#looking forward to this!!!!! was torn over whether to include a summary for each but if you dont remember the wiki is useful :]

[un-pearable]

Best Sonic Universe Arc Tournament

Round 1: Scrambled (#37-40) vs. Eggman's Dozen (#83-86) | The Silver Saga (#25-28) vs. The Silver Age (#79-82) | Treasure Team Tango (#21-24) vs. Pirate Plunder Panic (#55-58) | Knuckles: The Return (#9-12) vs. The Great Chaos Caper (#63-66) | Mobius 30 Years Later (#5-8) vs. Babylon Rising (#33-36) | Case of the Pirate Princess (#91-94) vs. Chaotix Quest (#46-49) | Forged in Fire (#50) vs. Fury (#75) | Journey to the East (#13-16) vs. Race for the Stars (#45)

wiki in case you need to refresh :]

[bingoluka]

Need You

Summary: After a case gone wrong, and an injury left unattended, Loki realizes that even Gods need somebody.

Notes: Includes wound depiction and good ole' angst! Also a lil' Wowki but I'm a little bitch baby.

...

When he said it hurt like hell, it hurt like hell.

Each case tended to go wrong in its own unique and terrible way. Whether one of them leaves with a torn shirt and headache, or a deep gash and a broken spirit, one thing was certain; that Mobius and Loki looked out for each other.

Though, Loki would hardly admit he had grown quite fond of the man he called his partner.

Beyond that, he would hardly admit when he really, truly needed his help. He was independent, he knew this, and sometimes asking for the help or pity of another more than once seemed too much mental strain- for both him and whoever had the bad fortune of being alongside him. He hadn't realized the severity of the injury at the time, as a large piece of metal tore away at his abdomen while swimming from an impending tsunami. His magic had already begun to heal him, fixing the initial trauma while the freezing water numbed him.

He has assumed the blood in the water hadn't been his.

Now there he was, wandering aimlessly along the TVA corridors, wishing desperately he could lay his inhibitions to rest all the while sparing his friend the worry. Though, he knew it was unlikely.

The air felt cold against his skin, each step sending a fiery blast of pain across his stomach and up to his back. He grimaced. Pathetic, he thought to himself weakly. Who are you without your power?

"Loki? Loki!"

His voice sounded distant at first, so much he grew concerned he had never heard it at all. A sharp exhale left Loki's mouth as another pang sent shockwaves through his body.

"Oh no- oh no-!"

He stumbled, his legs crossing wildly over each other and he fell into the wall next to him. He began to sink to his knees, the pain becoming overpowering as he fought to stay present. How was it getting worse?

He realized then the wound no longer felt cold. It felt hot, burning as fresh blood spilled from the wound. Loki realized then how little healing had taken place.

"Loki? Hey, hey look at me."

Mobius's voice was soft, calming as it was fearful. Loki wanted to melt into the other, hide from the agony.

"I-I'm sorry," he gasped. "I thought it had healed- I thought- I thought it wasn't this bad-"

"Shh," he whispered, keeping a steady hand on Loki's back. "Loki, can you walk?"

Loki stopped for a moment, his eyes falling to the ground in shame. His breathing was already erratic, jumbling his thoughts and rationality to the point he wasn't sure of anything. He looked up at Mobius now, his eyes scanning his for a sign.

"Come on."

Loki hadn't realized how many people were there with them. Maybe it was adrenaline, or his partial loss of vision from the wound, either way, the voices began to filter in at that moment. Agents and hunters, some workers he had never seen all gathered around them. Mobius had taken one side, while a hunter had him on the other, leading him out of the hall when his body began to go limp. He fought against it, begging himself to stay upright just long enough to prove he was capable. But he wasn't, and they knew this. His knees buckled beneath him, sending both him and the other two staggering forward with an "oh-!"

He could feel them ease him to the ground, pain shooting through him again as he made contact with the floor- causing him to cry out.

"We need to address the wounds here," Mobius said, his voice sharp and heavy. "He's deteriorating, either we let him use magic or we heal him ourselves."

"We can't just let that happen, we have to be outside of the TVA," someone said. "We need to take him somewhere else."

As they spoke, others had taken to pressing against his wound to suppress the bleeding. At first, it was agony. But after a while, he felt a warmth come over his body, a peace he had never felt as the pain melted away. He knew it wasn't supposed to happen, Mobius frantically calling his name being a sure sign, but the relief was something he couldn't deny.

"Loki! Stay with us, come on-"

Before he slipped into sleep, the last thing he saw was Mobius over him, eyes wide and brimming with tears. God, he was tired. But he regretting falling asleep all the same.

...

"If I would've known he was hurt, I wouldn't have taken my eyes off him, what more is there to understand?"

Mobius looked at Renslayer for a moment. Defiance wasn't typically in his nature, though he'll admit his actions spoke otherwise. He was more a calm deviant, not driven by a harsh nature but rather a calm and collected one. She sighed, resting her pointer and thumb on the bridge of her nose.

"I know, I know. But we can't have events like that happen, Mobius. Half our team was distracted, imagine if the variant had struck then?"

"You know I respect you, Renslayer. I really do, I admire you and you know that. But this just seems wrong, he's still a person," Mobius said, frowning. "I know in the grander scheme of things we have a lot to worry about but I saw humanity out there. A collective force of good working toward an unspoken goal."

"Which is?"

"Making sure variant or not, we're taking care of each other."

...

Loki woke on the couch that night.

Wait, couch?

He had expected to still be on the floor. Though he knew Mobius would never, it wasn't out of the picture that another agent might let him stay on the ground. After all, they weren't too fond of him. He went to stretch, the sharp pains from his stomach stopping him in his tracks as he remembered why he was there.

The room was dark, dark enough that beyond his fixed point on the couch, Loki could hardly see a thing. A voice pierced the air, causing him to jump.

"Hey, how are you feeling?"

As Loki realized who it was, he sank back into the couch.

"Fine," he mumbled. Mobius raised an eyebrow.

"Really? You didn't seem too fine back there when you were bleeding out in the halls of the TVA."

"Well, I was," Loki snapped, staring up at the ceiling. He realized how foolish he sounded, but at that point, he didn't care.

"Loki, what happened on that mission?" Mobius asked gently, ignoring the other's outburst. Loki sighed a bit, trying to shift his position.

"I didn't-" he cut himself off with a wince as he moved wrong, the pain burning at first, then turning into a dull ache. Mobius looked down at him worriedly.

"I didn't think it was that bad," he said hurriedly. "I was so cold from the water I didn't feel it. I just assumed the blood hadn't been mine."

It was grim. The idea of the blood in the water was so common for that moment, so anticipated that he had nearly bled out yet speculated it was from somebody else. It brought into focus the severity of even human apocalypses.

"But the blood," Mobius said, frowning. "I should have been able to see it on your shirt when we got back. I didn't see any."

"My magic had healed it for the most part," Loki said. "Just not enough. Once I returned it must've begun to reverse."

As Loki spoke, he noticed Mobius reaching for the hem of his shirt. He quickly blocked his hand with an offended "Hey." Mobius chuckled, shaking his head.

"I'm just trying to see it, come on."

"You don't need to," Loki glared. But of course his efforts didn't deter Mobius, who kept his steady gaze.

"Loki," he said gently. "Come on, let me see."

Loki sighed, wordlessly lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the array of wounds, accented by the much larger wound that ran across the bottom of his abdomen. He heard Mobius's breath catch.

"Geez..." He murmured, gently brushing a finger across the uninjured skin, which even then was sore.

"Why didn't you say anything?" He asked sadly. Loki cast his eyes to the side.

"An unspoken rule amongst warriors in Asgard was to each their own. It wasn't uncommon to receive wounds in battle, it was seen as noble to keep them to yourself."

"Well, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," Mobius said with raised eyebrows. He added a hasty, "No offense."

"No, I agree. They were all morons," he said lightheartedly.

Mobius laughed now, bowing his head as he did so. Loki smiled a bit, still somewhat troubled by the pain but not enough to mention it.

"This is your apartment, then?" He said, trying to initiate conversation so Mobius wouldn't see as he began to sit up.

"Hey, not so fast," Mobius said, placing a hand on the small of Loki's back. "Your powers may be back, but you have a ways to go."

"I'm alright, really."

"I'm beginning to think that phrase holds less ethos each time I hear it."

Loki huffed, barely managing to sit all the way up. He looked around the room as his eyes adjusted. It was a small apartment, most of his items being placed in the living area. Books, dusty empty bottles, wooden furniture accented with water stains and loose change. The carpet was plush, he noticed, like something you would see from the nineties. It was all very cozy and welcoming.

"Sorry about the mess," he said, assuming that's what Loki had been looking at. "I didn't really have time to clean."

"Mess?" Loki frowned. "Mobius, you bring me into your home and you really assume I'm going to judge the state of it?"

"Well, to be fair, I don't get a lot of visitors," he smiled. "Now you need some rest, alright?"

If Loki had just an ounce more strength, he would've shot back some snarky response. This time, however, he found himself too tired to think of one, so instead, he flashed a quick smile.

"I'll be here if you need me."

If you need me.

Loki pondered on the words for a while. Maybe it was the way he said it, or the weariness finally catching up with him. Before he never would have admitted he need someone, much less someone with no relation to him. But in that darkened room he gathered he had a change of heart. As he felt himself slowly fading into the warm embrace of sleep, he felt a hand run across his head, gently brushing his unkempt hair back in a stroking motion. He wanted to open his eyes, to see Mobius, but he stayed still just long enough to hear the words,

"Glad you're alright, Lokes."

Before contently falling asleep.

[americancowgirl19]

Puppet Master

Summary: Riley Biers, king from the shadows.

Warnings: angst, fluff, vampire mob shit

Reader: Female Vampire Reader

Pairings: Riley Biers x Female Vampire Reader

Word Count: 2,310

A/n: @fyeahtaylorp

Masterlist

“And what do we have here?” Aro questions, tilting his head as Felix forces the vampire he, Demetri, Jane and Alec brought back from America.

“This is one of the two vampires responsible for the newborn army in the Cullen territory, Master.” Jane tells him. “The other was torn apart and burned.”

Aro steps forward and places his hands on the American vampire. He struggles but is unable to escape Felix’s grip. Aro reads his mind. He sees his life, his death and his ‘resurrection’. He pays particular attention to the part in his memories where the Cullen boy, Edward, told the guards about this boy being his daughters mate.

“I see,” Aro whispers, pulling from him. As far as he could tell this vampire had no ability other than the fact that he is easily manipulated. For millenniums he had hoped that when his daughter finds her match they would be as useful as she is. The fact that he’s one step away from being useless is a disappointment.

His first instinct is to kill Riley before his beloved daughter ever finds him. Then, perhaps, he could find a suitable match and have Chelsea bond them together. Unfortunately, for him, the plan is just a passing thought as not even two seconds later the woman in question struts into the room.

Riley instantly senses you. He struggles even more in Felix’s grip until he can see you. Even though you’re barely in the corner of his eye, it’s enough to settle him.

“I wasn’t informed a trial was in session,” You state, your voice sounding as smooth as honey. Riley craved to hear it once more.

“Ah, my darling,” Aro greets, smiling brightly at you. You return the smile, albeit a more reserved one, as you walk to his side. “They have just returned from their mission and brought back the one responsible for all the trouble,”

“I see that,” You mutter, your eyes not sparing your friends a single glance. You stare at the kneeling man as he stares back at you. “Have you come to a verdict?” You question. Aro’s calculating eyes stare are you.

“He created a newborn army, caused quite the eruption.” Aro tells you. Your head turns to him. It only takes one look for you to catch onto what was going on.

You love your father as he loves you. The two of you worked hard to build this coven. As much as you loved him, you weren’t naïve. You knew your father’s thirst for power. You knew he would do anything to gain an inch, even if it meant hurting the ones he claimed to love.

You also knew him like the back of your hand. You didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what he was thinking. Even if it had only been a few minutes since you walked into the room, you could already sense the tie binding you to this new vampire. A tie that Aro knew about. You assume, by the look in Aro’s eyes, that this vampire has no ability to please Aro.

Only vampires that were useful to Aro’s ultimate plan survived breaking the law. The only reason he’s still alive is because of the connecting tie to you. Still, you knew that wouldn’t have been enough to save him had you not arrived. 

“Well, I’ve been paying attention to the human news. I haven’t seen a single report about some demonic creature tearing apart a city in America. That means the vampire secret is still a secret.” You tell him. Aro’s lips tighten, his eyes trained on you.

You walk toward the kneeling vampire, unable to help yourself you comb your fingers through his hair enjoying how his eyes close briefly to enjoy the contact. You don’t stop walking, you pace around Felix as you continue with your second point.

“Has he had any dealings with the Children of the Moon?” You question. 

Aro shakes his head hesitantly. A pleased, yet cocky, grin lifts across your face.

 “He hasn’t exposed our secret to any human, unlike your precious Edward Cullen. He also hasn’t hunted in Volterra, that I’m certain of.” You mutter, knowing that your friends had brought him straight to the castle. “He hasn’t been a false witness to any other crime. Any immortal children?” You ask, your eyes glancing to your father as you pause by the twins.

“No,” Aro says lowly. You stare into your father’s eyes wonder if he wanted you to continue or if he was done pretending to be in charge. He remains silent prompting you to continue.

“Yes, he has caused some attention with his hunting habits,” You concede. You slowly move back toward Aro. “and yes his newborns made a mess of things. However, all the newborns are now gone and his hunting's in the future will be more... discrete,” You promise him.

“The Volturi do not offer second chances,” Caius growls from his throne. Your eyes roll as you turn toward him.

“Oh, do shut up Caius or I will have you punished for the town you drained in 1305,” You snapped, glaring at him. You and Caius spend a few moments staring each other down. A stare down you inevitably win. A small surge of pride runs through you when Caius averts his gaze.

Turning your gaze, you look back at your father. You continue to step closer to him until your just about toe-to-toe. You’re posture is relaxed but your gaze is challenging. You dare him to go against you.

“So, let me get this straight you want to kill him for a law that has been broken by everyone in this castle at least once?” You ask. “I just don’t see how that’s necessary,” You hum.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Aro states.

“Perhaps,” You hum condescendingly. “Felix, let him go.” You order. The brutish vampire releases Riley. You hold your hand out as you continue to stare at your father. Riley looks around him as he slowly stands up. Slowly, he takes your hand. “Though, is suppose to make up for his transgressions he can have a place on the guard,”

“A marvelous idea,” Aro nods. You hum, taking your gaze off of him. You send a smirk to Caius before pulling Riley out of the room.

“What’s going on?” Riley askes you quietly. You don’t answer.

You take him to your part of the castle and into your private quarters. It’s one of the largest rooms in the castle. It certainly impresses Riley.

“Make yourself at home,” You tell him, closing the door behind the pair of you. Riley turns to you after observing the room.

“What the fuck is going on?” Riley asks.

“Before I tell you my story,” You say taking a seat by the table. “Why don’t you tell me yours? It’ll be easier that way,”

You waited for Riley to begin. You understood his hesitance. When he did begin, you soaked up every detail. You managed to bite back multiple growls at every mention of this bitch Victoria. You didn’t know whether to be happy or annoyed that she’s already dead. You honestly would have liked the pleasure of killing her yourself.

“Well, I can tell you for certain that Edward was right. Victoria was using you. She wasn’t your mate.” Riley sits down in the adjacent seat.  “You weren’t anything more than a means to an end,” You tell him.

“What is this place?” He asks, looking at you. “What am I doing here?”

“This is Volterra, Italy. You are in the Volturi castle. We are the strongest and largest coven of vampires. The vampire world, like the humans, have laws. We’re the coven that enforces them.”

“And I broke your laws,” Riley states.

“Some minor ones,” You shrug. “You did nothing that nobody else in this coven has done,” You assure him. Riley frowns his eyebrows and you sigh. “Think of us as... the vampiric mob.” You smirk. With that explanation, everything starts to click for Riley. “Every vampire here serves a purpose because every vampire here - well, almost every vampire has some sort of ability. Like Edward with the mind reading and Jane with the torture,” Riley nods keeping up with you so far. “If you have value to the coven, you live. If you don’t, you die.”

“And what is my value?” Riley asks. You press your lips together.

“I’m your true mate,” You tell him not wanting to beat around the bushes. “You’re still alive simply because I want you to be.” Riley’s eyes widen a fraction. 

“You’re my mate?” Riley whispers. You nod, gently holding his face in your hand.

“And I have waited for you for over three thousand years,” You tell him.

“You’re-... What?” Riley asks. You grin laughing at his astonished look.

“I had lost faith that you would come,” You whisper to him. “I figured after all the lives I took and destroyed that I wouldn’t ever find you. I figured you had lived a human life and died long ago without me ever knowing. I never believed I was worthy of you but here you are,” By the end your sentence you had moved even closer to him. “And I will destroy this entire coven, my father included, before I allow one of them to harm you.” You promise.

“Three thousand years?” Riley whispers. You laugh kissing his cheek.

“I hope you’re into older women,” You whisper in his ear before leaning back in your seat. Riley’s quick to grab your hand before you can withdraw from him completely. You smile, interlocking your fingers with his.

“You’re father’s in this coven?” Riley suddenly asks.

“Aro,” You tell him. “He can read every thought in your mind with a single touch,” You explain. Riley instantly pictures him. “He would have had you killed had I not shown up,” You mention.

“Can you read minds too?” He asks. You smirk.

“My gift’s a little deadlier than mere mind reading,” You tell him. Riley raises his eyebrows obviously wanting to know. “I can kill everyone in this castle at the same time without lifting a finger or blinking an eye,”

“How?”

“Molecular combustion,” You tell him. “I can speed up the molecules in your body until you just burst. I can do it so fast you won’t feel a thing or I can draw it out,” Riley winces. “So, as you can see, if I want something, I get it,” You wink at him.

“What do you do here?”

“Destroy problematic vampires,” You answer shortly. “My father, along with Marcus and Caius, run the coven. I’m not into politics or power all that much. I have enough to make me happy. I have more power sitting in the background than I would on the front lines,”

“How so?”

“Fear,” You smirk. “Everyone here is afraid of me, with good reason. I’ve killed some of my fathers prized possessions more than once. It’s why the twins make such an effort to befriend me. I’ve also sped up Caius’s molecular structure enough to cause severe pain for a month straight after he pissed me off one time. They can’t control me. They can rule the coven all they wish but if I want something all I have to do is take it. It brings me great joy to watch the oh so powerful Kings of Volterra shudder in fear at the sight of me and stand by helplessly while I take what I want. Stomping on their ego is always satisfying.”

“So, even though I have no power, I will be apart of this coven?” Riley asks.

“Yes,” You nod. Riley slowly smirks.

“And since you truly hold all the power, does that make me the second most powerful vampire?” Riley arches his eyebrows. You chuckle winking at him.

“Now you’re getting the hang of it,” Riley smirks broadly. “You spent the last year being that red headed whore’s puppet but now you’ll spend the rest of your immortal existence playing puppet master with the strongest coven, hell the entire vampiric race as your puppets” You tell him.

Riley imagines his future with this kind of power. You stand up and walk behind him. Your arms circle around him and rub his chest. Your head nuzzles into his neck, your teeth nipping at his marble skin.

“Anything you want, my love, I will be sure to give it to you,” You promise him.

“Your father is the king of Volterra... but if we control him then...” You hum biting his ear seductively. 

“You catch on quickly, my dear” You whisper to him. In a flash, you come in front of him and straddle his waist. His hands instantly grab your hips. “Rule from the shadows,” You tell him. “Wil Aro, Marcus and Caius as a front all opposers and enemies will target them instead of us,”

“Surely vampires know of your power, wouldn’t they be able to figure it out?” Riley asks.

“When I use my power, I never leave witnesses outside of this coven,” You tell him. “There are only three people outside of this coven that know of my power. Edward Cullen, Carlisle Cullen, and Alice Cullen. Should word spread, I made sure they knew what I would do to those they love,” Riley smirks holding you close to him.

“Rule from the shadows, all the power we want, all the benefits, hardly any risk,” Riley mutters.

“A major step up from small town Forks, don’t you think?” You ask, tilting your head.

“Well, I certainly didn’t think this is where I’d end up,” Riley admits before getting handsy with you. You smirk, dragging your nails down his chest. “Certainly glad I did though,”

“Ditto,” You whisper, pressing you lips to his unable to hold back any longer.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 7

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,297

Warnings: Description of a dead body, major character death (but technically you already know it happened, just not how it did...so...), heartbreak, major angst, a bit of fluff at the end, a couple familiar faces may or may not show up

Author Note: Seriously, you all are the best readers I could ever hope to have. The response to Part 6 was unbelievable and I can’t thank everyone enough for the support, especially when I continue to be evil and end the segments with such horrible cliffhangers. 

Links to Part 1 and Part 6 and Part 8

Cross-posted on AO3.

Photo Inspiration:

Maker, your head hurts. 

It throbs angrily as if a mudhorn has impaled your brain on its horn. In fact, your whole body feels like one giant bruise. Grimacing, you take a deep breath, only to enter a coughing fit when you inhale a lungful of smoke. 

Cracking an eye open, panic seizes you when all you see is smoke. Ash gray and thick, it obscures your immediate surroundings from view. You can’t even tell if it’s night or day. 

What the kriff is going on?

Swallowing against the dryness of your throat, you slowly sit up and feel pieces of grit and rubble dig into the tender flesh of your palms. A quick look shows no blood, soulmate mark unaffected, and you sigh a quiet breath of relief. But then worry starts to sink in when you realize you can’t remember where you are or what knocked you unconscious. Before you can spiral into a panic attack, the ground beneath you starts to tremble, causing the tiny fragments of gravel to wildly bounce around.

A shrill metallic screech pierces your ears followed immediately by a massive burst of vibrant orange flames erupting in the distance. You yelp, hastily pushing yourself onto your feet and start to run in the opposite direction, ignoring the howl of protest from your aching body. 

You can’t even see two steps in front of you, effectively ruining your attempt at a quick escape as you clumsily skirt around piles of debris that appear out of the smoke and threaten to block your way. Every breath is a wheeze, lungs making it painfully clear they cannot draw in enough oxygen from the smoky atmosphere to support your chosen pace. But the mere thought of dying here in this nightmarish inferno is enough to urge you to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other, even as it simultaneously creates a tight, anxious knot in your stomach.

