#so i made sure to grab the toy that's not severely sun damaged

[gar-a-ash]

Took Tassie out to play in what little snow melt we had and figured I could talk dog toys for a bit. Ever notice your dog getting frustrated or ignoring certain toys outside? There's a very good chance color is the problem! Most people know but need to be reminded that dogs are red/green color blind, and if you're trying to play with a red toy in green or yellow grass they're going to have a really hard time finding it, especially if it's dirty or the brightness is faded. This floppy flyer is Tassie's least favorite outdoor toy but for play in water it was the number 1 choice to make sure she didn't get frustrated looking for it in the taller grass and in the water. If you can find them blue toys are the best for visibility, and I like the Chuckit toys for the strong blue-fluorescent-orange contrast. Makes it easier for human and dog to find them!

[mountswhore]

𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 — mason mount

summary: on Mason’s day with Sydney, you have one strict rule: no messy or sticky food. but you end up coming home to a child and kitchen covered in food.

notes: with the prompts, it’s going to have a weird timeline of ages and genders. in some prompts, the baby will be newborn, or a toddler, or even a kid. sometimes it’ll be a boy, and sometimes it’ll be a girl.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

8. Little one getting food all over their face + 36. Little one leaving sticky fingerprints on everything they touch.

“Don’t let him play outside all day, it’s going to get really hot this afternoon.” You instructed, pulling your heels on as you sat on your bed. Today was one of the rare weekends you had work, and nobody else was free to cover. Which meant you’d have to sacrifice your time with your footballer husband and one-year-old. Mason hadn’t had a day yet of just him and Sydney, so you were running him through a few rules.

“I’ll be back at around 7, depending on how quickly I can get through my paperwork,” you mentioned, Mason following you downstairs like a puppy, but you quickly turned and stopped in front of him, “and for the love of God, no sticky food.”

“I’m not a sitter. I’m his dad, I think I have this.” Mason encouraged himself, but you knew how forgetful he was. He’d forget his head if it weren’t attached to him.

“I’m not doubting you, but it’s for my own sanity that you don’t give this kid honey, syrup, or anything gooey and sticky. Do you know how long I spent on my hands and knees scraping honey from the floor and highchair?” You exclaimed, rushing around the foyer to collect your things for work. Keys, bag, phone, folder.

“No,” Mason smirked, “but I can only imagine what that looked like.” His hand reached out to pull you closer, sliding down to your ass and squeezing it gently. You flicked his forehead and pulled yourself apart, rushing over to your son in the high chair.

“Goodbye, Syd.” You cooed, kissing him on the cheek a few times. “Mummy loves you, and have fun with daddy today. Look after him.” Sydney let out a few giggles, going to reach for your clean top with his banana-covered hands, but you quickly swerved out of the way.

You had gone over to the door, turning to give Mason a kiss. “If this goes well, you won’t have to imagine me on my hands and knees.” His mouth had dropped open slightly, smacking your ass on the way out and forcing you to release a squeal. “Bye, bubs.”

“Bye, have fun at work.”

Mason was having a good morning so far. You had left at 9, and he’d given Sydney breakfast, cleaned him up, got him dressed, taken him to the supermarket for some dinner ingredients, and let him have some time in the sun. But now it was getting to 3pm, and Sydney was having nothing.

“Come on, Syd.” Mason groaned, cradling his one-year-old, who had been crying ever since he came inside. “Are you hungry?” Sydney continued to cry, but this time looked up to his dad for a brief second. Mason, taking that as a yes, put his son into the high chair and scoured the kitchen for food.

“How about some jam sandwiches?” Mason suggested and turned to his son, just settling down after realising he’d be eating soon. He’d make the sandwiches, and even cut the crusts off, putting the finished product onto the tray of the high chair. “You stay here, I’m going to pick up the mess you made in the living room.”

He was shoving toys away into the corner box, his phone ringing on the coffee table behind him. It was you, you were on your second break and thought you’d check in. “Hey, bubs. How’s work?”

“Great. I might be finished earlier than 7, I’m zooming through my paperwork.” You replied, sat at your desk and scrolling through your hours worth of work.

“That’s my girl.” He added, proud of his wife who continued to prove herself every day to him, her drive was the sole reason he was attracted to her.

“How’s Syd? He’s not in the hospital being treated for severe wounds, is he?” You joked, leaning back in your uncomfortable office chair. With an office to yourself and a great view, you were aloud to freely talk to your family and friends with some privacy.

“Very funny. He’s just having a snack right now, I’m cleaning up his toys,” Mason answered, standing up and going back to the kitchen to check on his son. Only to be met with a child covered in strawberry jam. His hands, face, even his hair was covered in it. But the bread pieces were nowhere to be found. Mason thought he might have just eaten them, and made a mess of himself.

“Uh, oh.” Your son babbled, which you’d picked up on.

“Why did Syd just say ‘uh oh’, Mase?” You questioned, sitting up from your relaxed position. Mason must have done something for even Syd to realise was wrong.

“Not sure. Maybe he heard it in a song,” Mason panicked, frantically searching for the wipes. “See you soon, bubs.” Throwing his phone onto the counter, he pulled a chunk of wipes from the packet and began scrubbing his son’s hands and face. No amount of wipes would fix his hair, so he’d just have to have a bath.

“Does Syd want a bath?” Mason asked enthusiastically, holding his arms out and picking his son up. He was still sticky and reeked of strawberry jam still, he wondered if the smell would ever go away.

An hour later, Syd was finally clean and watching tv in the living room whilst Mason cleaned the kitchen. This boy had touched EVERYTHING. The countertops, the floor was covered in hardened jam, some was even flung at the fridge. Mason was on his hands and knees for almost half an hour, scrubbing the jam from the kitchen.

You hadn’t texted to say when you’d be home, so hearing the familiar tyres on the gravel was strange. He peeked through the window, spotting you getting out of your car. It was 6.50. Mason’s eyes widened, deciding to call it a day on cleaning and through any signs of jam into the bin.

“I’m home, bubs.” You called out, seeing your son comfortable on the couch. “Hello, mister. Did you and daddy have fun today?” Your son held his arms out, which you accepted and lifted him, carrying him into the kitchen with you. Mason was now chopping some ingredients, trying to act casual about having to clean jam from the kitchen and your son’s head and hands.

“Uh, oh.” Your son repeated, making you frown. What on Earth is he seeing? You looked around, putting your son down and walking slowly around the kitchen to assess any potential damage. Finally, you go to pick your son up but see him pointing at the counter, saying ‘uh oh’ once again.

And that’s why. “Bubs, where is there bread stuck the the side of the counter?” You questioned, Mason’s eyes widening as he threw the onion cuttings in the bin.

“I wouldn’t know.”

You peeled the bread off, seeing nothing other than jam on both the bread and counter. Sighing, you grabbed the sponge and anti-bac. Mason caught sight of you beginning to clean, immediately stopping you.

“No, bubs.” He grabbed the items from you, putting them above the fridge so you couldn’t get them. “I’ll do it. Go and sit down.” You just huffed, picking Sydney up and cradling him in your arms.

“What was the one thing I said, Mase?” You asked.

“No sticky foods. I know, I’m really sorry.” He replied, heart dropping at your tired face. You carried Syd to your bedroom, deciding to let him settle in there.

Half an hour later, Mason had emerged to see Sydney asleep on your chest, and you were both snuggled into his blanket. A quiet cartoon in the background. He couldn’t let that image go without snapping a picture, and then taking Sydney into his own bed. You were awake when Mason had returned, scrolling through your phone.

“Bubs,” he quietly spoke, sitting beside you. His hand was rubbing up and down your bare leg, testing the waters to see if you were actually mad at him. “I cleaned the kitchen, I made dinner. Are you okay with bolognese?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, stretching your legs and turning off the cartoon you’d listened to over and over again. “I’m sorry that I got mad, I just know what a mess Syd makes and I didn’t want to get home to it.”

Mason pulls you into him, your legs over his lap and arms tightly around his shoulders. “I know, I should’ve listened to you. But I cleaned it up, no more jam. Ever.”

“It was funny though. Before I fell asleep, I just had the image of you on your hands and knees scrubbing it.” You laughed, poking his chest, “but it’s fine. And thank you for doing everything today.” Mason grinned, lightly kissing your temple and looking down at you.

“I don’t know how you do it, honestly. Respect is due.” Mason whispered onto your lips, hovering over them every so gently. “Thank you for looking after our baby everyday, and allowing me to come home to dinner and a tidy house. You’re special.” Finally kissing you, Mason held you tight for the rest of that evening, showing you pictures of his jammy face and what they got up to throughout the day.

[supercorpbb]

Are you a fan of SuperCorp or a fandom creator? Want to see more art and fics like this or take part in this kind of collaboration where artists inspire writers? Follow us! Sign ups begin soon. Everyone is welcome! Now, enjoy the story.

(Thanks @iwishicoulddrawheatherforaliving for the art and @emiliarowan for the story !)

It wasn’t entirely unusual for Kara to visit Lena at work.

What was unusual, however, was Supergirl barreling headfirst through a plate glass window into the conference room while Lena was personally welcoming the newest group of L-Corp interns.

Lena stood at the front of the conference room, heart thundering in her chest, as Kara rolled around on the floor for a long moment before standing and whipping her cape over her head.

“Whoopsie-daisy!” Supergirl exclaimed in a sing-song voice not entirely appropriate for the amount of destruction she had just caused. She looked around the room with wide eyes before her gaze landed on her wife. “Lena!”

“K— Supergirl,” Lena huffed as the Kryptonian hugged her, squeezing just a bit too tightly for Lena’s human rib cage. “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy,” Kara replied. “You smell nice.”

“Supergirl,” Lena muttered as Kara inhaled deeply into Lena’s hair. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Kara said innocently. “Ooo, what’s that?”

Lena looked up and realized that she had squeezed the laser pointer in her hand, and the small red dot was moving across the screen behind her. Kara released her from her hug and backed up, sticking her tongue out and furrowing her brow in concentration before launching herself at the wall. Lena’s wrist flicked in surprise, sending the little red dot across the wall and onto the ceiling. Kara, unrestrained by the laws of gravity, took off after the dot, and in doing so sent the projector screen to the floor with a loud crash.

“Miss Luthor?”

Lena looked away from the chaotic Kryptonian as her assistant poked her head into the room. “Jess, I’m not sure now is the time…”

“Agent Danvers is on Line One,” Jess told her, but she was watching as Kara chased the laser pointer into a corner, knocking over a potted plant in the process.

“Right,” Lena replied. She looked back at the dozen interns currently watching National City’s heroine pouncing on a red dot. “Okay, I think everyone should head to lunch a bit early. Orientation will resume at one thirty with your department heads.”

The young scientists didn’t even grumble as they shuffled out of the room.

“Here, keep her occupied,” Lena instructed, handing over the laser pointer to Jess as she stepped into the lobby to take the phone call. “Alex?”

“Heeeeey, Lena,” Alex answered, raising Lena’s suspicions. “I don’t want to alarm you, but, um, have you seen…?”

“Have I seen my wife? Yes, she crashed through the window into my conference room about three minutes ago, and now Jess is… entertaining her,” Lena replied, peering into the next room. In fact, Jess might’ve been having a bit too much fun leading Kara around the room using the laser pointer. Lena sighed and focused her attention back to the phone call.

“Oh, good, good,” Alex replied. “Does she seem a little… off?”

“If by off you mean high as a kite, then yes, I’d say she’s a little off,” Lena told her. “Care to explain?”

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line and Lena could practically hear Alex trying to formulate her response. “Well, the team got a call from the NC Botanical Gardens about this plant that somebody donated that they couldn’t identify and it turned out to be alien and while they were inspecting it, the plant shot some kind of pollen in their faces.”

“Some kind of pollen?” Lena interrupted. “Is it dangerous?”

“I don’t think so,” Alex replied. “It affected them all differently. J’onn passed out immediately— he’s fine, he’s sleeping it off in the infirmary. Brainy is acting like he’s had fifteen shots of espresso— he’s currently reprogramming the Roomba for combat. It didn’t affect Nia at all, probably because she’s half human. Kara flew off before I could really get an idea of how it was affecting her, but you say she’s… high? How so?”

Lena looked back into the other room to see that Kara was lying on her back beneath the broken potted palm, slapping playfully at the fronds and giggling. She really only had one comparison she could make.

When she was seven years old, Lionel had brought home a kitten as a pet. A little black and white fluff ball with a flat face, Lena had named her Duchess. Lena had doted on the cat until Lillian sent her away to boarding school, and she wasn’t entirely sure what became of it after that. One distinct memory of the cat came to mind now. She had given Duchess a catnip-stuffed toy, and the normally refined feline had spent hours rolling around on the toy, carrying it from room to room, pupils dilated, completely relaxed, stoned out of her mind.

That was exactly what Kara looked like now.

“Are you telling me my sister is—“

“Basically a human-shaped cat at the moment? Mmhmm,” Lena confirmed.

Alex let out a long-suffering sigh on the other end of the phone. “Okay, we need to get her someplace safe where she can’t do any damage until the chemicals get out of her system.”

“If I can get her home, I can turn on the red sun lamps in the bedroom,” Lena replied.

“Every time I try to forget that you had those installed, you just have to remind me,” Alex grumbled. “But yeah, good idea. Take her home, make her shower to get any excess pollen off, and then just lock her in the bedroom until it wears off.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to let you know how it goes.”

Lena made her way back to the conference room where Kara was hiding behind the edge of the table, eyeing the laser pointer on the wall yet again, and Jess was smiling gleefully as she slowly moved the light in circles around on the wall.

“Okay, I hate to break up the fun, but hand over the laser pointer,” Lena said, holding her hand out expectantly.

“Awwwww,” Jess groused.

“Jessica,” Lena warned.

Jess sighed and gave her the device. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Lena told her. “I’m gonna need you to—“

“Cancel your meetings for the rest of the day and have facilities come clean up this mess and replace the window?” Jess supplied. “On it, boss.”

“Now I remember why I hired you,” Lena said with a grin. “Come on, Kara, darling, we’re going home.”

“But—“ Kara began to argue, only to stop when Lena aimed the laser pointer at the door.

Lena managed to get the pouncing Kryptonian into the elevator, downstairs, and through the lobby with minimal incident and only one bent elevator panel of destruction. What Lena hadn’t realized, however, was that once they were outside, the bright midday sunlight made the laser pointer’s dot near-impossible to see, even for Kryptonian eyes. The city itself, however, offered plenty of things to distract Kara away from the town car on the curb.

“Ooo, look, Lena!” Kara exclaimed. “Kebabs!”

Lena grabbed Kara’s cape in an attempt to stop her, but that only resulted in her being dragged across the sidewalk towards a falafel stand. Once they were at the front of the line, Lena bought several servings of kebabs and grabbed them all up before Kara could get hold of them.

“Nuh-uh,” Lena chastised. “You only get kebabs if you get in the car. Deal?”

Kara pouted, but she reluctantly cooperated. Once they were in the car, Lena instructed George to take them to her penthouse. When they reached the apartment building, however, there was an ice cream truck serendipitously stationed on the corner, and Kara pointedly refused to enter the building without getting ice cream. Lena couldn’t help but scowl as she paid for a heaping cone of Kara’s favorite chocolate swirl. Her dour mood couldn’t last, however, with Kara happily lapping at her ice cream cone as the elevator made its way to the top floor.

Once inside their apartment, it wasn’t difficult to get Kara into the bedroom, and once she was there Lena immediately hit the button that switched on the red sun lamps and locked down all of the windows and doors. The room was awash in a coppery glow, and Kara immediately sank down on the foot of the bed.

“Whoa!” she exclaimed woozily.

“You okay?” Lena asked, immediately concerned.

“Yeah, just really sleepy all of a sudden,” Kara replied, and then she yawned in further confirmation. She stretched her arms high over her head, the remainder of her ice cream cone tipping precariously.

“Easy there,” Lena warned, pulling the offending dessert back down to face-level. “Why don’t you finish that up while I get the shower going, and then after that you can take a nap. Sound good?”

“Will you nap with me?” Kara asked pitifully

“Of course,” Lena replied. After the last half hour, she certainly felt like she needed a nap herself.

Kara finished the ice cream quickly, as Lena collected towels and pajamas. She managed to get Kara out of her super suit and into the shower without using the laser pointer or bribing her with food. For a moment Lena felt quite successful— until Kara reached out and yanked Lena, fully clothed, under the spray.

“Kara!” Lena sputtered.

Kara just giggled, eyes fixated south of Lena’s face as her white blouse became more and more transparent. “Hehe… tiddies.”

Lena put her fingers underneath Kara’s chin and pushed her face up until she met her gaze. “Eyes up here, Danvers.”

By the time she got Kara out of the shower her wife was practically falling asleep standing up. Lena managed to get Kara’s blonde hair mostly dried and forced her into a t-shirt and pajama shorts before she staggered to the bed.

“Just gonna close my eyes for a bit,” Kara murmured as she cuddled into a pillow.

“You do that, darling,” Lena chuckled. Then she made her way back to the bathroom. She cleaned up the puddles of water, dried her hair, and put on her own pajamas before returning to the bedroom.

She blinked at the sight that greeted her. In the ten minutes she had taken in the bathroom, Kara had raided their closet for all of the pillows, blankets, and extra comforters, and had used those to construct a round fort on their king-size bed.

“Kara?” Lena called hesitantly, and a blonde head appeared over the top of the nest.

“Lena!” Kara exclaimed, reaching toward her with grabby hands.

Lena went willingly, climbing carefully over the blankets and into the red-tinted pillow fort Kara had created. Once she was inside, Kara tucked a blanket over her and then curled into her body, resting practically on top of her as her head found Lena’s chest for a pillow.

“Mmm, this okay?” Kara asked.

Lena sighed, moving a bit until her body fit even better against Kara’s. “This is good.”

“Yeah,” Kara sighed. “You’re so soft. Love you.”

Lena stroked her hair and let out a sigh of her own. “Love you, too.”

[heavenunderthemoon]

Can we get JJ and daughter reader where the reader bio father comes back

ROOM 286

Warnings: mentions of drug abuse, blood, death, abandonment. 

This piece is extremely angsty, I didn't even mean for it to happen it just kinda came to me while writing last night, enjoy:)

Sanitizer.

It smelled of sanitizer and something else. Something heavy, pulling you down, the scent dragging against the floor as you walked along with it, sneakers hitting the freshly waxed floor with a squeak. What was that smell?

It could have been anything, walking among the halls of that hospital, a hospital you had never been to, a hospital far away from your home, from Quantico.

Blood, maybe. Blood leaving someone else's body, a severe injury or just a small wound. Or blood entering someone else's body. A transfusion, a hope to save someone's life, a wish to stay alive for just a while longer. Blood, scarlet and distinct, heavy and substantial, entering or leaving.

Or death. Perhaps the heaviness was the mere proximity of death that hospitals seemed to have. Hospitals were like a precipice, a border between the living and the dead. Some who entered simply never left, and those who didn't were walking behind you, mirroring your footsteps, following your direction. It was the darkness of death, the souls of those that were lost covering the hospital like a shroud. The weight of those souls, the anger, dread, and our sadness that filled them weighed them down, pulling the hospital with it.

You had never liked hospitals.

"This is his room."

Your mother's voice was taut, laced with pain and something else. Bitterness, maybe? You snuck a glance toward her. She was still dressed in her work clothes, having practically sprinted off the jet to grab you from the house. Her gun was holstered, resting on her hip directly next to her badge that clipped to her belt loop. It gleamed under the fluorescent lights of the hospital, and you looked away, back to your mother's face.

She was crying, albeit small. Tears pooled in her eyes, the bright blue you had stared into for your entire life. Her teeth were sinking into her bottom lip, tiny sniffles escaping every so often, as if attempting to console herself as to not let you hear it. She never liked you to see her cry, not even after those stupid, cheesy romance movies that the two of you rented out every Valentine's Day. The woman was still operating under that archaic belief that once you turned an adult, once you became a parent, your emotions were supposed to simply leave you, become secondary to your child. You wished she wasn't. You wished you could take her hand and let her know she could cry but the entire situation at the moment, the real-life fever dream had you incredibly uncertain of how to handle anything that came next. Your hands clenched in your jacket pockets, glancing back to the room before you.

Room 286.

"Your father is dying, Y/N."

A glance back to Will in the kitchen had made you furrow your brows. The LaMontagne man was whistling as he cooked, fingers clenched around a wooden spoon being used to stir the noodles in the pot. Will was an excellent chef, and you had just gotten your report card back for the first semester- straight A's (and one B, but it was math, and both Will and your mother knew how much you absolutely loathed the subject, and so they took that as a win). The dinner was celebratory in a way, nothing too fancy  you didn't like all the fuss, nor did you want to have to make your mother miss a nice dinner in a restaurant that passed out free breadsticks before a meal (she would argue that any restaurant that did so was, automatically her favorite, no matter if the bread was crappy and stale). And so, pasta at home it was, and you had even negotiated Will's famous peanut-butter cookies for dessert. Henry sat on the counter beside him, giggling at his father's horrible dance moves. They were off-beat, choppy, and out-dated, but it made both Henry and you laugh uncontrollably when he did them, and so he continued.

