#tw missing limbs mention

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Moon: Well, Eclipse isn’t a flight risk anymore.

Sun: What?

Moon: Oh, his legs got towed.

Sun: …Are you saying you took off his legs?

Moon: No, I’m saying Jack did out of grief of losing his dad.

[victor-cartoons]

Guys, could y'all give me ideas for a name for the AU? ? I'm trying to come up with something, but I can't think of anything :[

Originally it was just going to be called something (kinda dumb) like "disabled!tankman" but I think I need something better than that

[kitty-lattee]

“You don’t get to decide what I see.”

[victor-cartoons]

You guys want to hear about a post-war Tankmen AU where I explore the consequences of war to extreme points (specifically events like losing limbs by battle and having to learn live a life not only outside of war, but with disabilities as well. not really talking about wars and their global consequences, but rather emphasizing the personal consequences of war in the life of a ex-soldier) with Tankman and Boyfriend angst content (shipping) with some mentions of Tankdad or am I taking the Tankmen series too seriously?

an AU drawing below, (no gorey stuff but John looks pretty fucking bad emotionally/srs) (please proceed with caution)

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

Comfortember Day 3: Warm Food

(originally posted in 2022)

Rain pounded against the hard cobblestone, bouncing off the stone and covering the roads in a light mist. A horse and carriage drove down the street, splashing through the puddles as it went. The street was mostly empty, with only a few stragglers making their way home for the day. The street lamps flickered, barely cutting through the dense rain. This was a bigger city than the ones Myla had previously been to, having electricity powering the streetlights instead of candles or magic. Myla pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, keeping her head down as she passed a couple on the sidewalk. They barely paid her any mind though as they hurried to get out of the rain. 

Myla’s stomach ached with hunger pangs as she walked and she mentally went over how much money she still had. She had been staying at different inns for the past month and, unfortunately, what little money she had was dwindling. She mentally cursed her situation. Kept her eyes on the ground and kept walking, forcing herself to just keep moving. 

Myla stumbled suddenly as her vision blurred for a moment. She reached out to brace herself against a nearby wall but her hand didn’t make contact with anything, causing her to fall into the dirt and mud. She groaned, and slowly sat up, rubbing her forehead. She went to pull her hood back up but was surprised to find that her horns had grown. She hesitated before taking a deep breath and willing her magic down. Slowly, the horns retreated back into her head and she felt the rush of magic leave her. She had been struggling with controlling her powers but luckily had found that calming her mind made them less likely to act up.

After a few seconds, she slowly raised herself, struggling a bit with her prosthetic leg. She pulled her hood back up and sighed, feeling just how soaked her clothes had become. Her dark green cloak was now covered in mud and soaked with water, sticking to her clothes and soaking them too. She even felt some mud stuck to her braided hair. 

She glanced around, checking if anyone had seen her embarrassing moment, and noticed she was now alone on the street. She squinted her eyes a little as she looked at the nearby buildings. Something about them seemed a little off to Myla. she couldn’t quite figure out why though, the style of the buildings matched the rest of the town and there was nothing about them that was standing out. 

She decided to ignore it for now and started walking again, shivering now. Myla wondered if she looked as pathetic as she felt. Soaked, freezing, and hungry.

She walked for a while longer, her anxieties clouding her mind until she heard the sound of muffled music and people talking. She looked up and saw a pub only a few buildings down. She picked up her pace and felt herself relax a little, grateful for the chance to get out of the rain and warm up.

She entered the pub and sighed in relief at the warmth. She went to take off her hood but hesitated as she noticed the other patrons of the pub. The majority of the people in the pub were strange creatures that Myla had never seen in person before, some more human-like than others. A few looked human but Myla didn’t miss their sharp teeth or unnatural-colored eyes. She was stuck, frozen in fear. What was this place? Should she even be in here? Was she safe here? Suddenly, she felt a rush of magic course through her, just under the skin.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to will the magic away, silently praying that she didn’t cause any destruction or hurt anyone. Too many times already had she woken up in a destroyed inn bed from her powers activating while she was asleep. Luckily, nothing seemed to happen besides her horns growing back out. She opened her eyes again and noticed a few people had looked over at her since she was still just standing by the door. She hesitated before snapping out of it and shaking off as much water as she could. She gripped the inside of her cloak and made her way over to a seat at the bar.

She sat down and looked at the menu hung up on the wall, mentally going over how much money she had. She felt her heart sink as she realized she couldn’t afford anything. 

“Welcome stranger,” the bartender asked as she walked up. She was mostly human looking except for a large black scar-like mark that went across her face. The scar went all the way from the side of her neck, over the nose, and under an eyepatch on the right eye before disappearing into her inky black hair. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Uh, um…” Myla glanced back up at the menu, knowing she couldn’t order anything. Her good leg bounced and she rubbed her hands nervously in her lap. “I-I think I’m good. Just trying to uh, warm up. If it's ok for me to do that here ma’am.”

The bartender looked her over for a moment, Myla doing her best to shrink from the woman's gaze. 

“You are not from around here, are you?” She asked, leaning on the bar.

“No… just passing through.”

“Well, then you have to eat something,” the bartender said, a bright smile on her face. “The mutton is great and you’ll want to try it while you have the chance.”

“I would love to… but I-I can’t… I can’t afford it,” Myla said, feeling a little ashamed. She wondered if they might kick her out since she wasn’t a paying customer

“Hey, It's ok,” the bartender said, giving Myla a kind smile. She seemed to think for a moment and checked her pocket before looking back at Myla. “How about I get you some anyway. On the house”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Myla said, holding her hands up.

“It’s no trouble, really. I’ve made good tips tonight and when else am I going to get to treat a pretty lady to a nice meal.” The bartender winked at Myla, causing her to blush. “I’ll be out in a bit with your food.”

Myla simply nodded, unable to speak as the lady walked away. She looked down at her lap as she tried to calm her now racing heart. She thought about how this seemed too good to be true, the chance of her arriving at this pub and someone being nice enough to give her a whole meal for free. Her whole life, most people had only been nice to her because of her brother, either not wanting to get on his bad side or because they wanted to be closer to him. The bartender must want something, she concluded. She must want Myla to owe her in some way. Myla felt her anxiety pick back up as she zoned out, spiraling in her thoughts. 

“Hey, are you ok?” 

Myla snapped back to reality and looked up, seeing the bartender standing back in front of her with a concerned look on her face. Myla could also feel the eyes of a few other patrons staring at her. She must have looked weird, sitting there zoned out. She blinked and realized her food was ready. 

“Oh, um, yeah… I’m ok,” Myla said, looking down at her food. She blinked and tried to force back the tears that threatened to fall. 

“Hey, hey, what's wrong?” the bartender asked, placing her hand on the bar in front of Myla. 

“I-I’m ok, I-” she sniffed and wiped her eyes as a few tears escaped, “I just… things have been really hard lately… and I don’t know how to repay you for this… This is the kindest anyone has been to me in a long time…”

“Hey, don’t worry about repaying me. Like I said, it's on the house. If you want, we can talk later and maybe help your situation. I know a lot of people that would be willing to help. But for now, eat. We’ll worry about that later.” 

Mayla sniffled again and nodded, starting to eat the food. The bartender was right, the food was amazing. As she ate, she felt herself calm down, being warmed from the inside out. For the first time in weeks, she felt as if her troubles her smaller than they had been. She relaxed a bit as she ate, enjoying the comfort of a warm meal. 

[hxney-lemcn]

Alive, Dreaming — Daisuke x gn! reader

summery: reuniting with Daisuke when he comes back.

tw: none.

a/n: a gift for enduring all that angst I threw at you :) (title is a song, not a song fic tho)

wc: 0.4k

Master List

You paced the living room excitedly, eyes constantly glancing between your watch and the front door. You were already grinning maniacally, making sure all the decorations were set in place perfectly. Daisuke was going to be here any second now, and you needed this small party to go off with a bang. You had invited a few of the people Daisuke used to hang out with at parties, but when you mentioned this party wasn’t gonna have alcohol or loud music they made excuses as to why they couldn’t show. Whatever, they were probably a bunch of jerks anyways. 

Your heart spiked when you heard footsteps outside of the door, Daisuke and his moms voice muffled through the door. You were basically jumping off the walls when you heard the keys jingling to open the door, hands shaking as you held the small confetti popper. The second the door opened you couldn’t hold yourself back, pulling the string sending confetti towards your long time friend and boyfriend.

“Surprise~!” You shouted, hopping up and down on the balls of your feet, your party hat hanging on for dear life. 

Daisuke stared at the scene in surprise before the biggest grin you’ve ever seen tugged at his lips, shouting your name excitedly before swooping you up into a hug. You both squeezed each other like your lives depended on it, taking in the other's presence after being deprived of it for over a year. 

“God I missed you,” Daisuke whispered, burying his face into your shoulder. His mother shuffled past, sending the two of you a soft smile before heading to the kitchen to get the cake out. 

“I missed you too,” You murmured back, rocking both of you back and forth gently. Pulling away slightly, you grinned as Daisuke pouted at you. Not giving him a chance to whine, you pulled him in for a short kiss, letting your love and longing linger on his lips as you pulled away. Much to your dismay (not) Daisuke chased after you, not letting you get away and pressing another kiss to your lips. This one slightly deeper with more conviction.

“Who wants cake?” Daisuke’s mother called out, not needing to leave the kitchen to know you both were having a moment. 

Grinning at the two-toned haired man you held in your arms, you untangled your limbs, interlocking your fingers and pulling him with you towards the kitchen. Daisuke couldn’t be happier to be back home with you and his family. He couldn’t be more grateful that Pony Express was shut down now, that he wouldn’t have to do that again. Sure, he met some great people, and they definitely changed his life (for better and worse), but he wasn’t made for the stars. 

Sure, he was still uncertain what his future held for him, but he did know one thing. He didn’t want to live a future without you by his side.

[shytastemakerthing]

Hi! I wanted to say I love your writing and if I could request all TWST dorms x reader with wings? And with bird-like tendencies like collecting shiny things, ect. Thanks!!

A/N: Hello, hello, and thank you so much for this request and your patience as I can finally start working through more of the inbox! I do hope that you enjoy your request!

Prompt: All dorms with Yuu who has wings

Tw: None

Riddle, I feel like, knows quite a bit about animals. Between animal linguistics and then the animals in the dorm, several having wings, he is quite knowledgeable on the subject. This also means that if you ever need any help in wing care, he would certainly help out. Has caught you on more than one occasion taking anything you seem to find shiny. Has spoken to you about it several times, given it could have belonged to someone...... but then begins to intentionally leave around a few things here and there. Pins, coins, shiny pens. Lives in denial.

Trey: Finds these bird-like tendencies of yours to be rather amusing. Man is friends with Che'nya, who has cat-like tendencies. Wonders if it is a beast-kin thing. Is a little hesitant about letting you help in the kitchen. Lots of gunk is able to get into your wings and also doesn't want his favorite measuring spoons going missing. Perhaps he can gift you a pair of your own

Cater: The amount of videos that he has of you flying, snatching shiny things, or just carrying out other bird-related behavior, should be a crime. There is so much, but he is like your own personal cheerleader. You have snatched a few of his things on more than one occasion. Honestly melts at the softness of your wings. Can he stay here for a bit? Please?.....

