aquarium. It’s like his secret little tunnel around the house that has several exits but he prefers the one in his room (which is why he made that room HIS room when they first moved into the House of Lamentation).

Side note: for my personal use, I headcanon the library as Lucifer’s study. He just kind of has this…pocket dimension made for himself in there. The brothers can find it if he allows it. Sometimes he’ll throw magic around it to disguise it. You have to go through the library to get to it. Anyways, onto the story. This one may not be as long as the others. We’ll see where it goes

Leviathan:

You’d made several laps around the House of Lamentation. The dizzying, bubbly feeling had yet to return. It was like a tease, lasting for a pulse or two in certain rooms and then fleeing as quick as it came. Everything else was a dull buzz, cold bubbles in your chest. After your last lap you stopped in the kitchen for a drink of water—soon after remembering you couldn’t currently open your mouth—and locked eyes with Beel. A displeased fizzle shot through you; your mouth suddenly dry for another reason.

That was an unexpected sign but it was a reaction. Maybe you just needed to go look at the other brothers to figure out who DIDN’T give you that feeling?! Beel’s purple eyes flicked over your locked lips; he smothered a hum with a bite of pastry. He seemed to sense he wasn’t the one for you. “Lucifer’s in his study if you want to try him next.”

The tip was appreciated but the walk was not. Each step towards the eldest’s study sent a wave of stomach-churning nausea through you. It was like the ultimate gut feeling of ‘turn back!’, your stomach so sour it felt like it was curling in on itself. Unable to stand the tartness prickling on your tongue or the sweat beading on your brow, you bolted away from the shimmering door and past rows of books to find reprieve down the hall. Not Lucifer, you thought to yourself, doubled over with your hands on your knees as if that would help all the acid yuck drain away from your chest and mouth, not Lucifer.

Something cold touched the back of your neck and you snapped up, wincing at a pinch going through your lower back. The yelp failed to break past your lips, your brain switched gears to help you exhale the nervous energy through your nose as Satan registered in your periphery. His brow creased apologetically, squishing a damp cloth against the back of your neck gingerly. “You seemed ill. I was trying to help.” he dabbed at your neck and traced the curve of your cheek with the cloth, green eyes watching the flush fade from your neck.

You must’ve run right by him in the library and not even realized it.

The cloth was a simple, well-meaning gesture between friends, you both knew that. You got the feeling he’d been reading his romance books again, maybe questioning how a small moment like this could be what lovers immortalized and built a life on. How did clichés like this become addictive classics? You felt pondered and marveled but not revered, a bit like how Jane first looks at the sketch of Tarzan at the camp. “Your love lies elsewhere, I think.” Satan murmured, perhaps to both you and himself, as he deemed you healthy enough to go to the second floor and find whoever was meant to undo the cosmetic chaos.

The squeak of the last step died in your ear as a white-hot knowing consumed you. It silenced everything else around you, throwing you into a tunnel that ended at Leviathan’s door. You’d almost felt like you’d teleported, not totally sure how you knew to go to his door instead of the others. No bubbles, no acid—his doorknob felt strangely cool and comforting in your hand.

Your nerves settled.

The door opened into a room washed in blues; the air was a little cooler here but not damp. If not for the bioluminescent life in his large aquarium, the room would be pitch black. There was no Levi, no anime running, no controllers clicking….nothing. Large swaths of kelp danced at the edges of the tank, framing the open water quite beautifully. A tiny bottom-feeder fish sucked at the base of seaweed clusters, scaring a Cerith snail back into their shell when it nudged a rock in its direction.

You forgot how much of a labor of love this aquarium was. Levi put a lot of time into it between the physical cleaning and the species research. Placing your palms on the glass wasn’t enough to sate the desire to just…sink through it and bob in the water. Maybe it could wash off the makeup? A trio of Devildom teacup jellies twinkled as if to invite you in.

A longing drummed painfully in your chest, just shy of feeling like an open wound. It was like a tender crack in your very being. Levi’s mark glowed on your body, casting a dim yellow light against the glass. Something large and dark cut through the expanse, stirring up a layer of dirt and whipping the smaller creatures around in their own little maelstrom. Pebbles clinked against the glass as the creature folded itself around to press against the glass.

Levi?! You’d be lying if you said your legs didn’t turn to jelly as the sediment haze cleared to reveal a towering serpentine creature with Levi’s face. His tail was long and smooth, glistening onyx scales tapering into a barbed point hemmed by fluttering webbing on either side. The scales at his hips were drop-like and had more color variation; shades of gray decorated him and crept up to his navel. Something quill-like jutted out from his hips; they flexed in the water and you wondered if they acted like sensors. They looked awfully sharp

His chest was largely unchanged, still pale and lean. It was both a small comfort and a large contrast to how mottled and dark his arms were. The diamond pattern on the left side of his neck wound down his arm, obscuring where hand met claw. Those were most definitely claws now; they couldn’t even pass for fingers. Leviathan’s right arm wasn’t as dominated by the diamond pattern but the hands matched.

Levi’s shoulders were capped in scales almost like a defense mechanism. His face was the same, save for his eyes and little markings under them that reminded you of his branching coral horns. Diamond pupils dilated as he sank down to see you face-to-face, pushing the haunting gold of his iris to near nothingness. Can you see me? You’re not saying anything back.

I see you, Levi finally answered, his voice surprisingly measured and serene despite his…feral-looking appearance. His lips puckered almost bashfully as he turned his face away slightly, pupil shrinking back to a normal slit as he bobbed in front of you. He eyed you intently, like a predator does its prey. A large fang slipped past the pucker of his lips, but just for a second. You almost thought you’d dreamt it.

Why do you need me? his tail flailed almost impatiently, maybe angrily. You lookin’ for one of those normies? He buried his claws in the bottom of the aquarium, scratching through the rocks and fighting off envious urges to strangle that he’d never really go through with. The quills at his hips flared and went rigid. Levi swung his torso back carefully, withdrawing spines from the nearby kelp and assessing the plant delicately.

Acid began to build up in your chest and you wondered if this is what his envy felt like manifested.

No, you answered quietly, I’m looking for you.

Your lips are still sealed shut?! Levi could’ve knot his tail in disbelief, appendage coiling and uncoiling wildly at the prospect of you still being unclaimed. He hated this form of his—his true form—it left him with enough consciousness to know he was more devil than human, more instinct than logic.

More selfish than he cared to admit, too.

You kissed the tank to prove your point, feeling like your words would be lost on him. When Levi was in one of his moods—which he was—words did little to sway him. He needed actions when he was that far gone. Leviathan surged forward with great interest, gills at his neck fluttering and quills quivering as he looked at the glossy print. Will you kiss me, Leviathan?

Kiss you? Leviathan pursed his lips to suffocate his eager words, I would do more than kiss you. I would give you the sunrise, all of the sea’s riches, and my soul, itself, if you let me. The gross normie within him was simply bursting at the seams to give you the most epic romantic monologue guaranteed to boost your companion level at least ten points. Yeah, maybe some of that was ripped off from different animes but you would never know. Only his most favorite parts for you.

He pushed himself towards the top of the tank, tail boosting him up with little effort. A clawed hand breached the water, sending some kind of plug-like panel tumbling off to the side to land somewhere in his room. “You’ll need the chair,” Levi’s voice was whispery and melodious; you felt drawn in and almost mindless as you jammed the chair against the tank and stood up carefully. One arm on the rim of the tank, Levi held his breath and resisted the urge to snatch you up before his gills protested the lack of water.

