#my one gripe is the fucking human mouth and teeth. WHY does he have that. i rlly love his elephant trunk pedipalp arms tho

[strigops]

just finished watching spaceman (2024) and i know that hanuš is just a vehicle for the human introspection wrapped in a tragically friendly giant alien spider package but i am going mad with how little they explored his own story. i need an entire extra hour of just him reminiscing abt his home planet and explaining the social customs of telepathic spider cultures. mostly i want to give him a hug and a jar of nutella. and an egg.

[batboyimagines]

Cold-blooded part two [Damian Wayne x Male Reader]

You will want to read the first part of this! And another note, I feel it’s important to say I haven’t actually seen the movie this is loosely based off of? I only know it’s vague plot. So heads up, this will definitely be deviating from that plot!

“So first things first, I’m gonna need supplies for this.” Your dad says.

You, Dad, Robin, and the rest of the Teen Titans have regrouped in the living room. After much planning and replanning, there’s finally a plan.

“I’m going to have to swing by an old flame’s to get some extra muscle for this ritual we’re setting up. It’s not made for a single person to do.”

“My ma?” You ask. Dad makes a constipated look.

“No,” He says, “her name is Zatanna. She’s helped the Justice League before and I’m sure she’d be willing to help them now.”

“Oh, okay.” You say sinking back into the couch, arms crossed. Though you know they’re in danger, you still feel a bit weird about helping them out. It’s a bit ridiculous, only Wonder Woman and Aquaman really have ties to the gods. And Aquaman’s not in any danger, so you don’t have to worry about him.

But you know your Ma, and you know how bitter she is over what they did to her. Which is totally fair. It’s just that you’re not sure how she’d feel about you saving one of the god’s pet projects.

“... and that’s that. So, when do we need to leave?” Your dad finishes. Oh shoot, you spaced.

“It would be best if we went right now.” Nightwing replies. He pushes off the wall and his team follows suit, readying to depart. Your dad turns to you.

“Listen, bud, do you think you’ll be fine holding down the fort while I’m gone?” He asks. You hesitate.

“Uh, actually, I was wonder if... I dunno, I could come along?” Your dad reels a bit.

“Kiddo, this isn’t a safe ‘Bring your kid to work’ deal, this is dangerous. You could get hurt.”

“I know, but I feel weird hanging out here while you’re not around. And I’m a bit worried that some rando could come to the door and I won’t know what to do. Also I’m an all magic half snake being with unknown powers sooo.” 

Your dad thins his lips, looking thoughtful.

“Really, Dad, I’ll be fine. I’ll stick out of the action and whatnot and if I think I’m in any danger I’ll run as far as possible.” You plead. “I’ll have my phone with me? I know how to call now.”

“... alright. But you stay out of trouble.” He relents. You push to your feet with a grin and go to get your coat.

Under your breath, you hiss, “Hell yesss.”

The great thing about living with a magic user is that they have the best modes of transport. In your somewhat short life, you yourself haven’t traveled very much. When your mother is exiled and has no way of getting off her small prison of an island, you tend to not go anywhere. 

Being passed between your Ma and your Pa is a pretty recent development. This is the most traveling you’ve done in your entire life, and the option to go to different places is still a marvel to you. Really, the average person can just walk down a street, hop on a train, and go to an entirely new place, no fuss? What a concept.

An exciting, and sort of terrifying, concept.

“I’ve got a short cut to hers down in that alley,” Your father explains, leading you and the Titans through the empty streets, “though I try not to use it much.”

“Why not?” You ask from his side, shivering a little and shrinking into your coat. Though you’re thankful that early mornings mean that only the occasional jogger is awake, they are unfortunately very cold. And you are part snake. With cold blood.

“We didn’t exactly part on good terms.” 

“Are you sure she’ll help us?” Koriander asks.

“Oh she will, she’s not my biggest fan, but she wouldn’t leave you lot to the wolves just because she doesn’t like me.” He finally comes to a stop in front of the alley. You, more focused on not letting your teeth chatter, bump into his back. 

“This is it right?” You say, muffled into the collar of your coat. Man, you wish you brought a scarf. 

“Sure is.”

The alley is a dead end, entirely ordinary and bland. There’s not even a dumpster shoved against one of its grimy brick walls. 

But your father walks in, as if it leads somewhere, and you and the Titans follow. As you approach the bricked end, you expect your father to do, well, something to open the wall or whatever. But no, he just walks straight through the bricks.

You blink a bit. Since you’ve come to the modern world, you’ve been getting into video games. Shitty, old video games that your Pa bought from a thrift shop in panic before you had arrived for the first time. And your father walking through the bricks sort of reminds you of when you clip through walls.

Even so, you don’t want to be left behind. So even though that looked really weird, you walk through too.

The other side is much darker, and much, much grimier. And the air is stuffier. Your eyes water and you hack a bit.

“You alright there bud?” Your Pa asks in concern, laying a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“The air here sucks!” You wheeze, blinking  tears from your sensitive eyes. 

“I agree.” Robin grumbles from your side. Looks like the Titans made it through fine as well. Your father raises an eyebrow.

“This is your city, isn’t it?” He asks. His city? 

“Just because I protect this wretched place, does not mean I enjoy breathing it’s polluted air.” Robin gripes. Nightwing makes an amused face at that. 

“Whatever,” Pa shrugs, “Zatanna’s down this way.”

Down that way, a quaint, hole in the wall magic shop glows. Back home with Ma, your light sources are either the sun, fire, or a magical doodad that somehow wound up in your possession. So no matter how many times you see light bulbs or neon lights, you don’t think the marvel will ever wear off.

The door rings a cheery jingle as your Pa pushes it open and you hit a wall of hot air when you enter. You revel in its heat. Living with cold blood is such a drag. Sometimes you miss the warm beaches of your mothers prison, though the nights leave warmth to be desired. 

After soaking in the warm air, you take a moment to survey the inside. It’s... a bit cluttered. And dusty. For some reason, magical items are always old and it seems like old things are always a little dirty. 

You brush a finger on one of the wooden tables displaying merchandise, yep, that’s some dusty stuff alright. You stick your tongue out. It smells dusty too. And like books and perfume. Flowery perfume. You hate flowery perfume. You tuck your tongue back in your mouth and grimace. 

It’s one of the worse human inventions. One time Dad came home from what you gathered was some sort of fling, stinking like someone’s nasty perfume. Though you sort of feel guilty for it now, you couldn’t stick around in his presence for more than two minutes. 

“Zatanna! You in?” Your father calls out into the maze of tall shelves. If you’re not imagining it, he’s making his voice just that bit more obnoxious. 

Robin looks at you and catches your eye. He makes a face at your father’s behavior that has you stifling a snort.

“Zataaaaannaaaaaaa, aaaare yoooou heeeeereeee?”

Wow, he’s laying the annoying on thick.

“Zataaaaaa-“

“Yes! Oh my god, I’m here!” A dark haired woman gripes as she appears through the shelves.

“Zatanna! My good friend,” your father grins, “how’ve you been?”

“Great, until you waltzed back into my life.” She says flatly.

“Good, good, anyways,” you zone out at your father says things. 

You’re distracted by the displays of magical items that you’re not totally sure are real. There’s not doubt in your mind that this Zatanna lady is a magic user, she totally is, but would she actually sell magic items? That stuff is no joke, your Ma’s told you plenty of horror stories about magic gone wrong. And you fell asleep in the middle of half of those!

“See something you like?” Oh shoot, she’s talking to you.

“Uhhh,” fuck, how do you respond? Well, there’s nothing catching your eye you guess, “uhm.. no?”

“It’s just that you seem so interested in the display,” she says amusedly gesturing towards the general space you just staring at.

“Well, I was just wondering if any of this stuff is real, cause, magic stuffs... dangerous usually.” 

“I have real items, but I keep those in the back. This stuff is for the common folk.” 

“Oh cool.”

“So,” Zatanna turns back to the others. You take that as a sign to go back to spacing out. 

Heaters are awesome. They’re the best invention of the modern world, in your humble opinion. All the hot air is coming from a vent in the wall next to you. You scooch in front of it. Hot airrr, hell yeahhh. This rocks. You could stand right here for hours.

“C’mon kiddo, we’re off.” 

GOD. DAMN IT.

Dejectedly, you trudge to the open door, where your Pa awaits. Ugh, that chilly breeze is not welcoming. 

[ponykidcurtis]

let the wolves come crashing through

this was gonna be a joke but i wrote 2k by accident. oops. anyway this is the werepire fic based off of that anon i got a while ago

“Buck,” Eddie says, “Halloween isn’t until next month.”

“Eddie,” Buck parrots, “I’m aware of that fact, thanks.”

They're at the station, settling down after a call. The crew is spread over the couches, taking whatever rest they can before the alarm rings again; and, as usual, that means they devolve into ribbing and jokes at the other's expense. Buck had just finished laughing uproariously at Hen's last quip when Eddie had cut in, and honestly, he's not entirely sure whether or not this is the lead up to a joke.

"Right," Eddie says. He lifts an eyebrow. "So what's with the teeth?" 

Buck blinks at him. "...the teeth?" 

"Yeah," Eddie insists, narrowing his eyes. "It looks like you're wearing fake fangs, or something."

Buck just looks even more confused. He opens his mouth to respond, and Eddie catches another flash of those sharp canines—unnaturally sharp. Like he's wearing some knock-off party store vampire teeth.

Buck gapes for a second, and then intelligently says, "Huh?"

"The teeth, man," Eddie repeats. "Why are they so sharp? What the hell are you wearing them for?" 

Eddie glances at Hen and Chim, and they're both just staring at him. Did they not see it? Why aren't they saying anything? 

"Eddie," Buck says slowly. He still looks so openly, adorably baffled. "...these are just my teeth." 

Eddie stares at him. He stares back. Neither of them blink. 

"I'm so confused," Eddie says finally. "Is this a prank or something?" 

Buck shares a look with Hen and Chim, tilts his head. Eddie looks back and forth between them. And then, suddenly, Buck sits up.

"Oh," he says, like he's just had a realization. "Oh my god, did I not tell you?" 

"Tell me what?" 

Hen snorts, and Buck shoots her a glare. Eddie has no idea what's happening.

"I thought you knew," Buck groans. "This is going to take so much explaining—" 

He cuts himself off and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks up helplessly at Chim, then at Hen, but they both shrug. 

"You're on your own for this one, Buckaroo," Chim says. Buck sighs.

"Okay, okay," Buck says, and hops to his feet. "Come on."

He grabs Eddie by the wrist and practically drags him from the room, heading for the stairs. Hen and Chimney's laughter follows them from the loft, all the way to the bay doors, and Eddie is still hopelessly lost.

~~~

"Let me get this straight," Eddie says twenty minutes later, leaning back against his seat. "You're...a what?"

They're holed up in the back of the firetruck, for privacy, which is really mostly for Eddie's benefit—Buck knows most people don't react well when informed that their best friend is a so-called "creature of the night" and they didn't notice. It had taken a little demonstration to get Eddie to believe him, believe he wasn't just pranking, and now the poor guy is looking a little shell-shocked. 

"Werewolf-vampire hybrid," Buck explains again, smiling hesitantly. "Uh, the scientific classification is homo lycanthropus vampiris. Or something. Technically." 

"And you've always been that," Eddie says. 

"Yeah," Buck agrees. 

"And you're not just fucking with me," Eddie says again. He still looks unsure of the whole thing. 

"Definitely not just fucking with you," Buck agrees again. 

"Show me again," Eddie demands. Buck does. 

"Okay," Eddie says. He's still staring at Buck like it hasn't quite clicked, like he doesn't understand, but he's nodding. "Okay. I'm, uh—I'm gonna need a minute, I think." 

"Right, yeah," Buck says. "You want me to just…?" 

He gestures at the half-open door of the truck, already climbing out of his seat to head for it before Eddie can even agree. He hops out and shoots a look at Hen and Chimney, who are peeking over the railing of the loft to look down at him. Hen raises an eyebrow, and Buck just shrugs. He glanced back at Eddie, who's staring at his hands with a confused furrow to his brow, then backs away. The guy needs a minute. That's understandable. He needs to process.

And then the alarm rings. 

Buck hoists himself back into the truck on instinct, sliding in next to Eddie like usual. He cringes at the look on Eddie's face and offers, "Sorry." 

Then the others climb in across from them and they're off. They still have jobs to do—processing will have to wait. 

~~~

A few tense calls later, the crew piles back into the station for the end of their shift. Eddie had been quiet since his talk with Buck, and the others had let him be for a time—but now, as they're stripping their gear in the locker room and packing up to head home, he's looking at Buck like he wants to start asking questions.

"So you're like, half vampire, half werewolf, right?" Eddie asks, as the locker room empties out. Buck straightens up with his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. 

"I guess?" Buck shrugs. He's not usually comfortable with all the questions, so he's a little on edge. But this is Eddie, so he'll deal. 

"Does that mean your dad was a werewolf, your mom was a vampire, or something?" 

"Other way around, but yeah." 

"So you were like...a werewolf vampire baby." 

"Yeah?" Eddie zips up his own bag and slings it over his shoulder, heading for the door. Buck follows. 

"I bet you had a crazy biting phase as a kid," Eddie says, flashing a grin. Buck lets out a startled laugh, because that's definitely not the direction he thought this was going to go. 

"Wait, is Maddie—" Eddie starts, and his eyes go wide again. 

"Yes," Buck says before he can finish, "We both are. Did you seriously just not notice?" 

"I'm not exactly the most observant," Eddie grumbles. He unlocks his truck and grabs Buck's bag from him, slinging it into the back seat alongside his own. 

Buck hops into the passenger seat, and it's quiet for another moment as they pull out of the parking lot and onto the road. He fiddles with the radio for a moment, trying to find a good station, but he can see Eddie fidgeting out of the corner of his eye, so he gives up and flips it off again.

"Alright, spit 'em out," Buck sighs, shooting Eddie an unimpressed look. "I know you've got more questions, and your fidgeting is annoying. What do you want to know?" 

"Uh, well," Eddie pauses, then starts again, "They're probably stupid." 

"They usually are," Buck deadpans. Eddie glares at him. "Ask them anyway."

"Fine, but if you laugh at me, you're walking the rest of the way." 

"No I'm not," Buck says, grinning when Eddie lifts a disparaging eyebrow at him, "but continue." 

"Okay, first of all, do you drink blood?" Eddie asks. Buck fights back a smile at the earnest and mildly concerned curiosity in his voice. 

"Sometimes," he answers honestly. "Not always. Bobby's cooking tastes better anyway." 

"Can you turn into a wolf?" Eddie asks, and it seems that now he's started, he can't stop—the questions keep coming. "If you can turn into a wolf, are you like, a vampire wolf? Do you drink wolf blood? Or do you still drink human blood as a wolf? Is it like a video game buff, where you stop being a vampire when you're a wolf? Or are they stackable, so you're both at once? Or—"

"Oh my god, Eddie," Buck cuts him off, unable to stifle his laugh this time. "Did you just compare my life to a video game?"

He was expecting shock, disbelief, maybe even anger, because those would be logical reactions to discovering the supernatural. But really, this response is just so Eddie. 

"Hey! I told you not to laugh," Eddie gripes half-heartedly. "Don't make me stop this car." 

"I'm sorry," Buck gasps out between bouts of laughter. "That's just—you're so ridiculous, I'm sorry—"

He dissolves into laughter again, and Eddie just makes a grumbled noise of indignation. They drive for another block before Buck gets a handle on himself again, enough to actually answer Eddie's questions.

"Okay, okay, I'm good, I'm done," Buck says, shifting in his seat and trying to compose himself. He sits up and holds his hand up, counting on his fingers as he answers. 

"Yes, I can turn into a wolf. No, I don't drink wolf blood. I mean, I guess I could? But I don't have to. I don't even know how that would work," he pauses and considers for a second, before shaking his head and continuing, "anyway, no, I don't drink human blood as a wolf either, but I guess I could do that too. If I wanted. And no, it's not like a video game buff, that's so—"

He snorts again, quickly covering his mouth to stifle another chuckle. "Sorry, sorry, I'm not gonna laugh again, I swear." 

"You can turn into a wolf," Eddie repeats. He's still looking at the road, but his voice is awestruck. 

"Yeah, it's pretty cool," Buck admits, "I'll show you sometime, maybe." 

Eddie goes quiet for a moment, and they're just pulling into his driveway when Buck speaks again. 

"And I'm not 'both at once' or whatever," he explains, "I'm a hybrid. It's like, a third option. An entirely seperate thing." 

"So you're..." Eddie thinks for a moment, "...a vampwolf."

Buck stares at him, face twisted into a mildly offended grimace. "Absolutely not." 

"A vampirewolf," Eddie says, turning to climb out of the truck. 

"No," Buck says. He follows him out, grabbing their bags from the back on his way. 

"Werevampire?" Eddie tries. He pays his pockets for his house key. Buck raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.

"No," Buck says, pulling the key out of Eddie's back pocket and handing it to him. Eddie smiles gratefully at him and moves to unlock the door.

"Wampire," Eddie says, and Buck just looks vaguely disgusted.

"What are you doing?" 

"Well I can't just call you a hybrid," Eddie tells him, "that sounds too clinical. It's weird. What am I supposed to call you?" 

"Just call me Buck, man." 

"Terrible idea. How about a...vaere-volf," Eddie puts on an over-the-top fake accent, sounding like a character out of an old Dracula movie.

"I hate you," Buck says, and steps inside. "Can we order a pizza?" 

"Yeah, I was thinking of trying that new sauce," Eddie agrees, "with the garlic and chicken? It looked good." 

"Sounds alright," Buck says. "You know I'll eat pretty much anything."

He flops onto the couch and grabs Eddie's laptop, pulling it towards him and flipping it open to make the order. He's just clicking onto the pizza place's website when Eddie suddenly looks up and says, "Hold on." 

"What?" Buck looks up at him. 

"Can you even eat garlic?" Eddie asks. He looks worried, suddenly. "I thought vampires couldn't have garlic? Dogs can't have garlic. Does that apply to werewolves too? Was I about to feed you something you're allergic to?" 

"Slow down, dude," Buck says, trying not to laugh again. "The garlic thing, about vampires, is a myth. I love garlic. I want so much garlic on this pizza. It's fine." 

The honest concern on Eddie's face is a little endearing, if Buck is being honest. He knows Eddie is just asking all the questions so that he can understand, and that's fine. It's nice, even.

"Okay, okay. As long as we're not ordering anything potentially dangerous for…" Eddie pauses, thinking, and then grins cheekily at Buck. "...a were-pire."

