#no way to clean themselves of the blood and fluids

[ananapanini]

Free Palestine 🇵🇸

[bones4thecats]

➸ Frontline; RoR! Thor × Goddess! S/O

Characters: Thor A/N: This was so cute to write. It turned out slightly different than intended, but I like it regardless. Anyways, enjoy! ➥ Summary: When sent out to deal with a newly developed Jötunn invasion, Thor runs into a new Goddess. Could this be the start of a beautiful relationship? Or possibly the start of a tear in the Norse Pantheon?

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╚═════ Thor ═════════════════════════════════╝

🌩️ While the Gods discussed in the room, a large-figure walked down the halls. There was no sign of a smile on his face, complete darkness covering his eyes as everything evolved

🌩️ It was a mere few days ago that the Norse Pantheon received news that the Jötunn had invaded once again. The Gods was fearful that they could possibly overpower the not-nearly experienced fighters around and possibly destroy everything in their paths

🌩️ The God of Thunder and his father on the other hand, declared that it would be pointless to just sit by in fear and leave any room open for the large-monsters to come in through. Odin had told his son to ready himself for battle in the next few days

🌩️ Thor just nodded and stood, grabbing his hammer, and walking out of the room towards the exit. He knew what his father meant. Hunt those bastards down and end them as fast as you can. And disobeying his father and missing such a fight is something Thor just couldn't do

🌩️ As he walked through the forests surrounding Asgard, Thor heard something from afar. Looking upwards from the ground, his hood slightly moved from the wind. Above the treeline was a decent amount of large, disfigured heads. It appears the Jötunns were closer to Asgard than he initially figured they'd be

🌩️ Gripping his hammer tighter, Thor jumped in the air. Every swing resulted in bursting one of the monster's heads, causing blood to splash everywhere, even on the God, as he swung

🌩️ Thor had managed to take down many Jötunns, but there were even more than predicted as well. Around maybe tens of hundreds. Honestly, it was impressive how they managed to jumble together with enough brains to not try killing each other for walking the wrong way

🌩️ The God of Thunder narrowed his eyes and threw his weapon at the giants. It had gone through nearly six of their bodies before it was knocked away by one of the Jötunns. Thor's eyes widened in surprise and caught the flying-hammer quick enough so it wouldn't fly off

🌩️ He looked at Mjolnir and furrowed his eyebrows, glaring down at the monsters with growing fury. They had never, ever, been this hard to deal with. They must have been evolving from the many years of the Gods taking their kind out for trying to take them out themselves

🌩️ All of a sudden, one of the Jötunns dashed to make it above Asgard's walls, but, before Thor could get there, its head exploded. But, instead of there being Odin, there floated a woman

"You need some help there, dear?" The female said.

🌩️ Oh great. And she was arrogant.

🌩️ Thor huffed slightly and threw Mjolnir at another giant's head, making it smash and blow blood everywhere. The woman just smiled and jumped out of the way easily, though she did manipulate the branches of a nearby tree to come up and block the blood with its leaves, successfully saving Asgard from cleaning their streets and buildings of the red-bodily fluid

"Not a talker. Understood." She joked.

"You dare oppose the Jötunns, Goddess? We will have your carcass for such a grievous insult!" A Jötunn yelled.

🌩️ The woman with a ponytail smirked and laughed, her hand covering his eyes as she leaned backwards

"I'd like to see you try laying one of your mold-growing hands on me."

"Why you-"

🌩️ Thor blinked in surprise again as you cut the beast's hand off with your sword, making it wail in pain as you smirked larger and began to cut its face apart happily. You were just as, if not more, sadistic when fighting like Thor was

🌩️ When you finally stopped harming the Jötunn, you looked up at the rest, who just gulped and ran off in fear. You had made them flea with just knocking down one of them without any mercy. He'd have to take some notes there

"Anyways, now that this is over," you began, looking up at the God above you. "Aren't you gonna introduce yourself to the little-lady?"

🌩️ Nodding, Thor held out his right hand, transferring Mjolnir to his opposite, left, hand out of habit.

"I'm Thor, God of Thunder of the Norse Pantheon and son of Pantheon-Leader, Odin." You smiled and shook his hand happily, slightly bouncing as he watched.

"Well, Thor, God of Thunder of the Norse Pantheon and son of Pantheon-Leader, Odin. My name is Y/N, Goddess of Nature and the Feminine Warriors of the Norse Pantheon. Pleasure meeting you!"

[heartfullofleeches]

Candy human reader!

[Suggestive, Mdni] (mentions of mutilation, but brief and reader regenerates/doesn't feel pain)

Born from the dying dreams of a failing confectioner and a human's body weight in sugar comes a sweet baker with their creator's passion for making treats and hopes for companionship. Unlike your parent, you succeed greatly in your goals due to the simple fact of being made out of the very sweets people adored. Taffy skin, sugar syrup running through your very veins. A swift swing of your blade and you had the ingredients for your next batch of delights. A sip of sugar water and a quick nap made you good as new the next time you popped open your eyes. The line was out the door opening week. Most had their interest peaked in who took over the location after what tragedy became of the original owner, but it was the samples you left out that kept them crawling back. They were obsessed - in more ways than one.

It wasn't just the sugar bringing customers in. If anything, your smile, and the hour long conversations you'd have were far sweeter. Your knowledge of the human world was sparse, but you had a strong enough grasp to get you far and you never lost that - wonder so many people lost when faced with life's challenges. Perfectly imperfect, the love some of your customers knew extended past a hunger for those cakes in your displays. They loved you, they wanted you. And they'd do whatever it took to have you.

When they break in, the fear of being kidnapped doesn't cross you, rather the shock of them bursting into your kitchen to the scene of you holding your arm over a batch of those truffles they adored so. Their fingers plunge into the mix and before they realize those digits are in their mouth, not that they would've stopped if conscious. It's syrup. Your blood is syrup. You frantically try to explain the situation, but they're too busy licking a wound that's already healed. There were too many questions on their mind. What were you? Did you hurt yourself by doing this? Is this why your treats were so irresistible?

You explain to them that you while feel pain, it doesn't exactly hurt when you dismember yourself and as much of your anatomy as you have figured out while you're at it. Bless your sweet heart. Giving so much to an ungrateful world when you don't know much about yourself. There must be another way to extract your fluids even if it causes you no harm. Your loyal customers offer you an alternative that may even benefit fit you more in the long run. You happily agree, sitting back as they undo your apron.

Their tongue makes your body feel sticky and slick, but the heat pooling between your legs as their head dives between your thighs is a new sensation entirely. They leave not an inch of skin unscathed and playfully nip at your hip or meat of your thigh when you find yourself adjusted to the methodical press of their fingers and muscle within you. You react so well, but they can't give you everything when it's only your first night of forever together. It's crazy to think that a small bite sends more electricity to your core than lobbing off your own hand, but this world was full of surprises your lover would come to show you the more you grew comfortable with each others bodies.

Your first release they keep to themselves. As your new helper they should always get first taste and just like everything you make your fluids are addicting. They tongue fuck you to an orgasm twice over before finally retrieving the bottle you feverishly begged them to grab. Always thinking of the customers first. They'll fix that for you soon enough. They clean everything up while you fall asleep in their car and keep you out of the shop that weekend to rejuvenate and perfect your new secret ingredient. Your admirer keeps a copy of your heart when you're away so they don't get lonely, before ultimately deciding to join the staff in case you run out while on the clock. Your customers love the new recipe blissfully unaware of what goes on behind closed doors.... Until one of them gets a little too jealous seeing you leave everything with that arm around your waist.

[macgyvermedical]

Caring for Someone Who Can't Move

Requested by @control-whump

So here's the thing. Humans are meant to move. Even when we look like we're sitting still or asleep, we are moving. Constantly.

So if there's a reason someone physically cannot move, such as paralysis, unconsciousness, or a problem with sensation or drive to move, there are things we have to do to prevent injury to that person.

Why do we move?

There are a few reasons. The first is that we have blood vessels and nerves throughout the body. Any time we are still, there is pressure being placed on some part of the body- the bottom of the feet, the butt, the back, etc... That pressure on blood vessels means there is less blood getting to that area. Pressure on nerves changes how signals are sent between that part of the body and the brain. When we don't move at all, damage begins to occur to the tissue due to lack of blood flow. Too much pressure for long enough can also damage the nerves (you have experienced a mild version of this when your limb "falls asleep" and gets tingly when you try to move it after a long time of laying on it.)

Veins- while the heart pumps blood out to arteries, veins use a series of valves to push blood back to the heart. This system relies on the muscles around the veins contracting. If they didn't contract, fluid would pool in the lowest part of the body, usually the feet, which would cause swelling. This is also a problem because the lack of blood movement increases the risk of blood clots that can lead to heart attacks or strokes.

Maintenance of muscle tone- If you sat on a couch and "didn't move" for a week you would lose muscle tone. But not as much muscle tone as you would lose if you actually didn't move for a week due to paralysis. Plus, over long periods of disuse, tendons shorten, causing something called a contracture, which can sometimes only be treated with surgery.

If someone is able to move, we usually encourage that first. If you've ever had surgery you know that getting you up and moving is the #1 thing you will be doing as soon as you are conscious enough to do so. This prevents blood clots and speeds healing. The sooner a person can return to normal activities, even assisted, the better off they will be in the long run.

But what if the person can't move- How do we prevent problems related to immobility?

Well, a lot of times we artificially "provide" movement for the immobile person. For example, we turn people every 2 hours (basically leaning them one way for 2 hours and then the other, trying to redistribute pressure and give the nerves and blood vessels a break) to prevent skin breakdown and we do range of motion exercises for the person several times per day to prevent contractures and loss of tone.

Range of motion exercises mean moving each joint in all the directions that joint moves multiple times per session. Here is an example of assisted ROM:

There are also other things we do to support the person overall, like making sure they have adequate nutrition (makes the skin better at tolerating sub-optimal blood flow), cleaning them up promptly when they urinate or defecate (if urine or feces sits on the skin it irritates it and causes wounds), and making sure there are no wrinkles in the sheets or clothing that presses on particular parts of the body.

What other things do we need to consider if someone doesn't move?

They're probably not able to take care of themselves in other ways, like cleaning themself or brushing their teeth. They are also probably not able to feed themself or clean themselves when they urinate or defecate, or be able to take medication for themself. So all of these things have to be done for the person.

[rinsvg]

Put your mouth to good use

warnings —written with black female reader in mind but anyone can read, unestablished relationship(you just putting him in his place), eating out, fingering, usage of bodily fluids, reader is sorta demanding.

⋆｡°✩ You hate men who think themselves inferior to women; you absolutely loathe it, so it’s only natural that that hate basically gravitates toward Naoya and his stupid masculine energy. Always walking around campus, spitting out the vilest words that could ever come out of his mouth against women. So it was only natural that you, as a woman, had him under you, putting his mouth to good use for the first time.

As his head dips between your thighs, you can only see the contour of his massive shoulders. He takes his time at first, smelling the scent of your sex and dragging his tongue through your longing folds—just feeling you, tasting you, and taking his sweet time. You grab the base of his scalp and pull him towards you. "Eat," the demand came so easily to you; you were, of course, used to dealing with men like Naoya.

You gently rubbed your hips into Naoya as he followed your instructions and started to suck your pussy. He started by circling your clit with his tongue, which made your entire body tremble. Given his way with ladies, he was remarkably skilled at dining with women.

You couldn't help but clench your teeth as his face continued to become wetter and wetter by the second. You watched Naoya suck your juices from his face as they began to drip. “Holy shit, that was hot”. You thought as he then stuck his tongue into you and tried to wring every last drop of you out. For the third time that day, you started to feel heated.

His nose nudges your clit, and you grind against his face again, dragging your pussy against his lips. He groans in contempt—a low sound that sends vibrations straight to your core.

"That’s it," he murmurs, "use me." He's so into it that he doesn't even realize what he's saying. It's fine; you'll just remain him the next time he annoys you.

"Oh fuck, naoya," you pant, your body trembling as your release begins to simmer in your veins.

He starts eating you in earnest, flicking his tongue over the swelling bundle of nerves at the apex of your sex and laving the flat of his tongue over your folds. Your grip on his scalp is tight, holding him in place so he can suck his lips to your cunt. Your keening cries reverberate in the dorm room like music in his ears.

"Use your fingers," You demanded.

He whines in agreement, releasing one of your thighs so he can lower his hand and press two fingers into the slippery, warm canal of your cunt. He coils them, pressing into that sweet place behind your pubic bone. You clench your fists around his slim fingers as he sucks your clit between his teeth.