The sun was just setting and your mother was on a case. She liked to call before bedtime when she was away, enough time to coax Henry into a sleepy stupor, to tell him goodnight, and to let you know how much longer she would be gone. You would tell her about your day, and she hers. The two of you would talk for forty-five minutes if she had time, ten if she didn't. But the sound of your phone ringing at dinnertime hadn't made you think anything was wrong. Perhaps she was calling early, or maybe she just wanted to hear your voice. That happened sometimes too, when the cases were especially heinous.

"What?" You asked confusedly. Will was looking at you with a raised brow, mouthing a 'You okay?', to which you didn't quite have an answer for. Instead, you shrugged, holding up a finger as a signal to give you a minute, before you were exiting the room. The playroom was a mess, Henry rarely ever picked up his toys. You sidestepped two matchbox cars before you stepped on a lego, hissing at the pain and walking over it irritatedly. For as small as he was, he sure could create a mess.

A pregnant pause.

"It's Christopher." Another pause. You were starting to hate those. "Your birthfather... He's dying."

Your breath seemed to have been stolen, and the last of your air hitched in your throat, eyes becoming unfocused. How were you supposed to react to this? You weren't entirely sure. your birth father, a man you didn't know, a stranger, really. You didn't know anything about him.

Horrible thoughts began to flood your mind.

You didn't know what he looked like. You inherited a lot of traits- too many traits, honestly- from your mother, so you had never thought to ask. You were a bit taller than your mother...was that him? Was that his genetics coming into play? What color eyes did he have? What did his smile look like? You didn't know small things either. How did he like his eggs cooked? What method of shoe-tying did he prefer (bunny loops or round-a-bouts)? Dogs or cats? Movies or books? Did he watch T.V. with the captions on or off?  You didn't know his favorite book genre, or band, or what foods he didn't like. You didn't know any of these things about him, about your father.

You knew these things about Will, of course. Because when you thought of 'father', Will was the first thing that came to mind. It had been that way for a while, so perhaps the fulfillment of the 'father' role in your brain was obscuring your mind, but you were wracking your brain to remember the last time you had thought of your brith father. But, then again, maybe you shouldn't have, because now, flashing before your mind were not saccharine , wholesome stories, but memories of empty chairs in audiences, uncelebrated Father's days, and 'Father-daughter' dances with Derek, or Reid, or Hotch.  Sour thoughts and memories of an absentee father who left your mother in the lurch, abandoned her in her time of need, was that bad to think of he was dying? Were you supposed to be nice now? You weren't sure the rules of this arrangement.

"What?" It was weak and strangled, as if someone had clutched your throat right then and there and squeezed.

"He's at Saint Mercer's. It looks like an overdose, he had a stroke. It was too much for his body, and the doctors declared him brain dead. I was his emergency contact, and..." Your mother was speaking, rambling from the tone of her voice. She was in shock, surely, and you were only half-listening.

An overdose.

You wondered what you'd find on the other side of the door.

"Are you ready?"

Your mother was speaking, but she didn't sound like she was...there. You were sure she wasn't. No, she hadn't been there ever since she had gotten you, taken you to that airport, boarded you on the first flight out, planted you both in front of room 286 in Saint Mercer's Hospital. Her eyes were glazed over, as if replaying every single moment with the man she had once known , the man she had created another child, her first child, with. A man she hadn't seen for entirely too long, and a man she hadn't ever expected to see again. A man she wouldn't even recognize, surely, because he wasn't a man when he left. You weren't sure if he had ever become a man. To your mother, he had been a boy, just a boy and a girl, in childish love, until they weren't.

"Are you?" You countered, eyes glued onto the wooden door separating you and a man you should know, but had no relation to.

For the fist time that night, she smiled.

She smiled because despite it being the most unfair situation in the world- a situation in which she was placed as an emergency contact for a man who intentionally left her when she was pregnant with his child (placed as an emergency contact in hopes to either advocate for them to try harder to save his life, or to let him go if need be, which, ironically, he had abandoned her completely without regards to treat her reciprocally)- you were there. You, her shining hope, a silver lining in the entirety of it all. You were the one thing that made her not regret a single decision she had made with the man, made her not regret meeting him in the first place, because she had gotten you. Your hair was shoved into a baseball cap, Will's, she recognized. It usually hung on the coat rack by the door, the man tugging it on whenever he went to the store or to pick Henry up from school. It was sun-damaged, tearing at the lip, but he refused to buy a new one because 'that just means it was well-loved, JJ.'. And now it sat on your head, a hat that belonged to a man you had met six years ago, a man you called Dad, willingly and without any input from her. You, a girl who had gone without a father for so long. Years of Father's Day cards, heart-wrenchingly sweet cards made out to Reid, or Derek, or Hotch because they volunteered to take you to your dances, even if she had offered to go, because you said you didn't think it would be allowed for her to crash it. Cards made out to her, thanking her for being both the mom and the dad (those tended to make her cry a lot). Years of ballet recitals, soccer games, spelling bees, silly school graduations, all of which she happily attended, but attended alone. All the nights of fevers and stomach aches and sniffles and dry throats. All the diaper changes and reverse cycling. All the scraped knees, busted elbows, trips to the ER. And now you were here, in front of the man who had abandoned you before you had even let out your horridly beautiful wail. JJ felt so many emotions at once, swelling within her that she reached out, grabbing your hand.

You weren't sure if it was to comfort you or herself, but you took it, entering the room as she opened it.

Machines.

Lots and lots of machines.

They stood at attention by his bedside, beeping and humming so loudly you weren't sure your thoughts would be able to tear their way through your mind anymore. Perhaps stat was a good thing.

There he was, lying in the bed before you. A standard hospital blanket was draped across his lower half. It was cream and thin, you recalled your days spent in a hospital not too long ago, how much you had hated it then. Those blankets were always itchy and uncomfortable, and you had all but forced Penelope to bring you one from home, to which she happily obliged, toting an assortment of stuffed animals as well (you argued you were too old for them, to which she had responded that no one was too old for comfort brought about by a stuffed animal.). His hands were resting limply at his sides, and you forced your eyes to skip over his arms, the damage an indicator of the activities he had chosen over taking care of you for the past decade.

When you reached his face you tilted your head. His face was sullen, cheeks sunken in, lips dried and caked in dead-skin. A redness spread about his face, a sunburn, perhaps, but you weren't sure. His hair, brittle and receding, was brown and you wondered of you had gotten anything from the man. A small part of you hoped you didn't. Looking at him now, you weren't sure if you wanted to. A sudden thought popped into your mind and you turned to your mother, who seemed to try to be looking anywhere but the man before her.

"What color were his eyes?"

They were shut now, and he almost looked...peaceful.

JJ lips parted, eyes coming to meet yours. "Brown." She said softly. Her hand was still in yours and you didn't make a move to drop it.

You nodded, glancing back to him. Something was missing, you gazed around the small hospital room to find what it was before it came to you. "Where is everyone? His family, or friends? Do they know he's here?" You looked back to the man, eyes following the rise and fall of his chest created by the ventilators attached to him.

The blonde stiffened, looking at her shoes. "They do. They won't come." With a clear of her throat, she was glancing back to you, your face softening as your teeth took your lip in their hold.

He was alone.

Was that by choice? Or had he run away from them like he had run away from you and your mother?

The doctor entered the rom, signaling for your mother to speak with her, and she left with a squeeze of your hand, leaving you with...him.

What were you to call him? Christopher? Dad?

Alone.

He was alone. His parents weren't coming to see him, he didn't have any friends. No loved ones to hold his hand in his time of need, to tell him it was going to be okay, to tell him that he was safe, and loved, and would be remembered. Regardless of his past actions, you felt...awful. Looking at him, you couldn't feel anything other than immense sympathy, because he had pushed away everyone and everything in his life, and he was left with nothing. You pondered his appearance, wondering what he must have looked like back when he had met your mother, what had drawn her in to him, made her love him and want him and that thought train had you reaching for his hand. Your mother didn't love without reason. She was logical, and fair-minded, and welcoming, and you knew that if she had loved a man, the man before you, it must've been for a good reason. And so, you couldn't judge him based on what was before you, because that was a result of all of his bad choices, all of his digressions and, yes, they were horrible, but they had also allowed your mother to meet Will. It allowed them to have Henry, it allowed you to have a family, a perfect family, and now all you felt was sympathy. No anger. No pain. Just sadness.

His hand was warm, surprisingly. What would it have been like to grow up with his hand, one to put in yours when you crossed the street, to feel your forehead when you said you felt sick, to help tie your shoes when you were still learning?  

The beeps of the machines sang louder as you stepped closer.

"Nice to meet you." You said softly, closing your eyes for just a moment. Just enough time for you to feel the weight of his hand in yours, to reassure yourself that this was real, that you were there, before you were opening them again.

When you did, your mother was back in the room.

Your mother's heart almost broke when she entered. The doctor needed her signature, needed a confirmation that they could remove life support, and her shaky hand had signed beside the 'x' with tear-filled eyes. And when she returned back to that godforsaken room, a room in which she felt all the air was removed, a room in which she felt suffocated, she saw you. Your hand in his, an image she had imagined in her head over and over and over again when you were growing up, a pipe dream, really.  A dream in which he suddenly got his act together, came back to find the both of you, declared his love for her, and begged for forgiveness for leaving. It was a dream that she wasn't even sure she wanted to happen so much as wondered if it would. Because you two didn't need him, she would attest that you two didn't need anyone, not really. Not before Will and Henry. You two were strong and independent. Jareau women were fighters. But still, she had thought about Christopher, and now that dream was shattered because instead of him holding flowers, he was hooked up to a life support machine, brain dead and unresponsive.

She wanted to yell. She wanted to yell and laugh and cry because this wasn't fair. It wasn't fair. She wanted to stomp her feet and throw herself to the floor like a toddler throwing a tantrum but it just...wasn't fair. She couldn't yell at him because he couldn't respond. She couldn't yell at him, because he was practically already dead, and he had left the decision for someone to give him the final blow to her. Her, a woman he had neglected, and your hand was in his, and everything was wrong.

Her feet took her to you, despite every cell in her body attempting to make her turn around.

"They're gonna unplug him, right?" She had told you on the way there that it was a strong possibility, depending on his state. But saying it aloud made it feel much more real. It shouldn't feel so absurd, you scolded. He was never in your life anyway, it wouldn't particularly make a difference. But, in some strange, bizarre way, it did It made a difference because now, Christopher wasn't just some man who abandoned you, he was a dead man who abandoned you.

"Yes." Her voice was small, and you latched onto her once more.

"He's all alone." You said with a frown, and she removed her hand from yours, instead, choosing to drape her arm across your shoulder and bring you into her embrace. Doctors were beginning to enter the room, beginning to explain what each machine did, the consequences of unplugging it, and then doing so quietly, though neither of you were listening.

"He is." She nodded, blonde hair rubbing against the side of your face.

You both stood silent for a moment watching the doctors continue.

"Tell me about him. When you loved him."

JJ sucked in a breath. She had only thought about the bad for so long, only thought about the moment his hand was no longer hers, his retreating figure as she clutched that pregnancy test in her hand, that panic in her chest as she realized she would have to do this alone. "He transferred to my high school in my sophomore year. Everybody went nuts. We didn't get new people in town...ever. But there he was. His hair was a mess," She glanced toward you, a soft smile replacing the frown she had been wearing. "Kinda like yours when you wake up."

"Hey." You mumbled into her shoulder, but you laughed all the same.

"We had a few classes together and he never let me forget it. Chris bugged me almost every minute of them, passing me notes, trying to talk to me, asking me out. I swore I wouldn't, I was too focused on soccer. But, he wore me down."

You rose a brow. "Wore you down? I didn't think that was possible."

She chuckled, the vibrations from it were felt on your cheek. "It wasn't before him. He was...different. He was a total music snob, spent almost all his money on the latest releases. He liked to take me swimming, said everything, all the bad things and all the troubles just floated away when you were in the water."

You looked back to the man in the bed, the doctors having turned off all the machines by now. Now, it was just a waiting game.

"That sounds silly." You whispered.

"It was. But, then again, so was he. He was carefree, spirited, and laid back. He hated the thought of having to grow up one day, said that being an adult was a life sentence to nowhere. Your grandparents hated him, but I didn't care. He was my first love."

You took in all the information, watching the ragged rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his wheezing making you cringe. "Would he have been good dad, you think?"

JJ thought about it for a moment. "I don't know. He chose to run. But I don't think he was suited for being a dad. I think he wouldn't have liked the responsibility of it all." She said thoughtfully, squeezing your shoulder before she was placing her head atop yours. "I know, without a doubt, that he would have loved you, though."

A snort escaped your lips. "Really?" You asked doubtfully.

"Oh, for sure. I think that if he had met you, he would have tried his best to be there, to be there for you. You both do that thing when you get mad, where you nose twitches like a little bunny and it's so cute that no one can ever stay mad at you. Or when you're tired, your eyes droop down and you can sleep instantly, no matter where you are. You both like rock music, and comedy movies, and blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer-"

"I don't think anyone can hate blankets when they're fresh out of the dryer."

She chuckled. "And you both hate peas. I swear, I tried to feed them to you when you were little and you actually scoffed at me. A seventh month old baby, scoffing at me."

"Hmm, wonder where I learned that from."

JJ rolled her eyes. "And you both have a big heart. Sometimes, his heart was so big, that he didn't quite know what to with it. You're better with following it, but you both have it. Just, too much love to give, and he never knew where to place it."

Silence settled over the two of you once more, the wheezing become quieter.

It was just you and her. You and her and the man in the bed. Her arms around you, chin atop your head as you lay in the crook of her neck.

"Are you sad?" you asked softly.

She took three breaths before she answered. "Yes."

You looked back at Christopher, imagining a relationship, one that included movie nights and car rides filled with shared music interests and dinners that revolved around your hatred of snow peas. But the image was foreign and fleeting, and all you could see was Will in your kitchen, producing horrible dance moves and whistled melodies. You could only see Henry shaking you awake. Reality reminded you of the life you actually lived, one without a Dad for a small amount of time, and then finding one. A life without Christopher. Your life and his. Ones that should have been lived together, but never were.

"Me too."

And the wheezing ceased.

Well damn. ANYWAYS, I’m so happy people are liking my JJxdaughter!reader content. It’s so strange because I really thought it wouldn't get much attention so that’s a fun surprise. Let me know what you think about this piece!

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 11: Something Missing

A Miraculous Fan Fic

Written by

AJ Dunn

Adrien didn’t get much time to spend with Marinette during her first week here as she thrust herself into preparing for the Fashion show. She wanted to make it perfect as Felix was counting on her. Adrien didn’t like her working so hard to impress his twin brother/cousin, but it made her happy to be doing what she loved and Felix was giving her every reason the G brand had to offer. 

It was easier to refer to it as the G brand rather than change all of the insignia from the Gabriel Brand to the Graham De Vanily insignia, considering there wasn’t one. However, now the G brand was featuring the Marinette label. It made a lot of the Shanghai designers jealous but they got over it quickly when they met Marinette and her kind-hearted always helping everyone else persona. Adrien was proud of her, but he was still waiting for his cousin to leave at the end of the week so he could have her to himself. 

“So what are we having for dinner tonight?” Marinette propped herself up on the stool as Adrien worked in the kitchen. “Another Cheng specialty?” she mused.

“Breakfast actually.” He cracked several eggs into a bowl, added some spices, chives, and scallions then whisked them together. He poured it over a hot skillet that he had melted butter onto. The eggs hardened slowly as he layered the egg with nori and sliced cheese. He then began rolling the square egg until it looked like a pinwheel sandwich and sliced it just the same. He separated the pieces onto three plates, then added some sausages that he had sliced to look like little squids, and a scoop of rice topped with sweet & sour sauce. He set the three plates on the counter then turned back around to hang up his apron. He moved some bowls to the sink and accidentally splashed liquid egg onto his shirt. 

“Damn,” he said stripping his shirt off without thinking about it. His back was turned to Marinette but he could feel the heat in his face as he turned and left the kitchen without looking at her. He got a clean shirt from the drawer in his closet and returned to the kitchen. Felix was already sitting next to her on her right so Adrien sat on her left. “How is it?”

“I’m inclined to stay another week if you keep cooking like this, brother.” Felix had grown accustomed to calling him that and now in front of Marinette who didn’t seem fazed by it, it was normal between the two of them. Adrien watched as Marinette toyed with her food lazily. He picked up his chopsticks and grabbed one of her sausages and shoved it into her mouth. The legs of it still hanging out of her lips as she turned to him in shock. Adrien and Felix began to laugh. The sausage quickly disappeared into her mouth as he cheeks lit up. 

“What was that for.” She choked as she swallowed the sausage.

“You need to eat, you have been running yourself ragged all week.” Adrien chastised. 

“What about you, up before the sun, gone before me, and you still make dinner.” Marinette pouted.

“Just want to make sure my princess is well taken care of.” Adrien smiled. 

“My plane leaves early I better get to bed.” Felix finished the last bite of his tamagoyaki the set his plate on the counter. 

“You can clean up if it means that much to you.” Adrien offered. Marinette smiled and began to eat her food unassisted. 

“Okay, I will.” Marinette finished her food and began rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. Adrien watched her for a minute then went to the couch and turned on the television. He must have fallen asleep because he woke up to Marinette sitting on her knees in front of him. 

“See, this is what I am talking about.” She stood up taking his hand with her as if she could lift him from the couch herself. He moved his body to her command as she guided him to his room. He stumbled lazily behind her. Once in his room, he allowed him to fall onto his bed. He held onto her hand as she tried to leave the room. One tiny tug and she was laying on top of him, her face inches from his. He smiled coyly at her as he wrapped his arms around her then rolled to the side nesting his face into her neck. He pretended to snore as she attempted to wrestle out of his grip.

“You are not sleeping you goof.” she laughed, her struggles were in vain. His grip held her arms to her sides. He was safe until he wasn’t. 

“What are you doing?” he looked up at her in concern as her fingers began a blind exploration of the tiny hairs circling his navel. “Hey now, stop it, come one what are you doing.” He laughed uncontrollably as her fingers tickled the skin on his belly and crept to his side. He didn’t want to let go, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. He released one arm grabbing the invading hand. It was enough to give her an advantage as she threw a leg over his rolling body until she was sitting on his belly with his arms pinned to his side by her legs. She continued the invasion of tickles on his side as his shirt lifted nearly to his chest. He lifted her bottom up with his arms as she fell forward catching herself by dropping her hands on either side of his head. 

It had been enough to free his arms so he could grab her face bringing it in for a kiss. Before their lips could meet, they heard a cough at the door.

“Should I be recording this?” Felix asked, annoyed. “I mean you did leave your door open, maybe it’s an invitation to join, a … free for all?” Adrien threw a pillow at him. Felix threw it back hitting Marinette who grabbed it then leaped off the bed to hit him with it. Felix wrestled it out of her hands and beamed her on the head. Running for cover as Adrien came at him with another pillow. Marinette was left without a weapon and the boys now blocking her escape. The boys smacked each other around for a few minutes before Felix finally surrendered tossing his pillow to Marinette then headed back to his room.

“You guys are too much,” he said laughing. Marinette gave Adrien one last swat with the pillow as she marched past him. He grabbed her arms pulling her back to him as he kissed her lips gently then released her.

“Good night purrrincess.” Her face lit up 

“Good night, kitty,” she whispered, then went to bed. Adrien couldn’t stop thinking about how comfy it had been holding her on his bed and wondered how it might have been if she had been holding him back. He fell asleep with that feeling in his mind. 

Felix was gone before Adrien got up. He went into the bathroom to take a shower still groggy from yesterday. He didn’t want to hire a chef to cook for them, but he worked a lot and so did she, he also didn’t want to have to eat out all of the time. So for now, he would agree to rotate kitchen duty with her. 

Adrien stepped out of the shower grabbing his towel to dry his face when he realized he hadn’t brought in any clothes. 

“She’s probably still asleep.” He breathed to himself. He finished drying off then wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom. To his surprise, Marinette was already in the hall dressed and now frozen in place right in front of the bathroom door. Part of him wanted to rush to his bedroom, part of him was as frozen as she was but the larger and more boisterous part of him wanted to take advantage of the situation. 

“Good Morning Princess.” He wrapped his wet arm around her waist pulled her closer with one arm as his other hand held her face as he placed a loving kiss on her lips. She melted into him as he knew she would. He released her and left her on the landing as he returned to his bedroom. His heart throttling in his chest as he leaned against his closed-door panting trying to catch his breath. He could hear a dozen tiny voices laughing from the hall. He listened until he could hear Marinette squeal before she slowly walked downstairs. He smiled and shook his head. 

“Adrien.” Felix had called him “I am at the airport there has been a change of plans.” Adrien had only just gotten dressed and was about to head downstairs. “Hold off on telling her please, Emelie and Amalie want you two to come to London, I am heading there myself.” 

“Why?” 

“They’re our moms, why else?” Felix didn’t sound convinced himself. “Emelie had something about signing the Agrest Mansion over to you, and staying with Amalie.”

“I’m not dragging Marinette all the way to London just for that,” Adrien said. “Besides, I still have a lot to process about all of this.”

“Emelie has made a full recovery,” Felix said “She wants to see her son, she needs to know what happened and why you are avoiding her.” 

“I’m….I’m not ready to see her.” Adrien thought to himself. “It’s just that, She was dead, I mourned her, I recovered.”