Buck just groans. "No."

~~~

Later, as they're finishing up the last slices of pizza and watching the end credits of a Marvel movie scroll across the screen, Eddie turns to look at Buck again.

"Just one more time," he says, "remind me this is really happening." 

"Definitely happening," Buck says.

"Remind me you're not just fucking with me," Eddie says.

"Definitely not just fucking with you," Buck assures him again.

"Okay," Eddie says, and seems to finally settle into the idea. "Can I see the teeth again?" 

AO3 | Ko-Fi

[dastardlydandelion]

Max Mayfield and Tory Nichols in a horror film, what would be the plot/monster and would they survive?

this is it. this is the tumblr ask. the ask i've been waiting for my whole life. my time to shine, here we go!

filming begins under the cut:

tried and true creature feature, this is a werewolf movie. let's go with a werewolf between the van helsing (2004) and trick r treat (2007) variety. the beast once transformed is fucking huge, clearly both lupine and human, head almost entirely wolf, body primarily bipedal in shape, but robust, sinew shredding claws and big ass bone tearing teeth. also tails!! bc tails are cute!!! powers include monstrous strength, accelerated speed, healing factor. weaknesses silver and decapitation.

okay, so van helsing (2004) werewolves are mindless rage monsters and trick r treat (2007) werewolves are cognizant. for our max & tory creature feature, they're gonna of the in between variety. i chose a werewolf movie for these two specifically bc they both have their anger problems and the werewolf has long been a symbol of anger unleashed in the horror genre, even tho common gray wolves are just like. i mean, yk, animals, they hunt and howl and pee on trees and most of the time would rather avoid humans. but obvi horror genre werewolves are not common gray wolves, they need to be scary, and like, the remnants of traditional folklore influenced by rabies and discourse in the middle ages...wait, where was i going with this? anger, yes, max and tory both have anger problems and i think this works for what i'm gonna do with this theoretical movie.

who's the werewolf in town? terry fucking silver. bc terry is evil and dramatic and also, i think it's rly funny for a werewolf to have silver as a surname. he's fully cognizant in his transformation and he's purposefully biting kids and teenagers bc he wants more talented karate students. and like. yk, with the enhanced strength, speed, and regenerative recovery of lycanthropy, well. there u have it, more talented karate students.

do max and tory know each other, if so, how? okay, so in this 'verse tory is a lil older than max. that reflects their canon ages, i think. let's say max is 13 and tory is 16. billy has tory in some of his classes and he more or less makes a deal to spilt his allowance with her if she'll babysit max bc he's tired of neil riding his ass to babysit max. tory needs money so she's like, 'sure, why not.' max finds it rly stupid that she's 13 and neil thinks she needs a fucking babysitter but as far as babysitters go, tory is fun. she likes to show max what she's learning in cobra kai and they spar together a lot. max would actually like to join cobra kai but 1) neil would throw a fit on various fronts and 2) lucas is in miyagi-do. max knows there's some rly intense beef between cobra kai and miyagi-do. ofc tory's filled her in on the karate war, how could she not?

well one day tory takes max to the playground to watch a plane fly like she does with miggy in ck, and it's nighttime, ofc, and lo, the full moon is out. shining up in the sky. they hear a howl. they both look at each other. max is kinda curious but tory's like nah, nah, we gotta go. she grabs her, starts pulling her along. but the next howl is a lot closer and they can hear smth running and it just sounds fuckin big. they're running too now, legs pumping hard, but there's no escape once the beast is right behind them, hot, rancid breath blasting the backs of their necks and harvest gold eyes glowing in the dark.

max gets bitten first. tory tries to kick the big ass beast off of her and then it rounds and bites her too. the terror is real now. and then shockingly, as fast as it'd come, it leaves. neither girl has an explanation for wtaf just happened but tory takes max home. billy gripes at her for being out late but helps her patch up. when susan learns what happens she decides to take max to get rabies shots right away. loads her up in the car, runs her off to the emergency room-- but when the bandages come off, they are no wounds.

tory's bby bro tries to help patch her up too. but he's like 4 yrs old and his idea of "help" is sticking bandaids with cartoon characters up and down the wounds in haphazard fashion. tory plans to redo it all properly once she's put him to bed. sure enough after he's asleep, and she peels the bandaids off from every open mouthed pac-man to every green teenage mutant ninja turtle, the wounds are gone.

meanwhile there's missing ppl err day on the news. terry turns kids and teens but kills adults for the lulz.

tory and max know what happened to them was an event that tangibly, definitely happened but neither have any explanation for their wounds just disappearing. max, our resident horror fan, is the first to propose a real life werewolf as an explanation. she cites the missing ppl on the news. tory thinks she's tripping balls but reluctantly gives an inch when she acknowledges no, she can't think of any other explanation.

life goes on. max tells lucas what happened only she leaves out the part abt tory bc she's not gonna tell a miyagi-do student she's kickin it w the enemy. he doesn't rly believe her, like how she didn't rly believe him about the upside-down in their canon. he thinks the horror movies are rotting her brain.

tory almost tells her dojo but she gets distracted being pissed off by sam and that should be her priority, right? sensei kreese is always going on abt getting back at the enemy. she spends her shifts daydreaming abt revenge bc it's more comforting than worrying abt past due bills and her mother looking paler by the day.

full moon next month comes around. neither tory nor max are cognizant of or during their first respective transformations. max's first kill is neil. she's seven feet of fur and fury, tears his ribcage open with claws like daggers and sinks her teeth into his putrid, maggoty heart. susan isn't home. billy is, but he doesn't hear any of the fracas. he's unconscious on the living room floor, crisscrossing impressions of neil's belt buckle blaring red on his back.

tory's first kill is sam. sam larusso wants to think she's a bully?? fine, tory will show her a bully. she hops the miyagi-do fence after hours. she just wants a fight. just a fight, they always fight. but then she's sprouting fur and tory as tory gives way to smth else. she'd not aware of being a person when she doesn't have fur. not really, all she knows is rage and ravenousness and the morsel below her has bunny rabbit wide eyes.

neither of them remember what they did the next day. not vividly, anyway. it's there but it's cloudy and hard to discern, like a groggy fever dream more than a memory. but max burps up neil's wedding band and tory finds señor octopus (sam's stuffed animal) bloodied in her bed. it's apparent what happened. max accepts this more easily than tory bc 1) she always kind of suspected she'd turn, since she sincerely considered what attacked them was a werewolf and 2) max isn't terribly upset abt killing neil while tory is acutely horrified she killed sam.

max kinda had some smidgen of attachment to neil bc like, he's the only father figure in her life and here and there they've had their moments. but his abuse (psychological/physical toward billy, sexual/financial/psychological/emotional toward susan, psychological/emotional toward herself) outweighed any and all of those moments. she is genuinely concerned that she tore a human being to pieces and only vaguely remembers it but like, if she had to kill anyone, she figures neil was the best to kill. max is mostly concerned bc she can't kill neil a second time. she's worried the next time she turns it could be an innocent person, or one of her friends, or her mom, or billy.

tory is blindsided and scarcely able to comprehend the reality, holy shit, max was right, she's a fuckin werewolf. and she's sick to her stomach bc she hated sam but she never wanted to do anything like that. she didn't want to kill, she just wanted to break her face. scare her. rough her up. she didn't want to eat her. she just killed someone. she's a literal horror movie monster and she just killed sam. what's miguel going to think?

tory and max talk. they decide they need to find the werewolf who turned them. we get montages of them going over the news articles with a fine-toothed *ba dum tss* comb and searching areas where it seems like a werewolf would be. the woods. some caves. max all of a sudden has a freakishly tall man constantly hounding her to join cobra kai. neil's gone but she still hesitates bc of lucas being in miyagi-do. also he believes max now and with the proff, she's decided to let the rest of the party in as well. they also exist in this 'verse. she showed them the crime scene and the wedding band she burped up. billy isn't a roid rage racist in this 'verse bc that would be a giant buzzkill. he doesn't believe the werewolf shit either. he thinks max saw neil get attacked by some animal and that the carnage was so traumatizing for her, she subconsciously created a werewolf fantasy to cope.

tory meanwhile spirals downward. bc she passes sam's memorialized locker in the hall everyday. her memorial table in the other hall, full of sticky note condolences and mournful teddy bears, and a picture of sam right in the center always, always accusing her. miggy is heartbroken and distraught. hawk didn't care for sam but even he's freaked out by what happened, how the news said there were only torn up chunks and bones picked clean found in her bedroom. tory is terrified of herself. she's desperate to find whoever did this bc she wants to make them pay. if sensei silver has been asking her extra questions lately and presenting her performance to the class more than normal, she doesn't notice at all. aisha notices tory's fucked up but tory can't exactly tell aisha that she *ate* sam. aisha is also mourning, she and sam used to be bffs. so she doesn't say a word.

max has a theory that if u can learn to control ur anger, u can learn to control urself when u shift. she is, after all, v familiar with angry horror movie werewolves. and she's savvy enough to know it's smth she and tory have in common. neil is dead but that doesn't mean max isn't angry anymore. she's still angry at the damage already done and tbh also angry that there's some werewolf around turning ppl willy nilly bc she recognizes the danger in that and it wasn't smth she consented to. but controlling ur anger is an easier feat for max than tory insofar that max has a support system w her friends, and better relationships with the remainder of her fam. tory has two mentors actively, adamantly teaching her and her friends to be ruthless, view the world as ur enemy, use violence as ur go-to solution, and that mercy is weakness not to be tolerated.

when the next full moon rolls around, they decide to spend it together under the correct inference that they will transform. they think it's better to be together. they're hoping they'll be able to control each other, if not themselves. or that if they are both mindless rage monsters again, that rage will be turned on each other. this would be a better outcome operating on the presumption that one werewolf will be able to take what another can dish out, at the v least more so than a regular human being.

max is successfully able to maintain enough of her consciousness to control her actions once transformed. she feels aggressive and hungry, but not enraged and ravenous. she can keep it in check. tory, on the other hand, uh...tory can't do it. she throws her wolf head back in the most bloodcurdling howl ever and takes off like a bat outta hell. max goes loping after her. they can't speak like human speak in this form, but max tries to communicate with her. whimpers plaintively. tackles tory at one point, not out of anger but just tryna subdue her, licks at her ears and tries to get her to settle. tory bucks her off.

tory runs off again, max in pursuit. they wind up at the skate park where billy n robby are prolly up to some fuckery or another. i could easily see pre miyagi-do robby n billy getting up to all kinds of mischief. ooh, actually, they're prolly arguing abt that. now that robby's in miyagi-do he has another outlet for all his energy and he's getting the positive attention he craves so he's not participating in hooligan activity or shenanigans w billy anymore and billy is like. offended. except suddenly there's werewolves. fucking. snarling, gigantic, toothy, hairy ass werewolves.

let's say robby kicked miguel down two stories in this 'verse too and tory recognizes him in her werewolf form even if she isn't exactly cognizant of herself. she tears straight for him, jaws open. billy doesn't exactly *mean* to protect him but it's kinda an automatic reaction from putting himself in between whenever he thought neil was getting too aggressive w susan or max. and like, sure, robby's the better fighter (not that billy would ever acknowledge this) but it's not like he's gonna karate kick the motherfuckin werewolf anyway-- billy is bigger, he's bigger and it's instinct and the next thing he knows, he's in between robby and the thing w sharp teeth (tory).

and that's when max gets serious. she bowls tory over, away from billy before she can bite. they're rolling, tearing at each other with teeth and claws. lo and behold, terry silver is lurking in the background like the evil mastermind he is, just watching them shred each other and evaluating his experiment. it's a p close match and tory is the more aggressive of the two but she's also been going, going, going since she shifted and she's burning herself out. she's also fighting with the blind instinct of a threatened animal while max maintains more precision bc she has better control of herself. max also isn't wasting energy unnecessarily. max gets her jaws around tory's throat and tory just goes slack. but she can think and she doesn't want to hurt tory, so she opens her mouth and relaxes her maw, teeth grazing harmlessly thru tory's fur.

tory's being shown mercy. possibly for the first time. it's so unlike her conception of others' ruthlessness, so unlike the worldview that's been instilled into her that it startles her enough to crack thru to her cognizance. she does the wolfy deference thing where they tuck their tails and lick at the dominant pack member's muzzle. max responds in kind and lets tory up.

this is when they notice terry lurking (billy's already worked out the werewolf that came to his defense is max so he's just dumbfounded watching all this shit, and robby's not abt to leave someone who just saved his ass, so he's stuck unsuccessfully tryna pull billy away and inevitably watching too). terry calmly slinks over, sizing up his charges. he's pleased with the performance. but tory and max are anything but, another werewolf fight ensues.

so while they all get huge after transforming sheerly on the basis of being werewolves, i'm gonna guess the size is proportionate to their human forms. so tory is a little larger than max and terry significantly outsizes them both. terry is also the more experienced werewolf. it's two against one but it's not the curbstop it would be if this was some weaksauce werewolf, it's dramatic evil karate werewolf terry fuckin silver. terry's shredding tf outta these two. their healing factor can't keep up, he's dishing out faster than either of them can recover and tbh they were already winded from fighting each other first.

but it'd be a major buzzkill if our movie had a downer ending. and also, the power of determination and friendship and shit. terry's got his jaws around max's throat now. he's a millisecond away from tearing it open. tory's pinned under him but she thinks fast, frees a hind leg, and rips her claws down his soft underbelly as deep as she can and doesn't stop ripping, like pedal kicking almost for a human, but with her hind claws. his intestines shoot out like paper snakes from a gag candy can!! okay, well, maybe they don't shoot out w that much gusto, but still. the bowels are free, the bowels are hanging low and tory's tearing 'em tf up, fluids n fecal matter errywhere. on tory. i'm sorry tory. ur under him, that's just how gravity works.

terry dies. healing factor can't keep up with the damage done, it's too critical. but nobody knows it's terry until the dawn breaks and he reverts back to his human shape.

max is v much 'i told u so,' in billy's face. robby promises not to tell. he doesn't want to get mauled or killed or anything. tory's able to cope better with what she did to sam knowing that it won't happen again, that she won't hurt anyone else she doesn't want to be she can control herself now. tory believes in mercy now bc max spared her, she trashes kreese's philosophy and joins eagle fang when johnny and daniel join forces in this 'verse too. max also joins eagle fang, takes her place in the front row right between tory and lucas at her v first practice.

credits roll.

after the credits we see tory considering turning her mother in the hopes that having the healing factor would help her mom's condition improve.

is that a teaser for the sequel?

idfk.

[jeonsduck]

Messy

Incubus!San

Genre: Smut

Warnings: 18+ only, no minors. Dirty talk, oral sex, semi-public sex, cursing 

In your defense, it wasn't like San looked like a demon. Though you were quickly learning demons didn't look that different from humans anyway. Other than the forked tongue, horns, and cat-like tail, there was very little that marked San as 'demonic' physically. He didn't act much like a demon either, more like a very large child. He told you it was just a facade to attract prey (such as yourself). However, you suspected that his sunny disposition was just the default for him. But maybe the two week long barrage of intense wet dreams starring only San should have tipped you off. Especially considering, at the time you'd never even met San in person. But you put it down to it having been way to long since you last touched another human being in a romantic way, and decided to change that by going out. And maybe when the literal subject of your wet dreams appeared at the first bar you decided to hit up, that probably should have set off some warning bells. And maybe it did, but you ignored it becuase San was attractive and interested and well, San. And maybe there were other red flags, like the sharpness of his teeth, or the red glint in his eyes. (Or the sigil burned into the floor of his apartment, but it was dark and you were distracted, okay?) Whatever warnings you did or didn't miss didn't matter, because you still woke up in his bed the next day with his sigil carved into your hip. From that morning forward, your soul belonged to San. But not in a fire and brimstone kind of way, more like love bites and blowjobs. Anytime San got hungry (which was often), the sigil would glow red, and you'd start to feel his hunger. And it would keep building and building until he fed. In the beginning of your relationship, you'd been so freaked out you tried everything keep him at bay. But nothing worked. Not crosses, not exorcisms, not holy water, or even your threats to join seminary. "That would be kinky, but it wouldn't keep me away. I'm not that kind of demon." Theoretically, if you had ignored the pull long enough, the urges would have kept mounting leaving you completely insatiable and eventually insane. Ah, the old 'fuck or die', a true classic. So with no more ideas on how to get rid of San and a nearly constant need to get railed, you gave up and tried to make the best of your new position in life. "Look at it this way." San explained after he'd popped in for a 'snack' one afternoon. "It could be worse. If I was a vampire you wouldn't be having nearly as much fun." Which was true. You liked having sex with San, becuase he was fucking good at fucking you. (He liked to boast that no mere human could compare to one of his kind, but whatever.) What you didn't enjoy so much, was San's timing. He didn't quite understand arbitrary human things like responsibilites, and prior engagements, and public decency.  Like today, when he decided he was absolutely starving in the middle of your history lecture. You felt the sigil heat up and gasped. Seriously? Right now? You sneakily slipped your phone out of your bag and shot him a text. (Whay a demon had a phone, you didn't know, but at least it was convenient for you.)

You: You've gotta be kidding. Right now?

San replied almost immediately, like he'd been waiting for you message.

Demon Boy: Yes, right now! I'm hungry! :(((

You sighed and rested your head against your desk, trying not to scream. Was it getting hot in here already?

You: You fed on Monday. Anyway, I'm in class right now, can't you wait, like, 45 minutes?

Demon Boy: No, I can't, and it's not like you'll fail if you miss one class. -_-

You groan as silently as you can. San never had been one for delayed gratification.

You: Not this class! The professor will skin me alive if I'm not here for roll call and the attendance question at the end.

San takes a few minutes to reply this time, typing and retyping his response. The need you're feeling doesn't let up though and you end up squeezing your thighs together for some kind of relief.

Demon Boy: Oh it's THAT class. >:[ Demon Boy:.... You just need to be there for roll call and a question???

You squint at your phone. You don't like that, sounding like San is planning something. Never a good sign.

You: ....yeah? Why?

Demon Boy: I have an idea ;p

You: What do you mean? You: San, what are you talking about?! You: San, answer me! You: CHOI SAN

The second your last text goes through there's a soft 'pop!' and a puff of black smoke and San is suddenly reclining in the seat next to you. Thank God, you sit at the back of the class where no one can see your demon boyfriend spontaneously generate.

"What are you doing here?!" You hiss as San looks around the lecture hall. "So this is college. Gross. I can't understand why humans put themselves through stuff like this. As if Hell isn't a real place. Shouldn't you at least be happy while you're on Earth?" he drawls.

"Can I help you or did you just come to sit in on my lecture? I thought you were hungry." You snap and San's eyes flash red.

"Oh I am. Starving honestly. You never feed me on time." San pouts, playing with the drawstring on your hoodie.

"No, you're utterly insatiable, so there's no such thing as on schedule." You reply and San giggles.

"You're right about that. Now, this professor... where's his office?" San asks, looking up from under his lashes at you.

"The history building, second floor. Room 234, but why-" your question is cut off by the feeling of being sucked through a tube and spun around a G-Force simulator. "Jesus Christ San, I thought I told you to warn me becore you do that." You griped, stumbling into him.

"Sorry. Is this the right office?" He asked, holding out an arm to steady  you. You looked up to see that San had transport the both of you into your shitty professor's office.

"San what exactly are you planning to do?" You ask, suddenly nervous. "You." When San answers you can see he's let the illusion that hides his demonic appearance slip. Red eyes, stubby horns, sharp teeth, and his tail lashing behind him.

"No, I mean in here." You venture, even as San hoists you into his arms. He carries you around the desk, setting you down on the professor's side. He kisses you before he answers, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip, making you gasp. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth a little before pulling back to answer you. "We are going to make a mess. All over your professor's desk." He says, trailing kisses down your neck. You arch into them and simultaneously try to push him away becuase oh hell no, you are NOT failing this class because of San. "Nope, no no no. You wanna eat? Fine, fuck me in the quad for all I care, but not in this office." you say, finally succeeding in removing San from where he'd been sucking a mark onto you collar bone.

San looked up at you, red eyes nearly glowing. He scoffs, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder.

"I promise, we won't get caught. You won't fail because of this. Anyway, you don't want to show up that asshole? You don't want to get back at him for degrading you and calling you an idiot in this office?" San reasoned, but he sounded pissed.

"San, are you... mad at my professor?" You ask, coking your head to the side.

San pouts, but hides his face in the crook of your neck before you can properly see it. He wraps his arm around your waist and huffs. You loop your hands around his neck to return the hug. "You're perfect. Who the fuck does he think he is, insulting you?" He mumbles into your neck and you can't help but chuckle at him.

"Aww, you care about me." You tease but San pulls back and looks you in the eyes.

"Of course I care about you. I chose you in the first place. Now, do you want to keep being sappy or can I eat now?" He says, eyeing you up like a buffet.

You laugh, pulling him back into your arms.

"Let's make a mess."

