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get-shiggy-with-it · 3 years

Text

#1 Victory Royale

✧ pairing: college student!spinner x student!afab!reader

✧ word count: 4.4k

✧ warnings: college au/no quirks, light angst, mostly soft/fluff, smut, could be hate fucking if you squint, afab reader but no pronouns, this is pretty tame, by like my standards, I wrote this at work, not really a warning, but it felt like you needed to know that

✧ summary: relationships suck and Spinner is starting to think maybe he does too

✧ ao3 mirror

✧ a/n: Hey y'all, welcome back to more college au bs from me. This is set in the same universe once again as all my other college pieces. A very sweet anon asked if we'd ever get to see more of Spinner, so here he is! Also with another cameo from shiggy's bitch (endearing) cause I can't help myself.

“Ughhhhhh….”

Spinner’s groaning echoed through the tiny apartment, the heavy sound of creaking couch cushions under his weight following.

“What?” his long-suffering roommate shouted out their bedroom door, rapidly shoving clothing and a toothbrush into an overnight bag.

“Uggghhhhhhh!”

He let out with another, louder dying animal wail. He’d been like this since they woke up—wallowing in some strange concoction of self pity and Red Bull on the kitchen floor when they walked in for water two hours ago.

“Motherfucker,” they mumbled, tossing their bag to the floor and marching, more than a little disgruntled, into the hall. “What do you want?”

Spinner was sitting upside down on the couch now, feet up against the wall tapestry and cotton candy hair splayed out on the floor. He stared blankly as his friend came into view—arms crossed, frowning at him from the end of the hall—and opened his mouth once more, letting out another garbled grunt that had one of the neighbors pounding twice on the wall to shut his dramatic ass up.

“Dude seriously, are you gonna tell me who pissed in your cereal or are you just gonna scream until the guys next door kick a hole through our wall?”

They almost felt bad as he looked away, sniffing and letting himself slump farther off the sofa until he was sprawled completely on the hardwood and staring, glassy eyed, up at the ceiling.

When he finally spoke a full sentence, his gaze was locked on the water stain above him from a year ago when the upstairs neighbors flooded their apartment trying to make jungle juice in the bathtub.

“I don’t know, I’m just in my feels as the kids say,” he sounded so dejected—strange for someone who was perpetually energized to a frustrating degree—that their shoulders immediately slumped from a hardass square to a softer, more sympathetic angle

They padded over to join him on the floor.

“Care to elaborate, oh roomie of mine?”

There was a pause and Spinner tapped his nails against the hardwood idly before responding.

“I guess I’m just feeling, like, fucking I don’t know,” he sighed, knocking his head against the dusty boards, “left out I guess? That’s not quite right, but it’s just Magne mentioned last time she came to The League meeting that Jin was seeing somebody and it just got me all introspective and weird…”

“Hm,” his roommate hummed thoughtfully and studied the way the textured white ceiling gave way to the rings of brown water damage, like a dead and dying flower, “I thought you and Jin weren’t ever that serious?”

“We weren’t,” Spinner groaned again and rubbed his eyes. “We went on like, one date a year ago and I haven’t thought about it really at all since then. I’m not sure why hearing he’s got someone else now made me so fucking...jealous I guess.”

“I mean, maybe you just never really gave yourself the time to process it?” they asked and received only an annoyed huff and accompanying groan. “Sorry, should have asked if you were looking for advice or just wanting to rant. My bad.”

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s just…”

Spinner trailed off and they shifted as the hard floor bit at their back and made it ache. The muscles were sore already as it was, and Tomura blowing their fucking back a few times a week wasn’t really helping. They’d created some kind of perpetually horny monster, but something told them cracking a joke about it wasn’t really going to help the situation much. Thankfully, Spinner found his way to filling the silence a minute later.

“I don’t think it has anything specifically to do with Jin. Yeah I liked him, we’re still really good friends and I don’t feel like I need him to be more than that. It’s just that—and this is gonna make me sound like a massive asshole—but with you and your new fucking boyfie and now even Jin finding someone to date I just keep seeing reminders everywhere of how motherfucking isolated I am.”

“Oh,” they felt their face burn a bit, guilt frothing as they were forced to acknowledge the fact that in all the time they’ve spent holed up with Tomura, Spinner had been discarded like an old Steam game, bought impulsively on sale and never played again. “I’m sorry I haven’t been prioritizing you—”

“No, no, no shut the fuck with that,” he waved his hand to cut them off and pushed himself up on his palms. “I know I’m not being fair about it, and I really am happy for you guys, but idk man….I just feel like I’m never gonna find that you know?”

Beside him, his roommate remained sprawled out on the floor like a homicide tape outline and was just as deadly quiet.

“I just,” he continued, running an angry hand through his hair, “I know I could be such a good partner. Like I’m funny and I’m not a fucking creep, which is actually a plus to most people.”

He shot a side glance down and they rolled their eyes, sitting up and knocking his shoulder roughly till he toppled back to the dirty floor and they stood above him.

“Fuck off,” they chuckled.

His roommate watched as the laughter seemed to infect him like a bad cold, creeping down the back of his throat and shaking in his chest.

“No I’m serious, I would be such a fucking great boyfriend. I give goddamn top quality cuddles and I actually know how to do laundry, what more does one need truly?”