Ace: Has tried to bribe you on more than one occasion to either snatch something for him given your attraction to anything shiny or just to get in some general trouble. Has yet to work. When he has seen this happen, can't help but to laugh at it. It's like you're an actual bird. A slap to the head with one of your wings usually shuts him up

Deuce: More worried when you take anything shiny that does not belong to you. Man is trying to be an honors student over here and it's a bit heard when you keep snatching things and he has to keep apologizing to people as certain things get returned. He will absolutely go to a shop or something to find random shiny materials for you to conveniently find on your little journeys

Leona: Finds the whole ordeal rather amusing to be honest. Just seeing people scramble to find something they swore they just had, all while he sees you making a quick fly into the air to avoid detection never fails to make him chuckle. Will also leave out the most random things in his room for you to snag. Not like he needs it anyway. Also, when allowed (as he knows that certain beast-types are rather sensitive with their additional limbs), he will use your wings as a pillow

Ruggie: Will 1000% enable this behavior of yours. Honestly, within the first week of the school year, you both had this arrangement going on. You find valuables to snag, he finds food, you split the profits. It's a win-win both ways. Please don't notice the little love-struck look in his eyes

Jack: Another one who is nervous about these habits of yours. He knows that there are times where you literally can't help yourself and instincts are in full drive, but there could be a day you take something from the wrong person. To help satiate this, he finds a plethora of coins, rocks, and little gems to leave around for you, more as a safety measure. Don't notice the intense wagging of his tail.......

Azul: Funnily enough, octopuses are also attracted to shiny materials and lights, much like the coin collection that he has. Seeing this behavior in you is rather amusing. Not to mention the quick getaway into the sky that ensures you won't be caught quickly. Perhaps the two of you can come to some sort of an agreement? More-so staring at your wings through that conversation. Are they as soft as they appear?

Jade: Noticed these habits when you managed to snatch the broach off of one of the hats from another Octavinelle student before said student could even react. Now he is intrigued. Through more observation, takes notice of the amount of shiny materials that go missing throughout the day. And the way your wings fluff and reflect the light? Be still, his beating heart. Now he needs more excuses to talk to you

Floyd: Another who will enable this behavior. It's hilarious to him to see all of this going down. What will you take next? Had that question answered the moment he saw your eyes land on his earring. Yeah, no. That one is off limits. But when you begin to see an array of scales beginning to make an appearance, you have a feeling as to who is behind all this. He left you scales, maybe you'll leave him a few feathers?

Kalim: Scarabia would be a gold mine of shiny materials that you can snag and quickly leave. Kalim certainly does not help in the manner, not when he keeps giving you all for these new things. Gold, precious stones, coins, he lets you go for it all. It would all be yours if Jamil didn't step in when he did. Absolutely loves to go on late-night flights with you. He'll take the carpet and then be in absolute awe of your wings

Jamil: You just became another headache for him... a rather cute headache. He knows that this instinct of yours is rather hard to ignore. Like some ancient drive in you to do these things that can't be buried away. This man begins to leave little beads out for you to take. At the end of the day? He will never admit just how quickly he falls asleep under the protection of your wings.

Vil: This man absolutely helps you with wing care. Washing those feathers, ensuring they are soft and bright in their colors. He can't imagine how difficult it must be to try and take care of it all on your own. Why, it took several hours just between the two of you. Your tendency to take shiny things does bother him quite a bit. He knows there is a drive within you to do this, and that it can be rather hard to ignore. He just tries to find other means to help satiate this urge of yours

Rook: This freak of nature 100% collects any feathers that you may shed throughout your time there. Also uses some of these feathers for that hat of his. Will often switch them out. Another one who helps tend to the wings, reveling in the softness of them, how they shake and flutter, the vivid colors of them. The man is a mess, a cheesy, poetic mess. The shiny things? He doesn't help in that regard. You've become someone he marvels at from afar when these instincts take over.

Epel: At times, encourages this behavior of yours. Maybe you'll find something rather nice and bring it to him. Not exactly the best at helping to take care of your wings, but he certainly tries. Another one who will absolutely fall asleep in those wings of yours

Idia: Ignihyde is also a rather dangerous spot for you if you like shiny things as the entire dorm is metal and technology, meaning lots of shiny things to grab. Idia was rather quick to pick up on this and find out it was you given all the cameras that were there. Has a bad habit of watching you through the cameras. Seeing you snatch anything you can get your hands on, the way that you fly, both in and out of the building. Maybe that's why you were currently in his room, eyes glued to the screen as you watched him play one of these new games of his...... and why he happens to now have a small collection of your feathers.

Malleus: To him, you are just as mischievous as a number of fae he has encountered, one of them currently enrolled in this school as well. Your love of shiny materials makes him chuckle (so long as none of it is iron). If it is shiny materials you wish for, then he would be all too happy to indulge you. Your wings, so different from his own. He could run his fingers through them for hours and remain content. To have such trust in him that you would allow his hands in a place as vulnerable as your wings makes his heart beat faster

Lilia: Is often stuck between scolding you for your instinctive behavior to take shiny things, and then also encouraging you to do so. As a fae, he would absolutely partake in these actions of yours. As a father, he wants to remind you that taking things that do not belong to you is not okay. All depends on what you find and where it came from. He can't begin to describe the security he strangely feels when he finds himself wrapped in your wings. Both laying in his bed, his smaller frame being held in yours, your wings surrounding him in a warmth of feathers, as if trying to shield him from everything that has happened to him in the past. You don't mind if he stays here for a little while, right?

Silver: Does not always see you when you snatch these shiny objects you seem to gravitate towards but finds it a tad amusing when he is told of these little events. it seems to be more so things you find randomly throughout the campus rather than something that belonged to someone. Your wings make for both the perfect pillow and blanket. So soft, warm, and fluffy. Has been found more than once asleep within them. Lilia has so many pictures.

Sebek: Clearly in awe of your wings. Their size, the strength they hold, the color, the shape of them, how the light reflects off of them, how they flow in the wind. The man is a mess, to be honest. Again, you also seem to gravitate towards shiny materials that are laying around campus rather than taking it off of someone. He often remarks how fae-like some of these behaviors are as well. Has been in contact with Lilia and members of his family (namely his grandfather who may know a thing or two about winged species). Slowly becomes a pro at taking care of you and these wings.

Have a wonderful day/night!

[dnvrsmedia]

Whatever it Takes

sevika x reader (in canon universe)

there are no physical attributes or gendered language used in this :)

tw: PTSD and death mentioned

hurt/comfort for the fall season! (totally not self indulgent whaaaat)

You comfort Sev after a rough nights sleep

The air felt thick as your eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight peeking through your apartment window. A groan leaves your lips as you root around your bed for your girlfriend. As you come to it, you recognize what the cool sheets on your bed signifies. Sevika is missing from your bed for the third time this week. Many who didn’t know her would assume that she was back in her old stomping grounds, messing around with Babettes girls. Yet, you knew her better than anyone else, better than she knew herself.

You roll out of bed, leaving the comfort of your sheets and the smell of your lover. As your feet padded through your shared home, the sound of a whiskey glass hitting the coffee table filled your ears. Your first thought was annoyance at her inability to use a coaster (you think she does it just to fuck with you). Your soon second thought was questioning why she was up this early on her off day. Silco was kind enough to let her take a few days off…well after you had given him a very stern talking to. Sevika swears that the only thing he’s scared of would be you.

As you turn the corner, you see your lover hunched over her strong legs. Her chemtech arm off for the night, leaving her residual limb in the open. Her hair is down and in her face, not even caring that she can’t see well. Her flesh arm balancing a cigarillo and a whiskey glass, interchanging between vices. Her distant stare tells you she’s had a nightmare. Her staggering breath and deep frown tells you that she’s in her head. Sevika’s PTSD symptoms ebbs and flows with her day to day life. The fast pace and graveness of her line of work distracts her from the horrors that plague her mind in the quiet of the night. Yet, tonight, it seemingly has caught up to her.

A deep sigh leaves your mouth as you bite the corners of your lip, scouring your mind at what could’ve triggered her. The night before was filled with laughter and love between the two of you. The softer, less brute side of Sevika shone brightly through her hardened exterior. The side she only let you see.

You take a seat right next to her on your shared couch.Your arm moves to her hair, swiping her blunt locks away from her line of sight, tucking them behind her ears. A short grunt leaves her lips as a sign that she’s aware of your presence. When Sevika gets in these moods, you know better than to pester her to talk. She has seen and experienced horrific things, many of which you mightn’t even know. So when she feels comfortable in sharing even a sliver of her life, you let her at her own pace.

The pair of you sit in comfortable silence as your fingertips trail invisible figures across her body. You’ve learned through your relationship, keeping an aspect of constant physical touch in moments like these, keep her grounded. What makes you so different from all she’s mess with before is your attention to detail. You constantly find ways to keep her from disconnecting further into her pain, especially on days like these.

“He was there.” She kept her gaze distant and hard.Your hand squezees hers as an act of encouragement.

“I was a kid again and he-“ Her chest rises as her breath quickens, cheeks flush with anger. You rub her shoulder in hopes to calm her nerves. You knew Sev had a tumultuous relationship with her father growing up. Brief stories of her youth had slipped through during druken nights shared between you two, but that was the bulk of your understanding. You never thought to cross the boundary of asking how that came to be. A clearing of her throat brought you back to her as her eyes grossed over. A thick swallow of her throat and a shake of her head was enough to keep her emotions at bay.

“It’s been uh, difficult this time of year. Ya know it would’ve been ma’s birthday.” A glimpse of a bittersweet smile can be seen on her face. A surprised expression dawned yours. You thought Sev speaking of her dad was rare! She’s never once mentioned her mother to you in the past years you’ve known her.

“She would’ve loved you, i know it.” A smile couldnt be held back this time. Her distant stare broke as she looked into your eyes.

“I hate that stupid sappy shit you’re into-“ You giggle and slap her arm.

“But, I knew that ma sent you for me the second that I met you.” A shy and bashful smile adorned your lovers face as she nuzzles her nose into her favorite spot, your neck.

You feel your heart explode at her words. Sevika easily has been your most romantic lover (although she likes to downplay it to herself). You cup her strong jaw into your palm and kiss her. You hope every single ounce of your passion, love, and emotions can be felt by her through your lips. Sevika melts into your kiss, allowing for her tense body to relax in your touch.

Being vulnerable is hard for her, she knows that. She sometimes wonders if life hadn’t been so cruel in the undercity, if her father had cared for her…if her mother never died, how different her life would’ve been. Would she have given her life over to the cause? Would she have been something other than a soldier? Or would she still just be a cog in Silcos rebellion? Would she have found things that she liked? Would she have a hobby that didn’t include death and destruction? Would she have kids with you? Would she be less fucked to bring a child into the world and actually be a good mother? All of these were thoughts that had plagued her mind the moment she had gotten woken up by that nightmare.