A blast of heat sends you over the brink, your pussy tightening and spasming as white-hot ecstasy sears your blood. He yanks his fingers away and replaces them with his tongue, digging deep to savour every ounce of your sweet release.

As your body calms to the serene aftermath of the release, he keeps his mouth on you, gently running his tongue from your entrance up to circle your clit in a continuous motion. Until your chest finally stopped heaving and you pulled him away.

"You know, we should do this again someday." Naoya grinned while cleaning his face, until you began laughing in his face.

"No, but you can leave my room." You laughed all the way to the restroom as Naoya swore at you while grabbing his belongings. You yelled out to him just as he was about to close the door.

"Hey Naoya"

"yeah"

"Make sure to lock my door on your way out." You smirked at him while closing the bathroom door and turning on the water. The last thing you heard was a low murmur of "bitch" and a door slamming shut.

[buriedpentacles]

Alternatives to Blood for Magic

Tw: discussion of blood (obvs)

Part of my devotion to Mother Nature does involve blood offerings and as I did give some blood in a ritual today I thought I'd share some alternatives to blood for those that want them!

First, why use blood at all?

Blood is used in a number of rituals and offerings for a number of reasons. It is commonly used as a binding ingredient that connects the caster (or whoever's blood it is) to the spell whether that be as a target or as a reviecer.

Blood can represent many things from life and power, to femininity and intuition (mostly menstrual blood for that). It is a very powerful symbol.

As an offering, it can be a sign of deep devotion as it is your life force (though that does not make it a "better" offering than anything else).

Note: I believe(?) that in many forms of Hellenism, blood is not considered an appropriate (and by some, even an offensive) offering to the gods. It is up to you to research and decide whether it is appropriate for you and your practice.

Alternatives to Blood

I often use these alternatives and only use my own blood for "special" rituals. I do not encourage people to harm themselves for their practice. If you are someone who is not comfortable drawing your own blood for magical reasons (and that is perfectly okay) then here are some ways to substitute it:

Fake blood - the obvious one here, not much to say about it haha!

Pomegranate juice - Pomegranate juice looks pretty similiar to blood, it's safe to consume and pour into the environment and pomegranates have similiar associations to blood!

Blackberries - These fruits are currently ripening in my area and when crushed they make an excellent blood alternative. In fact, I recently used them in a small devotional act to Mother Nature (picture below).

Water, dyed red - simple and budget friendly! Safe to consume and usually perfectly fine for the environment (check the dye first though!)

Red ribbon - this is great if you want something to symbolise blood that is more lasting and permenant!

Animal blood - some butchers will sell animal blood (usually pig because of black pudding) and you can even get it dried! Make sure to do your research on legality, ethics and please don't go out and collect your own.

Other bodily fluids - If the purpose of the blood in a spell is to bind the spell to someone then you can use any other piece of DNA; spit, sweat, etc. Even hair can be used, and it is much less invasive!

Menstrual blood - if you have a menstrual cycle, you may choose to use this blood in a ritual if the timing is right! Please, please, please be sensible. When using blood you MUST remember that it is a biohazard, even if its your own. Be sensible. Be clean.

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

How would the first years sees a female yuu practice ballet in a empty classroom that supposed to be abandoned? How would their reaction would be?

If you guys haven’t seen the movie “Leap!” (also known as “Dance!”), I highly recommend watching it since it involves ballet and I really enjoyed watching it! Equestrian vaulting is also absolutely stunning to watch in action, which in a way looks like a mix of gymnastics and ballet. I’ve never done ballet before, but I once did equestrian vaulting when I went to horseback riding camp years ago. It was fun—if a little nerve-wracking doing it on the back of one of the largest horse breeds the stable owned. Good times though! Would attempt again! :D

Anyway, let’s see how the monster boys will react to this~! >v>

////------////

Grim was already aware of Yuu’s skill as a ballet dancer, having seen her dance whenever they clean the dorm. From using the tips of her toes to spin and swipe across the tiled floors to the jumps and leaps she made to reach high places without landing heavily, Grim would watch it in awe. More than once he has stopped whatever he’s doing to watch, especially when music is playing. The soft melodies and fluid movements would make him sway almost hypnotically in place, while the quick tempos and swift movements got his blood pumping as he bounced and tried to dance along—even if it wound up with him tripping up the first few times, but he learned! 

His favorite moments are the times when she would scoop him into her arms and dance with him, feeling as though he were lighter than air. Who needs a broom when he had Yuu? It was the best thing ever for the Great Grim’s human henchman to be so talented if he said so!

Of course, when it came to explaining Yuu’s ability to the other freshmen, words failed to convey just how impressive her dancing skills were and none of the others had ever seen her dance. None of the videos that Ace found online could match her grace or the flexibility she demonstrated--until he finally had enough and demanded they follow him: “I know where she likes to go practice during breaks!”

And so, thinking it was just another tall tale from the chimera, the other first years agreed to follow him for the time being and out of pure curiosity. When they drew closer to the unoccupied auditorium, however, they began to hear…music. “Shh…be quiet, or she’ll stop,” Grim warned them in a hushed whisper, turning to carefully nudge the door open wide enough for everyone to peer inside without exposing themselves.

Whatever quip Ace had in store died on his lips as he stared, watching as Yuu’s legs bent before she raised one high up in the air while balancing on the tip of her other leg, her arms stretched out in a graceful “L” shape. Somehow, she looked as still as a statue, making him wonder just how strong her legs were to be able to hold that pose. “Whoa…how is she even doing that?” he uttered in amazement, watching her smoothly transition into a slow sweeping twirl.

“Guys, if she’s dancing alone in a classroom, she may not want us to watch,” Deuce whispered, the centaur momentarily wincing when he saw her legs bend in ways he knew he could never pull off without injuring himself. Still, he couldn’t look away, his eyes watching intently as he eventually asked, “Can…humans really move like that?”

“Her movements are so fluid,” Jack commented, ears twitching as he found himself relaxing. There was something soothing about seeing her dance so gracefully, yet even from here he could see the power in her movements—restrained, yet clear as day with each step and twirl and bend and high kick. “Is this some form of martial arts from the human world?”

“Naw…it looks like tha’ ballet thin’ Vil—I mean…it looks like the ballet Vil has me and the other first years practice in the ball room,” Epel commented. As much as he hated being forced to do it…he found that it looked different watching Yuu perform. He knew he’d never be able to do half the movements she could with the way his legs were designed—but there was also a certain satisfaction in realizing that even Vil wouldn’t be able to mimic the same fluid grace or expect the same out of the others.

When a new song began to play, a gasp escaped Sebek before Jack and Epel covered his mouth. Though it was hard for them to not feel just as stunned the moment Yuu leapt atop the desks, spinning and jumping up from desk to desk in time to the rhythm until she reached the highest point. Her body moved with a grace and power that he’d never seen before, her expression—though calm—betraying the smile on her face as she continued her performance for the imaginary crowd. At one point she stopped, her back towards the door as she stood and shuffled backwards on the tips of her toes. Before he or the others could warn her how close she was to the edge of the desk—she leapt!

Time seemed to slow down, her body rising high in the air as—with her legs bent and curved—she spun in the air before straightening her legs out into an impossible split, soaring through the air. Then—as if lighter than a feather—she landed right in front of the podium at the very bottom and stood straight just as the music stopped, turning and bowing gracefully at the “audience”.

“Whoa!! That was amazing!” Deuce exclaimed.

Yuu gasped as she turned towards the doors, her face showing clear embarrassment and shock as she squeaked out, “Wha-? Deuce?!”

“Oops!” Deuce uttered, hands clamped over his mouth as he realized just how loud he’d actually been.

“Scramble!!” Ace yelled.

“Guys!!!” Yuu screeched as they bolted. “Get back here!!”

 /////------/////

Soon enough word spread around about Yuu’s dancing prowess, and it wasn’t long after that Cater and the others would come asking for a demonstration of this performance as well. After all, human dancing hasn’t been recorded in centuries—it was a once in a lifetime opportunity to observe (and record) such practices and seeing how humans could move! If Yuu has any knowledge on other forms of traditional dance, it would become a treasure trove of cultural knowledge to unlock and study the significance of the moves and the traditional garments worn by dancers!

[starsandgutters]

Flash Ficlet requests! Oh okay thinking time now…Kevin hopelessly pining after Aaron…I love all of your writing…what to say, what to say…

May I ask about Kevaaron meeting each other before Neil gets recruited? (honestly I’d be happy with anything the way you write them brings me so much joy anytime I read any of it <333)

I wasn't sure if you wanted this canon based or in an AU where they get together instead of Aaron with Katelyn, so I've just left it open ended. I actually think Aaron really didn't like Kevin at the start, and Kevin just didn't care about Aaron. He was too insignificant to him for him to have feelings about.

CWs: Implied abuse Depiction of an anxiety attack Blood mention

Aaron has seen Kevin Day before. Through a screen, yes, multiple times, but also when he came to try and recruit Andrew. As much as he made an impression of a stuck up, arrogant, conceited bitch, Aaron could admit that he knew how to play. His speed and strength on the court were impressive, but he had grace as well, movements fluid despite his size.

Mostly. Aaron noticed sometimes he tensed when he moved too suddenly, or that certain moves held a stiffness to them. Aaron recognised that. Aaron spent a lot of his teens moving around like that, after all. It could have just been injuries from training, the Ravens were hardly known for their clean games, but it made Aaron wonder. 

His suspicions are confirmed when Wymack brings Kevin to the Foxhole Court for the first time. Gone is the superior facade. Kevin Day has been stripped down to a damaged, skittish animal, clutching his injured hand to his chest and warily eying the team. Wymack runs through introductions, tells them Kevin’s going to be assistant coach going forward. A feeble excuse to get him a scholarship, Aaron’s sure. Special privileges for exy’s special little boy. He keeps his gaze set on Kevin the whole time, watching how he holds his left hand in his right, thumb rubbing over the support bandage around it. 

Kevin does not look at Aaron. People rarely do. So he is free to observe all he wants.

*

Any ounce of sympathy Aaron may have managed to scrounge together for Kevin quickly evaporates once he finds his voice. He’s an absolute ass, meticulously tearing each of their play styles apart, heavy on the criticism and light on the constructive. The Foxes are vicious to him in response, and Aaron can’t blame them. He mostly stays out of the arguments, unless Kevin turns his yapping on him directly, then he bares his teeth and snaps back.

Andrew seems endlessly amused by the whole ordeal. He acts unaffected by Kevin’s attitude. Regardless of how hard Kevin tries, he cannot get Andrew to care about this game. Aaron could have told him to save himself the hassle. Andrew doesn’t care about anything since they doped him up on those fucking meds. Aaron thinks they’ve done more harm than good.

Off the court Kevin is only fractionally less irritating. He makes stilted, awkward attempts at conversation, always giving the impression he thinks he’s above them, that he’s lowering himself in talking to them. He never asks anyone questions about themselves, either. Just talks about his interests. Aaron takes any chance he can to contradict him.

“You’re not working on the things I told you to,” Kevin says.

“You’re not my coach or my captain.”

“I’m your assistant coach.”

“We all know that’s just an excuse for Wymack to keep you here after your little boo boo.”

“What the fuck is your problem? Is it the height? You’ve got some kind of Napoleon complex?”

It is, ironically, a low blow. Kevin’s leaning over Aaron, expression warped into one of anger. In spite of the responding anger stirring in Aaron’s body, he smirks. 

“Napoleon was actually around 5’6, which was average for French men of his time. And the Napoleon complex has been disproved. Studies show short men are actually less likely to lose their temper compared to taller men. Maybe you should check your facts before you open your mouth.”

Kevin blinks, like he didn’t expect that, like Aaron has caught him off guard. Of course. Everyone always underestimates him. What else is new?

“Then what’s your excuse?” 

“I don’t need an excuse. You’re a dick. I’m just reflecting your energy back.”

*

Kevin goes from an annoyance Aaron has to deal with for a small segment of his day, to enemy number one when Andrew decides to adopt him. They’ve made some deal that ends up with Andrew and Kevin attached at the hip, meaning Aaron is now faced with Kevin Day everywhere. In the car, at Eden’s, sleeping on the couch in their fucking house, the one place that should have been Aaron’s sanctuary. Andrew had made a deal with Aaron first. Just the two of them, sticking together until graduation, but apparently Kevin gets the special privilege of being an exception. 

What’s worse than Kevin trailing Andrew around like a lost lamb is when Andrew leaves him with Aaron. Aaron really feels that at his big age Kevin should not need babysat, and yet that seems to be what happens on a frequent basis. 