“That wasn’t her, that was…” Felix stopped, talking about Gabriel had been hard on both of them over the past year, more so since Amalie confessed to them their true parentage. 

“How do we know that she didn’t end up in that coma the same way Nathalie ended up getting sick, she had the same symptoms.” Adrien had often wondered if using the Peacock miraculous had caused his mother’s condition. Nathalie had confessed that it was damaged while she was using it. 

“Go talk to her,” Felix said. “I have to go, my flight is boarding.” He hung up the phone and went downstairs. Marinette was in the kitchen making breakfast. Adrien could smell something in the oven baking, how did she have time to bake something.

“What’s for breakfast?” He said, taking his seat at the counter.

“Biscuits and gravy.” She said, mixing a pot on the stove.

“How…. did you?” His eyebrows narrowed as he scrutinized her. “Did Tikki help you?”

“I mixed up the batter last night and dropped the biscuits this morning, the sausage gravy is the easy part.” She pulled the pan from the oven then flipped a biscuit onto two plates then spooned the thick sausage gravy over them both. 

“I was thinking if you want me to…” Adrien took a bite. She handed him a glass of orange juice then sat down next to him. “I could hire someone to come in and either cook or clean up for us.” 

“Pfft, what for?” She said as she began to eat. “Besides, we need to get used to it being just the two of us here, we also have waaaay too many secrets to trust just anyone in.” She wasn’t wrong, while Plagg and Tikki were always with them, the rest of the miracle box was safely hidden in her bedroom. Yet the Kwami’s were free to roam the apartment as long as they stayed unseen by anyone but them. 

“Marinette?” there is something we need to talk about.” Adrien gulped. She set her fork down as he watched her eyes looking back at him with concern. It was as if she could read his thoughts.

“What is it?” 

“It’s kind of about Me and Felix, but it’s kind of also about my mom, or should I say moms.” He turned his head away. This was a lot more difficult to say. 

“As in plural?” she sounded confused.

“Felix and I are twins, and Amalie is our mom.” Adrien announced then shoveled food into his mouth.

“Oh, well that explains a few things and makes a lot of sense.” Marinette seemed to understand something he didn’t. “I mean, after her first pregnancy she couldn’t have any more kids, and that was way before our time.” 

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Adrien dropped his fork unsure of where it landed. His head began to spin. 

“I know we never talk about your sisters, because no one really knows what happened one minute they were there, and the next…”

“I don’t know what to say, how do you know so much about my family?” Adrien had no idea what she was talking about. He decided to play along. 

“You know I used to be a huge fan of the Gabriel Brand, I thought I knew everything about him.”  She paused to take a bite. “His wife, his twin daughters who looked just like her. And how one day, they were just gone. I remember reading a news article that said wanted to move on and not think about what happened to his ‘little angels’. 

“When was this?” 

“I think I was ten when I read that article.” she picked up her phone and typed something into the search bar. “There hasn’t been another mention of them since.” She held up the article on her phone. A picture of a set of twin girls in their early teens posing for the camera appeared under a headline, The Agreste Twins Were Lost At Sea. He read the article. He remembered the yacht that his father used to own and how they were hit by a massive storm, he had survived with his parents but the yacht went down.

“I’m sorry you must miss them.” Marinette placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“We have to go to London.” His voice was ragged as he spoke. His whole body shook as he stared at the article. He sent it to Felix then handed her phone back. 

His phone rang as he was packing his overnight bag, Had insisted that Marinette go with, though he felt bad dragging her into the drama of his family. 

“Marinette sent me an article I think you should see.” Felix said. 

“It was me, she showed it to me on her phone, so I sent it to you.” 

“We need to talk about this.” Felix wasn’t wrong.

“We are heading to the airport, we’ll talk when I get there.” Adrien hung up the phone and headed to Marinette’s room. She was scrambling around trying to figure out what to pack. 

“Is this a Marinette thing or are all girls chaotic when packing for a weekend trip?” He laughed at her. His laughter was met with a Cat Noir pillow to the face. 

“I’m going to be meeting your mother…” She turned around looking at him confused. “Mothers?” 

“Amalie is our biological mother, but Emelie is my mother.” He said. It was weird how she was more accepting of this new dynamic than even he or Felix were. “Don’t be nervous, I mean, I am but it’s only because I haven’t seen her… or I mean see her awake all of these years.” 

“It’s just the first time…” Marinette blushed

“If she doesn’t like you then we leave.” Adrien said flatly. 

Adrien’s nerves were on edge even more as they exited the plane. He saw Felix standing near the baggage claim. He had convinced Marinette to only take one bag of clothes because he didn’t expect to stay very long and would carry her back if he had to.

They carried their bags to the car Felix had waiting. The driver took their bags as they climbed into the back seat. 

“How much does she know?” Felix asked dryly. He took a deep breath preparing himself.

“That we are twins…” Adrien started. “That Amalie and Gabriel are our parents.” 

“Anything else.” 

“Gabriel and Emilie had a set of twin girls.” Marinette added. “Emilie couldn’t have any more after that.” 

“You know something we didn’t, how odd.” Felix said. “How do we not remember them, Adrien.” 

“Given that we now know Gabriel was Hawk Moth we can only assume he used his powers to erase everyone’s memory of them.” Adrien guessed. 

“How would he do that?” Felix was still ignorant to the intimate knowledge Adrien and Marinette had to Hawk Moth’s powers. 

“Remember that one time, we were on a school trip and an akumatized victim was erasing people’s memory.” Marinette pitched in. 

“Right, he could have sent one back then to erase everyone’s memory who knew about them.” Adrien added.

“Then how did Marinette know?” Felix asked.

“Who would expect a ten year old girl to be so invested in the Agreste family.” She shrugged. “I was always a huge fan of his before...you know.” she tucked her hair behind her ear as Adrien threw his arm over her shoulder. He could tell she was getting nervous, especially talking about Hawk Moth, it had been primarily the two of them to finally defeat him after years of battling his victims.

“But, why would he want to erase everyone’s memory of them?” Felix wondered. 

“I guess we’ll have to ask them about it, yeah?” Adrien said as the car pulled up to the Graham De Vanily Manor. 

[batarella]

The Commander - Part 5 (Arkham Knight x Reader)

ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS ABOARD THE SMUT TRAIN. YA’LL NASTIES NEED A BREAK FROM ALL THE SMUT. TODAY I PRESENT SOME ACTION, ANGST, MORE BACKSTORY, AND FLUFFFFFFFFFF

WORDS: 3034 (yeah they’re getting longer) WARNINGS: A LIL BIT OF FLUFF AT THE END. MOSTLY ANGST.

MASTERLIST

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

The Arkham Knight couldn’t be human. He only ever spoke in the fewest words. And when he did, it was either in the coldest indifference, annoyance, or anger. Mostly in anger. His identity, his past, what he liked and didn’t liked, no one knew about.

In fact, the Commander seen the most about him out of everyone the Knight meets in the Militia. And she doesn’t even know if he had a real name. He was only addressed to as the Knight, and his anger had been built up since he was very young, the Commander deduced. His remarks came out of him like it was in his nature to be an asshole at times. But she could tell it had evolved overtime. Like something brought out the worst of him and now he was this dark, cynical entity no one can touch.

Though she wasn’t any different, basically torn out of her mother’s womb and brought to a firing range.

Gotham City was never kind to her. And her to Gotham. They’d reached the top of a medium rise apartment building, one that stood directly across some kind of event that had people flocking to the edges of the street. The Arkham Knight hid his armor under a large red hoodie, making him look bigger than he already was. He had his hood on over a cap, so no one could see his face. Beside him was Militia Commander Y/N. She had on a bomber jacket and some loose cargo pants to hide her own suit.

They eyed the GCPD police car parked just outside the event grounds, and about three policemen scattered about to maintain its order. One of them was leaning against the hood of the car. The second one, a very heavy man, was standing right in front of the crowd at the stage. The third was at the farthest, making rounds around the perimeter.

The Knight watched the three move, blurring out the cheering crowd and the noises they made. The Commander waited, patiently.

The Arkham Knight’s voice was course. “Go.”

She moved fast, leaping from the top of the roof down its rusty fire escape. Her feet landed from ladder to ladder until it splashed onto a puddle left over from last night’s rain. Commander Y/N made her way down the crowd, keeping her head low as she practically disappeared.

She could only fire from this distance. The Commander had three shots, and a special gun that wrapped around her wrist. All she had to do was press the button on her thumb, and it would fire just as good as any pistol.

Except this one fired more than just bullets, and it was more silent than even a whisper.

One on the car to her right, one at the stage in front, and one at the far back.

At the corner of her eye, she saw the Knight behind the crowd, his hood covering more than half his face. His eyes were on her, waiting.

He nodded.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She raised her arm, staring to pull her hair to a tie. It pointed right at her right and she fired.

One.

She turned, so casually it was like the sun had just caught her eyes. Her arm facing behind her, she fired again.

Two.

Then her hair was in a ponytail, she smoothed it, then brought her arms to her front. Just narrowly missing a passerby, she fired.

Three.

Done. She caught the Knight’s eye. Three trackers landed right at the three policemen’s communication devices peeking just outside their pockets. It was too small to even make out, but the Knight’s hacking device lit up, and they were online.

He toyed with the device, small enough to fit his pocket. The Knight looked like he was just using his phone, even when it wasn’t a good idea to do so in such a crowd. Commander Y/N kept on the lookout, but none of the policemen seem to be bothered.

Hurry up. The Knight continued to fidget. Y/N squeezed on her wrist gun, ready to fire at any threat. A full minute had passed and the Knight threw his head back. He nodded at her. They’d done it.

They hacked GCPD.

Just those three trackers were enough to trace the full source of any communication network GCPD had used. When the night comes, they’ll be ahead of these men by a mile.

Though GCPD was never the real threat.

Commander Y/N nodded back and walked toward the Knight. He handed her the hacking device, which was lit in green.

“Send it to intelligence when we’re back.”

“Yes sir,” she said, stuffing it into her pocket.

Then the Knight looked behind her, at the crowd and the stage in front. The noise had grown louder and a man, the billionaire Bruce Wayne walked to the podium, a bright smile on his handsome face as he spoke.

“Come on,” she said to the Knight. “Slade’s sent the first of our Diamondbacks.”

It took a while for him to look away, though the Knight didn’t look like he wanted to stick around to any more of the festivities. She walked right beside him, her hands relaxed to her side while the Knight kept his deep in his pockets. The sky looked just about as gloomy as the Knight’s expression, and it was freezing. No one looked at them as they turned into an alleyway.

“Just this one?”

“If you’re satisfied with it, another batch arrives tomorrow.”

Then they turned for an abandoned entrance into Gotham’s subway system. It was covered in wooden planks. The Knight tore it off with his bare hands. They jumped in, trying to ignore the smell, as they walked deeper into the tunnels. They were met with a closed gate, and a large circular scanner right at the center. The Knight pressed his palm against it and the gate opened.

The walked father in, the Knight took off his hoodie, then his pants, then he brought out his visor and placed it over his head. “We’re calling Slade.”

The Commander unzipped her jacket, then her loose pants took off to reveal the tighter one in her suit. It was even colder under the tunnels, but she didn’t falter. She followed closely by the Knight’s side, jumping over the old subway station’s portals down to the railway.

Just as they were met with a large figure covered by a dirty white cloth, the Knight pulled out a device from his bag.

It didn’t take long for Slade to answer. He was a holograph, his clothed mask floating above the screen laid flat with the Knight’s hand.

“Where is it?”

“Right here,” The Knight pointed the device to the covered drone. “Commander.”

Commander Y/N jumped to the railway and pulled the cloth off, revealing the finally finished, ready to deploy Diamondback Drone.

“She’s a good lookin’ piece of boom, wouldn’t you say?” Slade’s voice echoed into the tunnels. “Commander Y/N, why don’t you go test it out?”

She climbed up its side. “Were the steering and thrust issues worked out?” said the Knight.

“Nope.”

“Slade, I told you maneuverability and speed are key if these are going to have a chance against his weaponry.”

“Commander, fire at the wall.”

The Commander grabbed hold of its missile launcher and fired.

And it was more like a bomb than a missile, and several shots of it. It tore off what was left of the abandoned cement, spreading its fire around the railway and leaving large holes big enough for a man to crawl in on its walls.

Commander Y/N didn’t look flustered. She wiped the flash of sweat off her forehead and turned to the Knight, who stared intently at the destroyed walls. “Say the word, and I’ll send out a hundred of these. More than enough to take the bastard down.

“More than enough to send your demons free,” Slade said. The Knight seemed preoccupied, and he didn’t flinch when the Commander jumped off the tank.

“Commander Y/N,” Slade said as she approached the Knight’s side. “I’m about to start the final phase of our men’s training.”

“Final phase?”

“I have my standards, you have yours. The way you train these men are different from mine. It shouldn’t take more than a week.”

Commander Y/N nodded, surprised Slade didn’t have to insult her when they’d constantly have to fight over the Knight’s graces when it comes to their preferences.

“Make sure they’re ready for anything he has to throw at us, Slade,” he said to the hologram. Then Slade was gone, and the tunnel seemed emptier with the fires burning out.

The Commander placed her hand on the drone’s side. “It fired three rounds at a time, and its fast. Exactly like the Rattler but it will be harder to deflect.”

“Will that be enough?”

She goes to the front, inspects the damage and looks into the holes. She reaches in, but the missiles have reached too far back. “It should be. This ones’ harder to destroy than all our Rattler drones. Three sensor arrays and a more durable shield over its optics.”

The Knight turned to her as she went on.

“But it doesn’t lock onto its target. The Cobra drones would be a better investment. Even if we had half the number of Rattlers, the Cobras won't have Batman driving around any of the streets without having to encounter one or two.”

“We have enough of those.”

“Never enough to cover even one of the islands by themselves, especially when no 60 mm canon can penetrate its shell. These ones have a larger target right at its sensors.”

The Knight stood directly in front of the drone’s sensor array, with the Commander, running her hands on the right side.

“How old are you?”

The Commander stopped, but didn’t allow herself to flinch. She looked at the Knight puzzlingly and narrowed her eyebrows.

“You know just as much as Slade does.”

“More,” she interrupted. “I know more.”

“Answer my question.”

“What difference does it make?” The Commander sighed, as she circled the tank, keeping her hand to its side. The Knight kept his distance, but followed her. His robotic voice made his questions seem more threatening than personal. She was at the other side, to the left of the drone, when she spoke.

“Twenty-one.”

The Knight came up to the corner, and the Commander reached the front. She turned again and avoided the look on his visor.

“How old were you when you knew how to fire a tank?”

She kept her voice low. This was worse than being screamed at. “Fifteen.”

The Knight didn’t show his surprise, but his silence spoke the volumes for him. “Who trained you?”

“My uncle.”

“When did he start training you?”

“When did this become an interrogation?”

The Knight stopped, and so did the Commander. The stood at either sides of the drone, right at its hood. She stared at him, and he stared back.

“I want to know how you were bred into… this.”

“I fired my first gun when I was five and hit my first target with a rifle when I was seven.” Her voice was expressionless, like he had told these to herself more than to anyone else.

“Your uncle was quite the mercenary.”

“Oh, he was the best,” she said. “But he killed his first target at twenty-two. I was sixteen.”

That… didn’t impress him as much as it saddened him.

“I didn’t have any business being a child. He turned me into this… machine,” she brought her hands to the hood of the tank. “One that just can't miss a single target even if I wanted to.”

“And you turned to sex to air it out.”

The Commander looked up, almost glaring at him. Why the fuck was he asking these questions.

“I’ve only had it a few times,” she said, walking to his side. Then she leaned in, even closer to the Knight. He had his head slightly turned to her when she spoke. “I’ve had it with you the most.”

The Knight didn’t say anything when she walked by him and headed for the exit, grabbing her own bag from the floor. The Knight quietly followed, getting his clothes back out and stuffing his visor inside before they stepped out the subway station.

“We have about three hours,” she told him as they walked down the sidewalk. The noises sank in and she spoke louder. “Then we head for the Batcave before he goes out for patrol, which should be around 10.”

The Knight placed his cap on his head, then pulled his hoodie up. They turned to a corner, back to where the rally had taken place, except the people had left and the sun had started to set. They walked to their motorcycles. “We can wait it out in the cave.”

The Knight approached his bike, but watched as Y/N grabbed her helmet and started the engine. “Wait.”

Commander Y/N stopped.

He took his out his comms, fidgeted with the device and held the earpiece to his ear. It took a while, then the person on the other line answered.

“Slade,” he said. “I’ll have to spend another night in Gotham.”

He turned around, walking farther away so she wouldn’t be staring at him while he talked.

“I’ll be back in less than 48 hours. And it’s a go on the Diamondback, but have more Cobra Drones as well.”

She heard Slade’s voice for a moment. “As much as you can,” the Knight finished. He turned off his comms, then went for his bike.

“Follow me,” he said, taking his hat off and putting on his helmet.

They drove off, and they were going further and further away from where their target supposedly is. The bikes buzzed through, her driving closely at his tail until they’d reached a street littered with no more than five people.

And the buildings were abandoned, boarded up the front entrance. The Commander saw a few homeless men by the alleys, but it didn’t even look like thugs frequented the area. She followed him as they parked their bikes near a dumpster at the back of the building.

“Where are we?”

“We need to go up the fire exit.” The Knight pulled down the ladder. “I used to live here.”

“Go up the third floor, then go in through the window. Stay there. I’ll come back.”

The Commander was still so confused, even as the Knight had started his bike again and drove off.

Xxxxxx

His place was… small.

It must have been years, because there was enough dust to on the surfaces to cause tears in her eyes. Timidly, she sat on the bed. There was only one. Twin size. Pushed up against the wall. He had a desk adjacent to it, and on the other side, the window she came in through. Other than the cramped up bathroom and a closet, that was practically it in his apartment.

But the Knight was still so young. She estimated this place to have been abandoned for five to seven years. If that was the case, he should have been in his early teens, living alone without a parent. Was she right?

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Minutes later, she heard the ladders of the fire exit screech. The Knight walked in.

He was holding two pizza boxes.

“Dinner,” he said. “Bottoms up.”

The commander suddenly felt the surge in her stomach. She’d forgotten to eat. She stood, opened a box and helped herself with a slice.

“Why are we here?”

The Knight ignored her and went to the bathroom. It took a while, probably because he had to clean it before even using it. When he stepped out, he looked less bulky. His armor was placed inside his duffel bag which he placed on the floor, before grabbing a slice from the box and digging in.

It was… unusual. To say the least. Y/N’s almost never seen the Knight talk outside the subject of the militia, let alone eat. He leaned his back against the desk, looking at her as he took a big bite. They ate quietly, not even taking a seat when they finished through the two boxes before the sun had fully set.

She slumped back on the bed. “We should head out by now.”

The Knight closed the boxes and threw them in the trash. Then he leaned on the desk, arms over his chest. He didn’t look at her.

“We’re staying here for the night, then we head for the cave tomorrow at dusk.”

“What are we supposed to do by then?”

The Knight licked his lips.

“I know you don’t sleep,” he said. “Back in the barracks.”

“Yes I do.”

“You sleep almost an hour a day,” he cocked his jaw. “Every single day.”

The Commander couldn’t even fathom his concern. This was all too much. “I’m fine.”

“You have tonight, and the whole day tomorrow. I won't wake you up. You sleep as much as you can. When we go back to South America you’ll never catch a break.”

She grew silent and licked her teeth.

“Where will you sleep?”

The Knight stood from the desk, went to his closet and fished out a sheet and a pillow. “I’ll be fine on the floor.”

Fucking hell.

His concern just made her all the more uncomfortable. Just yesterday, you couldn’t tell the man apart from an AI robot.

And the night grew darker. She laid on her back, the sheet dusted off shielding her off from the cold. The Knight faced away from her and laid flat on the carpet. His chest rose a steady beat. But he was awake.

“Can you tell me your name?” she asked. “And how old you are?”

He was startled, but he didn’t turn to look at her. An answer wasn’t the least bit expected. Never from him. But surprisingly, she heard his voice, low enough for it to be easily missed.

“Twenty-two.”

And that was all he said. She turned facing the wall and closed her eyes.

 I LOVE YOU ALL. LEAVE A COMMENT IF YOU CAN. I’D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS

-----

THE COMMANDER - MASTERLIST

-----

  Taglist: @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki @everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208 @offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal @mythicbitchx @supremehaunter

[spell-cleaver]

Luke woke up to a mild but persistent headache. He groaned and shifted in his bed, hoping that it'd pass soon.

Previous parts on the masterpost here!

Luke woke up to a mild but persistent headache. He groaned and shifted in his bed, hoping that it'd pass soon.

His head pounded with every motion; he grimaced even more fiercely, and found himself eternally grateful that wherever he was, it was dark. He opened his eyes...

...it was only dark.

He closed them again.

The headache pounded some more, but with every deep breath he took, every flood of oxygen into his lungs, it abated like it was the dancer in some elaborate routine he didn't know the steps to, drifting away. When he opened his eyes again, and took in the shape of the darkness—there was a dark white ceiling above him, knotted and rough—he remembered.

The shaak toy.

The intruder.

Father, he thought, where was—

"No need to sit up and panic," said a strangely mechanical voice. Luke panicked—sat up so fast his headache returned with a vengeance. He grunted, in pain, and that voice just chuckled.