And yet, here she is, unable to express the flurry of emotions to you. So…kissing will do. She’ll connect your bodies until you’re one so you can feel the deep connection she feels for you. She will be your fiercest protector and keep living for you. For you, have given her a new meaning, a new spark. She’ll keep fighting for Zaun, fighting for you so you will be able to have the life she dreams for you.

You part with her for a second before her lips chase you down. Her flesh arm reaching for you, holding onto your body like she fears if she doesn’t you’ll disappear. You climb onto her lap in one swift motion, needing to become one with her.

“I’m yours. I’m not going anywhere, Sev. I love you.” You stare into her eyes, into her soul. You need her to know that you will never leave her like her loved ones did.

Her steele eyes widen with appreciation and deep appreciation.

“Baby I-I love you. I will do everything to make Zaun the place you deserve.”

Your heart aches at her confession. No, it’s not the first time you’ve said those words to each other, but it is few and far between. Sevika shows you in your day to day just how much she loves you, so you never felt insecure in her loyalty to you. Yet, your heart aches for her. Your heart aches for the pain and the suffering that she’s endured and continues to experience. Your heart aches for the fact that you know she believes she doesn’t deserve good, that she doesn’t deserve you.Your revaluation turns a light within you.

“As long as I'm alive I will spend my days showing you how worthy you are.” You caress her strong jaw and place a kiss on her forehead.

You’ll do whatever it takes.

[pookalicious-hq]

blue velvet... jinx x reader

| 1.4. progress not perfection | prev | next | masterlist

synopsis: two girls trapped within a world full of hate would do anything for eachother. too bad they're both crazy. tags/tws: mentions of mental health illnesses, mention of suicide, blood and gore, mc has split personalities word count: 6.4k

present day: age 23

The sea of bodies sucked you in from either side, a swirling tide of motion and sound. Figures twisted and jostled, their voices rising over one another in a cacophony of excitement as they vied for a glimpse of Progress Day’s marvels. The air itself seemed to hum with energy, the sharp scent of steam and fuel mixing with the sweeter notes of caramelized nuts and fresh pastries. Somewhere nearby, a musician’s lively tune spilled over the noise, adding a whimsical rhythm to the chaos. The skies above were dotted with colourful banners snapping in the wind, their vibrant hues adding to the sharp contrast of the gleaming metalwork around you.

You tugged your hood lower, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek. Your wings, folded tightly against your back, twitched with the urge to stretch, but you kept them carefully hidden beneath your cloak. You’d made sure to preen yourself before leaving—the careful shaking off of loose feathers, the smoothening of your clothes so no stray plume could give away your presence. The last thing you wanted was to leave a trail. This was one of those rare moments when you could blend in, wander the city unnoticed, a fleeting chance to lose yourself in the celebration. A chance to be anonymous.

Still, you allowed yourself a small indulgence. The half-eaten pastry in your hand was sticky, crumbs clinging to your fingers as you weaved through the press of people. The sweet, greasy scent clung to the air, masking the slightly metallic smell of the machines around you. Your sharp eyes flitted between the vibrant displays, absorbing the cacophony of sights: clockwork animals that chirped and hopped, automatons strumming clumsy tunes, and an inventor passionately proclaiming the future of pneumatic transport.

You couldn’t resist. It was too tempting.

As the inventor’s voice crescendoed into the dramatic pitch of a sales pitch, you let your fingers brush against the edge of your cloak, a small static charge crackling through the air. The spark zipped into the exposed wiring of the machine, and the entire contraption jerked violently. Its spindly mechanical limbs flailed, thrashing through the air, smacking into the inventor’s leg and sending him tumbling into the air like a ragdoll. He landed in a tangle of metal and steam, and the crowd erupted in startled laughter.

You grinned, stepping away from the scene before anyone noticed you had been involved. Mischief always seemed to find you when you least expected it. In a crowd like this, no one ever connected the dots—Piltover was too busy admiring itself to worry about one little disruption.

As you sauntered away, a small voice called out behind you, tentative and high-pitched.

“Um, excuse me, miss?”

You paused and turned, blinking down at the small figure tugging at your attention. The little girl, no older than seven or eight, gazed up at you with wide, earnest eyes. Her dirty-blond hair framed her face in soft waves, and her tiny hands were clutching something in front of her.

In her grip was one of your feathers, big and gray, its edges tipped with silver like moonlight on dark water. It shimmered in the light, reflecting the kaleidoscope of colours around you.

Your heart sank.

Shit.

You’d made sure to shake out your wings before you flew up—checked every inch to make sure there were no stray feathers left behind. So why now? Why this one?

“You dropped this,” she said, as if it were a treasure instead of an accident.

“Oh,” you started, trying to hide the momentary panic in your voice. You reached out to take the feather, tucking it quickly beneath your cloak as you flashed the girl a forced smile. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

For a moment, she hesitated, eyeing the hidden feather with wide, curious eyes. You bit your lip, embarrassment creeping up your neck. But you couldn’t help the soft, genuine chuckle that escaped you. “You know what?” you said, crouching down to her level and gently taking the feather. “Why don’t you keep it?”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then her face broke into a smile so bright it made the noise of the crowd feel distant. “Really?” she gasped. “For me?”

You nodded, tucking the feather carefully into her hands. “Tell you what,” you said, leaning in close, your voice taking on a conspiratorial whisper, “this feather isn’t just any feather. It’s magical. I got it from a storm bird all the way in Ixtal.”

Her face lit up, her small fingers brushing over the edges of the feather as if expecting something to happen. “A storm bird? Like, one that makes lightning?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your eyes gleaming with mischief. “They’re rare creatures, and their feathers are said to bring good luck. So, if you keep this, you might just find yourself a little magic of your own.”

She gasped in awe, clutching the feather to her chest like it was the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you very much!” she beamed, barely able to contain her excitement.

Before you could say anything else, the girl’s mother appeared, her hands already reaching out to tug her daughter away. The woman’s eyes flicked over to you, scanning you from head to toe with quick, dismissive contempt. The glint of judgment was unmistakable in her gaze.

“What did I tell you about talking to strangers?” the mother snapped, her voice sharp and cold.

You stood, pushing your shoulders back as the woman’s eyes took in your worn cloak and scuffed boots—your mismatched, patched-up appearance. The clothes didn’t fit right, and the grime of Zaun still clung to your skin like an old memory. It wasn’t lost on you how quickly people like her could size you up. You weren’t part of this world.

“Come on,” she said to the little girl, her tone softening as she tugged her away. “Stay away from people like that.”

The girl hesitated, clutching the feather tightly to her chest, her wide eyes locking onto yours. You gave her a reassuring smile, though it didn’t reach your heart.

The bitterness crept in slowly, curling at the edges of your mind like smoke—dark, lingering, and impossible to shake off. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen it. That look. The judgment, the fear, the instinct to pull away from someone different. But something about seeing it in that little girl—someone so young, so full of wonder—made it sting more than usual.

Kids didn’t start out like that. They weren’t born to look at the world through a lens of suspicion and hatred. They didn’t come out of the womb fearing people they’d never met, or fearing the things they couldn’t understand. That was something that was taught. Something that was learned, and twisted, and fed to them like poison over time.

It was the system that did that. The walls that divided Piltover from the Undercity, the invisible lines that separated the 'worthy' from the 'unworthy.' Kids weren’t born knowing the difference between the two—they learned it by watching the way the streets were built, the way the towers reached higher and higher above the polluted depths of Zaun. They saw how people in the Upper City looked down at the world below them, how they turned their noses up, how they judged everyone and everything in it.

They heard their parents talk about 'the undesirables,' the 'unfortunate ones' from below. How they were a threat to everything Piltover stood for, how the poor, the outcasts, the criminals—those who lived in the shadows—were all 'dangerous' and 'dirty.' It was the kind of talk that seeped into a child’s bones without them even realizing it, until one day, it was as natural as breathing.

That same venom dripped into the veins of the next generation, and before you knew it, it wasn’t just the parents. The kids, too, started looking at you with the same disgust. The same fear.

But that wasn’t where it ended, was it? No. The system kept feeding into that fear, kept reinforcing the lies. In Piltover, it was about power and wealth, about who owned the shiny things, who had the money to pay for protection. And in Zaun, it was about survival. People didn’t get to choose who they became when they grew up. They either adapted, or they were crushed by the weight of the world around them.

It didn’t matter if you were born in the Undercity or the Upper City—you had no control over the cards you were dealt. But the kids, they didn’t know that yet. They didn’t know how the system stacked the deck before they were even born, how it trained them to see the world in black and white, to fear anyone who didn’t look like them, who didn’t have what they had.

The little girl’s eyes had been full of that. Her innocent excitement, all that wonder, until it was tainted by the shadow of her mother’s words. “Don’t talk to strangers.” A simple phrase, but one that held so much more weight when it was uttered with disdain. It was a lesson wrapped in a cruel package: ‘People like you and me don’t mix with people like her. Stay away. Protect yourself.’

It wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t the little girl’s fault at all. You couldn’t blame the kids for the hate that was woven into them. They didn’t choose to be born into it. They didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was just how the world worked. The system taught them to fear, to distance themselves, and to ignore the humanity of those who lived beneath them.

And that was why it hurt so much. You’d seen the same pattern play out over and over, each time making it harder to believe that things could ever change. Because how could they, when the foundations of the world were built on this kind of cruelty?

You let out a slow breath, shaking off the sting of the encounter. It wasn’t worth dwelling on. Not today.

The thought barely had time to settle in your mind before a familiar shadow flickered across the ground, and a sharp, high-pitched screech split the air. You blinked, looking up just in time to catch sight of your falcon cutting through the crowd, her wings slicing through the sunlight like blades.

“Hey there, sweet pea,” you murmured with a half-smile, but something was off.

Instead of her usual graceful descent toward you, she veered wide, circling above your head in erratic loops. Her usual comforting presence felt distant now, her flight pattern erratic, as though something had startled her. You furrowed your brow, your fingers instinctively twitching at your sides, almost reaching for a weapon, but you held back, watching her every move.

Then you saw it.

Her talons flashed in the sunlight as they dipped lower, catching your eye. In the clutch of her claws dangled something delicate—too delicate, too out of place in this bustling crowd. You froze, every muscle in your body tensing.

A single strand of blue hair, eerily familiar, dangled like a silent warning from her sharp talons.

Your stomach churned, the blood draining from your face as a sick realization crawled up your spine.

Something had gone wrong.

As gracefully as you could, you navigated through the throngs of bodies. The air seemed to tighten around you as the crowd closed in, their cheers and chatter blurring into a dull roar at the edges of your consciousness. Every instinct screamed for you to break into a sprint, to push past the mass of bodies clogging the streets, but you forced yourself to move carefully, methodically, with purpose. You couldn’t afford to make a scene, not here, not now.