Aaron has mastered the art of sitting in stony silence with people, but petulant princess Kevin Day can only last so long before he talks, and talks, and pushes at Aaron’s buttons until he finally responds. And okay, maybe Aaron doesn’t really talk to people that much outside of school, bar Nicky. Andrew barely looks at him, and their deal keeps him isolated enough that making friends is a challenge. Aaron reflects spitefully on how this is yet another thing that doesn’t apply to Andrew, who befriended Renee during their first year. 

Fuck double standards, actually. Maybe he should just allow that spite to direct him into befriending Kevin as a petty pushback at Andrew. I made a friend too, and what’s worse, mine is your little pet project. 

“Fuck sake, Day, don’t you come with an off button?”

It would probably be a more effective endeavour if Aaron were not an asshole.

*

A glass shattering in the kitchen makes Aaron start. His heart rate rockets up. Years of smashed glasses, plates, slamming doors come rushing back to him, jangling his nerves. He breathes shakily. Reminds himself she’s gone now, he’s okay, it’s just Kevin in the kitchen. 

“What did you break?” he calls, but gets no answer. Cautiously Aaron gets to his feet and makes his way to the kitchen. Kevin is standing by the broken remains of the glass, staring down at it. He’s clutching his left wrist, hands trembling as he hyperventilates. There are tears in his eyes but he hasn’t let any of them fall. Aaron was not prepared to see Kevin’s vulnerability put on display like this, such a far throw from how he’s used to seeing him. He feels his skin tighten and tense with discomfort as the hateful image of Kevin in his mind starts to splinter and crack apart. Kevin’s head turns towards him, eyes wide like a cornered animal. He ducks down towards the glass, still gasping breaths. 

“Don’t.”

Too late. Kevin’s in no state to be cautious with it, and the first shard of glass he touches slices his finger open. He draws it back swiftly. Aaron thinks it’s probably a shallow wound, but it’s bleeding a lot already. He catches Kevin by the arm and hauls him up, pulling roughly when Kevin tries to resist. 

“I’m helping you, dickhead. Come on.”

Kevin tries to glare at him, but with his watery eyes and short, gasping breaths, he’s really not intimidating. Aaron pushes him down into one of the kitchen chairs. He wraps some kitchen roll around Kevin’s bleeding finger, guiding his other hand over to press against it. Kevin’s hands are surprisingly warm against Aaron’s, whose fingers are always cold. 

“Stay. Keep pressure on that,” he says, and runs off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. The only movement Kevin does in his absence is curl in over himself, his back visibly shaking when Aaron comes back. “No, no, you need to sit upright. Come on.”

Aaron pushes at his shoulder, but Kevin resists, curling tighter into himself. Aaron represses a sigh. He tries to soften the impatient edge out of his voice. He can do this. This is what he wants to do, after all. Look after people. He tries to imagine he’s talking to a frightened child instead of Kevin, tries to envision how he would approach that differently. 

“Hey. You’re going to be okay. Kevin, do you hear me? It’s going to be okay, but I need you to sit back for me now. It’s harder to breathe in that position. If you sit up straight it’ll open your airways more. Can you sit up for me?” Aaron tries again, this time with a more gentle touch to Kevin’s shoulder, guiding him up instead of pushing. Kevin looks at him, eyes unsteady, face blotchy. Aaron holds his gaze, trying to keep his face even. “There. That feels better, doesn’t it? Next you need to get some more air in.”

Kevin lifts his hands without letting go of the bloody kitchen roll. He taps them against his chest. Aaron nods.

“I know your chest is hurting, but that’s because you’re not getting enough oxygen. We’re going to do some deep breaths together. You just follow me. The first few are going to suck, but they’ll get easier.” Aaron makes a show of breathing loud and exaggerated. Kevin struggles to mimic him at first, still only getting small, jumping breaths. “Come on, Kevin. You can do this.”

Gradually Kevin’s inhales get longer. Aaron keeps going until Kevin is breathing deep and steady, though there’s still a slight rattle on his exhales. 

“Good. That’s better. I’m going to clean your finger now-”

“I can do it.” Kevin pulls his hand back when Aaron reaches for it. Aaron gives him a flat, unimpressed look. 

“I’m sure you can, but I’m going to.” He grabs Kevin’s forearm. He knows most of the damage was done to his hand, but there are that many connections to the wrist, Aaron’s sure he probably feels pain there too. He’s seen Kevin clutching it a few times. It’s harder to get the leverage to pull his hand back with his forearm, but Aaron manages. “This might sting when I disinfect it.”

Aaron is sure it does, but Kevin sits silent and impassive as he cleans up the blood. He gets a better look at the cut, and like he thought, it seems fairly shallow. It’s just bled a lot. Aaron puts a bandaid on it just in case the movement of Kevin’s hand causes more bleeding. 

“Keep that on for tonight, then put a fresh one on in the morning.” Aaron takes a strip of bandaids out of the kit and hands them to Kevin. Kevin takes them without thanks, but he does meet Aaron’s gaze, something unrecognisable in his face. It’s a world away from the haughty expression that is usually cast Aaron’s way. 

*

Padding downstairs as quietly as he can, Aaron makes his way to the kitchen for a drink of water. He’d startled awake from a bad dream with dry mouth. There’s light from the living room as he passes through. Kevin glances over from where he’s sitting on the couch. There’s an infomercial playing on loop on the TV.

Aaron brings his water through and sits on the armchair. He lifts the remote, glancing at Kevin, but Kevin makes no protest. He looks like he’s just been zoning out with the screen on. Aaron flicks through channels until he comes across Jurassic Park. He doesn’t know why they’re playing it as this god awful hour, but he leaves it on.

“I loved this when I was little,” Kevin says after they’ve been watching for ten minutes.

“Yeah? Me too. What’s your favourite dinosaur?”

“T-Rex. Obviously.”

“Ugh. Basic and predictable.”

“Why, what’s yours?”

“Ankylosaurus.” When Kevin stays quiet, Aaron elaborates: “It’s the armoured one with a club on its tail.”

“I wanted to be an archaeologist when I was little.”

“Makes sense.”

“What did you want to be?”

“A lot of silly things.”

“Like what?”

“When I was really young, a zookeeper. Then a vet. Astronaut lasted quite a while. Marine biologist was only for a few years, before high school.”

“What did you end up studying?”

Aaron looks across, surprised. He didn’t realise Kevin doesn’t know what he’s studying. He probably should have. It’s not like Kevin ever asked, or like he’s shown any interest in Aaron before. It just feels like such a big presence in Aaron’s life, it’s strange for others not to know.

“I’m pre-med. Majoring in bio sciences.”

“Makes sense,” Kevin says after a moment, and graces Aaron with one of his rare smiles. Aaron blames the sleep deprivation for the way he instantly smiles back.

[honeysucklethornsandalligtrhorns]

Lex's List: Truths, Advice, Quotes, Mantras, & Words to Live By:

Fuck it, we ball.

Take it easy, but take it.

Life is not measured in a series of wins and losses; some things just are.

Don't approach a horse from the rear, a cow from its side, or a fool from any direction.

Perform random acts of kindness and senseless acts of beauty.

Be gentle with yourself. You are still learning.

Be gentle with your past self. They were still learning.

Treat yourself as you would treat your daughter.

We all die, you either kill yourself or get killed.

Fuck around and find out.

To accept queerness, disability, neurodivergence, mental illness, differing religions, differing cultures, and a differing world, is to accept 'weirdness' and learn how to properly educate yourself on new (sometimes only to you) ideas, subjects, concepts, ways of life, etc..

One essential way to properly educate yourself on new ideas, subjects, concepts, ways of life, etc., is by listening to the stories and experiences of people who are of that specific group, from them themselves.

"Because I'm sexy! And chubby, man." "Why aren't you on a diet?" "Because I like to eat, is that such a crime?"

There are two types of anger-- explosive and implosive.

Intrusive thoughts are not from you, your brain is a wrinkly hunk of fat with lightning in it and it doesn't always know what it's doing. Just let them pass on and don't dwell on them.

Maybe they're just new at it.

You need to love yourself before you try to love others.

Saying sorry doesn't guarantee forgiveness. It's an offering, not a fix-all.

Trust, like respect, is earned.

In that sense, respect & trust can be given and taken away. They are privileges. You have to uphold them.

Phases are a natural part of life. Embrace them.

Everybody talks.

Whatever you do, there is a child out there doing it better than you.

Comparison is the thief of joy.

Everything is a social construct because we live in a society.

Family is not just blood or genetics.

It's okay to need help, but clean up your own messes.

If you leave towels crumpled up instead of spreading them properly, they won't dry correctly.

If you leave issues untouched instead of addressing them and communicating, they won't dry correctly. They will fester.

Water damage is real. Clean up your spills.

This is your only body. Take care of it.

At the end of the day, it's only meat, fluids, electricity, and bone.

You have free will for a reason.

Homosexuality is present in over 1,500 species. Homophobia is present in one.

Never make assumptions.

Fact check everything.

Do not get involved in drama that isn't yours.

It's just fabric, get over yourself (in regards to judgment of others' clothing).

It's just fat, get over yourself (in regards to judgment of other people).

It's just skin, get over yourself (in regards to judgment of other people).

Admitting you were wrong takes more balls than arguing over who's right.

Ask first.

Mean what you say and say what you mean.

Use deodorant.

Vaccinate your kids.

If you can afford it, go to therapy.

Don't expect rewards for basic human decency.

Healthy, safe, and well-informed sex education is vital and should be taught in schools.

Don't purposefully walk into a strip club and then act shocked and offended to find strippers.

The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.

Your ancestors looked like you, and they all managed to get laid. There's hope.

Spite is the world's greatest motivator.

Do it bored.

If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.

You are the light. It's not on you, it's in you. Don't you ever in your motherfucking life dim your life for nobody. Don't you ever stop being who you are and dimming your light for none of these motherfuckers out here.

Art should calm the disturbed and disturb the calm.

Thousands of years ago, ancient peoples got bored.

There's a likelihood that you are not the first in your family line to be queer.

Nine days before the Wright brothers' flight, it was predicted that man would not achieve flight for another million years.

To love and be loved-- that alone is what makes this lifetime bearable.

Those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.

Language is fucking weird and accents are natural.

To laugh is to feel such joy you cannot contain it.

90-year-olds still go on dates. You will find someone.

Don't put metal in the microwave.

Taking 'unnecessary' precautions is favorable to getting unnecessarily hurt.

You can switch religions whenever you want.

And the universe said I love you/ And the universe said you have played the game well/ And the universe said everything you need is within you/ And the universe said you are stronger than you know/ And the universe said you are the daylight/ And the universe said you are the night/ And the universe said the darkness you fight is within you/ And the universe said the light you seek is within you/ And the universe said you are not alone/ And the universe said you are not separate from every other thing/ And the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code/ And the universe said I love you because you are love.

To be willfully ignorant is to welcome death.

The Nation that makes a great distinction between its scholars and its warriors will have its thinking done by cowards and its fighting done by fools.

Coercion is not consent.

Make sure you have a safe word set in place.

Grief does not disappear. You simply grow around it. You live with it.

Your conscience is a triangle. It pokes you when you do something wrong. If you ignore it enough, it'll smoothen out and become a circle. You won't feel the pokes anymore.

To live is not to survive.

Change your perspective, even if you think you're seeing clearly.

Don't be a dick to kids.

Money may not buy happiness, but it buys comfort.

First, you have to forgive yourself.

Don't panic. Panic drowns thought.

Carelessness is to die.

Your art hot like potato chip.

Remember to take your meds + drink water + eat a snack + unclench your jaw.

If you wouldn't take their advice, don't take their criticism.

'Bad' art that's made with passion is better than 'good' art that has no soul.

Hate is a learned trait. No one is born intolerant.

Love was the law and religion was taught.

Arrive early.

Just because someone looks like you does not make them a friend; just because someone does not look like you, or is unfamiliar, does not make them an enemy.

There are different temperatures and steeping times needed for different types of teas. If you get it wrong, your tea will turn out flavorless or bitter.

Don't store raw meat next to vegetables.

You can't 'just cut the mold' off of soft cheeses, fruits/veggies, or most dairy products.

Boiled water is not the same thing as boiling water.

Bake flour to remove the bacteria. Boil water to remove the bacteria. Put toxic things (such as tarantulas) in boiling water and boil for at least an hour to remove the toxins.

If you don't take yourself seriously, neither will others.

Defeatism is to die.

We are made of stardust.

Never make generalizing statements.

If small things bring you joy, fill your home with small things.

To be cringe is to be free.

Punch 'em in the throat.

[answersfromzestual]

what does a tdick like... actually look like? or how they behave post-testoterone and pre-surgery? I haven't really been able to find like anything educational about how they work- what the look like, how they differ from other genitalia during sex and/or arousal, any of that stuff. I'd really appreciate it if you could explain it?