Another explosion detonates behind you. The ground quakes and groans, cracks appearing at an alarming rate as if the planet itself is being torn apart by the chaos. Your foot catches on one of the rifts, eliciting a cry of shock to tear itself out of your throat when you’re unable to reclaim your balance and plummet forward.

Except it’s not the ground that rises up to meet you. 

No. 

It’s a body. 

A dead body, to be precise. Burnt to a blackened crisp, as if the person had been dropped directly into a sun. Their skeletal features are frozen in an expression of torture, mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. The stench of their seared flesh overwhelms your nostrils and ingrains itself in your brain, ensuring you’ll never forget the horrific smell for the rest of your lifetime.

Whimpering, you scramble backwards, curling your legs tight against your heaving chest. You look around, bile rising in your throat when you glimpse through the sea of smoke more charred corpses surrounding you. It’s as if you’ve stumbled upon a mass grave, and again the thought crosses your mind: what the kriff is going on?

You stand up, not wanting to linger another second in their presence, and continue moving forward, each footstep slow and careful as you maneuver around the bodies. The smoke is marginally thinner the further away you move from the fiery blasts, just enough for you to make out the faint outlines of collapsed buildings on either side of you, homes of families destroyed for reasons you don’t understand. Gut instinct keeps insisting that everything you’re seeing is wrong, that none of this destruction and carnage should have ever happened. 

Again, you attempt to string together your memories, forcing your brain to comply despite the pounding ache it produces in your temples. Honestly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you had a concussion. 

Details slowly start coming to mind, little and meaningless by themselves, but when put together form a grander picture. You came here to visit your best friend. ‘Here’ being a Mid-Rim planet with a ridiculously long and multisyllabic name you couldn’t pronounce then, and your poor head certainly can’t identify now. The transport flight had been long and you’d arrived later than anticipated, verging on late afternoon when you’d stepped off the craft. 

On your way to your friend’s house, the sun had abruptly gone dark. Everyone had stopped to look to the sky, yourself included. A light cruiser, kite-shaped and unmistakable, hovered directly overhead. Its presence was ominous, evoking the crowd of civilian spectators to murmur amongst themselves. 

Then its weapons unleashed a storm of hellfire.

Oh, Maker. How could you have ever forgotten the screams?

You’re pulled out of your dismal thoughts by the appearance of a dark shape ahead of you, its outline standing out as noticeably different than the surrounding rubble. Gradually, your brain starts to distinguish human features: a head, broad shoulders and limbs. 

It also occurs to you that they’re coming straight at you.

Before you can decide whether to flee or fight or do anything remotely conducive to increasing your odds of survival, the human-shaped blur barrels straight into you, hitting you with such force you instinctively grip onto their coat, just above their wrists, to keep from falling backwards. The feather-light grazing of the edge of your palm against their skin elicits a buzz of shocking warmth, as if you’ve touched a live wire instead of flesh.

It’s you, the thought pops into your head unprompted, like a fact you’ve always known since you were born. The feeling is breathtaking and electric, a lightning bolt striking the center of your heart. Every cell in your body is radiating exuberance and cheering: it’s you, it’s you, it’s you! The one I’ve been waiting for!

You’re pushed sideways, a small cry of surprise escaping your lips.

“Get out of my way.” It’s a masculine voice, sharp with impatience yet it wraps itself around your heart all the same. He doesn’t spare you a second glance as he continues heading in the direction you’ve been coming from.

“Wait,” you protest, because it’s not supposed to be like this. You’ve started shaking, from adrenaline or the shock of his dismissal, you’re not sure. 

The man pauses, keeping his back facing you. His dark clothes are conspicuously clean, and you can’t help comparing them to your own which are sooty and torn in places. For the second time, your gut instinct is telling you something is wrong, but this time you ignore it in favor of listening to the screaming of your heart urging you to never let this man out of your sight.

“We’re soulmates,” you say, desperate for him to stay.

His fingers curl into fists, the only forewarning you have before he snaps your heart in half as he mutters, “You could never be my soulmate.”

And then you’re watching as he disappears into the smoke, not once looking back to gauge the aftermath of his rejection. You had always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming that you and your soulmate would meet and live a long, happy life together until Death came to reap your souls. In less than thirty seconds, your soulmate had just cruelly crushed those dreams without either of you exchanging names or seeing each other’s faces.

Maybe you should have tried harder, or held onto him tighter. Maybe then you wouldn't be feeling this gaping hole in your chest where your heart used to beat.

Acting on impulse, you start running after him. If you can just have a second chance to make a better impression, maybe you can change his mind. Maybe you can convince him to accept you as his soulmate, agree to take your hand and never let go. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll fall in love with you, deeply and profoundly, just like every soulmate pairing you’ve heard about.

 With a head full of maybes, you don’t even hear the bomb drop.

It hits the ground with a resounding thud, and then your world is an explosion of red and orange heat, consuming you whole without leaving behind any evidence you’d ever existed at all. Your vision shifts and blurs, memories of your lifetime flashing by too quickly to recognize each one, but through it all you hear a voice, his voice, echoing those dreadful words over and over again.