You adjusted the hood over your head, the fraying edge brushing against your cheek as you ducked beneath a banner strung low across the street. A vendor called out nearby, hawking some mechanical marvel, his booming voice cutting sharply through the noise, but you barely registered it. Your focus was locked on weaving through the shifting sea of people, each step measured, your wings pressed tighter against your back beneath the cloak.

The strand of blue hair swung like a pendulum in your mind, its presence as vivid as if it were still dangling before your eyes. Jinx’s hair. There was no mistaking it. The vibrant hue was burned into your memory, a colour that belonged to her and her alone. That single strand carried weight—a message, a warning, maybe even a cry for help.

Your falcon circled above, her sharp screeches drawing a few curious glances from passersby. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal for her to keep her distance. The last thing you needed was her drawing more attention to you.

Ahead, the crowd thickened near a towering automaton display, its gleaming brass limbs performing a mechanical ballet to the delight of onlookers. You gritted your teeth, scanning for a gap, anything to slip through without shoving your way forward. The anonymity Progress Day offered was a double-edged sword—perfect for blending in, but a nightmare when every second counted.

You slipped between two gawking spectators, their laughter grating against your ears as you brushed past. A child darted in front of you, clutching a toy bird that flapped its wooden wings. You sidestepped just in time, your heart racing as you narrowly avoided knocking them over. The mother shot you a wary glance, her hand tightening on the child’s shoulder as she pulled them away from you.

That glance stung more than you’d like to admit, but you didn’t have time to dwell on it.

Jinx was somewhere out there, and something was wrong.

Your falcon screeched again, louder this time, and you couldn’t help but glance up. She was circling tighter now, her movements frantic, as if urging you to move faster.

“I know, sweet pea,” you muttered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the clamour around you. Your fingers itched to do something—spark a current, clear a path, anything—but that would only draw eyes to you. You couldn’t risk it.

Not until you found her.

You quickened your pace, your movements fluid as you wove through the crowd. The sticky remnants of the pastry clung to your fingers, forgotten, as the urgency in your chest grew heavier with every step. Sorry Bluejay, I owe you one. You kept your head down, your breaths shallow, every nerve on edge as you closed the distance.

Somewhere in the city’s maze of streets and alleys, she was waiting. And you wouldn’t stop until you reached her.

​​The further you moved from the festival’s epicenter, the air shifted, growing cooler and quieter. The cacophony of laughter, music, and sales pitches dulled into a distant hum, like a fading memory. You kept your pace brisk but not hurried, eyes scanning every alley and shadow for signs of trouble.

This part of Piltover, on the fringes of the Progress Day celebration, was practically deserted. Banners fluttered lazily overhead, their vibrant colours muted in the dimming light, and the scent of roasted nuts and sweets thinned, replaced by the faint tang of salt from the harbour. The cobblestone streets underfoot felt uneven, and less polished, as if the city’s shine didn’t quite reach this far.

The shipyard loomed ahead, its silhouette jagged and imposing against the horizon. Tall masts and metallic scaffolding stood like sentinels, their shadows stretching long and dark. A faint tension buzzed in the air, something too subtle for most to notice but unmistakable to you.

Then you heard it.

Bang.

The sharp crack of a gunshot echoed across the empty yard, slicing through the quiet. Your heart jolted, and before you could process it, another shot followed, then another—rapid, erratic, like thunderclaps in a storm. The sound reverberated through the metal structures, amplifying its intensity, though you doubted it carried far enough to reach the festival crowd.

But out here, where the world had gone eerily still, it was deafening.

Your wings twitched beneath your cloak, your instincts screaming for you to take to the skies and close the distance faster, but you resisted. Drawing attention now, even in this desolate stretch, was too risky. Instead, you quickened your pace, your boots hitting the ground harder, each step echoing your growing urgency.

A scream tore through the air, shrill and desperate. The sound froze you mid-step, a cold weight settling in your chest. You knew that voice.

“Jay,” you whispered, fear threading through the name.

The screeching caw of your falcon pierced the air as she dove ahead, her wings slicing through the shadows like blades. Her presence was a beacon, guiding you toward the source of the chaos.

You rounded the corner of a massive stack of shipping crates, the metallic tang of gunpowder sharp in your nostrils now. The faint glow of flickering lamplight danced along the hulls of the docked ships, their reflections fractured in the water below.

And then you saw her.

The gunfire didn’t stop. It came in bursts, uneven and frantic, each shot like a scream.

Then came the actual scream.

High-pitched and sharp, it tore through the air and lodged itself in your chest. It wasn’t just panic—it was her.

Your pace quickened, every instinct propelling you forward. You rounded the corner of a shipping crate and stopped short.

She stood on the deck of a docked cargo ship, her shoulders hunched and trembling. Her gun—the one she never let out of her sight—was clenched tightly in her hands, the barrel still smoking.

There was no laughter, no sly grin, no sarcastic quip. Just frantic, shaky breaths and wide, wild eyes darting around like she couldn’t tell what was real anymore. Her hair whipped around her in the harbour wind, and her face was streaked with grime, sweat, and tears that carved clean lines through the filth.

Scattered around her were bodies, some crumpled and still, others groaning in pain. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the acrid stench of gunpowder, clinging to your throat like a sickness.

You’d seen her like this before. Episodes like these weren’t new—they had haunted her for as long as you’d known her. Back then, you’d been younger, just learning what it meant to be her anchor. You’d sat with her through sleepless nights and shattering breakdowns, trying to soothe chaos you could barely comprehend. It broke your heart every time.

But no matter how many times you’d helped her through it, seeing her like this never got easier.

“Bluejay,” you sang softly, your voice careful, your heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst from your chest.

The sound of your voice snapped her head around. But instead of recognition, there was fear—raw, primal fear—and anger.

She spun toward you, lifting the massive weapon and pointing it at you in one sharp, fluid motion. The sheer size of it dwarfed her trembling frame, but her grip was iron-tight, her fingers dangerously close to the trigger.

“Don’t—don’t come any closer!” she yelled, her voice cracking like glass. Her wide, unseeing eyes locked onto you, her chest heaving like she couldn’t pull in enough air.

“I’ll blow ya to itty-fuckin-bitty bits!” she shrieked, her voice teetering between rage and desperation.

Her hands shook so violently that you almost flinched, but you didn’t stop moving.

“It’s me, Bluejay,” you said, your voice as calm as you could muster. You kept your hands visible, palms out, as you took a careful step forward. “It’s Y/n.”

Her breathing hitched. Her grip faltered, the barrel of the gun dipping slightly. Her gaze flicked over your face, her lips trembling as if trying to form words.

“Birdie?” she whispered, the nickname falling from her lips like a prayer.

You nodded, your heart squeezing at the small, broken voice she used. “It’s me,” you assured her, stepping closer. “You’re okay. You’re safe now.”

Her arms dropped an inch, the gun lowering enough for you to fully see her tear-streaked face. She looked so small, so fragile like a child lost in the middle of a nightmare.

“Vi—” Her voice cracked, and her knees buckled slightly as she shook her head like she was trying to shake loose the chaos in her mind. “She wouldn’t shut up! They— They wouldn’t stop! They said I was—” Her voice broke entirely, her words tumbling out in a messy, disjointed rush. “I didn’t mean to— I didn’t mean—”

Her words splintered apart, her thoughts shattering faster than she could hold them together.

You stepped closer until you were right in front of her, the barrel of the gun nearly brushing your chest. Slowly, carefully, you reached out and rested a hand on the weapon, gently guiding it down.

“Bluejay, look at me,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with warmth. “You’re okay. Whatever happened, I’m here now. I’ll protect you. Just like always.”

Her lip quivered, and for a moment, her wide, tear-filled eyes searched your face. Then the gun clattered to the deck with a metallic thud as she let it slip from her hands.

You didn’t hesitate. You closed the gap and wrapped your arms around her, pulling her trembling form against you. She collapsed into you, her knees giving out as she clung to you like a lifeline, her fingers tangling in the fabric of your cloak.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, stroking her hair as her body shook with silent sobs. Your own throat tightened, but your voice stayed steady. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The chaos around you blurred, fading into nothing but white noise. All that mattered was Jinx in your arms, her breath hot and ragged against your shoulder, and the quiet, desperate promise you made to her with every heartbeat.

For now, that was enough.

But the peace shattered as sharp shuffles of boots echoed across the dock. Angry voices followed, low and bitter, cutting through the thick harbour air.

“What the hell is wrong with her?!” one of the crew barked, his voice raw and wet with pain, clutching his bloodied side. His fingers dug into torn fabric, crimson dripping between them and staining the dock below. “You think this is a game?! She’s gonna get us all killed!”

“Useless,” another spat, his voice sharp as broken glass. His glare cut through the dim light, landing on Jinx like a predator circling wounded prey. “Always doing this shit! What good is she if—”

Jinx stiffened against you, her shallow breaths hitching sharply, each inhale sharp and jagged as shattered glass. Her trembling form grew rigid, her knuckles white as she balled her fists. The air around her felt heavy, charged, her anger flickering to life like a spark in dry timber.

“I’ll show you useless!” she snarled, her voice raw and splintering as she lunged toward the crew. Her face twisted into a storm of fury and fear, cheeks flushed, her wide eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

“Jay,” you murmured, your tone cutting through the crackling tension like a blade. Firm, soothing, and edged with unyielding control. Your arms tightened around her, holding her back with an ease that belied the strength it took to still her wild energy. “They’ll get what’s coming.”

She struggled, her body writhing against yours like a coiled spring, but you didn’t let go. Her breaths came in short, shallow bursts, the sound raw and ragged in your ears. You leaned in, pressing your forehead gently to hers, forcing her gaze to meet yours.

“I've got it covered, Bluejay,” you whispered, your voice soft and steady, cutting through the storm in her chest. “They’re not worth your precious wonderful time.”

For a moment, the fire in her eyes flickered, the embers dulled by the weight of your presence. Her lip trembled, and her breath hitched again, less sharp, more uneven. Slowly, you felt the tension in her muscles loosen, though not completely fade.

But the crew, blind to the tempest brewing around them, kept going.

“She’s a damn liability!” one snarled, their voice dripping venom. “We don’t need her screwing up every—”

A sharp crack split the air, the wood beneath them splintering as electricity struck like a viper. The faint, acrid smell of scorched wood and ozone burned at your nostrils, mingling with the salt of the harbour breeze. Sparks danced at your fingertips, painting jagged, dancing shadows across the blood-streaked dock.

“You’re fucking crazy, watch it!” one of them yelled, their voice faltering under the weight of their own fear.

You stepped forward slowly, each step deliberate, the faint buzz of electricity humming around you like a storm building at sea. Your voice dripped venom, sickly sweet and suffocating as honey left too long in the sun.

“Did you forget who’s been cleaning up after your pathetic mistakes?” you asked, each word curling like smoke around their ears. “Who’s been saving your asses every time you screw up a job? Oh, wait.” You tilted your head, a mocking smile tugging at your lips. “That’s right. The ‘crazy ones’."

The crew shrank back, their earlier bravado dissolving under the weight of your words. Their faces twisted with unease, the fear in their eyes glinting like shards of broken glass under the dim, wavering lantern light.

