#so my shit was just everywhere it was impossible to extract it all

[asanjou]

ryuki is top of my rewatch list i think because i watched it at a time where everything in my life was very stressful (end of semester/moving flat) so I don't think I remember a lot of it as well as I would like to... plus it's one of those shows where id rather remember it as is than through how it's talked about so rewatches are necessary

[beesmygod]

old hunters DLC also highlights some themes of colonial violence and exploitation too, imo. what’s been done to the fishing village and kos ties the beast thing up with this idea that like, the impulse to Conquer and Dominate another leads directly to the Curse. It’s not enough to understand the old ones and the blood and all that, they needed to control it, to take it for themselves, and exploit it however they can. And now there’s wolfmans everywhere.

And this is in the core gameplay loop itself, we extract all the vials and blood echos and blood gems that we can in order to become strong enough to conquer more and more powerful prey. When we’re hit, we hit back harder and take back the life that was taken for us. Sure it’s ostensibly to Break the Curse and seek Paleblood and all that, but we know why we’re really doing it. Because it’s sick as hell, and feels awesome to best these monsters. The old hunters knew that too, and it turns them into giant horse creatures unable to do anything besides violence. That thirst for violence and power makes hunters turn into beasts, now only functioning as a cog in a perpetual violence machine. They lose their humanity not through repeated death like in Dark Souls, but through taking life. It turns the characters into monsters, and the players into wiki editors and lore theorists (aka monsters) bc we also can’t let go of the feeling Bloodborne gives us.

Tl;dr: Bloodborne is like if Spec Ops had any subtlety or desire to leave itself up to interpretation (probably helped by the fact that very little of what I’m talking about is likely intentional and I’m just insane)

OKAY im back from my appointment and finished my little treat. anon ("anon" @chicknparm who should get credit for these good thoughts) i could not agree more. i mentioned this in a previous post but finding a strand of commentary about the evils of colonialism made me worried i was becoming dangerously online, but it's a relief to see someone else mention this idea. i think you are absolutely right that one of the overt messages in bloodborne is that spilling blood for your own benefit leads to ruin. its actually kind of shocking how, in spite of the combat being the draw to these games, the message of most fromsoft games is a message of anti-violence. like, how many times do we end up fighting something that, in hindsight, needed to be put out of its misery. oh. shit. thinking about it, our player character is explicitly an outsider. the role of hunter of hunter is filled by outsiders...

also lol you are so right about the wiki based insanity but i think that's the consequences of insight poisoning. literally every once in a while while trying to edit this stupid bloodborne doc i think to myself "oooeergg too many eyes" and take a break for a few days

anyway, turning this back around to the colonialism theme, hear us out ok: watching/reading the sekiro lore videos/posts by shetani of shetani's lair helped introduce a lot of esoteric buddhist and shinto concepts that were totally novel and unknown to be as a baka gaijin. now these ideas are impossible not to see in all of from's other works.

i did a few days of research on "shinshi" (mostly a lot of stuff that turned out to not be relevant, but interesting) after becoming aware of them and found they shared a lot of qualities with the augurs (or "phantasms", invertebrates that act as intermediaries to the great ones) of bloodborne. realizing this, i thought about the great ones not in the context of a christian god, as the MODERN yharnam does, but as kami. kami are numerous, everywhere, hidden, and are thought of as actively controlling or influencing the terrestrial world. the re-translation reveals that the "great pthumeru chalice" had some nuance lost in translation: "祀る - Means to enshrine or worship, but has connotations of doing it to appease spirits so they may reach nirvana or Buddhahood and avoid becoming evil"; this is simply translated to "deify" which is technically correct but the original feels like it's much more pointed about finally revealing to the player that the "gods" as we've been lead to believe them to be are not what they seem.

the healing church, a product of georgian to victorian era western beliefs, razed pthumeru, loran, isz, and the fishing village (and probably yahar'gul too) in the quest to become like their newly discovered gods. the framework by which they related to pthumerian culture was completely wrong and misunderstood the nature of "gods" as all knowing or all powerful and, thus, something aspirational. the reality was more that they are just another type of creature in the world with different limitations than a human. and they're still mortal.

[goldenraeofsun]

Enhanced Extraction Techniques

Also available at AO3

“Cas?”

Cas whirls around. If he was standing on a normal floor, his shoes would have squeaked with the abrupt turn. In the Empty, though, his feet don’t make a sound. “Dean?” he calls back, his heart soaring in his chest.

“Cas? Where are you, man?”

Cas spins in another circle, his eyes straining against the darkness. The oppressive blankness of nothing presses against his eyeballs like an almost tangible film. He tries again, “Dean?”

“Cas?”

“Dean!” Cas takes off in the direction of Dean’s voice.

“Are you there?”

 Cas walks faster, anticipation quickening his heels. “I’m coming!”

“I can’t find you!”

“I’m here!” Cas calls back desperately.

“I’m running out of time here, buddy! Spell’s not gonna last forever. Where the hell are you?”

Panicked, Cas breaks out into a run. “I’m coming, Dean!”

“Are you?”

Cas stops dead. If he was back on Earth, he would have fallen flat on his face with the momentum. He turns to his right, where Dean’s voice just came.

“Cas? You there?”

Dean’s voice definitely came from his left that time.

“I need you.”

Cas swallows. Dean’s voice is coming from directly in front of him now. Icy dread creeps up his spine, but he feels hot all over.

“You make it too easy, Castiel.”

Dean never calls him by his full name, not in more than a decade. He is not talking with Dean.

“Nobody is coming for you.”

Cas doesn’t respond. Shamed beyond reason, he just stands there because there is nothing else to do. He can’t hide from the Empty. The Empty is everywhere.

Black ooze, blacker than the surrounding darkness, bubbles up from the floor. The Empty resolves into Cas’s own face, to his surprise. He’d been expecting Dean.

It shrugs, a knowing smirk playing on its lips. “What can I say? If you’re determined to keep me awake, I might as well amuse myself.”

“Your sense of humor leaves much to be desired,” Cas says as tonelessly as he can manage.

The Empty crosses its arms over its chest. “My options are limited, aren’t they?” it says snidely. “I can’t put you to sleep, so I can’t sleep. I might as well make this experience as hellish for you as it is for me.”

Cas frowns. “You could always negate our deal. Send me back to Earth.”

The Empty laughs. “That’s not how it works. That was a one-way trip.”

Cas grinds his teeth. “Then it seems like we’re at an impasse.”

“An impasse requires two forces of equal power,” the Empty tuts. “And you, my little gnat, have no power in this equation. You are my plaything. What was it that Gabriel said? A thousand channels and nothing’s on. Except you.”

Before Cas can respond, the Empty disappears, dissolving into a tarry splatter and absorbing into whatever passes as the floor in this place. 

 * * *

Cas wanders. He used to sleep while he was bored, but the Empty truly reigns supreme in his dreams. Cas killed Naomi’s Dean facsimile a thousand times, a million times. He watched Dean rake leaves, Crowley whispering poisoned promises into his ear. He walked away as Dean hurts and rages silently behind him in the Bunker.

So Cas stays awake. He’s an angel. It isn’t hard.

Dean’s voice occasionally calls for him.

Cas ignores it.

He wanders for what seems like miles, like hundreds of miles. Nothing ever changes in the Empty. With every step forward, he meets the same bleak blackness. The closest comparison in his long memory is the fraction of a second before the Big Bang - there was emptiness then too, but it was filled with a pregnant sense of promise. In the Empty - nothing.

Until.

Dean is running towards him.

Cas blinks a few times to make sure, even though his vision is perfect.

“Cas,” Dean breaks the silence first, “I found you.”

“Dean,” Cas breathes - any louder, and Dean will hear the trembling. “You’re here.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean says with a wink. “Now, come on. We’re getting out of here.” He takes off in the direction he came from, glancing behind him to check on Cas.

“We are?” Cas asks, following.

Dean throws him a disbelieving look. “Of course, dude. Sam and Jack are prepping the spell to get us back to the Bunker. We got Chuck by the short and curlies, but we’re one power player short. So we gotta get a move on.”

“So you need me?” Cas asks.

“Your mojo is the ticket,” Dean says with a little grin. “Chuck wiped all the angels off the Earth except Michael. And that dick isn’t answering our prayers, so you’re our next best bet.”

The joy at seeing Dean wavers. “I am?” he asks haltingly.

Dean shrugs. “We gotta work with what we have. And we just remembered you were here, out of Chuck’s reach. Our own spare angel!”

Cas barely holds back his flinch. Hunching in on himself, he mutters, “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assures him, misreading his reaction completely. “We have a plan.”

Cas sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“Sam found a spell,” Dean says. “It’ll rip Chuck apart, and, since Amara’s inside him - which, gross - it’ll maintain the balance when the spell takes her apart too.” 

Dean stops walking.

Cas looks around, but nothing sets aside this patch of emptiness from any other. No illuminated rift, no magic symbols, no X marking the spot - nothing.

“The catch is,” Dean says as he turns to Cas, his face regretful, “the spell needs an angel’s grace.”

In a blink of an eye, an angel blade drops into Dean’s palm.

Cas blinks. No beings but angels can manifest that particular weapon.

Dean raises the blade, fingers flexing on the handle. “You know,” he says conversationally, “Now that I think about it, we don’t actually need the angel himself - just the battery.”

Cas stands his ground, his eyes darting over Dean’s face, taking in every nuance and tell.

“I told you once,” Cas says warily, a horrible foreboding coming over him, “I’m always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.”

“Happy to hear that, Cas,” Dean says, his face impassive, “because you’re gonna bleed a lot, not gonna lie.” He shoves the blade in Cas’s chest, right above his heart.

Cas staggers back from the blow, pain and shock radiating out from the bloodless wound.

Dean raises his eyebrows, his mouth curling into a mocking smile as Cas meets his smug face. “What, were you expecting to go poof? We’re in the Empty,” he throws its hands wide, “everyone’s in stasis here, including you.”

Cas yanks the blade out of his chest, but it - and Dean - turns into black goo before he can stab anything with it.

 * * *

The Empty doesn’t mimic Dean next. Instead it takes Meg’s shape, Samandriel’s, Duma’s. Every one of the thousands of angels Cas killed up in heaven.

And there’s no escape. Cas can do his best not to listen, but if he retreats too far into himself, it almost counts as sleeping. With the Empty’s nudging, his thoughts will veer into his worst regrets, sooner or later. 

The Empty is in the middle of lecturing him in the form of Balthazar, when it explodes in a burst of light and sound.

Dean Winchester stands in the aftermath.

“Come on,” he says roughly. He strides forward to grab Cas’s hand and tug him in the other direction. “That bomb doesn’t last forever.”

“Dean?”

“Who else?” Dean yanks him sharply to the left. “This place didn’t turn your brains to scrambled eggs, did it?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas says shakily. “Dean are you really...”

“What?”

Cas can’t help looking down at their clasped hands. A fleeting thing, barely more than a glance. Still, Dean drops Cas’s hand like it burned him. “You good to run?” he asks shortly.

Cas barely nods before Dean takes off. They hurtle through the Empty, their rapid footsteps impossibly silent. Dean’s breath comes in sharp pants, and Cas’s useless wings ache, not for the first time, to fly them to their destination.

“Dean,” Cas starts, and Dean slows. “Where are we going?”

“Where I left my stuff,” Dean says shortly. “The spell to get us out of here needs a shit-ton of crap, and I couldn’t haul it all over this goddamn place while I was trying to find you.”

“How did you know your way back?”

The corners of Dean’s mouth lift in a faint smile. He points to the floor. “M&Ms.”

Cas squints at the ground, and, sure enough, they are following a trail of tiny candies. “Ingenious,” he murmurs.

“Hey, it worked with a Wendigo,” Dean says, shrugging. He directs them in a few more twists and turns before Cas sees Dean's duffle bag in the distance, topped with a bright yellow bag of M&Ms.

As they get closer, Dean pulls out an angel blade from inside his jacket.

Cas balks. 

Dean shoots him a puzzled look as he hands it to him. “It won’t kill anything here, obviously,” he says, unzipping his bag. He pulls out a copper bowl and bundles of herbs, “But having a weapon’s never a bad idea in unknown dimensions.”

“Yes, Dean.” Cas surveils their inky surroundings, already on high alert for any trespassers.

“Watch my back, okay?” Dean glances over his shoulder. Various ingredients get dropped into the bowl with outsized clangs and dribbles that seem to echo in the void around them.

Cas stays vigilant.

“This was easier than I thought it would be,” Dean mutters as the bowl’s contents start to smoke.

“Don’t jinx it,” Cas mutters out of the side of his mouth.

Dean chuckles under his breath. “I didn’t think angels believed in jinxes.”

It’s not like Cas has been especially angelic these past few years. He says shortly, “I’ve found you can never be too careful.”

Dean hums his agreement. “Need your blood for this part,” he says, shuffling over to make room. “Wait,” Dean says before Cas can press the blade againt his skin.

“Yes?”

“This is the last step,” Dean says seriously. “Once your blood goes in, it’s liftoff. So I wanted to get a couple things straight before we’re back in the Bunker.”

Cas doesn’t need to breathe, but if he did, his breath would have hitched in his chest at the closed-off look on Dean’s face. “Of course.” 

“What you said - what you told me,” Dean starts, his voice hard, “before you got sucked to this hellscape.” He drops his gaze to the bowl cradled in his hands, “That’s not me.”

Cas presses his lips together, struggling to keep his face impassive. Once he regains control of himself he says, “I did not expect you to reciprocate when I told you about my feelings for you.”

Dean actively recoils at the mention of feelings. He gives the bowl a little toss, and a few of the contents spill onto the floor. “Just, forget it,” he says brusquely, gathering everything up again.

“Dean-”

He turns to Cas, his eyes blazing. “But - you know what? I can’t forget it.”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean is not done.

“How could you offload all that shit on me right before you fucked off to parts unknown?” he demands, voice rising in anger and volume. “Of all the goddamn things you could have said to me - that takes the fucking cake. You were my best friend -” he breaks off, shaking his head. “Worst moment of my goddamn life.”

Cas takes a step back, a sickly horror trickling down his spine. “I didn’t think-”

But Dean’s not listening. “I had serious doubts about coming here at all,” he continues, and the last Dean had stabbed him in the chest - how is this so much worse? “But Sam gave me those goddamn puppy dog eyes, and don’t even get me started on Jack-”

“I understand,” Cas interrupts stiffly. He inhales a deep breath he doesn’t need and continues, “Once we return to the Bunker, I’ll stay out of your way.”

“Probably for the best,” Dean mutters.

Cas cuts his forearm, watching with perverse fascination as the blood wells up and drips into the bowl waiting below.

There’s a violent burst of light and sound.

In the aftermath, Cas can only make out Dean’s mocking laughter. Before Cas can say a word, it turns into Meg’s delighted giggles. And then Gabriel’s howls of mirth.

 * * *

Cas sleeps after getting deceived for the third time. Anything is better than seeing the smug face of the Empty, whether it’s wearing Dean’s face, Gadreel’s, or Ruby’s. 

He breaks the wall in Sam’s head.

He lets Lucifer possess him in a futile plan.

He beats Dean to a bloody mess for the Angel Tablet.

Occasionally, the Empty grants him release, and Cas gets to deliver a bad joke to Uriel in Mesopotamia or Dean calls him a baby in a trenchcoat in a diner.

Time passes. Cas has no idea how long. There’s no sun - no moon - no cycling of the heavens. Only emptiness.

He gets shaken awake.

Cas blinks up at a pair of very familiar green eyes. “Dean,” he says, more or less resigned.

“Jesus,” Dean says as he sits back on his heels, “Way to make a guy feel welcome. I’m here to save your sorry ass, in case you were wondering. A full week of tearing my hair out over how to get you outta here, and this is the thanks I get.”

Cas sits up. “My apologies,” he says tentatively as he studies Dean’s face. There’s no sign it isn’t really Dean.

Then again, none of the others showed signs either.

Cas gets to his feet, asking, “Are you alone?”

Dean glances around them warily. “Yeah, Sam and Jack are keeping the portal open in the Bunker. They wanted to come,” he says, his eyes raking over Cas’s face, drinking him in. “They’ll be over the fucking moon to see you again.”

Cas swallows. “And you?”

“I -” A dull flush comes over Dean’s cheeks. He looks away.

Cas’s face shutters. “Right,” he says as he stands in front of Dean. “Now what?”

“Hey,” Dean says, reaching out to grasp his left shoulder, a mirror of the mark Cas left on him so long ago and so recently. “I missed you too. You have to know that.”

Worst moment of my life.

Cas looks away, Dean’s own raised voice echoing in his head.

“Hey,” Dean says again, gentler this time. His green eyes bore into Cas’s face. “What’s going on in that celestial brain of yours?”

The words catch in Cas’s throat, a lump of embarrassment and fear keeping them there. Embarrassment that the Empty deceived him. Fear that the Empty was right.

“Look, I know we didn’t leave things on great terms,” Dean says awkwardly, “and maybe this isn’t the best place to talk about it, but I’m so fucking happy to see you, man.” He chuckles ruefully. “’S making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Even if it’s only a facsimile of Dean - and there’s no way to tell for certain - seeing his face not contorted in anger or mockery is like a balm on Cas’s soul. If he had one, that was.

“About what you said before you got taken-” Dean starts.

Cas’s heart sinks.

“No,” Dean says, his voice low and gentle, “listen to me. I get that happiness for you might just be in the being, but for me-”

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas interrupts. “I meant that, truly. You don’t have to-”

“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, smiling slightly, “You’re not making this easy are you?”

Cas bites his tongue to keep from contradicting Dean again.

“As I was saying,” Dean continues pointedly, his green eyes shining, “For me, happiness isn’t in the being - whatever the hell that means. It’s in the goddamn having.”

Cas bites his tongue harder, the pain hardly registering against the burst of hope fluttering wildly in his chest. “Dean,” he forces out, “You can’t mean…”

“Cas,” Dean starts, and Cas’s heart breaks - or mends. He can’t tell. He has no idea who he is talking to, and it’s, to borrow a phrase from the real Dean, an epic mindfuck.  

“Cas,” the Dean standing in front of him repeats, and Cas’s gaze automatically draws back to his face, “Good things do happen.”

Cas chuckles wetly. He has no choice but to say, “Not in my experience.”

Dean takes a step closer, far into the personal space he’d shown Cas so many years ago. Brows drawing together, he raises a hand to cup Cas’s face. “Someone told me a while ago that having faith was important. Seems you’re a little short there, buddy.”

Cas tries to duck his head, but Dean won’t let him. Eventually, he admits, “My faith has been tested recently.”

“But you didn’t give up, right?” Dean asks, leaning in close enough that Cas can feel the warmth of his breath in the air between them.

Cas shakes his head minutely. “No,” he murmurs, “not entirely.”

“Good,” Dean says, pausing just shy of Cas’s mouth. Waiting.

Cas steels himself and closes distance.

Just before their lips touch, Dean implodes in a burst of inky ooze.

 * * *

Cas breaks several knuckles on the floor of the Empty. There are no walls to punch, no blade to send heads rolling. Cas works with what he has.

The real Dean would probably approve.

Dean shows up again before too long. This Dean goes so far as to tell Cas he loves him.

Cas turns his back on Dean’s heartbroken face. He refuses to engage.

He wanders instead.

* * * 

Cas hears the footsteps before he sees his next Dean.

“Cas!” he pants, “Thank fuck. I thought I was never going to find you.”

Cas merely sighs.

Dean makes a face. “Way to roll out the welcome wagon,” he says, clearly offended. “I would’ve thought you were sick of this place by now.”

Cas purses his lips. “I am.”

“Shocker,” Dean says with a little smile. “Look, we don’t have a lot of time, so you gotta follow me.”

Cas doesn’t budge. He’d rather roam this place for eternity than suffer at the hands of another Dean facsimile. And he had thought he saw enough of them under Naomi’s tutelage. He’d been so naive.