The lights flicked on. He moaned, pain stabbing through his head again, and was almost grateful when a tall shadow came to block it out.

Not so much when they gripped his face and turned it up so he had to look at them.

"Such a pretty face," they marvelled—crooned, even. A shudder ran up Luke's spine. Their position in front of the light, the glare around them, made it difficult for Luke's dazed eyes to pick out many details, but they were in a dark suit. A dark helmet.

A dark, circular lightsaber bounced at their hip.

"And such power," they continued vaguely, the hand on his chin fluttering to rest against his cheek. Luke glared, and wrenched away, his head exploding as he did. "It is not difficult to know why he wanted you, and only you."

Luke tried not to show his terror. He was— they were— they were going to—

Vader had said— Vader had promised—

Vader.

"Where am I?" Luke demanded, reaching for the Force—reaching, to try and gain any sense of him. He felt only darkness... and a cloying darkness in particular that made him nauseated just from the memory of it.

He couldn't see it, but he felt like—from the tilt of their helmet—this person smiled. "You're with us."

Us.

"Where's my father!?" he demanded further, heartbeat quickening even more. He— he knew exactly what this was, he was fairly sure he knew how this would go, and no, no he couldn't, he wouldn't—

"Waiting for you, little prince."

Luke shuddered so violently he wanted to throw up.

"Do you still have a headache?" The person tutted, a touch threateningly. "Poor dear. I have something for that."

They stepped away and came back a moment later with a small glass bottle, shining like a small star in the light. The liquid inside was silvery. Luke swallowed, and sealed his lips shut.

They laid it against them anyway. "Drink. It will make you feel better."

Luke pursed his lips even tighter.

He expected the Inquisitor—for he was certain that was what this was—would grab him by the shoulder then, and shake him for his defiance, but they did nothing of the sort. Just pushed it against his lips harder.

"Drink. You must be the pinnacle of health today, of all days."

Luke turned his nose up and glared.

Get away from me, he tried to project through the Force, without opening his mouth. Judging by the amusement he sensed a moment later, he at least got that message across.

The Inquisitor just sighed. "If you want to do this the hard way, little prince... as you wish."

And then they pinched Luke's nose between two gloved fingers. Fiercely. His panicked eyes blew wide.

He clenched his jaw. Sucked an experimental breath through his nose but nothing came through. He tried to stay calm, tried to hold his breath, tried to calm his racing heart—

He kept glaring but the Inquisitor just tilted their head mockingly, observing him—

His lungs were burning—

He gasped for air, as quick as a ship at lightspeed, slammed his mouth shut—

But the Inquisitor tossed that silvery liquid to the back of his throat anyway. Luke gagged, bending over ready to spit it out, but a strong hand grasped his jaw and held it closed with a grip he couldn't break.

He was forced to swallow.

Finally, the Inquisitor released him. Luke was fuming, but they just said, "There you go. Isn't the headache gone now?"

It was, but Luke didn't want to admit that. He kept his mulish silence.

The Inquisitor didn't seem to care. "Good. Now, come. You're awake, and we want to get this over with as soon as possible, don't we?"

"Where is Lord Vader?" Luke snapped. "Where am I?"

"Lord Vader is far from you, little prince, have no fear. Your father will protect you, as he always has." Luke shivered to hear that. "Come along now. He's been eager to meet you."

Luke gritted his teeth. "No."

"No?" the Inquisitor growled. They stalked forwards for a moment, hand raised; Luke flinched in anticipation but stood his ground, knowing exactly what sort of corporal punishment was coming—

Then they paused. Lowered their hand begrudgingly.

That scared Luke more than the hit would've. He knew exactly why they didn't want him damaged.

"Come," they insisted, reaching to wrap a hand around his wrist—but no, even that was too much of a risk, apparently. They glared at him, then Luke felt a harsh tug through the Force.

Luke shoved back. He was the powerful one here. He—

He was the one who sent this Inquisitor flying across the room to collide with the opposite wall. They fell to land on their feet with a snarl.

"So afraid, you little brat," they snapped. "Bruises aren't ideal, but neither is resistance, and it seems we'll have plenty of that. So you"—they stormed forwards and did, actually, seize him and drag him by the wrist this time, yanking both his hands behind his back and summoning a pair of binders by the door to snap around them and hold them steady—"are coming with me."

Luke fought and struggled the whole way there, flinging things at the Inquisitor with the Force, unlocking his binders over and over, spitting and spluttering insults—but he was fourteen years old, and small for his age, and this Inquisitor was strong. They would drag Luke there like a sack if they needed to, and they did, when he just tried to outright refuse walking.

Unfortunately for Luke, it was a short walk from the nice, comfortable cell he'd been kept in to the turbolift where three other Inquisitors joined them, boxing Luke in. The place stank of the dark side and he shuddered, there, among their presences and... this planet's presence. It felt familiar in a way, but in an awful, painful way—

It reminded him of his father, though he could not say how.

It was when the turbolift came to a halt at the very top of the tower they were in, and the Inquisitors wrestled him out to along a walkway, he glanced out the window and his stomach flopped.

Lava flows, volcanoes, ashy skies so thick with clouds they blocked out the sun...

Mustafar.

They were on Mustafar.

Why? Why were they on Mustafar? This was Vader's sanctuary, this was—

A place he hadn't returned to since he'd killed Palpatine.

A place strong with the dark side—built for the dark side, its shape... channelling the energies to be stronger, more intense, more easily wielded...

No.

It made sense, of course. That was why Palpatine's acolytes had set up shop here. In Vader's own sanctum, which had never been his at all, spied on by the Emperor with every red guard and every servant, assured that, distracted by the new emperor as he was, Vader would not be returning in a hurry.

Here they were.

Here Luke would die.

They pulled him up several more stairs, down several more passages. And then they reached a circular room that was clearly the pinnacle of this great monstrosity, this monument to the darkness... an empty, circular room, with arches all around the outside that opened it to the elements, blue shields shimmering around to protect from lava splashing.

And in the centre, they was a circular altar.

Usually, Luke would expect... a crystal ball. A body. Some sort of charm (the japor snippet still at his neck seemed to grow heavier with the thought). He didn't know.

But it was none of those things. It was a large pile of... black dust. Ashes. Soot.

Luke had a bad feeling about this.

"What—" he tried to ask, before the Inquisitors shoved him into the room and the hum of a containment field hissed into place behind him.

When he turned back to look, their faces shimmered with blue.

"What now?" he demanded. "What is going on? Where am I?" He knew exactly where he was, that was the problem—

"You are fulfilling your destiny."

No.

No, no, no—it couldn't be. It... Luke knew that voice, knew every cadence, every disapproving sigh, every snarl. He'd hoped he would never hear it again.

"Lord Vader has kept you from the truth, kept you as his own puppet, for too long. Now, we embrace what I have foreseen."

But he could hear it. That was not a lie. This was not an illusion.

And when he turned around, despite how awful it made him feel, like he was betraying someone by saying it, the word that jumped to his mouth was, "Father."

Send me the first sentence of a scene from this AU and I’ll continue it!

Beginning | Previous | Next

[sunflowersupremes]

A Strange Acquisition (11/?)

Read on AO3

“Shit,” muttered Geralt.

A quick glance around the room did not reveal any clues to Julian’s location nor the source of the smell of blood. He couldn’t have gone far, decided Geralt. And he hasn’t taken anything with him.

Seemingly nothing was missing. All of Geralt’s supplies were where they belonged, and Julian’s toy was laying discarded on the bed.

He turned to leave and that was when he noticed that his cloak, which had been hanging by the door to dry, was no longer there. At least he won’t freeze, Geralt decided.

For a moment he considered asking the innkeeper if he had seen anything, but drawing undue attention to a missing Omega, particuarly one as vulnerable as Julian, seemed like a poor idea. So Geralt squared his shoulders and set off to find the boy himself.

He stepped out of the inn, allowing his senses to take over, scanning the snow covered ground. Unfortunately there were layers of tracks, which would have made it impossible for a mortal to follow Julian.

Fortunately, Geralt wasn’t a moral.

Julian’s prints were lighter than the rest, and Geralt found them after only a moment’s searching. His gait was uneven, stumbling, his stride varying in length from short steps to long hops. But it seemed he’d been moving purposefully.

A hour old, no more, he decided. Good, it means I can catch him sooner rather than later. He hurried through the town, making a point not to appear too suspicious. If people saw a Witcher out and about searching there was no telling what assumptions they might make. The best case scenario they would assume he was hunting a monster, and that would lead to panic.

Instead he kept his shoulders straight, looking pointedly ahead, his eyes only occasionally darting down to ensure he was still following the tracks.

He went out of the town, into the woods, where he picked up his pace, moving more quickly over the frozen ground. The sun was setting and a chill was setting in. Geralt’s cloak would benefit him somewhat, but it wouldn’t protect him indefinitely.

Stupid boy, he thought grumpily. But he found that he couldn’t be too angry. Why wouldn’t he run away? Who wouldn’t flee a mutant? I was a fool to ever bring him along, I should find him somewhere safe and leave him. No interest or knowledge is worth traumatizing him.

But even as he thought it to himself, Geralt wasn’t certain he would be able to follow through. He was starting to like the Omega, in a strange way. It was nice to have company, even if the boy seemed miserable most of the time. And it was far too easy to rationalize that Julian was safest with him, away from those who would harm him.

With a shake of his head, Geralt forced himself to stop worrying and instead focused on following Julian’s tracks. They were fresher than ever, leaving him certain he was almost caught up with the boy.

Finally, he could smell blood and knew he was close.

Julian was curled under a tree, wrapped in Geralt’s cloak, but still shivering. The scent of blood clung to him, along with an underlying scent of fear.

Geralt angled his approach to come up in front of him, rather than sneaking up behind him and scaring him, making sure the boy had plenty of warning that he was coming. He stopped several feet away from him and waited for him to speak, to explain what was happening.

For a moment, he said nothing. “The baby’s dead,” said Julian. There was no emotion in his voice, just dull truth. Disinterest, even.

Geralt crouched down, hoping to make himself less threatening. It wasn’t easy to do, not as a Witcher, but he tried his best anyway, remembering how he had once calmed a frightened dog. “What can I do?” he asked, keeping his voice level.

A tremor ran through Julian’s body and he groaned.

“Julian-”

Another gasp. Another tremor. It didn’t seem to be caused by fear, but rather by pain coming from Julian’s stomach. He had his hands twisted in his shirt, knuckles white despite the cold having turned his fingers red.

When he spoke, there was still no emotion in his voice, “I always thought it would be nice to die in the woods.”

“You’re not going to die,” Geralt promised. “Julian, let’s go back to the inn. Tea and a hot water bottle will help.” He didn’t know if it would, but he wasn’t about to let Julian know how in over his head he was.

Julian didn’t reply. Geralt scooted a bit closer.

The boy was watching him with keen blue eyes. Geralt stopped. “Can you walk?”

“No.”

“May I help you up?”

His eyes narrowed, seeming to test Geralt as he said, “No.”

Geralt nodded. It had taken him two hours to get close enough to touch the frightened dog. Hopefully it wouldn’t take that long with Julian.

As long as he seems stable I’ll let him wait this out, Geralt decided. If he seems to worsen I’ll grab him even if he resists. The blood smelled old, as though Julian was no longer bleeding. If it started up again with fresh blood, Geralt would know.

Nodding, he stepped back, finding an exposed tree root that was mostly free of snow and ice to sit on. “How can I help you?”

Julian bared his teeth.

I almost think he’s trying to push me into losing my temper, but I won’t do it. I won’t be a monster, not to him, not even if that’s what he expects of me.

“There’s warm food at the inn,” Geralt promised. “We can get the blood cleaned off or find a doctor-”

“I don’t want to see a doctor.”

Geralt nodded. “You lost a baby before,” he said slowly. “Yes? You- you know what’s happening?”

“I’ll be fine,” said Julian. “It’s not that different from a woman’s menstrual cycle, except it comes out of my ass.”

“Did you study that at Oxenfurt?” He wanted to keep the boy talking, keep them both thinking about something other than the dead baby.

“Studied my classmates,” he muttered, and there was almost a hint of a grin on his lips.

Geralt allowed himself a quiet chuckle. “Ladies man, were you?”

The amusement faded. “Doesn’t matter.”

He wondered if Julian even liked men. He wondered if he liked anyone after what he’d been through. I wouldn’t blame him if he never let anyone touch him ever again.

There was silence for a few moments, until Julian finally spoke. “I- I want to wash up.”

“I can get you warm water and rags.”

Julian nodded and finally uncurled himself. “I- can you help me up?”

Geralt nodded and stood, walking softly toward Julian and holding out his hand. Cautiously the boy took it and let him pull him to his feet. “I can walk,” he whispered.

Geralt nodded.

He moved stiffly, as though he were in a great deal of pain and Geralt found himself clenching his fists to resist the urge to help him. But it seemed that his help - or perhaps just his touch - was the last thing he wanted at the moment.

“This isn’t your fault,” Geralt promised. “You’re malnourished still, and under a great deal of stress. There’s nothing wrong with you. People have miscarriages Julian, it doesn’t mean you’re damaged.”

Julian said nothing.

[brain-deadx0]

The Lost Prince ch.3

Summary: The kingdom of Elan had once been at peace. It’s said that so long as the royal family lived the land would flourish with them on the throne. But when an unexpected enemy appeared and took the lives of the royal family many stopped believing in the legend. It was simply a ploy by a former ruler to discourage a coup. But some say that the new king sparred the young prince out of fear of the myth, and that one day the true heir would once again take the throne.

Chapter 1

Previous

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER SUMMARY: They have a plan... it may have been a bad plan.

WARNINGS: imprisonment, forcing someone to perform demeaning acts, injury of a main character, blood, let me know if there’s anything else

As the sun began to set Virgil and Janus huddled together away from the door. As much as they appreciated the open door earlier, while looking at the flora and fauna, it was now letting in the cool evening breeze. Neither dared speak aloud outside of the safety of their room which only made ignoring their growling stomachs harder.

They hadn’t eaten since the night before and they couldn’t exactly bring along the small food stash they kept for emergencies. Virgil was actually starting to miss the stale bread when a pair of robins suddenly flew through the door.

The birds each held a small branch covered in berries as they landed in front of him and Janus. Virgil slowly held his hand out and one of the robins hopped towards him to drop the berries in his palm. Janus did the same with the other bird. The two young men nodded in thanks before the two robins flew away again.

“Didn’t know they did that.” Janus murmured before eating one of the berries.

“Unless one of them could get us the keys I don’t think we’ve needed them to anyway.”

The berries hadn’t been near enough to fill the two up, but it did help to quiet their stomachs. It took some time but eventually the two were able to doze off.

-

King Saul flipped though the pages of the old book while he waited for the servant to get there and translate. He couldn’t read whatever language it was written in, but the illustrations provided some clues. Most of it seemed to have something to do with the royal family and fae.

“Your Majesty, the servant is here to translate.” He heard someone call from outside his tent.

“Send him in then.”

A few moments later the servant walked through the door. “Your Majesty,” he bowed.

”Here,” King Saul said as he passed over the book, “now tell me what I need to know.”

“Of course, your Majesty.”

The servant flipped to the right page and began to translate, “If a time may come when their majesties are unable to have a child of their own volition or-“

“I don’t care for those parts. Just tell me the steps and what we need.”

“Yes, Sir.” The servant said before starting again, “The current head of the family and intended heir must share blood... Any amount will do... They then must join hands at sunset... The family head must willingly pass the bond... And both must say the spell.” He summarized.

“So we prick fingers, hold hands, and say a spell. Sounds easy enough.” King Saul mused, “And the spell?”

“I believe it’s “pactum sanguis densior sit quam ex utero sumus participes per familia necessitudines ita et in terra” your Majesty.”

“If that’s all then you may leave.” King Saul told him as he took the book back.

The servant bowed once more before exiting the kings tent. King Saul managed to locate the words of the spell and proceeded to write them down.

-

‘Perhaps,’ He thought to himself, ‘if the false king were not so self centered he might have realized the differences between me and the man who had originally delivered the book.’

...

By the time the sun rose on the second day, Virgil and Janus were wide awake. When the soldiers not standing guard had started waking up it was hard to ignore. Especially when they started to cook breakfast.

“Bastards...” Janus mumbled, earning a small smile from Virgil, “They could’ve at least done it down wind.”

“Some people aren’t very considerate I’m afraid.” A voice told them.

Both young men jumped and instinctively tried to move away from whoever had spoken.

“Oops, didn’t mean to startle you.” A somewhat willowy man in servants clothing told them.

Janus and Virgil shared a cautious glance at each other as the man reached into the satchel at his side before revealing a small loaf of bread. “Here,” He said as he held it out to them, “you’re probably feeling half starved by now.”

The two shared another look before Janus slowly reached forward to take the bread, “Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” He told them before whispering, “your Majesty.” He winked.

“... Who are you?” Janus asked cautiously.

“You can call me Emile.” He smiled, “And you two have more people on your side than you think.”

”What?” Virgil asked.

Emile’s only response was a finger to his lips and a wink before turning and walking away.

“Well,” Janus started, “that was...”

“Weird.” Virgil finished, “That was definitely weird, right?”

Janus nodded, “Probably.”

The two of them were wary of the bread at first, but whatever fears they may have had were gone after the first bite. They silently decided the taste was because they hadn’t had fresh bread in years. But neither could remember even the freshest bread tasting so sweet.

Neither mentioned it but both felt full and surprisingly invigorated despite the small amount of food.

...

Within a few hours the camp was packed up, the wagon door was closed, and the group was on the move once again.

The weather wasn’t unpleasant and they even seemed to be making good time. That is until a loud thudding sound broke the silence.

Virgil and Janus had let themselves relax as their minds wandered with the shifting of the wagon. It wasn’t until they were suddenly flung into one corner that they realized something had happened.

“Ah what the fuck?” Virgil hissed.

“Sorry,” Janus told him as he attempted to pull himself away, “You alright?”

“Yeah, you?”

“I’m fine. My landing was a bit softer than yours.”

“Oh ha ha.” Virgil deadpanned.

“What’s going on?!” Saul boomed from somewhere ahead of the wagon, “Why are we stopped?!”

“My apologies, your Majesty, but a wheel has fallen off of the prisoners wagon. It doesn’t appear to be damaged, but we’ll have to stop for a while to fix it.” Someone standing nearby said.

“Well hurry up then!”

Janus and Virgil barely managed to get themselves upright by the time the door was opened. “Don’t get any ideas.” The soldier said as he unlocked the metal door.

“Come on we don’t have all day.” He grumbled when the two hesitated.

They shared a somewhat baffled look before Virgil moved to leave the wagon. His feet had barely touched the ground before he was grabbed by the collar and flung to the side, “Hurry up.” The man spat.

“Virgil!” Janus called when his friend hit the ground.

“I’m good.” He told him as he moved to stand up again. He was halfway up when a different soldier appeared next to him and pulled him to his feet. “The ground isn’t nearly as hard as the floor.” Virgil said when Janus joined him. Janus gave a sad smile in agreement.

While several people worked to put the wheel back, Virgil and Janus took the opportunity to soak in the feeling of the ground beneath their feet. It was so soft! And squishy! Even their bed mat was nothing compared to how comfortable the ground felt.

The soldiers were nearly done when the King road over to them on a large grey stallion. “How much longer?” He asked them.

“Almost done, your Majesty. It should be ready in just a minute.” One of them answered.

Saul nodded before turning his attention to Janus and Virgil.

Janus hated the way he looked at them. Normally it was somewhere between happy that he had taken over the kingdom and pissed that he and Virgil still existed. But now there was a bit of greed there too. By some miracle it managed to make Janus hate him more.

Virgil wished he could wipe that smug look off of Saul’s face. Preferably with a chair. But unfortunately he was not that brave and not that stupid. Also he was severely lacking in the chair department at the moment.

“The wagon is fixed, your Majesty. We are ready to continue when you are.” One of the soldiers informed.

“Good. Throw these two back in and let’s move on.” The king ordered as he turned his horse.

“Wait!” Janus said before Saul could leave.

The King paused to look at him but didn’t respond.

“Please, before we go any farther let Virgil go.”

Saul smirked, “Why would I do that?”

“Please,” Janus begged, “you don’t need him. Let him go, and let him live. I promise I will transfer the magic.”

“Why should I believe that? Besides, that scullery rat is good collateral. Why would I risk letting him go while he’s still useful?”

“I swear I will do whatever you ask. Just let him go free. Please.”

Virgil was sure Saul wasn’t actually considering letting him go. There was nothing to gain after all. He just wanted to toy with Janus. As soon as he started getting bored he’d laugh in their faces and they’d be back in the damn wagon.

Honestly he wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved by that. On one hand he couldn’t escape, but that meant he wouldn’t have to leave Janus.

Virgil was startled out of his thoughts when Saul dismounted and walked over to them.

“Prove it.”

Janus blinked. What?

“Kneel.” Saul told him.

Janus spared a glance at Virgil who shook his head.

Despite his friends opposition Janus took a breath and dropped to one knee before bowing his head. “Please, your Majesty.” He tried again, “Let him go.”

The King’s lips curled into a cruel grin, “Kiss my boot.” He told him.

“Janus no!”

“Silence!” Saul commanded.