“Let me remind you,” you continued, your voice a sharpened blade, “that without her getting to everyone first, you’d all be corpses by now. So maybe, just maybe , you should be grateful you’re alive to complain.”

One of them opened their mouth, a flicker of defiance flashing across their face, but you raised your hand again. Sparks leaped to life, sharp and bright in the darkness, casting flickering shadows that danced across their faces like wraiths.

“Not another word,” you cooed, your voice soft and poisonous. “Unless you’d like me to show you what it feels like to be really worthless.”

The crackling air hummed with unspoken tension as silence descended, broken only by the faint, uneven rhythm of Jinx’s breathing behind you. Her trembling form leaned into your back, her fingers clutching the fabric of your cloak like it was the only thing tethering her to the world.

Before the tension could snap further, the distant shouting of enforcers broke through the air. Their sharp, barked orders rang out like cracks of a whip, growing louder with every second. Beams of harsh, unforgiving searchlights swept across the docks, their light cutting through the murky night and scattering shadows in their wake.

You turned sharply, your gaze narrowing like the edge of a dagger. “We’re leaving,” you said coldly, the finality in your tone slicing through the rising panic like steel.

To the crew, you added, your voice dripping with the sweetest of venom, “Try not to get caught. Because if you do…” Your smile sharpened into something deadly. “…I’ll kill you myself.”

Without another glance, you turned back to Jinx, gathering her into your arms. Her head rested against your chest, her uneven breaths brushing warm against your skin. Her small frame trembled like a fragile bird caught in a storm.

The growing shouts of the enforcers spurred you into motion. You broke into a sprint, your boots pounding against the dock, each step echoing like a gunshot before you leaped into the air. Your wings unfurled with a sharp, commanding snap, catching the cold harbour wind and propelling you upward.

The air bit at your skin, the sharp tang of salt and smoke mingling in your lungs. The faint, distorted echo of festival music drifted on the breeze, growing fainter as you ascended. Below, the shouts and clatter of enforcers dulled with each beat of your wings, swallowed by the dark sprawl of the city.

“Hold on, Bluejay,” you murmured, your voice softer now, stripped of its earlier bite.

Jinx clung to you weakly, her trembling fingers gripping the fabric of your cloak as if it were her last anchor. Her breath was hot and uneven against your neck, her body curled into yours with a fragile, childlike vulnerability.

You tightened your hold, soaring higher into the night. The glittering festival lights faded into specks below, swallowed by the jagged edges of the city’s darkness.

For now, the only thing that mattered was getting her somewhere safe.

The noise was impossible to miss.

The air inside The Last Drop was thick, heavy with the pungent mix of sweat, alcohol, and something sharper—the metallic bite of shimmer, sharp enough to catch in your throat. The crowd pulsed with frenetic energy, a relentless hum of voices blending together, their laughter too loud, their words too fast, a chaotic blur that rang through the dimly lit space. The floor trembled beneath the thrum of bass from the jukebox, deep and vibrating, a constant undercurrent to the clinking of glasses, the slurred conversations, and the heat—an oppressive, wet heat that soaked into your skin, a heat that clung to your hair and stuck to the back of your neck.

You didn’t mind it. You were used to this. The noise, the crowd, the chaos—it had always been a part of your world. You’d learned to carve out little spaces of quiet, little bubbles where you could retreat from the noise, even in the most crowded rooms. Your fingers tapped idly on the edge of your glass, the sound of the condensation trickling down the sides almost lost in the ruckus. The glass was half-empty, a dull reflection of the mood that buzzed through you—too much, too fast, and yet never enough. You let the noise wash over you, the calls, the laughs, the heat of their presence pressing against you like an extra layer of skin.

Your smile was small, but it felt wrong, like an echo of something that used to mean something to you, but no longer did. It didn’t feel like it fit the moment, but you kept it there, polished and practiced, the same smile you’d perfected over years of playing a part.

You were the one they all watched—beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t just that. It was the way they felt the pull of you, the way your power hummed beneath your skin, crackling like electricity just waiting to surge. Like bees drawn to honey, the crew and patrons swarmed around you, though most were too oblivious to realize it. They didn’t see that they were all just following orders, buzzing mindlessly through their routines, desperate to get closer to you. To take a little bit of what you had, to touch what they couldn’t reach.

As a child, the looks started off small—glances that lingered a little too long, just enough to leave a prickling sensation along your spine. And then there were the others—the more blatant stares, the open admiration that felt less like appreciation and more like an invitation to possess . They didn’t know it, but they weren’t seeing you . They were seeing something they wanted—a piece of the power that made your very presence dangerous.

You shifted in your seat, your hand brushing against the cool surface of the bar, and let your eyes sweep over the room again. A man—a stranger—was inching closer, slipping into the seat next to yours with that practiced, insincere confidence you had seen too many times before. His eyes didn’t meet yours; they moved over you like you were something to be catalogued, a thing to be desired, a game to be won.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, his voice far too smooth, too rehearsed. It wasn’t about the drink, not really. You knew that. You could hear it in the way his words came out, smooth but heavy with intent, the faintest trace of desperation hanging just below the surface. He was trying to draw you in, to make it seem like he was offering you something when, in truth, he was just hoping for something in return.

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the silence settle between you, and when you finally turned your head, your smile never wavered. It was perfect—polite, cool, a mask you had worn for so long it almost felt natural now. But underneath it, you let the smallest hint of disdain curl in your eyes as you reached for the drink. Your fingers brushed the glass slowly, deliberately, holding his gaze as you did.

“On the house, huh?” you asked softly, the words drawing out, almost teasing. You took a sip, letting the cold liquid slide over your tongue, the ice cubes clinking softly in the glass. "That’s sweet of you."

The man’s smile faltered for just a moment—only for a split second, but you noticed. You always noticed. His hand lingered on the bar, just a fraction of a second too long, and you could feel the weight of his gaze, how he wanted to take more than just your attention. He wanted to claim you. But you were too sharp to let that happen.

You leaned in just slightly, your voice low, soft—but sharp enough to cut through the murmur of the room. “But I’m not interested.”

The man stiffened, his grin faltering entirely. For a second, there was an almost imperceptible shift in his expression, something between frustration and confusion. But he didn’t give up. They never did. They’d try again, maybe with different words, maybe with different promises. But the game would always be the same.

“You don’t know what you’re missing,” he muttered, and there it was—the line, the one they always crossed. “A couple of … things came to mind when I saw those wings of yours.” They thought they had you figured out, that you were just another pretty face, just another prize to claim. But they never realized the truth—they never saw the real you, just a reflection of their ideals.

Your eyes darkened as you leaned back in your seat, the glass in your hand tight enough to make your fingers ache. The words you spoke were soft, but they carried weight.

“Maybe I do,” you said. “Maybe you’re not as interesting as you think.”

The man’s face reddened, his words swallowed up by the thrumming noise around you. He muttered something unintelligible before standing and backing away, vanishing back into the crowd.

You let out a slow breath, the tension easing from your shoulders as you turned your gaze back to your drink. The amber liquid wobbled gently, catching the dim light in fractured reflections, but it didn’t hold your attention for long. It never did. The weight in your chest was harder to shake, a hollow ache that no amount of noise or drink could fill.

The game always ended the same way, with you sitting here, staring at the untouched drink like it held answers you’d never find. You didn’t know why it left you feeling like this—like a puppet with its strings cut, empty and slack after the show was over. The glass was cool beneath your fingertips, but your skin felt too warm, prickling with the phantom press of their stares.

What do they really want from me?

The thought slipped through your mind, bitter and sharp like the burn of strong liquor. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. You’d been asking yourself that question for as long as you could remember.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting the hum of the room fade into the background. Flashes of faces blurred behind your eyelids, half-formed memories of people reaching for you, their hands outstretched, their smiles too wide, too eager. They’d always wanted something—a piece of you, a piece of your power.

But love? That was different. Love was supposed to be soft, wasn’t it? Gentle. It wasn’t supposed to come with strings attached or sharp edges hidden behind kind words. You’d seen it before, a long time ago, in a life so far removed it felt like it belonged to someone else.

You tried to picture their faces—the ones you’d called family. You tried to remember the way their hands felt, the warmth in their eyes, the way they laughed. But all you saw were smudges, shapes that shifted and blurred, fading like smoke on a breeze. The details were gone, slipping through your grasp every time you reached for them, leaving only the faintest impression of what once was.

Your fingers tightened around the glass.

You thought of love as something distant now, like a language you’d once spoken fluently but had long since forgotten. The meaning was there, buried somewhere deep, but the words never came out right. All that remained was the idea of it—bright and fleeting, like the glow of fireflies you’d chased in the forests of Ixtal as a child.

A faint, sharp laugh rang out nearby, pulling you back into the present. Your eyes opened, and the bar came rushing back—the noise, the heat, the press of bodies. It was all too much, and yet it felt like nothing at all.

Love wasn’t real here, not in places like this. Not in the way it should’ve been.

And yet.

And yet, there was one face that cut through the haze. One voice that could pull you back when everything else felt like too much.

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice called from across the room, light and sing-song, the words laced with just enough chaos to make the air buzz.

Her.

You turned your head toward her, and there she was, weaving her way through the crowd, her braids bouncing with every step, her grin wide enough to split the world in two.

Your chest tightened. You didn’t know if it was the kind of feeling you’d been searching for or just another sharp edge to swallow, but when she was near, the hollow ache didn’t seem quite as deep. For a little while, at least, you could forget the faces you couldn’t remember and the love you’d forgotten how to understand.

And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

a/n: hi lovelies thank you so much for your patience <33 updates are gonna be a bit slower this time around since school and work sorry <3

taglist: @deathvidal , @stupendousbananasharkcop , @titusmouser , @itosh1teru , @0sunnyside0 , @pulcen , @chuucanchuucan , @fluffygreatness , @pebble-peddle , @brocoliisscared

[alwaysanundertone]

Hey!!! Could you possible do marauders with reader who has a really bad fear of spiders, like she cries when she sees them and can’t sleep or panics at the thought, and a scene where the boys help her <3

An unpleasant encounter | poly! marauders x fem! reader

tw: mention of arachnophobia, spiders

comfort

You were reading on Sirius's bed, the sound of the rain outside creating the perfect atmosphere for a good reading session. Your boyfriends were somewhere in Hogwarts, pranking the poor first years, and now their dorm was pleasingly quet.

Your feet were dangling off of your bed, your book held in the air.

You were relaxed, finally winding down after an exhausting day of classes, when all of a sudden you spotted a furry, black creature crawling on your ceiling.

Your limbs froze, immediately recognizing the small animal for what it was: a spider. It wasn't even that big, not bigger than a coin, but still your brain short circuited as you saw it moving awkwardly, his little legs moving faster and faster until it hung directly over your head.

You jumped up, falling miserably on the ground on your ankle, while you still kept your eyes focused on its every movement, not wanting to lose it and find it on your bed later.

Your breath quickened, small teardrops collecting in your eyes as you saw his legs moving rapidly; you felt the panic engulfing you, like being trapped in a heavy blanket in the middle of august. It was overwhelming.