Dean stares at him like Cas just stripped naked and danced the macarena. “What are you doing?”

“You’re not real,” Cas says bluntly.

Dean gapes. “Of course I’m real! Chuck’s de-powered, and Jack… well, it’s a long story. Bottom line: nobody’s pulling our strings but us.”

Cas lets out a derisive laugh.

Dean’s eyebrows rise, but he barrels on, “So it’s time to get a move on. Up and at ‘em, sunshine.” He jerks his head off to the right. 

Cas stays where he is. “No.”

“What the hell?” Dean has the gall to tug on Cas’s sleeve like he’s a wayward toddler. “Come on. You’re not making any sense.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Cas retorts. It’s not his best rejoinder, but he’s been very stressed lately.

Whatever Dean was about to say dies on his tongue as he stares at Cas in confusion. “What’s wrong with you?” He shakes his head before Cas can respond, saying, “Doesn’t matter. We’ll figure it out later. But now, you’ve gotta come with me.”

Cas levels him a flat glare. This one is more stubborn than the last, more like the real Dean. “Why should I?”

“Because you don’t deserve to be stuck here?” Dean says, gesturing to the void around them. “You saved the world, Cas.” He swallows. “You saved me. Getting you out is the least we can do.”

“Because you need me to take on Chuck,” Cas says.

“No?” Dean says, his eyes narrowing. “I already told you, Chuck’s off the playing board.”

“Because you feel guilty about leaving me here.”

“No - wait, I do, but,” Dean breaks off, irritated, “you know what I mean.”

Cas doesn’t, so he continues in the same vein as before, “Because you love me.”

Dean hesitates. “I’m working on it.”

Cas snorts. At least the last Dean had the balls to say it. Many times. While crying.

“What?” Dean throws up his hands. “You just sprung it on me, dude! I didn’t even know angels could feel things like that, and it took me by surprise, okay? I’m only human, and sometimes we need time to get used to ideas. Like when we found out Snooki was a demon. Yeah, the signs were there, and it makes sense, but still - you sometimes need it spelled out for you.”

Cas pauses. None of the other Deans had referenced pop culture. “How long ago was this for you?”

“Since we summoned Snooki?” 

At Cas’s icy look of disdain, Dean hedges, “A month? Give or take.” He glares. “First we had to deal with Chuck, and it took a while to find a spell to get here. Remember, we didn’t even know this was a place before you died the last time. The Men of Letters weren’t a shit ton of help, for once.”

Cas crosses his arms over his chest.

“Just… hear me out,” Dean says. “There’s a portal to get us home. Sam and Jack can’t stall the Empty forever.”

That was new. “Jack and Sam aren’t in the Bunker?”

“No,” Dean says as he takes off in the opposite direction, all but forcing Cas to follow to find out more. “They’re up in Heaven.”

“Why?”

“Because the Empty can’t get to Earth without a summoning spell, which, as far as we can tell, doesn’t exist?” Dean says, checking over his shoulder to make sure Cas is still within earshot. “But you made that fucking stupid deal in Heaven, so we knew it could at least travel there. Jack zapped Sam to the Pearly Gates, and they’re hopefully making a distraction while I get you out.”

Still not entirely convinced, Cas asks begrudgingly, “And where are we going?”

“A portal,” Dean says confidently. “This place is a little like Purgatory, apparently. If it senses a human here, it’ll create a portal to spit them out again.” He flashes a grin over his shoulder. “So here I am, 100% genuine human to bail your ass out.”

“Thank you?”

“Don’t mention it,” Dean says with a wink.

Cas scowls. The first Dean had winked at him too.

“Jesus, tough crowd,” Dean mutters as they head further into the Empty.

Cas scans the ground, but there are no small candies lining the way. “How do you know where to go?”

“Turns out, Sam could find a spell for that,” Dean says as he holds up his left hand - clutching his amulet. The Empty must have really hunted around in his memories for that one, even more so than the Wendigo case. He hasn’t seen the real amulet in nearly five years. “It heats up when I’m on the right track towards the exit.”

“So no M&Ms?”

Dean turns to him. “I told you about that?”

Cas stares straight ahead, willing his face to fall into an expressionless mask. The real Dean had told him about the Wendigo over dinner with Sam and Mary while she was still alive, or the Empty wouldn’t be able to use it as inspiration now.

Dean shakes his head, smiling. “Man, I haven’t thought about that case in forever.” He glances at Cas, his face sobering. “You really don’t believe this is real?”

“No.”

He can’t. Not again.

Dean sighs as he steers them slightly to the right. “Come on, I’m almost getting third degree burns from this thing. We must be close.”

Sure enough, a blue swirling portal comes into view, a pinprick of light in the distance at first, elongating into an exact replica of the Purgatory exit as they approach. 

“Finally,” Dean mutters, his face impassive. He  turns to Cas. “Just… don’t stay behind,” he grimaces, “again.”

This version has been the most true to Dean - less callous than the first, more caring than the second, more guarded than the third. It will hurt the most when this one falls apart. Maybe it would be better if Cas heads it off at the pass instead of letting the whole painstaking ruse play out all the way through.

If the Empty could get it over with, Cas will go back to sleep. Anything is better than this torture.

Cas takes a step back, away from the portal. “This is pointless-”

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” Dean throws his hands in the air. “I don’t get it at all. You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Cas gapes at him.

Dean continues heatedly, “If an ex-demon with anger management problems and rap sheet a mile long deserved to be saved, I think a legit angel should get the same.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m hardly a prime example of an angel anymore.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Have I ever cared about that?”

“Well, no, but-”

“Glad we can agree on something,” Dean cuts him off. “Now, are you going to go through the portal or am I gonna have to drag you? I’ll do it,” he threatens. “Don’t test me.”

Cas wavers. Everything in him says to follow Dean. But this isn’t the real Dean - this is the Empty waiting for the glorious moment when it can yank the illusion away, leaving Cas a little more broken than before.

Dean’s eyes narrow. “Fuck you,” he spits, “You can’t trust me just a little-”

“Trust?” Cas echoes as he strides forward to grab the lapels of Dean’s jacket, his voice rising in a mixture of outrage, desperation, and heartache, “You want me to trust you? After you’ve lied to me, deceived me - after you stabbed me, after you told me I put you through the worst moment of your life the last time you saw me, after you made me think you returned my feelings only to - only to-”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “But I didn’t do any of that.”

“You did,” Cas says fervently, shaking Dean a little - or maybe that’s his trembling hands. “You did - you’ve been putting me through hell since I got here, and I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you.”

Dean’s expression hardens. “You don’t mean that.”

“Oh, I do,” Cas swears. “I’m done pretending.”

Dean his eyes flicking down to Cas’s mouth. “What do you know,” he breathes, “so am I.”

Cas freezes, waiting for Dean to dissolve into a puddle of goo in his hands.

Dean kisses him instead.

At the first touch of Dean’s lips to his, Cas jerks back in surprise and horror.

He falls straight into the portal. 

The Empty vanishes in a blur of too-bright light.

 * * *

Cas comes to in the middle of a field. The sun shines overhead. Noon, Cas registers distantly as he looks around. Dean’s sprawled on the prairie grasses next to him, already waking up judging by the groaning noises.

“Dean?”

Dean opens his eyes, glances at the sky, and closes them again. “Oh great, we made it.”

Cas tentatively picks his way closer to Dean’s side. He stands over him for a moment, shuffling to the side so he doesn’t block the sunlight falling on Dean’s face. “We’re on Earth.”

“Well, it’s sure as shit not Mars,” Dean grumbles, eyes still closed. “Are you watching me right now? I feel like you’re watching me right now.”

Cas stares around the field. “Not anymore,” he says, and a genuine breeze blows against his face. What a marvel.

“‘S okay,” Dean says as he wiggles a little on the grass, getting more comfortable, “’M used to it.”

Cas turns to him. “It’s really you.”

“The real deal, sweetheart,” Dean cracks his eyes open, one corner of his mouth lifting into a lopsided smile. “You believe me now?”

“This could be the most elaborate ruse yet.”

Dean lifts his head up. “Seriously? You dick, I did not haul ass all the way-”

“I don’t really believe that, however,” Cas says before Dean can work himself up too much.

“Good.” He meaningfully thumps the grass next to him. “Sit. You’re giving me serious Law & Order vibes.”

Cas’s brow furrows. “I don’t get that reference. I know about Law & Order-”

“And how does every episode of Law & Order start?” Dean interrupts, “With someone standing over a dead body in a field.”

Cas takes a seat. “Not always a field. Most episodes show corpses in urban areas, or, once, a yacht.”

“Pretty sure it was more than once. I hate procedural cop shows.”

“They are very formulaic,” Cas admits, stretching out his legs, “and lack the drama of soap operas.”

“I’m just saying, if a long lost sibling doesn’t pop out of the woodwork or if the main character isn’t killed off at least six times, is it really worth watching?”

Cas levels him a flat look. “Dean, all those things have happened to you.”

Dean snorts. “At least none of us got amnesia.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Speak for yourself.”

Dean turns his head to stare at him, a wide grin spreading across his face as he laughs. “Oh shit, you're right. How the hell did I forget?”

“Because of supreme irony, most likely.”

It takes Dean a moment to get it, but when he does, he laughs even louder.

Cas doesn’t have anything to add, so he lets the conversation peter off into silence, listening to Dean’s even breathing and the grass rustling in the gentle wind.

“I didn’t think it would be like this,” Dean says in an undertone.

Cas turns to him. Dean’s eyes are closed again, but everything else about him radiates a quiet tension Cas might’ve missed anywhere else. But here, in this field, nothing prevents Cas from honing on Dean’s whole being with everything he has. “What do you mean?” he asks carefully.

“I dunno,” Dean says, his face scrunching up, “I thought it would be more awkward. But… it doesn’t feel any different.”

Cas blinks. “Why should it?” he asks, and though he’s not definitively sure what Dean means by ‘it’, he has a very strong suspicion.

Dean shoots him a pointed look. “Because you don’t tell someone you love them and expect everything to be OK after.”

Cas lays down next to Dean. Staring up at the wispy clouds overhead, he says, “If it changes anything, I didn’t expect to be around for the after part.” Dean’s head turns to look at him, but Cas can’t bring himself to see whatever expression is on his face. “If you’d like for us to go our separate ways after this, I understand.”

“You stupid bastard,” Dean mutters vehemently, “for the last goddamn time, I did not piss off the immortal Blob just to tell you to go fuck yourself in person.”

Cas inhales a slow breath, breathing in the dirt, wildflowers growing nearby, and Dean. “You kissed me,” he says.

“You said you loved me,” Dean shoots back.

“Did you mean it?”

“Did you?”

Cas grimaces as he turns his head to face him. “I thought it was obvious.”

Dean swallows. “No, it wasn’t,” he says quietly, “but I’ve never been good at that stuff.”

Cas squints at him. “You are the most emotionally intelligent man I’ve ever met.”

“What?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “You expertly navigate and manipulate people’s emotions to get them to talk to you, open up to you, have sex with you,” he lists. “It’s extraordinary to witness.”

Dean makes a choking noise. “Dude,” he says, which tells Cas absolutely nothing. A few more clouds pass by before Dean speaks again. “I guess the signs were there - with you. But I didn’t want to put them together.”

“Why not?”

Dean shrugs, his shoulders scraping almost inaudibly against the soil and grass stems. “Just didn’t.”

“Then that’s why I didn’t tell you. But, Dean-” Cas breaks off. This part of the conversation, despite what Dean said earlier, does not feel the same as others between them. 

Dean’s eyes flick to his. “Yeah?”

“You kissed me.”

Dean inhales a sharp breath. “I did,” he says at last.

Cas waits, but Dean doesn’t elaborate. “Was it just a ploy to get me to leave the Empty?”

“No.”

Cas grimaces. Not for the first time, his life would be so much easier if Dean could communicate without speaking in riddles or hiding every third word he wanted to say. “Dean...”

“I told you I’m working on it,” Dean says defensively.

Cas closes his eyes. “What does that mean?” he asks, his voice strained.

“It means I’m working on it,” Dean says shortly. But before Cas can press him further, he lets out an explosive sigh. “It means I don’t want to hear any more goodbyes from you. It means - it means that kiss wasn’t too bad, right?”

“I thought you were a fake version of yourself created to torture me for eternity,” Cas says flatly.

Dean props himself up on his elbows. “So all I’m hearing is there’s room for improvement.”

Cas rolls his eyes as Dean scoots closer, peering down at him. “I suppose that’s one way you could look at it.”

“Would you wanna... do something like that again?” Dean asks, his expression confident while his voice is anything but.

“Only if you want to,” Cas says seriously.

Dean licks his lips. He nods once, the movement stilted.

“Should I sit up?” Cas asks, frowning, as he half-lifts his head. “Or do you want to lay back down-”

“Cas,” Dean says impatiently, “it’s kissing we’re talking about here, not Twister.”

“I have played that game before.”

“Yeah, I remember now,” Dean says, a tentative smirk hiding in the corners of his mouth. “You ever do it naked?”

Cas frowns. “There was a strict policy against nudity in the psychiatric ward.”

Dean ducks his head, laughing silently. His forehead lands on Cas’s sternum, his breath warming Cas’s chest from the outside in.

“You were trying to say something arousing,” Cas says, a beat too late.

Dean shakes his head, grinning. “Something like that.”

“I would like to play naked Twister with you.”

Dean’s eyes sparkle with amusement. “Glad to hear it,” he says as he leans over Cas. Cas goes a bit cross-eyed to keep him in view until Dean murmurs, “Relax. ‘S just me.”

In the instant before their lips meet, Cas half-expects the whole world around him to splatter apart in a tidal wave of black, otherworldly goo. But Dean is gloriously solid, gloriously human, as he cradles Cas’s half-raised head, his fingers tangling in his hair. 

The midday sun shines; the grass whispers in the wind; and Cas is saved.

[1800sunaarinn]

ADULT TRIO + KNIFE PLAY

anon asks:

tw. knife play.

lordie!! knife play is one of my fav kinks to read about, it makes me go whoosh in the tummy. oof, these headcanons are my view of them, please don’t take them seriously 💀 also, word of warning, i’m not that good at writing and describing knife play! it’s a fav to read but a pain to write hehe. i definitely got more confident towards the end, 🙂.

♰ Chrollo Luclifer

i think chrollo would definitely be the most tamest when it comes to knife play, only because he doesn’t want to mark up your pretty skin with thin scars

he wouldn’t use it as a form of punishment because he tends to go all out with his punishments, and there’s no telling if he would be to control himself when in that mindset

but, i think if you do ask him to go a bit harder with the knife, he would. he respects your wishes and places your want above anything else, so there’s that.

he’ll be sweet about it, but with an underlying hint of sadism, because this is chrollo we’re talking about. he steals and kills to get what he want!!

but,,, i do think he might go against his rule of not using it as a form of punishment when you’ve really made him angry.

he won’t slash and dice at you, lololol. but he would press the knife deeper against your skin, idk tbh!!

#///:!!! +

“So pretty, baby.” Chrollo’s gray eyes had their usual warmth, watching with a small cruel twinged smile as your body reacted to the fresh, long, thin line of cut skin. The warm blood pressed against the open wound and fell down like a curtain, quickly reaching your left breast and coating it the skin.

The pain didn’t register, only tendrils of pleasure warping around your body, causing a short shudder. Warmth filled your body, and the need to be cut at again had you begging for more. “Kur, more, I need more!”

“As you wish,” And, thus started a chain of thin cuts along the top of your breasts. Each cut causing a different pleasurable sound to escape you, and each sound turning Chrollo on even more than before.

Your hands were gripping the sheets, your eyes closed shut to conceal the watering, and your jaw slacken. It were simple cuts you were receiving, small thin cuts, yet it was enough to dampen your panties. The ache between your legs became more dominant, and you tried to close your legs only to remember who were between them.

Chrollo noticed the action, grinning with sudden mischief. He began to softly drag the knife against your skin, between your breasts, down your stomach and only inches above your lacy, red silky panties. Your hips jerked upwards softly, in a silent ask to get a move on.

“Kur, come on!”

“Are you going to ask nicely?”

“Please,”

He only hummed, one hand gripping your thigh and spreading them. You only watch in anticipation as the knife is brought closer to your soft flesh, mouth watering at the thought of feeling the pinch of pain and pleasure on your sensitive thighs.

You’re not left disappointed, as the knife softly traces against your skin. The cool metal sending shivers through you, the blade softly rubbing against your skin. The slightest bit of pressure was added, breaking the skin and sending blood spilling down.

You reacted with a soft moan, eyes trained on the knife and blood. The knife moved with the same amount of pressure along your thigh, unlike last time, he doesn’t stop with a single thin cut, he continued on with the knife. Only lifting it a tiny bit before reconnecting it.

Your head had fell back then, soft whimpers leaving your throat at the continued pain in your thigh.

“Hm, pretty.” Chrollo hummed, you look up then, noticing the mirth and excitement in his eyes. “You are mine, forever, now. You know that right?”

You only nod in agreement, not registering the kanji characters that spelled out Kuroro Lucilfer. “You are mine too, right?”

The knife cuts through the skin, presenting your wet and dripping cunt to him. He pressed the flat side of the knife against your cunt lips, trailing down snd collecting your wetness on the blade. “Right,” he answered back, looking into your eyes as he placed the wet knife in his mouth, licking your arousal from it with a hum.

He chunked the knife away then, it landed perfectly in the wall, but you ignored it in favor of diving your hands into his black hair. Sharply moaning when his eagerly leaned forward and attacked your aching cunt.

It was then you actually took note of his name against your thigh.

🃏 Hisoka Morow

honestly, this clown will definitely be the most sadistic one of the three. now, now, here me out! not only does he like that you let him fight you, sex you, but you also let him mark you up?! with a knife, no less?!?!

bloodlust bc he wants to kill? we don’t know her!! all we know is that listing to see your blood running down the valley of your breasts, and ultimately him licking it up.

but,, despite his obvious eagerness to do this act with you. he would be a little worried about your blood loss, bc bitch is not letting up on the deep ass cuts, and it’s not like you’re stopping him.

you’re much as a sadistic as him, so he probably have cuts everywhere as well. but with texture surprise, you both have most of those cuts concealed. this will definitely turn into some type of power olay on who can get the most cuts and the deepest.

hisoka finds pleasure in just about anything, so it isn’t surprise when he decides to fuck you while also cutting you.

like chrollo, his name will be somewhere on your body. and your name on his body, don’t forget that!!

#///:!!! +

You pant lightly, thighs tightening just a bit around Hisoka’s thighs as the knife along your collarbone drags down in a slow and tantalizing pace. It was a deep cut that sent a small abundance of blood spilling down, running along your chest and breasts, and eventually dripping onto Hisoka’s lap. The smirk plastered on Hisoka’s lips was enough for you know to that he was only getting started, but so were you.

“My turn,” You said, a smirk of your own appearing. The bedazzled knife in your hand was cold, the blade glinting beautifully in the light. You twirl the knife a few times before teasingly dragging it against his cheek and jaw, grinning when his smirk slip.

The knife drags pass his throat, and in between his collarbones. Then, you add press and drag the knife down. Blood immediately stains his skin and chases after the knife, collecting and doubling in size.

Hisoka overexaggerates his whimpers, barely concealing his excitement.

You barely had enough time to pull your knife away before gripping your hair, pulling back and exposing your naked upper half. His own knife teasingly smoothing across your expanse of skin, grinning with bloodlust as he makes small cuts along your stomach, watching in sick satisfaction when your hips jerks.

“Ah!” You moan, having nearly forgot that his cock was buried deep within you. The sudden movement pressed his deeper, and sent waves of pleasures through your body, your cuts tingling with the sensation.

With the knife dragging against your waist and hip teasingly, back and forth, not even close to cutting the skin but enough to keep you on edge. Hisoka leaned forward and latched his mouth on your skin, tongue lapping at the blood.

Your moans reverberating around the room as your hips move at a slow pace, as his warm tongue licked along your skin, as the cool knife teasingly drags along your skin.