His claws cut through the material of your shirt whether he wanted them to or not, Levi cringing at the sound of threads snapping. Your skin felt warm against the scales on his hands; his tongue flicked out from between his fangs. You were none the wiser, of course, facing away from him and now hanging obediently on the edge of the tank as he left to grab an herb that could help you breathe underwater. You went to bite the herb as he presented it to you but Levi hissed reflexively, a sound of warning as his fork tongue seemed to point at you in admonishment.

The herb was wrapped around your neck like a scarf. You winced and yelped as something jabbed into your neck. Satisfied, Levi took your hand as gently as possible and began to swim down. Your struggle was mindless and instinctual; Levi would be lying if he said it didn’t rouse something primal in him. Undeterred, he swam down into a patch of kelp, tail coiling around you and drawing you further into his chest.

You panicked and pushed against his chest and…breathed? The pressure of the water didn’t exist; your chest wasn’t burning for air. Those plant spines help you breathe under water. They’re like shunts for airflow. If you take them out, you won’t be able to breathe. Levi’s hands ghosted down your arms, claws hooking in a piece of your hair. He flinched, too scared to untangle himself.

I’d rather you help me breathe, you smiled brightly at him. Playfully.

He gurgled embarrassingly, his gills tensing open before resuming their fluttering. His cheeks tinged with color. You thought he’d throw you away in his embarrassment but his tail operated on truer feelings because he drew you closer. Leviathan’s kiss was shy but unmoving. You felt your mouth open up and it was the best breath you’d ever taken (even if you were under water).

A small current stirred the water around you, barely masking the sound of bones crackling. You watched the scales disappear under Leviathan’s skin, his normal tone returning as his tail shortened and split back into two human legs. Fins fell off, webbing retreating back into normal skin as the claws splintered away into human-ish nails. Veins tensed in his neck as his teeth resumed their normal form and his gills flattened back into regular skin. “There,” Leviathan hmph’ed, “Happy now?”

He tried to make it seem like a big chore but his cheeks were pinker than yours and his tail was wagging excitedly.

“Very.” You grinned. Now that you could breathe normally you felt a bit cold. The plant scarf may help you breathe in water but it didn’t make the saltwater sting any less or keep you warm. “Want to get out and dry off?”

You wouldn’t mind getting something to eat, either. It was a reflex to grab the lip of the aquarium and try to climb out Outside was waiting and you’d be warm, dry, and get food!

“Wait!” Leviathan fumbled as he wrapped his arms around you and yanked you back in. “You’ll suffocate!” he protested. If the weight of the scarf didn’t make things difficult, the lack of air would. He pressed you against a corner of the aquarium, nudging your arm over the lip as he kept the two of you afloat with his tail. You bobbed against each other, his hair dripping water into your eyes as he worked carefully to unwind the scarf.

The kelp scarf acted as a filter and was separate from the spines, you found out. Leviathan murmured the number of spines, turning your chin this way and that to look at them, careful not to bump them with his knuckles. He pinched your cheeks gently, anything he could think of to distract you from the bite of plucked spines. The two of you laughed between pinches of pain. It was cute in its own way.

“Hey! It’s just supposed to be a kiss! And none of those look like they’re on the lip! Look at you, dirty, dirty Levi!” Asmo laughed brightly from the doorway.

“It’s not--! They’re not--! Some normie like you isn’t gonna make fun of me like that!” Leviathan’s face grew redder and redder as he realized the spines left little red blossoms across your neck. Someone like Asmo WOULD mistake them for hickies! He hissed, launching himself out of the water with his tail. Asmo yelped as Leviathan snaked across his bedroom, slippery and ferocious. It reminded you that you were living in a house of people pretending to be human.

The pair collided and all you heard was:

“Don’t you spit poison at me! You didn’t know you had it until I showed you!”

“Keep talking and I’ll squeeze you.”

“You think that’ll do anything? I get choked on a regular—“

“UGH! STOP! WHY DO PEOPLE THINK OTAKUS ARE GROSS AND DIRTY? YOU’RE WORSE!”

“Yeah, but I’m cute—AHH! RUDE!”

“Did you just throw Asmo out of your room?” You leaned out of the tank, trying to plan your fall into the chair. Leviathan’s tail was still thrashing wildly, coiling and uncoiling.

“He deserved it!” Leviathan hissed, words cut by large, glinting fangs. He threw his back into the door, flicking the lock in place as Asmo kicked and yelled on the other side. Leviathan willed himself to ignore the noise in the hall and beyond, heart slamming in his chest and his ears as he looked at how small, pitiful, and wet you looked.

Humans need to stay warm, the thought kicked him into motion. He scrounged up dry clothes and tucked himself bashfully in the corner as you changed. “You want to watch some anime? Or a movie?” Leviathan thumbed the sticks on his controller as he slid into his bathtub bed. Only his hair was wet; you figured his serpentine skin just soaked up the excess water.

“Sure,” you’d just figured out how to get into the tub without pulling a muscle or falling in when Lucifer blew through the door like Leviathan never locked it. It startled you into the tub and you collapsed on top of him with a little apology.

“You know what you did,” Lucifer looked very menacing, staring down at the two of you. His feathers were bristled. He balanced a plastic cup on the rim of the tub. “If you don’t do it, I will.”

Leviathan started to protest out of reflex and Lucifer took the opportunity to grab the third-eldest by his purple hair and make him bite down on the cup. You watched in confused awe as Leviathan’s fangs hooked the cup and began to drip a strange liquid. He tried to wrestle his mouth off the cup but Lucifer kept his grip and pushed the cup into some sort of gland. “Demons with serpentine lineage must submit poison samples when an incident occurs to keep their strain on file. You know this, Levi.”       

Seems Leviathan had a history of spitting poison at people? Interesting.

Lucifer released him with a click of the tongue, satisfied. He pulled a wrapped popsicle out of his pocket and held it out to his younger brother like an olive branch. Leviathan took it with a scowl, squeezing it from the bottom so it popped out into his mouth. “No kissing for at least an hour,” Lucifer looked at the two of you sternly, “he needs time to neutralize his own poison.”

Was that what the popsicle was for, to dilute his own poison? Or maybe getting poison fangs hurt demons since they retract? Hell, Lucifer probably hurt his mouth with the cup. You both stayed quiet as he left, glad he shut the door behind him. Leviathan used the popsicle as a reason to stay quiet, turning on a random anime instead.

You leaned against his chest as the exhaustion of walking and swimming took over you. Your consciousness started to fade against the sound of a purr rumbling in Leviathan’s chest, just vaguely aware of his tail weaving itself around your leg. “Best ending unlocked,” Leviathan whispered excitedly to himself, panicking soon after as he tried to make sure the popsicle didn’t get in your hair.

[greenbergwrites]

Green. I’m a starved man. I’ve been rereading your post about Steve and Etienne being feral and Bucky trying to take care of them. If you have anything in your beautiful brain about that to continue off of. I think I’d cry. Love and appreciate you for everything you do and have done <3

Real talk, the original story I’ve been trying to write all year has been a feral!Omega plot inspired by that very post. [I even kept the name Etienne for one of the minor characters 😂]

Feral!Omega is apparently my new fixation and I regret nothing. 

So yes, I will happily continue that story for you.

Original post here for anyone who needs a reminder.

–

The feral Omega can walk out of his cage under his own steam. His companion, still as quiet as ever, cannot. Along with whatever injury has him bleeding, there appears to be something wrong with his foot. 