As always, San started off gentle. He kisses his way down your sternum, slowly removing your shirt and then unbuttoning your jeans. You lift your hips to help him slip the pants off of your legs. At the same time, he placed a kiss above you bellybutton, glancing up to catch your eyes. Whenever San fucked you because he was hungry, he wasn't much for foreplay. It wasn't necessary because you've spent the last fiteen or so minutes just as desperate as he is. He held your eyes as he peeled off your underwear, chuckling as you lifted your hips up for him again. He put one of your legs over his shoulder and placed a kiss on your knee. The other thigh he splayed his fingers across, pinning it to the desk and leaving finger shaped bruises behind. He held you legs apart as he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, slowly trailing closer and closer to where you really wanted him. San tended to enjoy overwhelming you, making you come again and again until he was tired of seeing your face contorted in pleasure. This often meant that he took his 'feeding' quite literally. You whined when he first licked over your hole, hands flying to your mouth to keep yourself quiet, lest any of the faculty come to see what's going on. San chuckled, licking another long stripe over you. "Always so sensitive." He hummed before continuing to eat you out like a starving man. Even with your hands covering your mouth, a good portion of your whimpers and moans made it out, filling to room with muffled desperate noises. San quickly became bored with just making you squirm and writhe with his tongue. He wanted you to cum. He moved the hand that was holding your thigh down to slip a finger into you alongside his tongue. You squealed at the sudden intrusion, clenching in surprise and San finally came up for air. "You would think after  a while maybe you wouldn't be so tight, but you never cease to amaze, do you babe?" You nodded absently, your head thunking back against the desk. San,continued to lick around his finger before adding another and crooking them both up, looking for that spot that woild make you see stars. Either becuase he was a sex demon or becuase you'd done this so many times he hit it straight on, making your back arch up off of the desk. "Does that feel good baby? Hmm? Do you like that?" He asked, smirking as you struggled to answer him. "Yes! Nng, fuck yes that feels good Sannie."  You moaned in response. "That's good baby. Are you gonna cum for me?" He asked, now pumping his fingers into you at a rapid pace. You nodded again, not trusting your voice as you barreled towards your orgasm. San chuckled, reaching with his other hand to tweak at your nipple. The sigil on your hip was pulsating almost in time with San's fingers as he worked to get you off. "Gonna-, gonna cum!" You managed to squeak out before your orgasm hit you. San fingered you through it, right up until you grabbed his arm to make him stop. He inhaled deeply, absorbing the sexual energy your orgasm gave off. He wasn't sure what it was about you, but you made feeding so much more delicious. After one orgasm technically you could have stopped. In fact, San cumming didn't give him any more energy at all. However, being full didn't mean he was finished with you. He peppered kisses over your chest and torso as you recovered from your first orgasm, leaning up at the end to catch you lips with his. His kisses worked to relax and distract you, and you didn't even know  he'd taken his pants off until you feel the head of his cock press against your entrance. You looked up at him with a quirked eyebrow but he jsut kissed your chin and said, "We agreed on making a mess." You snorted and slid your legs farther apart to give San better access. He slid into you in one slow thrust, his face scrunched up in pleasure as you sighed beneath him. He wraps his fingers around your waist, his thumb rubbing over the sigil as it started to glow again. "You know what?" He said, pulling back slowly and thrusting shallowly so you could adjust. "Hmm?" You wondered absently. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this. You feel so good, wet and tight on my dick.... perfect." He mused, finally giving you a thrust with some actual force behind it. You gasped, smiling. You weren't sure you'd ever get tired of San fuckimg you either. He setna moderate but rough pace, punching breathy little 'ah, ah, ah's' out of your mouth on every stroke. You clawed at his back, trying to find something to hold onto as he fucked you up the desk. "My baby makes such pretty noises when we fuck." San hummed, lazily rolling his hips into you just so he could hear you beg him to go faster. "Faster? Like this?" He asked pushing your knees back and pounding into you like a... well like a demon. "Yes! Ah, yes, just like that! Don't stop!" You cried, no longer worried about someone walking in on you. "That's silly, why would I stop when my baby feels so good?" San mused, leaning down to lick over your nipple. You were getting close again, and warned San of your approaching orgasm. "Mm, go ahead if you want to, but I'm not going to stop just because you cum. I want to get off too." He simpers and you're so jealous of his ability to speak coherently while fucking you into next week. But San is getting close too unable to keep the even rythym he set up at the beggining, jackhammering into you in order to chase his own orgasm. You cum first, bak arching off of the desk and your head rolling back with your mouth open in an 'o' shape. San isn't to far behind you, your cleching hole pulling his orgasm out of him.  You get to take all of three seconds to catch your breathe before the door to the office starts to open. "What the fuck is going on in here?" your professor asks, but by the time he's got the door fully open and enters the room, you and San have disappeared in a puff of black smoke. You do leave behind a stack of test papers and lecture notes covered in sweat and cum.

"You.promise he didn't see us?" You ask, for the fifth time. San sighs, rolling his eyes at you. "I promise. Don't worry about him anymore, okay?"

As it turns out, San was right. You didn't have to worry about that professor ever again. When the university cancelled your class the next week, some snooping revealed that your teacher had been fired from his position, after supposedly becoming a nymphomaniac overnight, getting arrested for public indecency over the weekend, and then being admitted for treatment for his sudden and acute sex addiction. The multiple cum soaked test papers in his office didn't help his case.

Demon Boy: Want to grab a snack?

[askbittyerror]

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?” The human yells, shoving Huitzi off with significant effort as the skeleton wheezes, magic blown from two frantic jumps in such a short time. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?”

He looks up and spins around, reeling at the sight of absolutely fuckall.

“WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?”

“My timeline, now would you stop yelling?” A human clothed in nothing but black and white says, dodging the first’s immediate punch and letting him throw himself face-first into the ground through sheer momentum.

The monochrome human looks from the groaning man clutching his face on the ground to the growling skeleton fighting to push himself up and sighs.

“Would you both fucking chill? You’re the first people I’ve met in decades and I’d rather not be forced to cut you in half if at all possible.”

Huitzi glares, propped up on his hands and keeping himself from collapsing through will alone.

“H- How do we know you aren’t going to do so regardless?”

“Because I’m unarmed?” He points out, rolling his eyes. “I can’t just stab someone with air, now can I?”

“Sorry.” Huitzi gasps, arms buckling and slamming his chin onto the blank floor. “Shit- I- we’re, ugh, just a bit on edge.”

“I’m never off edge!” The hooded man shouts from the ground. “And there’s no we in this! You just kidnapped me just cuz you wanted out of training!”

“I did not!” Huitzi yells at him. “I saved you from whatever that bastard was going to do to us!”

“Like shit you did, I would’ve been-”

“Would you two shut up?!” The only one standing yells. “Can we maybe try to have, I dunno, a conversation and try to sort this shit out?”

The floor human makes some sort of snarly noise and Huitzi kind of just hiss-groans.

“Great! I’m glad we could reach an agreement!” Captain skinned-a-zebra says, clapping his hands together. “Now let’s all just sit in a nice, calm circle and talk, okay?”

He drags the grumpy hooded creature upright and looks at Huitzi.

“You’re gonna have to get over here yourself, I’m pretty ripped but even I probably couldn’t lift you.”

“Oh, how humble.” The other human gripes and gets slapped upside the head and then laid on by the much taller human before he can retaliate. “WHAT IS WITH YOU TWO AND LAYING ON ME?”

“I, uh, don’t believe I can move.” Huitzi admits, trembling weakly. “I am injured and also very much spent.”

The taller human looks over him and nods, pushing himself off the other by jabbing a hand into his stomach and dodging his enraged flailing.

“I can help with at least some of that, I’m a decent healer.”

“Oh, thank you, that would be very much appreciated.” Huitzi smile-winces, the expression tugging at the wound covering half his face.

Mr. Monochrome kneels down, places his hand on Huitzi’s cheek and lets the magic roll into it, the wound slowly sealing shut.

“So, uh, what’s your name, big fella?” He asks.

“It is Huitzilopochtli. Or Huitzi, if you prefer.” He says, whimpering as the movement makes the human’s hand brush against the still-sensitive bone.

“That’s one hell of a mouthful.” The hands owner says, retracting it and fiddling around with a pouch at his waist. “I’m-”

“I’m Ash!” Ash declares, flopping onto Huitzi’s back and slapping a cinnabunny into his yelp-hole. “Nice to meet you Zi!”

Huitzi wheezes and coughs, magic dissolving the pastry before he can actually choke on it.

“Why the fell would you-”

“Eh, home sucks anyway, got a crazy-ass human there always killing everybody, it’ll be nice to get away for a while.” Ash grins, sprawling over his back, hands behind his head and feet up on Huitzi’s.

“Uh huh.” The other human shoves him off. “And I’m Lieutenant.”

“Here, open your mouth.” He says, nudging a vial of green liquid to Huitzi’s teeth. “Should perk you right up.”

Huitzi obediently does what he’s told, the mystery liquid pouring into his mouth and dissolving into his magic.

“Wow, no questions, alright then.” Lieutenant says, helping Huitzi to his feet and then back down into a sit then dragging Ash over by legs and dropping him just across. “You okay, dude?”

“It matters not whether I live or die, my existence was meaningless to begin with.”

“Wow, so deep.” Ash rolls his eyes while Lieutenant takes a seat, giving Huitzi a worried look.

“Yeaaaah, you’re definitely not okay.” Lieutenant leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So. What’s wrong?”

“I was stolen from my home, thrown into one where I had to kill to survive, then taken from that one to my own personal hell where time melded together and everything hurt, then I escaped to Ash’s world, was nearly found by my kidnapper, and accidently stole Ash from his home when I ran from that too.”

Both humans stare at Huitzi in silence.

“O….kay then.” Lieutenant blinks.

“Pfft, nice story.” Ash rolls his eyes for probably the billionth time. “I think you’re just lazy-”

“Hello.”

The boys all scream and spin around, weapons summoned from nowhere except for the knife Ash pulls from his boot.

“There’s no need for that. You can’t kill me. Besides,” The grayscale child smiles. “I’m actually here to help.”

[seeaddywrite]

bitch i’m a monster [Part III]

if you haven’t read Part I and Part II, i would not suggest starting here!

A/N: this part was hard to write, & it got really long? it’s almost 6k of biting, talking, & denial, with some angst on Michael’s end thrown in for fun. the last part is much more light-hearted, & will end happily. don’t believe me? i don’t blame you. i’ve lied to you twice now about how long the damn thing is going to be, but the next part really is the finale! 

major thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for listening to me bitch & moan over this section, coming up with the brilliant idea that the last part centers around, & reading over the first three drafts of this section. (why does she put up with me? the world will never know.) 

warnings for biting, blood drinking, somewhat graphic descriptions of blood & pretty obvious references to sex, though it is not explicit. also, yes, self-indulgence & ridiculousness abound. 

To Alex, it’s as if the world freezes in the next moment.

The hunger is still there, clawing at his insides, but it seems less all-consuming than it had a moment ago. It’s shock, maybe — Alex certainly feels numb enough, and the ringing in his ears and disconnect from his own body are the same symptoms he woke up to when he’d lost his leg. And really, it makes sense. This is impossible. Michael, sitting cross-legged in front of him, staring back evenly into the vampire’s eyes that Alex couldn’t conceal any longer. Their knees are touching, now that Alex has shoved himself back into a sitting position, and Michael’s got a hold of both his hands as if he’s afraid Alex will be the one to leave since he’s refused. If they’d been wearing less clothing and not trapped in the middle of the desert, it would be a scene straight out of Alex’s fantasies, and it doesn’t make any goddamn sense.

He’s known since Sebastian did this to him that Michael couldn’t ever find out, that no one could ever find out, could ever be involved in this part of Alex’s world. Every time Alex had succumbed to a moment of weakness and allowed Michael to get closer, his imagination had conjured images of the disgust, the horror, that would paint his face if he ever saw Alex like this. He’d convinced himself that keeping Michael far, far away from his darker self was the only way to keep him safe, and now that it’s all ruined, Alex has no idea what he’s supposed to do next — especially since at this moment, it feels like he’s smothering in his own skin and the only available source of oxygen is the blood flowing through Michael’s veins.

“Alex, breathe.” Calloused hands release Alex’s, only to take hold of his shoulders and shake. The motion is gentle, but it’s enough to make him realize that while he hadn’t been registering the pain, it had still taken hold. His entire body had seized, his muscles tensed, and at some point, he’d stopped breathing.  So he lets the air out of his lungs in a sharp exhale and shoves Michael back, putting at least a few inches between his body and Alex’s teeth. He can smell it now, the blood, and his baser self is locked on that scent like a shark would be on bleeding prey in open water. It doesn’t matter that Michael has no open wounds, that Alex shouldn’t be able to smell blood contained by skin. But the fragile barrier is nothing to his supernatural senses. It would take less than an instant for Alex to rend that flesh and have living blood in his mouth, flowing through his veins —

And fuck, apparently a few inches of space isn’t enough to get that scent out of his nose. Alex clenches his jaw and closes his lips, less to hide the fangs that Guerin’s already seen and more to put an added layer of pathetic protection between them and Michael’s fragile body.

“Why can’t you ever just listen?” Alex demands, though the words emerge as more of a ragged sob than the accusation he wants them to be. “Fuck, Guerin, would it kill you to just follow an order once in your life?”  Like the onset of the attacks, the release is unpredictable. Alex’s muscles suddenly unclench, and he slumps forward, elbows on his knees and shoulders hunched as he struggles to catch his breath while he can.

“This time, I think it would have killed you,” Michael says tersely, and when Alex lifts his aching head to look at him, he actually has the gall to look angry.  Alex is trying to protect him, to get him to see reason and run for once in his damned life while his entire body screams at him to do otherwise, and Michael’s pissed? Unbelievable.

“You do realize you just basically had a seizure or something, right?” Michael continues, his voice unyielding. “While we’re god knows how far from help?”

Alex’s laugh is bitter and inappropriate, but he can’t help it. “Help? Christ, Guerin, look at me.” He lifts his chin and forces his lips apart so that his fangs are on display. He knows all too well what he looks like — predatory. Inhuman. Monstrous.  He holds the position for as long as he can stand, letting Michael see everything he’s so painstakingly hidden for the last several years. Every wall he’s put in place to keep himself safely hidden away is gone, and Alex is left feeling exposed and vulnerable and off-kilter, and he’s not ashamed to admit that his temper is short. “What the hell do you think a hospital can do for me? I’m a vampire, Michael.   I can’t go to a doctor any more than you can. They don’t exactly give the kind of blood transfusions I need.”

“Right.” Michael is quiet for a moment, and Alex uses the respite to duck his head, chin to chest, and tries to figure out his next move. If Michael won’t leave him, the next logical solution is for Alex to leave — but he’s not optimistic about his ability to even stand, right now, let alone move fast enough that Michael won’t be able to keep up with him. Under normal circumstances, he could run faster than the human (or alien) eye could track; he could get back to Roswell in five minutes and this entire nightmare would be over. But somehow, Jesse Manes has enough information on vampires to know what constant exposure to sunlight does to Alex. He has enough data to organize the perfect trap for Alex and Michael — and as long as they make it out of this damned desert alive, Alex is going to find out how, exactly, his father knows all of it, and he’s going to make damn sure this never happens again. With his teeth, if necessary.

“For god’s sake, this is ridiculous,” Michael says suddenly, and Alex’s head jolts upright in surprise. Concerned, dark eyes find Alex’s and he finds himself relaxing fractionally at the warmth that has never quite dissipated from that familiar gaze, no matter how bad things have gotten between them. Even now, with his vampiric features on full display, that hasn’t changed — and the desperate hope that flares to life in Alex’s chest at the realization hurts more than hunger ever could.

“Here.” The decisive tone pulls his attention back to Michael, but before Alex can snap that he really needs to stop fucking talking long enough for Alex to get his inner beast back on a leash, there’s a pale wrist thrust in front of his face, a spiderwebbing of bluish veins immediately drawing the laser-focus of his enhanced vision. The world around him blurs alarmingly, and when it rights itself, Alex’s lips are brushing Michael’s skin. The fingers of one treacherously strong hand are wrapped around Guerin’s wrist, the others around his elbow, and Alex knows his grip is too tight, that he’s pressing finger-print shaped bruises onto the otherwise unmarred canvas of Michael’s skin. But Alex is hanging onto control by his fingernails, and all of his energy is dedicated to keeping his lips tucked over his fangs — he can’t even pull his face away, let alone release the death grip he has on Michael’s arm.

“Come on, man, just do it.” Impatience colors Michael’s order, and Alex stops breathing entirely, fury at Michael’s lack of self-preservation momentarily eclipsing everything else. “This is all because you’re hungry, right? All the pain, and the seizures, and the uh, teeth?” The hesitance around that word is understandable, and Alex is in enough physical pain that he barely feels the sting of it. “So dig in. I’m an all-you-can-eat alien buffet.”

Alex exhales raggedly and summons every iota of strength he’s got left to sit back. His fingers are still digging into Michael’s arm, and he can feel the tips of his fangs scoring his own lips, but he’s not about to sink them into Michael, so Alex considers it a win. “This isn’t a joke, Guerin,” he grinds out through a clenched jaw.  

Michael snorts. “You sure? Kind’ve sounds like one, if you think about it. ‘An alien and a vampire are trapped in the desert . . .’”

For a moment, Alex just stares at the smug, teasing smirk on Michael’s face, rendered utterly speechless by the cavalier attitude toward something that could cost him his goddamned life. It lasts for a moment before Alex’s patience abruptly snaps. He snarls, fangs bared, and lunges forward, tackling Michael to the ground in a blur of movement he’d believed himself incapable of only a few moments prior. It’s all too easy to pin Michael’s bulk to the sun-baked dirt with his body; Alex grips strong wrists and forces them to to the ground as he settles his weight against Michael’s thighs. Short of a miraculous disappearance of the pollen still coating his curls, there’s no way Michael can move unless Alex allows it — and he’s not feeling particularly magnanimous at the moment.

“There’s a rock in my kidney now, thanks,” Guerin gripes breathlessly, the air knocked from his lungs by the impact of his fall. His muscles go lax, head lolling to one side as he looks up into Alex’s furious face expectantly. He makes no effort to fight back; instead, Michael just waits, neck vulnerable and exposed by this new position, and Alex wants to shake him for not realizing the danger he’s inviting.

“I could kill you, and you’re cracking jokes!” he hisses, mouth dangerously close to a major artery as he bends inward, letting the tips of his fangs slide over the shell of Michael’s ear. Finally, the steady, thudding rhythm of Michael’s heartbeat accelerates as Alex pushes him further into the  desert floor, and if he wasn’t so damn hungry, so determined to make his fucking point, it would be enough to stop him. Fear isn’t an emotion he ever wants to inspire in Michael, and every human instinct he has screams for Alex to stop, to pull away and tell Michael to start running -- but they’re past that point, now, if it was ever even really an option.

“You don’t know what you’re risking right now, Guerin. If you had any idea how much I want to hold you down like this and tear into your fucking throat, you wouldn’t be laughing!”  He wants to sound angry. He wants Michael to hear the threat inherent in those words, to understand that Alex would never have let his fangs drop if he were in any kind of control, and that every second they play this game is sending him hurtling closer to the edge of a cliff that he won’t be able to avoiding falling from. Nonetheless, the words emerge as more of a desperate croak, and he has to drop his forehead to Michael’s chest to ride out another wave of agony as his body reminds him that he’s only inches from ending it.

His fingers spasm and his grip fails, but instead of pulling away, Michael just lifts one hand to cup the back of Alex’s head, repositioning them both so that Alex’s face rests in the cradle of Michael’s neck and shoulder. “If you were really out of control, you would’ve done it already,” he says quietly, and Alex can feel the words rumble through his chest where they’re pressed together. “And I trust you.” There are gentle fingers sliding through Alex’s hair, caressing the back of his head, and the soft gesture is in such fierce juxtaposition with the pain raging through his body that he’s not quite sure what to make of it.

“C’mon, Alex, just let me take care of you this time, huh?” Michael continues to cajole, his voice low and calm, almost hypnotizing, and Alex struggles to remember why biting him would be such a bad idea. He’s still on top of Michael, chest-to-chest, his face tucked into the other man’s neck, and Michael sounds so damn certain that this is the right thing to do, that it would be okay —

Alex trembles, but gives in.

There are no other options anymore; Michael isn’t going anywhere, and Alex doubts he would be able to let him, even if he wanted to. And God help him, but he’s so hungry. “Two minutes,” he rasps. “Count it out, and if I don’t stop by the time you’re done, yank my hair and make me,” he murmurs against Michael’s skin, wishing that he had the ambition to lift his head and impress the importance of such a request on this man that means so much to him. But the energy that movement would take is too much, and Alex finds himself slumping completely into Michael instead, nuzzling against his neck entirely on instinct. “Don’t let me hurt you, Michael,” he manages, though the quiet plea is barely understandable around his fangs.

And then, before logic can beat out need and instinct, before Michael can even take a breath to respond, Alex sinks his fangs into the artery pulsing just beneath his nose.

As soon as the first drop of blood hits Alex’s tongue, any semblance of rational thought ceases to exist. He’s euphoric with the sudden lack of pain, giddy with relief and the taste of something forbidden, and Michael’s hand is still on the back of his head, cradling him as he drinks like he’s something precious. In that moment, negativity and fear flee, and Alex is in no hurry for them to return.  He’s never taken blood straight from the source before, is accustomed to refrigerated, congealing goop that barely sates the hunger and leaves him cold and wanting, but able to function as human.

Michael’s blood, though, is alive. It’s hot and addictive as it drips into Alex’s mouth and turns to raw energy in his veins. Drinking it is like shoving his finger in an electrical socket and seems to create a current over his skin, cranking every nerve receptor up to ten and hyper-sensitizing his entire body. In the rush, Alex forgets to drink, reveling in pure sensation. For the first time in three long years, Alex feels like more than a reanimated corpse going through the motions of life. He feels whole, real, and he never wants to go back.

A trickle of blood distracts him as it escapes his lips and trails down damp, sunburnt skin. Alex chases it, licking a long stripe up the tendon beneath Michael’s ear before sealing his mouth back over the wound he’d made. Michael shivers beneath him, shifting restlessly, and Alex uses some of his rapidly burgeoning strength to pin him again. Inhuman heat emanates from Michael’s body, soaking through the thin cotton of Alex’s shirt and into his chest, and he presses impossibly closer, his entire body canting into Michael’s. Raw pleasure shoots up his spine as the evidence of his desire presses hard into Michael’s thigh, and Alex is too far gone to be embarrassed. He repeats the movement, a slow roll of his hips, and all but purrs when Michael responds with a cut off groan.