Bottom Growth or T-Dick Info:

For educational purposes only

I will be calling a "T-dick" a "T-phallus" in this answer.

I highly suggest all read through my second source, it is very informative about growth, sensations, and also has some good general knowledge as well.

Clitoral hypertrophy: the clitoris growing in length and width while taking testosterone.

So a t-phallus very much looks like the head of a penis, the shape, the contours, it just doesn't have a hole for urination like a penis or a shaft especially when you are aroused. A t-phallus gets erect when you are aroused just like a penis. It is considered the pleasure organ.

During arousal (turned on), it actually swells up and fills with blood, becoming erect and more stiff (hard)

While your t-phallus gets bigger on testosterone many people describe their changes in their orgasms and pleasurable feeling. For example you may like a different kind of touch now because that feels more pleasurable. "Some people describe feeling a more erection-like sensation when aroused." - source 2

Typical bottom growth on testosterone therapy is typically 1 to 4 cm, sometimes even more, this growth varies. One small study¹ about bottom surgery reported the average length of bottom growth measured from 2.5 cm to 4 cm in the study participants who eventually underwent surgery. Another study² found that at the one year mark, the average growth was 4.6 cm.

During sexual intercourse with someone with female genitalia: will require you to use a dental dam as protection (dental dam information), this is just basically a sheet of latex or another kind of plastic (like male condoms), to prevent direct contact. You don't not just need to use one during oral sex but if you are rubbing your genitals together it may be a good idea. If you are sharing toys make sure to clean them thoroughly between using it on the opposite person. (Making sure sex toys are clean is always a good idea).

If you are having sexual intercourse with cis males/ male genitalia: you should be requiring that person to wear a condom, even if they are trans themselves, any bodily fluid contact can spread a STI. Or you can use female condoms.

Here are some articles on sexual health.

Sexual health article 1

Sexual health article 2

Below are example images of a t-phallus and growth:

Source²

Source²

- a more realistic view.

You can see that there is a tip that gets slightly thinner with the connective tissues. So you have a head of a penis to put it very generally and your 'shaft' is almost buried in the connective tissue/ hood (which I used to call my 'foreskin', it made me feel more comfortable.

Sources, Images, and Studies

Source 1

Source 2

Medical Study¹ -PDF

Medical Study²

Fun facts: We all are actually considered to have female genitalia in the womb until about the second trimester of pregnancy, then your body gets a flood of either estrogen (X) or testosterone (Y), which is what tells your body to form the genitals. This is actually interesting because it shows that the clitoris is actually a tiny penis in a way, since it actually does become a penis as a fetus develops. - I learned this in my child development class.

[awriterlivinginaconstantdream]

IV A New World

Chapter 1: Lost Bird Sneak Peek

Warnings : plane crash, blood, cuts, scars, bodily fluids, death, slight gore.

I’m so excited to show you guys the rest of it 💕💕💕💕💕💕

Any feedback is welcome 🤗

The heat from the sun baked the dirt into a hard layer, and the breeze lifted small clouds of sand into the air. The flames from the smoldering engines of the plane didn’t cool things down either. No matter where you went, it burned you. Blood painted throughout the plane creating its hellish home of pain and misfortune. A faint rustling was heard from inside the remains; it sounded like it came from something small. Maybe a small animal decided to seek shelter, but even an animal wouldn’t stay somewhere like this. An intricate web of wires trapped anything that remained to be devoured by a slow death while claws of metal scraped painfully if it tried to move. The rustling grew louder as something wiggled to get out. A bloodied hand reached out into the flaming air as it tried to grab something to help in its endeavour. Landing on a broken arm rest, the hand slowly pulled a body out of the pile, it looked weak and fragile. It held onto the arm rest as it tried to stand, shaking as it held itself up only to buckle and land to its knees. Looking closer at themselves, there were several cuts and gashes on their hands, their arms, their face. There wasn’t a sliver of skin that wasn’t covered in sticky blood and dirt. They coughed and hacked as they tried to breathe, everything was painful. BOOM! The second engine of the plane fell off and filled whatever clean air was available with thick, dark smoke. It spread through as if a curtain of death fell over the crashed plane, as if it were trying to drop any survivors. The body did its best to crawl its way out of the curtain. The pain and fear were catching up to them as the smoke began to wrap a dark hand over everything, choking it. Its grip tightening the more the body tried to move. The body tried to wrangle away from it, but its grip became deathly as the smoke thickened with every breath they took. The smoke began to fill their lungs as the body inched closer to the exit. Moving closer and closer with every laboured breath. Wires crackled and sparked as the body brushed against them. Hissing in pain, they pushed forward, keeping their survival at the forefront of their mind.

[sherbet-shivers]

A Minor Malfunction Part 2/3

**Please do not share to non-kink snz blogs — no need to drag vanillas into this! Formatting tips are always welcome <3**

Blurb: Co/nnor is still suffering a little virus (Part 1 here and Part 3 here)

Characters: Co/nnor R/K800 (-centric because he’s babygirl) and H/ank A/nderson

Length: 5k+ words

TW: cursing, human and robot injuries and homicide, fake drugs, some coughing; lightest of spoilers

Since investigations were never quick, Connor really should’ve expected this case to be no exception.

It took roughly half an hour just to reach the crime scene alone, and now that they’d arrived, minutes were accruing like Deviants themselves. The scene wasn’t too unique compared to other similar incidents, but that didn’t mean it was absent surprises either.

For starters, there were multiple human victims — two adult men aged somewhere between thirty and forty years. They were dealers allegedly draining their own androids for their Thirium in order to produce more red ice for local distribution. The Androids were both inactive and found just outside the immediate area given they’d lost a critical amount of blue blood. It was likely they’d shut down since there was no way their bio components could sustain their systems on such minimal fluid. This was the first case in which Connor and Hank had investigated people using their own androids to bolster their personal RI supply, and for some reason, Connor doubted it’d be the last.

The men had been assaulted by the Androids in their kitchen based on the amount of blood smattering the countertops and the overall state of disarray. Chairs were knocked over, the fridge was left open, the stovetops were on when police arrived, and there were broken dishes, toppled pots, and loose silverware scattered everywhere. The men had done a good job remaining inconspicuous in their affairs; even their next door neighbors reported no suspicions of their notorious trade, nor the abuse of their Androids. Connor purported that the tiny apartment was designated for the sole purpose of their operations — not particularly lived in or used for shelter. His theory was based on the fact there was no food in the house, and every single cabinet, cupboard, or similar compartment had been repurposed for RI storage. Not to mention the home was completely battered, obviously lacking much needed maintenance and cleaning. Even the naked human eye could catch the layers of dust and grime coating every flat surface in sight. Hank was the first to say as much after he entered the living quarters and immediately tripped over a bag of old Chinese food containers and syringes.

“Fucking shit!” He had hissed, glaring down at the trash bag like it had personally assaulted him. “I swear if this place is crawling with rats like that damn pigeon house I will shoot those filthy bastards on site!”

Miraculously none of the officers had encountered a single rodent; however less fortunately, Connor’s nose was starting to grow unbearably itchy given all the dust and cobwebs decorating the dry air. Not to mention it was freezing inside — the other investigating officers bundled under several layers and still chattering against the cold. Connor suspected the leaks in the roof and broken windows were to blame for the influx of frigid air, which was starting to really stiffen the cogs in his chest and extremities.

Connor slowly gravitates to Hank’s side, peeking over his shoulder as the senior observes one of the victims.

“More red ice,” he grumbles as he plucks a PVC packet off one of the men’s person. The crystallized drug sparkles like false ruby under the scope of Hank’s flashlight. “Given the toxicology report, it’s a wonder how this guy didn’t overdose before he was murdered.”

Hank passes the packet to Connor, the latter fumbling the substance between his fingers while he examines it more closely.

“The composition isn’t exact to other red ice compounds we’ve seen in the past,” Connor observes. “Perhaps they were developing a hybrid; something inexpensive with a similar effect and appearance.”

Hank scoffs, shaking his head. He pats down the rest of the victim’s body. “A living eye could never catch all that, but I guess that’s why you’re here, right Connor?”

“Correct,” Connor confirms.

“Well,” Hank says, rising from the floor and clapping his hands together to rid them of the dirt caked in the grooves of his skin, “I have my theories, but uh, why don’t you go first while I wash this shit off?”

“Of course,” Connor nods as he watches Hank step over the victim’s body and head for the kitchen sink. He wastes no time pulling up the list of evidence saved to his specs.

“Based on what I’ve gathered and the analysis of my digital reconstruction, Victim A was likely assaulted by Android B first. Victim B was preoccupied with the stovetop while Victim A busied himself with collecting the Androids’ Thirium.”

Hank hums, encouraging Connor to continue while he tries to unstick the sink’s rusty left handle. “Go on.”

“To access the blue blood, the victims would often drain a specific wound afflicting the android’s torso; the area just beneath where a human’s right rib cage would end. The puncture wound was scarcely healed between draining instances, and therefore the most reasonable source of continued drainage. I believe Victim A was attempting to reach Android B’s puncture when the bot suddenly refused his inspection. Thus-“

“SHIT!”

Connor jerks in surprise as Hank yanks his hands from the sink basin to avoid the gush of suspiciously gross water pouring out the faucet.

“Ah that’s just fucking great! Ice cold, filthy fucking water! Matches the house itself, I guess,” Hank curses as he extends his hands away from his body. Even a few of the surrounding officers take steps away from his reach.

“Hang onto that thought. I’m gonna go wash this off in a puddle or something.”

With that, Hank and the remaining officers head outside the home, leaving Connor alone with the still running water. The Android heads over to the sink and promptly halts the flow, which has collected in the basin turning it a muddy, sewage brown. For sanitary reasons, he should really drain the fluid, but something about the discoloration even has him grimacing.

While inspecting the mess, Connor is completely unaware of the steady pool of rainwater collecting just overhead, seeping through the cracks of the ceiling; and just as he’s about to return to his former position, the roof panels give way and unleash their tide. With his reaction time hindered, Connor barely side-steps the planks crashing to his sides. It’s a lucky dodge, but still not quite good enough to avoid the wave of water that crashes him dead on. Within the blink of an eye, he’s become drenched in icy fluid.

He’s thankful he was the brunt of the accident and not Hank or the other human officers, but if he wasn’t already shivering before, he sure was now. That pummeling had put a dent in his defensive barrier, and the large influx of water was starting to sink into his circuits faster than it could be flushed out.

A similar alert blares through his system, only this time it glows red and reads as a warning.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Highly Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-44BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Water Intake: Level 4. Risk Of Shut-Down: Moderate. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 53 Hours, 21 Minutes, And 17 Sec-

“IHT’TDSHY’yiiEW!”

Connor sneezes freely towards the ground, his hands pathetically hugging his shoulders and shaking against his sodden sleeves. Water had definitely infiltrated his cavities, only congesting him further. Get a grip, he mentally commands. Don’t-!

“Hh’PTSHH’huh! ssh’hHIEW!”

Come on! Get a-!

“Connor!”

The Android lifts his head, spotting Hank who's just re-entered the house and is already barreling his way.

“Connor! What happened?!” He asks, examining the android’s body then glancing between the fallen debri and the hole in the ceiling.

“N-Nothing, L-Lieutenant,” Connor stammers, his voice as uneven as autotune. “Th-the ceiling…it must’ve fallen under the p-pressure of the s-storm.”

His voice has taken on a robotic vibration, frying it with digital gravel.

“Jesus…,” Hank murmurs absentmindedly, his gaze returning to Connor himself. “Did it fucking fall on you? Why are you soaked?!”

“I-I’m okay,” Connor reassures, though the constant shivering and sniffling probably doesn’t make him any more convincing. Two other, entering officers are starting to look at him. He didn’t need this extra speculation, so he opts for changing the subject, and fast.

He glances at Hank’s hands.

“D-Did you manage t-to w-wash your hands off?”

Hank stares at Connor like he’s asked him to perform the electric slide. Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the smoothest transition out of the spotlight. But even so, he didn’t say something wrong again, did he? Connor smiles through chattering teeth, when suddenly, Hank catches his cheeks in his palms and sternly peers into the Android’s eyes.

“Christ Connor you’re freezing,” he murmurs, an unusual hint of worry seeping through his tone. Connor wasn’t supposed to evoke that tone, so he does his best to console his partner.

“I-I’m okay, Lieutenant,” Connor repeats. “I-I’m just glad n-no one was injured,” he adds, blatantly ignoring the 59% efficiency report blinking in the corner of his sight. “The temperatures m-may slow m-me down, but I assure you I a-am s-still capable of completing my job.”