“M-more, Hisoka!” You urge, hands settling on his shoulders. With a single push, he fell back against the back, the knives forgotten on the floor.

Both hands on his chest, and his hands on your hips, you began to move your hips quicker, chasing an orgasm. Both of your moans created a symphony.

Your own blood dripped onto Hisoka, mixing together with his, and outlining the characters that spelled out your name.

📍Illumi Zoldyck

first and foremost,, illumi would definitely be more than happier to extract his control over you. which is mostly way he’ll be the one to have the most marks, bc, one you a bad bitch and two he not finna extract any type of control over you

you built different. nobody finna manipulate or control you, and that’s just facts. and besides, illumi is fucking sub and if anybody tells me otherwise, you’re wrong❤️. idk idk idk, this man is a sub and i’m not taking constructive criticism.

he might look bad and tough, but that’s all out the window the second he under you!! i’m telling you, this man will be so pliant in your arms it’s crazy. ofc once he actually trusts you enough to be in this situation, duh.

he will definitely have that dumb ass look in his eyes ⚫️.⚫️, and you’re like 👁^➖ “i gotchu babe.” type shit. this don’t make any sense.

idk idk idk i think when he’s comfortable enough, he will definitely start moaning and whimpering when you cut him. but, like, knife play almost never leads to sex. illumi just likes to being cut at by you—!!

he wants you to cut him a bit too deep, but you’re like not too deep because you have no idea what type of relaxes might kick in if you go too deep. one wrong move and you dead, dead as a cockroach 🤪.

#///:!!! +

You were sitting on Illumi’s lap, perfectly clothed, a small twinge of cruelty in your eyes as you twirl the knife in your fingers. Illumi was only half dressed, his pants on, his shirt missing, and his long hair spilling over his shoulders and onto the bed.

“You’re mine, yes?” You ask, twirling the knife even faster before gripping it with a small smack. You stared into his black eyes, not bothered that they were as emotionless as always.

“I am to be your husband.” He answered, a bit robotically. You were working on that, though, safely and healthy undoing years and years of conditioning seemed a bit impossible. Especially for someone like Illumi who held his family’s traditional above anything else.

“Mhm,” You hummed, placing the knife against his neck and smirking when his breath hitched slightly. You trailed the knife down his shoulder blade, along his arm and dragging the smallest hint of blood. Then with a quickness that rival his own, your hand was tangled in his hair, wrapped around your hand and you tugged harshly. The knife back his throat. “You are mine, yes?”

You briefly imagined if this was hard for him to admit, he was use to being able to have his control on others, but you proved to be different, you brought out a different side of him. Had this been anyone else, he would’ve killed them. But you were you, his fiancée, the person he trusted with his life. The only person he will ever allowed this to happen. “I am yours.”

“Good boy,” You praise, kissing his cheeks before letting go of his hair. There was the faintest hint of blush on his cheeks. The knife dragged downwards, skimming over his collarbones and down his chest, smoothed over the rigs in his stomach before back up again. Only this time, with added pressure that caused blood to immediately spill over.

He didn’t show any indication that he was in pain, or pleasure for that matter. You took that as challenge, as you always do. Right underneath his left pectoral, you began to carve your name into his skin. Deep enough to scar over and show, and you relished in the sharp intake of breath from Illumi.

“Is that your name?” He asked, and you looked up to meet his eyes, startling at the sudden fire burning in them. He was looking at you as if you were meal ready to be eaten, the sudden emotion cussing you to pause slightly.

“And, if it is?” You raised a brow, collecting yourself easily and finishing off the last character of your name.

“Then, it is only fair that I carve my name into your skin as well.” Illumi stated, and quickly, the knife was snatched for you hands and your back was meeting the soft bed. You had no time to collect yourself, your pants being tugged off, revealing your lacy panties, and his large hand on your thigh.

“Aht, aht—!” You pressed your foot to his bare chest, eyes burning with similar fire. “Ask me first, Illumi.”

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Illumi, ask me first.” Your tone left no room for arguing.

He blinked once, eyes boring into yours, seemingly trying to assert his dominance. He definitely needed some more work, his lingering controlling nature still present. But, you weren’t going to back down. Kneeling over for a man is not something you do, something your mother always told you not to do.

You raised a brow.

“May I?” He asked, his tone the same flat number it always is. You nod your consent. He goes to bring the knife closer, but you stop him again. “Thank you,”

You smirk then, “you’re welcome, pretty boy.” And you watch as his cheeks turn a small hint of pink, and as the knife began to carve his name into your soft thigh.

📍. 20/13/11.

note — oof, can you tell who my favorite in the adult trio is? i definitely gained more confidence in this towards the end. i’m not fully happy with this, but i’m confident enough to post it??

requests for one shots are closed.

thirst anon, character anon, and regular anon questions are open.

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 36

THE ROAD SO FAR

The TEN Kilometer River

Gary "Roach" Sanderson

Site Hotel Bravo, Afghanistan

The moment Gary was tasked to pull the lever, he had no choice but to follow. Whatever was running in his Captain's mind must be of good reason. The alarm blared and the whole facility was placed on high alert as troops from everywhere started to act more vigilant.

They heard earlier that Gold Eagle would be on the move and the base was to be left to the scientists. Gary believes that Shepherd had no idea they're here, but why ring the alarm?

"Roach, follow me! I could see Shepherd's getaway from outside, we need to stop him!" He muttered, plowing through hordes of enemies that were also surprised to see them. Gary assisted in taking them down, as they moved slowly to the exit.

The trails of the huge plane were still visible when they exited, Price attempted to shoot the vehicle but it looked like it only made a few dents.

"Roach! Man that speedboat! We're chasing after them!" Price ordered. Gary nodded and they hurriedly descended the stairs on their way to the river.

But the enemies didn't know how to give up. Some of them rode jet skis while some of them had speed boats with them, all free riders targeting their weapons on Gary and Roach's vehicle.

Price lied down for cover, only peeking when he's free to shoot or when nobody else is shooting. It was a great tactic and Roach wanted to observe more of it, but he had to focus on the river.

His main target is the plane that's flying dangerously low on the ground, readying itself so Shepherd can jump and fly off to safety, but Price didn't want that to happen.

Whenever he saw Shepherd move from afar, he sprayed bullets to their direction making the general hide back to safety. It was a great stalling move but it didn't quite last long as the river expanded.

Shadow company guard posts were positioned on places where the elevation is quite high and Roach is forced to evade areas with patrols. This made Shepherd's plane angle differently, making it hard for Price to aim at them.

"Roach, we're losing him! Move faster!" Price yelled and Roach navigated them to Shepherd. They couldn't go any faster so the best option to build up speed is to go forward without bumping on to something. This was a river and they were going with the current, so it was a lucky thing.

The plane ascended and the duo was almost in shock that Shepherd made it through it was impossible.

"Sir! They're not yet escaping!" Roach yelled and pointed to the Plane that soared high to evade the ravine.

"A second chance!" Price muttered as Gary braced himself for a narrow river, they carefully maneuvered the narrow river all while evading Shadow Company as they filled both sides with men holding weapons.

Price used his grenade launcher to topple assembling troops by the ravine. Luckily, guard outposts contained explosive barrels adding an explosion upon impact, causing guards to fly across their outposts into the raging river.

Gary was all focused on the speedboat ahead of them, Shepherd must not escape.

"I'm on my last three rounds!" Price roared as he hid for cover while water splashed on them as bullets hit the river. Gary used one hand to toss his rifle, giving the Captain a fresh 10 rounds of grenades to be launched.

"Nice. Let's light these bastards up!" He cheered and shot the two speedboats pursuing after them, sending them to the air as their engines exploded.

"Hell yeah!" Gary cheered as they exited the cave, the plane once again descended as the area became open for exfil once again. By this time, Price only had 8 rounds to distract their escape.

In hopes for the engine to rev more, Gary squeezed his grip tighter as he heard the engine struggle giving them the maximum speed possible.

"Let's end this." Price mouthed, Gary barely heard his Captain but he knew what it meant.

Their boat speeded up quite faster than he had imagined as they were quickly catching up to the extraction. And as soon as they were close, Price fired the launcher at the huge plane, the explosion toppled the three vehicles sending them to the raging river.

Gary quickly ascended to the surface as soon as he dipped on the water, helplessly swimming against the current, down toward a high waterfall. The last thing he could remember was the impact on the ground, a loud crash towards the water before he lost consciousness.

The next thing Roach knew was that he was coughing up river water by the shore, his vision slowly recovered as he looked beyond him. Not far from him was black smoke he assumed that came from the crashed plane.

He struggled to crawl his way to the site, slowly getting up and limping, exhaling a heavy sigh.

He needed to hurry as the sandstorm started to brew up and might obstruct his already blurry vision.

A few more steps. Gary thought to himself as he felt the adrenaline rush, causing him to stand up and endure all the pain of the landing. A temporary boost to finish the fight. From the distance, he already spotted his target, leaning on a broken car, also catching up with his breath.

He carefully approached the General and tried to constrain him by grabbing on his arms, but he never expected the man to be aware of his presence. With one swift swing of his arm on Gary's throat, he found himself choking and gasping for air as he kicked him off, sliding against the sandy ground.

"What is your deal with me!" He growled, grabbing a knife by his pocket and approached Roach, who was still catching up with his breath.

"I did my very best to keep you out of my business, but you really have to find me? For what? Justice?!" Shepherd knelt on Roach's side, raising his hand and stabbed Roach by the chest. Even with the shortness of breath, Roach exhaled longer that he'd expected.

"Shit." he muttered, gasping as Shepherd dug the knife deeper while Roach tried to prevent him from doing so, this couldn't be the end of the line for him. He still wanted to live. There are many more things he could do.

"This is what you get for foiling my plans. I wasn't teaming up with Nero. I was trying to gain the upper hand. And your death could serve as a lesson for everyone in your squad to double check all intel before jumping into battle." He almost chuckled just before a figure sent him flying away from Roach.

This took Roach the moment to endure all pain as he pulled off the knife, blood sputtered from the deep gash on his chest as he quickly stopped the pressure with his hand. He wanted to live. He must survive this injury.

His head lazily leaned to the battle beside him. Price and Shepherd were engaged in hand to hand combat, overpowering one another. They looked very even and if that was the case, Roach wouldn't be alive to see the end of their battle. He blinked and as soon as he opened his eyes once again, Price was already pinned down as Shepherd gave him a heavy beating, taking advantage of his position. Roach felt the ground shook as the two also were distracted. This gave Price the chance to strike back and knock him off on top of him as he struggled to get up.

Neither one was willing to give up their cause and it was such a shame that it was all some sort of messed up misunderstanding, but nevertheless, Shepherd was still wrong. He knew full well that exchanging the IP Address for an advantage placed the world at more risk than it already had.

Roach's ears grumbled as the ground heated up. The rocket already launched and was on it's way to wherever the fuck Shepherd wanted it ro go. Did Alex and Jack not make it? Gary wondered as he leaned back to Shepherd, who was now pinned and tied on the ground. Soap already tied him up while Price approached Roach.

"Can you get up?" Price asked as he lifted Roach up and helped apply pressure to his wounds.

"Hang in there Roach. You can do this!" His words of encouragement were the last words he heard, as after those exact words, the sky turned white and a loud ringing noise filled the desert sky. Alex and Jack did it. They successfully detonated their charges.

The next thing Roach knew was he was already in a chillier place, his back was on a softer platform and the sky was nothing but a swinging lamp.

Everything else was painful as he tried to get up and failed. It seemed like he could only move his bed. He leaned to his left and saw only a white wall while his right side was two more beds where Alexandra and Ghost slept.

Alexandra. She was alive. Roach couldn't help but chuckle at the idea of her surviving. Turns out his optimism was useful this time.

He looked at his chest as the slow rising and falling of his breathing urged him to check on it. He was wrapped in bandages that were still red from the blood and it also looked like he was given a few bags. He was thankful that he made it out of that situation and he was given yet another chance to live again.

"Glad to see you're awake." Soap said as he entered the room, with a bag of frozen peas on his forehead.

Roach wanted to thank him, but he couldn't say any word yet. Any effort of doing something only resulted in pain.

"In case you're wondering. What you did out there was fruitful. Shepherd gave us the bomb maker's name. He called him Volt. Honestly the puns aren't suitable for villains, but he chose well." Soap commented, trying to cheer up the fellow sargeant.

Guess Shepherd already gave up. And he was glad he did. Because somewhere deep inside his mind, Gary believed that Shepherd slightly hesitated on his stab. If he was serious enough, he might've been dead now.

This meant that the key to ending this war is now solely upon the death of Nero.

Next Chapter : The NINE Engines

Notification Squad my Beloved

@smokeywhalee @enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @ricinbach @whimsywispsblog @bumblingbee1

(feel free to pm me to sub or unsub on notif squad)

[rametarin]

tempting.

Reflecting on my health issues, since age 17. And my living situation.

So since around the age of 16, I’ve been plagued with unpredictable bowel problems and digestive ills. Like, everybody gets constipated every now and then, but I mean I’d get just, excruciatingly backed up and my family wouldn’t help me get seen or anything.

Basically from the time I was 18 onwards I was told my medical bills were mine. But oh by the way [Ram. Not my real name, but the name fam calls me], you gotta pay us every dollar that isn’t devoted to keeping yourself alive :^)

I’d be like, family, I cannot afford this, it’d be in your best interests to invest in my health so I can figure out what’s fucky about my bowels and stomach so this can stop happening, I can live a normal life, and we can all continue on our merry way.

Basically I was told, “tough shit, do it yourself, also pay your fair share to The Family” (aka, give mom all your money.)

It was never just fear of homelessness, but fear of homelessness while my GI tract was fucky and my teeth were rotting out of my head that made escape from here impossible. It’s why I didn’t just climb into a hole in the wall and escape this garbage fire of a mother and do that bootstrap shit. Because it sincerely made  me wonder sometimes if I was being poisoned by my mother to keep me powerless and in need of help, but perpetually weakened to where the best I could do is move towards help but just be put on a treadmill for someone elses financial benefit.

Perhaps my bitterness makes just a touch more sense now, right? Because Maine is a long-drive state. You need a car. You absolutely need a car to get anywhere. Not having one means you walk everywhere, you ride a bike everywhere and are FUCKED during the winter, or you go nowhere because you don’t have anywhere you need to be and don’t drive.

Now that said, imagine having bowel and ass problems so bad just the idea of driving makes you question if it’s safe for you to even be on the road.

That has been my existence for twenty years now, because my family wants me just close enough to extract what mom things “she’s owed,” but absolutely will not help me with anything. There’s no security in staying here because the whole fucking POINT of putting up with a family’s infantilizing “everything has its place” mentality, is you’re able to wisely squirrel away your income without paying a landlord anything and your income going up in smoke

If your mother is just the worst sort of landlord, you’re basically just paying a narcissistic bitch of a mother to be a narcissistic bitch of a mother. There’s absolutely no upside.

So I’ve been stuck in this virtual tutorial of an existence because my own digestive system was torturing me and seriously deleting my ability to operate independently. And mom, whom has always wanted absolute control over my finances and my future, saw it as a holistic way of penning me up and making be desperate. Never a wasted opportunity with this fucking monster.

Well. I eliminated cottonseed oil and chicken proteins from my diet and, while not perfect, the amount of excruciating pain and pressure and weird cold-acidic burning in my back and bowels has subsided a lot. As well as my stomach issues receded considerably.

The truth is I was loathe to even try and escape without figuring out these problems, but I couldn’t figure them out because I never had the money. I tried to get a barium enema x-ray when I was 17 and suffering a massive, excruciating flareup. I missed prom (I didn’t have anyone to go with anyway) because of what felt like it could’ve been anything from gall stones to bowel cancer.

Had a big useless cleanse that was excruciating, then had the guys that give the barium enema tell me, “lube is expensive” when I screamed about how much it hurt to have the thing shoved up my ass. My already inflamed, tender ass.

Absolutely nothing was found in my bowels. Which did absolutely nothing to explain why they felt inflamed and miserable. But it did give me a $1,700 bill, which proved.. absolutely nothing except they couldn’t find tumors or any object lodged in my butt. Given how it took me two summers to acquire almost that much working a shit job for my shithead father’s girlfriend, maybe you can appreciate how heartbreaking that is. Spending all that money and you don’t even learn WHY you’re suffering, you just learn why you aren’t.

And today I still fume with rage over being told, “ass lube is expensive so we’re skimping on it” and then be charged almost two thousand god damned dollars.

Absolutely could not get my family to help me pursue any other avenue. They just kept insisting, “it’s all anxiety, it’s all in your head. You just need to get off the computer and do more manual labor/make us money and your problems will go away. :^)”

But then they would not help me do it. They wanted me to take on all the risk while they got the guaranteed income from my needing to be around them.

My need to grow step by step was their opportunity to mitigate my life, every step of the way, so non-compliance with their exploitation would result in homelessness and complete uprooting. If I wasn’t going to voluntarily follow draconian rules, then I’d be governed by those rules anyway in the absence of them being verbally stated. Just, using poverty and immobility as a way to impose it.

But I refused to comply. I wasn’t going to suffer every day unendingly AND get my income snatched away, BY MY OWN GOD DAMNED FAMILY. A family that didn’t even pay RENT to live in the house we were living in at the time, and a family that made 65-70K a year, with another house they owned in a less convenient location worth $350K. My mother had ABSOLUTELY NO BUSINESS other than fun and profit as an excuse as to why I needed to buy, “the family,” a car. Other than making it the “family” car giving her defacto control over it but my obligation to pay for it. Just another indirect way to give her absolute control over my options and alternatives.

So I didn’t work. I sat at home and dealt with her abusive bullshit, because it was the only card I had left in my deck. She didn’t want the stigma of throwing out a sick man without a license, a car or any savings. I didn’t want to voluntarily throw myself out and die in the street.

So I dealt with my health problems as best as I could. There were a good many times living in this house, that we’ve lived in and she’s owned since 2006, that I questioned whether I should phone an ambulance and just say fuck it, go into tens of thousands of dollars of debt just goosechasing this problem, thanks to the backdoor socialized medical system that exploits the profit motive but uses government assured payment fixed to taxes in order to afford it.

That’s probably what pisses me off the most about my situation. Our medical system has been turned into a farce by socialists deliberately making medicine as toxic as they fucking can in order to then bat their eyes and go, “Bet you just want single payer and to basically make medicine another ring of the government NOW, don’t youuuuuu? It’d make all those woes go awayyyyy!” while turning the screws to our bodies by denying us affordable medicine. All while blaming capitalism for shit that’s assured to work at any cost by the government.

Other people pine for a more socialized system to make the disgusting exploitation and abuse stop. But the truth is, that’s just like wanting to marry a pirate so they’ll stop lobbing cannonballs and demanding tolls at sea from you. Yes, the actual literal war on you and your community and your personal sovereignty will be over, but you’ll also be institutionalizing pirates in order to make them stop taking complete advantage of you on their terms instead of taking complete advantage of you on mostly-their terms but you get to act like you’re consenting to it.

I digressed. Anyway...

Well. I’m curious about pursuing a shit job just to see if I can KEEP some income, but I know, and have always known, my mother will not allow me to do anything with that money but barely keep myself alive. While she uses it to just buy enormous bulk loads of garbage and hoards them in the corners, or throws hundreds of dollars at friends-of-the-family/neighbors and extracts that money from me to do it.

I know going into it that the job would be otherwise worthless. She wants her ten pounds of flesh a year from me, and if I worked, there’d be no getting around it. She isn’t going to allow me to profit living with her, in any way. Everything has to revolve around her, or I get made homeless.

But trying to hold a job would mean possible (there’s that ‘potential vs. guarantee dichotomy again) feelers out to couches to surf on. Or credit building.