The low, throaty chuckle that echoes from Michael’s chest resonates through Alex’s as well due to their proximity, and he focuses for a moment, trying to unscramble his brain without disengaging from the source of his newfound energy. With the monster in his head sated by the promise of blood, it’s easier to do, and he abruptly realizes that Michael’s talking to him, murmuring something every time it seems like Alex is going to stop or pull away. The words are lost in the flood of arousal and that overwhelming energy still buzzing through his body, but Alex can  hear his voice. He’s always associated that low, lust-rough rumble with contentment, with safety, and the warm embrace cocooning him does nothing to erase that feeling. Instead, it sends the same message to Alex’s subconscious as always: he’s safe. He’s loved. He’s wanted. He’s allowed to have this.

He turns his attention back to the task at hand and drinks from the wound he’d made in slow, careful pulls, savoring every drop of blood as it slides down his throat. Each sip stokes the fire growing low in his stomach, and every shiver or shudder from Michael only encourages Alex on — he’s lost track of anything resembling time, knows only hunger and desire and the pursuit of more. The world outside is lost in a sea of pleasure, and some part of Alex knows that this could be the last time he gets to have Michael this way, the last time he’ll be allowed to touch him, and the rest of him responds with a frightening desperation.

Then, all too soon, Michael’s tugging gently on his hair, trying to get his attention, and Alex honest-to-god whines when he’s forced to disengage his fangs and look up into Michael’s flushed face. Hunger is still a low, non-exigent buzz beneath his skin, but it’s melded so completely with arousal and energy that Alex can’t separate it any longer. His lips are wet with blood, his features still twisted into a predatory visage, but Michael is smirking at him like he hasn’t noticed, and Alex can’t help but smile back. His humanity is a distant thing, present, but walled off by instinct and want, and he’s in no hurry to let it shackle him back to self-loathing and guilt.

“That was two minutes,” Michael says while his fingers trail over Alex’s temple and down his cheek. The touch is careful over the blown, black veins around his eyes, but he doesn’t shy away from them. Alex pushes into the touch, letting it soothe the need still burning through his veins. “But I’m not dizzy or anything, and you look like you could use a little bit longer.” The scrutiny should bother him, Alex knows distantly — he doesn’t like being fussed over, and it’s not Michael’s job to take care of him. But in that moment, when he wants nothing more than to meld his skin with his lover’s and keep him there, in that moment forever, it feels good to have Michael’s worried eyes on him.

But something in the back of Alex’s mind tells him that Michael’s words are important, that he needs to pay attention. Two minutes? The significance of that time frame escapes Alex, though he knows it should mean something, and he struggles to push through the influx of energy and emotion to piece it together. But Michael isn’t repeating himself, is relaxed and comfortable beneath Alex, so the attempt fails. Alex tilts his head to one side, letting his disinterest in the topic be known, and entertains himself by tracing the features of Michael’s face with a fingertip. He stalls when he hits sun-roughened lips, and leans in to press his mouth against them, fangs and all. In this state, Alex is a creature of simple pleasures, and in that moment, all he wants is to kiss Michael.

There’s no resistance. Michael’s lips part under Alex’s insistent tongue easily, and they get lost in the give and take of kissing and roaming hands. There’s a voice in the back of Alex’s head reminding him that they’re trapped out here, that his father’s trying to kill them, and that lying in the sand is hardly the right place for any of this, but he ignores it. This is what he’s wanted for years, forever, and finally, he’s able to separate himself from stupid, human worries and take it. So he grinds his hips down into Michael’s, chasing sensation and that connection with someone he loves, and makes no effort to hold himself back. His hands slide beneath Michael’s shirt, palms sweeping over the expanse of sweat-tacky skin and muscle, and Alex moans openly when Michael shifts, pressing his thigh up at just the right angle to send sparks dancing along Alex’s spine.

And for a while, it’s just the two of them lost in a fog of touch and desire. It’s all so familiar and easy, like sliding on an old, comfortable flannel after losing it for years, and Alex can’t quite believe that they’re here again, together and connected in a way that he thought was lost for good. But eventually, Michael has to breathe; Alex can feel him panting raggedly against his mouth and pulls away to give him the chance, even as his body clamors for more.

He repositions himself carefully across Michael’s chest, tucking his cheek against one shoulder, nearest the puncture marks from his last bite, and busies himself with lapping at the weeping wound. Blood has left stains on Michael’s skin and pooled in the divot of his collarbone, and Michael huffs in surprise when Alex’s tongue meets the sensitive area impatiently. The taste isn’t as good now that the blood’s been able to cool, but Alex isn’t picky — and he knows that Michael won’t mind if he bites him again. He’d basically invited it, hadn’t he?

“So, Anne Rice got the whole blood and sex thing right, huh?” Michael teases, once he’s gotten his breath back. “I guess fiction’s gotta get a lucky guess once in a while … but I’m yet to see the alien movie that gets it right.”

Alex freezes, humanity returning all too quickly with a flood of embarrassment. He doesn’t know exactly why, but something in that good-natured joke reminds him that this isn’t normal. That he’s spent the last fifteen minutes out of his mind and rutting up against his ex’s thigh like a horny teenager — and the worst part is that even now, with his entire body frozen in mortification, he’s still straddling Michael’s legs with an impossible to miss hard-on.

“I always thought it was a little unfair, you know? Vampires and werewolves were sexy, and aliens got turned into little green men who get hauled off and dissected in every fucking movie. But I guess I’ll have to let that one go if it’s actually true, huh?” Michael’s rambling, and Alex wonders if it’s because he’s realized that reality has crept back up on Alex, and is trying to help. But even the familiar teasing timbre of Guerin’s voice isn’t enough to ease Alex’s discomfiture.

“But seriously, do you get hard every time you bite someone, or am I just special?”

If Alex had been paying attention, he would’ve noticed the note of vulnerability in Michael’s voice as he asked the question. As it is, he’s too swamped with mortification and immediate protest to even wonder why Guerin’s asking. “No!” he bursts out, rolling away from the comforting warmth of Michael’s chest to put six feet of desert between them before he sinks back to the ground and wraps his arms around drawn-up knees. It’s not a reaction he’s proud of; small and vulnerable isn’t a role he adopts often, especially in the middle of a life or death situation. But today has been such a riot of emotion that Alex is exhausted, and the fact that he still has to actively work to think more like a human than an animal is wearing at his last reserves. Besides, at this point, Michael’s seen him screaming and seizing in pain, has touched every inch of his scarred flesh, and didn’t hit him when Alex sunk fangs into his neck — there’s not much Alex can do to make himself more vulnerable than that.  

Even while stewing in self-pity, it’s easy to hear Michael get up, and his footfalls on the sand are far from silent. Alex tracks him as he gets closer and is intimately aware when he flops down next to him, heedless of Alex’s deep and abiding desire to put miles between them. He’s silent, obviously correctly interpreting the rigid set of Alex’s spine and the tension in his coiled muscles as a desperate need for time to pull himself together. Alex allows the silence to linger for a while, long enough that it starts to feel tense, before admitting, “I don’t bite people, Guerin. Ever. I didn’t know it would be like that. Or I wouldn’t have —” That’s not entirely true. Alex is fairly sure he would have; he’d been perilously close to losing control. So he cuts himself off, then corrects the statement: “I would’ve warned you.” He swallows, staring out at the horizon to avoid looking at Michael. “I’m sorry.”

Alex blames his positioning on why he jumps at the hand on his back; it’s impossible to have been expecting that when he’s got himself convinced that Michael’s going to run off and put as much space between them as possible. It’s what he would do, in the same situation -- alien is one thing. Vampire, though? Dependent, and turned on by, blood? Who the fuck would want that in their lives?

“Whoa, hey, it’s just me,” Michael promises, and the hand on his shoulder slides down Alex’s spine in an achingly familiar caress. The simple touch brings back so many memories of their time together; the other man has always been overly tactile with Alex, likely because he never got much in the way of physical affection himself. But whatever the reason, Michael’s never been afraid to reach out -- and the fact that he’s doing it even now, with his own blood staining Alex’s lips, is enough to make Alex tremble. He relaxes incrementally — it’s impossible not to, with Michael’s warmth at his side and against his back — and exhales on a slow sigh.

“Look, I have about a million questions, especially about how it’s possible for you to have never bitten anyone else before,” Michael says, after a moment of fidgeting alongside Alex. He’s clearly been trying to figure out the right way to say something — he always taps the fingers of his good hand on his knee in introspective moments, and Alex has known him too long to miss the signs. Internally, he groans. He doesn’t want to talk about any of this, doesn’t want to get into the limited understanding he has of vampirism or the sad story that led him there. But he owes Michael explanations, especially now, so Alex sits up straight and nods, bracing himself.

“ — but right now, I just really want to know if you got enough.” Whiskey-colored eyes scan Alex’s body, like Michael could see the symptoms of hunger if he looked closely enough, and the only response Alex can manage is a cracked, disbelieving laugh that borders on hysteria.

“You’re worried I didn’t drink enough of your blood?” he asks incredulously, once he’s regained some semblance of composure. “I pinned you down, bit you, basically molested you, and —”

“Oh, come on, Alex,” Michael interrupts with a derisive snort. “You didn’t molest me. In case you’ve forgotten, you’re the only reason we’re not still having sex on a regular basis. As far as I’m concerned, you can touch me whenever and however you want.” Michael swallows, then adds, “Believe me, man, I wanted that just as much as your vampire hindbrain did. I guess I should’ve known you didn’t really want it, though.” He huffs, a bitter, self-recriminating noise. “The power of wishful thinking, huh? For a minute there, I really thought you did.”

They’re shit at talking and always have been, but Michael’s so much better at openness than Alex. He’s got no problem putting his heart out there to get broken and has given all of his secrets to Alex with an enviable ease, but returning that openness seems all but impossible, no matter how wrong Michael is. So Alex is silent, instead, and uses the time to blink away his more predatory features.

His face shifts back to human, and when he looks up at Michael next, the other man is clearly hurt by his silence and trying to hide it with irritation. “Fine. You don’t want to talk about that? Answer my damn question. Was it enough, or are you going to have another seizure in twenty minutes?”

Frustration is rough in the words, and forces himself to lift his chin to meet Michael’s gaze head-on with a cool expression of his own. It’s not ideal, but Alex doesn’t know how to give away these pieces of himself without putting up some sort of wall between them. Once he starts giving Michael that access, there won’t be any locking him out again, and Alex is terrified of what that might mean. “I don’t know,” he answers quietly, the words starkly honest. “I’ve never been in this situation before, Guerin. I only ever drink blood from a bag, and I don’t usually make a habit of spending hours in the sun. I’ve always been careful to feed on a schedule, so I don’t lose control, so this —” he hesitates, picking at the fabric of his pants distractedly. “I just don’t know, okay?”

Michael frowns. The expression isn’t unhappy; it’s the same frown Michael wears when presented with a unique puzzle, like a difficult physics problem or a philosophical hypothetical like the ones Max is so fond of throwing out for discussion. “What difference does the sun make?” he asks finally, every inch a scientist adjusting an equation for variables.

So Alex explains what he knows about how the sun affects his blood consumption, tripping over some of the words. Besides the one-sided conversation with Sebastian right after his transformation, Alex has never had anyone to talk about these things with. It’s all been locked up in his head, hidden beneath the self-loathing he felt every time he was confronted with the reality of vampirism. It’s a relief to finally be able to say the words aloud, despite the awkward situation, and it gets easier the longer he speaks.

“Okay, so, the longer we’re in the sun the worse it’s going to get,” Michael summarizes succinctly. “Considering we’re in the middle of the desert, I think we’ve got to assume you’re going to keep burning energy pretty quickly.” He pauses to wipe sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and Alex tracks the motion with his eyes, unable to stop watching Michael — as always. “So, how much blood do you normally drink at once? If you’re following your schedule? And how often?”

Alex blanches at the frank nature of the question. Talking about the science behind vampirism is one thing — admitting to the more personal aspects is harder. He still hasn’t forgotten that less than half an hour ago, he was fangs-deep in Michael’s neck and rutting against him without any care for propriety, and this topic is coming dangerously close to touching that one. But he answers, as shortly as possible. “The bags say 300 millimeters on them. I drink three every day, at normal meal times — about six hours apart. If I push it past six, I start to notice how hungry I am, and I’ve never gone longer than seven.” He winces. “Until today, anyway.”

Most people, Alex thinks, would have a hard time believing that he doesn’t have all the information about what he is. He’d made the same assumptions about Alex, after all, and knows Liz did too, after Max revealed his heritage to her. It’s a natural response, to assume that when someone admits that they’re a different species that they know their own biology, at the very least. But Michael knows better. He understands what it’s like to be something other than human and be left with more questions than answers. He knows exactly how it feels to lack control over parts of himself, and have no idea why. So he doesn’t demand anything, doesn’t look at Alex like he’s an idiot. He just nods and adds the limited knowledge to whatever equation he’s putting together in his mind.

“So you normally have 900 millilitres of blood a day, and today you’ve had — what, maybe fifty? You spent more time apologizing than you did actually drinking anything.” There’s the barest insinuation of an accusation in the statement, and Alex finds himself giving Guerin a flat look in response. “And we’re trapped in the middle of the desert, so whatever you did actually have will be burned off in an hour or so, according to that math. I’m not liking those odds, Manes.”

Alex sighs and rubs at his face. He’s more than ready to stop discussing his feeding habits, and vampirism at all — not that he thinks he’s going to get out of it. Michael’s going to have more questions, of course, and Alex owes him the answers. And it’s not even that Michael’s being overly personal about his inquiries; he’s being entirely professional, treating everything as more of a scientific hypothesis than anything else.

But maybe that’s the problem. Alex doesn’t want to be a science experiment to Michael, nor a problem to solve. He wants everything between them to be personal, and always has. Being able to open up to someone about vampirism, about all the things he doesn’t know and all of his fears and uncertainties is simultaneously terrifying and alluring, and Alex wants Michael to be that person. But instead, he’s treating him as clinically as any doctor Alex has ever seen.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?” Michael announces, folding his arms over his chest and glaring balefully at Alex when he only lapses into silence once again. It seems the safest option, considering he’s been far more open and honest about himself than he can ever remember being before.

“Just bite me again. You know you’re not going to lose your shit and kill me this time, and losing 300 mL of blood isn’t enough to hurt someone with my body mass. It’ll be fine, and then we can actually move onto figuring out how to get back to town instead of worrying about how long we have before you start screaming again.” He’s completely matter-of-fact as he speaks, and doesn’t let Alex even get a word in edgewise before pressing his body closer and tipping his head to one side, revealing the two careful puncture marks Alex made earlier. The motion tugs at the skin, and fresh blood wells at the site, making the monster in Alex’s chest snarl with want.

Instinct intervenes, and Alex’s fangs slide from his gums. His entire body thrills at the acrid scent in the air, and he’s tipping his head forward before he catches himself. “Damn it, Guerin,” he mutters, closing his eyes deliberately. 

“What if I —”

“What if you actually relax and let me take care of you?” Michael interjects. “Yeah, that’d be a real fucking shame, wouldn’t it?” The bitterness is harder to ignore now, and it hurts in a visceral way that leaves Alex aching to prove Michael wrong. “I told you. You’re not going to do anything I don’t want. You stopped when I told you to before, even when you were out of it, so I’m not worried. So just — do it and stop arguing, for fuck’s sake.”

God help him, after a few moments of vacillation, Alex does. And this time, when he’s overtaken by the rush of endorphins and energy, he doesn’t even try stop his hand from wandering down the front of Michael’s jeans.

[bapydemonprincess]

A Human Trap

There’s a huge forest somewhere, and a lone human living in the middle of it, hunting and killing whatever he pleases...

-----

Todd stretched and groaned as he finally got up from his old rocking chair, smiling and breathing in the crisp night air.

This winter was sure to be a doozie, but Todd knew he was well prepared.

Dozens upon dozens of frozen meats of all kinds were stored in his nice little cellar. Duck, pheasant, turkey, deer, moose, and even fish as well.

He’d also kept many a nice fur hide or two and made them into coats and quilts and rugs! It was almost like living in a lap of luxury for Todd!

And no one was even around to give him a single gripe about it!

Sure, there were once in a while a coupla stragglers, folks who either got curious, lost, or heard rumors most likely, but they were easy to deal with.

Humans were even easier to hunt than animals sometimes.

So Todd felt no threats. Even before he became well armored, loaded with traps of his own custom making, and an expert shot with his ol’ friend Vicky (A lovely little Browning Superposed shotgun), he’d let the forest itself do its job of taking on the riffraff.

This forest had also felt like his old friend, hiding him from all else, and supplying him with everything he needed.

And no matter the season, it stayed that way, considering there was nothin’ but big old evergreens for miles and miles.

“Goodnight, pretty thing.” He couldn’t help mumbling to it, smirking like a fool in love, and heading for the front door.

As the door closed and everything grew considerably more quiet, except for the soft chirps of crickets still trying to enjoy the last of fall and the whispering hiss of the wind through the branches of the trees, another noise came from somewhere in that darkness amongst the forest.

A simple little hiss of a voice.

“... Goodnight, Todd...”

....

...

..

After that, it was as if even the wind and the crickets froze up in shock, not expecting there to be suddenly something new amongst them. Something not of that forest truly; Not an animal, not an insect, not a human.... not exactly anyway...

Black goop suddenly seemed to pour out of a crease between to evergreens, spilling out and spreading quickly.

But it had an end and that end separated from the shadows of the trees, as the thing that was a simply a black blob on the ground made its way closer to the little old house in the clearing. It would almost remind one of the shadow of a big fish in the water, circling and gliding along.

Once up the porch steps and in front of the door, it started to change, though. It morphed up and up into a small, human-like shape. It looked like a pre-teen or so of some kind.

Dark skin even darker in the night, exposed and not perturbed by the cool late fall wind in only a soft white cotton shirt, the human-like person also had simple plain dark blue pants, rolled up at the ends a bit, though.

And on their little feet, toes strangely colored in black, were only wearing simple sandals.

The person stared at the door, hands up and entwined together by their chest, slightly wringing as if they were unsure and uncertain of something.

They looked behind them briefly, back at the forest, bright shimmering red eyes staring at the trees as if they could ask it “Are you sure about this?” or something like that.

Finally, taking a breath in and out, the little one raised a hand.. and knocked on the door.

....

There was no response at first, just a soft whooshing going through the area, reminding the youth that they were most certainly alone right now. On a stranger’s property. On a stranger’s porch. In front of a stranger’s door.

Trying to get a stranger’s attention.

Swallowing, they tried knocking again. Harder.

And this time they heard it. The tromping of booted feet, the loud ruffling of someone moving and/or getting on clothes, and then the STOP of all the commotion when the other reached the other side of the front door.

Tiny keen ears also heard a soft clicking and clattering of something that was likely a weapon.

“Who issit?!” The man finally spoke, voice cracking with age and nerves that were tense and rattled.

This scenario had certainly never happened before...

“Uh- um, I was wondering if you could come out... a-and talk to me, please?” The younger one asked, raising their voice an awful lot higher than they were used to, and it showed in a crack here and there in their tone.

...

Todd went a lot slower and quieter this time, slipping over to the side window to carefully lift the curtain and get a peek of who the hell could be out there at this time of night, and with a voice like that.

But peeking out at his porch, he froze up instantly.

The kid had turned right there to look right back at him.

“THE FUCK?!” Todd shrieked out and stumbled back, staring at just the window now as if it was the one to blame.

.... But, wait. WHY was he suddenly so utterly frightened?! Yeah, that little squirt out there had surprised him in doing that, but... this was HIS property, dammit! HIS house!

“...Whattaya want from me, kid?” He called out again, shotgun firmly in front of him, even if there was no way a little rugrat could open a double bolted door that was also made of thick wood.

“Just to ask you somethin’.” Aarushi responded, staring up at him where they stood beside him now, hands demurely laced together behind their back.

Immediately following this came a scream of absolute horror as well as FOUR shotgun blasts in a row.

“...HOW DARE HE!!!” Sebastian Michaelis snarled and was about to shoot out of his and Agni’s hiding spot in the forest, until Agni himself latched onto the demon he deemed his love and held on as tight as he could.

“Whoa whoa whoa whoa, calm, Sebastian! Caaaalm!!” Agni hissed frantically “You and I both know Aarushi can withstand bullets now, almost just as well as you!”

“THAT DOES NOT MAKE HIM ACTUALLY SHOOTING MY PRECIOUS KITTEN AT POINT BLANK RANGE ANY MORE BLOODY ACCEPTABLE!!!”

“Shhhh, moonlight. Everything will be alright. We trained them for this. We knew what could happen. They knew what could happen. It will be fine.”

Sebastian had stilled but was certainly not done growling and baring his fangs as he glowered out at the house. And not even Agni’s soft, soothing petting could help him this time.

Aarushi stood stock still after the racket died down, not even breathing.

Todd on the other hand was having quite a tizzy at the moment, huffing and puffing and shaking in place.

His eyes darted around and what he could see in the dim light was.. four holes, all in various places around his living room.

And not a single one had hit the child standing in front of him.

He lowered the gun just a bit, staring now in utter horror of the.... thing in his house that most definitely could not be a human child.

“Wh-wh-what the hell do you want?!” He hollered, but did nothing else this time.

Aarushi opened their mouth, then closed it just as quickly. Their little eyebrows knit and they clenched their fists at their sides and looked down at the floor.