Bucky kneels beside the boy, permitted reluctantly by his protector, pursing his lips as he looks it over. The feral Omega hovers just over his shoulder, that warning little grumble-hiss still in every breath he takes. Should Bucky do or say the wrong thing, he has no doubt the Omega will attack.

He tries to keep himself and his scent as calming as possible, but it’s not easy. The boy’s foot is bent at an unnatural angle and seeing such an injury on an Omega makes him want to rage. His anger would accomplish nothing but agitating the feral Omega and potentially scaring the silent one, so he tamps it down as best he can.

The Omega is too dirty for him to figure out of it’s an old injury that’s healed wrong or a newer one that can be more easily fixed. Either possibility is unacceptable–angled like it is, it has to be causing the Omega pain.

“We’ll get this fixed up in no time,” he murmurs to the boy, keeping his voice soft and soothing. “For now, will you permit me to carry you?”

The Omega blinks up at him with those big, blue eyes. There is an air of vulnerability to most Omegas, but it’s more intense with this one. His gaze is so open, so sad. Bucky wants to find everyone who’s responsible for that expression and hurt them slowly.

The Omega nods silently.

Carefully, Bucky scoops him up. The boy is so light, it’s almost sickening. He pauses, giving himself a moment to rest his cheek on the boy’s hair.

No one else will hurt you, he vows silently. 

He promised it aloud already, and he’s sure that neither of them believed him. He won’t fail them, though. He will make sure they’re safe.

The feral Omega vibrates with tension, as if wants to snatch his companion from Bucky’s arms and carry the boy himself. As small as the other Omega is, Bucky isn’t sure he’d succeed, though. Perhaps that’s what stops him.

“Follow me,” Bucky tells the feral one, his voice still soft. 

It doesn’t soothe this one quite like it soothes the Omega in his arms, but it doesn’t seem to hurt, either.

Outside, the rain hasn’t slowed. Most of the vehicles are gone now, as are most of the humans. Two black trucks and a single ambulance remain, all three parked near what appears to be a triage tent near the entrance to the warehouse. The Enforcer that guided Bucky inside is standing near it, holding open the flap to allow them inside.

The feral Omega darts forward, putting himself between the Enforcer and Bucky, snarling loud enough to be heard over the storm. It doesn’t seem to register to him that he’s being drowned by the rain.

Bucky sighs softly, shifting the Omega in his arms as he approaches their little bodyguard. He lets his fingers brush over the feral one’s damp arm.

“Enough,” he chides. “Get in the tent so we can all get out of the rain.”

The Omega glares at him, but after a glance to his companion, he reluctantly obeys. 

Inside, the tent is set up with a gurney, two chairs, and a rudimentary set of medical supplies. It’s also empty.

The Enforcer comes in behind them, letting the flap shut behind him.

“You said they don’t like humans,” he said, “but all the medical personnel on site are human. I have some training, but unless they’ll allow the others in, it’s all we have.”

Bucky nodded. “I think we can make do with the two of us.”

It takes quite a bit of coaxing, and more promises of safety from Bucky, but the feral Omega allows the Enforcer to help his companion. Bucky can take care of their superficial wounds, but the foot requires more training than he has. 

By the time Bucky’s found cleaned and bandaged their cuts, the Enforcer has cleaned the silent Omega’s foot and examined it. Now that the dirt is gone, Bucky can see that his foot is swollen and red, making the injury new.

He hates how relieved he is about it. The idea of an Omega being hurt at all is unthinkable, but at least they won’t have to re-break the bone to set it correctly. He isn’t sure the feral Omega would be able to stand that.

“I’m going to have to set it,” the Enforcer says apologetically, looking to the blue-eyed Omega. “It’s going to hurt, but only for a second.”

The Omega looks to Bucky, and Bucky can almost hear what he’s thinking.

You said I wouldn’t hurt anymore.

Or maybe that’s just his guilty conscience, promising something before he knew all the facts. 

Bucky touches the boy’s hair.

“If there were any other way,” he said, “we’d do that instead. But if we leave it, it’ll heal wrong and we’ll have to re-break it if you want to walk again. It’s up to you, but setting it now is better.”

Frankly, Bucky is surprised it hasn’t healed itself already. The fact that it’s still swollen and fresh is worrisome. Their kind don’t heal quite as quickly as the movies portray, but they do heal fast. It should be at least halfway there already.

The Omega looks back at the Enforcer and nods solemnly. His feral companion, though, snarls before the Enforcer can even touch him.

Bucky takes him by the arm, pulling him closer. The fact that the Omega lets him is a good sign, considering how hostile he is. He takes the feral Omega’s face in his hands, making sure the boy is looking at him.

“We have to do this,” he says firmly. “It’s what’s best for him. Hold on to me if you have to. Don’t look. Whatever it is you need, but you have to let this happen. Do you understand?”

For several long seconds, the Omega just stares at him, and Bucky worries that he doesn’t. That he’s too far gone to truly grasp what’s happening.

Then, thankfully, he nods. It’s small, and the boy’s breath is shaky, his gaze displaying fear for the first time. But still, he nods, and Bucky knows he isn’t so far gone.

“C’mere,” he says, gathering the feral Omega to him, and the boy buries his face in Bucky’s chest, his fingers gripping Bucky’s shirt tightly. 

Bucky shuffles them closer to the gurney, because he can’t allow one Omega to be comforted and leave the other bereft. He keeps one arm tightly around the feral Omega’s back and lays his other hand on the back of the silent Omega’s neck, squeezing lightly.

The silent Omega reaches up, grasping his wrist.

“Eyes on me,” Bucky orders him. When the Omega obeys, staring up at him, he tells the Enforcer, “Go on.”

It’s quick. A little jerk of the Enforcer’s hands, the snap of bone going back into place. The feral Omega jolts in his arms, trembling, and the blue-eyed Omega closes his eyes, his breath hitching almost imperceptibly. 

When it’s over, Bucky relaxes his hold on both Omegas. He sighs in relief, nuzzling first the feral Omega in his arms and then leaning down to do the same to his companion.

“Good,” he murmurs to them both. “You were both so good. I’m so proud of you.”

The blue-eyed Omega gazes up at him in wonder. He leans back until he’s resting against Bucky’s hip, pulling Bucky’s hand down to rest on his chest. He keeps holding onto it, clinging to Bucky as fiercely as his companion does.

The Enforcer reaches for something to bandage the ankle with. By the time it’s wrapped, both Omegas have calmed considerably, though neither of them have let go of Bucky yet. He doesn’t make them, either. They’ve been through hell, and whatever comfort they want, they deserve.

The Enforcer clears his throat awkwardly.

“Neither of them have a pack scent,” he says to Bucky. “Until they can tell us where they belong, the next step is to have a local pack foster them. We’ve already contacted the closest ones, their Alphas should be here soon.”

Bucky’s instinctive reaction is to protest. These Omegas are no one to him, not in any sort of way, even though it feels like the opposite.

They trusted him enough to let him get them out. They trusted him enough to allow the Enforcer into their space. They trusted him enough to allow pain, no matter how briefly, and to let him comfort them through it.

He swallows down that instinct, though, knowing that he has no right. 

Reluctantly, he nods and tries not to tighten his old on the Omegas.

“Okay,” he says, and the word tastes like ash on his tongue.

[metaoflocasol]

Muse Mixup Madness July 2024: The End of a Failure

*this is to be viewed as a vision of real time events*

Tw: death and violence/fighting

“You? You?! YOU DARE STAND AGAINST ME, MORTAL?!”