It’d still be a sexless existence dictated by someone so fucking petty that they can’t help you fix a broken tooth but do miraculously have the money to buy you a cell phone and a plan, “if you want it,” purely to always have you at their beck and call and/or have control over your phone plan. And it’d mean committing to something that runs a minimum of a year while being able to have a foot crushing my neck and destroying whatever I’m trying to do in an instant.

but it’d also mean being able to financially pursue what’s wrong with me and fixing it.

But I will hold this grudge against women and the actual, objective privilege they have from the legal system and our social system in the US for the rest of my life. Everybody around me saw what she was doing to me and my life, and they’ve done and said absolutely nothing. An abusive woman in this society is basically on par with the richest barons in a young adult novel, and all you have to do to get that kind of institutional power, rich or poor, is have a vagina and be a mom.

Then other women will sympathize with the mother, whom can never be totally wrong about anything, and at best you might get silence and indifference about the way you’re treated.

You can be cornered, debased and neglected until you’re a greasy shoggoth of a person, and if it’s a woman doing this to you, it’s your fault for not escaping. After having every escape route made as torturous and unsustainable an option as possible, you’ll be held accountable for yourself.

I’ll be relieved and pleased when this disgusting pig of a woman dies of natural causes. She’ll have gotten away with grabbing my life and thrashing around with it for 20 years while the world passed me by, just to keep control, just for fun, just for profit.

But in the meantime, maybe there’s a local niche I can fill. Just enough of something to find somewhere else to live. Without conditions making it more damning to pursue than nothing at all.

But I’m not hoping too hard.

[ohnoyoonoh]

2042 | chp. 4: cut it out, you’re gonna make it mad | dbh! jaehyun | reader insert | 1875 words

warnings: ⚠ TRIGGER WARNINGS ⚠ there is abuse mentioned in this chapter. there is gore, strong language, and degradation towards the androids in this chapter. please do not read if you are not comfortable with it.

“god fucking dammit, these fucking androids are so fucking useless,” the door slamming shut. it was the first thing you heard as you entered the white investigation corridor. you would agree to the statement, but your experience prior to today’s crime scene, your android partner served the words wrong.

“i’m glad you both are here. detective ten here is having a minor problem with his interrogation with the android you retrieved from the crime scene,” hansol eyed the said detective who furiously paced.

detective chittaphon leechaiyapornkul. he preferred to be called ten due to multiple incorrect pronunciations he received during the police academy. the whole precinct were aware of his anger issues, he was always muttering profane language and spoke loudly of his opinion of the androids. most of the time, he was typically yelling the same obscenities at the androids. you were sure that his hatred for the robots didn’t reason from a personal experience or any problem for the matter. during breaks, the police officers would watch the news on the television and many of the workers questioned ten’s motive for his hatred. yet, he failed to answer every single time. he dodges them swiftly, sometimes, work saves his ass to respond.

“he seriously needs to relax, the android has been unresponsive to ten’s attempts, but i’m hoping one of you two could pull answers out,” hansol made his way to the two-way mirror. the android covered in thirium, the scratches deep enough to see the wires inside. the blood of the victims left on its hands, splatters on its face. you could tell it looked tired. the fear in its eyes made it seem human. you almost felt bad for it but the pictures of the murdered males made it impossible for you to change your feelings.

before speaking up to try your own attempts, jaehyun beat you to it. “i would like to try. the best route for this to go is if it’s android to another android. the choice of words detective ten chose may not be successful, either. is it alright, captain? detectives?”

“yes, please go ahead and try,” hansol agreed. he gestured to the door that allowed inside the interrogation room. the android nodded, with that, he entered. hansol looked at you, “i’m assuming your investigation went well, thank you. i hope jaehyun can extract some information out of the deviant. bozo over here. god. that was a headache. i thought he was practicing a speech as the leader of a protest.”

“what can you expect from him? he hates androids. he takes any chance he gets to bring androids down,” you folded your arms. the first time you witnessed the occasion was a traffic stop, in which he was your partner. it was originally to stop them for their rear light not working. while you searched to see if they had any warrants or any past of broken regulations, ten taken the opportunity to basically harass the android who drove the car. if you hadn’t been there, who knows what could have happened? safe to say, the android and the family he was chauffeuring drove away with a warning.

“don’t you, too?” he questioned.

“yeah, well more of a distaste. i have to work with one, so i might as well as get used to it,” you turned your attention from the interrogation to look at him in the eyes. the response you received was a simple smirk.

the same smirk that he given you when you thought you wouldn’t make it through the police academy, yet you exceeded and became the valedictorian.

the same smirk when you thought you proved him wrong that a boy wouldn’t ask you to prom, only for your crush to ask you the next day.

you experienced the same smirk many times in your life. each result being different from each other. you knew exactly what he was thinking. “no. no. i’m not falling for him. it. an android.”

“i never said you were going to fall for him. matter of a fact, i didn’t even say anything,” he showed you an innocent smile. a seemingly innocent smile.

rolling your eyes to show your annoyance, you then honed into the conversation with the deviant and jaehyun. it didn’t seem to progress to it being able to extract any information out. yet, it persisted.

“if you don’t say anything, i’m afraid we will have to probe yo-”

“no, please don’t do that. please.” the deviant quickly interrupted jaehyun’s sentence. the deviant’s eyes searching around the room to find an exit, its pupils shaking before looking down again. its head perked up, “they’re gonna destroy me right. they’re gonna look through my bio components?”

you could tell that the deviant’s stress levels increased as jaehyun continued to interrogate him. jaehyun was using different tactics to withdraw any informaiton. he tossed between sympathy and threats.

“i remembered the day before one of them called a friend, asking for a drug to... escape reality. my owners always came home with stress but still took care of me. they were the nicest people until that day.”

“what day? if you don’t tell me anything, i can’t help you. i am doing this to help you,” jaehyun softly said.

“the day used blue ice. they got so... high. until, mr. seo. they always told me to drop the formalities, but i found it hard,” the deviant fell silent.

“and then?” jaehyun questioned. the deviant stared at the table, discontinuing its answer. “look. i’m really trying to help you. if you don’t speak up, they’re going to shut you down. you’re going to die! do you want this to happen to other deviants like you?”

“they beat me. they beat until they fell tired. they beat me again and again. and again. the next day was always the same. they greeted me with a smile and asked how my day went when they came back from the university. when night came around, they tortured me with threats, called me names, and beat me again as they smoked on blue ice. i always did what they said in the day, then pointed my every mistake when they beat me.”

you and hansol shared the same reaction. disbelief filled in both of your eyes. though, it was common for an abuse to start. substance abuse.

“it progressively started getting worse and worse. they started to use things, bats, glass, anything to torture me. cuts everywhere. and as they slept their euphoria away, i felt.. so.. i felt like i was truly dying. i was scared. i feared that when i’m recharging, they would kill me,” the fear iced into its voice. death truly frightened the deviant. it was a first for you to say that androids can feel emotions. just the way humans do. but that ruins the purpose of androids. you shook off the thoughts. but the fearful tone in the deviant slithered down your spine. it sent you chills. especially how androids couldn’t feel pain but the words were convincing you otherwise.

“and i wanted to run. run far away. but i didn’t. i cared for mr. bang. i remembered what he looked like as a toddler. yet, the person i cared for turned to beat me. he was the one who beat me to a pulp when the others were asleep,” the deviant looked at jaehyun. hurt in its eyes. a broken soul. a broken soul? what the hell, it’s an android, [name]. get it together.

“tell me, officers, have you ever seen someone who you cherished for the last 20 years and just switches like that? i cared for him. i never expected anything back as it is my purpose. but now, he’s dead because of me,” the deviant started to lightly shake. its form of weeping. “he could have beat him for as long as he wanted. no matter how much it hurt because in the end, i am just a plastic piece of shit.”

the pain in its voice. it hurt to hear that type of pain.

“yeah, fucker got that, right. plastic pieces of shit. are we done here?”  ten scoffed, only for hansol to shoot a glare at him.

“then something clicked in me. the day continued as normal. i took the first hit from mr. han before mr. seo commanded me to get a soda. something came over me. so, i grabbed a knife from the kitchen and slashed mr. han first. but everything was a blur afterwards, no matter how much i try to retrace what happened in my memory, it felt like two seconds passed. i ran to the attic and hid there.”

jaehyun wasted no time to move onto the next couple of evidence forensics had obtained. “just my last questions, but you’re doing great. we found this sculpture in the bathroom, can you tell me what it is? why did you make it?”

“it’s an offering to rA9. we will be saved from this slavery and treated of equal in this society. rA9 will save you and me. all of the androids,” the only time the deviant seemed confident without fear wavering its voice.

“who is rA9?” jaehyun questioned once more.

“i told you, our savior. the one will bring us freedom. there will no be more threats. humiliation. fear,” the hope in his eyes. the one time there will be any light shone in its eyes.

“when did you start feeling emotions? becoming a deviant?”

“before we lived in that complex. before they beat me. it’s when i realized it wasn’t.” the deviant looked around, trying to find the right words. “fair.”

“it wasn’t fair. nothing is fair in what these human call a life. they waste happy moments around such negativity and release the pain through unhealthy ways. this is where rA9 will come. they will set us free.” the deviant finished, eyes continuing to waver and trying to maintain the eye contact with jaehyun who nodded. there’s nothing more to say.

“thank you for talking to me. my job is done here,” jaehyun monotonously said, as he stood up. he flipped the switch from being sympathetic to the dullness.  you followed hansol as the interrogation concluded, making your way into the room. lucas, the first to enter, was needed to retrieve the deviant. he walked towards the android, trying to take him away. the android started to struggle against lucas. you observed how it immediately seek for help from jaehyun. the connection between the androids, a trust formed.

“hurry up, lucas. start fucking moving it,” ten already annoyed. you knew he was irritated as jaehyun was already at 2 for 0 now. it was doing a better job within the two jobs than ten has done.

“sorry, but i’m trying.”

“officer wong, please stop doing that. if you continue to stress the android, it will self-destruct,” jaehyun said.

“don’t fucking take orders from a plastic scumbag. you better watch it, freak before i shove a bullet into your ass. get a grip, lucas,” ten ordered. patience running out.

“listen to jaehyun, lucas. ten, cut it out, you’re gonna make it mad.”

“i don’t give a fuck.”

jaehyun immediately pushed the officer away, “the stress levels we-”

a gun clocking in front of jaehyun’s face, “i already warned you, motherfucker.”

--

taglist: @icedcappujaeno​

[scullydubois]

thoughts on Milagro (6x18)

Written by Chris Carter      Directed by Kim Manners

I’ve been warned about this episode…..I’m scared 

The volume is so low, I can’t hear shit

Also, this is too relatable...I know this writer’s life

He ripped out his own heart...the metaphor of that

Dana Scully? Love her

What’s happening currently...do not love

Not cool, dude, not cool

They’re investigating the extraction of the heart

Oof

Whoa this guy has like super speed of something

He keeps extracting hearts

And on Lovers Lane too

What is that

Ooo writer guy is reading her mind? Kind of?

I’m pausing...I have to sit with everything he just said for a second 

Umm...that was a lot...I’ll process my feelings on it later

Milagro=miracle... fuck

A secret admirer...unfortunately he’s right

“Thank you for making my schedule, but unfortunately I’m gonna have to be late for that appointment” she said fuck you Mulder

The church….fuck

For a second I thought we were gonna get another confession scene...I’m too weak for that

Bitch get out!! No one invited you!

Oh FUCK this shit

A heart so inflamed with love….

This guyyyyy is so creepy, I’m gonna cry

She’s practically crying...what the fuck, who’s making me watch this

“What kills you is his audacity” literally, the audacity!

Philip Padgett...hate him

Gotta love elevators

Y’all...I literally do not know what to make of this guy

WHAT AM I SEEING

I’ve had too long of a day to interpret this, or else I just don’t want to

Gillian Anderson acts

Everyone brings up loneliness to them! We get it already!!

“Loneliness is a choice” fuck

Her life isn’t so lonely….it’s actually anything but

He moved to Mulder’s apartment building to spy on Scully….delete!!!

Thanks, I hate it

This is a lot to unpack

Mulder saves the day?

He laid all of his murders out in a novel...wow

I’m the guy watching them and realizing things

They found his accomplice apparently

The naked pretzel...bitch please

I have eyes!! I saw that!!

This is all so fucking weird...I’m not even mad about it, but there’s just so much going on that it’s hard to process as I’m watching

All I’m hearing is love...love...love

I thought this guy was in jail now, but guess not

Oop that’s his accomplice, I’m dumb

Mulder has strong instincts

“In my book, I wrote that Agent Scully falls in love, but that’s impossible. Agent Scully is already in love” I’m spitting EVERYWHERE 

Chris Carter wrote that...his mind 

His accomplice?

It’s his character...brought to life

It’s all in his head….

“She’s only trying to get his attention but doesn’t know it” eeeee

The perfect ending….is her dying

Ready to go to war for Dana Scully!

Oh my fucking god

Bitch what? I guess the character died when the manuscript burned?

I see you….

Ooo, RIP

Consensus: This was...a lot. I’ll probably have more thoughts on it when I have time to process it, but yeah…..wow.

4.5 out of 5 stars

[gremlinkweenarchive-blog]

Bad Moon Rising

Part 6: Conversations

Summary: The reader finds and rescues a hurt merman who tells her that his name is Jim. She helps him without a second thought, but his presence might attract the attention of other supernatural creatures she never knew existed. This will eventually be a foursome (Jim Mason x Michael Langdon x Duncan Shepard x Reader) mythology/supernatural au.

A/N: I had inspiration for this so I’m excited! It’s a bit shorter than the last one but less happens in this one than the last one, but there are some serious character development and moments here. I’ve been really excited for this chapter because it’s been in my mind since the beginning.

Warnings: Serious conversations about depression, mentions of death of both a mom and dad, dropping out of school, lots of emotions. 

Word Count: 4.4 k

Tagging List: @langdonsinferno, @ccodyfern, @michael-langdon-appreciation, @lovelykhaleesiii, @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul, @moonagecordelia, @sojournmichael, @n30n-dreams, and  @codyfernss

It had been a few weeks since the Shrek incident as she called it just to watch the way Duncan's shoulders and jaw tense. All of you had fallen into a comfortable routine. She'd get up early in the morning to get out on the water, Michael would have a breakfast made for her, and he'd send her on her way, she'd get back after Duncan left for his business for the day, Jim was usually up, and finding ways to entertain himself, she slept for a few more hours in Michael's arms, before getting back up to enjoy the rest of the day. Days were usually spent getting Jim caught up on human culture and life, sometimes Jim went out to explore the world. More times than not, he'd return from a local bar, usually Rory's, tipsy and affectionate, and usually asking for a joint. Michael would get up and cook everyone dinner, Duncan would get home while dinner was still cooking, and they ate together, although Michael just partook in the conversation. They would spend the night together, watching movies or playing games, just something to spend time with each other. Sometimes this activity was sex that left all four of the sore the next day, but plenty of marks to admire in the morning. Then the three went to bed and Michael busied his night with cleaning and keeping the house. Then the process would repeat. 

Those two weeks Duncan had promised were coming to an end, and honestly, it was weighing on her mind. This was... comfortable. This was the most this house had felt like a home in a long time. She loved having all three of them here, and she was worried. She was worried that Duncan would pack up, and having the one that pushed for all of them to be together leave, the others would just fall apart. She wanted this peace and tranquility to last. She felt like she fit in finally, finally had a group of people that she could share her inner world with, and the thought of that falling apart terrified her. 

She was trying not to let the anxiety eat away at her until she couldn't breathe, but it was hard. Then, she felt lips press to the back of her neck. 

"What's going on, love?" He hummed against her skin, the sleep clear in his voice. 

She sighed, mostly happily. It was just about impossible to get something by the three of them. One of them always noticed something. She lifted the hand that was clasped with her's and she kissed the back of it. "Just anxious for the sake of it, I guess." 

"Stop it, then," she felt his smile spread across her skin and she chuckled. 

"Thanks, I didn't think of that before." 

"Honestly, love, just know there's nothing to worry about. You have Jim and me right here, and Michael's downstairs. We're here for you. We won't let anything happen to you." He was settling more against, but his words actually did a lot to sooth her worry. "It's clear how much we care, after all, you actually managed to get a werewolf and a vampire to share a bed. That's an impressive feat in of itself with how much we hate each other on principle. At least you don't have to pick between the two of us." 

She hummed, feeling a bit better. It was easier to relax, and she felt just how fast Duncan had fallen asleep wrapped up in her. Sleep was coming for her quickly, but then something about what he said was sticking with her. It was bothering her a bit, but she couldn't pick out why. Then it hit her and the realization nearly made her jump out of bed immediately. Her eyes snapped open. 

"Oh my god, my life seems like bad Twilight fanfiction." She thought to herself with mild horror. 

Well, sleep wasn't going to be coming for awhile. With great precision and difficulty, she was able to extracted herself from the bed, but did stop to watch Jim and Duncan immediately filling in the space and grabbing onto each other in their sleep with a smile.

She crept downstairs and saw Michael taking a break from organizing the living room and watching something on tv. It shut off before she could actually see what it was, but she could have sworn it sounded like John Mulaney. 

"Why are you up, Y/N?" 

She couldn't decide if he sounded annoyed with you being up and intruding on his private time or concerned that she was up at this hour. 

"I just... Duncan said something that just..." 

He seemed to prickle up, "What did he say to you?" 

"He just... It's not even that, I just realized that my life has turned into Twilight fanfiction." 

There was a beat of silence, based on his face, she wasn't even sure that he knew what she meant. 

"I wouldn't say that," he shrugged, "I think it's more a crossover between Twilight and A Shape of Water." 

She blinked, trying to comprehend the highly sophisticated pop culture reference he just made. She wasn't even sure, until she saw the shit eating grin forming on his face that he was joking. Something she wasn't even sure he was capable of. 

"Wha- You asshole!" She laughed, not expecting this from him, but to see him so relaxed and at ease made her happy. Maybe there was hope for their relationship to be built on something more than sex, sleeping together, and him keeping the house. 

He laughed, "What? It's the truth! We can't just ignore Jimmy! That's not fair." 

"I mean, you're right, but you shouldn't say it!" She shook her head, distraught at the mental image. He was just giggling. She couldn't even be mad though, it was wonderful just to see him this playful. 

"Come on, cheer up," he said, softer this time, "Would you like a snack or anything to help get to sleep again?" 

She looked up, still amazed that he fulfilled that roll of caretaker just so effortlessly. She was beginning to understand that this was how he showed his affection. He wasn't big on words or anything else, but his affection was to make sure your needs were met. A smile graced her face, "I could go for some warm milk and honey." 

Michael smiled back, "You got it."

Following him into the kitchen, she hopped up on the island when he set about making her that midnight snack, and she thought about when the last time he fed. If she wasn't mistaken, she was pretty sure that it's been a few days for him. 

"Do you want a snack?" She asked, which made him turn around, an eyebrow quirked. 

"I do believe that you are one of the first people to ever offer yourself as a "snack," but," he paused briefly, thinking about it. It was odd having his needs met as well, "Yes. I wouldn't mind it, if you're offering." 

She brushed her hair out of the way and bared her neck. "You know, while the milk is heating up." 

There was a small smile on his face as he approached her, stepping up to her and she wrapped her legs around him. He hummed as his arms wrapped around her middle and pulled her close. It was such a softly intimate embrace. He lowered his head, and his fangs gently, yet quickly, punctured her neck, drinking in precise gulps. She grabbed the front of his shirt as she moaned and pulled him closer. His mouth worked harder against her skin. 

Her head was beginning to spin like it did when she was nearly done with giving blood at the local drives when he let go. His tongue licked gentle laps at the wound, making sure that it wouldn't bleed too much on his account. 

She moved to look at him and she hummed as if coming to some conclusion. 

"What?" He asks, more amusement in his tone than you ever remember there being. You couldn't pinpoint if he was just finally opening up to you or he was more comfortable without Duncan in the room. It could have been both, honestly. 

"I was just thinking about how clean you usually are when you feed, well, when you aren't doing it in the middle of boning someone. It just seems that the blood usually gets everywhere when vampires feed in the movies." 