“Janus, don’t. Please.” Virgil begged him.

Janus closed his eyes. He hated him. God he hated Saul. He could live forever and never hate anyone more. But his love for Virgil was worth more than that hate. And his life was worth more than Janus’s own pride.

“Please, your Majesty,” he forced as he shifted to both knees.

“Janus...”

“Let my friend go free.”

Virgil couldn’t bring himself to watch. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. But that didn’t prevent the hushed laughter of the soldiers from reaching his ears.

“Someone grab a rope.” Saul ordered, “I believe we may be able to work something out.”

Virgil tried to ignore everyone and everything around him as he opened his eyes. He kneeled next to Janus and tentatively reached to grab his arm. Janus didn’t look at him.

“You shouldn’t have done that. We would’ve been ok.” Virgil choked before pulling him closer in a poor excuse for a hug.

“Just make it.” Janus told him as he attempted to hug back, “Go find that useless knight of ours and don’t look back. Please, Virgil.”

Virgil clung to him tighter, “I can’t just leave you like that.”

“You can and you will.” Janus told him, “Promise me, Virge.”

He wanted to promise. He did. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He couldn’t make that promise. He would stick to his plan and follow them. He couldn’t leave Janus behind. Not after everything.

“Please.” Janus begged.

But before Virgil even had a chance to reconsider he was pulled back by his hair. He attempted to cling to Janus, but was ripped away as if he hadn’t been holding on at all.

“Remove his chains and then tie him to a tree.” Saul ordered.

“What? No! Let him go! Please!” Janus yelled, “I did as you asked!”

“You did,” he agreed, “and I’m releasing him. Perhaps we can come back to check on him once we complete our little errand at the Delego.”

Janus watched as Virgil attempted to fight back against the soldiers trying to tie him up. All of a sudden he was eight-years old again. Being held too tightly by a man twice his size while his best friend fought tooth and nail just for the infinitesimal chance of escape. And once again he was too scared and too useless to do anything but cry and scream at the bad people to let him go.

The second the chains were off Virgil started swinging. He couldn’t let them tie him up. He wouldn’t stand a chance of helping Janus if that happened. He thrashed against the hands and ropes trying to get some sort of opening. He could vaguely hear Janus screaming something as the soldiers continued to close in on him with the rope.

Virgil sensed more than felt himself fall to the ground. He had to fight harder! They were gonna win and then they would take Janus away and he would never see him again.

He couldn’t move his arms anymore. His legs flailed harder, trying in vain to somehow prevent the inevitable. His legs were stuck now. Something was behind him- Wait something is by his face. He hears what sounds like a scream and his mouth fills with blood.

“Motherfucker!” The soldier who had attempted to gag him yelled when Virgil sunk his teeth into their hand. They quickly pulled their hand back and turned it into a fist.

“NO!” Janus screeched when Virgil’s head lolled to the side, “Virgil!”

“Little bastard.” The soldier spit on him as they clutched their injured hand.

“Remember your promise,” Saul said as Janus was pulled to his feet, “and then maybe we can come back and untie him.”

“You lying son of a bitch.” Janus spat.

He felt a blinding pain as the back of Saul’s hand landed against his face.

“We’ve wasted enough time.” Saul announced, “Let’s get moving.”

“Virgil!” Janus yelled as he was dragged back towards the wagon, “I’ll come back for you! I promise!”