Meta Solari stood in front of Vitch, feeling small against his opponent.

“It’s over, Vitch. This isn’t worth it-”

“SHUT UP! YOU HAVE NO IDEA OF WHAT YOU SPEAK! I HAVE TRIED TO CONVINCE YOU. I HAVE TRIED TO INFORM YOU OF THE DANGER THAT HAS BEFALLEN US, BUT YOU DIDN’T LISTEN. YOU HAD TO GO AND FREE THE BEAST, AND NOW LOOK AT THIS PLACE!”

And Vitch was right, Meta had freed the imprisoned Necrozma, giving it enough light to restore its body, if only for now. The mask Vitch normally wore, the face of Necrozma was gone, showing a ghastly sight. His face was being consumed by void. Blacked out and glowing with hatred and pain.

“YOU TAKE MY BODY AND STEAL MY SOUL, ALL TO TRY AND HELP A CORSPE! I AM TRYING TO SAVE YOU, DAMNIT! I AM TRYING TO SAVE EVERYONE! NO MATTER THE COST! SO WHAT IF I’M THE MONSTER?! NO ONE WILL BE COMPLAINING WHEN THEY GET TO LIVE OUT THE REST OF THEIR LIVES! NOT WORRYING OF AN APOCALYPSE THAT NONE WILL SURVIVE!”

“Enough! You haven’t saved a singed thing! You could’ve opened the Gateway long before this! You were too blind-sided to realize then, and you still are now. I cannot let you do this. You cannot go any farther”. Meta stared down his foe. His counterpart. His glimpse into a world where all abandoned him and the fate of creation fell on him. He had failed there, but not now.

You’ve always said that the difference between us is that I run away from my problems, that I never took action. I disagree. We both ran away that day before finding Necrozma. We both took upon the weight of the world when it felt like all was crumbling. We both sacrificed the things we cared for to help others. No, we are the same in that regard.

Where we are different is that you don’t allow others to help you. You want to be the one to fix everything, because you don’t trust anyone else to do it. Not me, not your followers, not Necrozma, not Arceus, no one. You walk alone despite others walking the same path. This all could’ve been avoided if you-”

“SHUT UP!”

Vitch created a beam of light that flew towards Meta, threatening to kill him. But instead, it condensed into a single small sphere that flew into the amulet. The light condensed, reflecting across off the room, glowing violently before exploding outwards, surrounding Meta.

“WHAT?! THAT’S IMPOSSIBLE! HOW DID YOU HARNESS THAT LIGHT WITHOUT A Z-CRYSTAL!?”

Meta didn’t respond, just looked up with clenched fists eyes glowing bright.

Letting out a ferocious roar, Vitch flew at Meta, arms stretched to strangle him.

“NO MATTER! I HAVE THE POWER OF THE THREE GODS UNDER MY CONTROL, YOUR LIGHT ALONE IS NO MATCH TO ME!!

Meta dodged the attack, his light colliding with Vitch’s tainted light. The two traded blow after blow of condensed supernovas, mini suns, and light the scorched the heavens upon their foundation would be built.

“YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! I AM A GOD! YOU HAVE NO HOPES OF DEFEATING ME! I KILLED LIGHT, DARKNESS, AND MATTER ITSELF! WHAT HOPES DO A PUNY HUMAN CHILD HAVE AGAINST ME?!”

Meta let out a cry as he unleashed a ball of pure photon power, almost unseen in the sea of light surrounding the two. Vitch easily dodged the attack, but it blew a giant hole in the wall of the room, from which two sets of glowing eyes could be seen against the light pouring out from the confines.

“No…”

Vitch looked in fear at the ghost of his past, now doubled in their hate.

“You thought you could get rid of me, BOY?!”

One of them telepathically shouted

“YOU SORELY MISTAKE THE POWER THAT I HOLD! IT IS TIME I RECTIFY THIS EGREGIOUS ERROR OF MINE!”

One of the Necrozmas, shining a godly blue collided with a frozen Vitch; who was petrified in fear. The Necrozma tore off his stolen Z-Crystal with its immaculate jaw, causing Vitch to scream.

A supernova exploded from Vitch, utterly destroying the temple surrounding them. The four of them found themselves standing in a field of rubble, with nothing but darkness surrounding them, the only light coming from themselves.

“It is done. You’ve lost, wretch. The world you know is gone, because of you”

The two Necrozmas began to overlap, as if there powers were becoming one, as if the original Necrozma birthed from Arceus’s grand design had once more been awoken from a long forgotten past.

“This world is in ruin. Nothing is left of it. Those who had once lived here are either no more, or displaced in universes not their own. What do you have to say now?”

Vitch didn’t respond, bleeding out glowing ichor that had replaced his mortal blood. He only stared, kneeling as the life was draining out of him.

“I thought you were someone of good, child. I had believed you could’ve shown me a brighter future than the one your kind had shown me long ago. Perhaps you did… but at what cost?”

“…I…” he croaked out, coughing violently.

“Save your breath. It is too late to undo what has been done”

With that, the now merged Necrozma created a portal between the decayed universe and the Arcean Gateway with their enhanced powers.

“Come, Meta. There is one last mission to be done”

With that, they left, casting the world into enshrouding darkness.

Meta began to follow them, but stopped when he heard Vitch croak out.

“Wait…”

He turned his head to him, looking at the twisted version of himself with a mix of pity and disgust. He had no reason to wait for him, after all he had done, but something kept him there. Some unknown feeling, like a wheel turning endlessly in the course of the future, gave him pause.

“I have… done so much… wrong… to this world… I never wanted this… no… I went too far…”

“That you did”

“The… Gateway… will not… open in its current state… it’s sealed shut”, Vitch coughed out.

“…”

“Take my hand… I have something… to give… you”

********************************************

Meta didn’t know what was going on. Arceus, a being beyond his creation and Necrozma, the God of his faith conversed in a manner unknown to the likes of his human brain. Something he couldn’t see, hear, touch, feel, or smell imposed upon his very being, making him feel small and insignificant. Much more than the laymen of his own species.

Time was foreign. Seconds passed as freely as eons, yet none moved in the lack of space that filled with realm. He knelt, still pondering what Vitch had told him. How could two souls so identical go on such different paths? Was the real difference between himself and a monster the death of all he cared for? It chewed at him, knowing upon the brain and usurping the serenity of his thoughts.

“Child. The Genesis offers you a choice. They can ease your soul of your worries caused by this horrific oversight. It will be like this never happened, never met your alternate, never learned of the Ether, never had to endure the hardships of your captivity. You’d be at peace, unaware of the pain these last two months have caused. Will you accept?”

Meta thought hard. He doubted that he could live the rest of his life in peace knowing what he knew, but even so, he didn’t want to forget. After everything Vitch had done, he was still him, and denying that would be denying a core aspect of himself. No, forgetting wasn’t the answer, but neither was remembering the way he currently did.

“I thank you, the omnipotent Arceus for your offer. If I may, I’d like to request a course of action of my own…”

END OF ARC

[echoghost1]

The Portal Turns On - Final Chapter!

Title: The Portal Turns On

Total Word Count: 4,031

Total Chapters: 3

Characters: Jack Fenton, Danny Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Jazz Fenton

Tags: POV Jack Fenton, Good Parent Jack Fenton, The portal accident, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jack is there for The Portal Accident

Summary: When the Portal fails Jack and Maddie can't find it in themselves to do much of anything.