Hank doesn’t look convinced, far from it actually, but he ultimately chooses to free Connor of his hold, perhaps motivated by the approach of the remaining officers. He clears his throat and nods, averting his eyes to the remainder of the scene. He’d have to clean up the fallen shit, but honestly that was the least of his current concerns. One victim was piled beneath rooftop shambles, and if he knew anything, it was that Fowler would blame him for the tampered scene — whether it was his fault or not.

“Alright,” he grumbles. “But-,” he exclaims, pointing a finger in Connor’s face, “-you’d better tell me if you start bugging out! The last thing we need is you breaking down or glitching or something.”

Connor’s gears tighten. “Of course, Lieutenant. That won’t happen,” he assures.

“Good, ‘cause I’m not filing a broken equipment report after we’re done here,” he mutters, returning to the crime scene. As he does, he huffs under his breath, shaking his head and hiding his expression behind a curtain of loose bangs.

“Fuck, almost actually had me worried there, Con!” He admits. “I seriously almost asked if you wanted a break, or were hurt or feeling okay, but I forgot you don’t really want or feel, well, anything, do you?”

Connor’s hands grip tighter against his arms, leaving scratches across his synthetic skin that are slow to regenerate.

“Correct, Lieutenant,” he murmurs, his LED flashing yellow.

Hank accepts his answer, already having shuffled over to the fallen planks to scoop them out of the way. Connor tries to help him, but Hank intercepts his reach.

“Uh-uh! You keep telling me what you found, then go ahead and re-investigate the bodies, yeah? Or at least, y’know,” he glimpses down at the victim half-buried beneath the rubble, “the ones you can still see.”

…

By the time they’ve managed to clean up the majority of the roof and granted Connor enough leeway to re-inspect the final victim, more than an hour has passed. His metal was freezing cold to the touch, barely above 35 degrees, and his malfunctions were getting worse by the second — only functioning at an even split of 50%.

Still, it looked like their investigation was nearly over. The other cops had long left the area (probably in order to avoid clean-up duty), and Hank was equally ready to go with just the final victim remaining to be studied. For a man who hated his job, he’d rushed to get another look at the body. He was already down on his knees, hovering over Victim A and scouring his wounds with his flashlight.

“So, you’re saying this one attacked the Androids first?”

Connor nods. “Y-Yes. It’s m-most p-probable.”

His stutter was getting worse. So far Hank had been ignoring it, but there was no way he hadn't noticed.

“So run the last part by me again? Y’know, about how the second Android got involved?”

…No response.

That was unusual.

“Connor?” Hank calls.

No response. Again.

What the Hell?

“Connor? Connor??” He repeats, this time glancing back at the Android in question. To his unease, Connor is looking somewhere unseen, as if in a trance. Making a face, Hank claps his hands together, startling the Android out of his daze.

“Goddammit! Connor!!”

Connor blinks twice and immediately looks to his partner.

“Apologies. D-Did you need me?” Connor asks.

“Well I’ve been calling your name four damn times, so yeah,” Hank answers sarcastically. “I thought you said you were fine. The Hell is up with you?”

“N-Nothing, Lieutenant. I’m sorry,” Connor apologizes again. This time though, Hank isn’t letting him slide so easily.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What’s going on, huh? You’re even loopier than yesterday,” he scoffs. “Y’know I was joking earlier but now I’m not so sure. What is it, huh? You actually malfunctioning or some shit?”

“N-No!” Connor exclaims a bit too hastily, based on the way Hank raises an eyebrow his way. He hadn’t meant to raise his voice so high. It was an impulse he rarely leaned into, but it was difficult given the constant red warning swimming through his ocular piece. “N-No…my operations are functional.”

“Functional?” Hank repeats, placing a hand on his knee. “What happened to optimal?”

For a middle-aged drunkard, Hank was remarkably astute — a quality Connor often admired, just not in this moment.

“I am fine,” Connor breathes, trying to keep his voice as still as possible. “I’ve already ran internal diagnostics. It s-seems that I’ve contracted a small virus that is affecting the r-regulation of my bio-components.”

“What?” Hank exclaims, suddenly up on his feet and fully facing his Android. “Affecting how? For how long??” He asks, bordering concern and curiosity.

“My temperature regulation is h-hindered, resulting in fluctuating internal temps ranging from r-roughly 30 to 120 degrees Fahrenheit.”

“30?!” He knew Connor was cold, just not that cold.

“My ocular c-components are s-similarly impaired, occasionally resulting in low visibility and an inability t-to scan c-certain d-data in the environment. I s-suspect I will not be able to immediately diagnose b-blue blood, as taste receptors are partially numbed.”

Hank honestly didn’t see that as a negative per se, but he wasn’t about to say that aloud.

“And I am experiencing m-mild g-glitching affecting airway c-cavities, though this is, again, a m-mild inconvenience.”

Hank looks Connor up and down, expression unreadable. For the first time, Connor swears he’s sensing something. Something internal outside his usual program, and aside from the errors he’s affected by. This was something new, something strange and unpleasant. Something like…

Anxiety?

He waits for Hank to say something — anything — even if it’s at his own expense, and yet all the detective does is stare at him. Finally, after a few more bated moments, Hank does something unexpected: he laughs. And when he does speak, it’s in the flattest tone Connor’s ever heard out of him — a tone befit an Android.

“So you have a cold.”

Blue rises to Connor’s cheeks. Anxiety was giving way to another unwanted emotion: humiliation.

“…Yes, Lieutenant. The common cold would likely be an equivalent to my condition.”

Hanks laughs again, placing his hands on his hips as he shakes his head in amusement. “Learn something stupid everyday,” he muses. Then, more seriously, he continues: “So what exactly uh, happens when you’re-,” he waves his hands around Connor’s person, gesturing to his entirety,” -like this. Hm? I’m assuming bots don’t get sick leave.”

He was genuinely curious (maybe even a smidge compassionate), and as always, Connor has an answer.

“CyberLife has been notified of my dysfunction, and their report denotes that as a m-model RK800, I am c-capable of both s-self-diagnostics and administering minor self-repairs. A-As such, this inconvenience is nothing I c-cannot h-handle myself. Given approximately-,” his LED hums and glows a faint blue, “-51 hours, 32 minutes and 11 seconds, my s-systems should be rebooted, and myself returned t-to optimal f-functionality. In the meantime, I apologize for any hindrances this may c-cause our investigation, Lieutenant; however, CyberLife has assured that these errors are m-more likely to c-cause self-contained discomfort, and are therefore highly n-negligible to outside company.”

He wiggles in place. “That is why I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m s-sorry for the disturbance, and urge you to ignore my incongruity lest it endanger or c-concern you or others directly.”

“Right…,” Hank nods, still eyeing Connor with skepticism. “But you know it does kind of concern me when you’re all dopey, ignoring my questions and shit.”

“It won’t happen again.”

Hank snorts, rolling his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it, but forgive me if I think you’re full of shit when you say so,” he says, returning to the victim. “So, anything else I should be aware of? Any other surprises?” He chuckles.

Hank awaits an answer, even if it’s meant as a joke, but once again he’s met with silence. He sighs and mutters something unintelligible to himself; something along the lines of “I swear to God kid if you aren’t listening”; but just as he’s about to call Connor again and wake him from whatever tizzy he’s fallen back into, the Android makes a sound he doesn’t recognize.

“H’ih-!”

“Huh?”

Hank waits, but there’s no response again. Was Connor trying to say something and he’d missed it? “Hey! Connor! What did you sa-?”

“Hidt’TZSH’ieEW!”

Hank startles, jerking enough to lose his grip on his flashlight, which tumbles from his hand and rolls across the wood flooring. He swings around fast enough to give someone his age whiplash, still not entirely believing such a human sound was produced by his partner. That is, until he watches him make it again. The android’s shoulders bounce twice, chest inflates with a faux breath, and then-

“Ih’TSHH’Uui! E-Excu’h-! Hhh’idTSHh’iew!”

He somehow catches the final sneeze in an artificial web of fingers. Why he even bothers Hank doesn’t know; after all, it’s not like he could infect anyone. Then again, it was probably just another habit to make him appear more human; though to be honest, Hank almost found it creepy.

When Connor catches his partner staring, he looks utterly embarrassed; the sky-blue blush rushing to his face and discoloring his ski-sloped nose. To regain his composure, he’s quick to readjust his trademark tie and fidget with the cuffs of his sleeve.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant,” Connor offers sheepishly.

“…did you just fucking sneeze?” Hank asks, only the way he says it makes it sound more like an accusation than an inquiry.

Connor nods and rubs his nose. “Forgive me. It’s another side effect of my-,” he pauses, refusing to say malfunction aloud. “-condition. I’ll try not to let it happen again.”

“It’s not that I just, didn’t know you things uh, did that,” Hank replies un-eloquently. “Not that I even knew you got sick for Christ’s sake.”

“It’s not common,” Connor answers, his eyes averting shyly. “It’s to vent out my systems. Usually androids don’t need to resort to these processes since they clean themselves manually, but with my bio-components partially corrupted-“

Connor sniffs and pinches his nose, unaware how he seems to be bewildering Hank further.

“-my systems are relying on automatic reflexes. CyberLife did add that they m-may be on high alert for outside disturbances. S’h-?! So given how duh’hsty this area i’hiH-! is…”

Connor glimpses around the abandoned kitchen, wiggling his nose and sniffing in succession, again.

“-I suppose I’m-…I-hH‘m…-?!”

He’s intent on continuing, he really is, but he just can’t. Therefore, he swivels around out of Hank’s sight, and sneezes as quietly as possible into the bed of his palms.

“pP’SHHIi’Eew! ihH’SCH’yuU! ‘chyiieEW!”

Or not quietly at all, really. It was just so hard; especially when his nose was so relentlessly ticklish! Staving off the fit for hours probably didn’t help, but in his defense, he still wasn’t 100% sure fighting it off actually made it worse. Just…99% sure.

“ahH’Ah-! H’ahH-…! HH’ATSCH’hyieEW!”

The water soaked into his systems must be more  agitating than he thought. He sniffles damply and rubs his nose on his sleeve before clearing his throat of the congestion that’s settled there. When he faces Hank again, he isn’t even aware of just how blue he’s turned, or the little curls of hair that've been freed by the exertion of his fit. He coughs into his fist.

“Excuse me. Sorry. I was saying that I’ve become highly sensitive to the changes in the environment. Like the rain and-“, he sniffs, hesitant to even utter the word, “-dust.”

The initial shock of disbelief wearing off, Hank’s expression dissolves into a smirk that teases more at one corner of his mouth than the other. “So first you catch colds and now you get allergies, too?”

Connor swallows.

“Not necessarily,” he defends.

Hank nods, still looking cheeky. “But you are sneezy.”

“A bit…yes,” Connor confirms, scrubbing at his face again. Static is still tickling his nose, and spreading an itch to the rest of his face. Is this how humans felt when they were overreacting?

“I’ll stop it next time. I’m sorry.”

He fears he may have given the wrong answer the way Hank stays silent, but ultimately, his partner must appreciate his courtesy, because his expression softens and he rises to rub Connor’s shoulder in earnest.

“Twenty more minutes and then we get you out of here. I’m starting to freeze my balls off, anyway.”

…

Twenty minutes don’t come fast enough. Thankfully they’ve managed to piece together exactly how the crime went down — from the names of the victims and their Androids, to the means of assault, the murder weapons, and the motives. The cost however was Connor’s comfort, which if not indicated by his breathy sneezing and constant shaking, was evidenced by the 44% efficiency he was operating at. He needed a charge, and maybe just a little time to shut his eyes, which were being swarmed by constant alerts. The walls of text and meaningless numbers were starting to pile up in the corners of his eyes and really impair his sight. He had attempted to blink them away as quickly as they popped up, but at some point he’d given up altogether — doing so was expending crucial battery life he couldn’t afford to spare.

And now even his balance was beginning to suffer, causing him to lean and rock whenever he inched in any direction. To keep himself steady and warm, his hands were permanently grounded to his arms, keeping him enveloped in a hug of his own making.

As he watches Hank wrap up, Connor suddenly remembers that his night was far from over. He still needed to file his case report to CyberLife, and the idea of walking all the way back to the station was no more appealing. As an Android he wasn’t afforded the luxury of catching himself a taxi since it was illegal to spend currency on himself alone. Usually Connor didn’t pay this inequality any real attention, but in his current state, he finds himself fixated on the rule. If he thought on it further, perhaps he would’ve inspired some kind of opinion; ultimately though, he knows there’s nothing he could do but accept it. Thus he turns his attention back to his current priority: Hank, who he needed to return home safely before reporting their findings to CyberLife. He’d made a promise to Sumo, after all.