That's how your boyfriends found you, sprawled on the ground, your hand pressing down on the sore area right above your feet.

It was Remus who talked first. "Darling, what are you doing?"

You didn't speak, only raising your hand to point at the scary, black monster.

Sirius chuckled. "Love, I think he should be fearing you, a grown woman, then the other way around."

As soon as he reached for it, you released a screech. "Stop it Sirius! It's going to fall right on top of me and bite me and I'll die! You won't have a girlfriend anymore!"

You saw your boyfriends exchange a look, then James reached for your hand.

"Do you trust us, love?"

You reluctantly nodded, gaining a proud smile from him. "Perfect. Would you like to try something? We will stop as soon as you feel too uncomfortable"

As much as you didn't want to admit it, leaving with arachnophobia wasn't easy. You couldn't bring yourself to enjoy little picnic dates because you were scared of seeing some stupid spider and ruining it. You always felt like you were overreacting, but you couldn't help it.

You cringed as Remus picked up the lid of a discarded clear jewelry box from your desk, standing on top of your bed and proceeding to trap the little creature inside of it. He turned around, giving you an easy smile. "Do you feel comfortable enough to come near, darling?"

Sirius extended his hand, as soon as you took it he tugged you into his arms, making you gasp. “Hey there, love” He grinned, pecking your lips, a small smile forming on your own lips.

He turned you around, making a small gasp fall from your lips. “Just look at it for now, okay? I’ll be right here with you.”

Remus held the box tightly secured in his hands, you looked at the spider. At first all you could do was cringe as you saw his hairy legs move frantically to escape, you saw it moving around the small box, looking for a place go escape, coming out empty handed.

The more you looked at it, though, the more your feelings changed. A sort of compassion crawled its way to your chest, making you feel kind of… bad. Yes, of course the creature still scared you; yes, you still wouldn’t want it to be ANYWHERE near you.

Still, you didn’t want it to die no more. You started to hate the box, to find Remus hands cruel.

“Remus, free it outside. Don’t kill it. Please?”

He smiled at you fondly, nodding and making his way to the window.

You felt Sirius mouth breathing right next to your ear. “I’m so proud of you”

—-

taglist: @eeviee4 @sammyreid @sxmnc

Hi gorgeous souls I’m back ;) did you miss me? It’s been a crazy month 😭

[snowe-zolynn-rogers]

Solar: I am in agony.

Moon: Yeah, having half your leg cut off does that to a person!

[victor-cartoons]

Rrrremember this?

I was thinking... what if I do it like the old Tumblr.. AN ASK BLOG! where you ask the characters trivial things and the creator has to work with that to develop the plot.

Still, I have to think about it, and wait to have free time, school is hard even on the verge of repeating the year again xP

[sleepy-grav3]

Coping Mechanisms

A/n: This was sitting in my oneshots folder for a while, unfinished. I finally finished it so uh, here you go. Enjoy.

Backstory: After taken by the GIW, Danny's core was shattered. The bats found him and took him in. However, he's severely mentally damaged and is starting to stall his healing process.

TW: Mentions of vivisection, mention of organs in jars, mention of Jason's death, flashbacks, hallucinations, mention of injuries

Danny's obsession is Space and Protection; Danny is the Ghost King; Never mentioned what happened to the rest of the Fentons, that's up to speculations; Assumed that the Drs. Fenton had been experimenting on Danny long-term before fully locking him up in the basement; Bruce/Lady Gotham; Alfred is dead or dead-adjacent, making him immortal; child/baby ghosts are referred to as wisps

This is for sign language because there isn't a way to underline the words, which is my preferred style

He didn’t know how long he spent there. All he knew was that the damage done had left scars, something he wasn’t able to gain ever since the accident. He remembered words, cut off sentences from people, that told him why that wasn’t possible.

“Injuries to your emotional state are dangerous”

“You can heal physical wounds, but not those from the heart”

“You can regenerate limbs”

“Your human form is weaker”

“You’re stronger than most ghosts”

“Halfas have extra healing abilities”

“Your core can regenerate as long as your heart keeps beating”

“The subject’s heart is slowing down”

“The subject can live without a heartbeat”

“The Subject can regenerate vital organs”

“Like a human, the spine controls it’s movements, and shuts down the subject similarly to when its brain is removed”

Danny gasped, trembling as he pulled at his hair. No tears came, not even fake green ones to make up for it. His body was still trying to heal the damage done to it, working against his broken core for his sake.

His chest hurt differently. Each time he moved or felt something, his core would cry out in pain. He thought he’d let out a pseudo-wail if it wasn’t broken. If he weren’t broken.

Danny remembered all the jars around him, choking out another gasp as he dragged his hands down his face. He could feel stings from his temples down to his chin before he felt the bandages around his neck.

He couldn’t understand where the stinging came from, only seeing an empty lab with him sitting on a metal table, chains on his wrists and ankles. He blinked a couple times before he saw images of the dark room he was in, but the lab wouldn’t go away.

He stood up, ignoring his body that screamed in protest, and ran out of the room into fake white hallways.

-

The bats were at the table, only Jason, Duke, Damian, and Danny being missing.

Jason was taking advantage of the fact that he had a flexible schedule to work day and night.

Duke was out on patrol, now having an extra job of helping the dead that resided in the city (only recently he became able to see them, though with some practice).

Damian, however, had only left recently, rushing to get to Danny who was having another episode.

They had saved him a month ago, but it took about 3 weeks for him to wake up. Ever since he woke up, he’s been having episodes. The only way to snap him out of it was to have certain family members shake him out of it, the rest being attacked or avoided outright.

Jason and Alfred were the exception, as Danny would try to save them. They avoided having them get Danny to snap out of it as much as possible, as it would lengthen the time it takes to calm him down.

It hurt them each time an episode came around. It hurt to see Danny’s bandaged and practically mummified figure each time he left his room during an episode or to get some fresh air. And even when the latter happened, he would dissociate or end up breaking down with no tears.

It was only a little over a week into the start of the episodes and they were seeing signs of new injuries. They had to do something, but what could they do? They've filed down his nails, removed sharp objects from his vicinity and locked up the ones that belongs to others, they've safety proofed sharp corners of furniture!

But it wasn't enough.

They had to resort to putting visible cameras in his room. It at least made him hesitate or stop when he was fully there.

-

Ding-Dong

Alfred shivered. Of course their only proper visitor was a ghost. They never can have a normal one, can they?

Alfred walked over to the front door, opening it without hesitation. There, he was met with a gray skinned woman with a long black dress with a slit by her left thigh and a V neck. She also wore gold hoop earrings, a black sun hat, held a black and gold smoke pipe, and had black sunglasses to cover her near-black purple eyes.

“Lady Gotham, I was not expecting you. Come in.”

Alfred stepped aside, allowing her into his haunt. She smiled at him, waltzing into the manor as she had long bypassed the gates. Alfred led her to one of the living rooms. The one they’d use for interviews. Alfred started to prepare some tea as she took a seat at the edge of a sofa, taking a breath from her smoke pipe and letting out a purple haze.

Alfred didn’t mind it, as what she was smoking wasn’t harmful. It was for the sake of refueling at least part of her strength. Her eyes glowed a lighter purple, black nail becoming a little lighter. It was hard to see her so corrupted by the curses that resided in her haunt.

“Phantom is beginning to stall his healing process.”

Alfred froze for a moment before picking up the tea pot and pouring the tea.

“It’s already difficult to calm him down when he’s in his episodes. He’s barely able to hold down anything he eats and can’t sleep well. We’ve given him multiple shots and used healing magic from the local witch shop. We don’t know what else to do.”

He served the drinks and sat down. Lady gotham picked up her cup and plate, taking a sip from it. She let out a sigh of satisfaction, remaining silent for a while so the 2 could at least finish their drinks before acting on plans.

“I was thinking about having another rogue run about.”

“Isn’t it difficult enough with the ones we have? And how would another help Master Danny?”

Lady Gotham smiled, looking at the tea left in her cup.

“Obsessions have a tight hold on those like us. Perhaps, if Phantom gives in a little to them, he’d stop trying to punish himself.”

“His obsession is protection. How would he even be a rogue?”

Lady Gotham’s smile widened, showing her sharp teeth behind gold-dusted, violet lips. Alfred hasn’t seen that smile since she elected to make Bruce her official knight through a spirit contract.

“Don’t you know? He absolutely adores space. Wouldn’t it be quite the process to rid this city of its polluted and cursed smog to view it?”

“His core is cracked and small pieces are missing. Not to mention his severe injuries. How would he be able to work? Ancients- how would he be able to avoid fighting your knights?”

“Mm, I’m sure he’d figure something out. Being powerless never stopped any of our other rogues. He might even get inspired by that politician. Lewis, was it?”

“Lex Luthor. At least you got the L right this time.”

“Ah, no matter. He’s not relevant.”

“You brought him up.”

“Oh shush. We have work to do. Finish your tea, let us speak with the wisp of a king.”

Alfred drank the last of his tea and stood up, leading Lady Gotham to Danny’s room. Once there, he found Danny completing a space puzzle on the desk of his room. From the new bandages on his face and hands, Alfred could tell the episode from that morning had resulted in further injury.

“King Phantom,” That title made Danny perk up, turning to them with brighter blue eyes. “Lady Gotham and I wish to speak with you.”

Danny adjusted his chair and body to face them without trouble. Alfred summoned a small table and 2 chairs, allowing the spirits to sit down.

“Phantom, I’ve noticed that you are stalling your healing process.” Danny flinched at Lady Gotham’s words. “My little wisp… you must know that this dimension and those that branch with it will cease to exist if your End comes to be.”

Danny’s eyes widened. Panic seeped into him as he tried to push his healing to go faster, ignoring the strain of his core. Alfred cleared his throat, making Danny jump and stop forcing the healing out of surprise.

“Master Danny, straining your core isn’t necessary. In fact, it may make things worse. Might we suggest another method.”

Danny hesitantly nodded.

“Lady Gotham offered that you indulge in your obsession. And yes, the sky is covered in smog. That’s where our suggestion comes into play.” Alfred smiled at him. “Why not become a rogue?”

Danny’s eyes widened once more as he quickly shook his head. Lady Gotham gave him the stare, making him freeze up.

“Now, now. A wisp like you should be allowed to indulge in their obsessions in peace. Really, it wouldn’t be a problem with how you’ll work. Attack those causing the air pollution, get rid of some curses, free the sky. Maybe steal some space themed objects here and there. I’m not quite sure how you’d move about or what your alias will be, but it’s perfectly fine. You don’t need to hurt people to be a criminal. And fulfilling your obsession will recharge your power.”

Danny was slow to process. And soon, the way he thought through it transitioned to plans. He pursed his lips as he thought of it all, but eventually shook his head.

“Bats”

“We could speak with them.” Alfred insisted. “Go over plans and ideas. Your health is still a concern, but I highly insist that you go through with this. We are all worried for you, Master Danny. It hurts to see you suffer. Please think more about it.”