You could never be my soulmate. Never. Never. Never.

~~~

You wake up with a jolt, throat raw as if you really had been inhaling smoke. You’re drenched in sweat and you push away the heavy blanket covering you before realizing it is definitely not your blanket nor are you currently in your own bed. Looking around, panic begins to prickle along your nerve endings when you fail to recognize anything familiar about your location.

You’re in someone’s home, that much is obvious from the furnishings. The ceiling overhead is made of overlapping metal and is slightly rounded, reminding you of a cave or burrow. There is a lantern hanging on a nearby hook, but the light it emanates is dim compared to the sunshine pouring in from the four small, square-shaped windows cut into the wall behind you above the bed. The view through the windows is slightly blurry, but you can make out the blue sky and what you think is a corral of some kind. 

Rubbing a hand over your face to wipe away the lingering exhaustion, you’re surprised when your hand encounters something rough covering the side of your forehead. A bandage. Strange, you must have hit your head somewhere—

The past comes back in flashes: Din confessing his feelings, touching his hand, the spark of warmth, falling unconscious on the floor.

Where is Din?

“You are awake.”

The voice is expressionless and mechanical in tone, stating the obvious. Even so, you jump, not having noticed the droid sitting in the far corner of the room during your initial survey. Its red sensors and dark colored plating would make it look menacing if not for the tray it clutches in its hands, balancing cups and a pitcher.

“I am IG-11,” the droid says as it approaches.

“IG?” you echo hoarsely, sitting up with alarm. “As in one of those assassin droids?”

“I have been reprogrammed as a nurse.” It considers you for a moment, internal mechanisms whirring, and then the tray is held out closer for you to reach. “Tea?”

Hesitantly, you pour yourself some and hold the cup with both hands as you take a sip. The tea is warm as it slides down your throat, flavorful and far more exotic than the kind you’ve tasted back home in Umbriel. 

“Where am I?” you ask after you’ve swallowed two more gulps.

“Arvala-7.”

You blink, barely familiar with the name which only intensifies your worry about Din’s absence.

“Okay, but like, where exactly on Arvala-7?” you press, gesturing around the room. “How did I even get here?”

“Your current location is a moisture farm owned and operated by Kuiil,” IG-11 says, moving away to set the tray on a nearby table, though its head remains facing your direction. “Death brought you here unconscious with an injury to your central processing unit.”

“My central…” you trail off, squinting. “Was that supposed to be a joke?”

“Yes. It was meant to put you at ease.”

“Right.” You nod to yourself, reaching a decision. Downing the last of your drink, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and make a move to stand. “This has been great, but I’ve really got to go find Death so—”

A wave of dizziness washes over you, forcing you to sit back down. Kriff, you think, closing your eyes until you’re certain you won’t be seeing double anymore. 

“You won’t find Death here.” A new voice, crackling with age, informs you. His words are ominous, but his tone isn’t one of malice or ill-intent. 

Turning, you see an Ugnaught approaching from the entrance of the house. He stops beside IG-11, green eyes peering at you from beneath bushy white eyebrows, but you don’t feel threatened by his nearness. 

“I am Kuiil. Death entrusted me with looking after you until his return from Nevarro,” he says, sitting down upon a stool with his arms braced upon his knees. “You must continue to rest until you are well. I have spoken.”

You press a hand to your chest, feeling a pang of hurt at Din’s decision. “He left?”

“Death is bound by creed to the universe to reap the dead. Nothing, not even his soulmate, can be put before it.”

You choke on your spit. “Soulmate? We’re not—”

“Even if he had not told me,” Kuiil interrupts, unwilling to hear your dissuading opinion when he is certain of his own. “I would have known it from how he stubbornly stayed at your side and by how loathsome he was to leave you behind. In all my years, I have not seen him behave in such a twitterpated manner.” 

“He…” Your voice wavers, torn between hopefulness and disbelief. “He really told you we’re soulmates?”

Kuiil, reaching towards the table for the pitcher of tea, pauses and slowly turns back to look at you. “You were unaware of your matched connection with Death? Did you two not touch hands as most fated pairs often do?”

Any reply you might have said falters when you look down at your hands in your lap. More specifically, your left hand. The one Din had grasped.  The one that in your past life had brushed against your soulmate minutes before you died. 

Right there in the middle of your palm, innocently gleaming like it’s always been there and therefore isn’t at all responsible for the rapid increase of your heartbeat, is a soulmate marking.

Tag List: @leilei-draws​​, @theocatkov​​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk, @captain-jebi​, @aerynwrites, @promiscuoussatan, @stilllivindue2spite, @coaaster​

[yeojaa]

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears.  You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard.  The best part?  You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main.  He might just love you.

alt summary.  Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing.  jeon jungkook

genre + rating.  fluffy crack. general, for now.

warning / tags.  long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish),  eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch.  tags are hard.  :( 

reading.   n/a.  a three part one-shot.

word count.  ~3400

part i.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Sunday, 10 November, 2019.  2:13 AM.

It’s 2:13 AM when Jeon Jungkook finally finds a match, the familiar in-game sound dragging his attention away from the illuminated screen of his iPhone to the monitor before him.  He studies the SR - 3779 and 3761, respectively - and skims burning eyes across the members on each team.  Four rocks, including himself, and two Masters.

One of them has a strange name - BIGMELON - that he stares at until he's zoning out, trying to make sense of it.  Was his teammate a pervert or just hilarious?

"Good luck and have fun, everyone!"  

Your cheer filters through his headphones crystal clear but he's somehow still surprised, head tilting curiously to the side.  He hadn't expected a girl to be playing Overwatch at quarter past two in the morning.

When there's no response - he notices no one else is in the voice chat, an oddity for such a high ranking game - he takes it upon himself to keep you company.  His username lights up as his finger glides across the ALT key, sleep-worn words breaking the silence.

"Thanks, you too."

Nothing follows until BIGMELON appears once again in the upper left-hand corner of his screen.  You have a nice voice, he thinks.  "Are you sticking with Widow?"

Jungkook takes in the team comp:  Sigma, Hog, Genji, and Lucio.  A little unconventional but not wholly un-doable.  They're on King's Row, too, which is one of his favourite maps.  Balanced enough that people aren't too salty when they get headshot but with enough coverage that he can get clear picks.  

"Should I?"

"If you want."  A pause and your hero slot is filled with Mercy's portrait.  "I can damage boost."

He thinks he can hear the teasing.  It's soft and sweet and a little rough - like you'd just woken up.  

"Who says I need it?"  Comes his immediate response, question chased out of his mouth by a laugh he can't help.  It echoes, filling the quiet of his bedroom.  He hopes you don't take it the wrong way.

"O—kay, Widow main.  We'll see if you get anything from me."

It's an empty threat because you're giggling along with him.  It's distracting in the strangest way.  The sound bounces around in his ears and he can't help but focus on it, realizing belatedly that he's still sitting in spawn as the timer runs down for setting up defence.  

"Are you going to join us?"  You quip, emoting right beside his stationary sniper.  "I didn't queue just to have someone go AFK."  

Mischief colours your words and he laughs again, snorting as he finally presses W.  Two sets of footsteps echo in game and he presses SHIFT once he's hit point - and with just a few seconds left to spare - launching Widowmaker's body onto the balcony overwatching it.  Mercy follows, Guardian Angel carrying her into the air to alight behind the blue-skinned hero.  

As the timer hits 0:01, Jungkook right-clicks, scoping in on the second-floor spawn door.

BOOM.

The kill feed reads DDEOKKOOKI x STRIKER007.

"I guess you didn't need the damage boost."  

He can't help the sound he makes - a marriage between a witch's shriek and a pig's snort.  It leaps out of his mouth, louder than he intends, and he feels equally bad for you and his hyungs.  He's definitely going to get an earful in the morning - or any minute now, when one of them bursts into his room to berate him for being so loud.  "I told you."

"Yeah, yeah."  The way you speak has him grinning from ear to ear, nose scrunching in amusement.  Mercy is flying across the map, healing stream trained on Genji as the cyborg ninja just narrowly misses an errant Hanzo arrow and dashes back to point.  "I'm gonna take care of the rest of our team.  Let me know if you need anything, O' Headshot God."

You're clowning him hard but he knows it's all in good fun.  Still, he likes the nickname and decides to keep it, effectively picking off the attacking team's stealthily half-hidden Junkrat and Ana right after. 

"Show-off!"   

Then he's dinked in the head - health dropping to 30 from the partially-charged shot.  He needs heals like yesterday.

Unfortunately, Lucio is up at choke with the tanks, skating circles around the base of the statue as they hold point.  Jungkook doesn't see you immediately - he’s scanning his screen for your witch skin (of course) - only realizing you've appeared at his side when his health bar begins to climb.  "Try to stay alive, yeah?"

"My bad,"  he drawls, scoping in the same instant the kill feed announces two more enemy deaths. 

There are only a critical Reinhardt and protected Zarya left.  The former falls the moment he drops shield and her bubble doesn't reset in time;  the Russian tank dies in the next instant, his charged shot firing the moment it hits 100%.  

"Thanks for the damage boost."

"Any time."

Then you're gone, off to support the rest of your team again while he grapples onto a different ledge and continues his oppressive gameplay.  He feels a little bad when the opposing team goes double shield tank and swaps their Junkrat for a Pharah.  He feels less so when he's slept out of nowhere. Four seconds feels like an eternity when he’s out in the open - vulnerable as a baby lamb in a den of lions.

"Looks like you're really making them mad."  You'd been relatively quiet when not tending to him - likely because it was only the two of you in voice chat - and he startles when your comment breaks the quiet lofi he has going in the background. 

"I don't know why.  I'm just having fun."  He's lying.  You're laughing.  

"Too much fun, I think."  

"Maybe they should be better."  Jungkook says this like he's commenting on the weather or the colour of the sky - offhand and nonchalant.  It makes your giggles come harder.  He can hear the scratch of your mic as if you've doubled over and it's now pressed into cotton clothing.  He can't help but pat himself on the back.

"Please don't tell me you're going to 'gg ez' them when we're done."

Now he's feigned offense, gasping at the mere thought.  "Of course not.  I'm not that rude!"

"Well, you never know."  You're right.  People could be the worst when it came to online gaming, spewing vitriol and hurling insults the moment their egos were bruised (or inflated). 

"I promise I'm not an asshole."  He's not really sure why he feels the need to make this abundantly clear.  After all, he'd probably never play with you again.  Korea's density of players was just too great - you were just one in hundreds, thousands, millions. 

Still, he smiles when you reassure him you don't think he is.  "I'm just teasing.  You seem nice."

"I am nice."  Spoken in the same instance he lands two consecutive headshots - one on the bouncing, wall-riding enemy Lucio and the other on the momentarily grounded Pharah.  You must see that, because you're mocking him in that dulcet tone of yours, caramel coating words and turning them soft like toffee. 

"Not according to them."  And not that you mind, it seems, because you're damage boosting him as he catches their out-of-position Rein in his sight.  He whoops in triumph, eliciting another bemused sound from you. 

"You know they're going to do everything to counter you when we go on attack."  Which was in sub-one minute, the timer counting down the last thirty seconds of your team's defense. 

"Who says I'm going Widow again?"  

You're scandalized.  "You mean you're not just a filthy Widow main?"

For a moment, Jungkook wonders if this is how his older members feel when he (and Jimin and Taehyung) mercilessly rib them.  He thinks it must be and oh, how the tables have turned.  He decides he doesn't really mind, though.  It's all innocent fun and it's keeping him awake, aided by the cold brew he'd chugged at midnight. 

"Woah - says the Mercy player?"

"Mercy is a respectable support, okay!"

"Sure, e-girl."  

"Take that back!"  How the words explode out of his headphones makes him momentarily worry he might've overstepped but by the way your laughter chases it forward, he knows he hasn't.  You can take it just as well as you can dish it.  

"Okay, okay.  You're a not bad healer."  Because he hasn't died yet and last he checked, neither had your tanks.  Genji had once or twice - to be expected, given his playstyle - and you had, but that was still pretty respectable.

He can practically hear you rolling your eyes.  "Oh, thanks."  

"Any time, BigMelon."  

"That's ‘daebak’ to you, pal."  Had he heard you wrong?

"What'd you say?"  

There's a long pause - he's not sure whether it's for comedic purpose or something else.  You sound muffled on the other end, as if you're repressing sound.  "Because watermelon?  Su-bak?  So big melon is dae-bak?"  Whatever you had stifled earlier disappears, torn away by the pride that shines bright yellow and boisterous in your peals of laughter.

It's such a bad joke that Jungkook feels like he's about to have an aneurysm.  Were you Jin moonlighting as a Master support player? 

"You're kidding me."  He wonders if you hear him above your own glee, giggles making it hard for him to hear himself think.  "What're you - a dad?"

You scoff now, parroting his words back to him.  "What're you - the pun police?"  

Another one?

He briefly considers ALT + F4-ing his way out of this match and away from your corniness.  Considers it but ultimately decides against it, instead remaining stoically silent and choosing McCree when the hero selection screen slides into place.  His silence will surely speak volumes.  

"You know that was funny!"  By the way he can practically hear your pout - it's endearing, much to his chagrin - he thinks you know where he stands.  

"Not the word I'd use."

"You just have bad taste, McCree."  You say it scathingly yet full of mirth, a sniff punctuating the end of your rebuttal. 

"Do not!"  He returns, just as quickly.  

"Prove it.  Laugh at my joke!"  You're shameless, confident, reassured - it makes him chuckle.  

You take it as his surrender though, your own laughter blending seamlessly with his.  It goes on for longer than is strictly speaking necessary, crowding like cotton balls in his ears as you leave sprays of your hero - Ana this time - across the spawn walls.  He wrecks every one of yours with his own, BAMF displayed in 1440p. 

"Hey - stop that!"  It doesn't matter that the round is about to start - you're spamming your melee button into him.  He immediately does it back, toggling between that and his voice line. 

The rest of your team is probably wondering what the hell you're both doing.  

"Stop distracting me!"  He barks into his mic, deep dimples on full display, nose scrunched adorably.  He doesn't really mind - it's clear by his hyena cackles that follow - and he likes when your chorus of shut up's pitch and leap with your giggling. 

As he navigates McCree out behind your tanks, he can't help but wish - maybe a little selfishly - that they'll lose this round and go into a best of three.  When the opposing team's healers both die - one to Ashe's dynamite and the other to Zarya's high-charged beam - he knows that's not going to happen.  Your team's going to cap point and then you're going to be gone - off to the next game and never to be matched with again.

"We did it, McCree."  You sound deeply pleased as the last of the defenders fall, leaving point uncontested.  The Lucio on your team lingers by the choke, ready to boop any last minute hoodlums;  Echo hovers just above the enemy’s spawn, dealing damage the moment any hero comes in view.  One of your tanks is already emoting.

VICTORY flashes across his screen.  

"We sure did, BigMelon."

The cards come next - they're all for your team, though he isn't surprised.  You'd gotten 37 defensive assists whereas he had 27% Infra-Sight uptime.  He's sure you both vote for each other, the remaining four going to your other support's Sound Barrier casts.  

"Thanks for the carry."  He doesn't mean it facetiously.  This is some of the most fun he's had in-game in ages.

"You're welcome,"  you chirp.  He thinks you'll leave right after.

Instead, you both sit in voice chat in silence, watching the timer in the upper right-hand corner. 

"Do you want to duo?"  You ask in the same instance he does, breaking the both of you into a fit of laughter.  It's more distracting than he realizes, the FINDING MATCH countdown replacing the end game statistics while you’re both still cackling.

Luckily, you invite him to a group right as he removes himself from queue.

JUNGKOOK’S ROOM Tuesday, 24 December, 2019.  11 PM.

It’s six weeks and a good three dozen games later - a feat for him, considering how much of his time is eaten up by literally every other obligation he has - when he asks for your name, not realizing the consequences of his action.  

“Most people call me Jinny.”  He thinks it fits you, bright and pretty and punchy.  “What’s your name?”

Jungkook's unprepared for the question, though he shouldn’t be.  Of course you’d want to know.  Anyone would, if they’d already given their own answer.

He's silent for the longest time, quiet stretching on and on over group voice chat.  He applauds you for your patience, how you don't press him on it when the hesitation has descended from appropriate to downright awkward.

"Uh."  The word drops like a weight, crashing through the tentative friendship you've built over the past weeks.  

"You don't have to tell me,"  you supply as softly as he's ever heard you.  It's the first time you've seemed uncertain - and it bothers him that he's the reason.  "I get that we haven't known each other that long."  

As if that's actually the issue.  He would've told you the night you spent four hours together, taking wins left and right, filling the time in between matches with silly banter that had his jaw aching from laughter.  He would’ve told you on that random Thursday, when you’d listened to him talk about his busy day, effortlessly keeping him occupied - and amused - while your SR nearly descended below 3500.  He would’ve even told you yesterday, when you’d said you were going to bed, only to be roped into another six games by Jungkook’s eagerness.

It has absolutely nothing to do with time - or the lack thereof.

But he can't say that - can't tell you who he really is - so he improvises as best he can.  "My friends call me Jay."

"Jay, huh?"  You turn the sound over on your tongue, like you're tasting it for the first time, trying to decide whether you love it or hate it.  He hopes you don’t hate it.  "Then I guess we're the best J-duo to ever exist."

"Woah, we?"  He's only doing it to rile you up, finding it cute when you huff and puff and threaten to let him die in-game.  You never make good on the threat anyway;  you just like to see him sweat, watching as his health bar drops to measly single digits.  "I don't think I agreed to that."  

It's your turn to mock him, that same edge turning your words into sour candy.  "Fine.  You can find yourself a new healer.  We'll see how your SR likes that, Bronzie boy!"  

Neither of you really take the game that seriously but he gasps like he's been shot.  

"No!  Don't leave me with them!"  The way he howls the plea is enough to return you both to your rightful place - one filled with boisterous laughter and things he never thought would see the light of day.

Because somehow, he's found somewhere he feels safe - a place he feels like himself, with no pretenses or expectations.  It’s where he can rant and rave, bouncing from topic to topic like an energizer bunny with no end in sight.  It’s, oddly enough, with you.  

Connected through voice chat and built by an endless stream of communication - sometimes productive, other times not - the space you’ve carved out together has come to feel like a third home.  It isn’t quite what he has with his family or his members but it’s just as nice.

Different, but nice.

"Fine.  You're forgiven."  You sniff in that peculiar way of yours and he snickers loudly.  "How was your day?"

And this is why it is - because it's ordinary.  It’s where Jungkook can rest his head and drift for a while without worry of what’s over the horizon, ready to swallow him whole the moment he takes his eyes off the calm blue sea.  He's not raised on a pedestal with you, all the weight of his choices resting on his shoulders.  He's just a normal guy playing games.  

It might not make up for all the years of normalcy he's missed out on - the movies after school, the street markets on weekends, the holiday parties with classmates - but it's enough.  

He eats it up like he's been starved of it.

"Busy.  Really busy.  I had dance practice all afternoon and forgot to eat so I'm dying now."  There'd been a time - about three weeks in - when he'd chosen his words more carefully.  He'd been worried he might let something slip but he's found what feels like the sweet spot now, where he can tell you about his day without thinking he’ll suddenly shatter the image you have of him.

It's not always easy - he has to remember to never mention names or intimate details - but it's better than nothing.  He can finally tell someone about his day like he wants - all of the good and the bad, too.

"You should make something to eat!"

He's used to your reprimands but he still laughs, crossing his long legs beneath him as he readjusts in his computer chair.  "But we're in queue."

"Jay!"  It comes out devoid of static, clear as the waning sunshine that filters through his blinds and reflects particles of dust that drift lazily through his bedroom.

"I'll make something after we win."  He knows what you're thinking - that he's gone and jinxed your whole night.  You’re weirdly superstitious, something he's learned only recently.

As if right on cue:  "Shut up!"  

Your words sweep his expression up with glee and giddiness, like a kid on Christmas morning;  lines dig themselves into the bridge of his nose and the delicate skin beneath his eyes.  Jungkook tells himself it’s the usual pre-game jitters but he knows it’s more than that.  

It’s you and that infectious giggle that careens through his headphones, making him see everything in a pretty haze of warmth.

He’s not sure when you’d started having this particular effect on him - maybe since the beginning? - but he feels it now, clearer than ever.  Every tinkling laugh makes his heart speed up, thump around his chest like a baseball missing its mark.  The sight of you logging in elicits the biggest, possibly dorkiest smile, all slightly too-big front teeth and deep dimples.  You have him rushing through his post-practice showers and devouring dinner in half the time he usually would just to get online a minute more quickly.  

There's just something about you. 

And sure - a part of him wonders whether it's all in his head (as if it could be anywhere else).  Wonders if he's seeing you through rose-tinted glasses, doing to you what so many do to him.  Was he in over his head, praying to a deity that didn't even know he existed?  

Sometimes it felt that way - a little out of reach, like childhood crushes and summer love and wishing upon a star.  Certainly far too much for a blossoming friendship of just a month and a half.  

But then you laugh and it's Pop Rocks fizzling in his stomach and he knows that no - it's there and it's real.

Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met. 

notes.  i love overwatch and i love jeon jeongguk.  what more can i say?  :)

[jingabitch]

Armed to the Fangs ch.11

SUMMARY: you grew up in the hunter’s guild, understanding that it is your sacred duty as a hunter to protect humanity from the vampires that lurk in the dark, draining the life from anyone unlucky enough to be caught. while making the rounds one night, you encounter taehyung, a fabled born vampire - not that you know that when he tries to entice you into a dark alley. next thing you know, you’re kidnapped and taken to their home, where you realise that all of them somehow crave your blood and seem to know more about your past than you do. finding out about where you came from might be the key to setting humanity free.

PAIRING: eventual ot7 x reader

WARNINGS: some description of violence, angst, pining, maybe eventual smut but not for a looooong time, slow burn (really the slowest of burns), fainting from blood loss, things move along in this chapter!

RATING: T

WORD COUNT: 3.8k

A/N: thank you @pasteljeon for looking over this for me. hope you enjoy this update before i disappear again LOL

series index

All of them watched with bated breath as you walked across the room. They could hear your heart pounding madly inside your chest, but your footsteps were resolute and steady. If not for their supernatural hearing, they would have been fooled into thinking that you were completely confident.

“Y/n,” Hoseok rasped, his gaze fixed on you. You tried not to think of the gleam in his eyes as predatory.

Clenching your fists to stop your hands from trembling, you perched lightly on the edge of the mattress. Hoseok’s eyes zeroed in on your jugular, on the almost imperceptible motion of your pulse under the thin, sensitive skin. Even as his instincts clamoured for the blood rushing under your flesh that would save him, there was a sense of hesitance, of guilt, and it was reflected in the slightly sluggish way he reached for you, beating back the urge to pounce.

The other boys shared glances. It was all but clear that you didn’t know the extent of the commitment you were making right now. It wasn’t just a one-time thing: this would bind Hoseok – and the others – to you forever. Were you really okay with this?

Tension was high in the room as the boys debated with each other silently over what to do. They knew that Seokjin wouldn’t tell you until after the deed was done. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, after all, and once you were bound to them, there would be time aplenty to make it up to you. Jungkook, on the other hand, had his fists clenched by his sides.

“Wait—” he cried, his cheeks flushed and his brows drawn down into a scowl.

It felt like everything in the room stopped as all the occupants swiveled their heads around to look at Jungkook. He seemed to realize, too, immediately clamming up and ducking his head as all his bravado vanished in an instant.

Luckily for you, Yoongi took courage from his younger brother’s outburst, continuing where Jungkook hadn’t dared to. “There are some things you should know before you commit to this.”

Hoseok, who hadn’t had the energy for a long, drawn-out explanation, slumped back against the headrest with relief – and a little disappointment. After all, if you ran out of here screaming – which was a real possibility – he might not survive it.

Perched lightly on the edge of the mattress, you redirected your attention to Yoongi. From the sombre inflection in his voice, you could tell that what he was going to say was serious.

“Hoseok… he isn’t sick, or dying because of what happened the other day, or anything like that,” Yoongi started, taking some time to gather his thoughts before he launched into the main part of his explanation.

“You triggered… something in him when you met him,” he continued, putting it as delicately as possible. There was a lot of information that you probably shouldn’t have yet, and all of the brothers were in agreement that regardless of whether you bound yourself to Hoseok, it would be too soon for you to know the full extent of your significance to them. Hell, not all of them were even ready to admit to themselves what was going on.

“What is it?” Curious, you leaned forward.

“His body is rejecting packaged blood,” Namjoon cut Yoongi off smoothly with a more elegant explanation that was less likely to send you screaming for the hills. “He can’t keep any of the blood we have on hand down. He needs a live donor.”

“A live donor…” you murmured to yourself, turning back towards Hoseok thoughtfully. You didn’t know if what they were telling you was true, or even plausible, but then again, you weren’t really an expert on vampire anatomy and biology. Unless it was about the most efficient way to dispatch one, of course.

“Not just that,” Namjoon continued. “There are… some people who are more compatible with certain vampires than others.” That was an understatement of the mate bond so severe it was basically mischaracterization. “You and Hoseok just happen to be compatible in that way. Once he drinks from you, he will need to keep doing it.”