“Um.. well, I wanted t-to ask you if um, what I was told about you was... was true.”

Todd just stared some more.

...

“Are... are you a hunter? Are you.. killin’ lots of animals around here, Sir?”

Todd’s face morphed more and more into utter confusion.

“Uhh, well uh... ye-yes..?” He answered, but ended it in a question for some reason or another. He just didn’t know what the hell else to say or do now! What was going on?! Was this just a dream he was having? Oh lord, he hoped so...

The child tilted their head, also looking confused now.

“All of the animals around here? Even the squirrels and chipmunks and tiniest fishes in the ponds and running streams?”

“I- I-  Well, yeah! I hunt what I want and when I want!” Todd found himself managing to gush out, his mind just gradually adapting to whatever the hell this was and going with the flow. “There ain’t no one around ‘cept for me, after all, so I figured I might as well.. do what I want!”

“Stop it.”

Todd froze up at the sudden change of tone from the child’s mouth.

“I- I beg your- your pardon..?”

“Stop it.” Aarushi simply said again, eyes still huge but now glowing in the dark, and pupils in the middle slimming down to almost thin lines. “Stop killing and harming the innocent free spirits of this forest; the old and the young; the big and the small,” Aarushi’s lips curled down in a snarl no one that knew them had ever truly seen, teeth sharping in their mouth to fine points in the process. “the animals and the humans.”

Todd’s heart was now pounding in his ears and ready to jump straight outta his chest. What the fuck kinda nightmare was this, some kinda message from some forest god or some such shit?! He tried to speak, or at least wet his lips again and try to make something come out that could be considered english.

“I-I-I was just- just tryin’ to survive myself! To- to just.. live and- and flourish, y’know?! Just like- like everythin’ el--”

“YOU BROUGHT MAN-MADE TRAPS INTO THE FOREST, TRAPS YOU DESIGNED YOURSELF, TODD. YOU HAVE HUNTED THESE CREATURES DAY IN AND DAY OUT AND HAVE ALSO HUNTED THE INNOCENT, LOST HUMANS WHO KNEW NOT WHAT THEIR FATE WOULD BE!”

The form of the child, while speaking these words in this ethereal bellow and beginning to slowly step closer and closer to the man, began to morph, and do so as if they were made of nothing but some kind of liquid. Their sandals disappeared, feet growing and nails on toes elongating. The same size change happened to the rest of them, till they were just inches from the ceiling. Arms longer, hands and fingers stretched out, now sporting what could only be black claws, strange beaded bracelets dangling from wrists, and then something like fabric was forming around these appendages, covering up hands almost. A robe enveloped their entire form, and yet still their head remained uncovered. Once short curly black hair now elongating too and twisting up into a thin, long braid at their back. And finally, at the creature’s back was something sprouting out that could only be not one, but two pairs of black feathered wings. And at the crown of their curly head, two black horns emerged..

The creature was now glowering down at the trembling mortal man with a scalding, enraged look that no human, and certainly no child could’ve ever pulled off.

“This is not your land, mortal. This land belongs to no one but Mother Earth herself, and the animals she gave it to centuries ago.”

And then the creature changed it’s language to something else.

“Even the great Goddess Kali would not show such a cruel human a single ounce of pity.” Aarushi hissed in Hindi, the very first language they’d learned to speak out loud.

After having witnessed this entire scene and having only managed to move just a bit back as the creature came looming closer, Todd somehow managed to muster up enough brain power to twitch his shotgun right into position aaaand... 

BANG.

Bits and pieces of the thing’s face and what looked like red, human blood went flying as the bullet hit it straight in the middle of the forehead.

As the creature started to make more ghastly noises at this new predicament, Todd bolted as fast as he could for the door, scrambling to unlock it as he recalled the goddamn thing hadn’t even gotten in that way somehow!

He kept looking back though, seeing the monster grabbing and clawing its face, blood streaming down black cheeks. But the blood seemed to be coming from it’s eyes not the wound in it’s head. Was it crying BLOOD, now?!

No time to think anymore on that. He got the last lock off and swung open the door, nearly inhaling the night air as fast as he could as if oxygen could help him get outta this.

But as he stumbled down the porch stairs, he heard it behind him, coming in HOT!

“GET AWAY, GET THE FUCK AWAY!!!” He finally shrieked out, turning around and trying to aim and shoot again.

But this time the creature whom he’d only seen take a few steps in the past, LUNGED OFF THE PORCH and tackled him down.

It’s weight felt like a million goddamned blankets all at once, and Todd also felt the vibrations of it’s growl that it was making, and he faintly recognized that as something similar to a big cat.

There was movement on the side of him, and Todd looked over to see some kind of black tentacle had grabbed his faithful shotgun, was raising it, and now crushed it as easy as a tin can. Then threw it off somewhere, to be forgotten and never used again.

Looking back up into the black hellish face inches from him, Todd saw the wound that was once clear as day in that forehead was now totally gone, and indeed the blood had been coming from those horrible big red eyes. It still was coming from them. Leaking down and dripping blood everywhere.

“Do you have any last words you wish to say, Todd? Before you are nothing but an empty husk in the ground? Fertilizing the Earth you so abused?”

“I... I...” Todd looked around, though he could not really see anything. Nothing but the creature’s face right there and a bit of the black sky above them, stars so itty bitty and so meaningless... “I’m- I’m sorry!” He cried, the first thing he could think of. “I’m sorry, I really am! I didn’t know I- I’d upset someone like this! I didn’t know I’d been so bad!! Please! Please just... show mercy! I... I swear I’ll be good, I’ll be better! I’ll stop harmin’ and killin’. I’ll-”

“S-Stop.” 

The beast suddenly stuttered, and the tone sounded almost... almost like that child’s voice again. Their big toothy mouth now crinkled up into a small frown, trembling. Were they... actually crying now? They shook their head back and forth and narrowed their eyes further, looking almost in pain instead of mad.

“You’re.... You’re lying.”

Aarushi nearly whimpered.

“... Just like.... Mamma said you would.”

And before the mortal man Todd could even make another sound in response to this, Aarushi dove in, and finally took out what they’d come here for.

Still crying and whimpering softly, Aarushi sat up straight and held the familiar looking orb of bright light in both if their big hands.

Wait... big hands..?

Aarushi suddenly froze up, shakily staring at their own arms and hands and then down further at the rest of themselves.

“AAAA!!!” They yelped and the soul went flying, while Aarushi went scooting away and curling up into themselves.

....

Sebastian felt like facepalming but quickly took the better route and ran out of the forest to comfort his little kitten.

“Oh sweetie, it’s alright! You’re fine! This is normal!” He told them, scooping up the soul as well in one free hand.

“I-I’ve NEVER looked like THIS BEFORE!! WHY?!” Aarushi wailed.

“Oh my little tiger cub, there is nothing to fret over,” Agni came forward as well, kneeling down and.. hesitating a moment as he saw the blood coming from their eyes. “.. I believe your Mother speaks the truth, sweet one.” He lowered his voice further and took out a handkerchief to help soak up some of the bloody tears. “This form may be new to you, but it is yours all the same. It is how you are meant to be. Do not fear your self.”

Sniffling, Aarushi finally uncovered their eyes and finally looked back again at the soul hovering in their Mamma’s grasp. Almost perfectly still as if it were a piece of art, and Sebastian was the proud artist.

But no, Sebastian moved the glowing thing closer...

“You have earned this, kitten. Please.”

Although Aarushi could not fathom the logic of “earning” a human’s soul, they sighed and lifted those strange black clawed hands, letting Mamma put the soul in them.

They now stared down the glowing thing, as they had many others they’d been fed before... But each and every one had had a different taste.

.. And Aarushi had an inkling they knew this one’s taste would certainly not be the best out of them all.

But nonetheless they brought it up close and opened their mouth, already feeling the pull from both themselves and the soul; It was strange, like there was a straw there to suck up a liquid like chocolate milk or something, but there was nothing.

And soon the light was gone, and Aarushi was feeling it, already taking root inside the half of them that needed it. Could taste it.

And oh.. the.. taste...

So. 

Much. 

Sin.

Aarushi started violently shaking, face scrunching up, and mouth opening. But no loud noises this time. No screams, either. Just broken, choked squeaks.

This man had been even worse than Aarushi had been told about. Things were surfacing from his soul that even other humans would probably be horrified to know about him. Things.. a child like Aarushi really shouldn’t have had to see or know of.

It boiled inside them, like thick greasy oil and tar and it was so bad that Aarushi finally tore themselves away from their Mother and hunched over on the ground, hands supporting them, and started heaving....

“Aarushi, NO!” Sebastian cried when he realised what his kitten was trying to do. He forced them back up, even as they struggled and flailed and grabbed their own abdomen like they wanted to tear it open and take the soul out that way.

“Please, listen to me, Aarushi! I know you are suffering from whatever it is you taste, but you must keep that soul down! You MUST! It will be USELESS to ANYONE if you throw it back up now! It has already been altered by being inside you!”

“It’s- it’s the worst!! Please! Mamma!! PLEASE! I DON’T WANNA SEE ANYMORE!!”

Aarushi continued on as the soul was absorbed into them for quite a while, for it took a long time to be fully absorbed when the human who had possessed it was not only very old, but had also had quite a lot of life changing experiences.

And though Sebastian did not wish for his precious only child to suffer, he knew all demons, including himself, went through these experiences of eating a soul that truly went against their pallet. 

And yet... energy was energy. And it was necessary for a demon so young to keep going.

He stood from the ground finally, cradling his kitten who had resorted to their human form close, like he hand many, many times before, and looked to Agni.

It was time to go home.

Go home, where Aarushi could curl up in bed with their many dozen soft plush bunnies and Miss Bunny, and Mamma and Pappa right there on both sides too, and continue to deal with the outcome of this experience.

It would take a long time this time, Sebastian and Agni knew, but they would be there all the way..

For though the results of this were not the best, what had transpired and lead to this had surely shown the two parents that their little one was learning and growing and soon... maybe soon.. they would find souls that they would enjoy eating.

And no more Todds.

[bubblesthemonsterartist]

The Last Frontier

Clearly, I should be blaming this on myself, but I am going to take the easy route and blame this on @claudeng80. Happy birthday? XD

This far in the bush, the hours between day and night are measured in the distance of fingers that lay between sunlight and horizon, give or take a lingering twilight. Right now, Zen can only measure three. Which gives him, he thinks, a little less than an hour to get this mess lumped over his shoulder down to the shoreline.

Really, the last thing he wanted to do when he left his nice warm bed this morning was spend the night roughing it. But there will be no float planes to come pull them out after dark, no additional boats sent until the sun starts to rise again at 3am. Perhaps, if they are lucky, the Coast Guard will feel gracious enough to medi-vac Obi into town, but-

“We have to stop meeting like this.”

-he would like it to not have to come to that.

“I would love to, but you keep giving me reasons to have to come after your ass,” Zen growls, taking another step more by feel than by sight. “Honestly, how did you manage to get yourself into this mess?”

“Self defense,” Obi clips back, breathless beneath the pain. “Mama-bear came after me first.”

“You know better than to be at the salmon run this time of year,” Zen replies, wedging himself flush against Obi’s side as the mountain trail dips.

Obi grunts, teeth bared in a grimace, and follows his steps. “Man’s gotta eat, boss.”

“I’m not your boss,” Zen gripes, but his brow furrows, concerned. Not for the first time he notes how gaunt and hollow Obi’s cheeks looked in the spring when the snow thawed enough to venture forth, how his heavy coats sag even now in the height of summer. More than once, Mitsuhide admitted to cutting him lose with a warning after catching him trapping out of season.

Flexing his hand, Zen feels the way the bones of Obi’s ribs fit beneath his palms as he guides him down the mountain. “So,” he begins, cautiously, carefully. “How has hunting been going?”

“What hunting?” Obi laughs, eyes hard as knives as he considers him. “You need a permit for that.”

Zen rolls his eyes, and that- might have been a miscalculation on his part. His right boot slides out from under him and the hard packed dirt becomes as slick as ice when Obi’s weight falls to slide with him. On instinct, one of Zen’s arm tenses and the other shoots out, grasping a sapling before they both of them take the fast way down the mountain.

His heart is still in his throat when he hears Obi say, “Fuck. Fuck, let go.” Boney fingers and jagged nails are scratching at where Zen’s hand grips his side. “Ribs, boss. Ribs.”

“Oh,” Zen breathes, and immediately loosens his hold. “Sorry.”

Obi drags in a greedy breath, face pinched tight, and stumbles out of his grip and into the branches of a spuce.

Hesitating, Zen looks down the mountain, then back up to the slice of horizon peaking through the trees, and hold his hands to the sky once again.

Maybe twilight will be merciful.

“Alright,” Zen groans, scrubbing his face. “Okay. You’re going to sit. We’re going to take a break and you’re going to let me look at that before it gets too dark.”

“Roger.” Obi plops down on dirt and topples over onto his good side, rolling onto his back to stare at the rapidly darkening sky. 

“I didn’t say lay down,” Zen hisses, squatting beside him and pulling him back up to sitting. Obi goes with a whine, but already the scratches on the back of his head are caked with dirt, all mixed in with dried and sticky blood. “How are you even alive?”

“Obviously, I’m not tasty enough,” Obi grins, sitting still when Zen leans in and stares at where the claw caught his cheek.

“There’s not a single animal that likes the taste of humans,” he grouses, moving down to the tattered remains of one of Obi’s sleeves held tight to his chest. “Give me your arm.”

Obi’s face twitches, but he doesn’t what is asked, slowly unlocking muscles until Zen can see where the blood still oozes out of bite and claw marks. He was smart. He protected his face and neck. But the injuries were deep. And the pain-

“You’re going to have to go into town for this.”

Sucking in a sharp breath of air, Obi draws his arm back. He’s already staring into an darkening forest. “For a scratch like this?” he laughs. “I’ve handled more on my own, boss. Just get me down the mountain and I’ll take care of things from there.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zen snipes. “A very lucky idiot. Do you have any idea how rare it is to survive a Grizzly?”

The slow spread of his lips is the most obnoxious and cocky thing Zen has ever witnessed on a human’s face. “Aw, she wasn’t trying to kill me. She was just playin’.”

Zen clambers to his feet, and reaches down, pulling Obi up with him. “Come on,” he sighs, expecting every inch of their journey from here back to town to be a battle. “We’re going.”

“You just want to drag me in front of the judge,” he whines, but throws his arm over Zen’s shoulders again just as easily.

“After all the times I let you go?” Zen raises an eyebrow, taking more careful steps now that the dark is deepening. “Doubtful.”

“You’d be bored without me.” And really, does this man ever shut up? “What’s a game of cat and mouse without the mouse?”

Zen’s mouth slams shut with a click, teeth worrying the inside of his cheek. He doesn’t have an answer for that, not really, but with every soft grunt and hissing breath that Obi tries to bite down on, Zen can’t shake the feeling that he’s got to prove him wrong.

“You didn’t manage to save enough last winter, did you?” Zen tries after several minutes of deepening pants. Silence has removed Obi’s distractions, and sweat sheens his face when the straight finally comes into sight through a break in the trees. “You lost a lot of weight and you haven’t been able to put it back on.”

Obi shakes his head once, pain or exhaustion drawing the truth out of him. “Something got into my stores one night,” he admits. “It was a hard winter after that.”

Zen tsks. “That’s why you’ve been poaching.”

“It’s not poaching,” he snips back. “It’s surviving.”

He’s not about to get in an ethical debate about this. Not when enforcement is literally his job. “You need a permit to hunt,” he explains for what feels like the millionth time since they met. “If you don’t have a permit, you’re poaching.”

“You need money for a permit, boss,” Obi replies, teeth bared. “If I had money, I wouldn’t be hunting.”

Zen narrows his eyes, considering, and they clear through the edge of the forest just as the last of sunlight dips behind the mountains on the island on the other side of the straight. Summer sunsets light the sky in a blaze of orange and rose and Zen grins, his boat right against the shoreline and only a couple of steps into the rising tide. Just where he left it.

“You know, you always call that,” Zen says off-handedly, grabbing the rope tied off to the mast and dragging the boat to him until it grinds against hard rock and sand. He lets go of Obi and takes a step into the water. “How would you like it if that title were for real?”

“What?” Obi is staring at him, eyes so wide you may as well drink from them. “Are you offering me a job?”

“Depends,” Zen shrugs, grasping hold of the edge of the boat and hauling himself up. “You interested?”

[fluffyllamas-23]

You should do that thing you just reblogged for Taylor & Audrey? Or maybe Gabe & Ezra? Either would be fantastic 😍😍❤❤

Hi, just so you know I was so excited to get this, anon, thank you??? I was actually thinking that this would work for Gabe and Ezra and I’m glad I’m not the only one who wants it omg.  Sorry this took me so long, but I hope you like it! (Min-ah belongs to @robbiefischer, they were just kind enough to let me borrow her

*

“Ezra, I just had this, and it’s miserable,” Gabe says, one hand on Ezra’s forehead and the other on the back of his neck as Ezra types lesson plans on his laptop.  

“I’m fine, I’m barely even sick, this is the worst it’s going to get,” he rasps, and clears his throat with a grimace before adding a weak, “probably.”

“You’re going to get worse if you don’t stop and rest, love,” Gabe frowns.  “Call out tomorrow.  I’m off, we can spend the day together, and you can sleep and catch up on everything. Mondays suck without a shitty cold.”

“I can’t,” Ezra snaps, twisting away from him. “Stop worrying. I have a cold. You’re a doctor, you see way worse than this all the time.”

“Okay, but you know that if you don’t take it easy, you’ll wind up with strep or tonsillitis or something. You already sound way worse than I did.”

Ezra muffles a coughing fit into the crook of his elbow, and when it finally passes, he winces and presses a fist to the center of his chest.

“I appreciate your concern, but i also have too much to do to deal with this right now.”

Ezra’s tone is edging upwards, something that only happens when he’s stressed the hell out, and Gabe runs his fingers through Ezra’s hair.  

“Sorry. What do you all have to do? Maybe I can help?”

“Um,” Ezra croaks, tugging on his hair in frustration. “I have to write three tests, make the study guides for those, grade five classes worth of assignments, and come up with the presentation schedules, which should have been done Friday….”

“Shit, that’s a lot.”

“I know…I’m usually way more prepared than this.”

“That’s probably my fault,” Gabe winces.

Ezra’s head snaps up, “what? No it isn’t, you were sick.”

“What can I help you with?”

“I don’t know,” Ezra groans, pressing his forehead to the table.

“Have you made the presentation schedules yet?”

“No.”

“I can do that, give me the names.”

“You don’t mind?”

Gabe shakes his head, “give me the list.”

“Okay,” Ezra says, bending down to grab his folder off the floor. “I have two health classes, three psych classes and I wrote all the groups out by class, but I haven’t organized them or anything.  Presentations are Monday-Thursday, three groups a day.  Go crazy.”  

The moment he’s sitting upright, his vision swims around him, and he rests his head in his folded arms with a groan.  

“Are you alright?”

“Dizzy,” Ezra mutters.  “I’m fine.”

“Dizzy is not fine, Ezra,” Gabe snaps.  

“Yes it is. I’m fine, I just changed positions too fast.”

Gabe purses his lips, “okay. When do you have to have the tests written by?”

“Um,” he rasps, rubbing his forehead. “Soon so I can make the study guide. Wednesday by the latest.”

“Want me to stop by during your free period tomorrow and I can help you?”

“I’ve been snapping at you all night,” Ezra groans, rubbing his eyes sleepily.  “Why would you want to spend more time with me than you have to?”

“Because you’re my husband, and I love you, and I know you’re only grumpy because you’re not feeling good and need to sleep,” Gabe frowns, cupping his cheek.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I only have two more weeks. I can make it two more weeks.”

Gabe manages to talk Ezra into taking Tuesday and Wednesday off that upcoming week, but instead of spending those days on the couch, underneath a blanket and watching Netflix, he spends them at the table, blanket around his shoulders as he coughs his way through everything he has to do.  

That weekend, Gabe convinces Ezra to just relax, and it seems like two days of rest is enough to get him feeling human enough to get through his last week, and by the time Friday rolls around, he’s exhausted and even though he feels better than the previous week, he’s beyond ready for a break.  He still has to grade the tests and input grades into his grade book, and just the thought of doing any of that is enough to make him want to cry.

Gabe is off the next two days, and had offered to take Ezra to and from work, and when Ezra gets into the car, he visibly deflates.

“Congratulations! You’re done!”

“Not yet, I still have to input grades,” Ezra groans, rubbing his forehead.

“Is everything all graded, or do you still have more to do?”

“No,” he mumbles.  “The tests aren’t.”

“When are grades due?”

“Monday morning at eleven.”

“Okay, so we’ll spend tonight and tomorrow morning relaxing, and then I’ll help you get everything done.”

“That sounds nice,” Ezra breathes.

“Yeah it does.  How are you feeling? You’re pale again.”

“Not great, honestly.  But not awful, I’ll live.”

“That’s good,” Gabe grins. “You probably just need one more day to rest.”

“God, I hope so.”

*

It’s Saturday morning, and even though he wakes up before Ezra at nine, he opts to let him sleep for as long as possible. When he’s not up by noon, Gabe walks into their room to check on him, and then stops dead in his tracks when he sees Ezra cocooned in their blanket, shivering so violently that his teeth are chattering.

He’s pale and clammy, his cheeks are flushed a deep red and his eyes (which are glassy from fever) have dark smudges underneath them.  

“Shit,” Gabe hisses, double-timing it over to him, and he puts his hand on Ezra’s forehead.  “Ezra, talk to me.  What’s the matter?”

Ezra opens his mouth to say something, but he’s immediately cut off by a deep, chesty coughing fit, and Gabe can actually hear his lungs crackling.  

“Ow,” he croaks.  

“Can you get up?” Gabe says urgently. “I think you might have pneumonia…it’s time for an emergency room trip.”

He’s fuzzy and out of it, and it takes Gabe much longer to get him to the car than it should.  He’s lightheaded from how incessantly he’s coughing now, and if Gabe didn’t have a hold on him, Ezra would have fallen over by now.

“No hospital,” Ezra gasps, wincing as he rubs his chest. “Don’t wanna stay.”

“I don’t think that’s up to you, love,” Gabe says, glancing at Ezra as he pulls out of the driveway.

“Yes. I’ll leave.”

“You are not leaving against medical fucking advice. Absolutely fucking not.”

Ezra shoots him a glare as he coughs into the crook of his elbow.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll do my best to convince whoever sees you to let me take you home, but I’m not promising anything because whatever the hell kind of temp you’re running looks miserable.”

*

“Min-ah, he doesn’t want to stay.”

She raises a brow at him, “can you blame him? I wouldn’t either.”

“Let me take him home.”

“He has pneumonia,” she says flatly. “His temp is still above one oh four. You’re not taking him home.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, “yeah I know all that. I meant after we get it down.”

“You’re a doctor. You know he needs to stay in the hospital.”

“You’re right, I am a doctor, and you know just as well as I do that he’ll be fine with me, and you know I’ll keep a close fucking eye on him.”