The door was slammed shut and the wagon began to move.

~~~~~~NOTES~~~~~~

Good news: Virgil is no longer in immediate danger. Bad news: He’s unconscious and tied to a tree... Also Janus is still in immediate danger.

Y’all. I SWEAR there is going to be happier chapters. But we gotta get some of the bad stuff out of the way first. Next chapter might have some nice stuff but yeah. Don’t hold your breath for fluff.

[whumping-every-day]

Gabriel, Part Two!

I am back with a second installment of Gabriel! Written twice, bc my computer is a butt. Feat. soft siblings Stefan and Maria, a very frightened Gabriel, and a blurry line between caretaking, creepy comfort, and actual comfort. You’ll have to excuse my lack of medical know-how, because I am not an expert. 

Masterlist 

--

Gabriel awoke to the sensation of being lifted. Panic spiked deep within him, and he curled in on himself and whimpered softly, unable to remember where he was. But he was all too familiar with the feeling of being hauled upright and then thrown, or dropped, unable to stop his momentum or control where he was put.

“Easy, little one,” a voice murmured. “Easy. I’ve got you, it’s alright. Open your eyes, bud.”

Gabriel froze at the low, masculine voice. It had all of his muscles immediately locking up in terror, but it also had his chest spiking for another reason, because this - this was not Master’s voice. The boy whined and squirmed weakly… but the voice had said to open his eyes, so Gabriel did, timid and alarmed. 

There wasn’t much light, but they were outside, walking up the driveway to a strange house. And the man holding him... Stefan. The parking lot. Money. Master giving him away. Everything came crashing back, and Gabriel gave a little shudder as the events slotted back into place.

”Hey,” his new master murmured, and Gabriel flinched, even though the tone was calm. The man shook his head faintly, but he only readjusted his grip to account for Gabriel’s squirming, cradling him almost protectively to his chest. “There we go. Do you remember where you are?” 

Gabriel hesitated, biting his lip. Where he was - no, he had no idea. But he knew what was happening, who he was with... “M-Master,” he whispered, and he brushed weak, bruised fingers against the man’s jacket, almost fearfully. It wasn’t an inquiry, it was an answer to the question. 

The man grimaced, but the expression quickly shuttered into something more neutral. “Yeah, bud. I’ve got you,” the man answered, even as they closed the last few feet of the driveway and Stefan toed open the door. 

The foyer of the house was large, filled with beautiful decor and spotless furniture. There were pictures on the mantle, of his new owners, and another man Gabriel hadn’t seen before.

The boy glanced around, searching for the woman from before - but she wasn’t nearby.  “M-Mistress...?” That time it was a question, and Gabriel remembered a split second after asking it that he did not have permission to do so. His lungs froze, chest tightening, but New Master simply glossed over his breach of behavior. 

“She’s upstairs,” the man murmured, and Gabriel couldn’t believe it. He should have been in trouble for a slip-up like that. But instead, his owner had chosen to answer his question. Absently, Gabriel noticed that he was still wrapped in the blanket from the car, and his wrists were still bound behind his back. But he was warm, and he hadn’t been dealt any fresh pain since being sold... seemingly, not even when he deserved it. 

It felt strange to be carried through his new master’s home, and Gabriel tried to take note of where things were, which floors would need the most scrubbing, which mirrors or windows would be hard to reach. He was rarely allowed out of the cellar, before, and being dragged out and forced to clean the upstairs had been a luxury. Gabriel hoped he would be allowed to clean here, too. It was nice, and the large windows and skylight would let so much sun in... it was beautiful, but more importantly, it seemed well-taken care of. That was a good sign, wasn’t it? It meant his Masters took care of their things. 

Gabriel was one of their things, now. Maybe they would take care of him, too. 

His Master brought him to the upstairs bathroom, and Maria was already inside when the door swung open. Mistress had a first-aid kit open on the counter, and she was currently pulling on white medical gloves with practiced movements. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” she greeted, and Gabriel blinked in bewilderment when he realized she was addressing him. “Could you put him on the toilet seat - yeah, thank you.” She twisted to get out of Stefan’s way as he set Gabriel down, and then the two of them switched places, so Maria could sit on the edge of the tub. Gabriel was very careful to keep still, eyes lowered and head down. “Now, Gabriel,” his Mistress murmured. “I need to take a look at your injuries. Just a quick once-over, to see what I’m dealing with. I’m a nurse, so I promise I know what I’m doing.” Maria smiled softly, even though Gabriel didn’t look up or react in any way. She reached around him with an unseen object, and Gabriel had just enough presence of mind to flinch - but then there was a faint pressure, and the rope around his wrists fell away. “That’s better. Now, try to hold still for me.” 

His Mistress did not hesitate to touch him, but she also warned him every time, and always explained what she was doing. Gabriel was accustomed to being handled in such a way, but he was not used to being spoken to while it happened. Where there would normally have been confusion and terror as someone else moved him, there was only faint anxiety. Gabriel let his limbs go loose and pliant, let his Mistress look into his mouth, at his gums and teeth, and then peer into his eyes with a bright light. Then she checked and double-checked him for more serious damage. The woman hesitated over the sight of Gabriel’s ribs, caved inwards and blackened purple and blue. But she only sighed and shook her head. 

His former Master had put him only in a pair of pants, and eventually his Mistress had to have them removed. Gabriel settled tensely once he was bare, but Maria was quick with the rest of the exam, even the parts that required she look at places that were normally private. 

When it was over Gabriel was trembling faintly, and Mistress straightened, pulling off her gloves. “You did very well, Gabriel,” she murmured. “I know that was hard. Good boy.” Gabriel’s breaths were already shaky, but the words were like a blow to the solar plexus, knocking the air out of him. Good boy. So easily dished out, like praise was something that could just be given, instead of something that had to be earned with blood and pain and tears. Gabriel was stunned, but Mistress was already moving on. “He’s severely dehydrated and underweight, and there’s a substantial amount of scars and deep bruising... probably malnutrition and nutrient deficiencies, as well. I’ll have to take a blood sample. But from what I can see, the only thing broken are his ribs.” Maria looked away from her brother, reaching out almost absently to pet her fingers over Gabriel’s hair. “Can you tell me what hurts the most, sweetheart?” 

Sweetheart. Again with that little name. There was something very funny in Gabriel’s chest, fluttery and squirmy. “I - I th-think - my ribs, Mistress,” he answered softly. His left ankle ached from being broken and healed wrong, and his head was pulsing sharply - but the worst by far were his ribs. 

“Alright. I want to get you clean, then I can wrap them, take a quick blood sample, and dress anything still bleeding.” Mistress’s voice was all business, and Gabriel stiffened to attention automatically. “Stefan, could you grab the water from downstairs? Gabe, you sit tight.” 

His Mistress moved to turn on the bath, and while she did, Gabriel pondered the number of things he’d been called here. Sweetheart. Buddy. Little one. Gabe. These were not things to call a worthless, broken-down toy. And Gabriel was very much worthless, his last Master had made sure he understood his place. This gentleness could not last. Maybe they just... didn’t understand what he was, yet. But they would. 

“Here, buddy.” Gabriel jumped in fright when his Master’s voice sounded from behind him, nearly falling right off the edge of the tub, and Stefan winced. “Sorry. Jumpy little thing, isn’t he?” It was said to Maria, and she only hummed in agreement. “Your last master wasn’t very nice to you, huh.” There was a bottle of water in Stefan’s hands, and he twisted the cap off and held it out. “Slowly,” he commanded, and it was very firm. “If you go too quickly you’ll be sick.” 

Gabriel’s eyes had fixed on the water like he couldn’t believe it was real, and he reached out to take it with trembling fingers. Surely it would be snatched away. He waited for a long moment in horrible, tense silence, waiting for it to go wrong, but there was only a soft hand on his shoulder. 

“Go on, sweetheart,” Maria murmured. “It’s for you.” 

Gabriel stared up at her for a long moment, then switched his wide-eyed gaze back to Stefan. Neither of them lunged for him, and neither of them wore cruelty in their expressions. Hesitantly, Gabriel tipped the bottle up and drank, and he felt his eyes prick at the clean taste of the water. He took a few gulps, and then the world around him started to narrow. He was so thirsty, and it had been so long, so long - he only realized he was shuddering and sobbing when his Mistress’s hand tightened on his shoulder. 

“Easy, easy.” Someone was pulling the bottle away, and Gabriel was choking and whimpering, a few more tears slipping down his cheeks. “Breathe, little one.” Breathe – was he not breathing? Gabriel suddenly felt light-headed, and he dragged in a long gasp of air. He felt too tight, his chest felt heavy, and he barely even registered the small hand rubbing circles on his back. “That’s it. Now out, breath out. Good. Now in…” It was his Mistress’s voice. Gabriel shuddered at the thought of showing such weakness in front of her, in front of both of them. But her voice remained patient, and the hand never stopped rubbing between his shoulder blades, even when Gabriel started to cough.

Eventually he was breathing normally again, and Stefan gave a quiet sigh. “We’ve got our work cut out for us, huh.” Gabriel shrunk in on himself at that, his head lowering in shame. But Maria just shook her head.

“Be patient, brother.”

Gabriel’s eyes were fixed on the tile of the floor, unwilling to look up for fear of displeasing his betters. There was a quiet rustling, a faint clink, and then the sound of water pouring. Then a glass appeared in his line of vision. It was filled only about two inches high with water, and Gabriel stared at it in bewilderment, before scrambling to accept it. Food he could survive without. But water… without water, he would be a feverish, delirious mess. Without water, after a while, he wouldn’t be able to tell what was real and what wasn’t. And to have it given so readily…

“Th-thank y-you,” Gabriel whispered, and his voice was raspy and so genuinely, incredibly grateful. “Th-thank you M-Master, a-and, and Mistress, th-thank you.”

There was a pause, and then Maria gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Of course, sweetheart.” Gabriel’s eyes were already wet when his Mistress tilted his chin up, her fingers smooth and cool against his skin. “You belong to us now, after all.” Her eyes were gentle as they looked down into his, and Gabriel could do nothing but stare helplessly back, desperate and hopeful and terrified all at once.

“We take care of what is ours.” It was his Master, and Gabriel’s wide, awed gaze switched to him. Stefan’s posture was loose, relaxed, nonthreatening. “As long as you live under this roof, we will look after you. Okay?”

It was a soft question, but it still spoke to the part of Gabriel that had been conditioned to respond. He opened his mouth, and realized only then that his Mistress had taken his right hand. And his Master had taken his left. When had that happened? There were still tears in his eyes, but he could only nod, feeling something fragile stirring in his chest. 

“Y-yes, Master.” It was the only reply he could give, obedient and meek, but it didn’t feel like enough. Gabriel hesitated, but he shifted just enough to slip onto the floor, carefully setting the glass on the edge of the tub. He immediately went to his knees and bowed flat to the ground, pressing his forehead to the cold tile. “Please,” he whispered. “I’ll – I’ll be good, masters. I – I want -” I want to be taken care of. “I want to be good.”

“We know, little one,” someone murmured, and Gabriel wasn’t even sure who. There was silence for a moment, and then two hands of very different sizes settled on his skin, one in his hair and one on his bare shoulder. Gabriel could only tremble underneath it, and for once it wasn’t only with fear.

“You are going to be a very good boy for us,” his Mistress murmured. “I can already tell.” Gabriel whined and nodded frantically, leaning into the daintier of the two hands. He could do that, he could be their good boy – it was so much better than being a toy, or a thing. And if they truly meant it, if it was possible that this was real… then Gabriel would make himself the best pet they’d ever had.

--

[END]

Previous,  Next 

Tagging the lovely people who asked for more, I cannot believe the support for this! @blue-flare10 @whumpywhumper @cagefreebirds @whumptywhumpdump @vickytokio @whatwasmyprevioususername @whump-me-fuck-me @robinshouseofwhump @useless-transboy

[perspective-series]

Vampire Perspective (16/17)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: betrayal (?), death threats, fighting, injuries, car crash, talk of owning people sorta

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

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

Patton didn’t try to speak to Virgil when his roommate came storming home. He only bothered to give a sniff, making sure Virgil was unsuccessful, before watching Virgil swoop upstairs and slam the door.

That was the last he saw of Virgil for a few days. Neither of them knew what to say to the other. Patton didn’t want to talk to Virgil unless he was ready to apologize, but he couldn’t tell if Virgil was moping in self-loathing or simmering in self-righteous anger. 

It didn’t matter. Patton knew he had done the right thing; he hated the idea that he might have driven Virgil away, but if this was what finally drove a stake in their fragile friendship then so be it. Patton wasn’t going to come crawling back if Virgil had finally chosen his family’s path of darkness. Despite his eating habits, Patton was stronger than Virgil thought. 

“I’m going hu- out.” Patton called out to the quiet house late one evening, still not comfortable with calling it ‘hunting’. It was an invitation, a peace treaty to let Virgil join him.

There was no response.

With a sigh, Patton walked out the door, letting his feet travel at a mortal speed as he wandered into the woods. He shoved his hands into his pockets, kicking idly at a few stray pebbles. He winced, watching his superhuman strength kick the rocks far out into the distance, where Patton heard the yelp of an injured animal. Quickly he rushed in that direction, pushing the underbrush aside to view a dazed fox.

“Oh, you poor thing…” Patton cooed, but his fangs were already extending. The frightened animal began to whimper, and Patton tried to shush it as he placed his hands down to keep it still. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m sorry, it will only hurt for a second-”

The fox yelped again when Patton bit down, the bitter blood filling his mouth. Patton drank his fill, wiping at his lips as soon as the animal started to go limp.

“I’m sorry.” Patton whispered again, licking the wound clean. He gagged a bit, getting dirt in his mouth before setting the fox on the forest floor. Its’ breaths were shallow, but present. At least Patton could still control himself tonight. Some needed rest and the fox could still live.

“Aww, look at that.” A sly voice purred, and Patton felt his undead veins turn cold. “The little pet’s still got no bite.”

Patton kept his head down, knelt on the forest floor submissively as he tried to figure out how he was going to get out of this. How had they found him? 

“What’s the matter, Patty-cake?” A second voice giggled, and Patton nearly cried out at his poor luck. Just one of Virgil’s relatives was enough. “Has our brother’s plaything finally lost his voice?”

“I think perhaps you’ve forgotten your manners.” The first one growled, and a gloved hand smacked painfully along the side of Patton’s face, sending him sprawling.

It seemed this was the trigger for action. Within moments a shadowy figure launched itself out of the glade, Virgil having heard the commotion from the hovel. 

“Leave him alone, Deceit.” Virgil growled, standing protectively between his brothers and Patton as the latter hastily stood up. 

“Oh Virgil, it’s been decades.” Deceit groaned, looking bored as Remus stood at Deceit’s left side. The two held twin smirks, both clearly gloating at having found the weaker pair again. “I thought by now you’d be past this whole rebellious goody-two-shoes act.”

“What the hell is your problem!” Virgil screeched. “You both have plenty of vampires in your stupid little bubble, there’s no need to drag us back into your mess.”

“Oh come now, you know we’re always looking for new toys~” Remus waggled his fingers in Patton’s direction, giving Patton a wink. 

“Look at it, it’s starving.” Deceit made a tut-tut noise. “Oh Patton, I do apologize for my brother’s behavior. Come with us, darling. We can show you the care you need.”

“I don’t need anything from you.” Patton spat. 

Remus growled, his smile fading. “Why, you little-!”

“Wait.” Deceit stuck out an arm, stopping Remus as he gave a sniff of the air. “Do you smell that?”

Virgil paled, knowing what was getting them so riled up as Remus sniffed too. He had hoped that a few days would give them a slight bit of cover, but the scent of Logan and Roman was still ingrained in their clothing.

“Borrowers.” Remus gasped, gleefully clapping his hands. He lunged forwards, shoving Virgil easily to the ground. “Oooh, and they haven’t even eaten them yet!”

“What luck- I was feeling a bit peckish.” Deceit licked his lips, his eyes glowing dangerously.

“Run!” Virgil hissed, ducking from beneath his brother, grabbing Patton’s hand and dashing towards the edge of the woods. Underfed as they were, they stood no chance of winning a fight. They also couldn’t outrun the stronger vampires. Within moments the brothers were at their heels, cackling. Virgil could tell they weren’t even putting in their full effort.

“Look out!” Patton instructed, gripping Virgil’s arm tightly as they attempted to duck beneath branches and leap overturned roots. It was a difficult task, traveling at such vampiric speeds. At least this was their home, and therefore easier to navigate. The other pair could be heard stumbling and cursing, likely Remus running into Deceit’s path. They had never been very cohesive.

Virgil paused, uncertain where to go once they ran out of forest. They couldn’t lead his brothers home- after all, vampires could travel into each other’s homes. There would be no solitude there. Effectively they were trapped.

Patton seemed to have other ideas. “This way!” Patton instructed, dashing towards the streetlights glow. Hopefully the vampires wouldn’t follow them into civilization.

Unfortunately, Patton underestimated their obsession with borrowers. With a shriek he felt himself pulled back, scraped along the sidewalk only halfway across town.

“Patton!” Virgil whirled around, ducking under the swipe of Remus’ claws as instead he fought to save his friend.

Patton kicked up, nailing Deceit in the jaw and forcing the vampire to loosen his grip momentarily. Before he could take advantage of this though, Deceit was on top of him, snarling in his face. 

“I ought to tear out your throat for your insolence.” Deceit informed him, his breath forming goosebumps on Patton’s neck. 

Patton didn’t think about his next action. Survival instincts took over, and he snapped at Deceit’s face. 

The elder reeled back. “Feisty, aren’t we?”

“Get off him!” Virgil tackled his brother to the ground, the two rolling out into the street. 

“Virgil!” Patton cried, surprised when Remus said the same thing. The two shared a surprised glance before racing into the street with different intentions.

Quickly the four were engaged in a violent scuffle, limbs getting yanked and hair being pulled. Patton felt several times a joint painfully found his ribs, certain they would leave a bruise. So engaged in tearing at each other’s throats, not a single immortal noticed the threat approaching until it was too late. The truck honked, headlights blazing. Under normal circumstances any one of them could have dodged, but entangled as they were the vampires were not fast enough and the silver hood plowed right into them.

As it turns out, automobiles and vampires do not mix.

 Even with their super strength that amount of force was enough to leave a good bruise, and the fact that it was made partially of silver, a vampire’s known weakness… let’s just say all four were sure to feel that in the morning as they painfully skidded several hundred feet across the asphalt.

Patton groaned, ironically taking the least damage because of his more human qualities giving the silver little effect over him. His first instinct was to rush over to the truck, where it had swerved off the road into a small patch of grass. The airbags had gone off and the front of the car was wrecked, but looking inside the human was still alive.

While Patton called for an ambulance, Virgil slowly lifted his head. Everything ached, and Virgil felt like he could sleep for a million years and never heal. A Quick glance around showed the brothers had disappeared, either having scoured off with their tail between their legs or the truck had simply knocked them into next week.

But that didn’t mean they were safe. “C’mon.” Patton urged, stumbling over to where Virgil was. He hefted Virgil up by the arm, helping lift his friend despite his legs trembling. “We have to get out of here. The human medics can’t see us.”

“We- we can’t stay here.” Virgil gasped, clutching onto Patton like a lifeline. “If we go home they’ll just attack us tomorrow night. And if we try to skip town, they'll just watch us leave and follow us…” Not to mention, they were running out of time. Virgil glanced wearily at the sky. He wondered if he truly would turn to ash if the sun touched him in this state.

Patton paused, biting his lip as he seemed to be heavily debating something. “I...I think I know somewhere we can go.”

Virgil didn’t ask questions, simply allowing Patton to lead them both further down the street. 

Patton grimaced, limping along at the fastest pace he could manage. There was no doubt the brothers would recover faster, considering how unhealthy and weak Virgil and Patton both were. Patton only knew of one place that was vampire-proof, and he hoped the occupants could find it in their hearts to forgive him enough to let them take sanctuary for the night. 

Taking a deep breath, Patton knocked on Thomas’ front door.

 It was several moments before Thomas made it to the door. It was well into the night after all. Well, more like very early morning at this point. Thomas yawned and wondered who the heck was at his door at this time. He opened the door, his eyes widening when his eyes fell on Patton. “Patton? What are you doing here? And why do you look like you were hit by...a…” Thomas trailed off as he took in the person next to Patton.

 “Ah! Patton, get away from him!” Thomas cowered, recognizing the sight of the vampire that had tried to drink his blood.

“...oh, bite me.” Virgil cursed under his breath, wondering why the universe would be so cruel.

“What?” Patton gave a confused momentary glance between the two. “I- Thomas, please, this is my friend, Virgil. I know this looks… weird, but please, can we come in? I can explain everything.”

 “Patton, that’s a vampire! He tried to suck my blood! Just...Patton back away slowly. If you come into my house, Vampires can’t come in without permission right? You’ll be safe in here.” He said, still cowering half-way behind his door and looking between Patton and Virgil, urging Patton to come to him.

If looks could kill, Virgil would most certainly disintegrate at the look Patton gave him. “You what?”

“I didn’t drink his blood.” Virgil defended weakly. He turned to the human. “Look, sorry, I didn’t realize you were Patton’s friend. We’re cool, yeah? Let us in already.”

 “Like I’m going to fall for that! You-You probably have Patton hypnotized don’t you! Let him go!” Thomas yelled, glaring at the vampire. Though it didn’t appear very threatening, since he was still shaking a hiding behind his door.

“That’s not how hypnosis works, you idiot.” Virgil sneered.

“Virgil I swear to the high heavens I will throw you to the giant werewolves.” Patton glanced up at the fading moon as if it would grant him patience. He closed his eyes, before once again giving Thomas a pleading glance. “Thomas, I promise you, I’m not hypnotized, and… and we really need help. The sun will be out soon. Nobody is going to hurt you, I promise, but please, just let us in, even for a day?”

 Thomas shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away from the red ones of the vampire. “N-No! Patton, why can’t you just come in? I-I’ll help you but I’m not trusting a-a vampire!”

Virgil raised an eyebrow, glancing at Patton and wondering why he hadn’t told his human the truth.

Patton bit his lip, tears sprouting at the corner of his eyes at Thomas’ harsh words, even if Patton knew they weren’t directed at him. Not intentionally, at least. Yet. His mind helpfully supplied.

“Please.” Patton weakly pleaded, out of options. “Please trust me, Thomas. We’re- we’re friends, aren’t we?”

 “Patton, of-of course. But this vampire, he-he must have tricked you or something. Please, as my friend, just trust me and get away from him!” Thomas pleaded, only wanting Patton-and himself-to be safe.

“Virgil’s my friend, too!” Patton insisted, frustrated that he couldn’t go inside even if he wanted to; but of course, he couldn’t leave Virgil. Not like this. “He- he’s a little misguided, but he’s not all bad, I promise!”

 “How do you know that! I wouldn’t put it past a vampire to trick people! He probably just wants our blood!” Thomas practically shouted.

“Stop freaking out!” Patton put up a hand hastily. “It’s not like that! I- I mean if he wanted my blood, he would have taken it already, right?” Patton gave an awkward laugh, hating that the statement was true. If a few hundred years late.

 “Maybe he’s using you to get to me so he can have twice as much blood!” Thomas reasoned. “Patton, why are you trying to defend a vampire. They kill people.” It was a surprise the vampire wasn’t killing Patton right now. But he supposed he was still hoping to get in his house to have more than his fill of human blood.

“They don’t kill people, they just drink blood.” Patton corrected a bit bitterly. “And that doesn’t even make sense. Vampires can’t even drink two human fulls of blood in one sitting, it’s physically impossible!”

 Thomas blinked and suddenly he was eyeing Patton warily. “How do you know that?” Thomas asked carefully, hoping it was just a tidbit of knowledge Patton had picked up.

Patton froze. “I...I’m friends with a vampire.” Patton winced, gesturing to Virgil.

 “And...why are you friends with a vampire?  How are you friends with a vampire?” Thomas asked, feeling as though Patton was hiding something.

“The same way I’m friends with anyone, I guess…” Patton said timidly, shrinking in on himself.

 “No, no, you don’t just become friends with a vampire, Patton.” Thomas looked at Patton, really looked at him. “Patton...what are you hiding?”

“Look, Thomas was it?” Virgil huffed, frustrated that a human dared to grill his Patton like this. “Patton just got hit by a truck. Forgive him for not being chatty, and let us in so he can get some ice packs.”

 “What?! A-A truck?!” Thomas yelled in shock. He looked Patton over but...something didn’t seem right. “Wait...but...if you were hit by a truck then...h-how are you even standing?”

Virgil tensed, realizing his mistake. “Well I really took the blunt of the blow…”

Patton had gone silent, clammed up as he stared at Thomas like a deer in headlights.

 “Patton?” Thomas swallowed nervously. He was mentally adding up everything he knew about Patton in his head...and he wasn’t liking the answer. “Are...Are you a vampire?”

Patton licked his lips nervously, always hating this part. The distrust. The betrayal. The rejection. “...yes.” He answered, in a voice so quiet it almost didn’t exist at all.

 Thomas froze, looking at Patton with something akin to betrayal. “I-I...I can’t, I…” Thomas shook his head and was about to close the door and bury himself in bed when two faint voices shouted from behind him.

 “Wait!” Thomas turned around, his eyes widening as he saw two tiny people standing on his coffee table.

 “Wh-What?” Was all Thomas could get out.

 Roman and Logan both looked at each other. They had heard the ruckus, recognized the voices and had come here immediately. Sure, they were still weary of Virgil but...they trusted Patton enough for the two of them. They turned back to the vampires, still standing in the doorway.

 “You two can come in.” Roman was the one to say, hoping it worked.

[trashpandaorigins]

The Body Keeps the Score: Ch. 11 The Tell Tale....?

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

I came in from the wilderness, a creature void of form

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

---

I'll always do my best for her, on that I give my word

In a world of steel-eyed death, and men who are fighting to be warm

Come in, she said

I'll give ya shelter from the storm

Shelter from the Storm - Bob Dylan

“I know what I said,” Rocket did not bother to suppress the growl in this tone. He glared at his data pad and the over-sized head of the Nova officer.

“Then she must be taken into custody. What are your coordinates?”

“I told yah we’re in the Keystone Quadrant.” The thing in his chest, heart or not palpated with fright. He swallowed it down with the help of trinquelian liquor.

“All the more reason for you to hand her over,” even on a screen the Nova officer’s smug grin made Rocket want to shoot something-well more than usual. 

“We’ve been getting reports of two individuals bearing a Halfworld insignia. Something acidic swelled up in the raccoonoid’s belly. He clenched his fists tight. “We’ll pay you extra for any information you can give us on Lady Gamora’s continued behavior, her combat status, and,” the officer continued, “we will continue to keep our mouths shut on your whereabouts should those Halfworlders come looking.”

“I said she threatened me,” he glanced over at Groot who fiddled with a disarmed treian bomb. “I ain’t said she acted on the threat.”

“That’s a chance you’re willing to take?”

Rocket’s ears flicked backward, baring his teeth.

“I’ll let you know if she does anything fishy.”

He tapped the screen watching the Nova officer’s face face away.

Poor kid, Groot let out a squeak as air from the bomb popped off.

“Careful Groot, you’re gonna hurt yourself!”

The little flora only stared at him inquisitively and smiled wide eyed. The thing in Rocket’s heart quivered, he sighed, running a paw through his fur.

“Made this for you bud,” he murmured, reaching over his work bench to a small, finely crafted gun. Made of smooth, opret metal. Durable but light, not too flashy, but pleasing to the eye. He’d painted it a bright light green over the barrel. Groot toddled closer, his brittle roots still fragile. Rocket knelt down beside him, showing him the gun. “It shoots water, see?” With the pull of the trigger a small jet of water escaped the gun, arching passed Groot and splashing onto the floor.