After a few weeks, Jack decides to follow his son into the lab and try again. He already failed, it's not like it could be worse.

AKA Jack is there for Danny's accident AU

Art by Fern315

You can read the fic on AO3

or the second chapter of the down below the cut

ch. 1 | ch. 2 | [you're here]

Jack just stood there, watching the frame of the portal fill with a swirling otherworldly green.

Stood there in silence. The lab was so quiet now.

What was he supposed to do?

How was he supposed to reach him?

Was there going to be anything to get?

Was he underneath or inside?

Caught between?

Nowhere at all?

Just gone forever?

What was he going to tell Maddie?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to the empty room.

Then something changed.

There was a ripple among swirls.

Something was moving in there.

Something was coming.

It’s too soon.

He isn’t ready.

Slowly something staggered out of the portal. It takes a few steps and fell to its knees.

It’s small.

Human looking.

White hair.

Wearing a jumpsuit.

It’s black and white.

It’s got Danny’s haircut.

The suit looks so familiar but the colors are wrong.

Jack’s legs give out from under him and he falls to the floor.

Something hit the floor as he turned. Probably a beaker, he wasn’t sure.

That was his son? Or what’s left of him?

It was a ghost.

Jack grabs the nearest thing, the thermos, untested, and aims it a the ghost.

The ghost of his son.

His son the ghost.

His hands shake as Danny’s ghost just stares at him.

“Dad?” the ghost’s voice has an uncanny but incorrect version of his son’s voice. It echoes in a way no human voice should.

It echoes as if he’s still standing in the framework of the unfinished portal.

It echoes like it did just before the portal turned on.

Jack’s finger pressed the button on the thermos.

Nothing happens.

He just watches as his son’s ghost looks at its hands in confusion.

Did it not know?

“Dad, what happened?”

There are tears rolling down his face, but Jack can’t find it in him to care.

Normally he’d hate to cry, hated it more to be seen doing it, but not now.

The thermos drops to the floor.

The metal against metal is so loud. Jack doesn't flinch, but Danny does.

His boy has always been skittish.

Had been.

Has?

Danny’s ghost looks at him, confused and fearful, but says nothing.

Then he faints.

Ghosts don’t faint.

Before Jack could even try to make sense of that, something even stranger happened.

A bright blue-white light flashes around the ghost and then his son is there.

His son is there?

Jack slowly crawls over, not yet trusting his legs to be able to carry him.

He reaches out and lightly touches his back.

It feels solid.

Feels warm.

Feels real.

Feels alive.

Jack listens and hears breathing.

He holds his own breath just to be sure.

His boy is breathing.

He scoops him up and just holds him.

Danny’s alive. He’s just unconscious.

But he’s alive.

He wasn’t gone.

He wasn’t a ghost.

Maybe that was just a hallucination? A trick of the light?

There’s no way his son was a ghost.

Not while he was still alive.

His boy was still alive.

He was still alive.

He was still holding him when Maddie came down.

He had no idea how long he had been down there.

“Jack, what happened?”

So much had happened he didn’t even know where to start.

Maddie knelt down in front of him, her hand brushing some of Danny’s hair away from his face so she could look at him.

She looked up at Jack again, “what happened?”

“We came down. He wanted to help. The portal turned on.” Jack thought he was doing okay, but then the words started to stick to his throat, “He was- I thought- I thought he was- I really thought-”

“Jack, sweetheart, just breathe.”

“I thought he was. For a second there, I really thought. But it’s okay. It’s fine. He’s just sleeping. He’s fine.”

“Jack, how did the portal turn on?”

Jack shook his head. He didn’t know.

Wait.

Yes, he did.

“Found a button. Danny found it. Said he could push it. Why did I say that? I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have. I should have pressed it. It should have been me.”

“Jack, calm down. It’s okay. Let’s take him upstairs. If we lay him on the couch I can take a better look to make sure he’s okay.”

“Why not check here?”

“It’s too dark down here.”

“Dark?”

“Jack the power went out. Probably when the portal turned on.”

He looked around the room, his neck stiff from looking down too long. 

The room was dark, the only light was the ghastly glow from the portal.

How had he missed that?

“Why don’t we just go upstairs? The sun’s still up.”

Jack just nodded along. He got up, carefully lifting Danny as he went. 

He was so light in his arms. Hardly weighed a thing.

Had he always been this light?

Jack hardly noticed he was back upstairs until Maddie was telling him to set Danny down.

“Just rest him here.”

He didn’t want to let go, but Maddie needed to look him over.

Once his arms were empty he didn’t know what to do with himself.

He didn’t know where to go.

Jazz was the one who convinced him to sit down on the other couch and take a glass of water. 

He needed to be reminded to drink it and not just hold it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” Jazz asked.

He just drank some water instead of answering.

She sighed and rolled her eyes, “You really shouldn’t bottle it up. It’s not healthy.”

“I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Then maybe we should go to the hospital? Why are we still here anyway?”

“Calm down dear. I’m sure Danny’s just fine.” Maddie said as she continued to look Danny over.

Jack really didn’t want to drive to the hospital.

The last time someone got hurt by a portal he went to the hospital and Jack never saw him again.

He didn’t want to send his boy away.

He moved over on the couch so he could be closer.

“He’s okay right?”

Maddie kept her eyes on Danny as she spoke, “I don’t see anything. Did he hit his head?”

“No. He just fainted.”

He hadn’t been a ghost. That was just a trick of the light.

He didn’t need to tell Maddie that.

Then, finally, Danny woke up with a gasp.

He sat up immediately but then stopped and closed his eyes.

“Hey there, slow down,” Maddie said as she took his hand. “You’re alright.”

Danny looked around, from her, to the room around them, to Jack, then back to her, “how’d I get up here?”

“You passed out in the lab. Do you remember what happened?”

Danny was quiet for a moment. Thinking about something before he spoke.

“I was trying to help Dad with the portal and it turned on.”

Then he just looked a Jack and held his gaze for a moment before looking away.

“Can I change back into my clothes?”

That wasn’t what Jack expected him to ask.

“So nothing hurts?” Maddie asked.

He shook his head.

“Okay, go get dressed.”

Danny made his way upstairs despite Jazz’s protest to the contrary.

“Why are we not going to the hospital? He could have a concussion!”

Normally Jack would try and talk Jazz down but instead, he followed his son upstairs.

He found Danny lingering in his doorway. Like he had been waiting for Jack all along.

Or maybe he just heard him coming. 

Jack had been told more than once in his life that he was too loud even when he was standing still.

“Dad, did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

“Where I was standing when it turned on? What I looked like after.”

Jack knelt down and placed a hand on Danny’s shoulder, “Hey, it’s okay.”

“Did you tell them?”

“Danny,” Jack started but he wasn’t sure what to say. He had really hoped that was a hallucination. 

But if Danny saw it then it was real.

He wasn’t really sure what to do with that information.

“Dad please, I need to know.”

“No,” Jack said in a rush. “I didn’t say anything.”

He didn’t like seeing his son so scared.

He also didn’t like that he could see through his son’s head.

Literally. 

He could see the whole room and the fear all at once.

Danny slowly faded back into view, his body losing its transparency, but it wasn’t fully solid yet. “Why not?”

Carefully, Jack placed his hand on Danny’s cheek. “Honestly? I’m not sure.”

“Will you?” He started to fade again. 

Jack didn’t want to lose him. 

He replaced his hand on his shoulder and tried to send all his reassurance through touch alone, “Why don’t you want them to know? They’re family.”