That was the key information you needed, they thought. The mate bond, and all of it… none of them were quite ready to lay all their cards on the table, but you had to know that this wasn’t a one-time deal.

You blanched, your head whipping back around to Namjoon, who was leaning against the wall next to the bedroom door. “I… what?” you breathed in shock and some horror. This had to be a trope from a horror movie, right? Being a permanent blood bag, getting drained of your life bit by bit until there was none of it left to sustain you…

There was nothing you could imagine that was more terrifying. Visions of all the drained bodies you’d come across in your life flashed before your eyes, pale, cold, hard, their necks torn and bloody. You didn’t want that, you thought, feeling like you were sinking into a black hole.

Taehyung sprang forward as you swayed slightly, your face pale as you processed the bombshell Namjoon had dropped on you. “Y/n! Are you okay?” he asked in concern, his hands outstretched to catch you if you fell.

“No…” you murmured. “If you’re going to drain me, do it in one shot. Don’t draw it out.” Even faced with the fear of death, your commitment to the debt you owed Hoseok won out. He’d saved your life, and now you would save his – even at the expense of your own. It was the hunter code, and even if you weren’t a hunter anymore, the habits ingrained in you since you could remember were impossible to break.

Despite how faint and thready the sound of your voice was, all the boys heard you fine. It was so silent in the next moment that even you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then the room exploded into action. There was indistinguishable yelling, and Taehyung lurched forward, grabbing your hands. It seemed you’d tripped over a land mine somehow, though you weren’t sure what it was, or how you’d triggered them.

“Y/n,” Taehyung said, getting way too close to your face. He gave you an imploring gaze, and the sadness in his eyes made you want to turn away in discomfort, though you couldn’t bring yourself to. “Hoseok would never drain you.” His voice, filled with sincerity, made you feel almost guilty for ever thinking that Hoseok would do such a thing, but then you remembered your first encounter with him, and pulled your hands out of his grasp.

“Y/n, I promise you,” Namjoon added. “The bond between m—vampires and their feeders is all but unbreakable. When… if,�� he amended hastily, “you let Hoseok feed from you, he will do everything in his power to keep you safe, including from himself.”

You looked up, and Namjoon nodded at you, the conviction in the set of his jaw clear. The rest of the boys were nodding in agreement, and you turned to look at Hoseok, who was still leaning weakly against the headboard. There wasn’t much expression on his face, but he’d marshalled what seemed like the last of his strength to nod at you, leaning forward slightly.

You took a breath, steeling yourself. “Okay,” you whispered, your voice sounding like it could dissipate into the wind. You trembled as you walked towards the bed, but your steps didn’t waver. The time it took you to cross the room felt like a microsecond stretched into eternity, and you were almost surprised when you reached the bed.

Hoseok’s eyes immediately fixed on your neck, watching the almost imperceptible way your vein throbbed. He could hear the thrum of the blood rushing through it, smell the delicious aroma wafting off you. In your agitation, your heart had quickened, and your face had become flushed, making the scent all the stronger.

You could sense more than see the ravenous hunger pouring off the vampire. It might have been because of your hunter training but, you thought, it was more likely the survival instinct of prey animals that made you hyperaware of the intense stare you were pinned under. That same instinct made you want to run for the hills, but instead you fisted your hands in the sheets to anchor yourself.

“Okay,” you repeated, almost like a mantra to keep yourself calm – or at least, looking that way on the outside – as you steeled yourself, leaning closer to Hoseok as you tipped your head to the side to expose the vein that he’d been eyeing so hungrily.

There was a breathless second of anticipation… and then he struck.

Almost absently, you noted the fluid grace to his movements as he grabbed you, the fingers of one hand spearing through the hair at the base of your head to hold your head in that position as the other rested on your shoulder. There was something almost tender about the way his thumb stroked your collarbone. By contrast, the inhuman speed he used to move his head to your neck and sink his teeth into the flesh reminded you that this was no intimate encounter. You were food, and from the muffled moans of satisfaction you could hear coming from Hoseok, a rather delicious meal at that.

Helplessly, you let out a small whimper, your fingers loosening from the sheets. You wondered if it was in your head, or if the slight weakness you felt in your extremities was because of the blood loss. Despite the boys’ assurances that no harm would come to you, the way Hoseok continued greedily gulping down the blood currently gushing into his mouth was definitely cause for concern, you thought.

Just as you were sure you were going to pass out, Hoseok extracted his teeth from your neck, lapping at the wounds to close them and clean the errant rivulets of blood running down your neck. Hopefully he got them all, you thought slightly dizzily. You liked this shirt.

It was nice that Hoseok was still holding on to your hair, you noted as you leaned against his arm. He was basically propping you up at this point.

You were conscious, but just barely, as you felt Hoseok lower you onto the mattress. Yoongi was the first one to step forward, and he pushed your hair out of your face and behind your ear tenderly. “You took too much,” he castigated Hoseok.

“I know,” Hoseok mumbled, looking ashamed.

“No, you’re good.” You didn’t know why, but the misery radiating from Hoseok stirred something in you. Despite how weak you felt, your priority was making him feel better instead of your own self-preservation. “I’m fine, see?” Taking in a deep breath, you tried to push yourself into a sitting position, but the arm you were using to support your weight collapsed, and Yoongi caught you before you flopped back onto the mattress.

“We should let her rest.” Seokjin came closer and rearranged you, tucking you in next to Hoseok. “She’ll need a cookie or something to raise her blood sugar level.”

You meant to get up and protest that you were fine, you could take care of yourself, but you were suddenly so tired and cold, and it was so cozy and comfortable under the sheets that you just let yourself drift off.

--------------------------------

Your head hurt like you were hungover, but you knew that definitely wasn’t the case because there hadn’t been any parties at the manor. With a groan, you turned over and opened your eyes slightly, wincing.

In a flash, Hoseok was there beside you, slowly helping you up. He looked a lot better than he had earlier, his cheeks rounder and fuller, his eyes sparkling again.

“How long have I been out?” you asked, your voice raspy. Immediately, Jungkook appeared, holding a glass of water out for you. You reached out to take it from him, but he refused to hand it over, instead holding it in front of your face.

Annoyed, you sighed. “I’m not an invalid,” you told him, grabbing the cup anyway. He didn’t let go, and in the end, your hand was around his as you both tilted the cup towards you.

When you drained the glass, Jungkook took it away from you, putting it down on the bedside table, before returning to fuss over you.

“You guys, I’m okay,” you protested, trying to push the covers off your body to get out of bed. This clearly wasn’t your room, and you wanted to go back. “Where’s Injeolmi?”

“Jimin’s looking after him,” Hoseok reassured you. “You can go back to your room, just eat something first?” The imploring gaze he levelled on you left you powerless to do anything but nod at him.

Seokjin must have been eavesdropping, because it wasn’t even thirty seconds after that that he appeared in the doorway, holding a giant tray of food that he set down in front of you.

“Where did you get this?” you asked, bemused. You hadn’t seen a bed tray in the manor before, and it wasn’t something you’d have thought seven vampires living alone needed.

“Just laying around,” Seokjin said cagily before taking the covers off the food. A hearty beef stew, rice, and an array of side dishes sat neatly on the tray.

“Wow,” you marvelled as you picked up the spoon. Seokjin, despite being unable to eat, constantly wowed you with his culinary creations. The boys watched over you closely as you stuffed your face merrily, only seeming to relax when you’d finished every last morsel of food and slumped back, spent, against the pillows.

“You should get some more rest,” Seokjin said as he picked up the bed tray and made to leave the room.

You nodded in response. The carb coma was starting to get to you, and you pushed the covers off, intending to go back to your room to sleep it off. The other boys protested, but eventually gave in, on the condition that Jungkook would walk you back to your room.

Thankfully, you made the short walk back without any mishaps. Jimin was still there with Injeolmi when you came in, but after making sure that you were okay, he left too.

“Hey, baby,” you crooned at Injeolmi, who leapt off the couch and came to weave around your ankles. You picked him up and went to sit on your bed, leaning against the pillows. Leaning your head back and staring at the ceiling, your hand came up to your neck. The wounds had healed almost instantly – some sort of supernatural magic, you were sure – but the skin was still tender.

For the first time, the gravity of the situation sank in. What the hell were you doing? Sure, you’d wanted to save Hoseok, and the vampires had been nothing but nice to you, challenging your perception of them, but one split second decision had shackled you to them forever. All your grand ideas of using your newfound freedom to do something more normal with your life, or maybe travel… all gone in a second. You had to be here at the manor now.

Was this really okay? Being a blood bag for Hoseok? It wasn’t as bad as you’d thought, but that was because you’d been prepared to die today. Losing consciousness from blood loss definitely wasn’t great, and if this was going to happen frequently, your health was definitely going to suffer for it.

You were on the brink of spiraling into a panic when you heard a knock on the door.

“It’s open,” you called, not moving from your position to see who it was.

“Hey,” Namjoon said when he entered, standing in the entrance of the room.

“What is it?” you asked, lifting your head off the pillows to look at him. You shifted the hand that had been resting on your neck down to your stomach, but Namjoon had noticed it anyway.

“I went out and bought those brownies from that shop you like,” Namjoon said, holding up the paper bag.

That was sufficient to tempt you, and you sat up on the bed, crossing your legs. “Wow, what’s the occasion?” you asked, holding your hands out for the brownies.

Namjoon shrugged, handing them over. “You need to get your blood sugar levels up.”

“Right,” you said, scooching off the bed to sit on the floor. You weren’t about to get crumbs on your sheets. Namjoon came and sat down next to you, both of you leaning against the bed frame.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as you popped the box open, picking up the little plastic fork that came inside. Salted butterscotch, your favourite flavour.

“I feel a lot better now,” you said, half distracted watching the fork sink into the brownie. You popped it into your mouth and groaned in bliss. This one shop was open at odd hours of the night, and sometimes you used to pop by to grab a snack after your patrol when you’d had a particularly bad week, or when you were expecting your period.

“I can tell,” he responded drily, watching you savour the sweet treat. Despite his deadpan countenance, the fact that he’d managed to make you so happy made joy unfurl in his chest, suffusing him with warmth. “Jin-hyung told me that you finished all the yukgaejang.”

“Mhm,” you hummed around another mouthful of chocolatey goodness.

“I was talking about emotionally, though. A lot happened today. Are you okay with it?” he asked carefully, ducking slightly to get a better look at your face.

That statement stopped you in your tracks. You swallowed the mouthful of food, then laid the fork back into the box and put it on the ground carefully. Reaching up, you took the bottle of water on the bedside table that you were sure Jimin had left for you when he came back with Injeolmi.

You opened it and took a long, slow sip of water. Then another one, as you gathered your thoughts. When you couldn’t drink any more water or draw it out any longer, you bit your lip before speaking slowly and carefully. “I’ll learn to live with it,” you said, trying to tiptoe around it.

Namjoon frowned. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

You shrugged wearily. “What difference does it make? I made a commitment, and I have to see it through.” As you said it, you knew it was the right answer. You’d give up all the new dreams you’d been nurturing deep in your heart since you’d come to terms with your expulsion from the guild, and repay your life debt to the fullest.

Namjoon hummed. “Why do you seem unhappy, then?”

“I just…” You tried to choke back the sob, but your voice went high and weird, and you had to stop to compose yourself. “I’d been thinking about what I could do with my life, now that I’m no longer a hunter, you know? Maybe travel, or pick up new interests, or something. Normal things that normal people in their twenties do.”

“Well, you could still do that,” Namjoon said, bumping his shoulder against yours.

“How? I have to stay in the manor forever. I won’t be able to travel.” Your shoulders slumped, and you leaned slightly into Namjoon, unconsciously seeking his support.

“You know, we used to travel around the world all the time,” Namjoon said lightly. “So don’t rule it out yet. Things might change again.”

You were about to interrupt to question him, but he’d continued speaking. “And if you want to find new interests, I’m sure we can figure something out. Between the seven of us, our interests run the gamut.”

That made you crack a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” Namjoon confirmed, turning to look at you. You brought your knees into your chest and rested your cheekbone on the tops of them, facing him.

“You already know that Jin-hyung loves to cook. Yoongi-hyung likes music and I’m sure he’d be glad to teach you if you asked. Hoseok used to love dancing, although he hasn’t in… a good while.” Namjoon grimaced at the thought. “You’re always welcome in my library or garden, you know that. Jimin… well… you seem to have bonded well over your love for Injeolmi. Taehyung, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is into fashion and has been dying to revamp your wardrobe.” He gave a little eye roll at that. “And Jungkook, that little muscle pig, is always working out.”

Blinking, you tried to digest all of that. To be frank, you’d never quite bothered to take note of the boys’ individual personalities and interests, something that made you feel a little ashamed now, since it was clear that they’d been so conscientious about you.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally said, shooting Namjoon a small smile. “Thank you.”

He smiled back at you, and feeling a lot better, you picked up the pastry box again.

-----------------------------

“Report.”

“The target was dispatched, sir.” Jennie stood at attention in front of the imposing desk in the Head’s office. Her toes twitched uneasily in her boots, but her gaze remained resolute and steady.

“Excellent. You are dismissed.” With that, Master Bang looked back down at the papers on his desk.

Bowing, Jennie turned to see herself out. It wasn’t until she was back in her room that she allowed herself to relax, sinking onto her knees right in front of her closed door. The bald-faced lie was the last favour she could do her ex-best friend. At least now Master Bang wouldn’t send anyone else after you… at least as long as you were smart enough to lay low.

The moment the door had shut behind Jennie, Master Bang stood up and made his way down the narrow flight of stairs in his bedroom.

“The plan is moving along smoothly, Sir. Y/n has thrown in her lot with the vampire brothers.” There was no way you were actually dead, as Jennie had reported. If you were, he would have a massacre on his hands, led by the born vampires holed up in the manor. Master Bang wondered idly if he should punish Jennie for her dishonesty, but then discarded the idea. He had much bigger fish to fry.

“When I take back my birthright, you will be by my side forever.”

The words warmed Master Bang’s heart. Forever was a long time – just long enough for him to spend with the love of his life.

[lunarrwolf]

mini series coming soon!!

since you guys got me over 300 followers, i held up my end of my own deal and was finally able to think up the first of a 100% written series (social media included only when needed to build the story).

there will only be two for now but i want to get the sykkuno series a good ways in before bringing in new content like this! i’ve been a writer since middle school and have major writer’s block for a book i’m working on rn so i’m really excited about writing an actual story for lunarrwolf! these are the banners, very tiny synopses, and sneak peek excerpts for DAYWALKER!s and Siren Woods

s.h warning: siren woods will not be for the faint of heart as it will be put in the category of a psychological thriller. it will contain suspense, fear(s), anxiety and/or mentions of depression, isolation and swearing

d.w!s warning: this is an apocalyptic world w/o zombies. it will contain violence, anxiety, entrapment, fear(s) and swearing

disclaimer: i will do my absolutely best not to treat either of these as if they were actual novels. i plan on putting in comedic lines and scenes to lower any thriller/horror vibes from the stories, and not too go too far to avoid truly triggering myself or anyone else. warnings will only be issued in chapters that are going to actually include one or more of above the above. but if anyone who reads them in the future have issues do not feel like you need to keep reading.

-

DAYWALKER!s

a variety youtuber mini series

summary

ten creators find themselves amidst a city with an oddly familiar vibe, a weird yet intimidating apocalyptic appearance, and hundreds of strangers that feel the need to do nothing but fight their way through the city. even if that means to the death.

excerpt

“You’re all going to die, you know.. so you might as well give up now and let it take over.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

You blinked at the growl woven in with your friend’s deep voice, knowing for sure that if you were in an animation a sweat drop would be making its way down the side of your head. He hated confrontation more than anyone here but when it came to his friends, and being trapped in a place like this? Who knew what damage he would do to keep them safe.

The man ahead of the group did nothing but stand there with a mocking grin on his face. It was unnerving, and dare say almost bloodthirsty. There was no amount of sanity or free will from where you all stood just a couple of yards away, and just that thought alone chilled you to the core.

“Corpse.. maybe you shouldn’t.” You stated, stepping closer to him to lower the risk of the strange man hearing the second part. “I don’t like the looks of that guy even from over here. We’ve already had to deal with a ton of crazy shit since finding each other. We can’t risk losing our only real muscle of the group.”

Ignoring the offended voices of Sean and Ludwig, the man with the torn mask looked at you only when you put a hand on his shoulder. It took sharing glances and seeing head shakes from most of the others to have him loosen the fist his hand was already in. Standing up straight, you watched as he rolled his shoulders, jaw still clenched from the tension. Rae was taking advantage of the off putting interaction and explored the small area, so capturing everyone’s attention when Corpse relaxed a bit wasn’t hard. “It’s gonna be a tight fit but I think we can make it work.”

“Whoa.”

“Where did you learn how to hotwire a car?” Ethan questioned, being the first to make his way toward the beaten vehicle.

“Video games?” The brunette answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She hit the side of the driver door twice, motioning to the group. “Now get your asses in here before that guy decides to pull a Resident Evil zombie sprint on us.”

“Yes ma’am.” Sykkuno saluted, earning chuckles that were a rare sight since ending up here. The two of you didn’t waste time in calling the front seats beside Rae and Ethan, forcing everyone else to get in the back of the truck and make it work. No one could complain, though, seeing the circumstances you were all in.

It took a few seconds of revving the seemingly old engine before the machine began making its way. You could actually hear the ones in the back shift around to get in more comfortable positions for however long a ride it would be. The girl behind the wheel didn’t pay any mind to the stranger that watched her drive you all away, but you did. And even when he continued to shrink in distance and eventually disappeared, you knew his words would stay with you.

“You’re wasting your time! No one gets out of Mirror City!!”

Siren Woods

a variety youtuber mini series

summary

seven internet personalities find themselves in the middle of an old town myth as they take a break from their careers and head up towards a rural mountain area. among every spooky or jumpy experience with a horror game here and there, never did any of them think they’d end up in this situation.

excerpt

The fire crackled with a sense of release, almost as if this large flame represented the time everyone needed away from their jobs. After how crazy the media has become the past few weeks, you and your friends agreed that a trip towards a much lesser known area would do you all well. It was a teenagers on summer break scene where everyone was gathered around a campfire in the backyard of a lake house, telling stories to either amuse or scare each other. Seán and Ethan were the first to do so, tag teaming in a very dramatic reenactment of the first time they met in person, which of course had to be followed by your own scene with Y/F/N.

Time flew by and before you knew it, the sun was completely set and the darkest shade of navy possible was barely lit with a crescent moon and a few stars. The only real source of light was the fire, illuminating the six faces in an orange glow. Any laughter died down minutes ago, leaving a silence that was comfortable for everyone. “You guys want to hear a funny story?”

Squinting at the man sitting in the log across from you, you leaned forward, hands folded in your lap. “Funny haha or funny we might want to kill you after we hear it?”

“Uh..” Corpse met your gaze immediately, his mask somehow looking more eerie with the natural lighting. “Funny kind of hoping you won’t kill me, if I’m being honest.” He confirmed, leaning forward himself to warm up his hands while the rest of you debated on whether to let him tell it.

After a few minutes, and three overtaking two, he was allowed to do so. It was an old myth of the town you all resided in for the week; a Slenderman type of entity of the forest that the locals from dozens of years before chose to call Siren Head. The name stuck once old photos were found and set up in the small museum in the Common. He stood at forty feet tall, with two megaphones for heads and tangled wires for a torso. He had the ability to perfectly mimic broadcasts, conversations, sirens and screams, and had been said to only emit white noise if ever asleep. Speed nearly matched that of a cheetah and his strength was unbelievably high due to his size. Every sighting of said species had only been released by victims, and it was an urban tale that stood alive to this very day.

Rae was on the grass now, legs crossed one over the other as she tried to look at everyone at once. “Why the hell did we all come to a place called Siren Woods, then?!”

“Well.. the town looked really nice online, and it’s living up to that. And I thought siren meant more mermaid than a freaky Creepypasta-type thing.” Sykkuno could do nothing but respond with nerves showing through his face and every subtle movement of his body as he explained why he ended up agreeing with the destination.

“Yeah, I did too.” Y/F/N piped in, shrugging her innocence as you all began telling your sides. “Who doesn’t think of a mermaid when you hear the word siren?! That’s basically what they are.”

“I, for one, think we should find another place to stay.” Ethan spoke up.

Seán gaped at his longest friend in the group, “You don’t actually believe in that.”

“I’m not taking any chances, dude. Those people believe in that thing enough to build a whole section of the museum for it.”

You watched your friends go back and forth, some freaked out by the story but not believing it was real while the rest wanted to find a new vacation spot. “What do you think, Y/N?”

You turned to Corpse, blinking as the simple question processed in your mind. “I’m with Ethan on this.. even if that thing isn’t an actual being the belief here is hardcore.” Three faces lit up in relief while the roommate, Irishman, and faceless internet persona felt differently. “Let me finish..” you sighed, “Let’s stay another night but keep an extra cautious eye on Spencer and Luna. Animals have a sort of sixth sense, so if anything weird happens they’ll warn us. Deal?”

Y/F/N shared a glance with you, letting out a sigh of her own. “Suddenly I’m feeling a lot better that we brought our dogs instead of getting sitters.” She bent down to pet the canines laying between the logs, hoping if they did bark it would just be from a resident knocking on the door.

[all1e23]

Astrophile [Epilogue]

Chapter:  Epilogue 

Summary: Happy ever after has a few surprises. 

Warnings:  Astrophile fluff & and so much romantic Bucky.

A/N: I can’t believe it’s over but here we are! Okay, it’s not totally over because we still have Astrophile Files. Thanks for hanging in there with me. 

***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed! Thanks!**

July 2021 – One year later

“It’s right, Buck. She’s the one. We’ve all known it since she came to family dinner that first night. Everyone was just waiting for you to catch up.”

 Bucky holds his hand up to the bartender, silently asking for another beer and a glass of water for Y/n as Steve continues right on pestering him. Right here in the middle of their friend’s wedding reception. Maybe it’s attending a wedding that makes people lose their minds? This is the first proper wedding Bucky has been to, and it didn’t take long for him to realize it makes the wedding party and the guests a tiny bit nuts.

“Drop it, Steve.” Bucky drops a few bills into the glass tip jar resting on the bartop – anything to avoid having this conversation with Steve for the twentieth time this month. Steve looks down at him; mouth pressed in a thin line and disappointment pouring off of him.

“I thought you learned your lesson? What are you waiting for, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses at Steve’s question. He didn’t know honestly. They have been dating for a year now, and it’s been good. That’s a lie. It’s been amazing, fantastic, unbelievable – it’s been the most incredible year of Bucky and Ori’s life. Y/n fits right in like she’s always meant to be a part of their lives. She makes every day brighter. She makes him better, a better man and a better father. She helps Ori with homework and school projects like she’s thrilled to do it and the kicker is, she actually is. She hasn’t missed one of Ori’s practices (because Ori picked up the violin over the last year and Y/n didn’t even flinch when the at-home practices started). And the best part of it all, Y/n’s home for dinner every single night because as of six months ago she moved into Bucky’s brownstone.

The only nights Ori spends away from home now are when Bucky takes Y/n on a date which he endeavors to do once a week. Some weeks they don’t make it out the front door, but even if they end up eating pizza on the living room floor, he makes sure Y/n knows how lucky he is to have her. Bucky doesn’t know if there is such a thing as heaven but he’s got a feeling this is the closest he can get to it here on Earth. He’s determined to spend the rest of his life, making sure she never regrets choosing to spend all of her tomorrows loving him.

Bucky truly has no idea what he’s waiting for, he’s had the ring for months now, and Bucky even knows how he’s asking, but it’s not time. The moment has to be as perfect as she is.

“It’s gotta be the right moment, Stevie. I’m waiting for the right moment.”

The table a few feet away catches Bucky’s attention. Peter Parker, a teenager interning for Tony, is sitting on a tiny chair next to Ori with a perplexed look on his face. Peter leans forward on his elbows, watching Ori color on the table cloth at her designated spot at the kid’s table with fierce determination to make her picture better than the boy’s across the table. He is trying to find the best way to ask a six-year-old something that’s been confusing him since the ceremony. Peter only met Mr. Stark a year ago, so he is still trying to get to know everyone, but he thought it was just Ori and her dad. He picks up the crayon Ori abandoned on the table between them and decides he is merely going to spit it out.