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah you can!” Rocket couldn’t help a laugh as the flora grabbed for the toy. He watched Groot play with the thing happily, shooting it off and watching the water splash.

“I am Groot!”

“Yeah bud, it’s for you. All yours.”  The little flora ignored him, running around the cramped engine room shooting off the toy gun. The raccoonoid watched,  ears slowly drooping. He sighed, slumping, cybernetics in his back relaxing for a moment, tugging on his skin abated. Groot laughed as several droplets of water hit against his face. Rocket closed his eyes, savoring that sound. Those three words.

“Groot, c’mere you can change the kinda water that comes out. Lemme show….FUCK!”

Rocket toppled, stomach spinning. His forepaws, and tail all sailing through the air in a sickening hurdle. He crashed against the storage cabinets, weapons and stray parts cascading down around him.

“Groot!” He shoved a large tube off himself, scrambling around for the little flora.

This ship tilted left as Rocket scampered on all fours, claws trying to get a grip on the aluminum floor.

“Groot!”

“Mmmm grooo!”

A small leaf poking out of the mess of tools sent Rocket panicking. He grabbed the small flora in his arms, quickly looking him over for any wounds.

“You okay?” Groot nodded, but sniffed, keeping his little body curled. Rocket pulled him to his chest, claws shielding him against another violent shake of the ship. “Shit, shit, shit!”

He held Groot to him, running on three legs, trying to balance against the Benatar’s jolting down the narrow halls to the cockpit.

“Who the flark is flying this thing?!”

“That would be Quill,” Drax nodded towards the humie who let out his own string of expletives from the helm.

Rocket teetered towards the copilot seat, then stopped in his tracks.

“Thats….”

On the starboard side, a flare of yellow fire burst and spread across the dark tableau of space, illuminating the Benatar.

“It’s a solar storm,” Gamora gapsed. The crack in her voice not going unnoticed to his capable ears.

Rocket leapt up into the co pilot seat, unlocking the steering controls and twisting the ship to the leeward side avoiding another flare.

“Groot!” The little flora tumbled from his place against Rocket’s chest, hitting the ground with a small thump “You alright?!”

“I am Groot!”

The ship groaned, another flash of fiery orange covering the large windows.

“Dude watch where we’re going!” Quill shouted, revving the engines and diving down under the flare. Drax let out a hooting laugh, as they swerved the ship around two more exploding flares.

“You didn’t read this on the radar?” Rocket growled, grunting as he swung the Benatar around another explosion. The humie glanced behind him, the raccoonoid followed his look to Gamora, scrutinizing the radar trying to anticipate the next flare.

“You got a read on Nebula’s ship didn’t you?!” He snarled.

“Rocket this isn’t the time,” she reprimanded. “We have bigger problems on our hands!”

“Clearly you don’t think so! You’d rather…” Something hissed, the Benatar buckling. All five of them screaming.

Beep, beep, beep, beep!

The red alarms blared.

“Quill! When I say now, take her around the horn!”

Rocket squinted through the harsh white light, waiting for the flare to thin out.

“Now!”

A collective scream rose once more as the Benatar swerved around the rim of a small sun, the hot air currents sending the ship surging up and around. The ship fishtailed, tremoring. Lights flashed. Rocket sniffed,  somethin’s burnin’.

BEEP BEEP BEEP

“Everyone okay?” The human called,

“I am well! This is quite fun!” Drax looked wide eyed straight at the bright lights.

“I’m fine,” Gamora seethed.

“Groot?....GROOT?!”

“Shit,” Quill whispered, white knuckling the steering and flinging the Benatar around a small sunburst just in time. The ship rolled on the hot air let off from the blast like a ship on the writhing ocean. “Groot wandered off to the storage area… that’s where…”

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Rocket glanced at the cameras, a fire in the main storage unit in the rear of the ship. Flames licked the containers. His stomach dropped. He fiddled with the seat belt, heaving for breath.

“Stay there,” Gamora ordered, already on her feet, flying out of the cockpit, down the hall towards the rear. Rocket bared his teeth, pulling his eyes back to the solar storm. He panted, heat from the fire inside and outside of the ship beginning to take its toll.

“Dude we have to get out of here! The ships on fire!”

“I know!”

The humie dipped under another large blast,

“We can land on Recseta. It’s only a jump away!”

Rocket nodded, but his eyes remained glued to the cameras, he spotted Gamora in the storage unit, shielding her face from the flames.

Cmon Groot….where are you bud?!

The mechanical thing in his chest threatened to explode it beat so fast, he gripped the steering controls so tight the metal scratched.

“Read….”

BOOM!

The Benatar jerked violently, Rocket closed his eyes against the straps holding him in. Pressing him downward, his insides threatening to empty. The lights on the controls blinked, fuzzed and went black. Sweat poured down Quill’s face.

“Why is it so hot?”

“Groot!”

Rocket leaned forward, staring at the shorted out screen, as if to will it back online. No luck.

“Here comes the jump! Rocket, punch it!”

The human’s voice called him back from his panic. Rocket thrust the steering forward, sending the ship surging forward. There was a sickening jolt, Quill muttered something, struggling to land through the dense trees.

Rocket adjusted the landing gears as the ship gradually slowed. A plume of black smoke billowing out of the starboard side.

“I...I got him,” the raccoonoid spun in his seat. Gamora leaned on the side of Quill’s chair, one arm gripping it tightly. On the other hand, Groot curled, scared and whimpering but otherwise unharmed. “There was an explosion.”

“Yeah we got that,” Rocket seethed, he grabbed Groot from Gamora’s hold. “You alright bud?”

“I..a...am G...grooot!”  The little face nodded but curled in on himself.

“He good?” Quill asked, the raccoonoid nodded.

“Good. Gamora….?”

The assassin nodded, silencing Quill’s further fretting.

---

The Benatar would be alright, after some repair. The bulk of the damage consisted mostly of the internal storage units, and some external hits but nothing permanent. Rocket surveyed the extent of the fires after they’d made sure everyone was okay. He and Quill took turns cooling the exterior of the ship, while Drax had offered to move any cargo into the living quarters temporarily. Even Groot “helped,” pushing containers around and trying to open the safes.

“Where’s Gamora, she should be helpin’ us. She got us into this mess,” the raccoonoid fumed.

“Just give her a break man, she got pretty burnt up trying to get Groot.”

Rocket waited for the end of that sentence, “when you should’ve been watching him.” But it didn’t come.

“Whatever, I’m going to find her. No one gets out of repair duty!”

He dropped his tools and hopped down from the wing of the ship

Recseta was an arboreal planet. Largely uninhabited due to its size and remote location even within the Keystone Quadrant.

“Gams! Gamora!” Rocket called, wandering through the trees. He kept one paw on his holster, just in case. “Gams! Gaaaammmoooorrrraaaa! Ga…”

He sniffed, once, twice. Dirt, steele, sweat, a slight burning. That’s her.

Rocket’s ears swiveled towards the smell. Through the lengthy shadows of the trees he spotted her, sitting hunched over her arm; no doubt trying to look at her wounds. Her shoulders trembled as she worked.

Something else too ….salt...water...tears? Ppppsh no way.

He crept closer, watching her.

“You’re never gonna cool the entire thing at that angel.” Rocket folded his arms, leaning against the rough bark of a tree. He sniffed the earthen moisture of the air, combined with the scent of tang of smoking metal.

“Are you offering assistance?” Gamora growled, trying to turn over her shoulder to get a better view of the wound. She held the cooling pen at an awkward position trying to focus on the torn wires and metal beneath the skin, wincing as the icy plasma-like substance graced her skin. She muttered a curse, adjusting her grip and attempting again. In the hazy twilight it was difficult to determine wire from vein.

“Since you’re askin’.” Rocket watched her left arm spasm twice more before sighing, heaving himself up, with an exaggerated sigh and striding towards her. “Gimme that.”

She relinquished the cooling pen without question, facing forward and curling her fingers around the fallen log on which she sat. Rocket pushed a nearby rock through the dirt several feet and climbed up, balancing on the top just the right height to hover over the woman’s shoulder. The darkness of the forest was no problem for his vision, he almost wished it was. The damage she’d taken from that explosive was extensive. Besides frying the cybernetics in her shoulder the elaborate wiring under her flesh bubbled and raised in angry black grey lines across the shoulder blade to the side of her spine and up the back of her neck.

Using the tip of the instrument, he traced over the cybernetic coils twisting in and out of her muscle tissue. White-blue liquid encapsulated the smoking wires, instantly cooling them. Gamora’s muscles twitch involuntarily with the chill.

“Stop moving,” he admonished. Without thinking of it the raccoonoid raised a paw, placing it against her other shoulder, little claws curling around the natural curve of the bone beneath flesh. Her skin was smooth, not perfect of course-stubble goosebumps raised on her skin, a million little hairs bent to and throw in the breeze. She stiffened but did not move as he worked his way around the socket of her shoulder. The metal of her implants set flush against her skin around the bend in her collar bone, contouring naturally. So carefully done, custom.  The engineering was flawless. The time it must have taken to weave the thin wires and paneling with skin was inexplicable. Especially around the curve of her face. How long did she have to lie still….did she remain still? Did they strap her down or manually hold her? Did they put her in a cage? Ha no….ain’t no cage strong enough to hold Gamora. But...one could’ve stayed still for long, they probably drugged her with stars know what.

For all that they’d done to his body and his brain...they’d never touched his face apart from his eyes. The face is so sensitive the flesh so thin...this must've taken at least several procedures for hours at a time…. Rocket shifted his weight, shivering, curving around the ball of her arm, carefully positioning the device to cool the tiny cybernetics that continued their way down her arm, lost to blood and bone.

The wind through the trees ruffled his fur and the distant unseen chorus of bugs continued making the dark silence more bearable.  He looked over the open wound once more, satisfied with the cooling.

“I can’t get anymore than that,” he explained  looking at the undulating black tentacles of fried cybernetics beneath the skin. “Only way to do those would be to open you up. You’ll have to wait it out, they should cool in a few days on their own.”

“That’s fine,” she answered shortly, making to get up. Rocket reached down beside her on the large fallen tree for the cloth already disheveled and stained with blood. He swiped it up, dabbing tenderly around the torn edges of her skin. Beneath his other paw, still resting on her shoulder he could feel her relax, sitting back in place.

“You shouldn’t have done that. If that fire had been any closer it would’ve disabled your whole system.” It came out a harsh growl, more-so then he meant.

“Groot would have been blown apart. Again,” she defended. “Besides these injuries are minor compared to …. others. I can handle it.”

“Just because you can doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Gamora huffed, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

A gust of wind howled between them, sending a large piece of the assassins’s black-marroon hair sweeping down her back. She reached backward, gathering her hair up and holding it at the nape of her skull. From far off, the lights of the Benatar cast an almost moonlit glow. The metal in Gamora’s shoulder shone, reflecting in Rocket’s nocturnal eyes. He picked up the sutures with trembling paws.

It was much easier to patch up an inanimate object like a bomb or a gun. Metal didn’t feel anything. You could pulverize it as much as you wanted. You could push and pull flesh pretty damn well too. If you didn’t mind the screaming that usually went with it. He figured Gamora knew that truth too.

“Hang on, this might hurt. Move your head.”

She bent her head slightly to the right, and he moved his other paw, resting ever so carefully on her neck making sure to keep his claws as retracted as possible. Beneath the thin green skin, he could feel her pulse thrum in a steady rhythm. So delicate, unlike anything else about her. He  worked the stitches with dexterous, nimble hands weaving in and out. Her neck tensed.

“Ahh,” she winced.

“S’alright, it hurts.” Rocket murmured  by way of an apology. He poked the needle through her skin, watching the blood pucker up.  

“ When Thanos made yah,” he broached slowly, “did he keep all your insides in tact?” Slowly her green skin knit together and he adjusted his grip moving to steady the center of her spine with his other paw. The flesh was thin there too, though not as smooth.

“My cybernetics are muscular and skeletal.” He nodded. The gradient of her flesh changed, a scar twisted there, a ribbon of skin still healing here. More metal beneath the surface, he could feel it as he pressed.

“That’s good at least. I don’t know how much of me is actually me,” he admitted softly. “Sometimes I wonder if I even got a heart that’s my own or if that’s just a piece of metal too.”

Her left arm moved as she shifted her weight, her torso inflating with the breath she sucked through her teeth as he continued to work the flesh. Rocket finished tying off the final stitch with a snap, biting it off with his pointed teeth.  Gamora shuddered, the vibrations of which he could feel through his paws.

“All set.”

He waited for her to get up briskly but...she didn’t. He didn’t move either. The insects sung around the two of them, the trees filing the space. In the twilight purple haze they sat. The raccoonoid looked at his paws, one of them still resting on Gamora’s back, the other on her shoulder. He didn’t move them even as he realized it. Together they sat together breathing.

Finally, Gamora turned around, looking at him. Her large usually imperceptible eyes soft. He followed her gaze as it wandered over his small frame, resting finally on the raised bolts under his collar bones and the bald bits of knotted skin, raised and riddled with rough scar tissue. She reached out, hand trembling; fingers brushed the cold metal. The last person who touched those bolts, was the person putting them in.

“You were awake when they did this to you,” she whispered calmly. The raccoonoid didn’t dare ask how she knew.

You go under the knife enough times you start getting an immunity to the anesthetics. It takes more and more to knock you out….and keep you out. Eventually it’s more trouble than it’s worth.

He watched her scrutinize the implants with knowing eyes. Measuring the angle at which they were inserted, how the bolts functioned to expand his front limbs and give him a chest. But she wouldn’t ask anything aloud; she was too kind, too careful.

The blinding cold lights, the pinching restraints, the biting needles. He’d never told anyone anything about his creation, not in such detail not even to Groot. But Gamora...she got made too...by Thanos. And that asshole probably didn’t treat her no better than they treated me.

Rocket clenched his jaw shut, else his memories might come pouring out, covered in blood and visera. He yearned so desperately to tell Gamora everything. Every agonizing pang that every wracked him, every night he shivered in a windowless cage waiting for those gloved hands to strip him and beat him and break him and make him and unmake him and make him again. Whatever the thing was in his chest, mechanical or natural that pumped his blood-it tightened with yearning to speak his pain  to someone who knew. They’d each done terrible things to silence the voice of their anguish, of their pasts, but sitting here in this nighttime with her he longed to tell her what it was that turned him into this monster. He swallowed the urge, he wouldn’t say a thing,. Selfish as he was, Gamora had felt her own share of agonies. She didn’t need to hold his.

Gamora moved her hand slowly, reaching out and opening her palm for him to take her hand. Against his own inhibitions, Rocket grasped it, grateful. Fingers closed around his paw. Her skin was rougher there, calloused and raised from years of wielding a blade, but no less warm.

He squeezed her hand, it was all he could do. She squeezed his hand back, her large inexplicably sharp eyes looking at him. With the same deftness as Groot ...the old Groot. But different too, where the old Groot had always looked upon him with boundless empathy Gamora held his gaze with a mutual sorrow. A shared anguish they both carried within themselves though they were far from their creators. Even still, their bodies kept the score of years of violence and manipulation. Rocket sniffed, the scent of the assassin mingled with the trees and dirt, with the damp soil and the used metal instruments.

She stroked his paw incessantly, as if she were reassuring herself of something.

“Thank you,” she murmured looking down at their hands.

“Don’t mention it.”

She nodded in affirmation and stood up, walking back through the trees to the ship, leaving the raccoonoid alone once more. Rocket fought down the tears behind his eyes. How long they had been there, he didn’t know. What had provoked them, he wasn’t sure.  He watched her go until she was lost to the darkness once more. He curled his paw in a small fist, trying to hold on to whatever feeling was contained therein. Loneliness crashed upon him once more, he sniffed and straightened, hopping down from the rock and gathering the medical supplies.

---

“I am Groot!”

Back on the ship, some time later, Rocket turned, the tiny flora nudged the data bad towards him, blinking with the missed message of the day.

Nova.

The raccoonoid’s paws trembled as he clicked it on,

“This ...this is s...Subject 89P13.” He stole himself a breath, closing his eyes. “Gamora’s cybernetics have been damaged.” His fur bristled. “We hit a solar storm and she got hurt. I managed to do some repairs but…” he swallowed. “Her enhancements are operating at sixty percent. We’re on Recseta.”

He shut the mic off,  hurling the device against the room. It smacked against the far side of the pipes with a clatter.

He slid down against the wall to the floor, rubbing his eyes with the back of his paws.

“I am Groot?”

Rocket only shook his head, reaching for a bottle of isertine ale.

[tenyatrash]

Galtean Klance AU Meet-Cute

Hello! I’m going through my GDrive and uploading all the pieces that I wrote for apps and then never posted.

Here’s my first ever Klance piece, which is a short one-shot of two guardsmen from different species meeting in an Altean courtyard after a tree-climbing expedition goes awry. Come for bored Galran Keith, stay for smarmy Altean Lance’s attempts to flirt (with mixed results).  

Read it here or below the cut:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19781197

Keith flicks through the security report as his foot skims the purple flowers in the garden below. He’s been ordered to be polite, to be open, to make himself available to their Altean hosts. He wouldn’t half mind, but all the sunshine and pastels are a tad much, and he’s pretty sure he’s developing a pollen allergy.

Still, he’s heard the speech enough times not to bother protesting.

“Guardsmen, you stand in the legacy of Voltron! Voltron: a shining symbol of the peace and prosperity that we can all experience when our races stand together, united by bonds of brotherhood and love.”

Yada, yada, yada.

Look, it’s not like he has anything against Voltron, or the concept of cooperation (at least in theory). But no matter how many speeches the top brass gives or how many weapons they allow the Honor Guard to carry, nothing can change the fact that this is diplomatic duty, and his sworn oath iss...to defend an Altean courtyard.

“To the death,” he snorts in a mock salute to an overly curious honey-catcher that has decided his hair might be some special new flower, worthy of investigation.

A pair of boys with cotton candy hair enter the peaceful enclave, screaming in childish joy as their shared kite takes to the wind (before promptly getting tangled in a tree). They’re soon followed by an older girl who seems more seafoam than Altean, so wild and overwhelming is her gauzy dress and loose-bound hair. The boys pull on her hands and entreat her to rescue their kite from its new home in the iridescent leaves of the Balaa tree. Keith sees her point in his direction and he has to suppress the sudden and intense urge to flee, dereliction of duty be damned. Sure enough, moments later his relatively peaceful existence is shattered by two chattering boys, who fall over themselves as they beg him to retrieve their paper dragon.

“Uh, that’s not really-”

Big eyes look up at him. Holy flames, are they crying? Over this?

He imagines the security debriefing, where he has to explain why Senator So-and-so’s child was weeping about evil Galra, and admits defeat. With his luck, these are probably royal princes and that kite is actually some sacred treasure.

“Alright. Let’s...go climb a tree, I guess.”

The boys scream in ear-splitting joy as they grab two gauntleted hands and drag him to his quarry. This is not what he intended when he joined the garrison and declared his intent to become a great protector. ... Climbing the tree takes an embarrassingly long time.

The Balaa is taller and smoother than it appeared on first glance, and when Keith pulls a dagger to help with his ascent, Ms. Mermaid nearly faints before the boys, (brothers, it turns out), explain to him, as if he’s very young and very stupid, that the Balaa tree is very sensitive and very special and he can’t, under any circumstances, damage it.

Because of course the kite had to get caught in a magic tree. Because that’s Keith’s luck.

He ends up having to give up his weapons, his boots, and his gauntlets before he’s allowed to continue his valiant efforts at conquering the tree. At some point, his audience offers to let him give up, their faith in their hero dwindling with each failed attempt. But Keith is stubborn. This isn’t about the tree or the kite anymore, it’s about his honor. As a Galra. As a man.

That’s how he ends up alone and stuck in a Balaa tree as the sun sets and the moons rise. Soap-bubble leaves seem to giggle at him as he gives up and lays flat on his back, waving his prize in the air, making laser sounds with his mouth as he imagines it’s one of the Empire’s fighters instead of a pastel toy.

“Need some help up there, Ace?”

Keith looks down and locks eyes with one of the Altean guardsmen, a tall man with dusty lilac hair, softly shining armor, and brilliant, luminescent markings that shine like stars in the fading light of the walled garden.

Keith coughs and tries to hide the toy behind his back, which necessitates sitting up, which upsets his balances which...is how he ends up falling directly into the arms of the smarmiest Altean he’s ever met.

Look, mistakes were made. He just hopes none of the other members of the garrison are seeing this.

“Wha-? How?”

He blinks up in confusion, something his rescuer takes full advantage of as the Altean fires off a dazzling smile and leans in close, whispering:

“I’m Lance, and you’re right here in my arms.”

Keith wonders if punching counts as rudeness in this situation. He sighs. Probably. Instead, the grumpy Galra reaches forward and pinches his rescuer’s cheeks, the surprise attack giving him time to find his own feet and to enjoy the positively undignified (and very un-Altean) squeak that Lance lets out as he rubs at his markings and glares at his not-so-grateful comrade.

“Oh, come on! What are you, part snick?”

“Yeah. It’s an ancient Galra secret. We all have secret pincher powers.”

Keith sets down the kite while Lance pouts. If the kids care about it, they can come find it in the morning. For now, he turns away from Lance and starts putting on his discarded armor, hopping awkwardly on one foot as he tries to force a boot back on. Lance, cheeks and self-confidence rapidly re-inflating, tries to make small talk with the very cute, very distant Galra Honor Guard. He’ll woo him right here in a stunning adaptation of the beloved romance opera, “Rielle and the Forbidden Meringue.” This is his chance to showcase his intellect, his ardour, his way with words:

“So...you like gardens? Altean gardens, I mean? You...come out here often?”

Keith, newly rebooted, looks up and quirks an eyebrow. Smooth Lance, real smooth.

“Well, it’s my duty station. So yes, I’m here often.”

Lance waits for a continuation of the conversation, maybe some playful banter, but he’s bound for disappointment. That’s okay though. He’s a stubborn man, according to everyone who knows him and several who don’t, which he considers a point of personal pride.

“My posting too, but I guess our shifts don’t overlap.”

“Lucky.”

“Huh?”

Keith sighs and looks around as he picks up the abandoned security report and looks out across the darkened courtyard, enjoying the way the moons bathe the sleeping foliage in hues of plum and cerulean.

“This is my first time seeing it, but...I like it better at night. The colors, the sounds...it’s more like home. You’re lucky to be alone under the stars instead of suffocating in the sun.”

He blushes faintly and looks away while Lance restrains himself from breaking into song and dance at getting a multi-syllabic reply. He’s the smoothest in the garrison. He knew it!

“Huh..Well, do you want me to show you around, then?”

Keith hesitates.

“Come on, you might like it! And after all, what kind of guardsman would I be if I didn’t try to make you feel more at home?”

There’s a long pause as Keith weighs his options and his interests.

“Fair enough. What kind of guardsman would I be if I didn’t accept the chance to learn more about my post?”

The two men walk in a lazy and winding patrol, their stride occasionally broken by Lance’s antics. First, it’s the way Lance casually slides his arm through Keith’s while explaining the history of a particular birdbath. Then, it’s the way he pulls Keith down to smell a moon-blooming Orva, soft but insistent that his new friend/hostage just has to take a sniff. Keith’s not sure if these are pre-planned or the result of genuine puppy-like enthusiasm, but he finds he doesn’t mind, either way. He’s...enjoying himself, against his better judgment.

They’re at the far side of the garden, where the smooth walls and manicured lawns give way to the trees, when Lance grabs Keith’s hand and pulls him into the forest, heliotrope eyes locked on some small and fluttering thing.

Any protestations that Keith might make die on his lips as he’s pulled into a glade, where a small lunar moth rejoins its fellows, creating an undulating vortex of bioluminescent wings that beat softly around the two guards. Keith feels his mouth tip open as he lets his eyes follow the dives and glides of the creatures against the night sky, their gentle glow tricking his eyes into imagining them reaching all the way to the heavens. Lance has seen the dance of these moths for decades now, but he can’t help but be swept away anew as he watches the way the Galra’s eyes shine like molten gold, the way his lips part in awe as he watches.

He feels Keith’s hands squeeze into his, eyes still bewitched by the patterned and swirling wings.

“It’s...beautiful.”

Lance keeps his eyes on Keith.

“Yes, beautiful.”

Something in the other man’s tone breaks Keith’s focus. He looks down from the moths and the fog clears, pink slowly spreading like a bruise under mauve skin. He’s here, in a glade, in the moonlight, in Altea, holding hands with a stranger, surrounded by…

Wait a second…

He leans in close and can’t resist smirking at the way Lance’s eyes widen at his approach. He’s never been one for romance, but he tries his hand at a seductive whisper all the same:

“Hey, Lance?”

“Un- Yeah?”

“Is it just me, or is this straight outta ‘Rielle and the Forbidden Meringue?’”

And….the spell is broken.

Lance blushes all the way back to the barracks, spastic hand movements and insistences that it was just a coincidence continuing to the unguarded doors just off the side of the garden.

As Keith continues to smirk, Lance jams his hands into the pockets of his cape and mumbles about stupid Galra Diplomatic Envoys and how rude it is to show sacred films to young cadets and ruin the romantic overtures of the native population.

Keith hums to himself as he inputs his security code and turns back to the still pouting Altean. He clicks his tongue good naturedly and reaches out a hesitant hand, first planning to reach for his cheek but panicking at the last minute and instead settling for a head pat.

The rollercoaster of emotions that that simple action incites is enough to break Lance’s mumble-rant.

“Uh?”

Keith gently ruffles the other man’s hair and smiles good-naturedly, hoping he’s not giving himself away too easily. Wow, his hair is soft.

“Film or no, thanks for the tour. Honestly.”

Before Lance can come up with a charming response, Keith leans over and presses a quick kiss against the side of his mouth, nerves and low-lighting throwing off his intended trajectory just a smidge.

While Lance’s brain short circuits, Keith slips into the safety of the barracks, his courage not lasting quite long enough to see how his clumsy attempt at romance was received. It’s a shame, because it means he misses the way the Altean traces the memory of the kiss with trembling fingers, the way he leans up against the wall and smiles up at the moons like a man reborn.

Keith, huh?

[luc1xx0]

This is kind of a long story, so buckle up kids!

I’m pretty sure that I posted a backstory to my comic that Imma delete, but here is an updated version:

 First off: What you already know about the Ink Machine and other details which btw is not my portion of the story, but actually goes to thebbros (that's not a link)

Basically, the ink machine was used to cure people of the ink illness a very long time ago. Once people didn’t need it anymore, it was considered useless, therefore people just allowed the ink machine to slowly but surely break down. 

Fast forward to several centuries later, two fools who were known as the Cup-bros make a dumbass bet to the Devil and lose. They had the choice to either die or to bring back the ink illness. Of course, they go with the second option, and a lot of people start dying because of them. The devil’s power was limited to 50 people a year, so he started spreading it. A lot of people were catching ink illness and dying. Chaos arose and everyone was losing their minds.

 That’s like literally the most inconvenient time for the ink machine to stop running.

 People needed it, but even though they knew its position, nobody knew how to actually repair it. Then, you meet B-bros. Bendy and Boris: Two mechanics and non-blood related brothers who knew what pieces were required to make the ink machine to operate properly. The only problem is that the pieces mysteriously scattered all throughout the land. Bendy gave up and tried to ignore it until he got the ink illness; coincidence I think not! After a lot of crying and praying, an angel gave Boris a map that would assist him while looking for the pieces. Only he and Bendy could see it so there was no point in asking for help. They both went about on their quest to find the pieces, but they didn’t know that they pissed off the Devil. He had no power to stop this, but still had a connection to the Cup-bros, so he lied and told them that he would kill them if they did not stop Bendy and Boris. So then THEY went to complete their task.