He may be exhausted, but he still wasn’t ready to deem his performance a total failure just yet.

“Alright, I think we’re just about done here,” Hank sighs, looking and sounding just as relieved as Connor was. “Don’t tell the Chief but uh, based on what we found here-“

Hank peeks at Connor who meets his glance.

“-fuckers probably deserved what they got.”

Connor glimpses at the Android bodies, then that of the human victims. He shrugs, albeit reluctantly. “That is n-not a j-judgment I can m-make,” he answers.

“Sure it isn’t,” Hank sighs. “Anyway, let’s get the fuck out of here. Come on.”

Hank leads the way towards the exit, and as usual, Connor is quick to trail him like a puppy chasing its owner. He’s so close to being done and escaping this fortress of death and dust, but of course, fate can’t let him off so easily. The whole day had been work, and apparently his shift wasn’t quite over yet.

He feels it before he fully realizes what’s happening. That prickling burn in his face had returned with a vengeance, syncing with another alert that blinds his view completely.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. Self-Repairs Update Ongoing. Time Remaining: 54 Hours, 26 Minutes, And 03 Seconds.

Wait, did the time remaining increase?

Connor is too preoccupied with completing his objectives to heed his system’s warnings, and thus dismisses the alarm pounding in his head. With a mighty effort he attempts to trudge forward in Hank’s wake, every step heavy and audibly creaking. His bio components slosh with rainwater, sending chills through every circuit and rendering every movement sluggish and dizzying. The pixels in his view were collecting like a storm and creating clouds of noir fuzz that eat away at his peripheral sight.

And that damn vibration in his chest and nose! It was so fucking distracting! He doesn’t need to alert Hank to his current state any more than he already has, and he definitely doesn’t need to get whisked up in another pathetic fit…but the tactics he’d used so far to abate his reflexes just weren’t providing him any hints of reprieve.

Desperate, he resorts to a new plan of action, quick to secure his nose between the pads of his thumb and forefinger. He’s seen Hank do it before, so maybe if he just…! Connor clamps down hard on the sensitive tip to try and curb the itch that’s nested there, eager to quell the phantom sensation by massaging and kneading strategically. Rain water squeaks against his grip, and the stubborn tickle has him coughing breathily against his control. Please let this work! He can stop this one! He just needs to concentrate. He just needs to try harder! He just…ne’hH’eds…t-t’hHU…!

Abandoning his cause, Connor blindly frees his hand and reaches for Hank’s shoulder. He ends up at his sleeve instead, but honestly that’s close enough given the urgency of his position. He gives the detective’s jacket a little tug, signaling for his attention.

“LieuyY’hH-!…Lieutenant-?!”

Hank peeks at Connor over his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“S-Sir-! I-I’hh am…,” Connor trails off, and catching the Android’s desperate gaze, Hank pays him his full attention. The Android shuffles, blinks side to side, then flusteredly exclaims, “g-going to do ih’hIHT-!…a’hh’gain-!”

Hank blinks, and when he finally catches on, he blinks again.

“Connor,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes and gripping the Android’s hand. “You’re a damn-near indestructible supercomputer worth double my yearly salary. Are you seriously telling me you’re about to sneeze again? Like a preschooler?”

“Y-Yes-!” Connor answers seriously between hitching breaths. Hank isn’t surprised he didn’t catch his attempts at teasing, but he’s also unaware of just how mortified Connor is — how he’s feeling. “I understand I — huh-! — f-frightened-“

“I wasn’t scared.”

“-you la’aast time s’so I th’hah-! I thought I’d try to w-warn you’that’I-!”

“Fuck’s sake just shut up and get it over with!” Hank hisses.

Permission granted. To spare his commanding officer the unsightly scene, Connor twists his body and races to cover his mouth with steepled hands. He hiccups two “breaths” (a pattern Hank was beginning to pick up on) against his palms before succumbing to his nightmare.

“Hh’IPTtsSH’IEW! Aah’-! eH’SCH’hh! Iy’hh-! hah-! H’hiHH-! hHYi’DSHH’uU!”

He coughs so hard afterwards, his chest rattles and mouth leaks stale rainwater. It’s the trigger that melts Hank’s bemused expression into one of utter fear, his eyes wide and unblinking. Up until now he’d found this whole thing funny, maybe a bit quirky and unusual, but now? Now this felt serious. Dangerous, even.

“Connor!”

Hank scrambles to Connor’s side. Without seeking permission, he grabs both Connor’s wrists in his hands and forces them away from his face, revealing a tortured expression he should’ve noticed earlier. Connor looked outright uncomfortable. He looked distressed. He looked…

Really sick.

Guilt anchors Hank’s heart to the bottom of his gut, and out of some sort of paternal instinct, he holds the Android steady by pulling him into a hug.

“Connor!” He calls, but the Android is prisoner to a loop of gasping and sputtering. Pressed close together, Hank can hear the faint whistling emitting from the Android’s chest. Paired with the aggressive huffing and whimpers of sound, Connor didn’t sound too much unlike an asthmatic. Hank’s hands are becoming numb the longer they remain locked around the man’s body, and with every violent shiver, his body shakes in chorus.

Connor clutches greedy fistfuls of Hank’s jacket, relying on him entirely for support to stay upright. It’s like he’s clinging for life support, and the impression makes Hank’s own blood turn to ice.

“Connor?! Connor, son!! Are you okay?!”

To his horror, Connor blindly shakes his head. It’s the last hint to compel Hank to action. Desperate to comfort the Android further, Hank cradles a hand to the back of Connor’s head and pillows his face against his chest. The Android wiggles weakly against his grip, but Hank adamantly refuses to budge.

“Relax, kid. I used to be a dad, remember?”

He closes his eyes and traces soothing circles between Connor’s shoulder blades.

“Getting sneezed and coughed on is part of the job; maybe for detectives too. So quit your fighting and just get it over with — I’m here for you now.”

Either his words resonate convincingly enough, or Connor can’t hold out any further. Either way, the result is the same.

“HAH’DZSCHh’hiuUH! h’DTZSH’HUH! ih’KSCHH!”

Connor groans faintly from the bed of Hank’s breast pocket, barely catching another breath before he’s snapping forth again. First coughing, then flung into another sneezing fit.

“EH’DSHH’CHhui! ‘CHiiEeW! ‘SCHH’yyiuh! hHi’tshiiew!”

The last one is barely a sneeze, more like an exhale of empty, fizzled out air. Hank noticed how Connor, even in all his desperation, had refused to sneeze on him; instead letting loose at the last possible moment by pressing his forehead to his chest and aiming each burst towards the floor. Even while at the end of his rope the damn man was too polite — a wholesome and unreasonable characteristic Hank acted like he abhorred, but silently envied.

Relieved to be finished but feeling infinitely worse, Connor lifts his head slowly, already pulling out of Hank’s touch to crush the back of his wrist against his nose. He wasn’t about to look Hank in the eyes, not that he could see clearly to begin with. Errors were swarming his senses like gnats, declaring him critically defective and dangerously malfunctioning — as if he needed a reminder of the obvious.

Rocking on his heels he clutches his head in his hand and surrenders to the glitches tearing up his bio components.

WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Functionality: Critically Impaired. Code: C5Y0091-53BC. Result: Bio-Component Defects And Malfunction. Risk Of Shut-Down: Imminent. WARNING!!! Malfunction. Malfunction.

Malfunction.

Malfunction.

“I-…I’m not…”

Malfunction. Shut-Down Sequence Initiated.

N-No. He wasn’t going to shut down. It was a status he couldn’t afford, especially given his type of work, his mission, his expectations, and his model. A malfunction this spiraling…was unbefitting a rumba, let alone an RX800 Android like himself. If he couldn’t pull it together and send back a satisfying report to his creators, then…what could he expect? He’d be forced apart and aptly replaced by a new Connor model. He would be broken down; he’d be expendable once again. He’d lose his purpose. He’d lose his job! He’d lose Hank!! He didn’t want that!!!

“Connor! CONNOR!!!”

He…he didn’t…

“Hank-…I-I…don’t…f-feel…”

DING!Shut-Down Sequence Complete.

[fangsandsoftgrass]

Day 3 Embrace./Blood.

A cleaned up version of a piece I wrote covering Fennorians rescue from the Host. This one is a bit long so sorry in advance 🥲

In her haste to find his kidnappers Cirwedh never finds his flask at the boarding house, and Fenn has to stem his hunger another way. This has some gore!!

"so you're the hero he's been babbling about?" Tzinghalis' words lit a fire beneath her skin as Cirwedh tore into the stone chamber, chest heaving as she came to a stop. "He was so insistent that you'd come you see. Before the screaming, of course."

She looked to where Fennorian hung suspended by the wrists, caught in some cruel contraption screaming like she'd never heard before. Rage burned in her throat like a hot coal when she saw the Exarch smile, and when Lyris' voice rang out behind her she jumped. Splinters flew as she caught the weight of his sword with an arrow, parrying the blade as he swung for the neck. She can hear Lyris, muted by rushing blood, and though she calls for help all Cirwedh can do is lash out at the Nord in front of her. There's a moment—the Exarch paused to taunt her, instead leaving himself exposed—and in one fluid motion Cirwedh nocks, draws, and looses an arrow. She watches as it pierced the Exarch's chest, sending him stumbling into the shelves behind him. He opens his mouth to speak but is cut off by a piercing howl. Bones break and rearrange themselves as her skin stretches and grows fur, nails elongate into claws that score the ground as she stalks forward. Where once there was an elf now stood a vine-covered beast, red-eyed and slavering at the maw as it snarled and snapped. The words that come from her lips are mangled and raw, formed by a tongue not meant to speak.

"you've said enough."

She lunges, and as her teeth close around the vampire's neck she feels his screams reverberate in her throat. Bones snap and muscle tears as she rends limb from limb, sinking her claws and teeth into the body until it's nothing more than a bloody mess beneath her. The corners of her vision begin fading until her name breaks through the bloodlust, and when her head snaps to the side and she sees Fennorian still held within the device, tossing and begging Lyris to stop and follow the now-escaped Al-Saran. The sight shakes her from her fury, and as she crosses the room her form melts back into that of an elf. They have to fight with the blighted contraption before the lever finally gives, and the field of sharp red magic holding Fennorian dissipates. She rushed towards him as he fell, catching him in her arms and sinking to her knees.

"He's gone," his voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper, raw and broken, "you should have gone after him. Left me here."

"I'll have none of that! That skeever will get what's coming but right now you need help." She almost cradled him when a shiver ran through his body, and just the sight of what the Exarch had done boils her blood once more. "Al-Saran is gone by now, I'm sure. What matters is making sure you can walk out of here. Can you stand?"

She watched as he looked between her and Lyris, swallowing thickly before pushing himself to sit slouched against the contraption.

"The Exarch did a lot of... things." Another shiver, stronger this time, "I need blood. I won't feed from an unwilling subject, but right now I don't trust my restraint even with such a subject. I lost my flask back at the lodge, when they grabbed me. Did you find it?"

Cirwedh's stomach drops. She had seen the flask before on his person, but in her panic to find his captors she hadn't even thought to search for it. She was thankful when Lyris was the one to speak up.

"No, Fenn. She saw the mess you left behind and hauled hide out of there faster than anything I've seen. We didn't have time to dig around, hell I barely kept pace with her."

She knelt beside him and flinched when he recoiled from her touch. Making up her mind then and there she began removing the layers of fur wrapped around her shoulders.

"I'll do it."

"Are you mad?" Lyris still stood, axe in hand and looking at Cirwedh like she'd said some blasphemy before them.

"Unless you want to run back to Dusktown and look for his flask, this is the only way. It's you or me, and you aren't gonna do it." She looked to Fennorian then, and ignored the way her heart seemed to beat faster.

"Cirwedh, I can't guarantee control at the moment. It's too dangerous." His eyes pleaded with her, his hands trembling though she now held them steady, "I can find another way."

"You can't. Fenn the only others around are vampires, you can't feed off each other like that and you know it. Let me help, or by the Green I'll bleed myself here and now and you'll have no other choice." She brought a clawed finger to her neck and looked into his eyes, knowing he'd have to give. Lyris stood back and heaved her axe onto her shoulder with a groan, simply nodding to Cirwedh to continue. They both understood the consequences should this go wrong, but at the moment it was their best chance at getting back to Solitude.

A cold hand on her now-exposed shoulder sent chills down her spine as Fennorian pulled her close, eyes searching hers for any sign of regret, only seeing fierce determination instead. She steadied herself and pulled down the neck of her coat further, drawing attention to the vein in her neck. They shared another look before his head dipped down and he whispered against the skin.