“Hey, Ori? Who was sitting with your dad?” Peter asks quietly as he helps her fill in the castle printed onto the fabric in front of them. Tony thought it would be a good idea if the table cloth at the kid’s table were a giant coloring book; entertaining for the kids and parents get to relax. He was right. The kids love it – Peter included.

Ori doesn’t look up from what she’s coloring and tells him. “That’s my mom.”

The crayon in Peter’s hand freezes, and he looks at Ori, thoroughly and properly confused now. Yeah, he doesn’t know every member of each family yet, but he does know that Ori’s mom left right after she was born.

“Uh, your mom, Ori?”

Ori drops her dark blue crayon back into the pail sitting in the middle of the table and finally looks up at Peter long enough to roll her eyes – that’s all Uncle Sam. “Not the mom who left me when I was a baby. My real mom.”

Bucky knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping on his daughter, but she looks so cute coloring and days like these are getting fewer and fewer the older she gets. So, yeah, he is spying, and he didn’t feel bad about it until that confession. Bucky doesn’t know whether he should faint right there at the bar or ask Y/n to marry him without a ring in the middle of Tony’s reception. He pushes the glasses in his hands into Steve’s chest, forcing him to take them and places a kiss to Ori’s forehead with a resounding smack. She giggles and ‘wipes’ the kiss from her forehead.

“Daaaaddddy!” Ori whines, half serious and half playful.

“Comet!” He says, matching her whine and grinning while he does.

Now, Bucky has someone very important to find.

He scans the crowd of people, close to five hundred showed up for the big day – not that Bucky had expected anything less from Tony, but it isn’t making finding his better half easy right now and he is itching to get his hand on her. He catches sight of her powder blue knee-length dress, covered in silver, shimmery stars and his heart starts to beat a little faster. He navigates his way through the crowd towards her; his one and only.

This morning she had panicked over her outfit for tonight. The dress was too much. The soft blue fabric revealed too much skin with the sweetheart neckline and the sheer fabric littered with silver stars covering her chest and arms made it overly fancy she had said. Bucky had stared at her for a long time when she came out of the bathroom. He was speechless. Yeah, he’s seen her dressed up before, but she wasn’t his then. This was different. He finally couldn’t take it anymore and pulled into her a kiss that nearly ended with the dress torn and crumbled in a pile in its new home on their bedroom floor.

When he pulled back, flushed and nearly breathless, he told her it didn’t matter what she wore. He assured her she was going to be the most beautiful woman in the room regardless of what she picked, so if she wanted to wear the dress, then she should wear it. He was right because, shit – she looks so damn beautiful right now.

Y/n is intently listening to Sam’s tales about Oliver and how bad teething is actually going – regardless of Steve’s sunny optimism on the subject. Bucky overhears the tail end of their conversation, “You’ll see soon enough. Wait till you and Buck have to deal with a screaming baby at four in the morning after he’s been on a forty-eight-hour shift.” If his brain wasn’t short-circuiting from the last conversation he spied on, he would probably examine this talk more, and by examine he means inquire exactly what Sam had meant by soon enough.’

Bucky grabs Y/n’s waist and spins her around capturing her lips in a fiery kiss ignoring the eye roll from Sam. His left hand splays out on her lower back, keeping her pressed firmly against him as his tongue sweeps along her lips only to pull back right as her lips part. She narrows her eyes, and he chuckles, giving in to one more kiss, softer and sweeter than the last.

“Dance with me.” He whispers into their kiss, gently tugging at her bottom lip as he pulls back and walks them back to the dance floor. She doesn’t have much of a choice it looks like – not that she would have said no. The night is coming to a close, and they are down to slow dances only, trying to wind the crowd down, and she would love nothing more than to end the night in Bucky’s arms swaying to I can’t help falling in love with you.

Bucky’s hand tightens around her waist, keeping her pressed securely against his chest as they move around the dance floor. He cradles the hand that should rest on his left shoulder in his own, resting them against his chest. She has no idea what came over him, but she’s not going to bother trying to find out when he’s holding her like this.

“Did you have a good time?” Y/n asks just above the music. Bucky meets her eyes and raises his brow as if that was the silliest question she’s ever asked him. Surely, she knows the answer to that, but he can play along if that’s what she wants.

“‘Course I had a good time. I’m here with you.”

Oh, boy. 

“Smooth talker.”

Bucky chuckles and kisses her lips chastely, squeezing her hand as he does. Y/n sighs happily as their lips part, and she adds, a bit of longing behind her words that Bucky did not miss,“It was a pretty wedding, though.”

Bucky nods in agreement and looks around at the bright red and gold glimmering everywhere. Pearls and diamonds in the flowers, hundreds of candles all over the place, a cake that is nearly taller than Steve and glittery table cloths. There’s even a freaking chandelier in the middle of the tent – they are in the grass for crying out, but Tony has a chandelier.

“A little flashy for my taste but it’s all right,” Bucky says truthfully, looking back at her. The wedding is gorgeous, but it’s nothing close to what he sees when he thinks about marrying the woman in his arms.

“Pepper looks beautiful,” Y/n says eyeing the strawberry blonde in her Justin Alexander ivory gown, clinging to Tony’s arm as they made their way around the cathedral tent, stopping to chat with their guests and thanking everyone for coming. Bucky never looks away from Y/n. He doesn’t need to. Pepper might look beautiful today, but she’s no Beck.

“She’s got nothing on you, sweetheart.”

Y/n grins and shakes her head, trying to hide how flustered she’s getting from such little work on his part. It’s not that she’s not used to it. Once they were official, she learned just how much Bucky had been truly holding back. He’s constantly touching her, always whispering in her ear and trying to make her knees weak. Bucky tries to get her squirming every chance he get, and it seems he can’t stop today. It might have something to do with the kiss he just gave her. Or maybe the one in the limo on the way over (Tony insisted they take a limo) or it could have been the heated makeout session in the shower before they got ready.

Something has him all worked up, and she wants to know what.

“What is with you today?”

Bucky grins, tightening his hold around her waist and dips her unexpectedly. Her giggles fill in the softer notes of the melody, and Bucky lowers his head towards her as if he’s going to kiss her, but instead he whispers, “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you. I can’t help it.”

Y/n smiles and lets out a soft, ‘I love you, too’ and Bucky knows she’s trying not to get teary-eyed in front of everyone. He pulls her back to standing, letting her arms settle around his neck this time, he asks, “you think you ever wanna have one of these with me?”

The question gives her back some of her equilibrium and her brow arches, fingers playing with the loose strands that have fallen from his bun as she finds her voice.  “I hope that’s not how you’re asking me.”

Bucky chuckles, and she leans her head on his shoulder to hide the emotions twinkling in her eyes – he’s too good at reading her, and she wasn’t ready for him to catch on just yet. He places a kiss on her head and wraps his arms around her, gently guiding her around the dance floor.

“No, that’s not how I’m asking you. I’ve got somethin’ else in mind for that day.” He whispers against the shell of her ear. He can feel her grinning against his neck, and her breath tickling his skin as she assures him, “Just so you know; however, you ask, I’ll say yes.”

Bucky tightens his arms around her but doesn’t respond. He didn’t think there would be another answer, but hearing it laid out made that ring in the top of the guest room closet a hell of a lot more real. Ori comes pushing through the couples on the dance floor, ditching her dance with Uncle Steve to share one with her parents. Bucky bends down to scoop her up and settles her between them. Y/n places a kiss to her cheek, and Ori lights up in response.

“Did I miss it??” She asks, looking back and forth between them.

Yn pulls back enough to see Bucky’s face and gives him the ‘are you kidding me’ look. Bucky barks out a laugh and shakes his head, “I don’t know what she’s talking about, babydoll. I swear.”

“No, Y/n, did you tell daddy yet?”

Y/n’s eyes go wide as they have a silent conversation – it’s clearly something that’s only between girlfriends, and that’s not always a good thing when it comes to these two. Bucky groans at the thought and settles them both with the best stern dad face he has in his arsenal. 

“Okay, what trouble did the two of you get in? What did you do and what do I have to fix?”

“Nothing!” They say in unison, and Y/n continues, much calmer and still very suspicious.  "We were thinking… maybe you could ask Steve to paint a mural in the guest bedroom? Something with the stars. Sparkly and pretty, maybe?”

Bucky frowns, and the frown continues to deepen thanks to the giddy expressions on his girl’s faces. It was just a painting. What’s the big deal? Something is up. 

“Yeah, I can ask him. It doesn’t have to be me who asks, you know? He would say yes if you asked him, sweetheart.”

“I know that,” Y/n’s fingers tighten around the fabric of his black dress shirt. “I thought you might want to be the one to tell him the news when you do.”

“News?” Bucky’s face twists into something she doesn’t recognize, and it takes everything in her not to fall apart from laughter.

“Actually, we have to redo the whole room. Don’t we, Ori?”

“Yep! With lots of stars and comets and constellations!”

“Get rid of the bed–”

“Yep, no bed.” Ori agrees and adds with a shout, “and rocking chair!”

“Of course, and that old dresser has to go. We need something smaller, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, and maybe a pink one!”

“Or, blue,” Y/n offers but Ori wrinkles her nose and Y/n settles her with a fond, yet scolding expression and Ori reluctantly nods her head.

Bucky shakes his head and comes to a halt, stopping their dance right there in the middle of the floor. He’s completely and utterly lost. “What are you two going on about? Painting and rocking chairs and a pink dresser but not a blue–” Bucky freezes, and his eyes snap up to meet Y/n’s who’s no longer holding her tears back.

Holy shit. He had not been expecting this.

“You mean?”

“Oh, yeah, I mean.”

Bucky smushes Ori between them and sets an attack of kisses on them both, ignoring the tears catching in his lashes. This is the moment. This right here and he’s not letting it slip away. He ends the attack with a kiss to Y/n’s lips and whispers, “Man, I’ve got a really important question to ask you when we get home.”

“Pinky promise, December?”

He grins and swears right back, “Pinky promise, Beck.”

Previous // Masterlist

[lucisfavoritedemon]

Rebellious Soul: Chapter 5

Pairing: None

Summary: Y/N is having a hard time coping with the fact that her friend is gone and now her best friend is back, but there is a new player in town. The ultimate leader of the Rebels, Commander Ruby. Will Y/N be able to defeat Eve or will she give up the fight to mourn the loss of Dean?

Warnings: Mentions of torture.

Word Count: 1324

A/N: I realised that what I had posted, and what I had written were two completely different things. So I went through an edited this chapter, along with Chapter 6. I have major plans for those two chapters, and I got away from my original thought process. Also, as you may have noticed, this is loosely based off hunger games, but it's with a twist. I hope y'all are enjoying this series so far. Thanks for the understanding and patience.

"I thought that the Colt was just a legend?" I asked looking between Gabriel and Charlie.

"Well supposedly, but there are more facts out there proving that it exists more than there is proving it doesn't. When thinking about stuff like this, I go with the facts."

"Alright then. I guess I should round up my gear and head out. The faster I can find my guy the better. I have a feeling it won't be long before Eve figures out what we're planning."

"Good idea. Why don't we head out together that way we could both hit our people and both know with having to relay the information to multiple people? That way Eve doesn't find out as quickly."

"I agree. Gather everyone interested and let's head out in ten. I have to speak with Sam before we leave."

"Sounds like a plan."

Gabe and I headed off in different directions. I hadn't seen Sam since we heard about Jessica. It was hard for him not knowing whether she's alive or not.

"Hey Sam. How's everything?"

"Better. At least getting there."

"I feel so bad for what happened to Jess. I'm sorry she got dragged into this."

"Don't be. She knew the risks just like everyone else. Trust me you didn't do anything. Ruby told me what you did for her, and that is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me. I never expected you to give up this opportunity to get revenge on Eve for Dean."

"Did you not hear what happened? The theories at least?"

"No. I haven't really wanted to listen to what people have to say about the matter. He's gone and I can't have him back. It hurts because we were close. We grew up in this together. He was like a brother to me."

"I know Sam. I wish there was more I could do to help you cope other than the fact that we are going to get him back. I don't care what anybody says, Ruby promised a rescue and amnesty for all of them. Including Dean."

"What does everyone say happened to him exactly?"

"That Eve had taken him hostage. Tortured him in unimaginable ways. Using him as their poster child to rid the world of Rebels. She won't stop till we are all dead or worse under her spell. Killing us off is her main goal, and she has the biggest inside man we had. She has the means of destroying us if she truly wanted to."

"I know Dean is our biggest and best weapon we had against her. He was building a case file on how to kill her. Said that he was doing it for someone special. I could now only assume that's you."

"Why me though?"

"Because you would want revenge. He knew your father died. Apparently he also knew how, and it's not how you think it happened."

"I knew he was killed, but I never told anyone because no one would believe me. They all knew I hated Eve from the moment I first saw her. She is clearly nothing but evil, and I will stop at nothing to defeat her. We have everything we need except the weapon to kill the thing that can kill her."

"What is that?"

"A special gun that can kill almost anything with a single bullet. We need the gun to kill a Phoenix. It's ashes are the only thing strong enough to kill her."

"You're not talking about the Colt are you?"

"Afraid so. Do you happen to know someone who might know it's whereabouts?"

"Yeah, but I would save him as a last resort." Sam warned.

I knew perfectly well who he was talking about, but this was a chance to get the upper hand on Eve. I wasn't going to let him tell me otherwise. I couldn't risk Dean's life on a last resort situation. He was our last resort.

"I'm sorry Sam, but this is that type of situation. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get Dean back. For all of us, not just me. He meant something to everyone, which is why this betrayal is the worst we have ever seen."

"I know, it's just, he is bad news. I wouldn't go to him unless no one else truly knows the whereabouts of the Colt."

"Fine. But if no one else does, or even if they hesitate for a second we move to him, got it?"

"Yeah now go and save Dean. For all of us."

Gabe, Ed, Harry, Michael, Castiel, and I all headed out in search of our first lead given to us by Gabriel and Cas who have known this person, well rather Angel, for a long, long time.

"Balthazar. We are here for knowledge on a weapon we seek the location of!" Gabe yelled through the thick of the forest.

As I have stated before each creature lives in a designated section of the world. If ever caught out of their designated area, they were immediately killed off. This was a beautiful lush forest that looked like a Heavenly paradise Perfect for the majority of it's heavenly inhabitants.

"Ah, Gabriel and Castiel. What brings you two traders back home, and with humans too?"

"Enough Balthazar. We need to know the location of the Colt."

"Ooh, temper. I say, is this how you got daddy to give you your favorite toys? Well that tone doesn't work on me Mikey." Balthazar spat.

I had to agree with the Angel, Michael was being a little too straight forward.

"Balthazar? We seek the location of this weapon for a good reason. Please will you help us?" I asked kindly, gaining a gentle smile.

"I wish I knew, but sadly I don't. Maybe if you five hand over the girl I will suddenly remember."

"He's lying." Gabe simply stated.

"How do you know?"

"He only wants Y/n because it will earn him and the others a spot at the big kids table. He doesn't really know where the weapon is. I say we move on."

"I agree. Let's head out."

"Okay, you got me. I really don't know where the weapon is. I'm only in charge of the Angelic weapons. The rest go through Crowley. He will definitely know where this weapon you are seeking for is. I swear."

"I know. Sadly Crowley knows everything about this gun." I whispered walking away.

I knew exactly where to find Crowley. We had a few talks here and there, but I have never asked him for a favor as big as this one.

"Crowley! We need to talk! It's about the Colt."

"Hello darling. It's about time."

"I know it has been a while, but I need you to pull in that favor of mine. You know the freebie before you start charging?"

"Yes I know what freebie means. Why do you want this Colt so bad? It doesn't even do anything."

"It's important."

"You want to kill Eve don't you? Well sorry to break it to you, but sadly she is one of the four beings this won't work on. Been there, tried that."

"We know it doesn’t work on her, but it will work on the thing that can."

"Oh. Well in that case here."

Then the gun appears in his hands and he tosses it to me. I looked at the gun in awe. It was the most beautiful thing in the world. Now all we needed was to get to the Phoenix mountain without being caught by Eve and her stupid henchmen.

"One last thing. Well really two. Don't let her know I'm working alongside you and two DON’T miss your target! Kapeesh?"

"You got it. Don't let Eve know and don't miss."

"Good." As quickly as he appeared he was gone again.

Now all we needed was to find these Phoenixes and find Eve. Things were starting to go in our favor.

SPN Tag list:

@atc74 @bella-ca @canadianspnhunter @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog @ericaprice2008 @impala-dreamer @impalaimagining @katymacsupernatural @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @mamaredd123 @masksandtruths @mirandaaustin93 @muchamusedaboutnothing @our-jensen-ackles-love @roxyspearing @sea040561 @snffbeebee @spnwaywardwitch-blog @squirrelnotsam @torn-and-frayed @winchesterprincessbride

[starlightinhumanform]

Breaking Point

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Ships: Loceit (could be interpreted as platonic or romantic)

Summary: Sometimes being a light side just does’t cut it. After a particularly aggravating argument, Logan begins… changing. (Logan centric angst fic with guest appearances of most of the others,,,, but mostly Janus).

Warnings: Negativity/Coldness/Miscommunications Throughout, Mild Language Throughout, Some Mentions of Injury/Illness Used as Metaphors

Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

A/N: This was written for the wonderful Spring Fling event here on tumblr! It was so much fun and I can’t wait to participate again! I know I’ve been very inactive lately and I’m very sorry for that (mental illness can be a real kicker lmao), but I’m trying to get back into my groove of writing and posting!! Stay safe and healthy. I love you all 🖤✨

Ao3 Link   Fic Masterpost    Fic Request Info

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. Despite popular belief, he experienced them like any other side. The difference was his ability to tamp them down, keep them from clouding his logic; it was an ability he prided himself on. Sure, sometimes his anger got the better of him when the others were being far too ridiculous. But for the most part, he was clean, calculated, cool.

Right now, though, his head was pounding. Virgil was shouting hoarsely and Roman was yelling back even louder. Patton just whimpered, trying to get the two to stop fighting but failing miserably as he flinched back from both of their raised voices. Thomas stood in the middle of it all with glazed eyes.

And Logan, what was he doing? Standing to the side. Being completely useless, it seemed. He pressed his fingers against his temples and tried to massage away the pain. His efforts once again failed and he turned his attention back to the situation.

Thomas had to choose whether or not to go to a Broadway audition and wanted to consult with his sides to get their opinions on the opportunity. Unfortunately his plan had backfired and now the choice was even less clear. It was a debate, they were trying to make a decision— Logan should have been leading the entire thing. Instead, he had been shoved to the side as Virgil and Roman turned the discussion into a fight.

“It’s too big of a risk! If Thomas fails at this, he may never audition again. Think about how that would hurt Patton. Think about how it could ruin his whole career,” Virgil hissed.

Roman answered too clearly, over-pronouncing his words as he spat them out like they tasted as bitter as his tone, “You’re suffocating me. You’re keeping Thomas from achieving his dreams. Your worries are simply too much. If anything is going to ruin his career, it’s going to be you.”

Virgil raised his eyebrows and gave a cold laugh, “Oh, I’m sorry? I thought we agreed it was my job to protect Thomas? So why don’t you just back the hell up and remember your place.”

“My place? And where exactly would that be?”

“Safety comes before your stupid fantasies.”

“This isn’t even about safety! This is about you being a coward!”

The room went quiet. Quiet, not calm. It was like the moments of silent after a lightning strike when everyone holds their breath, waiting for the roar of thunder. Logan needed to interject before things got even worse and this was his best opportunity to do so.

He cleared his throat, “If you two would like to pause this illogical arguing for a moment, I would like to make a few points.”

All eyes turned on him. He was nearly taken aback by the amount of anger in both Virgil and Roman’s gazes, suddenly turned on him instead of each other. It burned against his skin as they both glared at him. Patton tried to give him a smile but it was far weaker than usual. Thomas’ eyes were the worst— dazed from all the yelling, confused and torn apart from his aspects disagreeing so violently. Logan felt like he had failed; failed them all, but especially Thomas. It was his job to keep order, to weigh the pros and cons, to unravel problems, to make things clear. And when the others needed him the most, he had let it all fall into the hands’ of chaos.

“I just think there are better ways to make this decision. You two have been yelling each other for over half an hour and it’s gotten nowhere.”

“Yeah, because he refuses to admit that he’s wrong!” Roman interrupted.

Logan gritted his teeth, “Please try to restrain yourself from talking over me.”

Virgil was the one to break in this time, “Logan, maybe this isn’t the type of argument that you belong in.”

“Not the- not the type of argument I belong in?” Logan could almost laugh, “This is the exact sort of discussion I need to be included in because otherwise we end up in a mess like this!”

“Logan,” Virgil growled, “I don’t think you’re understanding what’s going on here. This is an issue me and Roman need to settle. No matter what that means.”

“No matter what that means?? Are you even listening to yourself? That’s the sort of talking that causes disaster!”

“No, Virgil’s right about one thing,” Logan turned his attention to Roman as he was interrupted once again, “This is between the two of us. Don’t get yourself involved.”

“If I don’t get involved, you’re going to tear Thomas apart trying to get your ways!” Logan could feel his temper slipping away from him just as his control of the situation was slipping through his fingers. These idiots had their heads so far up their asses, they couldn’t even see the damage they were doing to everyone else.

“Logan!” Roman snapped his name to get his attention, “Maybe you should just go.”

He scoffed, “Go? You really think you can solve this problem by yourselves?”

“Go.”

Logan glanced at the stairwell where Virgil had snarled a singular syllable at him, “Excuse me?”

“He said to go,” Roman was glaring at him, “And, in this case, I agree with him.”

Logan’s mouth fell open. It was ridiculous. They needed him, but apparently they just couldn’t see it. They needed him, but they didn’t want him. He shook his head. A laugh was rising up his throat but he couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

He looked around the room, “You really want me to go? Fine then.”

Thomas and Patton both seemed distressed but said nothing to stop him. Roman and Virgil didn’t have to say anything; the anger boiling behind both of their stares communicated plenty.

And that was all he needed. Logan sunk out of the room without another word.

He reached the mindspace in a matter of seconds, appearing in the dining room. The laugh that had been trapped in his throat bubbled over and crashed to the floor as it morphed into a cry. He clapped a hand over his mouth as giggles mixed with sobs and spilled past his fingers, filling the quiet room with hiccuping whimpers. It was just too much for him to wrap his mind around. His beautiful, perfect mind. And somehow they had managed to reduced it to this— a wreck, an absolute mess, emotions crashing into each other and spilling over onto his face so he could do little more than grip the back of a chair until his knuckles were white and he couldn’t even see through the ocean in his eyes.

His skin felt hot as the tears rolled over his cheekbones and directly onto the floor. He was not a stranger to emotion, but this— whatever the hell “this” was— felt brand new. New like new boots, the type that leave your skin blistered and red and raw. His body was shaking and his stomach turned and he was sure that if he sobbed any harder he might start retching.

He felt so vulnerable; he was a scar that had been scratched at so many times it had finally ripped open and started bleeding again.

Logan was angry. Angrier than he had been in years. He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t they see that? Why wouldn’t they let him help? But more importantly, why couldn’t he help? Was he useless? Was he a tool that had no purpose, tossed aside by the others like a spare screw that didn’t fit anywhere?

“Logan?”

His head shot up, back straightening and squaring up in under a second. Janus was standing on the other side of the room like he had frozen in the middle of his movements. His eyebrows were woven together in what seemed like concern.

“You don’t look ok?” His expression was a painting of confusion.

Logan rubbed at his eyes from beneath his glasses, “I- I assure you, I’m perfectly fine.”

Janus just laughed, silky and self-satisfied as always but maybe a little softer than usual, “Lying’s kind of my thing, remember, Logan? You look... great.”

Logan let his head hang, not even trying to keep up appearances now that Janus had called him out. He glared at the other side from over the rim of his glasses, “Can I help you? Or are you done ridiculing me?”

Janus took a couple hesitant steps forward, tilting his head to the side like he was absolutely fascinated by Logan. He began speaking slowly but it was obvious from his intense stare that his focus was very far from the words leaving his mouth, “Ridiculing? Oh dear, no, that was not my intention. What’s the matter? Something must be incredibly wrong to have put you in such a state.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Logan snarled, “Am I not allowed to act as irrationally as the rest of you? Is sanity expected only of me? Maybe I’m tired of it! Do you understand how exhausting it is to carry the weight of responsibility with no one to lend a hand? In fact you all fight against me, pushing me downhill and spiraling Thomas further and further away from stability. Well, maybe I’m tired of it. Maybe I’m so damn tired of yelling until my voice is hoarse, just because I’m trying to look out for the well being of everyone else only to be discounted because ‘it’s not fun’ or because I couldn’t possibly understand, being the cold and unfeeling robot that I am. I am sick of it!”

“Logan, I’m going to need you to calm down.”

Logan blinked back into the present.

Janus was standing in front of him, hands raised to hold Logan’s face. Logan was startled to find his cheeks damp once again with tears beneath Janus’ quivering fingers. Janus was staring at him with a combination of fascination and terror.

“Logan do you know what’s happening?” Janus’ voice shook nearly as hard as his hands as he drew them back to his chest.

Logan could feel his forehead crease as he stared back at Janus, “What do you mean?”

Janus laughed but it had lost its honeyed qualities; just a humorless, sharp exhale, “Look around you.”