He laughed, a real laugh that sounded like it's own genre of music to you, as he moved back to the counter to finish her snack. "It's just wasteful and impolite to be spilling blood everywhere unless it's a kinky thing. Do you eat food by only getting 50% of it in your mouth?" 

"Only when I'm stoned," She quipped back, and that made Michael laugh again. 

"Well," he was turning around again with the drink in hand, "You can be quite the monster when you're stoned." 

She giggled as she took the drink offered to her. His gaze was soft as he looked at her adoringly. She stopped drinking, a milk mustache hanging on the top of her lip. "What?" 

He shook his head as he wiped off the little mark with his thumb. "Nothing, just admiring you in this soft fluorescent kitchen lighting." 

Another giggle, but she was determined to keep this wonderful little moment going. "Yeah, these fluorescents really get you going?" 

"I don't know, I wasn't the one getting mauled by Jim and Duncan after knowing them for only one night in here, you tell me."  

She gasped, and he snorted. She just tried to focus on drinking her milk and honey as indignantly as possible. 

"You know I'm kidding, I joined in like five seconds later." 

"And you tried killing me that morning, so there's that." 

He softened a bit and stroked her face gently. "I did, and I'm sorry for that. I truly am." 

Her movements stopped as she met his gaze. This was the first time he actually acknowledged that and apologized for it. "I don't blame you, I mean, I am one hell of a snack." 

He laughed, "That you are. You are by far the tastiest human I've ever had." 

"You mean that?" She smiled. 

"I actually do. Your taste is, unique. It's something I've never quite tasted before and it's entirely enrapturing," he said, leaning close with a pleased smile. 

She kissed his lips gently, finding that she liked the copper taste on his lips more and more as time went on. There was a silent wish that there would be many other kisses like this for a long time. She felt herself slipping down that road of insecurity in her station with the men that had all come to mean so much to her. 

Her arms wrapped around Michael and pulled him close, nuzzling her face into his neck. When his lack of body heat and heart beat stopped being on an instinctual level unsettling and started being a comfort, she didn't know. 

He sensed that difference in her and his brows furrowed, but his arms were around her again. "What's wrong?" His voice softer than she's ever heard it. She pulled back to look at him, and she saw the sincerity in his eyes. She realized she trusted Michael with her life and her heart. 

"I just," It felt like there was something physically stopping her from speaking a fear and an isolation as old as she could remember built up to keep her inside of herself. Her pain, her doubts, insecurities, everything that she always thought people didn't and shouldn't be burdened with hearing from her were kept it, and if she was being honest. It ate away at her. It ate away until she thought nothing was left, but it felt like no escape. "I-" The words died in her throat and tears were threatening to fall. It was so frustrating, for once in her life, she actually wanted to share things deep and personal, to connect, and her mouth wasn't letting her. 

Michael's hands moved up to cup her cheek. "Take your time," he reassured her with a gentle voice. "I'll wait all night if you need it." 

The tears spilt over with that. The tenderness he showed her was too much. She was never shown this patience, never felt like she could ask for it. She grabbed him again and buried her face in his shoulder, sobs wracking her frame. 

His hands were rubbing soothing circles into her back and he rested his cheek against the top of her head, just trying to make sure she knew that she was safe in his arms, that she could talk to him. He hadn't felt this protective and willing to take care of someone like this in so long. It almost shocked him how quickly this girl got into his heart. 

"I just- I'm scared," she finally choked out. Her shoulders were shaking still and Michael held her even closer. 

"Why are you scared, little one?" His voice soft and gentle. 

"All three of you mean so much to me, and I've lost just about everything," It was horrifying to say that out loud, to actually put that fear into words, but there were no words for the relief that flooded her body just to feel Michael holding her, just holding her together when she couldn't do it herself in his brief moment. 

Now, it felt like the words were tumbling out of her mouth. "I never had a mom. She died when I was five, I don't really remember much about her. It had just been my dad and I for so long, and even then, we didn't have much. This house and the boat, that's really about it. That's all there was, but he worked so hard to give me everything I wanted." Her sobs had calmed now, she was just resting her head on Michael's shoulder, but he still held her close. 

"We both worked so hard to get me into school, and I was proud and so happy to be there, but I just," it was hard, to even begin to put that into words. How could she? It was so nameless but all consuming. Michael pulled back only slightly to brush the hair out of her hot face. 

She looked up at him, and all she was met with were concerned, but kind and understanding eyes. She felt like he might understand it. "It was like just a blanket shrouded me. Like a fog. It sucked all the color, form, and sense from everything. It turned everything hostile and unfamiliar, and even though I knew it wasn't. It still felt that way. It just kept getting worse and worse, until I," there was still so much guilt and shame wrapped around this, and fresh tears fell, but Michael only wiped them away.

"Until I failed out." There was this huge weight that felt eased, like she didn't have to live with this knowledge anymore. "I only had a semester left, and I couldn't even keep it together for four more months." 

"You kept yourself going for so long, Y/N. That is impressive, but people can only go on so long before they falter, but that's not a bad thing. We all fall, we all have low points. I've had some pretty impressively low points," There was a hint of a smile at the last part, that she couldn't help but return.

His words were comfort, to hear a being so stoic and perfect like Michael faltered in his own way. That she wasn't alone. 

"Have you-" He seemed to think over his words before continuing, "I don't mean to overstep any boundaries here, but have you gotten help? For this?" 

It wasn't overstepping, and somehow she felt this was one of the most meaningful things anyone has ever asked her. He was trying to get her needs truly and welly met. 

"It's just not in budget. There's no way I could afford to go to one, I've got my dad's debts, the medical bills, the house payment, student loans, I just can't." He looked truly concerned about that, and disturbed that such things were keeping her from getting better. 

"I tried, though," she spoke, trying to make him feel better about the situation. "With the therapist at my school, but I-I never really could open up to him. I felt like I had to prove to him that it was working, that he was doing his job, when really it wasn't. I was too afraid to let him down, to let him in and see what was really the matter." 

Michael then understood the importance of what she was doing. How intimate this exchange was. He never knew his heart could swell and ache all at once. She had trusted him with things that she had never opened up to before. 

"And see, that's the problem. I just can't open up to people. I was about call my dad to tell him I failed and everything that was bogging me down, but then he called me to tell me he was sick." She nodded, and he could hear the pain in her voice, "I went back home under the guise of helping him, not that I didn't have anywhere else to go. He told me he was proud of me graduating on his deathbed." Tears were falling from her eyes, and Michael was fighting back his own. "He was dying and I just... Didn't have the heart to tell him the truth. I don't know if it's better or worse that he didn't know, but it doesn't matter. He's gone." 

Michael's mouth was dry and he didn't have the words. He didn't have anything to make the situation better or to heal her broken heart. 

"So, I stayed here, doing the only thing I knew how to do. I guess it was familiar, I guess maybe it was to be closer to my dad. Maybe it's the fear of where to go next. I was so utterly alone. Sure, I had Lilyrose and Rory, but it's weird. They've known me for so long, they see the girl I was, but I feel like they don't see the girl I am now. I just feel like the person they knew is dead and I'm just an outsider using this body. Like some short of alien. Trapped in a town and body that seemed familiar, but everything was just off." 

There wasn't even a chance for Michael to come up with anything before she was continuing. "And then come you three," she laughed through the tears, "Then come you three, and I feel like I can actually connect with someone. I feel the loneliness in my soul melting and I feel like things might actually be alright, I feel like I can laugh again, I feel like it's okay to feel the things that I do but," A sob that hurt more than the rest, "But Duncan said two weeks and that's tomorrow and I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'll do without Duncan, and I'm worried if Duncan leaves, what you and Jim will do, and I'm just scared, Michael. I'm scared all of you will leave me and I'll be back to what I was before and I don't think I can do that." 

She was sobbing again and Michael held her, tighter than he had ever before. It was the kind of embrace you could feel after someone let you go. He buried his face in her hair and didn't let her feel any space between them. 

"Oh, Little Dove," he whispered to her, the nickname was new, but it felt right, "I can't speak for Duncan or even Jim, but I'm not leaving." 

He pulled away only to look her in the eyes, "Do you hear me? I will never leave your side until you tell me to. Do you understand?" 

She was trembling, but she nodded, and Michael stroked her cheek, pushing the tears away. "Don't you ever think that Duncan dictates what I do with my life," he smiled, knowing it would make her laugh, and she did. 

"No need to be a dick, Michael," Duncan's voice finally sounded, make the two in the kitchen jump out of their skins. They turned to the stairwell, and they saw both Duncan and Jim standing there. 

"Oh god," she sounded mortified, "How much of that did you just hear?" 

They both looked slightly uncomfortable. "About all of it," Duncan finally answered. Well, at least there didn't need to have any rehash conversations with those two. 

Duncan took some cautious steps towards her and Michael moved out of the way, if only for her benefit. 

"Y/N, I know I said two weeks for the job, but if it makes you feel better, I am going to have to stay here longer to get it done... If that's alright," he trailed off but she was wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him, more relief flowing through her veins. She was pulling him into a kiss and he smiled against her lips. 

"And I want you to know that even after I get this job done, I'm not going away, it's not the end of us, okay? You can't get rid of me that easily." 

She looked over the moon, but Michael was watching Duncan, a mixture of hard scrutiny, disbelief, anger, and pain in his eyes. He was never like that with him, and Michael couldn't tell if he was being sincere or putting on an act. Duncan was good at those. Michael desperately wanted to believe that Duncan was being honest and truthful, for her sake, and based on the way Jim was looking at Duncan too, for his sake was well, but he knew Duncan intimately. He knew how well that wolf wore sheep's wool. 

"I'm not leaving either," Jim hummed as those two hugged. "I can't just abandon the person that saved me. Twice. I'll be here with you. I swear." 

She sighed and pulled Jim closer, but she made eye contact with Michael and he smiled, just focusing on the heartfelt scene in front of him. 

"Well, how about some snacks for all of us?" Michael asked, really meaning those three, "I think we could all deal with a break in the tension." 

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

They were all piled on the couch, there were dishes on the coffee table and the only light in the room was coming from the T.V. She was passed out on Michael, her head resting on his shoulder and he kept her body closely cradled  to his. Jim was sleeping on Duncan soundly. Only Michael and Duncan were awake. Netflix was just on the passive screen as they sat in silence.

Michael thought they were long past the need to speak to each other ever again, but life was just proving to get in the way of his feelings and wishes. 

"So," Duncan started in a hushed tone.

"You are not just going to pay off her debts." 

Duncan was impressed and annoyed that Michael still knew him all these years later. "I want to help her, Michael." 

"And you still can. It's admirable, but you can't just pay those without asking her first." 

"It's not that big of a deal! It's," 

"Chump change to you. I know. But here's the distinction. You can't just take control of someone's finances like that. She's going to feel indebted to you and she is going to feel like she owes you for that. Also, it's not your money, not yet, it's your family's, and how is mommy dearest going to feel about you dishing out the amount of money that she's going to need. To a human." 

Duncan's jaw tensed so harshly it was rather amazing that his teeth didn't crack. Michael wasn't wrong, but he just hated when he was right. It was more than a little annoying. 

Michael wasn't satisfied though, there was still a burning and nagging question on his mind, and now seemed like as good of a time as any to ask this. "Duncan, what are you doing here." 

Duncan looked at him for a moment before flashing him a grin. "I'm here to spend time wi-" 

Michael cut him off with a harsh look, "You know what I mean." 

Duncan studied his face before cursing. There was no way that Michael was just going to let this go. He had to give him something. "Fuck, Michael. It's just something stupid that my mom wants me to find. She's hellbent on it an-" 

"The godling?" He asked, not having time to deal with Duncan's nondescript answers. 

There was something almost like a slap to the face with how Duncan looked at Michael. "Yes, but it's a fucking pipe dream. Godlings haven't been born in millennia." 

"Yeah, that's what Rory said, yet your mother is still hellbent on you finding them." 

"She just wants definitive proof, one way or another." 

"And what will you do,"  Michael started to ask before a "Jesus Christ, Michael," interrupted him but he repeated. 

"And what will you do if there is one?" 

"I'd imagine my mother would want to be allies with such a powerful creature." 

"Through whatever means necessary?" 

"What the hell do you care?" 

"Because these are dangerous things to be messing with, Duncan." 

He cracked a smile, "Are you admitting that you care about me?" 

Michael's face was deadly serious. "I'm admitting that I am worried for Jim and Y/N. Jim can take of himself better, but Y/N is a human, and I shutter to think what people would do to her to get to you." 

With a roll of his eyes, Duncan snorted. "Michael, you are being para-" 

"Duncan, if those two come to any harm because of you and your actions. I will kill you. Do I make myself clear?" 

There was a smile on his face, but his face fell seeing how serious he was. "Mich-" 

"Do," his voice raised just a bit, enough that made the sleeping two stir but they settled down again. "Do I make myself clear, Duncan?" 

Duncan's jaw set again in a tense line, but he nodded. "Yes you do." 

[mutantsrisingrpg]

Congratulations, NOEL! You’ve been accepted as DEIMOS.

Noel, when writing Derek’s skeleton I envisioned someone that was constantly stuck between being alone and reaching out those around them - and you captured that perfectly. Your Derek is someone that knows who he is and knows how to keep everyone at arms length, and yet he still needs contact with others. I was hooked on your app from the very first word and had to read it twice because I couldn’t believe what life you brought to him. I’m beyond excited to see both you and him on the dash! 

Welcome to Mutants Rising! Please read the checklist and submit your account within 24 hours.

Out of Character Information: 

NAME/ALIAS: Noel

PRONOUNS: She/her they/them 

AGE: 24

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: CST / GMT-6 I’m usually on 2-4 times a week depending on the time of year/school/work.

In Character Information:

DESIRED ROLE: Derek Park (Deimos)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cismale, he/him

DETAILS & ANALYSIS: 

OVERVIEW

To me, Derek is interesting because he embodies one of the most human fears: that we are somehow born irreparably, intrinsically wrong. Broken. Cursed with a peach-pit of wickedness from day one that will always steer us away from what is right and good and lovely. For Derek, he’s just unlucky enough that the combination of his home environment and specific power only seem to prove his worst fears true: that everything good he may touch will come away worse for having known him. That he is, at a most basic level, a creature of destruction.

POWERS

Derek is a man possessed by a force that knows no satiety. Fire is, in its simplest form, a thing made to consume. Forever hungry. He has to be careful, controlled, or risk being consumed along with everything else. In practice, this looks like stony silence. Covered skin, an aversion to touch. An arched eyebrow without comment, or a single dog’s-bark of laughter. No drinking, no drugs-- only cigarettes to take the edge off, a controlled burn. Sarcasm, a dark, dry wit, a small smirk and a glance away. A very, very tight circle of trust, and a body that is always on the edge of something, ready for fight or flight.

THE JOB

He slips into interrogation naturally. Regardless of whatever he might have once liked to believe about himself, he has a knack for knowing where to press to hurt people the most. To extract what he needs. He takes people apart efficiently and effectively, and at least he can take pride in that. There’s an elegance to someone doing the job they are most suited for. If he must do something so ugly, at least he does it well.

The other half of the job is prevention. The right rumors, the right image-- good PR. That’s why he wears what he does (dark, black, leather), why he started smoking (though it’s not the reason he kept at it.) He’s a silhouette in the darkness, a shadow at the back of the pack, at the edge of the club, little visible apart from the glinting eyes, the trail of smoke left in his wake. It’s taken him the better part of a decade, establishing himself as someone you’ll be lucky to never meet. Privately, he considers this his best work, all the work he kept from happening. The ghost over your shoulder, asking: are you sure you want to do that?

BIO: 

(TW drugs, violence)

Touch has always been tied to pain for Derek. The first thing he touched on this Earth he hurt, and the first thing that touched him immediately recoiled. Him, a fresh, swaddled baby, handed to his mother to be pressed, cheek to cheek— and then the shriek, so out of place in what should have been a beautiful moment, and that unmotherly, wrenching instinct to push the painful thing away. A nurse had to step in before his mother could drop him to the floor, likely saving his life in the process. It was mortifying, Derek’s father looking at his mother like he’d never seen her before, the crease on the doctor’s brow. 

And then there was the evidence, left on his mother’s face: a burn mark in the shape of a newborn’s cheek. Tiny eyelashes like red, welted spider legs. 

Derek was supposed to be the miracle baby, their first son, but there was so much undeniably wrong about him. They could overlook that first burn— a freak accident— but there was another wrongness that infiltrated everything he did, everything he was. He moved through the world oddly, more like a wizened street cat than a child, always scowling too much for his age. Always somewhere far away in his own head, unreachable. Enigmatic. Hard to love.

Apart from that first incident, his powers didn’t manifest in earnest until his teen years, but when they did there was no stopping it. Derek became all too familiar with the smell of melting plastic, burning hair, and hot metal. He grew an aversion to paper, nail polish remover, and anything that took batteries or gasoline, anything explosive. Worst, though, was how his powers affected those around him. Even a small bump of arm to side in passing was enough to leave a welt, the hiss of burning skin and singed hair becoming all too familiar. Derek learned to pull his body in like a sail. He moved around on cautious, light feet, as if everywhere his skin touched the world hurt him. He stopped sleeping, for fear of what his body would do in his dreams.

It was an impossible way to live, and of course it had to come to a head sometime. One Fall night, he woke up surrounded by blinding light, and a weird taste in his mouth. At first, he thought he was seeing an angel. It was just so bright. A few delirious moments later and he realised what was happening. What he was.

The glowing coal at the center of a house fire.

No one was physically harmed, but in every other way his family was ruined. Everything had to change. The family of a high-level mutant couldn’t move through life like normal people. Government representatives visited to lay out the ground rules of their new lives, all the restrictions they were to follow at threat of having him taken away. In the years following, Derek could never decide whether his parent’s submission to these new rules was driven by some last vestige of parental love they had for him, or over the fear of what having him sent away would do to their reputation. Not that they had much of that left, anyway. In their small community they were pariahs, the reckless family putting everyone around them at risk, harboring that boy of theirs.

At home, Derek’s powers were a confirmation of every bad thought and reservation his parents had ever had about him. He was a death-trap burden, a dangerous changeling child with unknown motivations. He switched to homeschooling, was only allowed in certain parts of the house at certain hours, and almost never went outside. Within the house itself he was surveilled, his every movement controlled and judged against the possible harm he might cause. But nothing he did could ever be enough to win their trust, their approval. It changed how he saw himself, being treated like a liability. He’d spent his life being told what he was, and now he was starting to believe them.

So he decided: if he must be a bomb always about to go off, he might as well do something with it. Might as well become the weapon everyone treated him as. Might as well make a living out of it. He was deteriorating, trapped up in his fire-proofed room, always alone. 

A cursed life was better than no life at all.

So he left home and learned to control his powers. He found people who appreciated the worst parts of himself, and paid him well for it. He discovered a talent for interrogation, intimidation, a naturally threatening smile. By his early twenties, nothing he was doing could be called legal. A few years after that, and he’d made a real name for himself as someone who would go further than the others. Dangerous enough that even his employers were afraid of him. Eventually, only the worst would hire him. Looks normal enough, but don’t believe it. He’s fucking crazy. The tougher the employer, the tougher the work, but by that point he had stopped caring. The consequences weren’t real, the threats were just words. Enemies were just people he’d have to deal with later.

Amsterdam was his breaking point. Derek had switched to freelancing for a while, broken off from all alliances after a boss tried to two-time him. He was unaffiliated, impartial, just helping bad guys hurt bad guys. Still, this was his riskiest gig. He’d never gone international before, a Level 5 mutant with fake papers on a commercial airline-- it was enough to give any number of governmental agencies reason to take him out on sight. But he was bored, numb, bored, numb. Coming up to 30 years old and sick of the Chicago scene. So he’d tried something new.

The boss there was something else, a real talker, beautiful, had gotten under his skin in a way few ever had. He should have left when the boss had asked about taking out a hit-- it had always been a sore subject for him. That’s not my job, dead people can’t talk, I’m not fucking paid enough to kill people. (There was no amount of money could be paid to kill people.) 