“I know. I just,” he looked away.

Then he finally noticed what was going on. How he was straddling the line of being on the visible spectrum.

Whatever he was going to say was lost in the panic of trying to undo what he’d been doing without thinking.

He flickered as he panicked. Going from full visibility to fully invisible.

It was both incredible and heartbreaking to watch.

Jack took advantage of the fact that he still had a hand on one of Danny’s shoulders and took hold of the other as well.

“I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

His boy’s eyes were a bright glowing green. 

Just like they were when he had stepped out of the portal.

Just like the portal itself.

“Dad, what’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know.” Jack started but clarified when he saw his words were making things worse, “I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out.”

“Promise?” 

His son’s blue eyes were the only thing he could clearly see.

“I promise.”

Jack was glad he was in a stable pose when his currently invisible son landed on his chest, his little arms unable to fully wrap around Jack’s body.

Jack hugged him back.

“We’ll have this sorted out in a jiffy.”

“You think I’ll be better before school starts?”

“Sure!”

Then Jack remembered that was less than a month away.

He had no idea what had even happened, let alone where to start.

“But if not, maybe you can just tell people you’re working on becoming a magician?”

Danny leaned back to show off just how confused he was.

Which Jack could luckily fully see him.

“In case you disappear again.”

Danny looked down at his hands to see, well, himself. He sighed in relief. 

They both did.

As much as Jack wanted things to be fixed in an instant, he had a feeling things weren’t going to work out that easily.

It wasn’t until Danny was safely behind his bedroom door that Jack let his train of thought go further.

Jack wasn’t sure how this was going to play out. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to do this on his own.

But there were two things he knew.

One; is that he cared about his son. More than even he realized.

Two, that Jack Fenton was no quitter.

No matter what challenges he came up against. No matter how tough it got. No matter how long it took.

Jack wasn't going to give up. 

No matter what. 

Because his son hadn't given up on him.

[wheretwofacesmeet]

Dragon Prince season 6/7 theories and ideas about what could feature:

-Terry going dark or trying to,in an attempt to win back Claudia

-When the final battle against Aaravos or of the next season goes down,it's kinda like when the Mystery Shack got upgraded. Villads steers his Giant Hermit Crab ship into battle...maybe against a full-sized colossal towering raging Aaravos?...with Team Zym/his crew/Berto and Nyx

-Callum tries to fly up to the stars on his mage wings. When he flies higher than the sky,he of course loses the wings. But it's on purpose? So that he gets as close to said stars as possible. He must connect to the Star Primal,he only has one chance,super-dramatic heartbeat-accelerating gasp-eliciting scene with probably some new beautiful music...aaand just when it looks like he's gonna fail and fall back...he does it. WHOOO YEAHHH GO BEST BOI CALLUM yells collective audience.

-Terry dies a dramatic sad death. Trying to save Claudia's life again,or fighting the heroes,or both. It breaks her shattered heart into even smaller pieces,and she goes on her redemption arc as a result .

-Aaravos is having a flashback or dream,and not an actual scene? Maybe trauma/grief over elf shown's death.

-We see baby and toddler and kid and young adult Aaravoses. Awwww !!

-The Celestial Elves somehow show Callum Aaravos's backstory,for some reason. OR,via unknown star magic-means,he finds it written in the stars. Callum sees it all...and,so do we. Awesome.

-Aaravos convinces a member/some members of Team Zym he's all repentant now,totally leaving his sins in the past. He just can't STAND this private hell he's been trapped in for hundreds of years!Please,he's paid for his crimes!Or he was just jailed wrongfully for helping humans! He just wants his freedom! Free him please!!

Master manipulator that he is,it works. Maybe it works,because like any good liar,he tells many truths mixed in with all those lies. I bet he's a fantastic actor when it suits him too. Helps if he's channeling his real emotions over his past experiences and current suffering into that performance. Certainly,he could move Ezran's heart.

Option Two of "Aaravos Pulls On Heartstrings With Emotional Plea "Theory:

Aaravos ain't lying. Just not telling everything. Sure,he's got a real tragic backstory,lots of sad stuff in there. Sure,he both does AND doesn't deserve to be where he is,depending on how you look at it. I know TDP writers write complicated situations like that,it's rarely black and white.

And sure,he just wants to be free...

(Plus,hasn't he suffered enough already?? If he IS their worst enemy,WOULD they wish this on him or not?)

...It's just that he's omitting one teeny little detail. Which is,what he's gonna do AFTER they free him. Possibly revenge. And maybe trying to knock down elves and dragons from their thrones,their pedestals,their high horses and hierarchical dominance,and usurp them with mankind +himself.

Those are all my ideas. Wonder if any of 'em are gonna be right?

[allegra-writes]

"The Affair" Part I

Armand x Daniel Molloy

NSFW

Warnings: Canon typical blood play. Toxic relationships. Obsessive thoughts cause Danny and Armand are incapable of being normal about each other.

Disclaimer: I don't own any recognizable character, and for legal reasons I won't be accepting tips for this story or any story set in Anne Rice's Immortal Universe. Thank you!

MY MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Armand had miscalculated. He had thought he knew what he was doing when he had given the beautiful, tender human the blood that night at the bar, an impetuous decision born entirely out of his darkest instincts taking over as he saw another vampire so close to what he coveted, yes, but he had thought himself aware of the consequences. He knew his blood would bond the mortal irrevocably to him, making him enamored by him, utterly dependent on him. He had been on the receiving end of that bond himself centuries ago and he could still remember the intensity of the feelings awoken by it vividly. 

What he had failed to realize was the effect it would have on himself.

He had felt heartbroken, utterly devastated the moment he had woken up to find the boy gone, on the run from him, already hundreds of miles away, the bond like a rope tied around his ribs, tugging at him in the direction he had fled. Armand followed, of course, for what else could he have done, all the while obsessing over plans and schemes that ranged from kidnapping and spellbinding to terrorizing and punishing only for none of them to come to pass. There was no need for any of them, not when Daniel threw himself into his arms voluntarily as soon as he saw him, his mind and heart echoing his feelings of yes , and finally , and too long . 

And it had been too long, it had been far too long, an unbearable eternity. But his boy was in his arms now and he was kissing him and it was perfect, absolutely and thoroughly perfect, regardless of what his silly human insecurities were trying to tell him. Armand only held him tighter when he tried to break away from him, ashamed of the dirt clinging to his skin, of his smell, of his soiled clothes after three days locked in the cellar he was beginning to understand it belonged to the vampire embracing him.

“This is real. He’s real. It’s all happening. He’s Armand and we’re together and I’m not mad” His little runaway febrile thoughts reached him easily, loud and clear as bells. 

Yes, it all happened and I am real, no need to go searching for Lestat or the house in Louis’ tale. No need to come looking for us, I would have found you. But you will learn that in time, my sweet boy, there isn’t anywhere in the world I will not find you.

But with the awareness of reality came ever stronger the awareness of himself, and Daniel pushed against Armand more insistently, too ashamed of his state of filthiness to stand to be around “the guy he had a crush on”. It was so endearing, Armand let off a chuckle as he gathered him up in his arms and carried him like a child upstairs to the immense master bathroom, where he proceeded to rip Daniel’s clothes off his body before carefully cuffing the sleeves of his own shirt as the white marble bathtub was filled with warm water. 