He raised his head at Janus’ cue, taking in the room around him. A glass that had left on the table was now broken into pieces. The glass of picture frames hung on the wall now lay shattered on the carpet. Items scattered on shelfs throughout had tipped over or rolled onto the floor.

Logan’s mouth fell open, “Did I— How— What— Did I do that?”

Janus nodded his head slowly like he wasn’t sure to believe it either, “The whole mindspace started shaking.”

“What does this mean?” Logan reached out slowly to pick up a shard of the glass. His hands trembled as he studied the piece, turning it between his fingers as if he could find an answer in its angular edges.

“Well, sometimes when a dark side is distressed enough, they can negatively affect the environment around them,” Janus had been speaking in slow, almost broken segments as if he had been constructing the sentence word by word, choosing carefully and cautiously. Now, though, he started rushing his words out like they burned his tongue, “You know, like the screaming thing Remus does or when Virgil makes the whole room go dark, that sort of thing.”

“Wait. Janus, you said ‘dark side.’ And don’t try to lie to me, I have a perfect memory and I know what you said.”

Janus winced and tried for a smile, “Yes, well...”

Logan arched one of his eyebrows, “You are aware that I’m not a dark side, yes? And unlike Virgil, I was never once in my existence a dark side.”

“No, no I know that,” He clasped and unclasped his hands together serval times as if the awkward movement could fill the even more awkward silence, “I’m implying that you might be becoming one?”

“Oh, please,” Logan scoffed, “Is that even possible? And how have I even done anything to deserve the title of being ‘dark’?”

Janus mirrored Logan’s raised brow, “Oh, and I’ve earned such a label? The point is, you’re starting to act more and more like us. Whether or not any of us are actually deserve that title is a debate for another day.”

Logan studied the face in front of him. Janus was a master of deception— of course he was— but in this moment he seemed completely open, completely genuine. And if Janus was being honest... well, that could be a bad thing.

He opened his mouth to speak but the words were slow to come to his tongue, “So, assuming this hypothetical you’ve proposed, how could this happen? How is such a shift even a possibility?”

Janus gave another humorless laugh but at least he didn’t sound terrified this time, “I really don’t have the answer to that one.”

Logan stared done at the floor, eyes roaming the pattern of the carpet but his mind incredibly far away. Was that possible? Could a side go “bad”? More importantly, could he go bad? Was he bad? Had he failed Thomas so much, hurt the others so much, provided so little use yet so much ill-will that—

“If anyone has the answers, it’s going to be you.”

Janus’ voice broke through Logan’s thoughts, “What?”

Janus pulled out two chairs from underneath the table and faced them towards each other. He took a seat in one and pointed at the other, “Something is obviously wrong. Tell me what’s going on.”

Logan stumbled into the chair, stunned by the commanding note in Janus’ tone. He sat down and stared blankly across at the other side, unsure of where to even start. He pursed his lips for a moment, “Why does it matter?”

“Because you knocked my favourite mug off of its shelf and I need answers,” Janus rolled his eyes, “If what I think is happening is happening, that’s a huge change that could affect everyone— including Thomas. Now stop avoiding the question.”

Logan glared down at his hands gripping each other in his lap. His vocabulary had abandoned him. This simply was not a familiar situation to him. He shared facts, advice, outside information; but feelings, his subjective truth? That stayed locked away.

“Let’s start with why you’re crying, ok?” Janus’ voice was gentle but his question was still very clearly an instruction.

Logan jerked his head up as he realized there were tears running down his face. Again. He cursed under his breath as he rubbed them away, “I don’t even know. I guess I’m just not used to doing this, this sharing of emotions.”

Janus nodded, “And why aren’t you with the others? It sounds like there’s quite an argument going on up there. You usually jump right into the fray.”

“I don’t know,” Logan pinched his nose and tried to ignore the burning ache in his chest. It was strange, the emotion so raw and intense that it had the effect of a physical wound. It was like the tissue of his rib cage was being torn apart, “I tried to join in, to try and add at least a little reason to the discussion... but they refused to listen.”

“Logan, have they ever listened you about anything?”

He let his head fall back down to avoid looking at Janus, “Not really. I can’t help but think I’ve failed Thomas.”

Janus placed his hand on Logan’s shoulder, “No, no that’s not what I meant. I just wanted to know if the others took your advice.”

Logan raised his gaze to make eye contact with Janus, “Well, sometimes.”

“But do you have to work to get them to even hear you?”

Logan laughed, “Oh, yeah.”

“And to they ever listen to you about you? Do they even ask?”

“Why would they?” Logan paused, “Wait, should they?”

Janus stared at him like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, pity swimming in his eyes, “I think I see the problem. I think your negative interactions with the others is causing you to turn into a dark side. It’s almost like a defense mechanism or something.”

“But my interactions with the others haven’t been negative. They can be frustrating, yes, but they’re the closest things to friends that I would ever have. At the very least, they are my companions. Right?”

Janus grimaced, “From what you were saying about ten seconds ago, their treatment of you hasn’t exactly been positive. I’m not say they’re not your friends, just that... maybe they don’t act like it as much as they should. They don’t seem value you or what you have to say.”

“But I need them to,” Logan spoke slowly, deep in thought, “How else am I supposed to help Thomas, to fulfill my purpose?”

Janus said nothing and Logan continued he train of thought, “I guess it makes perfect sense for me to do what’s necessary to be heard. I can’t protect Thomas from their violent irrationality if they don’t listen to me. I guess this is just the natural course of action.”

Janus seemed hesitant as he nodded, “I mean... yes, I guess so.”

“Besides—,” Logan shrugged, “—maybe being a dark side isn’t so bad.”

“What do you mean?”

Logan smirked, “Sometimes you need to raise your voice to be heard; if I need to scare the others a little to cut through the chaos, then so be it. And it seems that I’ve been given the perfect tool to do so.”

“Logan, I don’t know if that’s such a good idea... ”

But Janus’ voice was already fading away as Logan rose back into the argument. He had been ignored for the last time. Never again would he be brushed to the side for being the cold outcast. They would listen to him— whether they liked it or not.

Logan was not a stranger to emotion. And right now, he was smiling. Grinning, in fact— ear to ear, power flickering in his eyes. He was the voice of reason and no longer would he be an accessory to their foolishness.

If you want to be added to my Sanders Sides fic taglist, just send an ask or reply to this post :p 

~ @phan-fander @abi-beehive @fandomfan315 @cas-is-a-hunter @reggieleigh07 @endless-rain-of-words @vicdehart @im-actually-ok @softnic @catolicabuena @icequeenoriginal ~

[patchesc-137]

Thieves.

Summary: Someone stole reader's clothes while she was bathing. Now she has to find them.

Word Count: 1220

Warnings: Nudity

Requests: Open

Gif Credit: XXX

It's more than just a bath in a river. It's a cleansing. You can't remember the last time you had a chance to soak, to wash all the journey's troubles and dirt from your skin. You barely remembered what color it was before you got in, using the dwindling bar of soap to assist in the process. The water wasn't even that cold, and you felt lucky that this is where you stopped, instead of somewhere earlier up the road. 

Small fish swim around your feet, weeds tickle at your toes. You're merry enough to sing an old folk song you learned from your mother, birds seeming to call back to you in an instant. The other members- the ones who had agreed to bathe, that is- had allowed you some privacy, something you hadn't gotten much of on the quest. You were grateful for the alone time. However, all good things must come to an end, you were sad to realize. Once you were thoroughly clean, and your fingertips wrinkled, and the sun was just going down over the green hills, you knew you had to get out and return to the party.

The water that fell from you as you approached the shore line glimmered in the retreating rays of sunlight, and you sighed in delight as you wrung your hair onto the dirt. With a seemingly permanent smile, you made your way to the rock you'd left your towel and clothes on, prepared to dry yourself off and cover yourself properly before you faced the company. There was only 1 problem: your clothes were gone.

Gone! How could that possibly be? You left the company laughing and hollering by a roaring fire. You were alone for your bath (or so you thought). Were there animals around that were prone to stealing tunics and trousers, and using them for their nests? Your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment and frustration. The rag that you grabbed to dry off with would barely cover anything that needed to be covered, and you couldn't just walk back to the men naked! For dignity's sake- they would find it far too funny for you to ever live it down.

It's your choice, after standing for another moment, that you slowly and silently make your way back, ducking behind trees and bushes alike as you found the familiar path. Still no sign of your clothes, not even a piece where a wild animal might have torn them apart. Lovely. It's behind a pine that you can see all of the dwarves around the camp, telling tales and laughing, shoving each other in playful ways that you would find amusing if you were stark naked in the middle of a thicket of trees. The good news (at least there was some) was that all of their packs were with their sleeping rolls, including yours. You have some extra clothes in there, as they all did, and you sighed in relief, knowing that they at least wouldn't see you walking around with just a sliver of cloth on.

You throw the poor excuse for a towel down on the ground, taking your chance to sprint toward the backpack you knew was yours. Thank Mahal. Ripping open the top, you searched and dug and emptied the bag, but alas- no clothes. Not a single tunic, not a set of trousers. Not even your unmentionables, which you knew had been in there just that morning. What in the world-

"Looking for something, lass?"

You pause. You should have known. Of course they would, they're... they're delinquents! Troublemakers! You stand up, now unconcerned with whether or not you were exposed to the world. Only annoyance and a grand dose of frustration was on your face, hands on your hips. Turning to spot Fili and Kili just outside of your reach, they hold up all of your clothes, including your undergarments handing precariously from Kili's finger. They would fall any moment, and all the brothers can do is grin their stupid grins.

"Give those back right now," you practically growl, keeping your voice low enough that the others in the company would not hear.

"What's the fun in that?" Kili beams, shaking the clothes like they were some sort of bait.

Fili does the same. "You aren't making a very good argument for why we should," he adds, smile matching that of his younger brother's. There's a moment when they take a quick glance over you, and you would blush, if you weren't so mad.

"Give them back," you spit again. "Or I'll tell your Uncle of the dirty drawings you have in your packs,"

A pause. Fili and Kili look at each other, contemplating the consequences, looking to debate whether the pros outweighed the cons, before they both shrugged.

"Seems worth it,"

And then the brothers take off. Your glare is pointed, could kill a man (or a dwarf), but that wouldn't be enough. "Get back here, you fiends!" you cry, running after them, the wind stinging your cool and exposed body. You couldn't care less about that, now. All you wanted was for the Durin boys to be caught. Which is why you ran all the way to the camp, chasing them around an exasperated company, Fili and Kili laughing, you screaming at them to stop being children.

"Enough!"

It's Thorin who speaks up on your behalf. His nephews stop immediately, all three of you catching your breath in the light of the fire. The party remains silent as Thorin stalks over to Fili and Kili, taking every piece of your clothing from them with a stern look. He holds them out to you, trying to preserve some of your privacy by not looking at your... well, anything.

"You two will be the death of me," you exclaim, snatching the clothes and putting them on as quickly as possible. "Do you know what it's like, running around the forest naked?!" You realize you put your shirt on backwards, and have to remove it and try again. "No, you don't! Imagine if I had run into a wolf, or touched something poisonous or... or-!" Once you're covered, you finally turn to the company. All are shaking, eyes averted. They're trying not to laugh.

"It's not funny!"

Oh, but apparently it is. They all burst into laughter at once, the sound roaring over the fire and the trees, causing birds nesting there to spread their wings and fly, scared, into the sky. "You... you-!" You try to stay angry, but they're merry. Jolly. Even one of Thorin's fist covers his mouth to hide his amusement. You shake your head, ducking to hide your own growing smile.

It's Fili and Kili who step up beside you while the others devolve into sputtering fools, two pairs of your unmentionables dangling from their palms.

"We're keeping these," says Kili, shoving them into his pocket before you can grab for them.

"As souvenirs," adds Fili, grabbing you by the waist before you can lunge at him.

"You look different than we thought you would naked,"

"But that's not to say we're disappointed,"

"I'll get you back for this!" you say through giggles, forgiveness almost instant as the brothers all but carry you to the circle. They answer in unison.

"Looking forward to it!"

[dumbbitchenergy17]

I’m sorry (Part 1)

Based on this Imagine check out the link HERE

Summary- You are Michael’s vessel as you are dean’s kid and letting him use you instead of your dad

Dean x daughter!reader 

Word count- 2,599

“Who are you?” You stuttered surprised that the angels fighting you all collapsed dead.

“Michael.” The voice calls out seeing a man walk out from the fog a shadow of broken and torn wings slowly disappears. He wore a dirty coat with dark shirts and pants covered in dirt and blood from his victims.

“You’re a murder stay back.” You yell pulling out the angel blade our dad gave you for your birthday. A flick of his wrist sent your blade flying and you held in place fear began to course through your veins. ‘Why didn’t you bring someone with you’ you thought.

“I’m not going to hurt you why would I hurt my perfect vessel.” He smirked running a finger down the side of your face. “Dean’s your vessel I’m nothing.” you frown staring back at him.

“You share the Winchester’s blood making you perfect. I have an offer.” He smirked releasing you, taking in a breath of relief. “What do you want from me.”

A smirk graced his face.

“All right, let’s go!” Sam yells leading everyone to the portal that was slowly fading these included Mary Maggie and Bobby and many others that were the very last of the population.

“Come on. Come on.” Dean guides everyone through the portal while most of us stood by in case any angels showed up. “Let’s go. Single file.” Sam states.

Lucifer comes even with Gabriel and stops, hearing a loud boom. Sam and Dean join the two archangels and look skyward.

 A flaming ball is approaching from the sky. It hits the ground in a violent explosion, blasting three of the remaining survivors off their feet including you sending you flying.

“Y/N!” Dean yells seeing you hitting the floor the wind getting knocked out. More fireballs fall killing the last of the survivors. Gabriel puts his hands up to protect his head, but Lucifer just watches passively. 

Lucifer recognizes the fireballs as an angel attack. Sam raised his weapon trying to peer through the dust that has been kicked up by the explosions. While Dean ran towards you helping you up “You okay Y/n?” he says but there is a loud ringing noise as he pulls you to your feet putting most of your weight on him.

We see Michael. Michael’s wings are unfurled, showing as shadows against the dust. He walks towards us, curling his wings back up and making them invisible again as he walks.

“Gentlemen and lady,” Michael says starnig at all of us. Lucifer steps forward, “Lu. You don’t really want to try this again, do ya?” he says arrogantly

Lucifer shrugs “Um...Yeah.” They nod at each other, then Lucifer’s eyes glow red and he flings his hands out, blasting Michael with invisible power. Michael is knocked back a few steps but stays on his feet. We all look surprised at how little effect Lucifer’s attack had. Michael casts a bluish-white ball of power at Lucifer with one hand, then another. It knocks Lucifer to the ground where he moans in pain, a bit of blood coming out of his mouth. Michael smiles at Lucifer, but then looks up and notices Gabriel.

“Can it be? Gabriel?” Michael shocked 

Gabriel looks at us Winchesters and takes a step forward. “Go. I can buy some time,” he says a small smile on

Sam shakes his head “Gabriel, don’t-” Gabriel cuts him off “All I did on Earth was run. I’m not running anymore.’

Gabriel takes a few more steps forward and Michael smiles cruelly. Gabriel takes one more look at us “Go!”

Dean beginnings to leads you guys to the portal feeling suddenly dizzy not noticing that you were bleeding falling. Only for Dean to pick you up bridal style “Hey babygirl keep your eyes open.” “Dad..” you mumbled your head tilting back. 

Dean carrying you pulling Sam towards the rift, but they stop just before it placing you down as Sam puts pressure on your wound, eyes turned back to watch Gabriel’s fight with Michael. We see an archangel blade slide out of Michael’s coat sleeve and into his hand. Gabriel raises his own archangel blade and moves into combat position. Gabriel lunges, Michael deflects, Gabriel tries a backswing, but Michael blocks then slam a fist into Gabriel’s face, knocking him back. Gabriel seems shaken, but Michael is grinning.

Gabriel turns back to the battle and Dean and Sam watch anxiously, steps from the rift as Sam keeps the pressure on your wound. This time Michael lunges at Gabriel who blocks the swing then powerfully punches Michael in the face.

Michael staggers back, wiping the blood from his lip, but he seems enthused not beaten. Gabriel throws some wild swings, but Michael just dodges. Gabriel tries again, but Michael catches his arm this time, twisting it and forcing Gabriel to drop his archangel blade. Michael stabs Gabriel through the torso. Gabriel screams, blue light streaming out of the wound and out of Gabriel’s eyes and mouth.

“Gabe! No!” Dean goes to charge forward but Sam holds him back. Showing him you as you are barely holding on.

Michael watches with glee as Gabriel’s light flows out of him. Then Gabriel’s body slumps forward against Michael. Seeing that Gabriel is dead, Sam urges Dean towards the rift as Dean picks you up heading through.

--------------------

Sam steps up to jump through the rift but stops just in front of it, a determined look on his face. He turns back to see Michael slide Gabriel off his blade and onto the ground. Gabriel’s eyes are open and unseeing. Michael stares down at his dead body. Lucifer staggers to his feet clutching his arm and makes for the rift, but Sam stops him grabs him by the throat.

“Sam, what are you doing, man? I’m hurt. Please”. Lucifer coughs out

Sam growls out “How did you think this was gonna end?”

Sam shoves Lucifer until he falls to the ground. Sam takes a look at Michael who has noticed him and then turns, quickly jumping through the rift. Michael sees the rift starting to close behind Sam.

“No. No! NO!” Michael screams out

The rift closes just as Michael gets there. He looks around, furious and frustrated and sees Lucifer on the ground in front of him. Lucifer seems resigned.

--------------------

Back at the Buker, you’re sent to get help from some people from the apocalypse world who were doctors. You're dad right by your side the last thing you see is your dad’s face before darkness consumes you.

No one’s POV

Mary pulls a beer bottle out of a box and hands them out. Bobby is beside her looking at the lit map table. The survivors are standing around drinking and talking. Cas and Dean are in the doorway to the Library with Charlie. Jack is hunched against the frame of the doorway near Dean. He is holding a bottle but looks upset, not happy like the rest of the room’s occupants. Ketch is sitting at the other side of the door. Sam is leaning against one of the old-fashioned computer consoles with a glass of whiskey in his hand, talking to Rowena who is sitting in an office chair. Rowena’s head is in her hand, still obviously very tired.

“It kept closing. I couldn’t keep it open another five seconds.” Rowena said

“Well, you did it, Rowena,” He says looking appreciatively around the room, “You got us all here.”

On the other side of the doorway, Charlie and Ketch clink glasses as if in a toast. Jack sits on his side of the doorway, looking despondent.

Sam smiles at Rowena “We owe you one.”

Rowena looks up at Sam with a fond smirk. “Don’t think I won’t collect.” Sam just smiles at her and they raise their glasses in a toast. 

“Gabe-he’d been on the run for so long... He sacrificed himself. He’s the reason Sam and I got out.” Dean sighed he mind flicking from Gabe to his daughter that was still asleep

Sam steps up the few steps to join Cas and Dean. “We owe him everything.”

“What about Lucifer?” Cas asked

Dean shoots a look at Sam who keeps his eyes on his drink. “Sam handled it,” Dean answered

Sam looks up and meets Cas’ eyes for a second, nodding before looking back down. Dean looks over and sees Jack, sitting alone and looking sad.

“All right, listen up.” Bobby gains everyone's attention he’s standing across the room, partway up the metal staircase, glass in hand.

“We made it. Don’t know much about this place, but it’s a place without Michael, so that’s a turn for the better. I don’t want none of you goin’ soft on me because we are going to get ourselves ready and go back home and set our people free.”

A chorus of cheers come from the crowd of survivors who raise their drinks.

“He’s been here for five minutes. Look who’s taken over the joint.” Dean joked talking to Sam and Cas

“While we’re celebrating, let’s not forget our brothers and sisters who didn’t make it. They will never be forgotten, and we will do right by them.” Bobby continues

“And now a toast to our new brothers and sister -- Sam, Dean, and Y/n Winchester. Thanks. Welcome to the family.”

“Sam and Dean! Welcome.” The survivors cheer

Sam and Dean raise their glasses in salute to Bobby. Dean sipped his glass until mary came up to him “She’s awake.” Dean places his glass down heading off to his daughter’s room.

--------------------

Sam, Jack, Dean, and Cas were off on a hunt as they stood outside a boathouse

“How many are inside?” Sam asked loading up his gun “I can hear three. Wait, maybe -- maybe four. They're talking about whether Kylie Jenner would make a good mother. The consensus is no.” Cas says

“Yeah, well, that's why I'm a Khloe man. All right, we're talking werewolves,” Dean takes an ammo clip out of his pocket and loads his gun. Then he gestures towards Jack, “which means...”

“Silver bullets.” Jack answers

“That's right. So, you know the play. Let's do it to it.” Dean said cocking his gun

They all walk towards the boathouse. A man exits and struggles to light a match for his cigarette. He turns his back and continues to struggle with the match. When he turns back Castiel stabs him with an angel blade. The man's eyes turn green and fangs descend from his gums. Inside the boathouse, two men are drinking beer and laughing

“And that...that is why I'm a Khloe man.”

Sam, Dean and Jack bust through the door. The men’s fangs descend as the jump up out of their seats. Jack holds out his hand and holds them back as Sam and Dean shoot the men several times.

--------------------

“So, you really like rain?” Mary chatted both her and Bobby holding umbrellas

“When it's this beautiful, I do.” He answers “So what are you gonna do now?” Mary asks

“Honestly, I got no clue. Everyone seems to be settling in okay in town. Ketch is out doing Ketch things. Rowena and Charlie are roads tripping it through the Southwest.” he states

“That's trouble.” Mary grins

Bobby laughs “Ginger trouble -- the worst kind. Anyways...without an archangel, it's not like we can go back home. And I'm not sure I'd want to. I...I like it here,” Bobby looks down as if embarrassed and notices something on the path, “Is that...”

“Blood,” Mary answers both smiles dropping

They follow the blood further until they get to a large blood-streaked rock. On the other side of the rock a young girl is lying on the ground, blood along one side of her head

“Y/n.” she gasps

--------------------

“Jack...” Dean sighs sitting on the edge of Jack's bed “it's not about being strong. I mean...Look, I don't know what you saw over there, and I don't know what you went through. I know it was bad. But I also know that you came out on the other side because you are strong. But even when we're strong, man, things are gonna happen. We're gonna make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. Right? But we can get better. Every day, we can get better. So whatever you're dealing with, you know, whatever...whatever comes at us, we'll figure out a way to deal with it, together. You're family, kid, and we look after our own.” 

Sam runs towards Jack's door, holding his cell phone.

“Dean?”

Dean looks up, sees Sam's face tears in his eyes and gets very concerned

“What's wrong?” He asks

Sam, Dean, Castiel, Jack, Bobby, and Mary are standing around the young girl lying on the ground. Sam is behind Dean.

“I-I... I said I'd protect her, and, ...” Dean said emotion gone his precious girl gone before she had a life.

“Stop, Dean. This isn't your fault.” sam tried to reassure his brother

“What happened to her?” Dean asked his voice harsh

“I don't know. Doesn't look supernatural.” Mary said tears already stained her face her only granddaughter dead.

“Looks like some son of a bitch beat on her until...” Bobby frowned

“Who would do something like this?” Castiel said he watched over all the Winchester the world needed all of them and they just lost one.

In the bunker, Dean is walking around a young girl sitting at the table his face dark tears drained from his face.

“Word is, you're friends with Y/n,” he growled

“Uh, yeah, since we came over. Me and y/n, we didn't have anybody else, so we kinda stuck together.”

Sam, Castiel, and Jack are also around the table

“So I'm sure you know she went out last night. Well, she didn't come home.” Sam asked his eyes also red.

“Um...is Y/n in trouble?” she asked

“She's dead.” Dean spat out

“She...No, that's not...We were supposed to be safe here.” She stuttered Sam placed a hand on her shoulder “We need to know where Y/n went, who she was talking to.”

“I don't...There was a boy.” She said

“What boy?” Dean growled

“Nate. He works at that store out on Route 281. Y/n, she had a crush. That's why she snuck out last night. She was going to meet him.” She says

“All right, well, let's go talk to this boy, Dean,” Sam says Sam turns around and dean is gone. Jack and Castiel turn around in their seats looking for him, “Dean?”

Inside a convenience store, a boy is stacking shelves while listening to music with earbuds in. He walks into another aisle and Dean walks towards him and grabs him around the throat, lifting him into the air

“Why'd you do it?! Tell me!” He barks out

“I-I didn't.” Nate whimpered

“Liar!” He yells

“Dean! No!” Cas yells Castiel grabs Dean's shoulder to pull him away. Dean punches him sending him falling. “Dean?” Jack looks at him

“Let him go.” Sam calmly says

“He killed Y/n.” He replied

“Y/n? Y/n's dead?” Nate looking at the two wildly “Dean, listen to me. He didn't kill Y/n.” Sam says, “Look at him.” Dean lets him go and walks towards the exit and Castiel goes to follow him “Dean!“ Sam grabs Castiel's arm “No, hey, just -- just let him go.” The lights begin blinking as the store starts shaking and rumbling “You need to go. Now.” Sam yells at Nate

A loud piercing noise accompanies the shaking and Sam, Jack disappears and Castiel cover their ears

Jack appears in the middle of the woods he hears a fluttering sound and looks around to find Lucifer standing on the path “Hi, son.”

[dayo488]

Moved By You

Chapter 4 is now up on Ao3!

Rating T, won’t go above M Summary:

When Clarke finds out that the Ark cannot sustain oxygen past a year, she, along with 3 other experts in their fields, join the prisoners on a mission to Earth, to find out whether it's survivable in the even they can't fix the oxygen systems.

However, one of the other adults with her on the mission betrays her and trades her to a Grounder village. Clarke must figure out where she belongs and who she is as she struggles with what her life looks like now. She finds that she enjoys the people of her village, but still feels torn between the people who want nothing to do with her anymore, and the people who she finds she wants to be with, including the village's leader, who is annoying and pushes all her buttons, but also has a depth to him that she hadn't expected.

---------------------