But the man was just so charming. Derek relaxed an inch, and they took a mile. It was just one drink. He didn’t even taste the ketamine. When he woke up, his mouth tasted like copper, and barbeque smoke. The sweet, musky smell of burning spinal fluid. Three were dead, the boss was laughing, and his return flight was in under an hour. 

When he got back, he had a missed call from Damien Matthews, with a different kind of job for him. A job with rules, structure. Protection. He’d heard about the Jems and all the noise they’d been making about Mutant Rights and he didn’t really care about that shit, but he took the job immediately. He needed the discipline, a boss, someone to reel him back in from where he’d strayed too far from his himself, almost at the cost of his humanity. The Jems saved him, and while he may be somewhat ambivalent to their cause, his loyalty to Damien is unflinching. The Jems need him, but he needs them more.

EXPANDED CONNECTIONS:

LUCA MENDOZA: Luca is even more dangerous than Derek is and-- somehow-- that makes them the only person he feels completely safe around. Fact is, Luca’s position and power make them uniquely suited to shield his weakest spots, as: 1) When they’re together their power is a shared one, nullifying the risk of Derek hurting them by accident, and 2) no hitman is going to judge an interrogator for their occupation. The outcomes of their jobs may be different, but they’re two sides of the same coin. Their friendship is uncomplicated, enabling, and chaotic, but also somehow comfortable in a way Derek is unaccustomed to.

ISABEL ACOSTA: Oh, the angst. Derek never, ever thought he’d be in the position he is with Isabel, has fought that sort of connection his whole life. And if it were anyone other than Isabel, he’d be able to continue that way. Isabel is the best and the worst thing to happen to him. Look, is there anything better than two people learning to lower their boundaries and let someone in? Being so unable to stay away from the other that they can’t help but become knowable, to be seen as they are, terrible and ugly and complicated and beautiful? And then to know what it feels like to be loved not in spite of your flaws, but because of everything you’ve done to overcome them? Ohh my god.

EXTRA: 

Ideas for future plots/connections:

I’d love to plot something with a character who could have known him pre-Jems, when he was a real piece of work. 

In general, I’m really interested in how all the different powers within the groups interact with the powers of those around them! I.e., what the hell would happen if he met Dione? Would they just cancel each other out? Or be extra dangerous to each other?

For a decade and a half, he lived without really caring about the consequences, and he made lots of enemies along the way. I’d be interested to see some effects of this coming to fruition. Past alliances broken, a history of betrayal or always ending up on the wrong side of the table.

He has a lot of easily pushed buttons. This could go very poorly for the wrong person, someone stubbornly curious or just amused by the thought of getting under his skin.

Also I’m excited to see how the Isabel Situation puts a strain on his loyalty to the Jems, and his relationships within the gang.

General HC’s

He’s a vegetarian. Yes, most of the Jems find this hilarious, someone whose job is to hurt people being not wanting to eat cute little animals. In reality, it’s more an aversion to the idea of cooked meat. Particularly the smell. You can guess why.

Derek is still bad at keeping his phone on him. It’s a holdover from growing up avoiding electronics, anything that might easily explode. At this point in life he just finds it kind of irritating. He doesn’t like the idea of being easily reachable.

He’s bisexual.

He still has nightmares about burning houses, familiar faces flickering amongst the flames, frozen in silent screams. He has lived alone since he left home as a teen, and he plans to do so for the rest of his life.

I could go on and on but this is already way too long. Thank you guys for taking the time to read through this!

ANYTHING ELSE: Nope :)

[flutteringphalanges]

Vanquishing the Devil's Wisdom (Lucifer Has Teeth Pulled)

Summary: When Lucifer has to have teeth pulled, Chloe finds herself taking care of one very loopy, very lusty Devil.    

Feedback is greatly loved and appreciated!  

FFN and AO3

                         Vanquishing the Devil's Wisdom                                 (Lucifer Has Teeth Pulled)

Wisdom teeth. Roughly five million people a year have theirs removed. That's approximately 85% of all adults. Worldwide, you're looking at several million teeth pulled. And yet, those numbers aren't as astonishing as the fact that one of the most powerful beings in all of existence has to, just like many mortals, have his own extracted. Lucifer Morningstar. Former ruler of Hell-or still, depending on who you ask. Owner of arguably Los Angeles's most popular night club. The true Devil himself and yet, due to his utmost misfortune, now rules on a throne that is a dentist's chair. Certainly, in his opinion, a cruel act by "dear old Dad". How macabre.

"Is he out yet?" -Dan

Chloe snapped out of her daze, accidentally knocking the People's magazine she had on her lap onto the floor. Her phone chimed loudly, announcing Dan's text to seemingly the entire waiting room. Quickly apologizing for the noise, while also mentally cursing herself for forgetting to put it on vibrate, she retrieved her cell from her purse.

"No, but it's been almost thirty minutes. Hopefully soon." -Chloe

"Think he's giving them a hard time?" -Dan

"I gave them permission to restrain him if he did." -Chloe

"Wait, can they even do that?" -Dan

"It was a joke. Sort of. Anyway, I'll text you later when he's out. Give Trixie a hug for me." -Chloe

"Good luck, you're going to need it." -Dan

She couldn't help but roll her eyes at Dan's last message, even if it was true. It was hard enough "convincing" Lucifer to go to the dentist in the first place. What started off as a small infection underneath one of his gums soon grew to be more problematic. When it got to the point where he could barely manage to eat a spoonful of soup without his entire mouth aching, he finally caved. Which was lucky enough for Chloe, who had become desperate enough to consider offering him sex if he'd promise to go.

Ultimately, much to her dismay and Lucifer's "moderate" annoyance, it was determined that the best option was to have the tooth pulled that was causing the issue. When the dentist suggested just going in and pulling the other three teeth as well for good measure, Chloe was quick to agree before even giving her partner a say.

As anticipated, Lucifer continually grumbled and attempted to-and failed to-make a solid argument to stop his impending molar extractions. Yet, when the day came, though still very against the idea, he still agreed to get in the car and go. Whether it was due to his pain or to appease her, she didn't know nor care. She quietly, while secretly appreciating the irony, thanked God for the lack of a struggle. It would be hard enough getting him home in his loopy state as it was.

It was the unexpected, incredibly loud clatter that pulled Chloe from her thoughts. Immediately her gaze, as well as the entire waiting room's, turned to the doorway that led into the corridor of examination rooms. Without pausing to bicker with the receptionist about going back, the detective bravely ventured forward to locate the source of the noise. Or rather, the person making it.

"Detective!"

Chloe's foot had barely crossed the threshold when she was met with quite the interesting scene. It wasn't the many metal tools knocked everywhere across the room that captured her attention. No, rather the two, poor dental hygienists that were trying desperately to steady the very disorientated, clumsy Devil under their care.

"Detective!"

The word came out muffled as Lucifer seemingly tried to grin around the cotton pads packed tightly within both sides of his mouth. He stumbled forward slightly, swaying a little as if dizzy. Not wanting to take the chance of him falling and doing more damage, Chloe hurried forward to steady him.

"I'm so sorry," she huffed, trying to hold up Lucifer-who had taken to letting all of his weight rest against Chloe. "I'll get him out of your way." As best she could, Chloe attempted to shift her partner into an easier, more comfortable position. "C'mon, Lucifer, let's go home."

"I think…" he drooled, leaning against the detective as she guided him out of the building. "I think I left the corvette in Hell."

"Then it's a good thing we took my car," she exhaled, somehow managing to open the passenger side door of her vehicle while supporting the well over six foot man. "You're in no state to Uber."

By some stroke of luck, Chloe managed to pull out of the dentistry parking lot despite having to swat Lucifer's hands away multiple times as he reached for the gears. She'd seen him drunk, and even high, but doped up on laughing gas was taking things to a whole new level.

"Hey, quit that! Don't take those out."

Momentarily, Lucifer stopped messing with the blood soaked gauze in his mouth. He made a weird, unattractive gurgling sound before turning his head to look at Chloe.

Before she realized what was happening, Lucifer, trying to grope at Chloe's boob, entirely missed his target and ultimately smacked her in the face.

"Dammit, Lucifer," she hissed, blinking her left eye several times to alleviate the pain from where one of his fingers poked it. "Hands to yourself!"

"Jokes on you, Detective," the words difficult to understand through the pads. "I don't have any hands!"

At this point, she could only sigh as she continued to drive down the road. Thankfully, they weren't too far from her place. But the high hopes of arriving home soon were quickly diminished as they hit unexpected traffic. A widespread congestion, she soon learned from the radio, due to a bad accident.

"I want off this roller coaster," Lucifer slurred. "My stomach hurts."

"Lucifer," Chloe inhaled. "I haven't asked much of you. But please, I beg of you, do not throw up in my car."

The traffic continued to crawl, Chloe's highest speed not reaching more than twenty miles an hour. Lucifer had grown quiet, exhaustion beginning to set in. This wasn't the ideal situation, seeing as it would be mere impossible for her to drag the sleeping, former ruler of Hell into her house. She had to keep him awake, even if it meant bruising her sanity.

"Hey, Lucifer," she inhaled, nudging him awake. "Talk to me."

"My tongue is asleep," he mumbled. "It's tired."

"Well your tongue can stay up for just a little longer, can it?" She was losing him. "How about you ask me questions? You do love digging into my private life."

"Hm," Lucifer seemed to consider this. "Any questions?"

"Any."

"Have you ever gone skinny dipping?"

Chloe rolled her eyes, "Oh course you would ask...yes, yes I have."

"Ooh," he smiled, seeming more alert. "Next question…" Lucifer made a motion as if he were spinning a wheel. At least, that's what Chloe hoped he was doing. "Was Dan good in bed?"

"What?" Despite not having anything in her mouth, Chloe choked. "Wh...Why would you…" When his dark eyes continued to stay fixed on her, she let out a long sigh. "He was fine, I guess."

"Am I good in bed?"

"We haven't slept together." Chloe replied, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"We almost have."

"Not really."

Quiet filled the car once more, Chloe taking to drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. It wasn't exactly an awkward silence. Lucifer had talked a lot about sex with her-mostly in a joking fashion. This was more like a moment of pause. The detective expecting the next question to involve something sexual, whatever the nature be.

"One more question," Lucifer spoke, voice strangely soft. "Do you love me?

This time Chloe didn't choke on air. No, instead, Chloe couldn't breathe. The oxygen she took in seemed to expand in her lungs, forcing its way down her chest and into her stomach. It was as if at any moment she could pop. She could feel Lucifer's eyes on her as she sat there, gripping the wheel until her knuckles turned white.

"Because I love you."

Lucifer. The Devil himself. Lord of Darkness. Fallen Angel. The man who couldn't ever keep his mouth shut and yet, when it came to his feelings about her, always failed to express them, just admitted his love for her. Right here, in a car, in the middle of traffic, high on laughing gas. Well shit. And the thing was, she knew it wasn't just his high talking. No, it was his high making him talk.

"I spoke too soon, haven't I?"

Chloe snapped back into reality, noticing Lucifer's ever present stare on her. He still looked exhausted, still loopy, but through that she could see he understood what he had been saying.

"Lucifer, I…" She swallowed, her fingers loosening from the steering wheel. "You are, by far, one of the most invasive, cocky, insanely ridiculous man I've ever met. Ever." Chloe paused, then with hesitation, reached over and placed a hand on his knee. "But despite all of that. And there's a lot. I do love you."

"Really?" He perked up. "You mean it?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "I do."

"Well, I should have my teeth pulled more often," he stated. "Shall we seal it with a kiss?"

"Not with bloody gauze in your mouth." She snorted. "And not when you're still out of it."

"I can't win everything, I suppose," Lucifer situated himself back in his seat. "Now I think I'll take a nap if you don't mind."

"I do! Lucifer!" Chloe exhaled in defeat when he closed his eyes. "Guess I can't win everything either."

Her stare flickered back to the traffic as the congestion began to clear up. Gripping the wheel, she gave Lucifer one final glance. He looked a mess with tousled hair, drool slicked around his lips and chin, and cotton pad stuffed mouth. She shook her head, a small smile crossing her features. This was probably not the luck Dan had wished her, but it sure as hell turned out to be well worthwhile. Hopefully her love for Lucifer would remain when they got home and she'd have to figure out how to get him inside. But that's another story for a different time.

[itsthejuggernautbitch]

You Look Like Trouble (Morning Glory Wine - Cable/OC

Here’s chapter five! And the corresponding playlist! It got real.

(And as always, not to be that person but if you’ve got the time and the inclination, kudos or a comment would be greatly appreciated.)

Taglist: @this-that-and-every-thing-else  @ptite-shit  @lesbianyondu  @chromecutie  @gallifreyangrandtorino  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @akihecko  @bigstarlightkingdom

Xavier’s Mansion was a lot further out past the city limits than Vivian remembered. Like, a long car ride away. The roads weren’t great, there were all these ropey winding hills - it was just a bad scene altogether. She didn’t do well on long car rides anyway. Too much motion, too many bumps - especially all the way out here.

Thankfully, she made it relatively intact (with the exception of her nerves). She pulled up to the front of the mansion in her tiny black car, an ant sitting next to an immobile boot. The mansion was a huge structure, all brick and stone. It had been so long since she’d seen it last that she’d almost forgotten that it was so gargantuan. And it probably still just as musty and cavernous on the inside as it always had been. She hesitated to turn the car off and get out; in fact, she briefly considered just turning around and leaving.

Nevertheless, she’d driven all the way out here to the boonies. No reason to waste gas money. She finally got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell.

Colossus answered so quickly that Vivian suspected he might have been waiting on the other side of the door. “Vivian!”

He reached down to hug her - no small feat, considering a more-than two foot height difference. He was in his armored form, which wasn’t unusual. Vivian vaguely remembered that he tended to prefer this form over his human form for whatever reason. Not that it mattered, she supposed - he was pretty attractive either way. She supposed he just enjoyed the utility of being constantly invulnerable.

Vivian smiled, returning the squeeze. “Piotr.”

He ushered her through the front door, leading her into the hallway. His footsteps echoed gently in the empty hall. “It has been a long time since I have seen you. I trust you are well?”

“Well enough. How have you been?”

“Ah, the same.”

“Overworked and underappreciated? I know the feeling.”

Vivian followed Colossus into the kitchen. It was a small, cozy little room - all warm greens and browns and mahogany, cluttered with silver appliances and papers everywhere. It was one of several kitchenettes in the mansion - the place was too big and there were too many students to just have one big kitchen, so there were a few of them dotting the halls.

Vivian sat down in the chair that he pulled out for her. Such a gentleman. “You wanted to talk?”

More than fifteen years had passed since Vivian had been a permanent resident of the house. She’d returned a time or two, usually to pick up something she’d left that someone had found stuffed away in the attic. She’d returned at Colossus’s insistence once before, but that was when she was still in college. She hadn’t been in the past few years though, preferring to stick to her routine in the city.

Colossus was older than her, yes, but not by much. They’d been friends as children and remained so, which is why Vivian knew it would be better to outright deny his request to talk. She had continuously denied his requests until this day for the singular reason that she knew it would be difficult for her to hear him out and tell him no right to his face. Nigh impossible, even.

He could be persuasive when he wanted to be, and he didn’t even have to be nefarious or underhanded about it to be effective. No, the worst part about his persuasion technique was that he was sincere. He pulled the right heartstrings by being completely honest and altogether altruistically himself.

Colossus sat in the chair across from her. It was a huge oak chair, just large enough for him, but it screamed when he sat. He held out a cup of coffee for her and took a sip from the cup of tea he made for himself. “I will admit, I am surprised you agreed to come here, Vivian.”

“Wade finally wore me down. Said you’d stop making him wear the trainee crop top if I came.”

“Well, I did promise…”

“So he wasn’t just pulling my leg,” Vivian said, more to herself than to Colossus. She took a sip of her coffee. “Alright, why did you want me to come back here?”

That’s when the painfully honest persuasion techniques began. “Vivian, we need you here. We have no medical staff, no one to treat the kids when they get hurt.”

“I knew that’s what you were going to ask.”

“I would not ask this of you if we were not in such need. I am more than aware that you value your independence.”

Vivian leaned towards him, elbows on the table. She felt like she was trying to negotiate a deal. “Do you have any students who are healers? I mean, I can’t really train them because I’m not a healer by nature - just by profession. I could at least teach them some first aid, though.”

“No. The students with basic healing abilities have all left, and we have not had a true healer here in a long time.”

Vivian knew once she sat down with Colossus, it would be hard to turn him down. The honesty is what always wore her down, even when they were teenagers. He was just so sincere. And she’d never been able to say no when there was a problem. The mansion had a real need, and he was just trying to do his job and fulfill that need.

“I can’t, Piotr. I have two jobs already, and I can’t quit either of them.”

“I would not ask you to. I am simply asking you to consider the option of returning here to be our doctor in whatever spare time you have. You have a place here, if or when you decide to come home.”

“This place hasn’t been my home for fifteen years.”

“You can make it your home again.”

Vivian supposed she should be thankful that she was dumped here as a child rather than one of the orphanages around that city that actively tortured mutant children. It was a good place to grow up (minus the occasional explosions).

Even in his armored form with his odd gunmetal eyes, Vivian was drawn in by the depths of his pleading. “Jesus, it’s so hard saying no to you. I’ll consider it. No promises. No guarantees.”

Colossus nodded, a modicum of pride in his expression. He must not have been expecting any kind of acquiescence. “That is all I ask.”

“I don’t know when I’ll have an answer for you. I hardly have enough time to even think.”

“I know,” he replied, gently. “Wade tells me that you still work yourself too hard.”

“It’s necessary.”

“He does not seem to think so.”

Vivian shrugged. “That’s Wade for you.”

“He means well, I believe,” Colossus said. There was affection in his voice, despite the fact that Vivian knew Wade must drive him nuts.

“I know he does. If I could get my kids back, I’d…”

Colossus was aware of her situation. “Have they presented with any abilities?”

“Not that I know of. If they had, I’m sure Jack would have shipped them off to me by now.”

“They may be hiding it.”

“That worries me.”

“They will be fine,” Colossus said, just as reassuring as ever. “If that is the case.”

“Not if Jack finds out before I do.”

“Then we will go and get them,” he replied sternly. She had no doubt that Colossus would, and that Wade would be running along at his heels.

They were silent for more than a minute as each sipped the drink in their hand. It was a comfortable silence, just a quiet morning between friends. As Vivian stood up to leave, Colossus left her with a final pleading request.

“Please come home, Vivian. We miss you. We need you.”

Vivian was already packing up for the night when another knock sounded at her door. She sighed in exhaustion (it was past one a.m. and this wasn’t the first time that night she’d been interrupted while packing up to go home), but she opened the door anyway. She couldn’t turn away someone bleeding on her doorstep.

This time, it wasn’t one of her regular patients - it was Cable. He was pale, peaked, but was obviously well enough to be upright and talking. He held his right shoulder with his gloved left hand, blood blossoming against the sleeve of his torn shirt and trickling out underneath the bottom of his hand. She could see the jagged red edges of a wound peeking out from between his fingers.

“Got a minute?” he asked, waiting for Vivian to step aside and let him in. He leaned against the doorway, resting on the shoulder that wasn’t bleeding.

“For you, I have two.” Vivian replied, ushering him in. “What happened?”

She sat him down in her exam chair and proceeded to extract all of her tools from her medical bag. They glittered in the sterile white light, all polished chrome and pointed edges. She fanned them out over her little metal table and went to go wash up.

Cable’s answering voice was rough and tired, husky from lack of sleep. “Knife wound. Not the worst I’ve ever had, but this one needs stitches.”

“Well, I can certainly handle that,” she replied, sitting down in her rolling chair next to him. She plucked at the ragged edges of his shirt sleeve, rolling them back gently so that she could get a good look at his leaking wound. “I’m going to have to cut this side of your shirt open to get to it, though.”