Daniel tried to say something then, undoubtedly to protest he could get into the bath on his own, but his mouth was too dry for speech. Armand made a mental note to remember humans were fragile things that could not survive for too long without water, an inexcusable oversight on his part, but it had simply been too long since he had kept one.

Besides, he had to punish the boy somehow, couldn’t have him searching so recklessly for others like that, and whipping him as had been his maker’s custom seemed distasteful to him. No, lashes were not the kind of marks he wanted to leave on his skin.

At least not just yet.

He was more than content with carefully soaping that supple, hot skin that nonetheless shivered under his touch, unintentionally flooding the human with sensual pleasure. Armand smiled inwardly, amused, then turned his touch more deliberate, caressing up Daniel’s arms, down his shoulders, his chest, feeling the muscles of his stomach ripple under his fingertips. The boy was so soft, so warm, so responsive…

So alive. 

It was fascinating. 

He had the sudden urge to map every inch of his boy’s body, to familiarize himself, fingers, tongue, and fangs with every plane, every crevice, every hollow. Only his ironlike self-control, consolidated after centuries of experience, and the reminder the boy was his, so he had all the time in the world to do just that, prevented him from ravishing Daniel right then and there. 

But no, Armand was better than that, stronger than his basest of instincts, so instead, he kept on scrubbing the grime and sweat off Daniel’s skin with clinical efficiency, massaging the strong thighs, and then the place between the organ that began swelling despite the coldness of his touch. Armand’s own member twitched in interest in response, oh, how that apparently innocuous, ordinary human youth tested his discipline. He was too tempting for his own good. Particularly when he whined at the loss of Armand’s touch, a helpless, soft little sound, probably inaudible for human ears but loud enough for Armand’s inhuman senses. 

Not yet, boy, Armand projected into Daniel’s mind, making him jump a little in the water, you’re debilitated, you need sustenance first.

A new wave of shame washed over the boy, sending a lovely if faint, peach blush from his slightly sharper cheekbones to his hairless chest. Armand had to clench his jaw to stop his fangs from descending. 

Daniel seemed to find his lost bravado as he pushed down his embarrassment screaming at Armand inside his head, 

“Don’t want food. Want you”

Armand tsked disapprovingly, mocking as he ghosted icy fingertips over Daniel’s hardening length,

Are you that eager to be defiled by a monster?

Far from extinguished, Daniel’s arousal only grew at the words. A beautiful fool then, courting danger like a moth courting the flames. 

Very well, if the boy was looking for corruption, Armand could certainly provide.

Cold fingers closed around heated flesh, starting a slow milking motion, the water making the movement slick. Daniel’s eyes fell shut and his head fell back, exposing the long line of his neck to Armand’s hungry stare. A twist of his hand had the boy arching his back, moaning, the muscles of his lean throat working to drive Armand to insanity. By the time the vampire’s left hand left the edge of the tub, there would be a crack in the marble. But his right hand continued its measured, careful pumping up and down Daniel’s well-formed shaft, appreciating every vein that popped to life, pulsing under his touch. 

Daniel’s groans became more rhythmic, a breathless chorus of “Uh… uh… uh” echoing against the tiled walls, and Armand fancied he had never heard a song as sweet before. His boy was truly a masterpiece, perfect in every way, Apollo bathing in the river, Armand a demonic nymph brought to his knees by the sight of him. He had compared Daniel to a moth enthralled by the flame, but now Armand wondered if it wasn’t the other way around, if the boy was not sunlight in disguise, and he the thoughtless Icarus flying towards it. 

“Please… please…” Daniel's thoughts were disarranged and chaotic, pleading without knowing what to ask for, all the human seemed to know was that he needed . Armand considered for a moment, eyed the veiny girth in his hand, head purple and angry peeking out of the water, eyed the entirety of the nubile body in display for him. He wanted to ravish it, see to the thorough debauchery of this innocent, heartbreakingly candid boy. But more than anything, he wanted to see him debase himself for him.

Armand stilled his hand. Daniel did not disappoint, letting out a pitiful sob, opening those ever-changing eyes, glistening with tears of frustration. 

Armand couldn’t help his gleeful, pleased laugh.

“Chase it, Daniel. It's yours. All you have to do is take it.”

Daniel regarded him warily, as if expecting another dark trick for him, but did minutely, perhaps unable to stop himself, thrust his hips up through the unforgiving circle of Armand's fingers. 

“Yes, just like that, you look so beautiful, Daniel. Let me see you rut against my hand…”

The boy let out a helpless little whine, a spike of arousal going through him, tasted honey sweet in Armand's mind. The boy liked to be praised, then. Armand supposed he could indulge that. So long as he behaved.

Daniel had shut his eyes again, shoulders flat against the side of the tub and hands gripping the edges for leverage, rolling his hips, fucking himself on Armand's hand. Such crass, novel language the vampire could read inside his human’s mind. He decided he liked it. 

“That’s it, beautiful boy, let me see you fuck your cock through my fingers”

“Fuck!” The word was a shattered gasp, but it seemed to mark the breaking of something, some unnamed barrier inside of Daniel, who started rocking his hips with abandon, agitating the water, sloshing some of it outside the tub. Armand’s suit pants, carefully selected to face Daniel, were as ruined as his shirt. He found he couldn’t care less. 

Because now the boy was piercing him with his kaleidoscope stare, bee-stung lips opened in a perfect O, clutching at his arm with all the strength of a newborn as he rocked into his touch, abs flexing, the narrowing V of his hips going taut, robust thigh muscles contracting and releasing under the pale, almost transparent skin, and Armand felt his ancient, herculean self-restraint snap. 

He watched as his free hand reached out and tangled in the boy's damp curls as if it belonged to somebody else, throwing Daniel’s head back, felt his fangs drop on their own accord, heard the growl leaving his own mouth right before the unmistakable taste of his boy’s skin, his exquisite blood, invaded his tongue. 

The world exploded in colors behind his eyelids as his boy screamed his ecstasy, sending a thrill down his spine, the swoon amplified by Daniel’s orgasm, rippling through him like an electrical current, mind floating in an euphoric haze, making him feel weightless, drugged on pleased contentment at Daniel’s surrender, the certainty that he belonged to him now, mind, body and soul, his pleasure and his pain, his life and his death laid out in front of Armand for the taking. He could feel him beginning to slip away, his consciousness already going blurred at the edges, the starvation and the blood loss combined too much even for his strong, healthy heart. 

Armand tore himself apart from Daniel’s neck with monumental effort, slashing a deep gash in his own throat, hand on the back of his head guiding his lover, cradling his head as he latched onto the dripping wound, sucking with admirable might for a mortal, eliciting a moan from deep within Armand’s chest, every lap of Daniel’s hot, rough tongue against the already healing wound, sending aftershocks of bliss straight to the vampire’s loins. 

He had never known it could be like that, understood how lesser vampires could sire fledglings indiscriminately if sharing their blood with a chosen one was anything like feeding Daniel his blood. 

“That’s enough for now, lover” Armand declared out loud, trying to convince himself as much as Daniel. The human whined, of course he whined, like a spoiled, demanding child. Had he realized already, that Armand would fulfill his every demand, grant his every wish, as long as he remained his? As he remained sharing his body and his blood and his life force with the dead thing he had unwittingly lured to his side?

Daniel finally let go but didn’t move away, resting his forehead on Armand’s shoulder as his breathing returned to its normal rhythm.

“You won’t… You’re not going to turn me, then?”

He sounded so small, so vulnerable, Armand was struck again by just how tenderly young his boy was.