“Time to get up, skaigada,” a voice sounded above her. Without opening her eyes Clarke had registered that it was the same voice that had called her guard out of the cave before. She wondered passively if he ever had a tone other than scorn.

She remained where she was. Clarke was sure that wherever this idiot wanted her to go was probably not where she wanted to be going.

“Fine. Stay here and die,” he offered sarcastically instead.

Clarke sighed and rolled her eyes behind her lids before finally opening them. “What do you want?”

She’d barely gotten a glimpse of his brown curly hair and bright brown eyes that somehow didn’t match his gruff tone before a bag was unceremoniously placed over her head and she was hauled to her feet.

“Hey!” she exclaimed to her handler. “Get your hands off me, I can walk by myself.”

“Suit yourself,” he said mockingly and let go of her instantly.

She winced, as he went to unlock the chains around her wrists from the wall so she wasn’t connected to the cave anymore, though her wrists were still connected to each other, and she heard them clang against the cave wall. Clarke realized with irritation that with a bag over her head she would indeed need to be guided. But she was far too stubborn to admit that so her brain started trying to remember what she’d seen of the cave she’d been stuck in for days.

“After you, Princess” he told her sarcastically and if Clarke didn’t have the bag over her head she might have actually taken a swing at him. Who the hell is he calling Princess?

You can do this.

She took a few tentative steps forward. Once she was confident where in the cave she was and the direction she should head in, she walked more confidently. She could feel his presence next to her, the warmth radiating from his skin, but he walked so softly she couldn’t actually hear him.

[angelzackery]

WORD COUNT: 1,920 CHARACTER(S) INCLUDED: Laurel ( mentioned ), Bishop ( mentioned ) SUMMARY: Angel is too tired from her night shift at the Garbage Plate to be dealing with her boyfriend’s bullshit. Ghosts don’t make it any easier. TRIGGERS: binge-drinking, emotional abuse, mentions of death & alcoholism NOTES: The ghost story from my app! Gives insight into the toxic dynamic between Angel & her boyfriend.

The crescent moon and a chorus of cicadas are Angel’s only company as she walks home after her night shift at Garbage Plate. As much as she liked to crawl into bed and sleep the day away, she has to contend with her opening shift at Lollygag in just a few short hours. The thick stench of grease is stuck to her skin; she debates on whether to waste precious time showering or take all the sleep she can get. Rest is precious, even if she’d be responsible for stinking up the truck. Angel draws up a mental image of this week’s schedule, trying to remember who she’s opening with tomorrow morning — er, today, technically. Laurel. A blessing, because at least Angel can count on the blonde to make the shift go by quickly. But her friend definitely wouldn’t hesitate to say something about how bad she smells. A shower it is, then, if only to save Laurel from a tortuously stinky shift.

Pain pounds in her feet with each tired step and weariness sinks into her bones, but Angel’s grip on the hot pink bottle of pepper spray remains vigilantly tight. Better safe than sorry. It’s not that Angel makes a habit of walking alone late at night, but Bryan said he needed their car that evening for… something. Angel doesn’t remember questioning him about it, but she knows he was probably shooting the shit with some of his dead-beat buddies from high school. 

Some (Bishop) would argue that Bryan was also a deadbeat, but Angel would argue that at least Bryan was trying to get a job. It didn’t help that someone (also Bishop) had taken it upon themselves to beat the living crap out of Bryan. How was he supposed to show up for a job interview with a black eye? As a result, Angel’s been doing what she can to make things easier for him, since it was her (ex?) friend responsible for all the trouble. And in Bryan’s eyes, that meant she was responsible. So he wanted the car for the evening? Fine, he could have it. As long as it meant Angel didn’t have to put up with another drawn-out argument about that batshit psychopath.

The car is in their driveway, thankfully, but the living room light is still on. Angel finds herself torn between feeling relieved that he’s home and worried about why he’s still up so late. Coming up to the worn-down old house she shares with Bryan always leaves Angel feeling dejected, like someone is slowly squeezing all the air out of her. It’s far from the idyllic family home she envisioned they’d share in their teenage years, back when they had the whole world ahead of them. He called it a “fixer-upper” when he first convinced her to buy it with him, promising that he’d transform it into the house of their dreams. “A castle fit for the Prom Queen.” Several years later, and the only thing that’s been “repaired” was a leak in the roof, thanks to Bryan’s ingenious use of duct tape.

It takes her a while to open the front door; a busted front lock is just another thing on the long list Bryan keeps promising to repair. When she finally gets it open, she fills her voice with all the leftover cheer she can muster to sing out, “Honey, I’m home.” The greeting is a long-running joke between the two; Bryan used to blast the Shania Twain song every time he picked her up from one of her part-time jobs in high school. They hadn’t sung together in a long time, but hopefully Bryan was in a good enough mood to reply off-key, “And I had a hard day.”

“—the fuck took you so long?” a grouchy voice calls from the living room. Angel visibly deflates, and immediately feels twice as tired. She hears the way Bryan slurs his words before she notices the empty beer bottles littering the kitchen. He didn’t usually binge-drink, knowing how sensitive she was about it due to her father, but the fight with Bishop has left Bryan acting more destructive than usual. It’s not a good look on him.

Angel doesn’t know if he’s serious with his question or looking to pick another fight. She’s not in the mood either way, too tired and too disappointed to get into it with him. “I, uh, had to walk home,” she says flatly. She doesn’t tell Bryan about how she didn’t want to trouble her coworkers for a ride, slightly embarrassed for them to see just how rundown her home is.

“You couldn’t have called me for a ride?” He stumbles out of the living room as he says that, tripping over his own unsteady feet. Angel flinches at the sight, ugly childhood memories of her father blooming in her mind without her permission. Angel hates it when Bryan gets like this, and he knows it. He of all people knows how her mother was the casualty of a drunk driver, how her father was always too drunk to properly parent her. It’s cruel of him to greet her like this, to act as though this behavior is any way appropriate. Either he’s too upset with himself to care or just that angry with her.

You’re in no shape to give anyone a ride, is what she wants to say, with all the hurt and anger festering deep within her fractured heart. But she has no energy to lash out at him, knowing that in his own way, he’s hurting, too. It’s hard to look at his face, all bruised and swollen — no doubt his pride hurts even more. 

So she schools her face, and tries to keep the ice out of her voice when she responds, “I hope you didn’t drive home like this.” The thought of it makes her hands shake, house keys rattling despite her efforts to keep her cool. Not that Bryan would ever do that, but seeing him like this makes her think the worst. He reminds her too much of her father.

Bryan looks repulsed that she’d even suggest the idea, as if it’s the last thing he’d ever do — even if he just drunkenly offered her a ride. “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Ang? Is that really what you think of me?”

Immediately, she realizes her mistake. The last thing she wanted to do was pile on him even more. “No, I just—”

But it’s too late. His rage gets the better of him, and he goes off at her and her daddy issues and her “weird thing” about alcohol. How all he wanted to do was relax after a stressful day, and she comes home late accusing him of heinous things. He reminds her too much of her father like this, and Angel hates herself for making the comparison. She hates herself even more for feeling like the lost little girl she once was, alone in grieving her mother and taking care of a father who lost all his cares with his wife.

She needs to get far away from Bryan and all the toxicity he breeds. But he keeps blocking her path to their bedroom no matter how many times she tries to walk away from him. It doesn’t occur to her to go out the front door and just leave. After all, where would she go at this hour? How would she explain the mess she got herself in?

I’m trapped, is all she can think as Bryan goes from disparaging her to asking her for her tips from that night. But he doesn’t settle down even after she empties her apron pocket of all the loose change and crumbled bills she has to offer. He begins accusing her of pocketing money without him knowing, and that’s the straw that finally breaks Angel’s back. She starts hoarsely shouting back about how it’s her tips and so what if she wanted to set aside some of it for her meager college fund? And then he gets on her for hiding things from him, and she accuses him of hiding his drinking from her, and that’s when shit hits the fan.

The argument has gotten so heated that neither one of them notices the sudden chill in the air, a blanket of frost covering the room. Then without warning, one of Bryan’s empty glass bottles flies from the living room and shatters against the wall in the kitchen, on the complete opposite side of the house. It’s the unexpected explosion of glass that finally shocks the two of them into silence.

Angel is left frozen in fear, paralyzed by the knowledge that they are not alone. It’s as though a spell has been put on the house, the air thick with something so otherworldly that it’s hard for her to breathe. But Bryan, predictable as ever, merely leers at the mess and grumbles, “Go clean that shit up.” 

He finally trudges back to the worn-down living room couch, repelled by the mess. It’s as though he doesn’t mind the company of any restless spirits so long as they don’t get in the way of his plans to drink the night away. Meanwhile, Angel gapes at the wreckage, as if waiting for something else to come of it. But after several long moments, the spell breaks on its own. The air relaxes, and she finds herself gasping for breath.

No one’s ever thrown a beer bottle at her, but her father had accidentally broken plenty of them in drunken stupors. There’s a scar on Angel’s palm from one of the times when she got cut trying to clumsily pick up the glass. As she cleans up the mess in the kitchen, she doesn’t wonder about how the bottle propelled itself against the wall. Her fatigued mind wanders to dark corners she tried to abandon years ago, but never could. Despite everything that’s happened, all she can think about is her father, with nothing but liquor for company. Wondering if he even notices that no one’s cleaning up his messes anymore.

She wraps herself in blankets when she finally crawls into bed, unable to shake off the chill. She doesn’t sleep at all.

-------------------------------------------------

“You must’ve just knocked the bottle over,” Bryan tells her the next day when she brings it up. The argument is long from settled, but they’d both silently agreed to move past it like they always do. Rehashing it out would just lead to another and besides, it was just one stupid argument. There will be plenty more to look forward to in the future.

“It flew from the living room.” She wants to question just how drunk he was that night, to think she knocked it over. But that would just piss him off again, and the last thing she wants to do is sour his mood when he’s been so sweet to her today.

The two of them are Screamer natives, born and raised, and no stranger to every spooky legend lurking in the town’s history. Angel never thought much of it — every place had its quirks, and she was always too consumed with her father’s demons to deal with any others. But still, Angel couldn’t deny there was something haunting about their little small town.

“Flew?” He stares at her as if her mind just fell out of her pretty little head. “Babe, bottles don’t fly. You take one down, pass it around—”

“Oh, shut up.” And then he kisses her, decidedly ending the discussion for good. It’s always his call, even if she wants to analyze the possible paranormal activity even further. So she doesn’t bring it up again, too exhausted by life to be concerned with the supposed spirits of the dead. And with enough time and no more supernatural interruptions, she begins to remember it the way Bryan told her to. Maybe she did knock over the bottle without realizing it. 

After all, wasn’t it usually her fault?

[onlyinmyimagination]

Interest and Infatuation | pt. 1

Red Hood x (Female) Reader 

Summary: You’re a housekeeper working for the Wayne Family. A chance encounter with Red Hood leads to an unconventional romance neither of you expected.

Warnings: Some cursing. Weapons, violence, blood.

Pt. 2 // Pt. 3

~

It had only been a week since you started working at Wayne Manor, but you’d already decided this was the best job in the whole city. The benefits that came with working for the richest man in Gotham City along with paid for housing within the city was a dream come true. With Gotham’s overwhelmingly high crime rate yet enviously low cost of living, you had your doubts about moving to Gotham but perhaps it was luck that enabled you to snag this job. Or maybe Alfred Pennyworth simply liked your personality.

Granted it wasn’t exactly a job to brag about and not your intended career of choice, but housekeeping was still a respected profession. It’s a job no one wants to do, but it continues to be undeniably a necessary one in all parts of the world.

In the week you’ve worked at the Wayne household, you had yet to meet your employer and his family. You only knew their faces from various forms of media, and from their portraits that hung in the gallery hall. From what you heard, they were all adopted and yet somehow they all held the same physical trait of being ridiculously attractive. On your first day of orientation and training, you had studied their portraits during one of your breaks and had decided to explore the palace-like interior. You remembered thinking it would be believable if they actually were blood-related. All the males had dark hair and blue eyes, except for the youngest who had more green than blue in his eyes, but they also had the same, secretive expression in their eyes―even the girl. But maybe that was the trademark style of the painter. You decided not to dwell on it and hurried back to continue your training. Then you proceeded to get lost on the way back and was left wandering the countless rooms until Alfred Pennyworth finally retrieved you.

You enjoyed the company of the five other girls employed in the Wayne Manor. They were helpful and hardworking. Each of them had worked there much longer than you though their ages varied. The one closest in age to you was Ellen. She had a son to support so she only worked part-time, with varying days that Mr. Pennyworth had kindly obliged to work with. However, her presence was required during special events, whether held at the Manor or any of the Wayne properties. This was something you had yet to experience but you were assured would happen quite frequently. Aside from Ellen, the others and yourself worked Monday to Friday from seven in the morning to three in the afternoon. It was a normal eight hour a day job. So far, the only unique clause in your signing to work for the Waynes was that you were to work exclusively for the Waynes, meaning you were prohibited to be concurrently employed elsewhere while under contract as a housekeeper in Wayne Manor. With the crime rate of Gotham as high as it was, you didn’t really blame them for adding such a clause to the contract. Fear of theft or even the threat of privacy violation were something even the richest family of Gotham would take measures to defend against, even from their own employees.

There were chores that had to be performed daily in the Manor that were as curious as the family that lived in it. It included washing dirty dishes that piled up overnight by the supposedly nocturnal family, scrubbing away at even more mysterious stains from carpets and rugs that appeared out of nowhere, and returning misplaced furniture back to their designated places. Other than the rectifying of these curious messes, there were plenty of other mundane tasks to do within the Manor such as sweeping, dusting, polishing, and so forth.

One day after working at the Wayne household and spending a day vacuuming the carpets, it was raining as you and the rest of the housekeepers made your way back to Gotham City. Today however you decided you needed to stop by the nearby market.

The five of you shared a car every day to cross the bridge to and from the Wayne Manor which was situated across the bay in Gotham’s suburbs. There was an apartment building in the city owned by Wayne Enterprises that was offered to the housekeepers. Two whole floors were reserved for Wayne Enterprise employees, though more specifically, for the Wayne Manor housekeepers and was rent-free only to them.

“Can you drop me off here?” you asked as the car approached the market just a couple blocks from the apartment building. “You guys can go on ahead. I just need to buy a few things.”

“Want me to go with you?” Citlali, one of the housekeepers, asked.

You shook your head and insisted, “No, I’m alright.”

“Don’t stay out too late,” Nour said as you opened the car door. Nour was one of the younger housekeepers who had one of the prettiest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen.

“I just need a few things,” you declared with a laugh. “It will be really quick. I’ll see you back at the apartment. Thanks.” With that, you shut the car door and hurriedly dashed through the rain and into the store.

It took only a few minutes to buy what you needed and you’re soon out in the rain under the safety of your umbrella. The sky was blanketed in gray and the clouds were heavy, making it look as dark as night. The downpour of the rain was calming but the chill made you pull your coat tighter around you as you watched the path for puddles. It was at the crosswalk when you heard the splash of another set of steps behind you. You hadn’t heard the pair of feet before and you wonder if the sound might have only been the echo of your own. You hadn’t passed many people when you left the market and you peaked beneath your umbrella only to see no one else on the streets. It was disconcerting to be alone on the street but if you screamed loud enough, surely the occupants of the apartment complexes around you would hear, even over the downpour.

You were torn between confirming the stalker behind you and simply running to the safety of your home. But letting a potential thief know where you lived was not the brightest thing to do, so you turned the corner at the intersection just before your apartment. You barely had a plan at this point, and your heart quickened at the realization that you were in a much more dire situation than you thought. You hadn’t even confirmed whether you were being followed but as you were contemplating how to do so, you were pushed into a wide driveway between two apartment buildings. Your umbrella was knocked from your hands and you dropped your grocery bag as you stumbled into a large puddle. Something pressed against your back.

“Scream and I’ll put a bullet through your heart.”

You nodded and blinked the rainwater from your eyes as you stared ahead, wide-eyed and trembling.

“Give me your purse. I just want your valuables.”

“It’s very rude not to help a lady with her bags,” a distorted voice called distantly. The echo bounced from the building walls but it sounded muddled as it mixed with the patter of the rain, making it hard to pinpoint where the voice was coming from.

“Who the fu―oh shit!”

You tried to figure out what was happening but you were too slow to see the quick exchange between the masked vigilante and your assailant who was now on his knees in front of the vigilante. There was a clatter as a gun skidded a few feet in your direction. You stared at one of the masked heroes you’ve only read and heard about in the news.

“Ma’am, you should get out of here and head on home.” The voice was robotic with a low tone and pitch. It took you a moment to process the situation as you stared at the red helmet, the dull gleam of the metal barely catching any light in the gloomy weather. Then you scrambled to gather your grocery bag and grabbed the handle of your umbrella, shaking out the water before raising it over your head. You almost dashed across the street but you only took one step before stopping and looking back. It seemed wrong to leave, to run away, especially without thanking your savior when you weren’t sure you would ever see him again. The vigilante noticed your presence and looked back at you curiously. The assailant took this as an opening and got to his feet and charged forward, raising his arm high and bringing it down in a swift movement at the unassuming vigilante. There was a knife in his hand.

Your savior turned just in time to stop the movement mid-swing by grabbing the blade and thus cutting his hand. He grunted in pain but managed to kick his opponent back hard enough to make him fall to the ground. Then with one hard and perfectly aimed kick to the head, the vigilante knocked out the assailant.

The vigilante shook his injured right hand side to side as if to shake away the pain. “Don’t you know women hate persistent guys who don’t know when to stop? Take a hint, man.”

You rushed back to your savior and approached with worry. “You’re hurt! I’m so sorry! It’s all my fault. Thank you so much for saving me.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, yanking his hand away when you reached out to take it.

“Please, let me see,” you insisted with an outstretched hand. You looked up at him anxiously, peering from beneath your umbrella. That’s when you noticed the rain slipping down his helmet and down the exposed skin of his neck just above his bodysuit. You lifted the umbrella higher and tilted it in his direction so he was under it. As if spurred by your actions, he revealed his gloved hand to you and you examined the cut where the blade sliced open his palm. It wasn’t too deep. This was something you could help patch up, but you were distressed by the blood steadily oozing from the wound.

“I just bought some first aid supplies from the market,” you said, holding up the bag of groceries. “I can clean this up for you.”

He retracted his hand. “Look, lady, I appreciate the thought but this seems like much more trouble than it’s worth.”

“It’s not!” you remarked. “This happened because of me. It’s my fault you got hurt. Let’s just go over there. It will be really quick, okay?” You were pointing at a bench outside a nearby store where it was protected from the rain by the store’s awning.

A deep sigh left him. “Okay.” He begrudgingly let you lead him a few paces to the covered seating area and sat down at your insistence, with you tugging on his arm the whole way. You quickly retracted your umbrella and placed your belongings on the bench as you sat beside him. He helped you peel the glove off his hand with the blood-soaked material almost glued to his skin.

You pushed down your nervousness as you leaned closer to him. The atmosphere was quite ambient, with the drumming of the rain on the awning overhead and the heavy downpour surrounding you. It felt comfortable, like you were in a safe and protected bubble. Except you were sharing the moment with a masked stranger. You never would have thought you’d be this close to one of Gotham City’s vigilantes. Before moving here you tried to do some research on them, but only found controversies and a surprisingly large online fanbase. You ultimately decided they were heroes and should be trusted guardians of Gotham, but never did you imagine you’d interact with one.

“So you just happened to be buying this stuff on your way home?” the vigilante asked conversationally.

“Yeah,” you answered. Then hesitantly you elaborated, “I recently started work that I’m not used to yet, so I’ve accumulated a few cuts and scrapes.”

He was silent for a moment as he took note of the roughness of your hands while you dabbed at his cut with some gauze pads. “And what is it that you do, may I ask?”

You hesitated again. “I’m a housekeeper.”

“...A maid?” Then he caught a glimpse of your uniform beneath your coat. “You work at Wayne Manor?”

“How did you know? There’s not even an insignia or emblem on the uniform,” you said while glancing down at your attire. You looked at him and examined the hardened expression set on the helmet.

“Oh, uh, it’s a distinctive uniform. It’s easy to identify,” he said, though you doubted it. The housekeeper uniform was a dress that stopped a few inches below the knees, gray in color and made of stiff material that did nothing to compliment the figure. The short sleeves were cuffed and had a cutaway collar and buttons going about halfway down the torso. A very plain ensemble.

You applied the antiseptic spray onto the cut and he made a hissing sound that sounded amusingly odd when mixed with the voice changer. When you soaked the cut enough in the solution you pressed gauze pads into his hand and quickly wrapped his hand with an adhesive bandage wrap.

“There, all done. Learned that from Google,” you said as you dropped the materials back into your bag. “Oh, and I think you need to keep it elevated…or something.”

“Heh, not bad for a temporary fix. Now we’re even.” He held up his hand to admire the handiwork.

You watched him carefully and said, “I’m really sorry again.”

“Hey, no worries. Why did you stop, anyway? Weren’t you scared?” he questioned. “Or did you stop because you were scared?”

“No, I wasn’t scared...I was relieved that you showed up and saved me,” you answered slowly, unsure how to express yourself, “but I didn’t leave because I didn’t like leaving you there with…my problem.”

“Your problem? It wasn’t your fault that this happened, so stop thinking that way. And secondly, this is my job so next time a hero or whatever tells you to get away, please listen to them.” He got to his feet then glanced back at you. “Now where do you live? Shall I walk you back home?”

“It’s okay. I live right across the street, just right there.” You pointed at an apartment complex a few buildings down and across the street, diagonally from where you were taking refuge.

“How embarrassing. I wanted to look cool but that just blew up in my face.”

You laughed a little. “Well, you were very cool when you saved me from that guy earlier,” you said.

A robotic hum sounded from his helmet. “That does make me feel a little bit better.”

You gathered your things and faced him, intending to leave. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Thank you again.”

“Likewise. Now hurry inside. I’ll watch you until you go in.” He slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and stared down at you.

You agreed with a shy nod. “Okay.” You scurried across the street with a thrumming heart and kept the umbrella low to hide your face. You didn’t look back even as you reached the building or when you passed through the doors. You made your way up and stopped to take a moment once inside your apartment, which was a corner unit of humble size. Your living room window coincidentally faced the street you had just been on, so you went to it and looked outside.

He was still across the street but closer now to the building and in the middle of the downpour. He was looking up at your window. You stiffened at this and slowly raised your hand to wave to him before quickly side-stepping out of sight to hide behind the wall.

It took you a long moment to gather the courage to peek out the window again and when you did he was gone, along with the unconscious criminal’s body.

.

.

.

[endthisfool]

Dirge Eater CH 3

Summary: Whirl has a nice friendly chat with his pals. 

Chapter 3: Realization Rejection

In a universe bound by artificial whims to another, a mech freezes in a doorway, blinking rapidly. While living on this ship they had seen their fair share of wild and unbelievable things. Parallel universes, zombie mechs, etc. So perhaps this could actually be considered one of the more mundane things, though nevertheless unexpected. It sears iridescent tendrils from its center, clawing at shelves, and humming with energy. Below a strange contraption, blaster-esq in its build, lays forlornly on the floor, abandoned by its user. ‘There’s a portal in this storage closet.’ Lip-plates pressed in a thin line the mech shuts the door, turns on their heel, and walks away. Someone else ought to take care of that.

 --- At the other side of that universal link, Rafael paces the meager portion of his school’s sidewalk that wasn’t taped off for repairs. His mind abuzz with thoughts of the newcomer back at the autobot base. It wasn’t everyday that you got to meet a giant alien robot, and while he already knew several, this was still a nerve wracking experience. The new mech was different, not only in his frame, but in some other way. It was like the thought wasn’t entirely tangible, he just couldn’t grasp it yet. What could possibly make this mech feel so much more foreign than any of the other cybertronians? Lost in that puzzle as he is, he almost misses it.