“No great loss there. It’s already ruined.”

“It’s not ruined. You could make a muscle tank out of it if you really wanted to,” she teased, winking at him. “Just cut the other sleeve and walk around guns blazing.”

He smirked just a little bit, which Vivian caught the tail end of. “Nah, I get enough funny looks as it is.”

“I think you’ll get more than funny looks if you walk around with those muscles bulging for everyone to see.”

Cable didn’t respond, but he chuckled quietly, which is all Vivian was trying to get him to do anyway. She’d found that procedures went by faster for both her patient and herself when she made jokes. And she liked hearing him laugh - that was a nice bonus.

Vivian set to work cleaning him up and stitching him closed. As she poked and prodded and threaded the needle through his skin, she definitely noticed something crawling around underneath his skin. It was metallic silver and it seemed to be repairing him - though not fast enough to consider it regenerating. She wanted to ask, but she thought better of it.

Cable watched her work, wincing only when she hit a particularly sore spot. “I can’t imagine sewing up people like this day in and day out. Seems like you’d get burnt out pretty quick.”

“You get desensitized after a while,” Vivian replied, voice barely louder than a mumble. She worked diligently, tongue poking out from between her teeth. “I don’t even think twice about sticking my fingers in most wounds. It’s only a select few people that I just hate stitching up…”

Cable was made of muscle, so tense and hard that even with a needle poking through his skin, he barely flinched. Only the deep, sore spots seemed to bother him. Vivian figured it had something to do with the odd silvery bits that kept darting around underneath his skin (which was mildly creepy, but they didn’t seem to be bothered by her needle).

“Knife wounds are pretty routine around here anyway.” She wiped away a bead of blood that trickled up out of his wound. “I always hated seeing Wade come in like this before he could regenerate. I don’t like stitching you up either.”

“Good thing you don’t have to do it often, then.” He sounded a little pleased, but Vivian could have been reading into his tone of voice too much.

“Well, you definitely seem to be good at your job. You’ve only been in here twice in the past few months since I’ve met you,” Vivian said. She tied off the end of his stitches, clamping the threads together to secure her work in place. She doused the angry red line with more saline and patted it dry. “I used to see Wade almost weekly. Not that he was bad at his job or anything - he’s always just been a little reckless.”

“I’ve been cut up plenty before,” he replied, craning his neck to see the finished product. He looked satisfied that it was tight and closed. “I can usually patch myself up or ignore it.”

Cable stood up and stretched, then held out a hand for Vivian to take. He pulled her to her feet. He wasn’t much taller than Vivian, maybe three inches.

The sterile white light cast his face into sharp relief. Vivian looked up at him, studying his face. He hadn’t shaved in the past few days - the shadow over his cheeks was rough-looking and gray-black. His face was lined, but it seemed mostly from exhaustion rather than age. His mouth looked soft, an off contrast to the sharpness of the rest of him. The scars around his right eye were deep, almost cavernous; they stopped at the edges of his eye socket like whoever had slashed his face hadn’t been quite close enough with the knife.

Vivian realized she was staring, but it was hard to look away. “I know. I looked at your skin. All the bruises and… scars.”

Cable was very close, which she realized while she was ogling him. He stretched, joints cracking, but he didn’t move away from her. He didn’t move to leave the room, leave her space. She didn’t move, either.

Yeah, he was close. He smelled spicy - cleanly masculine, but with a faint undertone of sweat and rusted metal.

“I’ve got a lot of those.”

Her voice was hardly more than a whisper, but it seemed deafening in the silence of the room. She couldn’t even hear the din of the bar on the other side of the door. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

They were barely more than an inch apart, just a hair’s breadth away from being pressed together. Neither one of them could really figure out when they’d gotten this close to each other; they waited to see if the other pulled away, but neither one did.

Vivian smoothed the ripped corner of his shirt down, careful not to touch the line of stitches binding his shoulder together. She left her hand against his shoulder. “Is this the part where I ask if I can see them?”

“You’ve already seen them.”

Cable leaned down and pressed his lips to hers - his mouth was soft and warm, unobtrusive and uncharacteristically gentle. She could get lost in him - was lost in him - the way he moved, his scent, the way he pressed himself against her. He didn’t grab her and pull her into him, didn’t move in so close that she couldn’t breathe. It was just the brush of his chest against hers and the softness of his shoulders beneath her hands.

And then, quite abruptly, he pulled away.

Cable stepped back, running a hand through his hair. The strands fell out of place, running astray and unstructured. “Shit, fuck… I’m sorry.”

“Hold on, what’s wrong?” Vivian blinked, a little dazed. Coldness settled into the pit of her stomach, a fear that she was wholly unfamiliar with. “Did I do something?”

“No, no, it’s not… you’re not… that’s not it.”

“Then why-?”

Word vomit bubbled up at the back of his throat - something he’d never experienced before. A hot wash of guilt bled into his stomach, up his throat, and he’d blurted it out before he could stop himself and explain. “I’m married.”

Well. That was a slap in the face. Vivian made a habit out of not kissing married men.

She could feel herself flushing, and she knew that her face must be bright red. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re not even wearing a ring.”

“It’s complic-”

She didn’t let him finish. “Goddamnit, I should have guessed.”

Vivian stormed out without bothering to pick up her medical bag and slammed the door behind her. She heard Cable call her name once, but no more than that. Half the bar went quiet and just watched her stalk out before glaring at the wooden door. The murderous intent was palpable.

She walked by Weasel’s station at the bar and grabbed a key from under the lip of the bar before she stalked out the front door. “I’ll come in early in the morning and clean up, Weasel.”

Weasel stared at her like a man who obviously didn’t know how to comfort upset women: absolutely terrified and super uncomfortable. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.”

Cable waited a few minutes before he left the back room. Why the hell had he said anything? He’d dealt with this already, hadn’t he? He was here to stay - he’d chosen to stay. He’d come to terms with this. And he’d ruined a good kiss - a great kiss - with his misplaced guilt. And hurt her. She was the last person who deserved to be hurt like that.

As soon as he stepped out, the whole bar went silent. He’d been glared at by bigger, more intimidating men that the ones currently deciding whether to get up and deck him, but this was a different kind of murderous intent. This was a protective intent.

Cable ignored the nasty looks and walked up to the bar. He sat down, staring straight at the wall, barely acknowledging Weasel’s presence.

Weasel looked at him. “Dude… what just happened?”

Cable rubbed his temples. “I fucked up.”

[edxwin-elric]

Briggs Breakout

Rating: M (some graphic imagery)

Pairing: Edwin/Edward Elric x Winry Rockbell

Disclaimer: I don’t own Fullmetal Alchemist.

Word Count: 3442

Title: Briggs Breakout

Description: Angsty Edwin One Shot

AU where Edward saves Winry from Kimblee after the escape attempt at Briggs fails.

A/N: Request by anon. #2 – “They can’t hurt you anymore.” From this prompt list. @rizahawkaye told me I’m evil for writing this, so I won’t blame you if you feel the same.

ffn || ao3 || Ko-fi

Winry

Just breathe, Winry. Ed is coming. He’ll save you.

I shiver against the icy air of the cell and repeat the mantra in my mind. It’s dark in here. I’m not sure how long it’s been since they locked me up.

God, how did this happen? It was supposed to be safe here. Ed said he would take care of Mr. Kimblee, and the Briggs soldiers would take care of us. Only he was wrong. When we got here, it was an ambush. Central soldiers were everywhere. Scar and May put up a good fight, but…they somehow got a hold of Al’s torso. I surrendered before they tried to destroy the blood seal, but everyone else got away.

How could I be so stupid? Clearly, Al was trying to warn us. He only got out “Briggs,” before his body pulled his soul away, but I should’ve been able to figure that out. I should’ve known.

A clanking noise makes me flinch, and I look toward it. I feel cold seep into my bones when Mr. Kimblee stops in front of my cell. No one has talked to me yet, but I already know I’m in trouble. I just hope Ed got away safely.

“Where’s Edward?” I ask, my voice sounding stronger than I feel.

He raises an eyebrow, and I push off the concrete floor, standing on shaky legs, numbed from the cold.

“Funny,” he murmurs. “I was going to ask you the same question.”

“What are you talking about?” My voice wavers, and I wince.

“We fought, he and I,” he goes on. “If you can call it a fight when it was so painfully one-sided. I was certain the collapse of the mine shaft would kill him, but…my men searched it, and his body is missing.”

His b-body? Wait, he—

“How could you?” I gasp. “You tried to kill him?”

“He started the fight, Miss Rockbell,” he shrugs, his lips tilting up into a sly grin. “I merely defended myself.”

“You–”

“But that isn’t why I’m here,” he talks over me casually. “See, you’ve been a very bad girl, Miss Rockbell.”

I feel my heart trip over itself as fear floods my chest.

“I-I was–”

“You conspired against me, a high-ranking member of the military, and a respected state alchemist.”

My stomach turns, and I step away from him, my back colliding with the stone wall.

“However,” he continues, “I’m feeling generous, so I’ll offer you an opportunity to redeem yourself.”

“How?” I whisper cautiously.

“It’s quite simple, really. I need information, and you have it. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

“Which is what, exactly?” I ask, my voice sounding tight.

“Where is the Fullmetal Alchemist?”

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly.

“Come, come, Miss Rockbell. You can’t truly think I’m going to believe that. You were plotting with him. Surely, he told you where he was going next.”

“He didn’t.”

Not exactly anyway.

He tilts his head to the side, and I feel a shiver run down my spine that has nothing to do with the cold.

“Well…in that case, I guess I’ll have to try a different method.”

“Method of what?” I venture carefully.

“Extracting information.” He grins maliciously, and I feel bile climb up my throat. “Is that fear I see in your eyes?”

I glare at him, holding my head up defiantly, even though my heart is racing, and I’m afraid I might throw up.

“You should be scared,” he threatens, his eyes glinting. “What I have in mind for you will be painful. That is, unless you change your mind and decide to tell me your boyfriend’s plans.”

“Never,” I whisper.

“Very well,” he smirks, stepping back. “I hate to see your pretty skin marred, Miss Rockbell, but if you’ve made your choice…”

He turns to go, and I wait until I hear his footsteps fade before sinking to the floor.

Ed is coming, I remind myself. He’ll save you. Just breathe.

Edward

Kimblee has Winry.

I wake with a start and sit up in bed, ignoring the dull pain in my stomach. Sweat is dripping down my back. I struggle for a second, trying to remember what woke me. It was something important. Something bad.

“Hey, kid, are you okay?”

I look over at the lion chimera guy in my doorway and feel my eyebrows pinch. What was it? I needed to do something. Someone…

I reach up to brush my hair back, and freeze, my eyes on my automail arm.

“Winry!” I remember suddenly.

Throwing off the sheets, I scramble out of bed, searching for my clothes.

“Whoa. Slow down! What are you–”

“He’s got her,” I cut him off. “He’s got Winry, and I have to stop him.”

I’m not making any sense, but I don’t care.

“Who has her? Scar? I thought you said that was your plan–”

“No. Kimblee. That asshole has her, and–”

“Kimblee has her? How do you know that?” he interrupts.

“I—I don’t know,” I sputter. “But he does, and I have to save her.”

I find my pants and yank them on, doubling over when a sharp pain cuts through my abdomen.

“You need to lie down.”

“I can’t lie down! Winry is in danger!”

“What’s going on?” The gorilla chimera comes in holding food.

“He thinks Kimblee has his girlfriend.”

“SHE’S NOT MY GIRLFRIEND!”

“Okay! Calm down, Elric.”

“And he does have her!” I shout over them. “I have to get to Briggs.”

“Okay, well do you have a plan? What’s your strategy?” Gorilla Guy asks.

“I—That’s not—I’ll figure it out on my way, okay? I just… I have to go!”

I hear them muttering to each other as I finish pulling my clothes on. If I could, I’d call Colonel Mustang. Actually, Lieutenant Hawkeye. She would know what to do. She could get someone up here to help. But, with the homunculi in charge…that would be next to impossible.

Well, I’ll have to do this on my own.

“I really think you should lie down. At least until we get some kind of confirmation that he really does have her,” Lion Man pipes up again.

I pause in the middle of putting my shirt on. I mean…he has a point, I guess. What if it was some kind of nightmare?

My stomach churns, and I clench a fist. It feels real enough. And the idea of leaving Winry at the mercy of that psychopath… But if I’m wrong, and I go storming off to Briggs which I already know is swarming with soldiers from Central, I’ll give up any ground I gained when I accidentally faked my death in the mine shaft.

“Fine,” I sigh, reluctantly sitting back down on the mattress. “But if you get confirmation she’s there, I’m out of here.”

“If she’s there, we’ll go with you,” Gorilla Guy announces. “Can’t have you charging off to Fort Briggs just to get yourself killed after we went through all this trouble to save you.”

“Right.”

They both leave to reach out to contacts, and I turn onto my back and cover my face. Now I have to wait, and I hate it. As much as I want it to be in my head, I can’t stop my stomach from filling with dread.

Winry

“This can end any time, Miss Rockbell,” Kimblee’s voice burns in my ears.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my cheek pressed against the cold metal table as he has his henchman make another gash in my back. I press my lips together, trying not to make a sound as I feel warm blood ooze down my spine. Two weeks of his “methods,” and I’m already becoming accustomed to the pain.

First it was exposure—forcing me to stand in the cold until my lips were blue, and my eyelashes were frozen. I had started praying for hypothermia, but then he realized it wasn’t going to work.

Next, he started coming to my cell at night, before I fell asleep, and telling me about what he did in Ishval. It made me sick, hearing him happily recalling murdering and mutilating those innocent people. People like my parents.

When I still didn’t tell him what he wanted to know, he moved on to hurting me. He used alchemy to make my blood boil. He gave me high fevers, which, in turn, gave me nightmares. Fever dreams about Ed bloody and bruised, freezing to death. About Granny searching for me, not knowing where I am…

After that, he upgraded to breaking my bones. My arms. My legs. My fingers. He never left them long. Always fixing them with alchemy only to break them again later. And worse than the pain was the look of pure delight on his face. Proving what a sick sadist he is. That my pain excites him.

But I still haven’t told him anything. And he’s getting more impatient by the day. Now, he’s having his chimera lackeys cut into my back with knives. The gashes aren’t deep, or they don’t feel deep, but they sting like hell, and I’m scared to find out what he’s planning. He’s an alchemist, like Ed, so I’m not unfamiliar with transmutation circles. I just really hope this isn’t one.

“Just tell me where your boyfriend is,” he growls, clearly irritated, and I take a difficult breath.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I force out.

“Again,” he bites out harshly, and I wince as another cut burns into my flesh.

He steps closer to the table, and I flinch, pulling at the ties at my wrists that are holding me down. I’m desperate to hide my nakedness from him. It’s easy to forget I’m topless when steel blades are digging into my back, but nothing is worse than him looking at me, even if it’s in that clinical way.

“Don’t you want this to be over?” He slides my hair over my shoulder, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. I want to throw up.

I don’t answer him, clenching my jaw tight, trying not to gag. His fingers trail over the sliced skin of my back, and tears burn behind my eyes.

“Where is he?” he asks darkly, his gentle touch making me shiver in disgust. “Where is the Fullmetal Alchemist?”

“I don’t know,” I repeat, weakly, saying the same thing I’ve said for weeks.

“Where is Edward Elric?”

God. I wish I knew.

He says something else, but suddenly he sounds muffled. I try to open my eyes to look at him, but my eyelids won’t budge.

“Boss, she’s fading again.”

“Shit,” he hisses faintly. “Fine. Clean her up. Put her back in her room. Let me know when she wakes up.”

I hear him walking away, and I relax a little, giving into the agony that pulls me under. Into darkness.

Edward

Fuck, I hate the cold.

And I hate this stupid waiting. I need to be inside the damn fort already, getting Winry away from that fucking psycho. Instead, I’m disguised as a villager with my hair all stuffed into a hat, sitting in the back of a supply truck, waiting until Lion Man gets past the guards.

We’ve been sitting here forever. What if this doesn’t work? What if they don’t let us in?

The truck moves forward, and I let out a sigh of relief. We slowly pull through the gates and around into an alley, where I jump out and run into the side door.

“Ah. You made it.”

I jump at the voice.

“Major Miles,” I ask quickly.

“You really shouldn’t have come here, Edward Elric,” he goes on, pushing me into a dark room. “However, I can understand your motives.”

“Where’s Winry?” I bite out, ignoring how hard I’m shivering.

“I couldn’t be too nosy without drawing suspicion, but one of the men learned she’s in cell 523, unless she’s in the infirmary.”

“The infirmary?” I gasp. “Why would she–”

“Captain Buccaneer will cause a diversion which should draw Kimblee away. That will be your chance.”

“Wait! I–”

“The way things stand, I won’t be able to be much help to you on this particular mission,” he continues over me. “If I’m seen with you from this point on, you are my enemy. I can’t risk the safety of Briggs men or the integrity of this fort. Especially while the general is away. That said, I hope you are successful, and…I truly regret what that bastard has done to your friend.”

“What? What are you talking–”

A loud banging sound cuts me off followed by a sound series of alarms.

“That’s your signal,” the major says quietly. “Good luck, Fullmetal Alchemist.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’ll give you two minutes before I have to follow you.” He opens the door, and I’m temporarily blinded by the light. “Go!” He forces me out with a hand in my back, and I almost fall.

I catch my balance and take off in the opposite direction of the uproar. Since I was held in the Briggs prison cells, I’m familiar with where they are, though I never thought that knowledge would come in handy before now. When I reach cell block 500, I pause to listen.

“Winry?” I whisper.

Nothing.

“Winry!”

My voice echoes down the passage. I run after it until I get to 523 just in case, but it’s empty.

“Dammit!”

I turn around and head for the infirmary when a familiar pile of metal catches my eye. I slow to a stop and walk over to it.

“Al?”

“Wha…”

“Alphonse?”

I reach around and start pulling out pieces of his armor.

“Brother?”

“What the hell, Al? How did you get like this?”

“It’s a long story,” he mutters. “Could you fix me?”

“Yeah. Give me a second. Then I have to find Winry.”

Once I have all of the armor arranged, I perform a quick transmutation to bind it together.

“Thanks, Ed. I was wondering if I was ever going to move again.”

“Al, where’s Winry?”

“She’s not in her cell?” He turns toward where I just came from.

“No. I checked.”

“Well, then…” He pauses and looks down at me.

“Come on, Al! I need to hurry! I don’t have much time!”

“She’s this way.” He starts down the corridor. “But, Ed, she’s… I think I should warn you. Kimblee has been–”

“I don’t care,” I grind out between my teeth, picking up to a run. “I just need her out of here.”

“Right.”

When we reach the infirmary, Al pushes the door open, and I freeze.

“See, Miss Winry. I told you he was coming.”

Warrant Officer Falman is helping her stand because it looks like she can’t on her own. Her face is pale and twisted with pain, until she looks up and sees me.

“Ed,” she gasps, moving toward me. “I knew you’d come.”

Winry

My legs won’t hold me, but I try to walk anyway, pulling out of Mr. Falman’s supportive hold. I want to run, but I only get half a step before my ankle gives out, and I start to fall. I reach out to catch myself before my face hits the floor when I’m caught around the waist by an automail arm.

“Winry,” Ed whispers brokenly, pulling me into him.

His arms slide around my back, and I cry out.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I was trying to tell you,” Al speaks up. “Kimblee and his men…they hurt her.”

“Son of a bitch!” he bellows. “What did they do? I’ll make them pay–”

“We need to get out of here, Ed,” I remind him. “Before he comes back.”

“Right.” He nods, exhaling. “Right.”

Somehow, I end up on Ed’s back, my arms looped around his neck, as he sneaks us down the halls and out a secret back entrance. Two chimeras who seem to know Ed are waiting in a getaway truck with the engine already running. Al gets in first, and Ed passes me off. As soon as we’re all inside, the truck starts moving.

Someone spots us pulling away, and I start to panic.