Danny remained silent. Lady Gotham stood up and the 3 pieces of furniture disappeared, Alfred starting to clean. She went up to Danny and held out her hand. Danny looked at it before reaching out his own and placing it on hers.

“You’re safe here, my wisp. Trust in my knights. You needn’t fight any longer. Only exist. Do not End yourself. You’re worth more than you believe.”

-

Bruce and Damian perked up when they came back to the cave to see Danny sitting by the computer. He was watching clips of Martian Manhunter and Miss Martian fighting. It was a nice change of pace compared to other times they interacted. It was peaceful.

“Daniel, I did not think you were interested in the cave.” Damian hummed as he walked over, taking off his mask.

Danny turned his chair and looked over at them.

“My healing is being stalled.”

They froze. Damian’s breathing had stopped before the boy convinced himself to do the breathing practices taught to him. Bruce, on the other hand, felt his heart drop. His hands trembled. The sight of Jason’s dead body flashing through his mind.

Bruce almost asked for a ‘report’. That tended to be something that calmed him and his children down enough for them to talk. But that wouldn’t work for Danny. That shouldn’t work. He hoped Danny was willing to talk more. He hoped that there was something to fix this.

“Is there anything we could do?” Bruce asked.

Danny pursed his lips, averting his eyes. Damian narrowed his eyes.

“Daniel. If there is something we could do, speak. It is troublesome as long as it is related to you.”

“Damian is right, Danny. Please. Tell us what to do.”

They got closer, practically at arms length. Damian didn’t have his domino mask on, but Bruce kept his cowl. He needed Batman. He wouldn’t be able to stay together as Bruce right now.

Danny looked up at Bruce and over at Damian before sighing.

“Lady Gotham said that I need to indulge in my obsession more. But when ghosts don’t pull back… it gets extreme. It appears unhealthy. I would…” Danny hesitated once more. “Lady Gotham and Alfred thought becoming a rogue would be the best way.”

The vigilante stood silent for a moment, Bruce processing what was told while Damian thought it through.

“Would going to the Watchtower not be enough?” Batman asked.

“He’d only crave more from there.” Damian mentioned. “What he needs is something long-term. We cannot safely allow him to go to other planets as he is now. However, if he steals and tries enough to get rid of the smog, the amount of time should be sufficient, assuming that’s how obsessions could work.”

Danny’s shoulders let go of some tension.

“The harder it is, the more it satisfies the ghost. I was thinking of targeting companies that cause air pollution. But there’s also curses, so I’ll need to work through them with magic practice.”

Bruce and Damian grimaced at the mention of magic.

“You should talk with Tim about this. He’d be able to plan out how you’d go about. Just don’t overdo it. We don’t want you to get hurt. But know that we will try to stop you.” Bruce said, taking off his cowl, smiling at his new son. “Go and design your suit. I’ll have it made. But make sure your identity is hidden, alright?”

Danny nodded and got up, leaving the 2 to clean themselves up before heading off to bed.

————————————————

Everyone in the batfam got into the vigilante business. It was just a thing. Danny broke that trend, but not the way any of them expected him to.

One day, Danny will retire. No capes, no masks. Just a civilian.

But that day will only come when his healing is finished. With how difficult it was to mend a broken core, not to mention the organs his body had put off regenerating, it would be a long time until then. Years, decades maybe.

The backstory was simple.

It was publicly known that he was a lab rat. Though they thought it was his parents had begun it from young like they had with Jazz (which was the reason why she was smart enough to skip a few classes in college, an excuse really). He’ll play into that. I want to see the sky. And he’ll be a crazy brat about it.

Commissioner Gordon had already shared with him that he had legal immunity until the acts and the GIW were fully taken down. Otherwise, he’d have to be executed under the law. In other words, any and all crimes he committed until then was permitted. He was going to use that to his advantage.

The suit was hard to come up with. He had to make it look shaggy and like normal clothing. He needed an easy to follow theme. He visited Selina and Nygma for it all. Jason came around and gave him some pointers. Tim had made him swear that he had to be on his game to not be caught early or at all. He couldn’t ask any of the bats to help, not unless his life was in danger.

Red Hood could help him.

Signal could hang out with him.

Red Robin could banter on a personal level with him.

It was difficult to get there, but the process helped feed his obsession. He was ready. He wanted to get better. He had to. He had people who care about him. He couldn’t hurt them by allowing himself to waste away, no matter how draining and painful it was to continue to heal.

He was going to get better. For them.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Birthday Present

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

WC: 484

TW: Fluff. drinking, mention of lunatic unsubstantiated in passing .

A/N: a little somethin to keep you held over while I finish up the longer pics I'm publishing this weekend.

“Checkmate in three.” 

“What?” Spencer stared at the board, and then you, and then back at the board. “There’s no—”

“Well it’s your move Spence. Let’s finish the game then.” 

About one minute later, when you had successfully checkmated him in three moves, Spencer was suddenly no longer in the happy mood he had been in when he suggested you play chess. 

“Oh Spence please, it’s just a game.” You sighed and started to pack up the game. 

“I just don’t—”

“Ah!” You cut him off. “Don’t finish that sentence if you wanna sleep in the same bed as me tonight.” 

Spencer kept his mouth shut, opting to help you pick up the rest of the pieces of the game instead. 

“No one will ever believe you.” He grumbled, getting up and placing the chest board over on the small table by the window. 

“Yeah but you will. And that’s all the power I need, baby.” You laughed a bit before taking a sip of the wine in front of you. 

“You are evil.” 

“And yet you still love me Doctor Spencer Reid.” 

Spencer sighed dramatically and sat down next to you on the couch. “I guess I do.” 

You shifted slightly so that you could rest your head on his shoulder; both of you basking in each other’s company. 

“I’m really grateful you’re home for my birthday.” You whispered, not moving your head off his shoulder. “And before you say anything, I don’t blame you for not being here last year, I mean it’s not your fault some guy was chopping people’s limbs up in Texas. I’m just…I’m glad you’re here with me.” 

Spencer didn’t know how to feel. You felt him tense up a bit, causing you to pull away and frown. “Spencer what.” 

“Nothing just.” He ran his hands through his hair. “It sucks that I’m always off on a whim, that there is basically no consistency to my work schedule so the threat of not being here for important events like your birthday or even just a long weekend just. I-I don’t know.” 

“The fact that your schedule is inconsistent makes it extremely consistent. I know who I married. Does it suck sometimes? Yes. But that’s just because I miss you. Sometimes, it’s nice considering the fact that I enjoy being independent–”

“I know who I married.” Spencer cut you off, a small smile on his face. 

“Yeah Yeah, tough guy with the big brain and a badge, okay okay.” 

Spencer chuckled and kissed your head, wrapping his arm around you and rubbing his thumb on your hip. “So--,” 

“So buttons babe.” 

“Sooo, if you let me finish, what is next on the birthday agenda.” 

You pursed your lips and smirked slightly. 

“What.” 

You stood up and walked away from him. 

“Babe, what are you doing?” 

“Why don’t you follow me and find out, Doctor.” 

Happy Birthday to you indeed.

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

The Stowaway

"What did I do to deserve this?" Elio muttered under their breath, running a gloved hand through their short white hair. They stood, leaning back against the closed front door with their arms crossed as they watched a preteen kid curiously look at all the machines in their living room. 

The floor squeaked under the kid's feet as he walked around, accidentally kicking a stay nut or bolt on the floor occasionally. He didn't notice how Elio was watching him, more focused on his new environment, like Elio's house was a museum. The kid had a slight smile on his face, brown eyes squinting slightly as he examined some of the machines along the wall. His brow furrowed together under his dirty blonde bangs for a moment before he was distracted by the next noise and moved on. 

"What does this one do?" The kid, Rye, asked. He pointed to a machine near the front door. Elio might have found it endearing to watch a kid look around at their inventions in any other situation. All starry-eyed and curious. Unfortunately, right now, it was just annoying. Rye did not wait for an answer before already going to press a button. 

"Do not touch that!" Elio said, quickly standing between Rye and the machine, "In fact, don't touch anything. Just assume every machine in here is extremely dangerous."

Rye frowned but put their hands back to their side. Elio hesitated, unsure if they could trust that Rye would actually not touch anything this time. Before they could make up their mind, a beeping noise was heard across the room. They sighed and shot Rye a 'don't move' look before investigating what was beeping. 

Rye watched Elio walk away and flip them off behind their back. While they were distracted, Rye took the opportunity to walk around and look at the other machines. 

The entire house was filled with machines, a couple larger ones along the back wall and a few smaller ones scattered around on the floor and tables. They all looked highly complicated, with different gears, wires, and tubes sticking out of them. The room was filled with a light hum from the many running machines. Rye could smell oil and grease, and he could see a few spots on the floor stained from different liquids being spilled there. 

Rye had been around his fair share of technology in his day, but none like this. The technology he had grown up around was sleeker with less exposed workings and smelled like gasoline. 

Rye walked over to a window, pulling back the curtains to reveal metal shutters. He hesitated before undoing the latch and opening them a crack. Outside was nothing but a black void with occasional bright neon colors streaking by, like shooting stars. He stared in awe, it was almost like looking out at the night sky, but he could sense it was so much more. The streaks of color varied in size, and if Rye focused his eyes, he could see they were shapes moving incredibly fast through the void. If Rye focused, he could see most of them changed shape and color as they flew by. They seemed to be pulsing with life and energy that Rye could almost feel through the thick glass. He went to open up the shutters better, only for them to creak loudly and give him away. 

"Keep those closed," Elio said, not turning around from the machines they were checking on. 

Rye glared at their back, muttering about not being able to do anything as he shut the shutters. He returned the latch to the locked position but did not shut the curtains. It was a small way of rebelling but also made it easier to come back to get another peak when he got the chance again. 

Rye slowly walked around, approaching one machine up against the wall. It was large and rectangular, with a door big enough for someone to walk through. There was a small keypad to its side that already had some numbers on the screen. A small blinking green light next to the numbers looked promising enough to Rye.

He looked over his shoulder and, after seeing that Elio was still busy, placed his hand on the wheel on its front. Before he could turn the wheel, though, he felt a static shock on his earlobe. He jerked his head and quickly turned, looking for the cause of the shock but saw nothing. He blinked a few times, looking at the empty space as he tried to think of what had happened. He hesitated before slowly reaching up towards the door again. 

Zap!

This time it was on the other ear.

He jumped and swung his arm in the direction of what shocked him. Rye did not hit anything, but he did hear some loud buzzing, like a bug. He started swiping towards the noise without seeing exactly what he was swinging at. All he knew was there was a bug flying near his ear. The buzzing moved around him, just fast enough to avoid Rye's swinging, but it did not seem to be trying to fly away from him. 

"Rye, what the hell did I say about touching things," Elio said, standing right behind Rye, hands on their hips. Startled, Rye swung their fist at Elio and hit their left arm. Instead of flesh, Rye's hand made contact with something metal, only cushioned by the thin fabric of Elio's trench coat.

Rye cussed and shook their hand in pain before cradling it to his chest. He looked up at Elio, who now had their arms crossed, looking at Rye expectantly. 