A familiar flash of blue. Raf double-takes. It's a little girl, dressed in overalls, one of the straps hangs loosely off her shoulder, folding the denim’s front over itself sloppily. A black eyepatch stretches over one eye, and blue hair drawn up in high pigtails curls down from the sides of her head. It seemed Miko wasn’t the only person around here with an interesting sense of fashion. Oddly enough, she’s behind the barriers that the police had used to block off the mech’s impact crater, her hands on her hips, looking none too concerned by the drop in front of her. She definitely shouldn’t be in there. With no adults in sight Raf takes it upon himself to watch out for the girl. “Hey, I don’t think you should be on that side of the barriers.” He tells her, not unkindly. It wasn’t his place to question what a young looking kid was doing at a school like this, but really, where were her parents? “You could get hurt.” 

In response the little girl-she couldn’t have been any older than ten-leans further over the hole tapping her chin as if deep in thought. “I’m investigating.” She says loudly, her voice accented with something peculiar. Almost synthesized. The sound reminded him of something, though he couldn’t quite discern what it was. She scuffs a red shoe against the ground, sending a rocking tumbling down into the crater. Then she bends back at a painful looking angle, craning her neck to peer upward into the sky, one hand positioned over her yellow eye to shield it from the sun. Squinting she works her jaw, pressing her tongue into a gap between her teeth. The clouds stare back, sharing nothing. “Ok, I’m done.” “That was quick.” Raf comments, casting a glance toward the school building where Miko was now waving him down from the doors. Jack exits as well, hoisting his backpack over his shoulder, and gesturing with his head to the road. There Arcee rolls to a stop, her holographic rider still as ever. Raf gives them each a smile, that wavers when he remembers his present company. He turns to the girl. “But really it’s not safe over there...” 

Rafael blinks, a dipping sensation turning his stomach. He stumbles forward, slipping under the barriers to reach the crater where the little girl must have fallen, scraped and bruised at the bottom. At the edge he prepares to climb down, a call for help stifled at the back of his throat. Then he stops. Confusion bats at his stuttering heart mockingly. “What’re we lookin’ at?” Miko pushes past the barriers, joining her friend in crouching over the steep drop of the empty crater. “Ooh rocks.” She nudges Raf with her elbow, careful to not push him toward the hole. “Very cool, but I think you should stick to computers.” Raf spays his palms out helplessly presenting the lack of anything in the crater below. Could she really have run off that fast? “Come on guys, Bulkhead isn’t going to wait for you two forever.” Beyond them Jack situates his helmet over his black hair, the green vehicle rumbling its engine from where it had pulled up moments before. “I thought you’d be more excited to see that helicopter bot than the hole he came from.” “Oh yeah!” Miko bounces up, pulling Raf up and away with her. Raf lets her drag him to Bulkhead’s waiting doors, his mind flitting between one strange encounter with blue to the next. 

---

   The appearance of the wild rotormech seemed to be a catalyst for a surplus of work for the autobot medic. That was not to say he wasn’t usually busy, however his work didn’t normally include investigating rowdy cyclopses claiming to be autobots. Especially rowdy cyclopses that leaked pink energon, and were intent on staring holes into his armor from the medberth. Ratchet rolls his shoulder pauldrons uncomfortably, as if he could dislodge the other’s gaze through the movement alone. He doesn’t turn from the computer terminal to address the mech, too focused on the strange energy reading creating a flux over the system’s scanners. Those readings had been popping up haphazardly the past couple days, but he couldn’t pinpoint a source at all. Nor could he parse them out, though they were awfully familiar. “You’re free to go, Optimus is likely waiting for you.” There was too much to do, and he still hadn’t been able to find any connection between their guest and the autobots. Not to mention the aerialbots. Or really anything at all in what was left of the autobot’s database. Not a single recorded encounter with a mech that matched his description over the course of the war. It was like he just didn’t exist. “Try not to re-open those welds.” There’s a soft shifting of metal as the blue mech slips off the berth, quiet enough that the medic nearly didn’t hear it. Then Whirl brushes past him, sliding blue armor against white just a bit too long, a bit too roughly, and there’s a hushed phrase ghosting over the medic’s audial. “Thanks, Ratchet.” Distracted as he is the medibot gives a noncommittal grunt in return. An itch in the back of his processor throwing up red flags that there was something very wrong with what he just heard. Unconsciously his plating shutters tight against his frame. And to think their guest had only been awake for a few hours. 

---   Whirl was like an unexploded minefield buried under centuries of broken glass and smoldering debris. A single step made to avoid that cutting glass could very well end up setting him off, but leaving him to fester would only put many others in danger. Whether or not he could be trusted remained to be seen, though with the lack of an actual brig they would have to resort to different methods to keep him under some semblance of their control. Usually when dealing with an unknown mech like this it is protocol to use restraints or sedation. However, the thought of restraining an empurata victim made his tanks churn unpleasantly. It felt horrendously cruel. Though in retrospect Optimus doubted they had any restraints that were truly capable of holding the mech, even if they did it wasn’t likely worth the fallout. Not to mention their medic’s lack of knowledge on Whirl’s frame-type meant an attempt at sedation could very well harm the rotormech. Their current circumstances were far from ideal 

Thus, the decision had been made to watch Whirl in shifts. It was agreed on that he couldn’t be left alone, especially not while there were humans frequenting the base. (The humans couldn’t simply stay at their respective homes, not while the decepticons knew of them.) As time goes on he knows the team will have to have more in-depth discussions on handling their guest, that is after they begin gleaning more information about him. He’ll need to be kept under careful supervision until they could figure out his true allegiance. If it turns out Whirl is indeed an autobot, well, it’s safe to say Optimus was curious about the mindset of whoever recruited Whirl. As of now he couldn’t bring himself to fully believe the rotormech was a decepticon spy; perhaps he was a neutral that had converted toward the fall of Cybertron? Being driven to pick a side while their world was ravaged would explain his level of malice and disrespect. Therefore, the idea of him becoming a permanent fixture on the team was not something exactly fathomable at the moment. At the least, having him here meant they could limit the havoc he could inflict on this planet, and Optimus was glad for that. 

The mech currently clouding Optimus’s processor limps into the room, fresh mesh patches littering his unconventionally proportioned frame. He stretches languidly, the smooth moment ignorant of the pain he should be in, as well as the nearby screen that becomes impaled on one of the long protrusions from his shoulders. The monitor sends out a shower of sparks and glass, that is exacerbated by Whirl’s attempts in dislodging himself. Soon the monitor is torn from its mount and flung onto the floor with a loud crunch. Whirl seems to consider the broken screen for a moment before he resumes his stretching, none too discretely pushing the mess behind a staircase with his pede. Optimus exvents quietly. There was another issue that needed to be addressed soon. They couldn’t keep him cooped up here for long. Fliers can’t be confined to small spaces, and Whirl spindly as he is, isn’t a compact mech. The base was already crowded before, and their new addition appeared content to take up as much space as possible. 

Taking a nanosec to prepare himself, Optimus pings Bee to join him in the main room. The young scout had been the only one to volunteer to watch over their guest, so he’d take the first shift. Hopefully this would work as a good evaluation of Whirl’s demeanor, though that was dependent on how much Whirl was willing to interact with his supervisors. Upon entering the room Bumblebee plants himself at his leader’s side, shadowing him as they near the rotormech. The blue mech continues stretching, ignoring their presence until he’s apparently satisfied with the limberness of his joints. When it becomes clear the mech had no plans of acknowledging them, Optimus begins to speak. “Whirl, this is Bumblebee our scout, he’ll be taking you to scan an Earth alt mode once our human liaison can locate something suitable for you.” Whirl’s optic flits between the two, his gaze lingering long enough on the yellow scout to make him squirm. Tapping a claw against the bottom of his helm, he hums a long drawn out note that raises in pitch, as if pretending to consider something distasteful. 

“Mmmmm, no.” The rotormech ends his humming with a blunt negative, jeering and short. ”That’d be a big ol’ downgrade. I like my current alt, it’s saucy.” Optimus fights the urge to rub his temples, beside him Bee gives a startled laugh. “Try to reconsider, Cybertronian alt modes will draw too much attention. We cannot let you travel outside the base with your current alt.” “Don’t worry about it, short stack.” Whirl bounces on the tips of his pedes, most definitely making sure to look down at the Prime as he does so. “I’m very stealthy. The sky is blue, I’m blue, it’s practically a done deal, no one will notice me.” He could already tell this conversation wasn’t going to bend in his favor, so he decides to switch tactics to appeal his point further. He figures he can depart some dearly needed information about their situation to the mech in the process. It’s a futile task. 

“In any matter, I have been informed that you are at least somewhat knowledgeable about this planet-“ At that Whirl utters a short chirp of ‘real Earth,’ Optimus’s faceplate cuts a stern frown, though Whirl doesn’t cease in his hopping. “-considering you made references to human ‘pop-culture’ when you first encountered one of our charges. Thus, am I correct in assuming you know that humans are the dominant species on this planet?” It’s hard to tell if Whirl nods or if he’s just letting his helm follow the rest of his frame in its bouncing. For the sake of his dwindling patience Optimus takes it as confirmation. “On Earth we are guests, and the human government has afforded us their hospitality under the requirement that we adhere to the rules provided to us. That includes hiding ourselves from the general population, and seeing fit to communicate with their liaison.” There’s a soft hiss of Whirl’s pistons as he goes for a higher jump, coming dangerously close to another monitor.“Please stop that-“ He doesn’t. Optimus warily lays a firm servo on Whirl’s shoulder, and Whirl pauses to give it an affronted blink. “The human you first met is one of our charges, our allies, our friends . These charges are returning today, and it is prudent that you treat them with respect, and dignity. Intentionally harming any one of them will be met with dire consequences. Threatening behavior toward our allies will not be tolerated.” 

  Whirl doesn’t give any inclination that he understood the severity of Optimus’s orders, simply plucking the autobot’s servo off his shoulder with a puff of air. “Check before you step, got it.” The rotormech responds, a dismissive wave of a claw perfectly conveying his thoughts on the matter. To his chagrin, Optimus realizes this is probably the best response he’d be getting out of the blue mech. It was a shame really, Whirl was displaying disconcertingly low levels of care toward other lifeforms so far. He could only hope the rotormech would warm up to the planet’s natives as the other autobots did. However, unlike the his team Whirl had already known of Earth and her people, so at best all he needed was some firsthand experience with the planet. The worst outcome would be that Whirl has reached his own conclusions about the humans, via whatever transmissions he must have picked up before he got here. The thought was sobering, that a mech like this, an empurata victim who no doubt faced much strife due to his condition would condemn himself to his biases-like others stereotyped him- instead of allowing himself to see the beauty, and potential of the world around him. Prime’s saddened dismay must have shown in his EM field, or his faceplate, because Whirl teeters back, disgruntled. 

Optimus steps away, allowing the clawed mech some much needed space. “I’ll let you two get acquainted,” Optimus inclines his helm to Bumblebee, who had been a silent observer throughout the exchange. The cyclops’s own helm swivels to meet the scout’s blue optics, quickly as if having forgotten him. Bee is very an amiable youngling, Optimus trusts that will work in his favor when dealing with Whirl. Nevertheless, he can’t help but feel as if he’s leaving his scout to the rotormech’s mercy. “I have faith that you’ll find Bumblebee to be fully equipped to answer any questions you may have, Whirl. If you have need of my presence I’ll be conferring with our medic in the medbay.” The Prime leaves the room, not quite hastily, but he certainly didn’t stroll, as he was none too keen to fall into another argument with Whirl. He had an inkling that the rotormech was fairly displeased by the pity that had leaked into his EM field. It was best to remove himself from the equation for now.

--

Bulkhead had had some real choice words about the mech they found yesterday. He had outright refused to be the first one to watch Whirl, opting to volunteer to help Arcee pick up the kids instead. Personally, Bee didn’t see what the fuss was about, sure the guy was pretty odd, and had no respect for authority, but he didn’t seem bad per se. Beyond that Raf had been really disappointed the day they didn’t let the kids stick around to see Whirl when they first brought him in. Bee liked to think his charge had a knack for discerning good people from rotten apples. Or whatever that human saying was. Either way if Raf thought this mech was a good mech then so did Bee, he trusted his best friend’s judgement. Whirl was blinking at him now, appearing to have relaxed once Optimus exited the room. “‘Sup, Bugboy?” “Hi!” Being quite use to receiving insect related nicknames, the scout takes the moniker in stride. Bee was pleased by the opportunity to introduce Whirl to more of Earth. It was nice being considered the more experienced one for once. Most others underestimated him due to his age. Now with this new autobot he had the chance prove his expertise, and maybe get the feel of what being a mentor is like. He shifts his weight on his pedes, excited. “Don’t worry about the alt mode change, I know it’s weird but Earth has plenty of stuff to choose from. We’ll find you something that suits you, and then it’s just a matter of getting use to it. Who knows, you might come to like it!” “Is that so?” “Yeah! By the way my charge, Raf, is really excited to meet you. Well, officially I mean.” “Interesting. I see.” “I’ve never met an autobot that was a flier either so I get why he’s so interested,” Bee gives his doorwings an idle flutter at the thought of flying. How lucky! His freedom was limited by his wheels, while this mech could simply take to the sky when roads ended. “What division are you from? Raf thinks you were part of the aerialbots, is that right?” Whirl brings a claw close to his optic and mimes squishing Bee’s helm. The scout buzzes curiously at the action, gaining no response from the blue mech. It dawns on him that he’s obviously not paying attention, and the scout finds himself doubting the other had listened to a single word he had been saying. Discouraged, Bumblebee finds himself struggling to continue the conversation. “Uhm, flying always seemed pretty cool....” The blue mech perks up when Bee finally trails off his sentence. “So, what’s your real name?” Bee stills, baffled, managing nothing but a questioning beep, before Whirl is barreling on with clicking claws. “I gotta say, it’s pretty weird for Prime to name younglings after dead mechs.” “ Wha - I think you have me mistaken for someone else?” Bee shakes his helm, jittery confusion mixed with morbid curiosity snaking through his plating. Who could Whirl possibly be talking about? “I’m not named after anyone, especially not someone who’s been deactivated-“ His stare is so utterly blank, a complete lack of comprehension, just like before, he’s not listening and he’s not even trying to hide it. Bee shuts off his vocoder, shooting the mech a disgruntled glare. “You done?” Whirl cants his helm, giving the younger mech a once over that feels awfully like he’s being judged. For what, he isn’t sure. “ Yeah , I deactivated my translator as soon as you started beeping. Thought it’d be funny, but you really took your sweet time shutting up.” An embarrassed heat builds up beneath his plating, his doorwings stiffen high on his back, and he clenches his servos into fists. “That’s not funny!” Sure he had proven himself to be rude, but that was just mean. He didn’t expect this sort of childish taunting from Whirl. Maybe this mentor idea was going to need some reworking, especially if Whirl actually had trouble with empathy. Bee sets his servos on his hips, trying for the same disapproving look he had seen Optimus employ before. “Humans teach their offspring about what they call the golden rule: treat others the way you want to be treated. You wouldn’t like it if I acted like I couldn’t understand you, would you?” “...What?” “Turn your translator back on!”

--

It’s not long before Arcee and Bulkhead return to the base, their passengers in tow. With the entire team back on base it was declared time for a more formal introduction. They gather in the main area, and it feels a lot more crowded with the fifth cybertronian in the room. Optimus introduces the team with the same serious tone he imparted onto anything. He goes around the room, stating each of their respective designations, ranks, and official titles. When he finally turns to Ratchet, Whirl snaps to attention, the antenna on his helm twitching. He hadn’t so much as acknowledged any of the other mechs, why him? Itching uncomfortably under the sudden attention the medic resolutely refuses to meet the other’s gaze, feeling the blue mech’s optic heavy upon his plating, waiting. Optimus notices the intense stare and seems to hesitate. “...this is Ratchet, our medic.” Whirl shutters his optic. “That was a wink,” He supplies, unprompted. From his side Bee looks up at Ratchet curiosity. ::Is he flirting with you?:: ::No:: He almost doesn’t think to reply to the comm, his processor rolling to a stop. Whirl had called him by his designation earlier, before he had been introduced. The thought makes his plating crawl. A series of questions building at the front of his mind. How did he know? Who could have told Whirl his name? Why was he so intent on staring at him? Was it an intimidation tactic? Ratchet makes the mistake of making optic-contact with the rotormech. Across the room that gold optic dilates so wide it envelops the shadows of its socket. Ratchet cringes. Fowler, and the kids are introduced to Whirl without much fanfare. He doesn’t even seem to notice them until Fowler, who clearly has a bone to pick with the blue mech, starts on a tirade on the fragility of autobot and human relations. It’s a long speech that the autobots had all been on the receiving end of before, though now it was personalized to include the rotormech’s recent ‘jaunt’ around town, and why that was very bad. The agent finishes with an impassioned flourish of his hands, giving the new bot an expectant look. Whirl sorta just squints. “I bet his translator is still off.” Bee grumps, his charge patiently waiting his turn to talk to the new mech blinks in surprise. The other two children glance between the bot and his charge, for some sort of explanation. Optimus internally groans knowing the agent wouldn’t take well to being so flippantly ignored. “Whirl, you’ll need to activate your translator to understand the humans, until you download several of the planet’s common languages.” “Oh yeah, I forgot I turned that off, thought I was having a stroke.” As predicted Fowler is fairly insulted by the mech’s lack of respect. He rounds on the thirty-foot bot with clenched fists, his face red. “Pal, you and me are going to have problems if you keep up this too-cool-for-school act.” Optimus decides it was better to not point out Whirl likely didn’t know what that meant. “I’ve already had to clean up after your surprise drop in at Jasper, it’s like you have zero idea of how to be discrete. I don’t know how you’re supposed to be an autobot, all I’ve seen from you so far is someone who’s irresponsible, dangerous, disrespectful, and just downright irritating !” “You’re absolutely right!” Whirl agrees, cackling at the scowl that contorts the man’s face in response. The children share a laugh at Fowler’s expense, and Fowler fumes, settling his anger on the leader of the autobots. “ This is the kind of bots you’re bringing to Earth?” As Optimus tries to defuse situation with the infuriated agent Whirl pads over to the other humans, looking down at them curiously. They take each other's features in, Whirl doing so with considerably less enthusiasm than the humans. He was after all, very unique in his frame-type, whilst humans didn’t really have the same capacity for variation as cybertronians. “You’re kinda cool looking,” Miko concludes, fixing the mech into the frame of her phone’s lenses to take several photos of him. He makes an odd sound akin to a snort, and turns his attention to Rafael who chances a smile at the lanky mech. “ You ,” Whirl peers closer, gaining a wary whine from Bumblebee. “You were there when I splatted.” Raf furrows his brows, finding the mech’s word choice concerning. He nods nevertheless. Whatever Whirl is about to say next is interrupted by Miko curling over one of the railings, waving wildly to garner the mech’s attention. Raf frowns, unhappy about having the potential conversation stolen from him. There was only so many things he could talk about with Whirl, the autobots had made sure that the children understood he wasn’t quite stable yet. For the most part it made sense, like someone with PTSD they didn’t know what his triggers were, there was no need to cause him undue stress with invasive questions. Somethings though, they didn’t explain, like why they couldn’t ask about his claws or lack of a face. If the uncomfortable silence that followed when he had attempted to pry meant anything, it probably wasn’t good. Miko grins wide at the mech, a sly glint to her eyes. “I don’t believe you’re an autobot, buuuuut I might reconsider if you give me a helicopter ride.” “No.” Bulkhead apparently disproves of the idea, plucking his charge away from the rotormech’s vicinity while she pouts. They ‘chat’ for awhile before Whirl grows bored of the humans, and wanders out of their range. It’s night by the time the kids are taken home, leaving Ratchet nearly alone with Whirl as his next ‘babysitter’. Fowler remains, awaiting a more serious meeting with their leader.

--

Whirl perches on the walkway near the medic, stretching his frame down precariously to corner Ratchet against his terminal. “Oi, Doc-bot, dig the new frame, didn’t recognize you at first. You look great, like you’re not about to keel over of old age,” He presses closer uncaring of his invasion of the medic’s personal space, and continues speaking in a conspiratorial whisper. “This planet blows , when are we going back to the Lost Light ?” “What are you ta-“ Whirl drowns him out, raising his voice in such an exaggerated manner it can only come out as if he’s trying to ward off any eavesdroppers. In the most suspicious way possible. “Boy! I sure do love Earth, and it’s many little squishable fleshies .” He fixes his unsettling optic on the only other unfortunate occupant of the room. Fowler shifts uncomfortably, passing Ratchet a confused glance before slinking back into the elevator. Apparently satisfied with that, Whirl pokes a claw against Ratchet’s chassis. “I figured you wouldn’t want to associate with me in front of these pansies,” It’s said casually enough, but like anything from Whirl’s vocoder, it doesn’t make sense. The blue mech glances about the room, as if expecting someone to barge in. “I’ll forgive you for avoiding me, after you snag some energon sticks for me from Eyebrow’s office once we’re back on the ship.” Ratchet tries to get a word in, but Whirl just keeps on talking. “I did a lil sleuthing earlier, and it looks like the cruddy invention Brainstorm definitely said I could test didn’t make the trip.” Whirl shrugs, the motion tipping his frame further into Ratchet’s bubble. “My comm is busted, you’ll have to call up the ship. Make ‘em take a detour for us, well for you , they’re probably happy I’m gone.” Mounting confusion spills over into spite. A sneer finds its home on the medic’s faceplate. He catches one of Whirl’s claws in his servo and shoves it away from himself, causing the other to have to steady himself so as to not tumble down from his perch. “I may be a doctor, but I am most definitely not obligated to put up with your unhinged rambling,” Ratchet growls out, crossing his arms over his chassis. A flutter of his spark urges him to be silent, he ignores it. “Allow me to make this very clear, Whirl: I. Am. Not. Going. Anywhere. Especially not with the likes of someone like you . Nor will I be aiding you in whatever delusional plan you’ve concocted. You’re barely welcomed here as it is, we all know empurata singles out the worst of us.” ‘That isn’t true.’ Whirl freezes. In that moment Ratchet knows instantly he just made a grave mistake. Shame grips his spark and he flounders for an appropriate apology. It’s much too late, the damage done starts a domino effect in Whirl’s frame. That golden optic narrows into a tiny fiery pinprick, and somehow that was more terrifying than the gun barrels humming beneath his cockpit. Like a switch had just been flipped his entire demeanor changes. Plating bristles in a quick flare that rolls over his protoform, leaving the rotormech looking disheveled and wild. “What.” Low and unnerving like danger lurking behind the next corner. His slitted optic burns molten, and his previously blank EM field slams into Ratchet’s aggressively. The medibot chokes on air, flinching into the terminal which offers no protection. EM fields weren’t used often anymore, and especially not like this. Empurata victims weren’t even suppose to have non-static EM fields, Whirl had to be manufacturing his negative field on purpose. Claws sear inches away from the medibot’s abdominal plating, rending deep into the terminal below. The machine shuts off with a desperate hiss of static, and the medic wonders if he’ll meet his end in the same manner. Plating flared, the enraged rotormech crowds impossibly closer. “I don’t care if you want to stay here, what matters is I don’t . If you wanna abandon the crew that’s whatever , but if you think I’m down to rust on this dumbaft planet because you want to go back to being Prime’s pet you’ve got another thing coming. And that thing is my pede straight up your aft with all those pipes you’ve got stuffed there.” Ratchet swallows a great gulp of air that stutters in his vents wildly, his bright blue optics cycling wide.The rotormech watches. “Huh. I expected you to hit me by now.” Whirl taps a short rhythm into Ratchet’s chassis, acting as if they were having a friendly chat rather than some sort of rage induced confrontation. His nonchalance sets a cold burn through the medic’s lines. ”I just threatened you, where’s the wrench? Or does Prime have you on such a short leash you’re just going to sit there, and let me tear you a new one?” Oh he certainly wants to retaliate, to shout, to push Whirl back, to get angry, to call for help, to do something , but he’s frozen. That EM field smothers him, embroiled thick with bloodlust. He’s scared. Utterly so. It brings forth a surge of old memories from his rookie years. The horror then, at being discovered by decepticons while his frantic servos were buried deep in the greying chassis of his dying patient, that fervent terror had not been for his own wellbeing. After that he couldn’t fathom fearing for himself at the same level as he did for others. But now...? An overwhelming sense of danger sees fit to drown him in its call, like the gnawing teeth of a steel trap awaiting the slightest breath to clamp down on his ridged form. It doesn’t appear to be the reaction Whirl wanted. Unexpectedly the rotormech withdraws. His plating shunts back onto his protoform in rapid clicks, and he shambles off the walkway disjointedly, as if distracted. Whirl pauses, large claws hanging limp at his sides, staring Ratchet down in the ebbing wake of his fury. Then he leaves.

--

That didn’t go down like it should have. What was it about this planet that made everybody so weak? Himself included, because for whatever reason that look on Ratchet’s faceplate had made him feel weird . He wouldn’t go so far as to call it guilty, but it was definitely...unpleasant. A far cry from the shirking glee he’d normally experience when garnering fear from others. He didn’t like it, he didn’t like it at all. 

--

   In the darkness a hulking silver mech regards his favored subordinate in front of him. Recent events found him surveying a mass grave brought about a single mech on a rampage. The mine was a loss to be pitied, but the information gained here was enthralling. “So, Starscream wasn’t lying about the rogue autobot?” Red optics glitter with twisted delight. Upon a screen serving as a sleek mech’s face, a shaky cell phone video focuses on a mass of blue metal rising up from the ground, before taking to the sky. Sharp denta bare a serrated grin at the sight. “And a flier no less, how interesting .”