They stare each other down for a few minutes before she sighs in relief, “fine. But I have some conditions.”

“Okay.”

“You bring him right in if his fever gets back up to one hundred and four, or if he gets confused or disoriented at all, or if he gets short of breath or has chest pain. You will make sure he drinks water every single hour, and if I see you in the hospital in the next couple of days for any reason other than bringing him back in, I’m going to kill you myself because you need to be at home with him.”

“Deal.”

“I’m admitting him and keeping him for a few hours for observation,” she grumbles. “You can’t talk me out of that.”

“Well yeah, I’m not letting him leave until his fever is down and his sats are up.”

Gabe goes back over to where Ezra is lying, half asleep and coughing so badly that Gabe winces in sympathy and strokes his burning cheek.

“I wanna go home,” he croaks, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“I know,” Gabe says softly, stroking his cheek. “Not yet though. You just have to stay long enough for your oxygen sats to go up and your temp to go down.”

“I’m fine.”

“You have pneumonia, sweetheart. You’re so, so sick, you aren’t fine.”

Ezra groans, rubbing his eyes. “I feel better.”

“You’re lying.”

“My fever is down!” he protests weakly through a coughing fit.

“103 is still not great.”

“But-“

“I’m pulling the doctor card. You aren’t leaving until it gets down to 101.”

*

It takes most of the night and well into the morning for Ezra to be stable enough that he can leave, and when he is, Gabe helps him change out of the hospital gown and back into his clothes, and then into a wheelchair.

He’s still pale and shaky and glassy-eyed, and just looks all around miserable…and Gabe hates it.

“Ready?” Gabe asks, helping him into the car.

“I was ready when i got here,” Ezra gripes, crossing his arms.

“Stop pouting. You were too sick to leave last night, I know you wanted to, but it wasn’t happening.”

“Can we just leave?” He rasps.  “Please? I want to go lie down.”

“Of course,” Gabe says, leaning down to kiss his cheek.  “Do you want me to stop and get you some mac n cheese from Panera?”

“No,” Ezra mumbles.  “Well…can you drop me off and then go get it? I know it’s out of the way, but that sounds good….”

“Ezra, I got you sick and now you have pneumonia,” Gabe says firmly. “You can have whatever you want.  I would cut off my left arm if you wanted me to.”

A smile tugs at his lips, “that’s a little bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Gabe chuckles lightly, “Maybe a little. Point is, you can have anything.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.  “I just want bed…and mac n cheese.”

“That can definitely be arranged.”

[loveisblindyouidiots]

So @neonthebright I may or may not have been that anon that said they were writing a fanfic 😅 Here it is I guess lol

•••

“So...uh....what are you?” Daniella didn’t answer. She was frozen in fear. A young boy, well, a teenager, stared at her from where he stood beside the dresser. She’d been scoping the room for hex bags. She hadn’t expected its occupant to come back while she was in here. He took a step back.

“Sorry, I’m looming over you aren’t I?” Daniella didn’t know what to make of this kid. She wanted to have a good read on him before she spoke, or even though about trusting him. “I...I hope I’m not scaring you. I’m just curious as to why....you’re in my room.” He sat down on his bed, hands up defensively. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.” Daniella saw the sadness in his eyes. She gritted her teeth, her tail swaying back and forth anxiously behind her. She took a few steps toward the edge and the kid jumped up.

“Whoa! You’ll kill yourself falling off that!” She saw his hand coming towards her and she screamed. She sent out a burst of flames towards him and he yelped in pain as the flame met his skin. He slunk back with a hiss, flexing his hand against his chest.

“H-how?” He said. He couldn’t take his eyes after her. “How the hell did you do that?” He rose his voice slightly and Daniella flinched. She’d never felt so powerless. Normally, she’d teleport out of there but she never teleported where she wanted too when her mind was clouded with panic. She bit her lip and looked back up at the scared look in the kids' eyes. She couldn’t let him leave here with the impression that her people were dangerous, he might hurt others unintentionally if he talked to the wrong people about her kind.

“If...I tell you...you can’t tell anyone else. Not even your best friends, your mother, nobody.” She couldn’t hold him to his word, but she could try. If anything she’ll give him a better impression. The kid nodded. Daniella took in a deep breath. “I’m a Neera. We look human for the most part, aside from our ears, tails, and claws.” She pointed to each one as she explained. “Also, we hold magic within us.” She sent up a flame and he watched in awe. “I have the power of fire. I can also heal, and teleport-“

“Teleport?” He asked, before blushing. “Sorry.” Daniella smiled. This kid seemed to have a good heart.

“I can show you if you want.” Daniella eyed the mini fridge on the other side of the room. “Watch the top of the fridge, okay?” She shut her eyes and concentrated. She felt the cool plastic underneath her feet and looked. The kid could have been catching flies by the way his mouth hung open.

“Holy shit!” He said with a smile creeping on his face. “That’s awesome! I didn’t know...magic existed...” Jacob muttered under his breath. “At least outside of Wellwood...” Daniella nodded, teleporting back to the dresser.

“Most people don’t. But it’s real, all the supernatural beings are real.” She chuckled. “But we’re not going to go into that conversation.” She saw how he was still holding his hand to his chest. “Does...your hand hurt?” He looked down at it and sighed.

“A little but it’s no big deal.” He shrugged. “I shouldn’t have tried to grab you.” He rubbed at his arm. “I’m sure it looked scary as hell.” Daniella couldn’t believe her ears. Most humans didn’t care that it was scary to be grabbed. To most humans, her kind was like pets.

“It’s alright....” She started and realized she never got his name. “I don’t think we properly introduced ourselves.” He laughed.

“O-oh yeah. Uh, I’m Jacob. Jacob Andris.”

“I’m Daniella. I don’t really have a last name.”

“So...what did you come into my room for?” Daniella blushed. She completely forgot to finish the job she came here to do.

“Oh! I was scoping the room for Hex bags.” Jacob blinked.

“Hex bags? Is that a sprite thing?”

“Sprite?” Daniella asked. “What’s a sprite?” He chuckled.

“Uh, Sprites are a race of people. My friend Bowman’s one. He lives deep out in the woods. I’m surprised you’ve never heard of them, considering you’re....the same size.” Daniella shrugged. “Oh yeah, and they have wings.” That caught her attention.

“WINGS!” She exclaimed. “So they don’t have to climb everywhere?! Or teleport?” Jacob reached up and scratched the back of his neck.

“No, but they have magic like you. Sort of. I don’t really know how to explain it... so...what's hex bags?”

“Witches use them to put curses on people. They usually hide them in corners or places people wouldn’t normally look. I was looking to make sure there weren’t any in this room.” She teleported to the floor and walked under the bed. Her ears twitched as Jacob shifted on the bed, causing it to creak and moan. She checked every corner and inside a hole in the wall hidden behind the leg of the bed. She bit her lip at the sight of the brown cloth bag. “Fuck. Better get this to where I can burn it.” Daniella wrapped her arms around it and heaved. She wobbled out from under the bed and flinched slightly as Jacob moved his foot out of her way.

“Is that..?”

“The hex bag?” Daniella answered. “Yeah. I just need to burn it and you should be fine.” She looked up at him and chuckled. She really didn’t want to do this... “Um...could you help me, Jacob?” He nodded.

“Sure.” He said. “With...what?” Daniella gulped. She hated being in anyone’s hands besides Keiths or Todd’s.

“Could you carry me the sink in the bathroom? It’ll be safer for me to burn it there.” His face paled.

“You do realize that means I have to...touch you...right?”

“I know.” She sighed. “And I...” Hate was a strong word. “...dislike the idea as much as you do, but it’s either that or scorch the carpet and risk the whole room going up in flames. Or worse,” she added. “Whatever this hex bag was placed here for could happen to you.” She took a deep breath. “It’ll benefit both of us greatly if we put aside our fears for a few minutes.” Jacob nodded, hesitantly lowering his hand to the floor.

“Y-yeah.” Jacob gulped nervously. Sure, he’d been friends with people Daniella’s size for a while now, and yeah, he’s held Bowman in his hands, but, he just met Daniella. Plus he’s pretty sure she didn’t quite trust him fully yet, which he couldn’t blame her for. Daniella climbed on before she could change her mind, Jacob used his other hand to grab the hex bag and he stood up slowly. Daniella closed her eyes and mumbled some comforting words to herself. The sooner this job was done the sooner she could get back to Keith. He was probably starting to worry. She peeled open as Jacob took his first step and her eyes widened. She always marveled at how humans took such long strides across a room. It would have taken her minutes; while it took him seconds. He turned into the bathroom and set the He bag down in the sink, he put his other hand on the side, letting Daniella slide off. Her feet hit the cold white porcelain and she smiled up at him.

“That wasn’t too horrible.” She laughed. “I’ve had worse rides.” Jacob blushed and nodded, awkwardly.

“T-thanks. I’ll make sure to tell Bowman that. That way he can’t gripe about it anymore.” Daniella smiled.

“Alright, let’s burn this bitch.” She sat down on the top of the sink before sending a burst of flame from her hand towards the hex bag. It went up in flames faster than she thought it would and soon enough she pushed against the handle so water drizzled down to stop the fire. “There...should be fine.” She looked back up the Jacob. She eyes his hand. Jacob flexed his hand and shrugged.

“Don’t worry about my hand, I’ll be fine. Not the first burn I’ve had.” Daniella shook her head.

“No, no, no, you’re going to put your hand right here.” She motioned informs of her. Jacob sighed before complying. She saw the newly exposed flesh along his palm and felt a twinge of regret in her stomach. She had to find a better way to greet people. She reached both her hands out and hesitantly put them on the soft flesh. Jacob barely flinched at the small touch. Daniella closed her eyes and felt her healing magic pulse through her to him, a warm fuzzy feeling. Jacob could feel his heart pounding in his chest, watching his skin heal right before his eyes.

“Whoa....” He exclaimed as Daniella retracted her hands. He brought it up to his face and examined the now blemish free palm. “Wow, thanks.” He looked back down at the sink, eyes widening seeing Daniella was no longer there.

“It was great meeting you, Jacob Andris!” He looked behind him and to the floor. Daniella stood beside the wall just outside the bathroom, holding up the wallpaper to reveal a hole she could easily walk into. “I hope we meet again someday! Maybe show me this sprite friend you kept talking about!” Jacob nodded with a smile.

“I hope so too.” They waved each other goodbye as Daniella headed back into the walls of the motel, Jacob stared at where she’d last stood for a few more minutes before settling on the bed and turning on the TV, but he doubted anything on it would compare to the fantastic ten minutes he’d just had with his new friend.

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 14

December 24

The day after this chapter takes place I would publish the first chapter—wild. When will the chapters catch up? Hmm...

I would like to thank my beta-readers ( @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos) once again for all that they do!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

“It’s Christmas. What do you want for dinner?” Chuuya nudged at Dazai’s head, which was resting on his chest. The boundaries of personal space and of who claimed what (the bed or the couch) had blurred over the past week. With his legs stretched across the couch, Dazai could have been sleeping. He hardly moved—which was okay with Chuuya; it would have been uncomfortable otherwise.

Dazai responded without missing a beat (“KFC”); he must have been awake.

“Since it is Christmas, I could make something special—what do you mean ‘KFC?!’”

“It’s Christmas, so KFC.”

“You just don’t want to eat my cooking!”

“You put those words in my mouth,” Dazai peeked up at Chuuya briefly before turning away. “But, no, I don’t.”

“It’s gotten better—I fucking swear! If you actually ate it, you would know!”

Dazai quickly pulled away from Chuuya in order to avoid his wrath “Chuuya, I’m forced to eat your cooking every day.” He sighed. “Anyway, it’s Christmas, so why can’t we have KFC?”

“They’re probably out by now,” Chuuya spat.

“I already ordered one.”

“YOU DID?”

“Yeah. As you said, they sell out fast, so I ordered one a while ago.”

“Wait, what did you order?”

“PARTY • BARREL • PARTY • BARREL • PARTY • BARREL...” Dazai continued to chant even as the words garbled together. There was a childlike glimmer in his eye, which Chuuya couldn’t ignore.

“Fine,” Chuuya sighed. “But that’s a lot of food. You better actually eat some of it.”

“The only reason I don’t usually eat is because of your cooking.”

“Fucker!” Chuuya stood up from the couch, slightly miffed. “Alright, I’m going to pick it up then.”

“Wait,” Dazai’s hand clamped around Chuuya’s arm. “I want to come too.”

“Are you sure? Are you up for it? It’s just KFC. I’m just going to go and come back.”

“But. It’s Christmas.” Still hanging onto Chuuya’s sleeve, Dazai averted his gaze.

“Yeah, so? It’ll be a little crowded, but I’m sure they have it under control with staff. This does happen every year.”

“But, the lights. We’re a couple. I thought Chuuya would want to see them. Together.”

Honestly, Chuuya had seen the lights so many times on his commute—he didn’t need to see them again. “Aah, that’s embarrassing. How did you know?”

“It was just a guess.” Dazai smirked, standing up by Chuuya’s side.

After throwing on his coat, Chuuya met Dazai by the door. “Oh, yeah, since you’re leaving the house, you should use this.” Chuuya handed Dazai the walking stick which had previously leaned by the door, unused. Dazai grimaced. “Use it.”

“I hope this isn’t your gift for me. I don’t need it.” Despite his gripes, Dazai took the cane. He clutched it almost desperately with both hands as though if he used only one hand, it would be too difficult to hold. Even with the support of the stick and Chuuya, Dazai, quaking violently, threatened to fall with every step.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m just cold. I’m fine.”

Dazai wouldn’t accept an argument from Chuuya, so Chuuya just let the subject fall silent, although it never left his mind. As they slowly walked, Chuuya couldn’t look away from Dazai, making sure he was alright.

Dazai, for his part, had quickly moved onto other things. His attention lingered at each decorated storefront. The strands of colored lights seemed to twinkle in his deep brown eyes. Even as his mouth hung slightly agape, he was awed to silence. Maybe it wasn’t a mistake to bring Dazai along.

The walk back wasn’t nearly as pleasantly surreal. Dazai had surrendered to exhaustion; the walking stick became ineffective—thus, Chuuya had to drag him home. For the most part, Dazai was silent except for the occasional shiver or grunt.

When they arrived back at the apartment, Dazai immediately flopped onto the couch, his eyes flickering closed.

“Aren’t you going to eat, Mr. KFC?” Chuuya called from the table.

“Later...”

Chuuya stomped over. “Are you really sleeping now? I got this bucket just for you.”

“I’ll eat it… later...” Dazai yawned. “Wake me up… for presents.... I have something to give you...” With that, Dazai’s head hit the cushion, and he was still. It was impossible for Chuuya to wake Dazai up when he was sleeping so peacefully—not after the nights when Chuuya had to coax Dazai into sleep, not after the restless moments when Dazai jolted from his sleep, gasping.

Chuuya waited a few minutes, watching Dazai’s labored breaths lull, then headed to the table. He would enjoy the chicken at least. As much as he hated to admit it, it was probably better than his own cooking.

After finishing his fair portion of chicken (there was still too much left), Chuuya sauntered into the living room. For a moment, he deliberated letting Dazai sleep but decided against it—Dazai would be annoyed if he woke up the next morning. He ruffled the brunet’s hair.  “Hey, idiot, time to get up.”

“Nnn… oh, is it present time?” Dazai peered at Chuuya through his half-lidded eyes before forcing himself up. “Lemme get yours.”

“Are you sure? You can sit still. I can get it.”

“No, that’s no fun! I don’t want you to spoil it!” Dazai left the couch on shaky footing and hobbled into the bedroom. On his way back, he took a detour into the dining room and inspected the chicken. “Hm, it’s warm enough.” Shoving a wing into his mouth, he returned to the couch. “I’ll eat more tomorrow.”

“You better.” Chuuya grin was menacing under its sweet facade.

“Okay, I guess I’ll present mine first.” Dazai beamed and thrusted a sparkling bag into Chuuya’s hands.

“Hmm… knowing you, you probably got me fake booze.”

“Maybe I did. Open and find out.” Dazai’s smirk neither confirmed nor denied the truth.

Challenged by his partner, Chuuya tore out the tissue paper and peeped inside. His eyes widened before he snatched the disk from the bag. “Moroi Saburou? A vinyl copy?” He stared at Dazai for a solid minute. “Holy shit.” With an irrepressible grin, he threw his arms around Dazai.

Dazai returned Chuuya’s affection with a soft smile. “Merry Christmas, Tsuuya.”

‘Tsuuya?’ Since when? Dazai’s voice had always been so clear and articulate; it flowed from his lips like a song—an extremely attractive melody at that. So when had his voice become so foggy? When did the words start blurring together? Why hadn’t Chuuya noticed earlier?

Without thinking, Chuuya recoiled. Concern was painted over Dazai’s previous smile. “Ts—Chuuya?”

“Oh, sorry,” Chuuya laughed (which was only half-fake). “I forgot to give you my gift! I should do that now. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Here.” Chuuya handed Dazai the box he had neatly wrapped in shimmering green paper with red ribbon. It nearly fell through Dazai’s grip, so Chuuya decided to place it on his lap. “Be careful.”

Dazai picked at the paper, but his progress was too slow—practically non-existent—even for the pace he was working at. His trembling fingers just couldn’t get a solid grip on the edges of the wrapping.

Chuuya didn’t want to rush his partner, but he could tell even Dazai was growing impatient—gritting his teeth and muttering frustrated comments under his breath. “Did you try just tearing at it?” Chuuya suggested.

Dazai shook his head, resigned to his inability to open the gift.

“Do you want me to open it then?”

As if powered by spite at Chuuya’s offer, Dazai forcefully tore at the paper, creating a large hole in the wrapping. “See? I donneed you tado it.” Dazai grinned in his forced pride, but Chuuya couldn’t help but wince. He couldn’t hear the meaning over the jumbled sound. Each slur seemed enunciated as to remind Chuuya of his recent discovery.

“A camera?” Dazai’s gasp drew Chuuya back from his thoughts.

“Yeah, you seemed to take an interest in photography, so I thought you would appreciate an actual camera.”

Dazai delicately placed the box back into his lap, staring down at it with dejection. Although his eyes held such longing, his words said otherwise. “I can’t use this.” The silence which overtook his words spoke loudly of his sorrow and regret.

“Well, I can take the pictures, if you want. Just consider me an extension of your camera. Of course, they’ll be your photos.”

Dazai’s smile was hollow. “Then whowill take pho tosof you?”

“Oh, I, uhh..” Chuuya’s face lit up brighter than his hair. In an attempt to calm down, he cleared his throat and gulped down whatever embarrassment remained. “Actually, I also bought a tripod… I didn’t wrap it though—fuck.” He shuffled away from the couch and grabbed the tripod in order to redeem himself.

“Shall we uze it?”

“Do you want to? Because sure.”

“Ya, in fronnof the deccerations. That seemz like a good place.” By ‘decorations,’ Dazai was referring to the tiny tree they had bought and decorated for the hell of it. After draping it with garland and so many lights it could be considered a fire hazard, Chuuya put a drunk Colonel Sanders decoration on top, and then it had been forgotten until that moment.

“Mm, it is Christmas, after all. We should light that thing at least once.”

“Hopeflly, we don cause a power outage alover the city—or worz, a giant fire.”

Ignoring Dazai’s sinister predictions, Chuuya lit up the tree, pulled over chairs for Dazai and himself, then went to work setting up the tripod. “You ready? 30 seconds.” He hurried back to his chair, but when he was sitting, Dazai pointed at the ceiling with a large grin on his face. Hesitant and seriously confused, Chuuya tilted his head up. A few green, leafy branches were dangling from the season.

What the fuck.... When did that get there… Meeting Dazai’s eyes, Chuuya understood.

“Mistletoe,” Dazai said with a smirk. For some reason, that word was as clear as day.

“You piece of shit.” Chuuya rolled his eyes before leaning in to kiss Dazai.

“Mmhmm.” Dazai smiled into his kisses, and it contagiously spread to Chuuya and erased everything else from his mind: the presents, the fire hazard behind them, the—click.

Chuuya’s eyes fluttered open, and his gaze drifted towards the camera before he finally separated himself from Dazai. Well, slightly—he was a breath away. “You fucking tricked me. I can’t believe I fell for such a basic prank.”

Dazai only grinned. Eyes still closed, he was waiting to return to their merriment.

“Don’t you think we should take a fucking decent photo?”

“We don’t need to. We tested it, and it works.” With a whisper, Dazai pulled Chuuya closer and played beckoningly with the curls of his hair.

“Alright, fuck it.” Chuuya brought his lips right up to Dazai’s, but then he paused again. “Can we at least go to the fucking couch?”

Chuuya turned off the blinding Christmas tree then escorted Dazai, who wouldn’t stop teasing at his neck. They soon made themselves comfortable, Chuuya wrapped in Dazai’s arms, on the couch that was no longer Chuuya’s alone, and time flew by thoughtlessly until the good times had to end.

← Previous All Next →

[undertaleowl]

Expanding the Canon, chap. 2

Hey all! Here’s the second chapter, and the fic is now officially on AO3, so go to the link to read, if that’s easier for you!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027401/chapters/34837757

Expanding the Canon, chapter 2

FOUR MONTHS LATER…

Averia stood in line for the hot dogs and hot cats as she listened attentively to the twins, both talking her non-existent ears off about different topics on either side of her. It was a crisp fall day, the perfect day for her siblings to be playing at recess in their matching green and blue striped t-shirts and jeans. Today was a teacher work day, meaning the kids had the day off. Normally, she would be at work right now, but since her number one babysitter was a high school student who DID have school today, and her other younger sibling also had school today, that left her to take the day off.

It was always a pleasure to have more time with her siblings since she was usually at work from 5:00 AM to 5:00 PM. Her work hours made it so that she only had three or so hours with them until they had to go get ready for bed. Except on the weekends, then they had four hours to spend together, because the twins’ bed times were 9:00 instead of 8:00. She at least got more time with Merri, the oldest of the younger siblings. She was the equivalent of a human twelve-year-old, and so she got to stay up until 9:00 normally and 10:00 on weekends, and she would talk to her book-lover sister about her day and what movies and books were out there, and they would geek out together.

“Next up!” Averia gently pushed on her siblings’ backs to push them towards the counter.

“Think about what you want, you two,” she prodded gently. Sans the Skeleton gave her a lazy salute.

“Hey there, Ms. Averia. What brings you by so early?” he asked as he went to make her usual, her hot cat with the ends so burnt that they were charred. Averia chuckled and gestured to the two kids.

“These munchkins didn’t have school today, and normally they have lunch at 11:00 instead of 1:00, so I’m here early,” she answered, grinning at him. “Glad you were open. Wasn’t sure if you were gonna be or not.” Sans nodded in acknowledgement.

“Oh, you know me. I can be here early since I can do the job with my eyes closed,” he replied. Averia breathed out a laugh.

“Are you sure you actually do the job with your eyes closed, or is that your excuse to sleep when you’re supposed to be working?” Sans was about to respond when he heard two amazed “whoa’s” come from either side of Averia.  

“Can you really work while sleeping, mister?” the little girl skeleton asked while wringing her hands, obviously in awe. Sans’ smile became a little softer when he saw the little girl flush purple when he nodded yes to her question.

“That’s SO cool! How do you do it?” the little boy skeleton interjected before Sans could answer, practically jumping up and down. Lato's skull kind of reminded him of Papyrus while his eye sockets were wider, like Sans' own. Averia chuckled and ran her fingers down the back of the boy’s skull.