"Are you calmed down yet?"

Rye looked from his hand to Elio, then to Elio's arm. For just a moment, thoughts of gunfire and smoke-filled his head. His heart beating started to sound a lot like metal hitting pavement. He took a step away from Elio.

"um…Are you a, uh, cyborg?" He forced out, voice barely above a whisper. It was Elio's turn to stare at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

"What? No-well, yes, technical-but not-" Elio did not get a chance to finish before Rye turned around. He threw open the door they were standing in front of and ran inside, pausing briefly to look at where he was going before continuing to run.

Just inside the door was an extensive library that was way too big to be connected to the tiny house they were in. However, Rye did not dwell on this, choosing to run down the long corridor of books. He could hear Elio shout something behind him, but the echo from the high ceiling and his own beating heart in his ears made it almost impossible to understand them. 

Rye started taking random turns, realizing all too late that this place was a massive maze that he most likely would never find his way out of alone. After running for what felt like forever, he stopped and fell to his knees. His chest was hurting, and it was difficult to breathe. He gripped his hair and rocked back and forth, trying to think of anything other than the fact that a cyborg was chasing him and how he couldn't breathe and how he might be lost, and everything else that could go wrong. His brain told him he needed to get up, to keep running, but his legs felt like jelly. All he could bring himself to do was sit in a corner and try to get his breathing under control.

"Ten years," Elio muttered under their breath as they walked down the corridor, "Ten years of traveling. I've never had a stowaway, once! And this is what happens when I do."

They had tried to run after Ren but had not been able to catch up before running out of breath. Elio had to admit, the kid was fast. 

"God, it's going to be weeks before I can even turn around to take them home." Elio rubbed their face, stepping over a few books that had fallen off the shelves. He had been this way. 

"What am I going to do? I don't know how to take care of a kid!" Elio almost stumbled at the realization. They had been living alone for the past ten years! They didn't even know how to live with a roommate, let alone someone they would have to take care of. Sure, it was temporary, but they had to keep the kid alive and healthy until they could return them home.

Elio chewed on their lower lip, their brow wrinkling in worry as they continued to walk. They rounded a corner and spotted Rye at the end. They froze as they saw the kid. He was sitting in a corner with his knees hugged close to him and his forehead resting on them. His hands were fisted in his hair, knuckles white from how tight he was gripping it. Elio could feel a strange sense of Deja Vu with the situation. Suddenly, their mind was quiet.

Elio slowly walked up to the kid, their boots making a soft thud against the carpeted floor. Elio sat down where they were, making sure not to crowd him. They were only a few feet away, giving Rye enough room to run again if he decided to. Rye jumped a bit when he looked up and hugged his legs a little tighter but did not move to run. 

"I…" Elio started but suddenly felt lost for words. They looked down at their lap and fidgeted with their gloves. They looked at their left hand and slowly took the glove off, revealing a bronze hand. They looked back up at Rye and saw his eyes following the metal hand. They closed their eyes and took a deep breath before continuing. 

"I am sorry for scaring you earlier," Elio said after a moment, "I saw what your home dimen-er… city was like, what the war was like… I am a cyborg by definition, but I promise, I am nothing like the ones you've seen before." 

Elio pushed the sleeve of their jacket up, just past the elbow. The arm was smooth, with solid bronze and gold metal sheets covering most of it. There were gaps where the joints were, allowing more movement and a glimpse at the cogs and other inner workings that allowed the arm to move. 

Rye watched the arm closely, realizing now that he was a bit calmer than the machiner in the arm looked nothing like the cyborgs he had seen. Hesitantly, he scooted closer, eyeing the arm curiously. 

"I lost my arm a long time ago, so I made this to replace it," Elio said as they slowly held out their hand to let Rye look at it. Rye's eyes watched the cogs move in the joints as the arm moved. His eyes slowly trailed up the arm to the shoulder, where he saw a large bug crawling on Elio's jacket. Without thinking, Rye went to swat the bug off, only to have their write caught by Elio.

"Really? I thought we were having a moment there."

"There's a bug on your shoulder," Rye defended, using his free hand to point at the bug. 

Elio let him go and looked at their shoulder. They reached up and let the bug crawl onto their hand before holding it up for them to look at. Now that Rye had a better look at it, he saw that it was not a real bug. This one was made out of metal, and its abdomen was made out of a small lightbulb. It seemed to look up at Rye, making a beeping sound in time with its abdomen lighting up. 

"Ok, look," Elio said, pinching the bridge of their nose with their free hand, "I wasn't kidding when I said the machines in here are dangerous. This little guy was just trying to help keep you out of trouble while I wasn't looking like you tried to do."

Rye shrunk down a bit, feeling embarrassed for being caught. 

"Let's make a deal, ok?" Elio suggested, holding out the hand that was not holding the bug, "If I explain what these machines are, and answer some of your questions, will you promise not to touch any of them without permission? We are going to be stuck together for a while. Might as well find a way to get along."

Rye sat there for a moment, never having someone take the time to come up with a compromise that would satisfy both of them like that. He smiled and took Elio's hand. 

"Deal!"

[xylianasblog]

Know your place.

Pairings: Quaritch x FemNavi Reader

Summary: You just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Warnings: MDNI, master/slave, TW: NONCON, non consensual , p in v, Quaritch being a dominate asshole, very mean, sub reader, shy and innocent, mentions of being drugged, unprotected sex, forced mating. If I missed any warnings please let me know!

A/n: this one was so difficult but shout out to @quicktosimp for even planning a dark content themed event.

꒦꒷❀꒷꒦ ❀✿❀꒦꒷❀꒷꒦MDNI ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦❀✿❀ ꒦꒷❀꒷꒦

You felt the prick in the side of your neck before you even had time to question it, the world around you started to blur until there was nothing left but darkness.

Your body felt heavy, your mind was still groggy. You felt like you had just fallen from the tallest of trees, everything hurt. Your eyelids felt as if they wanted to stay closed despite your best efforts to try and open them and when that failed you tried to open your mouth. You didn’t succeed in that either, the moment you were able to part your lips so sound could be heard, your mouth felt drier than you could imagine as thirst clung to your chapped lips.

You didn’t feel it first but you felt it now the fear of the unknown filled your body with dread, the need to run played over and over in your head but your body wouldn’t listen. You couldn’t even move your limbs.

Everything was eerily silent wherever you were, no sounds no nothing. It felt like hours as you lay unmoving in the same sprawled pit position. Gradually you felt feeling come back to your limbs, one by one you were able to wiggle and move but you were so hopeful about getting away. As you worked on moving around trying to find a slightly comfortable position to lay the sound of an automatic door opened, the swooshing sound had your tail raised and ears perked. Every bit of you on high alert.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaching, and you still couldn’t figure out how to break loose. Your thoughts ran rampant and you felt so helpless, you saw the boots before you let your eyes roam ever so slowly up the persons figure. He was a Na’vi, no this man was no Na’vi he was a dream walker, what business did he have with you?

You studied his form silently as you watched him crouch down, his hand reaching out to grab at the base of your kuru, you cried out as you tried to squirm away.

“Shut yer fucking mouth cupcake, ain’t no one coming to save you.” His yellow eyes glared down at your trembling body, the devilish smirk that crossed his features scared you. His eyes racked over your body slowly taking in your petite form, you felt yourself stomach drop with the look that filled his eyes. You parted your lips getting ready to beg and plead for your life and safety, however your words were cut short as he harshly pressed his mouth until yours. Forcing his tongue into your mouth as his hold on your kuru tightened up causing a pain to jolt through your body, you whimpered into the kiss out of fear as your felt his hands roughly touching along your body.

You felt his fingers gliding over your clothes pussy, you kicked and thrashed around as he continued to touch and rub in areas no one had ever dared to touch. You felt disgusted with your self despite all your efforts to fight back, you were utterly helpless. He broke the kiss to take in some much needed air, you took your chance to gather as much as you could, your head being secured still with the grip he had on your kuru. He leaned down his breath brushing against your ear as he spoke. “I’m gonna make you my bitch.” He chucked as he pulled away.

Your body had froze in fear, you may not have been able to understand most of the sky people language but you could tell by the time of his words that this was a promise. One that meant trouble.

Even as he continued to touch and prob at your pussy you couldn’t find the strength to move, your body was cooperating with your mind. His words playing over in your mind as he worked to get you out of your loincloth and top. Your mind was reeling, nothing was processing into you felt the tip of his hard length pressing against your hole. He had not prepared you, touched you to loosen up your tightness. As the reality of the situation began to say in you begin to kick harder, using your hands to push and hit with all of your might. You weren’t strong by any means even as a navi this male was still much stronger than you.

Through all your kicking and fighting you weren’t paying attention to anything but whatever you had left of your will you fight. A searing pain spread across the side of your face. For a moment time seemed to stop, everything felt as if it had slowed down and the stinging pain of his hit and the ringing in your ears was the only indication that anything had happened. “Stop fighting or I’ll kill you.” He hissed out, the deranged look in his eyes had your body stopping instantly.

He threw your head down roughly as he turned you to your side, and for a brief moment you felt instant relief as he released your kuru. He turned your body sideways and lifted your leg up to give himself the perfect view of your cunt. He settled himself nicely over your other leg, securing it with the wait of his body as he pressed his length in slowly forcing your tight little cunt to stretch. You couldn’t even cry out for the fear of him hitting you once more, so you shut your eyes tightly willing your mind to drift off as he forced himself to bottom out inside you. The sound of his groan and the feeling of being full were indications of him being as deep as he could go. He had successfully stretched you out, marking your body as his as the tip of his cock kisses at your womb.

Your mind drifted between the feeling of his length buried deep inside you to other things to focus on, you refused to acknowledge the male before you actively ripping away your innocence from you. Each of his thrust had your mental resolve breaking, each one pushing deeper and harder into you. It was clear he was focused on his own pleasure, so why did the feeling of him hitting so deep begin to feel good in your mind.

Quaritch reached over to grab your kuru at the tip, despite his rough thrusting his touches were softener now, gentle even you barely felt it. He lifted it up to examine it as the hair fell away to reveal the pink tendrils, they wiggled around freely now looking for anything to connect to, make the bond to. You opened your eyes just as he did the unspeakable. You both gasped at the unexpected sensation as the bond had been made, your eyes closed involuntarily as you were overwhelmed with pleasure. Pleasure that wasn’t yours, you felt ever but of him as if he was another part of you, your breathing syncing to his as your heartbeats became one. Your body shuddered as you felt his release quickly approaching,

Quaritch reached down after a moment it took him to compose himself. His hand grabbed your cheeks roughly forcing you to look into his eyes. His thrusting had slowed to a stop a scowl set on his lips before he spoke in a breathy tone. “You belong to be now understand? Like a good little slave I’ll train you to be, you will follow my directions no question asked. I am your master now.” He threw your face to the side as he resumed his task to train you to be his slave in every sense of the word. He just so happened to start with your body first.

Tags: @etherial-moon-blog, @quicktosimp, @tallulah477 @eywaite