"It shall only hurt a moment. I will be gentle."

There was a moment of silence, and then her blood turned to ice as his fangs sank deep. She had heard of vampire bites as uncomfortable, painful even, but nothing could prepare her for the rush as his lips closed around the bite and he began properly drinking from her. She clutches his arms at first, tensing beneath him as his arms wrapped around to pull her closer. She could feel everything from the way his hands clawed for purchase to the warm lapping of his tongue as she bled freely, letting her head roll back and giving him room to feast. Cirwedh couldn't speak couldn't open her eyes, couldn't move as she gave herself over to his hunger, feeling a tingling numbness begin to spread from the wound in her neck to her arms and further down. She meant to cry, to call out that it was enough, but only a lecherous moan escaped as his hands dug into her. Fennorian was like nothing she'd seen before, almost ravenous in his thirst as he buried his face into the crook of her neck and drank deeply; growling like some animal possessive over a fresh kill. She was beginning to feel light-headed—weakly slapping her hands against his chest in an attempt to get his attention—leaves bursting from the seams of her armor as her magic reacted to the overstimulation.

"Fenn-" she gasped as his fangs sank deeper,"Fennorian!"

Struggling now as he only held tighter, Cirwedh cries out as Lyris' axe blade sinks into the stone beside them, landing dangerously close to Fennorian.

"FENN!" her voice echoes throughout the lab, "ENOUGH!"

Like snapping out of a trance, Fennorian lifted his head, crimson staining his lips and dribbling down his chin as his eyes cleared and he came to. When he saw the way Cirwedh shook in his arms a startled cry escaped his lips, spattering droplets of blood across the rags he wore.

"Cirwedh! Cirwedh are you alright?" His voice was thick with panic as she struggled to open her eyes. "I thought I could contain my hunger, keep it controlled. Damnit! Cirwedh please say something."

She waits a moment to catch her breath before raising a hand to the wound on her neck and realizing she's still bleeding. A moment passes and before she can say something Lyris is grabbing Fennorian by the collar and hauling him off of her. His nails tear leather as he's pulled away, and Lyris is kneeling beside Cirwedh with a bottle of swirling liquid held to her lips. As soon as the drink passes her tongue a glow encases her and the wound on her neck stitches closed—had the wound healed naturally there might have been scarring—feeling nothing but smooth skin as she brushed shaking fingers over where his fangs previously were. Fennorian scrambled to reach her before Lyris put herself between them again, her eyes darting to Fennorian with a burning intensity, before reaching a hand out to help Cirwedh to her feet. When she finally stands the room spins, and for a moment she thinks she might collapse again, only to be held upright by the half-giant as she hefted the babbling Fennorian to his feet as well.

"let's go." Lyris' voice is stern and leaves no room for complaint as she begins to make for an exit. "We can talk about this later, but for now we need to get back to the castle. Who knows when these leeches will pick up the scent and realize their master is dead."

She had a point, Cirwedh couldn't deny it, but pity weighed her down like a stone and before Lyris could argue she was falling behind and pulling Fennorian into her arms. There was a soft gasp and then he hesitantly pulled her closer. He buried his face in her hair and spewed apologies like a sieve until he ran out of breath, and then he simply held her, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other cradling her head to his chest as he shook his own.

"words alone will never be enough, Cirwedh, I am so sorry. You trusted me and I almost lost it. Lost you." He stops, and pulls back. Keeping her at arm's length he looks into her eyes and she sees nothing but regret. Ignoring the feeling his final words evoked, she swallows the lump in her throat and pushes past the fear to look up and smile. When they were safe again, she'd cry. She'd scream into Gladriels fur and beat her fists into the earth like a fitful child, but she has to be strong now. Her fear wasn't even of him, but of how willing she'd been to let him simply drain her dry despite the struggle. Sooner or later she'd have to confront Fennorian, but not while her blood still stained his lips.

Growing impatient, Lyris clears her throat, tapping the blade of her axe against the floor before motioning towards the exit; eyes lingering on Fennorian before turning back to lead the way out. Cirwedh gathers herself once more, and halfheartedly sprints to catch up as she pulls open the door to the great lift. She turns to Fennorian one last time, offering a shaky smile as they ascend towards open sky and fresh air.

"It will be okay."

[fanfic-gallery]

hahaha got it! 😆 so may i request a poly!gn!mc x the demon brothers, where mc is acting moody (like, one second they’re happy, then they're crying, then they're mad, etc) and the brothers have no idea of what's going on, till they figure out mc is on their period? and then all of them start pampering mc or something like that? 😊 feel free to ignore this if it makes you uncomfortable. take care!! 🥰🥰

a human secret

who knew that the worst combination during the time of the month was a mixture of cramps and good ol’ mood swings, they surely didn’t think so [or even knew so—]

✎ demon brothers x afab! reader

|| poly, [slight] hurt/comfort, fluff

|| cw : mentions of blood

✎ manager's note : when can we get lovely bois like these to take care of our every need? sigh.. jk lmao, still, super superrr cute idea anon! actually if this post gets enough likes, i might even make a part 2 with the dateables??? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) who knowsss, guess you gotta give a like to find out ˋ( ° ▽、° ) 

“..p-pardon, pfft—” his response bounded in laughter, lips quivering with a smile as pearly white lashes fluttered with bits of tears. asmo huffed a pout; cheeks puffed, amber hues alongside several others behind him lurking, staring daggers at the fellow sorcerer, who show barely much signs of tuning down his approach to the brothers whole situation. day after night after day of just booking in and out of your sorry state of a room with remedies, snacks, anything after lucifer had deemed you sick from your agonizing whines of bitter pain from the pits of your stomach.

nothing seemed to work however.. most lost in the little out breaks of emotion you would rain down on them when things turn to shit. mammon had been the first; half empty glass of iced juice splashed and spilled over your bed dresser, your arms curled against your abdomen harder than before, annoyed groans turned to full on whimpers muffled under thick sheets. “mammon.. just- just leave.. your help, is.. much appreciated—” your tone morphed to sobs, your stuffy nose as clear as day in the ears of the greedy demon; his heart ached, head sinking in self pity.

yet no sorrowful gratitude can compare to a moment with beel; his ass landing right on your carpeted floor with a pillow laying right beside him, bits of it’s feathers dancing along the tense air, the perfectly sculpted sandwich laying in pieces right before his very eyes. the pupils of your eyes stormed in irritation, rage, utter bitterness, ones that only satan or lucifer themselves would hold. for the first time, he felt every sort of fright towards you, fingers steady yet hesitant to drag across your cheek, to comfort you within his arms.

“what’s so FUNNY?!” thumping footsteps making their way towards solomon only for a hand to stop them in its place; lucifer glared, red irises burning holes into mammon’s own, who in turn, creeped back with hands raised to his chest as a sign of surrendering. “solomon, darling, this isn’t the time for one of your jokes- this is serious- this is about our dear Y/N here!?” with a last huff, he flashed back a smile; eye lids closed into a grin. “do you all truly want to know the cause of my laughter~?” impatience nibbled at the eldest’s flesh, a lowly growl escaping his lips. “if you wish to live to see another day.. i expect you to get a move on..”

“of course, hahah~ you see in the human realm...”

“mmm..” you groaned, head still mushed into the confines of your now flattened pillow. you had barely rose from your bed since morning; your stomach running a rampage underneath your skin; heat set blazed as your sex was squished between the warm cotton surface of your pad from a few minutes ago. drip, drip, drip. fluids of your own making seeping into the absorbent fabric of your bottoms.. and your sheets.  “nonononoNO— uGHHH, just my fucking luck..” crimson red stained a patch of your mattress (your freshly, dressed mattress you had cleaned a few days before), it’s colour spreading the longer it stayed.

“stupid period cycle.. well, might as well get a snack while i’m at it—” you mumbled, dragging another pair of clean undergarments and comfy sweats before tugging at the bedcover of yours and heading to the kitchen. silence filled your ears after the door clicked closed, only the sounds of your humming was heard through the halls and down the stairs; your feet stumbling slightly with your vision barely visible from the unfolded white cloth in your hand.

“where are the others anyway.. it’s been at least a few hours since they left..”

you flicked at the light switch. essence of brewed congee flooding your senses; snacks, from sugary to savoury, stacked on top of one another piling up in a mountain. beside it, a gigantic tumbler alongside heating pouches used to warm one on a cold winter’s day. “what.. is all, this?” you muttered under sniffles, taking steps forward to breath in the sweet porridge. “surpriseee!” a sudden grip of arms wrapped around your waist, their scent laced in in favours of strawberries and cherry.

“a-asmo! everyone..” cheeks flared up as hands brought up the nick knacks from across the table before you, some even butting heads with one another for your slightest attention; yet, none can compare to what drew you in the most. standing before the kitchen doorway, blues and purples blended in black leaning against the doorframe; shimmering silver disappearing back into the shadows with a smile plastered on his lips. “solomon..”

“we do apologies for not realising your condition sooner— ” lucifer started yet ended with your subtle chuckle echoing the room of painted cement. “no need to be! i should be the one saying sorry for lashing out at the stupidest reasons— ” you continued only to be stopped by the many other voices within the kitchen, all deny your claims out burst except for one..

“munch, munch.. mmm~ so good!”

“bEEL— cut that out, we bought all this wasn’t for you to stuff your face in!?”

“Y/N.. i heard warmth mellows out the pain, why don’t we go cuddle in the attic to make you feel better?”

“oH NO YOU DON’T— ”

“sigh, hahah~ what am i ever gonna do with them..~”

[evolutionsvoid]

The Godly Fluids and The Four Humors, the very essence of the world and everything within it. From these divine fluids comes life, granting us being and filling our bodies with their holy presence. Ichor is what birthed this world, and from it came The Four Humors that created man and beast. For there is divinity within the body, holiness within our juices. The great godly corpses that built the foundations of existence flow with these blessings, covering the land with its power. From the bone dust of the marrow wastes, to the pungent ripe muck of the fecal swamps, all know the grace that has fallen upon this world. There is beauty in bone, hair and flesh, but where the true essence can be found is within the fluids and humors. Within them is the power, emanating from every drop and puddle. It is called "Energeiai," the aura that can can be felt and woven. For many, energeiai is simply an explanation for every blessing and feeling these humors can bring. The rush that comes from imbibing Blood, the gentle calm that washes over one when cleaning a wound with Phlegm, the pleasant burn of Yellow Bile tingling the tongue or searing away filth, and the opening of the mind when drawing from a Black Bile stele. All the wonders of the world, attributed to this incredible energeiai. This, however, is only the touching the surface of what this essence can provide. Below that lies a bottomless well of possibilities, and there are those who seek to tap into this limitless potential.

While the mortal body is composed of The Four Humors, it is possible to tap into a single fluid and bind yourself to its essence. With enough consumption and exposure, one is able to align themselves with the likes of Phlegm or Yellow Bile. There are many routes to become one with a single humor, though the most common is to join the sect of the Church that focuses on that fluid. The Church of Divine Wealth has many parts and people, and connected to them are smaller churches that idolize a single fluid. Becoming one with the fold will give you access to purified humor to partake, methods to enlarge the corresponding organa and particular cheriai to perform to further strengthen your bond. Those who align themselves with a particular humor are not heretical, nor do they violate the personal quest for Eukrasia. They have simply just altered the essence of their form, where their perfect balance has now shifted. It should be remembered that everyone's Eukrasia is different, so this conversion is simply changing the levels each humor needs to achieve such enlightenment. 

With enough practice and alignment to a particular humor, one can call upon its energeiai and weave it with their very essence. They can summon the element within its nature and express it in a variety of ways. To do so requires particular amounts of the humor, which the user must provide to perform such magic. While one can simply carry vials and skins filled with this liquid, the more devout of this practice have learned how to tap into and expand their body's supply to meet these needs. This is a major reason for aligning oneself with a particular humor when it comes to magic, as one can alter their own body to be the perfect vessel for its flowing grace. Those who have mastered this practice are unmatched compared to those who fuel their magic through outside sources.          