“Lato, Mr. Sans is just-” Loud, theatrical snoring from the stand interrupted her, and blue magic levitated hot dogs and hot cats onto the grill while condiments were also floating at the ready. The twins giggled while Averia smirked with her arms crossed, her phalanges tapping on her humerus. Her hot cat floated over to her, along with Lato’s and Lora’s plain hot dogs. Sans opened his eye sockets and winked at them.

“Like that, kiddos.”

Averia finally decided, “To hell with it,” and played along. “Mr. Sans is a skeleton of many talents. Now what do you two say to Mr. Sans?”

“Thank you, Mr. Sans,” the kids intoned in unison before taking their hot dogs and rushing to the nearby oak tree, where there was a purple and white checkered blanket spread out for them. She chuckled softly, shaking her head slightly before she looked back to Sans, who regarded her little brother and sister with a warm, content look on his face. She would try to guess why later. They were still only acquaintances, after all, so it would be rude if she asked.  

“You know, you’re the first one I’m coming after if Lora or Lato begin sleeping in class while trying to listen to the teachers,” Averia stated, trying and failing to keep her tone serious. Sans shrugged.

“Welp, wouldn’t exactly be a bad thing,” he replied before winking again at her. Averia raised both bone brows and was about to ask what he meant by that when he added, “I’d just give you a free hot cat, and you’d let me off the hook.” Averia felt her cheek bones heat up, nearly glowing green, as he snickered at her. “You’re not as much of the strict librarian that you pretend to be, Ms. Averia.”

The petite skeleton librarian went to retort, but she was interrupted by an unfortunately VERY familiar voice shouting, “Hey thief! How about you do a decent thing for once in your life and stop running?!” Averia closed her eye sockets in exasperation and sighed. Out of instinct, she put her leg behind her and tripped the perp trying to get away. On cue, Armata rushed by in her navy blue uniform and tackled the other skeleton, putting handcuffs on him. The broad and big-boned woman took her role as the first monster police officer very seriously, and the dark circles under her eye sockets revealed that she hadn’t slept in a while. Averia made a note to force her to sleep later in the day or in the week.

“Aw, come on, doll face, it ain’t like the dead broad was gonna miss whatever was taken!” This time, it was Sans who closed his eye sockets and sighed. The handcuffed skeleton must have been one of Sans’ alternates, based on the other’s reaction, the handcuffed man’s short stature, and the identical eye socket shape. Only in contrast to Sans’ blue hoodie, this Sans wore a sweater with a black leather jacket with a fur hood, despite the 60 degree Fahrenheit weather. The other Sans met Sans’ eyelights and brightened. “Classic! Buddy, chum, amigo! Can you please tell the psycho police lady that there’s been some sort of mix-up and that I’d never do anything that bad?” The two female skeletons looked at Sans expectantly, and Sans felt a little bit of sweat drip down the back of his skull.

“I’ve never seen this guy before in my life,” Sans lied, you know, like a liar. Averia had to avert her face to the ground to keep herself from laughing at the obvious falsehood as the alternate growled in the back of his throat.

“Classic, you are fucking dead to me. When I get outta these cuffs, I’m making you pay,” the alternate Sans growled. Sans shrugged while Armata tightened the magic-repressing cuffs, yanked him up to stand on his feet, and scowled at the back of the perp’s skull.

“The only one who’s paying is you, bucko.” Armata turned to Averia and grinned, her cheeks flushed a light pink from the running. “Morning, Avie! Beautiful Autumn day, right?” Averia chuckled.

“I guess so, though I don’t want to keep you from doing your job by talking about what a good day it is,” she tried to coerce, continuously glancing at the arrested skeleton, who seemed to be growing more and more irritated. However, the bulky skeleton woman just waved her free hand as the other hand held the middle chain of the guy’s handcuffs to prevent him from escaping.

“Ah, this bozo isn’t going anywhere. I never see you unless I go to the library, and when I do, you don’t wanna talk to me,” Armata whined. Averia raised both of her bone brows, amused and exasperated at the same time.

“It’s because I work at a library, Ari. Literally, it is the only place where being quiet is an expectation and a rule, so I can’t make an exception for you just because we’re friends. It would be like if I committed a crime, and I told you not to arrest me,” Averia scoffed. Armata responded with a scoff of her own.

“You’re too much of a good-two-bones to do anything like that, so that’s a stupid comparison. Seriously, how have you been? How are the kiddos?” Averia finally caved to her friend’s enthusiasm and giggled.

“Kiddos are fine. Lora and Lato are over on the blanket by the tree.” She motioned over to the two children as they talked with their mouths full, causing Armata to laugh while Averia winced at their lack of manners. “They didn’t have school today, so I took the day off to hang out with them. It’s been nice. Poor Merri had a presentation in her Human World History class today, so the kid will have cookies waiting for her when she gets home,” Averia answered, her voice pitching a little lower sympathetically. Armata hummed in understanding.

“Poor kid. So tell me, sweetie bones, does the fear of public speaking run in the family, or is it a learned trait?” Averia glared at her friend for the comment. “Come on, Avie, it’s an honest question! You’re a grown-ass woman, you don’t even have to speak in public anymore, so why’s it still have you and now your younger sister all fucked over?” Lora and Lato rushed over to them, grinning. Armata grinned down at them. “Hey, who are these big munchkins? I don’t think I’ve seen them around before!” Lora giggled.

“It’s us, silly Ari!” Armata fake gasped.

“No,” she said in fake disbelief. Lato smirked.

“Better believe it, Ari. Also!” He pulled out his wallet, opened it, and pushed it into her side. “Swear jar, two times. One dollar, please!” Armata scowled and fished in her pocket for some loose change. By some miracle, she found four quarters and dropped them into the kid’s wallet.

“Jesus fuck, this is so corny that this could be in family sitcom that airs in the early morning ‘cuz nobody fucking wants to watch that shit. Just get me outta here already,” Sans’ alternate self griped. Armata grit her teeth and dug an elbow into his spine. “Ow, fuck!”

“Are we allowed to ask him for money for the swear, Avie?” Lora asked.

“No,” all of the skeleton adults answered in unison, even the alternate Sans. Armata glared at her captive’s head.

“You don’t even get to think of corrupting these beautiful skellie angels by talking to them. Come on, bastard.”

“Swear jar!”  

“Take an IOU, kiddos. I gotta go work.” Armata replied, grinning wryly at them. She looked in Averia’s direction. “Milonga’s got a gig Saturday. I’m sending you the info, and you are coming. It’s after your shift at the library, so you’re coming, and I won’t take no for an answer!” Before Averia could respond, Armata was strutting down the street to the Ebott City police car.

“Avie? We finished our lunches. Can we go play on the playground, pleeeeeeeeeeease?” Lora begged, making her eyelights turn into stars. Averia looked at the close playground and back to her little brother and sister, who were looking at her with pleading eye sockets. Averia nodded, smiling when the two brightened and ran off, giggling.

“Stay where I can see you,” she called after them. Neither responded, so she sighed and shook her head before turning to smirk at the skeleton vendor.

“So...you have an alternate, huh? What’s that like?” she asked, barely restraining a laugh. Sans chuckled despite himself.

“The ones I’ve met are ok, even the dumbass who just got himself arrested. It’s harder to feel bonely now since I know there are other skeletons, even if most of them are my weird twins I never knew existed. I’m pretty sure my brother and I were the only skeletons in our sector,” he explained lazily. Averia cocked her head to the side.

“What sector are you from? I don’t think I’ve ever asked, sorry,” she inquired apologetically. Sans waved a bony hand.  

“Meh, it’s not like you’re the type to pry out the bare bones of my life story,” he joked, smirking a little bit when Averia failed to bite down a smile at the pun. “I’m from Sector 1. So is my bro.” Averia gave him a confused look. “What?”

“You sure you’re from Sector 1? I think I would remember a short, punny skeleton with a hot dog and hot cat cart wandering around,” she noted. Sans felt his eye lights flicker for a moment as he eyed the skeleton regular, intrigued.

“What, you’re from Sector 1? Which area? The capital? I didn’t spend too much time there, so that could be why we never ran into each other.” Averia shook her head. “No, we were in between the locked entrance to the Ruins and Snowdin Town. My aunt was a great climber, and there was this crevice that looked like a jagged crack in the ground, but it led to a canyon. That’s where we lived. We used to come out a lot more often, but then someone decided to build this weird bridge thing with bars. So that decreased mobility a little bit, but we came out to do major shopping in the Capital, for food and blankets and stuff.” Sans looked like he wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. “Mr. Sans? You ok there?” Sans decided to go with laughter apparently. Averia regarded him with the same confused expression until his laughter faded.

“Thank my bro for that. We were sentries in Snowdin Forest. That was supposed to be a gate to stop humans in case they came from the Ruins,” he finally explained. Averia’s expression must have darkened because Sans gave her a guarded look. “Look, my bro wouldn’t have intentionally hurt a fly. If we’d known there were monsters--”

“Oh, I’m gonna have some serious words with her,” she growled, interrupting Sans’ assurance. Sans cautiously reached out and poked her arm, and seemed a little bit apologetic when she jumped nearly a foot in the air, like a cat that got spooked.

“You aren’t mad at my brother for building that bridge and gate thing, right?” he asked. Averia felt her face flush the same color as her magic, a lime green.

“Oh, gosh no! Sorry, I just got lost in thought, I guess, heh heh,” she tried to chuckle, but it was obvious that she was still tense and uneasy, especially since he was still eyeing her like a bomb that might blow any moment. “My aunt just told us that the bridge was to keep bad monsters out. I’m miffed because it wasn’t anything like that after all.” Sans was still kind of gaping at her, so she just accepted her failure at socializing. “Ugh, sorry. I should really go and check on the twins. Nice seeing you again, Mr. Sans,” she rushed before practically sprinting off, almost barreling over a human child with a purple and blue striped sweater, and was that the former queen with them!? She rushed past even more quickly as the human child and Toriel went to Sans’ stand.  

She REALLY needed to learn how to not daydream or get lost in thought while she was talking to someone.

[succinct-assbutt]

Play Pretend

Character: Jake Peralta

Wordcount: 2400

Summary: Assigned a crucial case involving a well-known criminal, Y/N and Jake have to put their differences aside as they go undercover as a happy couple.

A/N: Because I’m such a sucker for “fake” relationships ((:

Tagging:@percieux ,                                                       ○°○°○°○

Y/N can’t believe she’s doing this.

Doesn’t want to. Doesn’t need to. A shrill surge of cold right through her spine, chilling her. She wonders whether or not she heard right, hopes she hadn’t—but it is happening, they assure her. Whether she likes it or not. A direct order from her superior, Terry, looking down at her with a cross expression and arms folded over his chest.

She swallows.  “You’re joking, right?”

“I wish I was.” He say, shrugging. “Only you and Peralta are the only two not partnered up.”

“I’m not doing this, Serge, you can’t make me.”

“It’s not that bad,” Amy, with her smugness worn proud in the form of wide grin, chimes in. Leaning against her desk, her arms are crossed as Y/N’s gaze shoots to her. “You two have worked on tons of cases before.”

“So have you. It’s a wonder why the two of you aren’t paired up granted your history.”

“Y/N….” Terry admonishes, and she looks at him, tense, angry, ready to punch someone. Gritting her teeth, she shakes her head. Working with Jake; months in the precinct, over twenty eight cases covered and you’d think she’d be used to it, to working side by side with Peralta—only she isn’t. Not in a case like this, one of her least favorites when she’s being partnered up with Peralta Peralta, who’s gotten his hand stuck in a coffee pot before; Peralta, who she’s sure would need her help tying his tie; Peralta, who is the textbook definition of unethical. The two of them, polar opposites, which for some reason usually seem to complement each other, only now she disagrees.

“The two of you are going to have to get yourselves in order for Friday. We’ve only got four days left and I’m not gonna let you blow this case like your last one.”

“That was totally not my fault!”

“Y/N’s right, Sarge.” Jake defends as his eyes flit to Amy sat a few rows behind, her arms over her chest. “It’s totally on Santiago.”

“Really?” The brunette tips her head to the side and shakes her head. He isn’t having any of it—Jake’s anecdotes, Y/N’s griping. In usual Sergeant Jeffords nature, he means business, handing out copies of the case-file to each of the squad members. A fat beige file smacks onto the table before Y/N. She lifts her gaze, eyes wide and pleading. Three years in the force, multiple arrests and a high-rank position on the squad and none of her successes ought to be repaid with this.

She rifles through the file then looks up at Terry. “You can’t be serious, Jeffords.”

“More than ever.”

“I’m not working with Peralta!” She declares as she pushes to stand. The legs of her chair scrape the floor, squeaking as she accusingly points to Jake. “He’s a terrible partner, you know he doesn’t play well with others.”

“It’s just for a couple of days.” Terry calmly replies, folding his arms over his chest. “Besides, the two of you have covered tons of cases in the past. I don’t see why this is such a problem?”

“She’s right.” Jake affirms wearily. “Sarge, you of all people know how much I love my job—getting the baddies, saving the day? I can’t do what I love with somebody who sucks all the fun out of it. She’s a demon! A soul-sucking demon.”

“Isn’t that just a regular demon?”

“See?” Frazzled, he gestures to Y/N and she shakes her head in disbelief.

“Four days, Y/L/N.”

“I have to pretend to be his fiance.” The word leaves her mouth like they’re venomous, as though merely uttering them causes her skin to seethe.  They might as well.

For the ten months she’s been working here at the precinct, Y/N has come not know her place in the 99. She’s an officer: a patron of justice for the city of Brooklyn. Getting her job done has been nothing but here number one priority since the transfer, and because of that—her devotion, her discipline—the process has been smooth…Cases have been closed, felons put to justice. It’s been quite the triumph.

The squad’s been especially to thank for that. Since she’s joined they’ve been nothing but warm and dedicated to getting the job done. Y/N respects that, respects them and their penchant for ridding the streets of crime. 

But Peralta?

No. The two of them are barreling forces that, in case of contact, will be the death of each other. A hurricane and a volcano. Fire and ice. They’ve handled cases together and crossed that line between partnership into friendship in the past few months, no doubt, but that’s not enough to sell her on working with him, and all she can do is wonder why Terry would assign two alphas onto a single case.

Because that’s what they are: leaders, dominants. That’s why they’re always butting heads and constantly fighting for supremacy. Jake’s terrible with others—he won’t let you do anything, will try and dictate the entire mission…and Y/N, she’s two times worse.

But she’s going to have to put all that aside this week.

As painful to admit as it is, there’s no more struggling, no more reasoning her way to a victory because it’s not up for debate. Her superior’s word is final, and so she’s doing this. She’s working the case with Jake. She’s his fiancé for the week.

“I’m not doing this.” Y/N tries her luck one last time.

Terry chuckles. She hates that. This isn’t funny; it’s torture, a death sentence. Fuck.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“Can’t I just switch partners with Rosa? I’m sure Boyle would love to be in a relationship with Jake for a few days—hell, they already have undeniable chemistry.”

But her attempts at a solution fail as the sergeant offers her a sad smile, a look of retribution, and then retreats to his seat. Y/N watches him go with slumped shoulders. All eyes follow him, a matching smile in tow, one that speaks admiration and pride before they quickly shift over to Y/N. Gina smirks at her and even Rosa, stoic, somber Rosa, gives herself away with a small simper.

With a groan, the young officer shakes her head and sinks back into her seat. “Unbelievable.”

“Come on, Y/L/N, it’s not gonna be that bad.” Jake pipes up.

“Yeah,” Charles agrees. “You were right—I would kill to be with Jake. He’s awesome.”

“See? I’m awesome.”

“You’re insufferable. “ Her eyes focus on Holt as he takes the stand at the pulpit. Terry, he’s been her friend since before she got here, since the Academy and Queens and the Auldren Case; he’s more about giving her a fair share of teasing rather than her doing her job. With Holt, she hopes, it will be a different story.

When the meeting is adjourned, Y/N rises and hurries out of the conference room. Behind her Jake calls, and she ignores him, continuing into the Captain’s office instead where he’s already behind his desk.

“I can’t do it.” Y/N insists as she stands before his desk. “Jake and I, we work well together—but not like this.”

“What’s holding you back, Detective Y/L/N? It’s not like you to tremble in the face of adversity.”

“It isn’t adversity. It’s preference. I’d prefer to be paired up with someone who isn’t Jake. God—you’ve seen him, Captain. He doesn’t play nice with others. Not to mention he’s a child! An absolute child. I know, I can handle that childishness for a couple of hours, maybe even some days, but a week is—“

“A week is what’s required of you.Look, Sergeant Jeffords ordered this. He’s your superior—it’s out of my hands.”

“You’re his superior…? Can’t you pull some strings?”

“It’s not my job to get involved and re-appoint positions in missions. You will do as he says, Detective. Peralta, although immature, is good at what he does. That should be enough for you to put your preference aside and serve your duty.”

With her bitter glare set on him, Y/N wordlessly shakes her head, and exits the room. Stalking back to her desk, she finds Peralta already there, smiling up at her with an almost odd glee with Boyle in tow.

She tries not to groan. Jake smiles at her as she approaches, tight-lipped and brows raised.

“Ah, speak of the devil.”

“You two talking about me?” Y/N nudges Charles aside and puts the files away in the drawer, turning around so she can face them directly. It’s no secret that Jake, being the human being he is, is just as disdained by this whole situation. It shows, too, no matter how much he’ll try to mask it with petty jokes and smiles.

“So, darling,..” He begins.

“You’re not calling me that.”

“Sweetheart? Honey-bun? Ooh!” His brown eyes light up and he clasps his hands together. “—do you have like a secret nickname we don’t know about?”

“Charles, please tell me Terry assigned you to this case, too.” Y/N looks to shorter man with hopeful eyes.

A proud smile surfaces and he shrugs. “Luckily for you, Y/N, yes. He has.” He replies. “But don’t worry—I won’t get in the way of you two lovebirds. You won’t even know I’m there.”

“Boyle, the last time you tagged along on a case you wouldn’t shut up about ‘the sparks flying between Y/N and I while we took down a runner’.”

“I was just stating the obvious.” With an unrepentant expression, he shrugs his shoulders. Y/N chuckles and shakes her head. It’s almost lunch time, and so excusing herself, she turns on her heel and heads out to grab a chili dog from down the street. The walk to the stall is less than a block away and within ten minutes she’s back at her desk, grabbing the case file from this morning and headed to the break room. Everybody’s there, eating, talking, Scully and Hitchock—as is routine—sequestered to their own little corner.

Sliding a chair out from under the table, Y/N squeezes between Amy and Terry. She slaps the file onto the table.

“So, Sergeant.” She looks to him. “Tell me all about this case.”

“You’ve got a case-file right there. You don’t need me to tell you anything, except to not eat something leaking brown juices all over your hand.” Terry glances dubiously at the sandwich which dribbles marinara down her wrist. Y/N glances at it briefly then wipes it off as Amy grimaces in disgust.

“Seriously, Y/N,” She prompts “Where do you even get that stuff?”

“Look,” Terry says, “all I know in detail is that Brenton is an esteemed jewel thief. In the past five months, three diamond necklaces have disappeared from museum inventory down in Midwood. Within that time, our suspect had paid a visit to each place at least three times.”

Amy slips a sheet from the file, nudging it towards her friend and reads out: “Says here that Brenton’s: middle-aged, white, brown hair shaved into an undercut, usually seen wearing glasses. His wife, Olga Brenton, is usually seen with him at these exhibitions.”

“We think she might be an accomplice.” Terry adds.

“So….”Y/N’s eyes lift from the note to the Serge.“…the wife’s in on this, too.”

He shrugs, shaking his head slightly. “We don’t know for sure yet. That’s why we need the two of you to find out.”

It’s a typical case, something that shouldn’t be too hard to crack. Y/N nods curtly. Packing up the file, she seals it and puts it aside on the nearby seat. When the topic of the case has blown over, she finally allows herself another bite of her sandwich.

As they eat, the conversation bounces from topic to topic, eventually everyone chipping in with opinions. Mid-way through a debate on whether or not the uniform should be updated, Jake walks in.

He smiles at Y/N, white teeth peering out from his lips. “There’s my lovely girlfriend. Eating a hoggie, huh?” He sighs in appreciation. “God, we’re perfect for each other.”

“One: you’re not allowed to call me anything but your partner before tomorrow, Jake, and two—“

“I thought she’s supposed to be your fiancé?” Rosa interrupts with a smirk and Jake frowns at her.

“Careful not to slip up like that tomorrow, Jake." Terry warns from his seat by Amy. “ We can’t have any hitches with this case.”

“Yeah,” Gina cuts in with sly eyes.

As soon as she hears her voice, Y/N resists rolling her eyes; she knows how much Gina loves this game, adores poking people and riling them up, knows she and Jake are usually her prime victims. “You two need to act madly in love. You know, stir up some chemistry, a ton of sexual tension—not that there already isn’t any.”

“Gina…”

Y/N feels a blush climb up her neck onto her cheeks, ears. She hopes no-one notices—hopes Jake, sitting less than five feet away, doesn’t notice, because the last thing she needs right now is some sort of speculation.

It’s just Gina.

It’s always just Gina and her quips, Gina and the crew and their smugness and teasing and it means nothing, Y/N reminds herself, as she finishes her sandwich, rises and then heads back to her desk to work.

                                                       ○°○°○°○   When Y/N leaves the room, Jake watches her go with an almost weary gaze, his lip tugged between his teeth.

He’s worked with Y/N for nearly a year now, sometimes he think it’s safe to say he knows her, but this is a first.

Gina is the joker of the group and her remarks, although annoying, always go unnoticed, so it’s weird seeing Y?N’s reaction. Not bad, just weird, like watching a dog walking on it’s hind legs.

But he tries not  to think too much of it.Near him he can practically hear Charles’ smile as he pats Jake’s shoulder, expression fond and triumphant.

“Heard that, Jakie? Looks like I’m not the only one who thinks sparks fly whenever the two of you are with each other.”

“Cut it out, Boyle. It’s just a few days.”

“You only need a few days to fall in love.” He shrugs as he joins Rosa on the couch, and then, glancing over his shoulder, adds, “Not that you aren’t already.”

Jake ignores him. Ignores all of their ribbing—Terry with his knowing glances and even Rosa, the least person he’d expect to be in on it (because it’s Rosa), smirking at him. He can’t let them know their words mean anything—they don’t. They don’t, he tells himself. They shouldn’t. Him and Y/N are only friends, partners, even and this sort of thing shouldn’t be able to make him so antsy and weird because he totally, totally doesn’t have any feelings beyond platonic towards Y/N….

Right?

                                                      ○°○°○°○ Ayyye!!

So I just finished one fake relationship story but here’s another lol. Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please like, reblog or even follow to keep updated when part 2 is out. Also, feel free to inbox me if you’d like to be tagged :)

Have a great day!

[meyerlansky]

carry it with no regrets

pairing: gen. meyer-centric, benny and charlie feature. rating: general A/N: AKA: THE MEETCUTE, BUT WITH DAEMONS. follows age with grace [ao3], set a few years later. also, yes, the series name and fic titles are all bastille lyrics, because i am shit at titles. a list of daemons, names and species, are at the end of the post, in case you want a mental picture before you read. also on ao3.