And done! With the first section of the story which was just a review for y‘all babtqftim fans. Now, this is part of my story:

Aniya was walking through the park, as she always does during her work breaks. The trees remind her of a forest; Aniya really likes forests because they could be holding any secret in there, like what kind of mystical or non-mystical creatures could be roaming around. She walked to the table closest to the trees and sits there for a few minutes. As she is about to leave, Aniya noticed something on the ground; it was round, smooth, and seems to be glowing. Just out of curiosity, Aniya picked it up and took it with her. 

But what was it?

Answer: Aniya unknowingly took a piece of the Scepter with her. What she found originates back to over a millennium ago. Four sisters shared a medieval kingdom, surrounded by a huge forest where people have believed mystical animals lived there. The Scepter was placed in the heart of the kingdom to show that they claim this land. The Scepter had a beautiful gem that consisted of multiple colors, and at some point of the day, the sun would be perfectly aligned with it.

 The sisters fought all by themselves against demonic creatures, day and night. At the time, they were at their worst, flying and crawling around giving people the most traumatizing horrors that would make them want to just end it all and forget everything that ever happened in their memories. 

At some point in time, they became weak and did not have enough strength to defeat all of these beasts, so they scattered throughout the kingdom, and into people’s heads. The rest of the story goes that people killed themselves and the princesses were kept as hostages. It was a corrupt age, but ultimately, most of the demons died off, and it is very uncommon to see one now. Yet if you did, they are much tamer, and you could not blame them for what their ancestors did. Today, nobody knows what happened to the four siblings, and that will probably remain a puzzle.

The Scepter is still in its place, and is actually now a bit of a tour of the kingdom! Of course, its gems were damaged and fragmented. They went darting in every direction as they molded themselves into amulets. It’s like they have been waiting for the right person ever since. Soon enough there will be the chosen ones, who will help restore harmony and bring people back home. It’s basically like being a superhero; it could be anyone in the world, or they could be standing right in front of you.

Let’s fast forward again!

Aniya has gone home and still doesn’t know that she is not just holding a weird toy.. until it starts gleaming red again. The glowing was not prominent in the middle of the day, but by the time Aniya got home it was night and she did not know what to do when this happened.

She pushes this all aside after she starts coughing a lot. 

At first, Aniya just thought she was seeing things, but then she realized that she was coughing up actual INK. She got very scared because she did not want to feel pain. To bad for her because every last second of that night was a never-ending hell for Aniya. The poor thing was home alone with a dead battery on her phone. She even built up tears, and she never cries.

 Suddenly somebody thrust open the door, and it’s Evey (thank god!!!!). She hears wailing from upstairs and runs as fast as she can to find Aniya on the floor, choking on ink. Holyyyyy shit is how you would describe her reaction. She panicked, but then grabbed a bunch of towels and water and proceeded to clean up Aniya. The ink faded off, and Evey calmed her down put Aniya to bed.

Edit: Even though there were only four sisters who possessed the crystals, part of the power from the tiny broken pieces of them could possibly be inherited by other people. That’s what could possibly make a whole team of heroes that will end the threats.

And there you go! A refreshed version of the backstory! I swear to god I am deleting the original one because this one is so much better! Damn this took like an hour to make. Anyways, I’m so sorry I could not make any art right now. I could try to make paper art, but digital art is just so much better quality. You guys should let me know what you think. If you made it to the end of this post, I hope you have a good night!

 BTW the start of the comic takes place the day after all of this shit.

[shera-dnd]

Assault on Castle Ravenloft Part 2 - Rain

Normal text indicates events happening in the game world while italicized text indicates events happening at the table

Summary: In which the party finally faces off against their foe

Entrapta’s trail was easy to follow, even in mist form. She kept snuffing out torches and killing anything in her path - Catra recognized the work of her own silvered sword - Entrapta was leading them towards her and towards Strahd. She knew she couldn’t kill him alone.

When they finally reached the room where they were meant to fight Strahd for the final time they found it trashed and destroyed. Pieces of furniture had been thrown around and the rain poured in through a hole in the ceiling. It didn’t take much guess work to understand what had happened here.

When they climbed atop the tower to find their targets the storm seemed to pick up strength. The wind and rain threatened to push them out of the tower and the flashes of lightning illuminated the bloody battle that occurred bellow.

Through the rooftops of the castle two forms engaged in brutal combat. Catra still remembers being in awe at the speed and strength of Glimmer’s strikes, but even she paled in comparison to the two monsters she now watched. Were they humans they would’ve killed each other a thousand times over, but as creatures of the night their wounds healed faster than they could open new ones.

For the first time in a long time Catra was afraid, not that she would die by the hand of those creatures, but that she would do so without seeing her home again, without walking through those familiar streets one more time. Her mind was assaulted by images of her and Adora walking hand in hand, of Catra showing her around, of a kiss shared under the moonlight. The pain in her chest was nearly paralysing.

“Catra!” Bow’s voice broke the spell over her “You’re the one attuned to the sword. We need to get you on those rooftops or Strahd is just gonna kill Entrapta and then come for us” He gave her the glider they had found in the crypts “We will give you support from up here” he gave her a pat on the shoulder for good luck and grabbed his crossbow, ready to fight.

Catra armed the glider and prepared herself for the long and dangerous ride down, but was interrupted by a soft hand holding her wrist. It was Adora’s. She turned around to talk to her, but none of them said a word. They just looked into each other’s eyes and they knew what had been said “Don’t die on me”

Catra took a deep breath, looked down one last time and then took a leap of faith. For a moment she feared she would end up dying an undignified death at the hands of gravity and her own lack of foresight. Why didn’t she test this thing before jumping? But the glider held on and she started her slow descent. She nearly didn’t notice the bright golden form flying below her.

“What the hell, Glimmer?” They had gone through all this planning just for her to jump off the fucking tower.

“What? It’s not like I’m gonna take any damage” Glimmer answered with a shrug “It’s a 130ft fall and I would take 1d6 damage for each 10ft. That is 13d6 for a maximum of 78 damage. I can make an acrobatics check to reduce it to 72 damage and my Slow Fall negates 65 fall damage. So even in the worst case scenario I would still only take 7 damage. 6 of which would be non-lethal” Everyone stared at her in stunned silence “What? I can do the math if it means doing dumb shit like that”

The GM shakes their head for a second and adds “Glimmer, mark inspiration” They take a few notes behind their screen and continue “You too, Catra. That whole thing about a kiss under the moonlight was really good”

“Thanks. I’m gonna need it”

Catra slowly glided towards the rooftops, while several magical beams flew around her, knocking alway the bats that tried to surround her. Down below she could see the flashing lights of Glimmer’s constant assault against Strahd. Each hit being punctuated by a shout “Elbow of Hope, Knees of Vengeance, Kicks of Virtue, Headbutt of Justice, Fist of Frien - UGH” Catra didn’t have to see it to know what happened. Strahd just flung Glimmer around like a ragdoll.

Her landing wasn’t exactly the smoothest ever. The rain and the loose roof tiles made slipping down another 100ft far too easy, but Catra still managed to stand on her own two feet just in time to watch Strahd gloat “What a fitting skill you have. Just as fiery as your temper, but as dim as your mind” to emphasize his point he gestured towards the hole she opened in his chest. It had just finished regenerating.

Catra carefully stepped through the rooftops and around Entrapta, who had been recently dismembered and was slowly regenerating. “Hey, vile blood, you think you can just ignore me?” Catra shouted to get Strahd’s attention and the vampire was happy to oblige “Well, try ignoring this” She pulled out The Sunsword and even before the blade of light could form, Strahd’s eyes widened in realisation.

“His sword” he mumbled as he took a step forward, but was immediately forced to retreat as the bright light of the Sunsword shone forth. In this moment of distraction a bolt pierced his chest from behind followed by magical lightning. Strahd cursed under his breath and conjured a quick spell.

Suddenly several roof tiles started flying around Catra and Entrapta, blocking their way to Strahd and the vampire lord took this opportunity to feed. Sinking his teeth in Glimmer’s neck and making sure her body was turned towards the tower, so they couldn’t hit him without risking her, but Bow was unphased by this tactic. He knew Glimmer and he took his shot anyway.

The bolt crossed the air towards her chest in seconds, but for Glimmer this was more than enough time. She grabbed the bolt from out of the air and shoved it in Strahd’s eye. The monster was furious and he tossed Glimmer from the roof like a broken toy, but she wouldn’t be the only one punished for interrupting his meal. With a quick gesture a massive ball of fire flew towards the tower, causing the whole castle to shake with the force of the explosion.

Catra was doing her best to keep the animated shingles away from her, but the moment she saw that explosion she could do nothing but watch as flame and smoke engulfed her friends and a single word escaped her mouth “Adora”, but while she had stopped, her assailants did not and she was quickly pummeled down by the animated objects.

As she fell to the ground her sword was put out. She had failed. Her friends were all dead and now she was alone in the dark with Strahd. She didn’t even resist when he lifted her by the collar of her leather armor. “You truly have been the most amusing bunch to have ever visited my home, but now you’ve outstayed your welcome”

Catra tried to look anywhere but at the tower, yet that place kept pulling her. She accepted this. She would die looking at the place Adora had died and at that moment she could do nothing but laugh. Her mad fit of laughter even seemed to confuse Strahd.

“Hey, Strahd, what do you call it when the sun is at its peak?”

“What a poor thing. Has fear taken your sanity?” Strahd smiled smugly, but only for a second. For in the next his head was split apart by a beam of magical light and five more followed the first, leaving his skull properly pulverised. The beheaded vampire allowed Catra to slip away as he focused on regenerating his head.

“It’s called high noon” Catra looked up at the tower one last time. Standing there was Adora, her fingers still smoking from the magical blast, with a satisfied smile on her face. Catra smiled back and finished the job. She lit up the Sunsword and shoved it straight through Strahd’s neckhole, turning him to ash.

With that Catra fell to the ground and did her best not to pass out as she felt the rain slowly stop pouring. Her friends were alive and they would come get her. She did not have to get up for now.

[fanfic-collection]

Vampire: Loki x Reader - Pt 5

Tag list: catalinaacosta , starscreamloki , dream-reaper , hufflepuff-always-and-forever , portietomednalynn , all-these-wonderful-things , jayyx3oxo

Please comment, thank you, I appreciate hearing feedback from you guys! (I don’t like how this turned out but maybe if I reread it it won’t feel so bad... ok that’s my critique, if you have any thoughts let me know, I think you’ll see what bothers me)

In the morning, you woke, dressed in your newfound clothes and made your way down to the pantry and ultimately the kitchen. Thor was nowhere to be seen.

As before, the door to the basement was carefully locked and sealed. You tested the locks to be sure, not knowing what was down there and slightly fearful of it coming out. Part of you wondered when your caretaker duties would begin, where Thor's brother was located. A larger part of you already knew.

You shivered, looking at the sturdy door, so strained by whatever lived in the basement.

Moving on, you made your way to the pantry and assembled items for a small but satisfactory breakfast. It would be a nice change from the hospital cafeteria you had spent so much time at.

Living in this country as you had, your mother had often warned you of the dark magic that was said to circulate the soil. You wondered idly if that dark magic was finally entering into your life. Everything about the layout of the house promised as such, yet you still couldn't bring yourself to fully believe it. They had just been idle tales sprung by a bored housewife, yet your mother had not been the only one to warn you.

Many stories of people going missing in the night, creatures so pale with long teeth and clawlike fingers snatching children from their beds, the forests alive with beasts from ancient times, different rituals that one must follow – no matter how silly, everyone adhered to their strict guidelines. You thought of the forest in your home town, that no child entered alone, no grown man either. Visitors from outside lands laughed at the superstitions and the people of your village accepted the mockery, but even still, their ways did not change. Every third generation, or so, someone would ignore the warnings. They would enter the woods alone, cross the river that had been blessed and promises made to never touch, drink from the well that was considered sacred, something would be touched that should not, entered that should be left well alone, and they would go missing. Everyone would accept that they had left the country in the middle of the night, gone to new lands to start a new life fresh and alone. But it was known. In quiet corners of pubs, people would whisper, stories would be shared and sightings confirmed. That person was dead or worse and so the fear continued.

There were certain buildings, abandoned for centuries that you best not enter, and though you weren't certain if this was one, you felt by the renovations that something evil had been disturbed.

“Good morning.” Thor said, wiping his eyes from bleary sleep.

You startled from your thoughts, dropping your silverware with a jump before forcing a smile. “Morning.” You managed to reply evenly.

Thor sighed heavily and sank into the seat opposite you, he seemed to have slept terribly. You opted to ask him.

Nodding, Thor replied, “Not a wink. There's so much to tend to with this place and anyone that helps has to be flown in from other places, almost no local agrees to help no matter the price.”

You glanced at him wryly, thinking of your own price. “They're clearly not desperate enough. I'm sure if a harvest goes bad or a family member falls ill, they'll come around.”

“Sorry.” Thor muttered, standing up and finding his own breakfast.

You shrugged, “I was desperate, still am. Though I wonder what happens if I become less desperate.”

“If you stop valuing your sister's life?” Thor interjected.

You grit your teeth and turned your head slightly, the insult stinging. “Something like that.”

“Let's see how my brother takes to you first. Perhaps he won't like you and you'll leave.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. There had been no signs of other people before you. “What's wrong with him?”

Thor shifted uncomfortably, “He's ill.”

“You have money, why not take him to one of those hospital my sister was sent to?”

“Not that type of illness.” Thor mumbled, shirking away from you as he busied himself with the food.

“Uh-huh.” You nodded slowly, “An illness no doctor can treat? You know, even in this small country, we're aware of such conditions. They're different people but there's treatment of sorts, usually talking helps. Locking them away from the outside world does no good.”

Thor grit his teeth and glared at you, “This one is different.”

Again, you nodded slowly, “So what is it?”

“I'll show you tonight, for now, eat up and get some rest, it's going to be a long night.” Thor stalked out of the room, plate of food in hand.

You watched him go, seeing him pass the basement and absently check the locks before disappearing down the hallway.

Your mother's stories echoed loudly in the back of your mind.

-

-

For the rest of the day, you grazed on food as you felt hungry, or bored. You took naps and read in the library. There was an expansive collection, centuries of books and some in runes that you couldn't hope to decipher. You wandered the building, looking in old dust covered rooms with chairs covered in moth-eaten sheets. There was a laboratory of sorts and several studies. Dusty notes and chemistry supplies covering table after table. Truly a mad scientist could have lived here.

There was a television in your room, you found eventually, as well as a video player. You wondered if there might be any movies that you could watch but failed to find any. Perhaps you would ask Thor later, make a list of things that could entertain you if this was how your days were to be spent. Though, if your work were to mostly take place at night, perhaps your night and days would shift.

As you skulked through the many hallways, occasionally passing by the basement door – checking its locks absently – you wondered if there might be a way to get exercise equipment. If there were traditional caretaker activities, you wanted to be in peak physical shape. A treadmill wouldn't be too bad, in case you ever found opportunity to...

You pushed the thought away. Being able to run any distance would be an advantage, especially if the thing in the basement...

Again you pushed the thought away. Stagnation was bad. You left it at that.

-

-

In the evening, as the sun dipped past the horizon, you found yourself sitting on your bed, fully dressed. Your leg was crossed over the other as you sat propped up by several pillows, reading an old romance novel.

A knocking sounded at your door.

“Come in.” You called.

The door opened and Thor appeared. “It's time.”

-

Thor led you down the halls, across the house and to the basement door.

“We're going in?” You asked as he began the tedious task of undoing each lock.

“I said not to go alone.” Thor said over his shoulder, offering you a quick smile.

“Great, and the thing that did that damage?” You inclined your head towards the strained hinges.

Thor smiled but remained quiet, pulling the chains away and swing the door open. “Shall we?” He grabbed the briefcase and the lantern, slowly descending down the stairs.

You exhaled heavily, then started to follow him.

The air was musty and chilly, much cooler than the rest of the building. The gloom easily overwhelmed the light of the lantern, the small flame valiantly fighting back but failing miserably.

“Stay near the light.” Thor muttered. For a moment he reconsidered and handed the lantern over to you. “Follow me closely.”

You stayed near Thor, nearly hugging his shoulder, brushing against him as you followed after him, holding the light out. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, you looked down and saw fresh dirt mixed over the flagstones of the ground, as though parts of the basement had been freshly dug and other parts had existed long ago.

Thor continued on into the gloom, taking out a small lighter and lighting sconces as the two of you walked. The sconces struggled to life, casting your bodies onto long dark shadows that flickered and danced as the two of you walked.

“Loki!” Thor called, though his voice seemed to get swallowed by the darkness.

You glanced back over your shoulder and saw a trail of lights leading to the stairs. Then you looked back at Thor and saw that you were nearing an alcove of sorts.

There was a large green bed, looking sinfully soft. It was decadent and fancier than any you had seen, yet there was a fine layer of dust on it, as though it had not been used in a long time. Perhaps you would have to clean it. What a peculiar place inside such a heavily guarded basement.

Near the bed, there was a makeshift bathroom with no walls, merely a bath and a sink. No toilet you noted curiously.

Thor gently grabbed your wrist, if you had not seen him move, you would have jumped out of your skin. He angled the lantern light onto an ornate velvet lined coffin. A set of chains were fastened securely to the wall beside it. As you looked closer, you realized they disappeared into the dark parts of the basement that Thor had not lit up.

“I know you're there, Loki.” Thor called, his foot kicking the chains.

“You have him chained up?” You whispered horrified.

Thor looked at you pained, “You'll understand.”

You shook your head, “This isn't a beast we're talking about, some vicious animal that will attack without reason, this is your brother!” Your voice rose in pitch as you admonished him.

Cold laughter came from the shadows and immediately you regretted raising your voice. The hair on the back of your neck stood on end, goosebumps forming on your skin and you spun around, trying to find the source of the laughter.

“Like father all over again, new toys to keep me company.” A cold voice from nowhere and everywhere taunted.

“Loki...” There was heavy warning to Thor's voice. “I fed you yesterday, usually you do better the next day, what's wrong?”

“What's wrong, what's wrong?” The cold voice, who you assumed was Loki, taunted. “Bring new eyes to study the chained beast?”

“Loki, remember yourself!”

The chains rattled and hissed and then slowly a man came into view. He was tall and gaunt, eyes sunken, mostly green but tinges of red played on the irises.

The man was beautiful, you noted, your heart skipping a beat as you took in his appearance. Or rather once was... could be? It was confusing. He seemed to have neglected himself, something dried and red stained his mouth – juice you hoped – as well as his battered and torn shirt. You saw signs of fresh cuts and scars on his skin, as well as older long healed ones. His hair hang in curtains, unkempt and unwashed, needing a trim though it appealed to you at its current length, past his shoulders. Though there was a redness on the colored parts of his eyes – another disconcerting aspect of his appearance – the green entranced you; however they were dull and had lost any sheen they once held. The man held the appearance of someone who had lost weight quickly and in an unfortunate way, his clothes illfitting and hanging loosely on his frame.

Then your eyes trailed to his hands, clenched tightly but held in front of him by the heavy manacles inscribed with strange markings your mind couldn't decipher.

The man, Loki you presumed, tilted his head at you and smiled coldly – it didn't reach his eyes. “Do I frighten you, little lamb?” You saw the fangs protruding over his lower lip and stepped back involuntarily.

At first you were speechless, struggling to respond. The stories your mother had warned you of, of course you had accepted and believed them, but only in theory, to actually see a creature like this before you? “You're not real.” You whispered.

“Oh I can assure you, I am very real.” Loki replied, stepping forward menacingly. “And why are you here?”

Of all the answers that flitted through your mind, you don't know why you chose, “My sister.”

Loki squinted at you, taken aback, physically recoiling at your words. “Your what?” He hissed.

You bit your lip. “Her name is Marcy, she's ill. Thor, your brother, promised me her health if I stayed with you as your caretaker.” Tears welled in your eyes, you didn't know how you could care for this creature, a being of darkness and evil. Your hands shook, the lantern swaying dangerously. You closed your eyes and shook your head, tears rolling down your cheeks as sobs wracked your body. All of what you had been through, the fear of losing your sister, the years of pain at her illness, then the hope of this strange man offering you what you so desperately needed and desired, only to end like this. “I'm sorry.” you sobbed.

Loki stepped towards you, cuffed hands held out. Thor moved protectively in front of you, eyeing Loki distrustfully.

Loki glared at Thor as you tried to see through the tears in your eyes. “You risk sacrificing your life for your sister?” Loki murmured, head tilted.

“You would hurt me?” You asked.

Loki looked away, “I don't know what I would do. I'm... I'm not myself. Perhaps I am more myself than ever.”

“Loki...” Thor said slowly, “if this is about that Jotun thing.”

Loki hissed suddenly, eyes flashing red and lunged at Thor. You jumped to the side as the two brothers fell in a heap, tackling and grabbing at the other. Loki hissed and growled, snarling as he tried to claw at Thor, his teeth gnashing as he lunged at any available part of Thor.

Lightning crackled in Thor's hands, his eyes going bright blue, and his fist slammed into Loki, making contact with his chest. Loki was thrown back, flying across the room and hitting one of the pillars with a solid thud. His head smacked against the pillar and he lay still, head lolling to the side.

At first you had taken off running but seeing the brothers fight, something in you hesitated.

Thor winced, rolling over onto his side and slowly sitting up, fresh claw marks on his arms.

You looked between him and Loki, barely illuminated in the gloom, then made a split second decision and dashed over to the fallen man. “Are you alright?” You knelt down beside him.

Thor called your name, “Wait, no! I can't protect you from here!”

Loki's eyes slowly opened as he looked up at you. He seemed dazed.

You reached your hand out and touched his cheek. Loki flinched at the contact, stiffening as your hand stroked his face. “Are you alright?”

Loki blinked up at you, struggling where he sat, muscles clenching and unclenching as he stared at you. Finally his head sank into your touch and his eyes fluttered shut and he lay unmoving.

“I think you really hurt him.” You mumbled over your shoulder.

Thor slowly walked over, hands out warily. He looked down at Loki and moved to check his pulse, sighing before his hand reached Loki's neck and pulling away. “I don't know how to tell, I'm still new to this.”

“Put him on the bed.” You ordered Thor.

“He prefers the coffin.” Thor muttered, “he sleeps in it during the day, I've seen it.”

“Well I can't look at him if he's in such a cramped place.”

Thor hoisted Loki up on his shoulder and carried him over to the bed, dropping him as gently as he could. A puff of dust rose in the air and you waved it away from your face, hoping to avoid sneezing.

Loki groaned, rolling on his back, his hands held tightly to his chest.

“These wounds are going to fester if you don't tend to them.” You pointed at the cuts.

“Do... do vampire wounds fester? What bacteria would feast on the dead like this?”

You bit your lip and looked at the raw skin under the manacles. “These conditions can't be healthy for him.”

“They're not healthy for me!” Thor snapped back, pointing at the myriad of scars and cuts on him. “This is to keep him from running out of here and going after the nearest village.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Thor looked away sheepishly, “That's what Analise said.”

“Analise?”

“The... the one who turned him.”

“You asked for him to be like this?” Your voice went shrill.

Thor shifted uncomfortably, “He had died.”

“You robbed him of a peaceful death, for what?”

Thor swallowed hard and looked away, “For me.”

You shook your head in disbelief looking back at Loki curled up on the bed. Your face softened, heart panging as you looked at him curled up in pain. “I don't know the anatomy of a vampire. Do they heal by normal means?”

Thor bit his lip. “I hadn't thought to ask, I didn't expect him to injure himself.”

“These are self inflicted?” Your horror grew. “Does he realize what you made him?”

“I think so.”

“Oh you poor thing,” you stroked his cheek with the back of your hand. His body seemed to unclench ever so slightly. “He looks kinda like Marcy on her sickest days. Body starving itself, barely a corpse, clearly not right in the mind. It's no wonder he attacked you.”

“You're saying I deserved that?” Thor looked at you indignant.

“You must've upset him!”

Thor opened his mouth to respond but instead snapped his mouth shut, angrily glaring at you.

“Perhaps this Analise has more information on... well vampires, how long since he turned?”

“A few months, she said such violent outbursts were not uncommon for fledglings.”

You absently brushed your fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the many knots. Pursing your lips, you looked at Thor, “I've heard stories that vampires regain their strength through blood.” The concept of doing so willingly had never crossed your mind before, more so a warning to prevent vampires from drinking blood.

“Would that work?” Thor frowned, “would we want him to regain his strength?”

“I don't know, he's your brother, if you did this to him on purpose, wouldn't you want him healthy?”

“Healthy, yes, attacking me, not so much.”

“Caring for a vampire.” You sat on the bed, still toying with his hair. Shaking your head you looked up at Thor, “I think we're going to have to collect any information on vampires we can find, including this Analise. Maybe there are better ways of dealing with a fledgling than locking it in your basement and chaining him up.”

Thor rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “I was trying my best.”

You shook your head tiredly, “This is what you're paying me for I guess.” Biting your lip you pulled your hand away from Loki and set both of your hands in your lap. You looked back at Thor, “Did you mean to have him drink from me?”

“Yes.” Thor looked at the ground. “But only enough to sustain him, not to kill you, I meant for you to be his caretaker. I was hoping he might bond with someone in ways he had not with me.”

“Am I the first?” You feared the answer.

“I was quicker to introduce Loki to the others, and he didn't have another food source outside them.” Thor swallowed hard, “my sins are many, I know this, but I do not wish ill to you, and even if something should happen...” He trailed off.

You looked back at Loki then up at Thor, “This is for my sister. I know the terms that you won't let me leave.”

“No.”

“Then I'll do everything I can to help him,” you licked your lips, glancing back at Loki then up at Thor, “I think it's best we let him rest, get more blood hopefully in sanitary conditions and I'll see if that library has any lore on vampires. Then we can work on helping him. I can't believe I'm saying this but I'm going to help a vampire, as long as you heal my sister and I'm not allowed to leave, those are my terms.”

“Thank you, kind lady.” Thor bowed low. Loki wasn't moving and Thor winced glancing down at him, “Let's return upstairs, it should be nearing morning and he does not handle the day well.”

“This is handling things well?”

Thor chuckled, “I learned that fast.”