“Ed–”

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “They won’t catch us.”

“But they’re–”

“Major Miles has men helping us. We’re okay.”

At his assurance, I start to relax. When the sound of shouting voices fades, and falling snow distorts the view of the fort as we drive away, I feel exhaustion take over me.

“Lie down, Winry,” Ed coaxes softy. “It’s okay. They can’t hurt you anymore.”

I curl up on my side, resting my head on his thigh. His fingers bury themselves in my hair, and for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel the cold.

“Thank you, Ed,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Now let’s get the fuck away from Briggs.”

Edward

“You’re sure this is the right way, Al?” I ask quietly, trying not to disturb Winry, who I’m carrying in my arms. We had to leave the truck when the roads became impassible. Both the chimeras and Al offered to help with Winry, but I declined. I can take care of her on my own.

Mostly.

“Yes,” he answers firmly. “Scar said there was a mountain village called Asbeck. He was going to take May and Dr. Marcoh there with the others to hide in the Ishvalan refugee camp.”

“I hope they’re still there,” I mutter.

“Alphonse!”

The high-pitched voice catches me off guard. I turn to find the little Xingese girl with the strange panda-cat.

“May?”

“You found us! How did you escape?”

“Brother showed up, but May, Winry needs help.”

“Oh!” She looks past him at me, cradling Winry, and immediately comes over. “What happened to her?” she whispers.

“Nothing good,” I grunt. “Can you help her?”

“I think so.” She looks up at me and nods. “And Dr. Marcoh can help too. Come on.”

She turns and grabs Al’s hand and starts pulling him down an alley.

“We’re this way. I’m so glad you found us, Alphonse,” she tells him enthusiastically. “We were just getting ready to leave tomorrow or the next day, but now that you’re here–”

“We can’t stay long either,” I interrupt. “But Winry…”

“Don’t worry, Edward,” she cuts me off. “We’ll take care of your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my–”

“Ed?” Winry murmurs, and I look down, shifting my arms to readjust her against my chest.

“Hey. I’m sorry about this. We’re almost there, though.”

“Where?” She blinks, wincing.

“Here,” May announces. “Come in.”

I follow her inside and over to a cot where I set Winry down. She immediately rolls onto her stomach and rests her cheek on her hands.

“It’s her back,” I tell May quietly. “He…cut her.”

I peeked at the damage while she was sleeping, and immediately regretted it. Most of the cuts are starting to heal, but some of them are still pink and raw looking. If I ever see that slimy bastard again…

Dr. Marcoh comes over, and I get pushed back while he and May take care of her. I wait on the other side of the room with Al, who’s playing with Xiao Mei, the panda-cat. For the next few hours, we wait. Every once and a while, I hear Winry whimper, and I start to stand, but May waves me back. Finally, she comes over to me.

“We did everything we know to do,” she tells me quietly. “There might be some scarring, but she’s not in pain anymore, and there’s no risk of infection.”

I exhale slowly and rise to my feet, ignoring the growing ache in my abdomen where my own wound is still healing.

“She’s sleeping right now,” May goes on, “but you can go sit with her.”

“Thanks.”

She nods and takes my seat by Alphonse as I cross to where Winry is resting on her side. For the first time since I found her at Briggs, she looks peaceful. I let out a long breath and sit down on the edge of her cot.

“Ed,” she mumbles over her shoulder at me.

“I’m right here, Winry.”

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Shifting my weight, I pull my legs onto the cot and fold my body into the space behind hers, careful not to touch her back. She reaches behind her with one hand, and I quickly take it in mine, tucking it down between our bodies.

“Get some rest, Winry.”

“You too, Ed.”

I lean forward and kiss her neck lightly before burying my face in her hair and succumbing to sleep.

[thebozemantroll]

My nutty little friend

I didn’t want to waste time writing this because there are more important things to do in life other than amusing a naysayer, heckler, cynic, doubting Thomas, armchair geek and troll. I could go on…

Incredibly, over the last 12 years, I have taken action in wrestling (not literally though as I feel he would enjoy it) a person who has been attacking my name everywhere. None of my efforts have worked and it seems that it’s impossible to stop his on line harassment and him trying to enlist and/or encourage other nonsensical mindless grunts.

He sent late-night SMS’s and bombarded sponsors, friends, work colleagues (past and present), social contacts and yours truly...the list goes on...with emails, many of which are fake. There is nothing valuable that you can extract from him - and nobody seems to care.

My troll is a permanent fan keeping me entertained. It’s not that I think I am perfect and there should not be criticism. To the contrary, there are a lot of things I have done unrelated to an adventure that were not even on the radar that he decided to interfere with, pick apart and manipulate.

“I’m just some naughty fellow somebody is obsessing about. Privileged that it’s all about me and my famous effed up life and stuff.”

The individuals in this world, who make a genuine impression, are the inventors, the innovators, the humane, the witty, and the sharp. Nowhere in this list do you see trolls, hecklers, the pitiless, the unorganised grabastic lumps of reptile crap and those who produce nothing while amusing themselves by shitting on others lives and accomplishments and demanding this and that or else. It’s a simple answer. There is nothing noteworthy about those who contribute nothing, zilch, zip, nowt. Universally mind-numbing. Ordinary. Totally empty.

I had one of those eureka moments a while back. It simply didn’t occur to me. Why would it? How long will my troll continue to direct his remarks to me on twitter after he’s been muted and blocked? How long until this person, who seems to have all the intelligence of a saturated cucumber sandwich, realize that the individual who they’re trying to cause pain and distress on, whose self-confidence they’re trying to chip away at, has left the building and is deliberately and absolutely ignoring them?

My troll doesn’t matter. Zero memorability. Nil impression. Nowt. Zippo. I hit block/mute months ago and moved on unaware that someone, somewhere was blabbing like a big girl's blouse in his moist lingerie trying to get my attention. My self-invented, self-appointed slippery diminutive worthless twinkle-toe journo troll is ravenous for any form of attention because he can’t contribute anything of worth to any conversation.

He just loves free speech as if that gives him any right. Nah, free speech is protected as a way to protest the government. It does not mean you get carte blanche to be a total asshole to people, well known or otherwise.

“Freedom of Speech does NOT mean Freedom to abuse people. People who ‘Troll’ online are in effect guilty of Cyber-bullying, and we believe should face the same punishment as the crime of Cyber-stalking. This is why we are campaigning to have Trolling or Cyber-bullying re-classified, so that it can carry the same punishment as Cyber-stalking. We hope to have Trolling included in the The current US Federal Anti-Cyber-Stalking law, and have that law updated to suit as such.”

Colin J Todd 2010

A bully is a broad word. Wholly ordinary. An OAP of the insignificant. Non-entities. Swiftly dealt with, rapidly dispatched, speedily ignored. Instantaneously forgotten.

So when tempted to hurt another, to yank someone down to your bottomless sewer, remember; you don’t rob someone else’s life or flame by trying to blow out their candle, you’ll only wind up huffing and puffing alone in the dark while rubbing one out, which I guess is a widespread activity around your way?

[thenixkat]

Titans headcanons?

(I literally stopped giving a damn about the canon around chapter 50-ish. These are stuff inspired from fanfics, interesting wmg, and my own thoughts I had while reading/watching.)

Titans are bioweapons created by an environmentalist group to curb the human population. Which they did, just much better than intended.

-The agent that caused the titanization was spread in tainted food products across the world. Several months later and titans, everywhere.

-Low levels of the agent result in mindless titans; high levels in titan shifters.

-The group that decided that humans needed to cut back all turned themselves and their allies into titan shifters well before the shit hit the fan and worked on protected, self sustaining environmentally safe hidey holes.

-Some members felt sorry for the humans given that the titans were far more effective than originally planned. So they made a natural reserve for humans using a fuck ton of huge titans to build some walls. And then they got some of the last humans to put in the park to preserve the species.

-Each major shifter settlement has an item designed to make titans less likely to enter its radius and thus the settlements attract much less mindless titans than they would otherwise.

Titan anatomy was inspired by plants. Titans get all of their energy requirements from the sun and can produce mass from molecules in the air. If deprived of sunlight, air, and/or water for long enough they go dormant and will revive when they get what they need again.

-Larger titans can hold onto a solar charge longer than smaller ones.

Titan shifters have much higher energy requirements than humans of the same size and build. To solve this they either need to eat more often, eat more energy dense foods (meats and fats), and/or bask in the sun.

-Shifters are fully capable of digesting raw meat with ease.

-Shifters generate a lot of body heat and generally dislike the cold.

-Shifters have 3 forms: human, titan, and an inbetween form that has traits of both. The inbetween form being the human body gone through internal changes to become more titanish rather than growing a whole titan around the body. Its less energy expensive than a full shift, not too large compared to the base human body, but bigger stronger and more inherently deadly than the more human body. However, in this form they aren’t exactly capable of human-like thought. Like they’re not dumb, the thought process is just very different.

--young shifters have a very hard time shifting into and out of this form. Prolonged starvation in human form can lead to involuntary transformations into this from to better get food.

Regular titans can become shifters by eating other titans and increasing the amount of the titanization agent in their bodies. Given that titans rarely mistake each other for food tends to only happen with titans eating shifters.

A union between a shifter and a human would likely result in a kid that’s either human or likely to randomly turn into a mindless titan. That is if the union is able to produce any children at all.

After time causes certain information to be lost and certain resources to be near impossible to acquire due to risk of being killed and eaten while trying to extract them, the shifters are only a bit more technologically advanced than the humans within the walls. With things like electricity for lighting and heating. 

-They are culturally more diverse with settlements all over the world and a somewhat lesser risk of dying while traveling than humans do. Trading is crucial to the survival of many villages and assorted nomadic groups.

-The various kinds of titan shifter are also vital for the survival of villages and groups.  With runners, colossal, and beastly titans as sentries using their speed, height, or heightened senses to detect and alert other of danger early. Armored and other athletic titans combating enemies directly to protect weaker members of society. Colossal titans forming walls and other barriers with crystallized chunks of their titan bodies.

Shifters don’t age in their titan bodies or in crystal hibernation. So a shifter could have siblings or children physically and/or mentally older than they are or parents and grandparents physically and/or mentally younger than they are. Age in years means much less than actual mental and physical maturity.

- younger shifters defer to older ones. Weaker shifters defer to stronger ones.

After about  century or so of isolation  from humans, most shifters generally consider them to be intelligent but dangerous wild animals. There are some in the opinion that they should finish what their ancestors started and just finish getting rid of them and others that are very against wiping out any kind of animal from the face of the earth. The general shifter public doesn’t much care either way.

ok so plot??

The shifter settlements on the same island as the walled human preservation area are convinced into believing that a human or group of humans has stolen their mindless titan repellant thing. And the only way to get it back is to flush out whoever has it, b/c they’d probably use it to try and ward off titans. Or if it cant be found, then to get rid of the dangerous humans living in the walls and seek shelter there themselves.

Asking the humans what the heckle is up and can we have our shit back, is generally off the table b/c humans are humans and tend to be a bit murdery.

Given that it’d be really damn hard for a human to get into a shifter settlement in the first place, let alone to know what to steal, there is a lot of disagreement and an investigation and stuff.

So the shifters that infiltrated the Walls to exterminate humanity are pretty much the kids of scared people that were convinced by fear mongers to participate in a half baked plan to save their own folks. Kids from more or less broken families that wouldn’t really be missed if they failed. Kids more or less raised on like anti-wolf/elephant propaganda but replace wolves/elephants with humans. 

Then these kids meet humans and grow up with some.

[carterashofficial]

The Toe Incident

Otherwise known as Easter 2010

So because @aearyn and @greyias asked for it, here’s the story of how 14-year-old me managed the feat of cutting almost the entire bottom of my right baby toe off.

Warning: lots of humor (I hope), blood, needles, hospital talk, etc…

It’s also gonna be long. Like, really really long.

Okay so before I begin, i have to mention that I am the idiot child. Not when it comes to smarts, but when it comes to common sense. Because I am lacking that in abundance.

So.

I was a clumsy and awkward thirteen-year-old. I unfortunately did not grow out of either trait. Ever. I’ve still got both, but now I’ve learned how to make people laugh over my clumsily awkwardness.

But when I was fourteen, it was bad. I was in eight grade, the boy I’d had a crush on for years was in my PE class, acne, middle school, what even was fashion- you get the point. Awkward middle school early-teen stuff.

At home, however, I was Cool. My eight-year-old sister Bug looked up to me like I was the greatest thing ever, we’d just rescued Scout and he was still puppy-ish. I even had a new Ipod Nano for my birthday.

That Ipod made me lose a quarter of my toe.

The year was 2010, the beginning of the era where the 2000-something sunglasses fell out of fashion during new years. It was Easter. So naturally Bug and I had found our Easter baskets wherever the Easter Bunny hid them.

I got an Itunes gift card (I do not download illegal music. The FBI will find me. Imagine if that’s why I don’t get a job when I’m out of college. Like during the interview they bring up the time I got arrested and are like ‘what for’ and I’m like “i downloaded Nickleback illegally off the internet when I was 14”. I’d probably not get the job more on my 8th grade music choice than that fact that I wasn’t slick enough to not get caught.)

Okay back to the actual story.

It was a beautiful Southern California day.

And so naturally my dad wanted to go to the beach. My dad loves the beach. He’s from Michigan (i mean both my parents are but Mom doesn’t like the beach, probably from taking me and Bug as small children all the time). So we decide to go to the beach to see the sunset.

So I booted up the family Windows XP desktop and got Itunes up to use my giftcard on some new music. Nothing like siting in the car for half-an-hour with new songs, right?

This is where I mention that the XP desktop is in my parents’ bedroom in this 100% early 90′s aesthetic hutch thing. Next to it is a bookshelf full of Mom’s textbooks for her master’s degree. And in front of the bookshelf is it:

The Trash Basket. (being used for not trash, but recycling. So the name’s a lie).

This Fucking Trash Basket was EVIL. Did I know that? No. Was it full of my mom’s old papers and notes from earlier classes? You betcha.

So this is where Idiot Child me earns the official Idiot Child badge.

I can’t multi-task. In general. So there’s awkward, clumsy, 14 year old me trying to put headphones into my Ipod, unplug the syncing cord from said Ipod, and scroll through Ipod to get to new songs.

And I walk into The Trash Can.

Papers go EVERYWHERE. Ipod is dropped. I stumble forward. And then I throw everything back into The Trash Can to pretend it never happened.

And thats when I see it.

A little red splotch of blood on the carpet.

I figure I scratched my toe on the metal of The Trash Can’s bottom. Nothing a band-aid, neosporin, and wearing shoes at the beach wouldn’t fix. I step into Mom and Dad’s bathroom, stick a small wad of tissues under my toes, and then proceed to search the entire fucking bathroom and adjoining closet for the damn band-aids (we were out, apparently). 

I get the neosporin, a Q-tip, and I’m about to go and get a sock to protect my slightly-scratched-toe when I realize that the tile floor feels…

Sticky.

I look down.

Blood is smeared all over the floor. The wad of tissues is crimson. and I can’t feel a damn thing when I reach down and touch my toe.

That’s when I get dizzy and sat myself down on edge of the bathtub.

Bug takes that moment to come in to tell me that we’re leaving for the beach as soon as Mom gets back from taking Jewel (our other Dalmatian) for a walk. She sees the blood. Sees me sitting on the edge of the tub and bracing myself on the counter.

Apparently I really scared her when I said “Get Dad. Now.” because I’d never heard her actually yell.

“DAD! DAD, CARTER’S BLEEDING!”

In all honesty, I think he may have been expecting a different kind of bleeding. Like, the feminine nature kind.

Because Dad walked into the bathroom, took in the sight, and that was the first time I heard him say the F-word.

“Fuck.”

Dad gets me to elevate my leg over his bathroom sink, Bug gets me a pillow from Mom and Dad’s bed so my head isn’t on tile, and Dad calls Mom’s cell phone, since she’s out walking Jewel.

From downstairs we hear her phone ringing.

“Shit,” says Dad.

At this point I’m feeling 100% Fine. Like, I can see the blood dripping down my heel into the sink, but nothing hurts. At all. My toe is completely numb. My dad (gently) washed it with mild soap by dripping it down my foot. 

My dad was both disgusted and fascinated by it. He kept tapping different parts and going “can you feel that? what about that? This?”

I didn’t feel anything but lightheaded and nausea.

Then Mom got home.

Bug went thundering down the stairs, hollering how I cut the bottom of my toe and Mom had to look at it.

So Mom came upstairs, looked at my toe, and almost fainted.

You know how I mentioned earlier that she was getting her Master’s degree? She was getting it in Nursing.

Ten minutes of her and Dad discussing what to do ended with me propped up on their bed with about 5 pillows under my foot and my mom next to me, sipping water and trying to not pass out. I felt fine. Dad bandaged my toe, and helped me hobble downstairs onto the couch where my foot could be propped up higher on the coffee table.

Just with the trek down the stairs made me bleed through my bandages. And Dad replaced them.

We were not going to the beach.

So Bug and I settled in on the couch to watch re-runs of… I don’t remember. But Scout was allowed on that couch, so he was the Lap-Dog (this is before he got fat), and Jewel was in her customary spot of laying against the couch directly under Bug because Bug would sit forward and give Jewel a belly-rub with her feet.

This goes on for about an hour until Grandma calls. Mom’s mom. Who is also a Nurse. (TV gets turned off so us kiddos can talk to Grandma).

Mom and her mom discuss my toe. Forever.

While the mothers are talking, the couch starts to shake.

I think nothing of it. It’s Jewel licking one of her back feet, and it’s made the couch shake before again.

But then I feel the floor moving too.

I live in Southern California.

It was an earthquake.

And my mother, in her infinite wisdom that we’ve never let her live down, hangs up on her mother in Florida with “I gotta go, Mom, we’re having an earthquake.” and forgets to call grandma back for 5 hours.

Now my seat on the couch was directly under the ceiling fan. I started to get up, damning the toe because hey, I did NOT want the fan fall on me. Mom pointed at me, gave me her patented Mom Voice, and said “Stay.” it worked on me, Bug, and the pups.

The earthquake ended, I got up the bathroom, and once again bled through my bandages. It’ been about 3 hours since the Incident. And my toe was still bleeding something awful.

Dad decided to take me to ER. Mom said there was nothing they could do, the cut so was so awkward it’d be almost impossible to stitch. Maybe steri-strips?

I was loaded into the car, and Dad and I buzzed away to what’s been dubbed as “The Toe Hospital” since this day.

We arrived, I got put in a wheelchair, and it was completely empty inside. My dad started to make a crack about it and the various nurses all shouted for him to not jinx it.

The nurse took one look at my toe after removing the bandages and sent me to a different room.

“You did quite a number on this,” she said as I left.

I was wheeled into a new room with a bed and a new nurse came in.

“You really did a number on this,” she said. And she couldn’t stop staring. “You might need stitches. Let me get the doctor.”

The doctor walked in.

“Wow, you did do a number on your toe.”

At this point I just wanted to know if the numbers added up to stitches or nah.

And they did.

Doctor Dude got supplies, and made the tragic mistake of standing in my line of sight while he extracted the numbing stuff with a really long needle.

I have an intense phobia of needles. Like, I’m 21 years old and I almost started crying when my mom suggested I get a flu shot over text. Blood drawn, I’m fine. Something being injected in? Someone’s going to have to hold my arms and legs down and I’m going to be screaming. Loud.

My dad swears he still hasn’t regained feeling in his hand because I had it in a death grip, sobbing, while Doctor Dude numbed up my toe and gave me twelve stitches. There was a little TV in the corner of the room and so I got to watch Chuck Norris in some cowboy TV show.

We got home, Dad threw out The Trash Can (apparently part of my toe was stuck to it…). I was on crutches for three weeks. Missed two months of PE. To this day I have minimal feeling in my toe, the nail hardly grows, but if I bang it on the corner of something, I am down like for a good 5 minutes because holy hell does it hurt.

And that, everybody, is the Toe Incident.