With each fluid, the magic and its effects are different, thus birthing their own unique spellcasters and energeiai weavers:

Yellow Bile: Born from the liver, Yellow Bile has a fiery nature, which includes those who align with it. Everyone knows that Yellow Bile is a combustible substance, as it is used everywhere as fuel for things like cooking, lighting and forging. The burning of this fluid creates yellow flame, a common sight in every village but also a potent weapon. Those who become one with Yellow Bile will be able to summon this fluid and combust it with a mere thought, creating swirling tongues of yellow flame or lobbing explosive gobs of it. This magic is good for burning through armor and setting the whole field of battle ablaze. When dealing with infections or vile poisons, yellow flame is perfect for cleansing them. To tap into the body's supply, casters of this fluid tend to either pipe in clearvein directly into the organa to draw portions out, or they surgically install a cannula to have a direct hole to the bile. The Yellow Bile is pulled from there in liquid form, then set alight in the hands of a masterful weaver. Since Yellow Bile is the fuel, it is important to produce as much as you can. Thus, Yellow Bile practitioners gorge upon fatty foods and bitter greens to up their bile production, which makes it typical for a feast to occur the day before a big battle is to ensue.   

Phlegm: Born from the brain, Phlegm flows with the calming waters, bringing peace to mind and body. Phlegm is the fluid of healing, encouraging wounds to close and flesh to mend. From its serene waves comes clarity, which is why the Philosophers submerge themselves in its comforting embrace. In most cases, Phlegm casters use this fluid for healing and support, fixing up fellow soldiers or taking the edge off their fear and doubt. However, one should not be quick to think it a pacifist's fluid, as Phlegm can be tuned to cause harm and pain. Potent fogs of Phlegm can numb the nerves of the enemy, making them fumble with their weapons and fail in operating their limbs. Bubbles of concentrated Phlegm can put a foe to sleep, shutting their brains down mid battle. On the flipside, some casters have created agonizing rain clouds that assault the nerves with painful high powered drops of fluid. Those who align with Phlegm will get their fuel by tapping into their very brains, either inserting clearvein into the base of the skull or exposing the whole organ beneath a transparent helm. Phlegm calls for clear mind and deep thought, which results in many users meditating after eating up their reserves to quicken the resupply. The consumption of snail meat is also used from time to time. 

Black Bile: Born from the spleen, Black Bile is as dry and sturdy as earth and stone. Its cold and dry nature has been found to be the perfect vessel for knowledge and fact. Black Bile is typically seen in a crystalline form, where its etched surface and charged core allow it to contain a multitude of information. This fluid is one of memory, logic and efficiency, which is why the Scholars revere it so. Libraries and archives are filled with these crystals, storing countless decades of knowledge within their shells. Though a fluid of fact and education, it is very much a weapon of war when needed. Crystal shards can be formed and fired, and summoning Black Bile spires from the earth can impale foes. Those who think challenging Black Bile mages up close is a good idea will find them coating their staffs with the fluid and hardening it into a crystalline weapon. In a pinch, it can be showered over themselves and hardened into a stony armor. Their staffs may be connected directly to their organa, or some have been able to grow crystal wands straight from the source. These handy shards are good for a single spell before disintegrating, or they can be stabbed directly into a foe who gets too close. After a battle, these magic users may collect and reabsorb scattered crystal shards to restock their reserves, while others content themselves on a meal of termite and fungus.  

Blood: Born from the heart, the energeiai that comes from Blood is electrifying and exhilarating. There is no wonder why this fluid is taken as a stimulant, or used to jolt a sickened body back to working order. Its spark is seen as the fluid that keeps us all going, our bodies moving and shaking. Imbibing Blood and bleeding off stagnant or "bad" Blood is commonly used to improve one's energeiai levels and general health. It is why holy leeches from the Church are so prized, as they can be a lifesaver for an ailing village. The same jolts that power us can be used to fry foes in war. In the hands of a weaver, the Blood is turned to a crimson bolt, which is unleashed in a variety of ways. Some sling bolts like javelins, while other unleash a torrent of deadly electricity from their hands. In some cases, they may turn the lightning onto themselves, charging their flesh into overdrive and going berserk. Their fuel is provided through bleeding, cutting into their own flesh to anoint themselves with the crimson fluid. Blood weavers move in a dance-like flow during fights, masterfully drawing blood from their bodies after each cast. Some skip the subtlety and instead flay their own bodies, so that they may constantly shed this valuable fuel. Though masochistic and damaging their own flesh, mages of this sort should be kept far away if one battles them, as your own Blood can serve as fuel. Spellswords with flaying blades have learned how to shred their opponents and use their bloody remains as weapons for further slaughter. For those in the need of a quick crimson bolt or charge but don't want to self-flagellate, squeezing engorged leeches in one's fist can provide. 

Ichor: Born from the gods, Ichor is the golden fluid of life itself. While it leeks from the bodies of those buried far below, it is a prize that can only be appreciated and not touched by mortals. Ichor is an immortal fluid, one that humans cannot handle. To drink it is to charge your body with godly power, which is more then mere flesh can contain. Those who are poisoned by Ichor imbibing will find their muscles snapping and bones shattering with each movement, while your organs rupture from being in overdrive. Death by Ichor is having your own body pull itself apart from the seams, leaving victims a wretched pile of broken meat. With this, those who seek to use the energeiai of Ichor cannot pull it from their own bodies, or even properly touch it. Instead, the fuel from their spells must come from outside sources, be it Ichor contained in vials, staffs or intricate equipment. Weaving Ichor creates facsimiles of life, birthing temporary entities to serve your will. Ichor wielders will use Ichor energeiai to charge the surrounding environment and form these life constructs, so they may rise and crush their foes. However, this art is extremely rare, as Ichor is jealously guarded by the Church of Divine Wealth, as such a Godly Fluid belongs in the hands of proper authorities. The priests and protectors of this fluid are charged with ensuring it is never tainted by bumbling mortals, and that its blessings are properly sanctified and handed out. As some would say, the Church is fine in giving the people soup, but they will fight to the death to ensure they control the ladle. Any practitioners of Ichor magic are those who are aligned with the Church and are in the higher levels of it, as they are the ones who have access to the Godly Fluid. Some outsiders have slowly built a connection to Ichor through blasphemous use of unofficial ambrosia, but this process takes an incredibly long time due to the minute doses and it will also draw the ire of the Church if they find you making this godly food without their blessing.

Alkahest: Born from the rot of gods, the use of Alkahest in any way is forbidden by the Church of Divine Wealth, especially so when it comes to magic. The deathly fluid is considered extremely dangerous and volatile, and few would risk tampering with it and face true death. As a result, there is little to no research into harnessing the energeiai of this horrid fluid, and many are content to believe that wielding such a thing is impossible. There are none who have bound themselves to this deathly essence, no one who would dare risk such a thing. This is what the people believe, as this is what the Church proclaims, but yet.....

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"Magic of the Humors"

Here's a little something new for Fall of Ichor: wizards! We got ourselves a fantasy world of fluids, thus we need some magic! Indeed, there is no Alkahest pictured here, as that magic is incredibly forbidden. But that isn't to say there isn't folk who wield it in some shape or form! Perhaps they shall be revealed later!

This is also a response to hearing that modern pop culture has made wizards dull looking and boring. So here is my answer and fix! Flay yourself for the good magic! The power was inside you the whole time, right in your liver!

[misguidedghoststories]

Chapter 4 ~ Will Cross Again

Several Months Later

The moon hung high over Gotham, casting a shadowy veil over the city. Ashe, now known as Ghost, darted through the shadows with lightning speed, their movements fluid and precise. They made their way to the most prestigious jewelry store in the city, meticulously scanning for cameras and scouting nearby alleys. A sense of excitement pulsed through them as they approached the back of the building, where several goons were stationed around the back door. Among them stood a towering man with blonde hair and a striking streak of red down the middle, his expression bored and disinterested.

“Cameras taken out. No police, no guards. All clear. Go ahead.” Ashe reported back. Flare nodded and one of the gang members proceeded to pick the lock on the door. In low tones, Ashe continued. “Boss put me in charge of this mission. Batman and the police should be dealing with some bank robberies downtown so we have some time. I want a quick in and out clean job. Go!”

With that command, the small group burst into action, rushing through the unlocked door and triggering blaring alarms. Crowbars and baseball bats crashed through glass display cases as the criminals frantically shoveled heaps of jewels into their bags. The thrill of the heist filled them as they worked urgently to gather as much loot as possible before their window of opportunity closed.  

The skylight above them shattered. A figure dressed in red and green plummeted through the opening, landing with a graceful thud. "Well well, I figured you dumbass thugs would learn after a while," he taunted, standing tall amidst the debris. As the last bits of glass tinkled to the ground, his identity was revealed - it was none other than Robin. “But I guess you don’t look very smart now do you?”

A smirk played across Robin's lips as they surveyed their opponents frozen in fear. The criminals finally snapped out of their daze and began muttering amongst themselves, followed by a derisive chuckle. "No Batman? No, it's just the bird kid," one of them sneered.

Without hesitation, Ashe and Flare charged forward, their fists raised and eyes blazing with fury. In a blur of movement, Ashe darted around Robin, landing quick blows on his body with lightning speed. Meanwhile, Flare approached head-on, his hands engulfed in flames as he swung at Robin with powerful strikes. But Robin was just as agile and skilled, dodging and countering their attacks with swift movements of his bo staff.

The bo staff whizzed through the air as Robin swung it at Flare. Sparks shot from Flare’s scorching fingers as he seized the staff and brought it to a halt.  He pulled the stick towards himself, causing Robin holding the other end to go flying and sliding across the ground. In an instant, Ashe flew through the room, positioning themselves behind Robin like a graceful bird of prey. Robin then swiveled around to look at Ashe and hurled a birdarang. Ashe dodged and with a running start, Ashe jumped and aimed a kick at Robin's head. Despite shielding his face with his arms, Robin felt the impact of the blow and struggled to stay on his feet.

On the ground now, Robin rolled over and defiantly spit out blood. Flare sauntered over to him, a sly smirk on his face as he lifted up Robin's own bo staff in his hands.

Flare smirked, “Lights out birdy boy.” Flare taunted, preparing to swing down the staff with all his might.

But before he could strike, Ashe shouted out in protest. With a raised palm, they summoned their telekinetic powers and ripped the staff from Flare's grip, flinging it to the ground.

Ashe straightened up and quickly sorted their thoughts, refocusing on the fight at hand. Their adrenaline pumping, they were so engrossed in the intensity of the battle that they didn't even notice the blaring sound of the jewelry store alarm still going off in the background.

Ashe's gaze shifted from Robin to Flare, a subtle command in their eyes. “Go. Get the score in the van and leave before the cops get here. I’ll finish him. He’s mine.”

Flare hesitated, his eyes flickering with uncertainty before he took a few calm steps towards Ashe. As he passed by, he issued a warning: "If you mess this up, I'll kill you Ghost." With practiced ease, Flare snatched up a bag of stolen jewelry.

"Alright, let's get out of here." He barked at the other gangsters who quickly followed his lead.

Meanwhile, Ashe walked over to Robin, their movements swift and purposeful. Grabbing Robin's shoulder, they forcefully threw him onto his back. The moonlight cast a dim and eerie glow over the chaotic scene inside the jewelry store. Kneeling on top of Robin's chest, Ashe could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath. For a moment they locked eyes through Robin's domino mask - its expressionless facade betrayed nothing. Ashe wondered if Robin could see the flurry of contradictory emotions that rushed through their own green eyes.

Ashe released a weary sigh as the sound of the thugs' fading footsteps echoed through the empty store. Taking a beat to ensure that they were truly alone, Ashe raised their fist and brought it crashing down next to Robin's head.

“What are you doing?” Robin snapped, his voice laced with anger and confusion.

Ashe quickly crawled off of him, their hands held out in a show of nonviolence. "Are you okay?" they asked cautiously.

Robin sprang to his feet in a swift, animal-like movement. His muscles tensed as he remained in a defensive crouch. “What do you care?” he spat, his voice dripping with disdain.

“I’m a thief, not the killer of Gotham’s beloved sidekick. Gotham needs good people like you. I don’t intend on taking that away.” They stood up slowly, retrieving the birdarang from where it had fallen. A long crack ran through the weapon from the force of it being thrown.

"Wow," Robin sneered sarcastically, "a criminal with a heart. How touching."

Without another word, Ashe began walking towards the door, “You’re hurt, you don’t have the strength to take me out.”

“You wanna bet?” Robin barked, his fists clenched at his sides in frustration and determination.

“I’m going to let you leave.” They continued like he hadn’t said anything. “Mind if I keep this? I like it.” they asked, holding up the birdarang with a devious glint in their eye.

A dangerous growl rumbled from Robin's throat. “I’m gonna kill you.” 

Ashe stood in the doorway of the exit, a sly smirk curling at the corners of their mouth. "Maybe next time. I look forward to a rematch." With a nonchalant flick of their hand, they sauntered out into the dimly lit alleyway.

Before disappearing completely, they turned around and gave Robin one last taunting smile.

“I hope our paths will cross again, Robin.”