They’re not the only ones in their neighborhood to have settled early; there’s a girl down the block whose shaggy mountain goat dwarfs her in synagogue, and an Irish boy in the class above Meyer’s with a loud duck daemon that makes Atarah grit her teeth every time she opens her bill.

That doesn’t stop people from being weird around them. Some kids ask what it’s like being stuck, and they usually just shrug and dodge the question. It’s a good shape to be, Atarah’s quick and slinky when she needs to be, and her perch on Meyer’s shoulder is easy for them both to handle. The upside is he doesn’t have to deal with too many schoolyard squabbles—even the toughest kids tend to leave early settlers alone. There’s always a few though, their daemons shifting into big cougars or bears and snarling wordlessly at Atarah while the boys snarl about as articulately at Meyer. Atarah has a hell of a bite, though, and thick sharp claws that don’t pull in all the way even when she tries. She’s not afraid to use either when other daemons don’t back off fast enough.

His teachers are harder to deal with. Most of them just ignore it, but they catch some of their teacher’s daemons casting Atarah nervous or disapproving looks. Meyer picks up English fast enough that they go from first to sixth grade pretty quickly, so none of them really have an opportunity to do anything more. One teacher tries, her antelope daemon’s big brown eyes radiating the same concern in her tone as she asks Meyer if there’s anything he wants to tell her. He just shakes his head and lets Atarah curl around his neck, comforting by her presence alone.

As if that’s not bad enough, Ma’s worried glances are the worst. She only does it when she thinks neither of them are looking, and Vilkal’s better about it, but Meyer knows she thinks it’s her fault they settled so early. He doesn’t know how to tell her it’s not, that this is just who they are, and it’s okay. Atarah’s got everything she needs to stay safe, and if she can stay safe, Meyer can make sure Ma and Jake stay safe. It makes perfect sense to him.

Pa’s not really around often enough for Meyer to figure out how he feels about it. All the more reason it’s Meyer and Atarah’s job to watch out for Jake and Ma.

Atarah attracts a lot of attention, being settled so early, and it’s not all bad. There’s one kid, from a couple blocks down, who starts running with Meyer after they get out of a scrape together. Benny’s an okay kid, especially in a fight, but Neva makes Atarah nervous sometimes. She flickers from shape to shape like breathing, which would be bad enough on its own, but she’s also rude, in that way most people and their daemons know instinctively not to be. Benny does a bad job hiding his contempt for people once they’ve pissed him off, and the way Neva mouths off to humans instead of talking to their daemons first leaves a bad taste in everyone’s mouths. Even worse than that, more than once Atarah’s ended up tackling Neva in whatever form she’s taken to stop her from taking a bite out of someone—a person, not their daemon.

“Why do you let Neva do that?” Meyer asks, while they’re catching their breath from another craps game gone wrong. Neva shouts “fuck’s it to you?!” from Benny’s collar, piping voice muffled by the layers of fabric she’s huddled under, but Benny just fishes her out and shrugs, surly and annoyed at the whole situation.

“She can do whatever she wants. Someone gets in her way, that’s their fuckin’ problem,” he gripes, flipping his palm over so Neva can skitter across his knuckles in the vole shape she favors when they need to get out of a bad situation fast. She ripples and shifts as she drops from Benny’s hand, landing with a thump at their feet as a big brown lizard. Meyer just shakes his head, but the thought of Atarah touching another person, even in a fight, makes his stomach roil.

At least Benny and Neva are a little better behaved after that.

They get a reputation, the two of them, and as weird as Meyer is, settled already, apparently it’s reassuring to the kids that tail them around. It’s useful to have a couple more eyes as lookouts for the craps games they run, and it’s not long before they start turning a profit. The gamblers tend to relax when Meyer deals, too; it’s a lot harder to play the trustworthy dealer when your daemon’s shifting every two seconds, and Atarah’s not as blatantly dangerous as she might be if she was a tiger or wolf. It’s a good setup.

And then there’s days like this, when people see Meyer walking home on his own, and think he’s an easy target.

There’s three boys sitting on the steps of a building down the road, and Meyer can see their daemons’ heads swivel in his direction as soon as he turns the corner. There’s a snarl building in Atarah’s chest already, but Meyer just keeps walking as the three kids get up and start towards them. One of them steps out in front, slowing down a few steps from Meyer, and grins, real friendly on the surface. “Hey kid. Didn’t your parents tell you this neighborhood ain’t safe for shrimps like you?”

His accent is thick, and Meyer’s sure he’s from the Italian neighborhood a few blocks over, but the words are clear enough, menace and all. Meyer stares the kid straight in the face and says, “I do alright on my own.” He doesn’t reach up to touch Atarah, but he wants to.

The guy shrugs and shakes his head a bit, curly hair bouncing with the movement and brushing against his daemon, a big black bird perched on his shoulder for now. “I dunno, you look like easy pickings t’me. Tell you what. I’ll get you home safe, and it’ll only cost ya a buck or two. Otherwise…” he smirks and shrugs again, and his crow makes a clicking noise in her throat, something between a snicker and a tsk. “There’s some real rough guys around here, y’know.” At that, the kids behind him do snicker outright, and their daemons’ forms ripple into wolves.

“Original,” Atarah mutters against Meyer’s ear, and he’d laugh if the adrenaline wasn’t tearing through him and he wasn’t trying to keep from punching the other kid in the face. If it was just him, it’d be nothing, but three on one’s bad odds any day.

The guy’s daemon pushes into the air and shifts into something big and feline as she lands. A leopard, Meyer thinks, but he’s a little busy staring the kid down to know for sure. Atarah’s fur bristles, the snarl building in her chest as the other daemon gets closer, and the curly-haired kid rocks back on his heels, thumbs hooked in his pockets, flashing another toothy grin Meyer’d want to wipe off his face even if he wasn’t hustling him for pennies. “What’s it gonna be, kid?”

His daemon inches even closer, and Atarah jumps down, teeth bared, once she skirts just too close to Meyer for comfort. It gets the leopard’s attention, and she snaps her teeth together two inches from Atarah’s nose just as Meyer says “You can go fuck yourself” to the other kid.

Atarah whips a paw out, thick claws fully extended, and catches the other daemon square in the face, claws raking down her cheek with enough force to send her reeling back a step. The other two daemons, still wolves, dart forward to the leopard’s side, teeth bared—and the leopard laughs. Her outline ripples, shifts, and she’s a little brown fox, crouching low in front of Atarah with a grin on her pointed snout. “Oh, I’m gonna keep you,” she says as she reaches out a paw to tap the crown of Atarah’s head, playfully, like two seconds ago Meyer wasn’t getting ready for a bloodbath.

The two wolves at her side whine, confused, but the curly-haired kid’s daemon doesn’t even look over, too busy chuckling as Atarah ducks, then snaps her jaws in the air just shy of catching the fox’s paw. “Fuck off,” she bites out, more grumble than actual anger, and Meyer is going to have to have some words with her about appropriate responses to this shit later.

The tall Italian kid laughs, says “You’ve got some balls on you, kid.” He skirts around their daemons, stupid grin still plastered to his face, and Meyer tenses as he shoves his arm forward, hand extended. “Name’s Salvatore. Call me Sal.”

Meyer feels his face scrunch up as he folds his arms across his chest. “I’m not calling you anything, asshole,” he bites out, and he jerks his head to get Atarah’s attention from where she’s still swapping swipes with the fox, because apparently she’s gone insane today. “Come on, we’re going home,” he says, deliberately not calling her name in front of these shitheads.

Her head whips around, and at least she has the decency to look a little shamefaced as she waddles away from the kid’s fox. He waits for her to get perched on his shoulder like usual, then backs up a step or two, eyes on the kid in front. He’s just watching, consideringly, even though the other two kids are coming up behind him with rage on their faces. Their daemons hang back, though, and once he’s out of swinging distance, Meyer turns around and walks away, sedate as he can manage with the adrenaline of a barely-avoided fight still rushing through him.

He hears some indistinct talking, and footsteps, and then—“What the fuck, Sal?” one of the other kids yells, more than a little whiny, and Meyer can just barely hear the tall kid growl “I said go home, Joe, I ain’t gonna tell ya twice,” before he rounds the corner and starts walking a bit faster.

“Hey, kid!” Meyer grits his teeth as the guy and his stupid—well, not a fox anymore, some kind of bigger dog with big black ears now—trot up next to him and Atarah.

“What part of ‘fuck off’ do you not get?” Meyer snaps as he rounds on the guy, who just puts his hands up, still grinning.

“Easy, just wanna talk. You’re tough for barely clearin’ three feet off the ground,” he says, chipper like every word that comes out of his mouth doesn’t make Meyer seethe even more. “Could use someone tough like you in my crew.”

And that's… Meyer squints up at the kid. He’s still smiling, but it’s more subdued now, and there’s an edge to it. Something ambitious about it. There’s an opportunity there, even if this guy’s unbelievably obnoxious, and Meyer’s not one to pass up an opportunity when he sees one. He folds his arms, stands up a little straighter. “Already got a crew,” Meyer says, and watches the kid’s face fall, just barely. “You greaseballs catch shit from the Irish up the block?”

And just like that the edge is back, the kid’s teeth bared just like his daemon’s snarl. “Yeah, them micks got it out for Italians. Lots of ‘em got daddies or brothers with the cops. Let ‘em do whatever they want.”

Meyer snorts. “You think you got it bad, come down to shul sometime,” he bites out. The Irish kids don’t fuck with him too much—benefits of being settled, scares people off—but they wait around the corner for the younger kids to head home in the evenings, and they’re never just looking for lunch money.

The kid—Sal, that was his name—tilts his head, considering. “Bet we could show ‘em a thing or two,” he says, and sticks his hand out again.

Atarah’s claws flex against Meyer’s shoulder, and then she jumps down to get nose to nose with Sal’s daemon, who sits down at Sal’s side. “I’m Oriana,” she says, grinning that canine grin of hers.

Atarah settles back on her hind legs, front paws tucked up against her chest and claws as sheathed as they get. “Atarah.”

Meyer looks up, and Sal’s grinning at him expectantly. He sighs—of all the things he expected this afternoon, this wasn’t even in the cards—and grabs Sal’s hand to shake. “Bet we could. Name’s Meyer.” He frowns up into Sal’s face, squeezing his knuckles for a second for emphasis. “Don’t call me anything else.”

Sal smirks, jamming his hands in his pockets and leaning back on his heels. “Whatever you say, Meyer.” He jerks his head back, over his shoulder. “I’ll tell my guys what’s what, they fuck with you and get their teeth knocked out.”

And Meyer’s right back to bristling. “I said I don’t need your protection,” he snaps, and Sal just shrugs.

“Didn’t say nothin’ about me hittin’ ‘em,” he says through another fucking grin, taking a few steps back before spinning on his heel. “See ya ‘round, Meyer.”

“Careful going home, there’s some real assholes hanging around,” Atarah yells at their backs, and Oriana’s barking laughter follows them home.

daemon list: meyer’s daemon, atarah, is a beech marten yetta’s daemon, vilkal, is a mouflon benny’s daemon, neva, is unsettled [vole, lizard] charlie’s daemon, oriana, is unsettled [crow, leopard, fox, wild dog]

[dasha-through-the-snow]

Hey, I’ve actually finished a chapter of my short story! And I present it to you here for your enjoyment!

I’m going to make a separate blog for my writing later and that will be the time I ‘ll decidee on the actual title, but for now, enjoy!

Please, do leave some critique and feedback, as an amateur who WANTS to grow, I really need that.

It was getting late; 7 PM to be exact. Normally, Tanya was already at home, either working out, drinking beer, or doing anything to fill her time. Instead, she was riding down an old elevator into Chancery’s spacious basement to meet the only coroner working there.

Not like he had a lot of work.

Most deaths were easier to hide, really. If you could easily tell what killed the poor sod, you give a call to the Cleaner’s office and they take care of the situation. On a rare occasion when the officer at the spot had no idea what happened, the corpse would be transferred to Basil.

Tanya walked through the long hallway before stopping at an intersection to confirm where she had to go. There were only two signs: “Prison” and “Coroner”. She was not at all fond of Chancery’s laconic style of labels, but it was something she was getting used to as time went on.

The words of her orientation teacher popped up in her head, “it’s a necessary measure. Chancery is a global organization and we need all our employees and associates to be capable of understanding each other. One spell telepathically reads someone’s thoughts and translates them to your native language. It’s a bit harder with writing, as the thoughts aren’t inherently there and the spell translates them rather directly. To say that this causes problems would be... an understatement. So, we simplify it as much as we can to avoid any ambiguity.” Mr. Thatcher was a history teacher before he saw through and joined Chancery as an official employee. Tanya always found him a little soft and spineless, and she never liked men like that; or women, for that matter.

She finally stumbled upon a big metal door and slid it towards the side, the harsh smell of various chemicals immediately assaulting her senses. Tanya really didn’t want to know what she was smelling.

“My report isn’t finished yet,” great, so she was hurried here for nothing, “give me a couple of minutes, I will be done by then,” shouted a white ginger man in his early 30s. He was practically buried inside a corpse, almost up to his shoulders. Only it wasn’t a corpse. Corpses usually don’t lift their heads and wave at you.

“H-hi,” Tanya awkwardly waved in response to the not-corpse.

“Name’s Andrew,” the surprisingly alive man hissed and forced a smile, exposing his elongated canines.

Oh.

A vampire. That explains how he survived… what exactly?

She came closer to get a better look at the man sprawled over a cold metallic table. That must be uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the giant hole in his belly. Most of the vampire’s internal organs were missing, along with a good chunk of his spine. Tanya stared at it for a few seconds before lifting her eyes up. She saw through a good half a year ago, but was still not used to all the weirdness that now surrounded her life. From vampires to homunculi and runaway mages. It was overwhelming at times.

“You want to hear the hole story, don’t you?” Andrew chuckled at his own joke while Tanya looked at him blankly.

“She’s Russian,” sighed Basil, “puns don’t really translate well.”

“That’s a shame. I got a hole lot of them,” the vampire burst out in laughter as Basil simply shook his head.

“I’ve been hearing the same stupid pun for over an hour now,” the coroner sighed as he extended his hand in the air. A thin, gray hand stretched seemingly out of nowhere and passed Basil a pair of forceps, which he instantly buried in the wound in front of him. Ah yes, that thing…

Tanya was warned about Patrick well in advance, but she was still taken aback. A thin, humanoid figure without a mouth or genitals was floating in the air next to Basil, helping him with his work. No one knew what it was, no one knew how Basil ever acquired it, no one could even tell if it was sentient or not. It just appeared on the day he saw through and followed his every order. The coroner was quite willing to let the Research Department experiment on it, but even their best men didn’t get much of a result.

And so, Patrick was left as just another unsolved mystery. Chancery was no stranger to those.

Tanya forced herself not to look at the floating… thing, and instead diverted her attention back at the vampire—who seemed to be done making jokes she couldn’t possibly hope to understand, at least for now.

“We were having a Halloween party,” he began, waving his hand in the air to collect his thoughts. “Mostly Chancery staff, naturally, a few unaffiliated friends who tagged along here and there. I’m the only vampire there, so, of course I dress all Dracula-like – a big-ass cape with red insides, white shirt, you know what I mean.”

“Aren’t you still wearing that?” Tanya only just now took her time to take note of what the vampire was wearing and, yes—it was exactly as he described. Cape, shirt, and… tight shiny pants? She frowned to herself, but decided not to focus on that last part.

“Yeah, that’s kind of the point!” He snapped his fingers in frustration, “just let me finish, okay?” Andrew sharply exhaled and continued, “anyway, it’s the middle of the party and we run out of booze, because some people,” he spat out the last two words as if they were an insult in and of themselves, “really should plan ahead so that their friendly neighborhood vampires don’t get a fucking hole in their gut.”

“I really wish you would get to the point already,” Basil griped and was now sitting by the side of the table, tapping his recordings into a tablet, “your personal woes have very little impact on the story.”

“Right, anyway. Me and some guys take one of the unlucky sods who chose to be the driver that night and we ride to the store to pick up some more,” Andrew continued, “we arrive at the store, get out of the car and see a group of, like, teens? 20-somethings? I don’t know, I couldn’t tell. Point is, they were outside of the store in full Halloween garb, and I was drunk and decided to have some fun.”

“If you count ‘being an idiot’ as fun, that is.” Basil nodded to Tanya, “there I’ve just sent the report.”

“Wait, but… Why was I even here, then?” She took a step back, her brow furrowing.

“Beats me,” Basil shrugged, “they probably just wanted you to be busy.”

“Great. Just great,” Tanya muttered, clenching her fist in rightful, but somewhat pointless frustration.

“Can you. Let me. Finish?” Andrew forced himself to stand up a little, which was an impressive feat given the state of his midsection. When he was sure he got the others’ attention he continued. “Anyway, I see those guys, right? And I think to myself ‘wouldn’t it be fun to scare them a little? In the name of the Halloween?’ And that’s exactly what I do—I walk up to them without any warning, stretch my cape open and do the whole intimidation song and dance – I hiss, bare my teeth, turn my eyes red, contort my facial features so that they’re all wacky and scary-like, you know,” he chuckles, “the usual vampiric arsenal. They were obviously not ready to see that, but they’re drunk as hell themselves and it goes right to their heads; they start screaming.” Andrew’s smile grew wider and wider as his chuckles were threatening to turn into a full-out laughter. “Yeah, I do that and then this one dude puts his hands together and—whammo!” The vampire made a quick motion with his hand, indicating the power of said “whammo.” “I’m hit with some kind of bolt of energy that feels like ten fucking shotgun shells at once, hurled twenty feet back and land in a crumpled mess with half of my internal organs missing.”

Tanya hissed herself before pushing out a single “ouch”.

“’Ouch’ indeed,” he chuckled, resting his head back on the cold metallic slab. “Anyway, I pass out on the spot and the next thing I know this guy is digging through my guts,” Andrew motioned towards Basil who just shook his head.

“So… any reason you were brought to the coroner in the first place?” Tanya inquired.  Curiosity was probably the only reason why she hasn’t left yet.

“Well, no one could survive a wound like this,” Basil started to explain, “not a normal human anyway. And vampires have it easy when it comes to patching themselves up, so there was no need to give him any extra medical attention.”

“I’ll just chill for a few weeks and drink nasty canned blood,” Andrew grinned, “no big deal.”

“Right, right,” the coroner nodded, “so it fell to me to determine the nature of what hit him, since the team on the spot couldn’t, and me and Patrick could freely examine the wound and see if we could tell anything from the affected tissue”

“And you have found something, right?” Tanya looked directly in Basil’s eyes.

“You don’t let things get past you, do you?” The coroner grinned in satisfaction. “Not much, but at least we know that the case is unusual. This concerns you as well, so you better be listening,” he prodded the vampire in the shoulder.

“Does it look like I’m not?” Andrew snapped at Basil, frustrated at his condescending tone.

“Right, right...” The coroner took a sharp breath and continued, “anyway, the damage was done by a blast of pure Astral energy of great power. And since I don’t think anybody formally trained by the Chancery is stupid enough to be scared by a vampire...”

“It’s either a wild mage or a demiurge?” Tanya guessed excitedly.

“It’s either a wild mage or a demiurge,” confirmed Basil.

A whole demiurge! On her second month in the Chancery! Those guys were rare as hell, but were absolutely necessary to keep the Chancery up and running. Tanya would give up an arm and a leg to be a part of an official operation to bring one of those in! She could… why, she could…

“What are you so excited about, errand girl?” Snickered the vampire, turning his gaze towards Tanya once more, “even if it is a demiurge, they would never let someone from the First Heaven handle this.”

“At least I’m a part of it!” she growled, “what’s your problem? This is the most excitement I get since those paper-pushers failed to get me assigned anywhere and you want to ruin that for me?”

“Woah, woah, woah!” Andrew raised both his hands defensively, “calm down, newbie, nobody is out to ruin your fun. I’m just trying to get you to have realistic expectations,” he sneered, “don’t think that just because you saw through your life is going to radically change.”

“I’ve already signed up for a spot on TUSK, you know,” Tanya crossed her arms on her chest and looked at the vampire victoriously, “what do you say to that, bl-”

“You don’t want to finish that word,” growled Andrew, “I know people who would snap your stupid little neck in half for that.”

“Oh, la-dee-da, I got a vampire angry!” She flexed her arm and slapped her rather impressive biceps, “you really think you can take on these guns?”

“Enough,” roared Basil as he stood, his usually quiet voice piercing the cold air of the morgue, “both of you really need to be on your way. Now.”

Andrew snorted, “I can’t stand, smartass.”

“Then Tatiana here will go call somebody to pick you up,” Basil squinted at the girl, “please.”

“Fine.” She rolled her eyes, “bye Basil, bye Patrick,” she waved to the coroner and his “partner” before starting to walk out. On a whim, she stopped, turned towards Andrew and made a motion with two fingers from her eyes to his. The vampire scoffed at that, but Tanya has already left the morgue.

It was later that night when she finally arrived back at her small one-room apartment in a half-forgotten town between Moscow and St. Petersburg. The Chancery provided her with a place to live, as per an ages-old law, but no one ever said the place to live had to be decent. At the very least it fulfilled one of her more crucial needs. She threw her bag onto the couch, connected a charger to her phone, checked her messages and left the apartment once again.

This November turned out colder than usual. The early snow had already fully covered the grass and the chilly wind was ignoring Tanya’s layer of clothes and went straight for her bones. Nothing like back home at Neryungri, naturally, but it was still enough to make late-night walks uncomfortable at best. This wasn’t going to last long. Tanya was already somewhat deep into the woods before she stopped, made sure she wasn’t followed, and started undressing.

While the Eurasian Lynx is found in the Central region of Russia, she is a rather rare guest. Her Eastern cousin the Yakutian Lynx is larger, stronger and, predictably, doesn’t actually live anywhere near Moscow. And yet one of them roamed through the forest deep at night, looking for prey. Heavy paws bouncing off the frozen ground, exploding the mounds of early snow, leaving behind a bright trace. But none of this mattered as the only thoughts running through the lynx’s head were of the chase, of the hunt, of the inevitable prize. And in the end, she got what she wanted as the rabbit was just a little too slow, just a little too clumsy, just a little too stupid. Its small warm body proved to be an ideal meal for the predator and a great end to the long exhausting day.

In the darkness of Tanya’s empty apartment her phone came to life for about ten seconds and then felt silent. And again. And again. After a few tries, the caller lost his patience and settled on sending her a message.

“We found you a place on a TUSK squad. However, you will have to relocate to the USA. Please call me back as soon as possible”

And without her even knowing, Tanya’s life took another sharp turn…