“Turn you?” He repeated with contempt, “I wouldn’t do that to those whom I find despicable, whom I would see burning in hell, as a matter of course” He held Daniel closer to him, almost entirely out of the water, the mere thought making him irrationally protective of the boy in his arms, “So why would I do that to a beautiful, innocent fool like you?”

Because I want it , Armand heard the boy’s thoughts, deafening and desperate. I want to be forever with you and Louis . Yet Daniel didn’t vocalize them, choosing instead to make a question he already knew the answer to,

“But you are not going to kill me either” He ventured a look up at Armand for confirmation. The unimpressed raising of a single eyebrow was all he got, but it was enough, “What are you going to do with me, then?”

Armand laughed then, rich and sincere, a little drunk on his boy’s delectable blood, stronger than any human liquor.

“Don’t you know yet, beloved one? Is it not obvious? I am going to keep you…”

To go back to 2023

[seas1mping]

ReenaJack pt. 2

Summary: Christmas is always rough for LJ, but Reenas never celebrated it anyway. (Ft. Doll Kids)

Warnings: hurt/comfort, LJ has a mini panic attack, oc self insert (God that's so cringe righ), children??? If you don't like the idea of second generation you're wack but that's here too

Jack reached over to turn his wife's fourth alarm off—seriously, who needs that many alarms—and let his arm flop on top of her. She made a small noise before returning back to her peaceful slumber. Jack considered removing her alarms if she was just going to sleep through them all, when he was startled by her eyes looking right at him.

"You know," she started, "you don't have to turn them off yourself, I wake up on the second one just to see what you do to the third and fourth." Her cheeky smile ended her confession, the sleep in her voice still poking through, so obviously she lied about 'waking up on the second.'

His eye twitched. She wants to play a game so early in the morning? "Well obviously I'm going to turn them off, Lord knows you need the beauty rest." Reena gasped at him, grabbing the pillow under his head and raising it to hit him. "Sugar, you know I'm kidding! I would never say anything against you!"

Though, with the lack of an effort to defend himself, Reena still manages to snag him once with the pillow, hearing the rip of the fabric and pulling it away from him to see the stuffing on his sharp nose. "I know. I just wanted to do that." She sticks her tongue out before throwing the covers off and getting out of bed.

Reena sits at her vanity for a moment, Jack can see her staring at herself. Her brow creases as she itches at one of the scars on her shoulder. She grabs her hair brush and gets rid of her bedhead.

"So, Jack," this is never good, "I was wondering if you wanted to take the kids out to that Christmas thing out in the city. I think Molly said it was a parade? I don't know, sometimes it's so hard to tell with her accent if I say things right." Reena mumbles to herself, trying to find a good point between her hair and her bangs to put her horns.

It's not that Jack doesn't like Christmas, or that he doesn't want to spend time with the dolls—he hangs out with most of them constantly anyway—its the fact of what Christmas feels like to him.

A reminder that he failed the one duty he had because some idiot got the wrong hobby.

"Babe, are you seriously moping right now? This has to be a record for you."

He snapped out of his thoughts and looked at Reena, who was standing over him at this point talking in his face. "Hellooooo earth to Carny down there!"

She pulls him up from his warm spot, tossing him a shirt she got him. "I'm coming with you, I know how bad these holidays are for you. All it takes is one sentence and we can celebrate my people's version of Christmas."

"You don't even know what Christmas is." He scoffs, pulling on pants and clicking his suspenders on. Reena pouts at him, putting her earrings in.

"I do too know what it is! It's the day that you guys get together and show off how much money you have based on the number of gifts you buy each person!" She smiles. Reena was from Down Below, which is what normal people would consider 'Hell' due to its hotter temperatures and devolved society. Some of this world's historical aspects still seem to illude her, such as religion or certain human concepts (and also birds for some reason??)

Jack shakes his head with a smile that he quickly wipes off. "Sure, sugar, we'll go with that."

———

"WOAH!!! This place is HUGE!"

Reena laughs as her oldest son looks around at all the people lined across the busy intersection. They made sure to get a good spot in the middle so that they didn't have to disguise themselves too much. Reena and Jack stood behind their three little boys, Roman, Seth, and Randy, all on leashes, and scanned the area.

Roman was fascinated at the crowds that had formed, and the fact that everything in the real world was so LARGE. Roman was usually in the carnival helping Nari and the other dolls, so he wasn't out too much.

Seth had his headphones on, he clung to the front of Jack's pants quietly, he knew everything was going to be huge, but he didn't think it would be so loud.

Randy, the youngest and still wobbling around, kept yelling at everything. A bug on the ground? Randy has to get down and talk to it. A random dime? Randy has to pick it up and try to eat it. A piece of candy? Okay, that one came from Jack but Randy has to eat it, too.

Suddenly, the loud horn of the firetruck blared through the air, signaling the start of the parade. Roman and Seth were lifted to Jack's shoulders, where they balanced on his shoulder and hands, and Randy was less interested in the parade as he was trying to tangle Reena in his leash, in between mimicking the horns and sirens.

Reena looked at her husband, but it was very evident he wasn't having a good time. Not when everything reminded him of everything. The presents, the boxes, the fake snow, the gifts and candy being thrown at children.

The joy on the faces of all the kids when they get their prizes.

Jack looks back at Reena, with a strange softness, and whispers, "Please."

———

The bakery they stopped at wasn't completely empty, but it was good enough they could find a secluded booth for them all to sit at, the boys doodling on some kids menus they were handed before the waiter left.

"I'm fine, can we just go home?" He had been saying that since they left the immediate parade area. He blamed the boys, saying that Seth didn't like the parade and he didn't want to make him upset. Or that Randy was going to get tripped over and hurt. Or that Reena looked tired anyway and they should have left sooner.

"No, Jack, you're not fine, and I'm not going to let you pretend you are, I need to know what's going on so I can help you. I just want to help you, love." She goes to take the hand she can see shivering, but he flinches and pulls his hand away. He won't look at her, he's focusing on the table, focus on the table so you don't get pulled away from it all, focus, focus, focus—

"Hey, want to do something cool?" She taps him, and then points out the window. "Name me 5 things you see."

He rolls his eyes and looks at her, still shaking and unsteady. "I'm not doing this, Reena. I'm fine."

"Fine then. Three things, the boys don't count."

He huffs and goes back to looking out the window. "I see the cars driving down the road. I see the reflection of your purse in the window, and I see a billboard for Molly's jewelry." she hums, digging into her purse for something.

"Alright," there's a pop of some kind, "name me two things that you feel." His claws rub against the table, feeling the grain in the wood catch his claws sometimes.

"I feel the table. I feel my clothes." A snap, and another pop.

"Good job. Now name me one thing you taste."

"Reena, I don't taste anythi-"

As he goes to face her, she smashes her lips to him, kissing him like she's been wanting to do it all day, and making sure the grape scent and flavor of her lip gloss gets all over him. When she is happy with herself, she pulls away, sneaking one last peck and smiling at him. "Now, what's one thing you taste?"

He licks his lower lip, smiling slightly, his cheeks obviously darkened. He knows the boys are protesting this DISGUSTING display of affection in public nonetheless. But he leans into his wife, who's redder than he is.

"I taste that new lip gloss I got for you a while ago. Always wondered where you put it."

She giggles, pushing him back and leaning on his arm. "I was waiting to surprise you with it, thought it would be a funny thing. Never knew it would be used as a grounding technique."

Jack nods in defeat, she's won this battle, but there's definitely more to come.