“Damn bro, you’ve known how to fold your own clothes this whole time?”

The giggling spread into the quiet space, rocking through both their shoulders and leaving the air feeling light—fresh like the first nights of Spring. When it finally petered out into friendly silence, they were both far lighter.

“I just like the way you fold my t-shirts, the sleeves don’t get those weird creases when you do it,” he muttered and stood, doing his best to fix the wild pink locks that stood on end from his fidgeting.

“Yeah I’m sure,” his roommate rolled their eyes and turned back down the hall.

When they left for the night to stay over with their boyfriend, Spinner tried not to acknowledge the way he subconsciously glared at their back as they walked out the door, skipping yet another League meeting to swap spit with that guy from their English class.

He tried even harder not to think of how their bed would be warm and their legs would have legs to tangle with, their chest have a chest to lay against, while he heated up instant noodles in the microwave and fell asleep alone on their living room couch.

Not to mention that tonight was the big tournament with that new group on campus. He was really banking on his bff (best fucking friend as they were always sure to clarify) and him teaming up to crush those assholes from The Commission or whatever they called themselves.

Fucking lame as shit name in his opinion.

In any case, he’d have to settle for Magne again, and she was such a loose cannon they were sure to get their asses handed to them. She was a great fucking tank, he’d be the first to admit, but strategy was not a strong point of hers and they desperately needed that tonight.

He could feel the sinking weight of failure rolling in the pit of his stomach already even as he dragged himself into his room to tug on an old pair of jeans.

It bothered him way more than it should, the idea of losing some gaming tournament that, by all means held little to no actual significance.

Spinner knew the stock he’d started placing in games was growing to an unhealthy degree.

He knew that.

But self awareness rarely did anything to alleviate the irrational fear of failing at one of the only remaining consistencies in his life.

It stung worse when the tournament kicked off and by the third round, Spinner was the only remaining League member in the brackets.

“Fucking shit…” he muttered to himself, the small basement room alight with the blue glow of the monitor and the sound of frantically smashing controllers.

Behind him on the couch—stolen long ago from the theater building—Magne held him by the shoulders as he grit his teeth and leaned into the movement of his avatar on screen.

“You got this babe,” she shouted, cheek pressed up to his ear. “Make ‘em eat shit for me!”

“I would if you stopped distracting me,” Spinner hissed back.

Really it wasn’t Magne’s aggressive and somewhat bloodthirsty style of encouragement that shook his focus so badly.

It was his opponent.

The fucking president of The Commission sat, thighs spread and pressed to his, resting your weight on your elbows and snarling beside him in the couch.

Your face was split in this heart stopping grin as you quite deftly dodged all his attempts to get a hit in and managed to land a few of your own in the process.

And you looked really hot doing it.

Which was definitely just a side effect of the punch he (didn’t) drink and the body heat fueled temperature of the room—sweaty skin against sweaty skin making his mind wander against his will.

The shifting in his seat was absolutely just to illogically make him move faster and had nothing to do with how tight his pants now seemed.

So much for not being a fucking creep.

Your teammates were gathered in a circle behind you, enraptured and exuding the kind of smug confidence that said quite clearly The League was fucked from the second they walked in.

Not even two minutes later your hands were thrown up, punching the air and your team piling over the back of the couch to drown you in a sea of celebratory limbs.

Spinner felt himself deflating even as he was toppled off the couch by your screaming members and The League collectively cursed in the background.

Truthfully he’d known the chances of winning were slim.

Ever since his roommate started getting busy with classes and clubs that ‘looked good on their resume,’ The League had gone downhill rapidly. It was a problem since long before that Shigaraki guy swooped in and stole them away, but Spinner couldn’t stop himself from lowkey holding that against him.

The League had consumed so much of his life in college, functioning as a haven where he was finally respected and belonged to an extent he’d never experienced before.

The stink of failure and loss, not of the game but the only space he’d ever really occupied without complaint, burned his face and made the room feel more suffocating than usual.

Magne looked as though she wanted to give him one of her signature—and admittedly very comforting—hugs, but the deadly look of disappointment on Spinner’s face must have made her think twice.

The rest of his team seemed to read this sudden downward shift in the room as they began to filter out, climbing the steps onto street level and away from the suddenly stuffy, uncomfortable meeting spot. Normally everyone would stay and finish off the drinks snuck past the janitorial staff, eating Doritos until well past midnight. This time they couldn’t wait to be rid of him.

He couldn’t really blame them.

The multimedia building was a strange place after hours. Once Spinner might have called it something rare and liminal, now it felt more like a prison.

He stood, packing up the consoles a bit more roughly than necessary when someone cleared their throat behind him.

He turned to see you, standing alone with hands on your hips and scowling like you were the one who just got their gaming reputation ruined.

“Dude what the fuck was that?”

Spinner bristled at the knife sharp point of your tone.

“Really?” he asked incredulously. “You seriously waited around to rub your win in my face?”

You rolled your eyes and took a step closer around the couch. “I’m not talking about the fucking game dumbass. Why the hell are you pouting like I stole your fucking candy or some shit? You ruined the vibes man.”

“If anyone was ruining the vibes, it was you and your cocky ass team.”

Spinner felt himself stepping closer too, pulled in by the celestial weight that accompanied any kindling argument.

“Me?” you pointed to your chest and scoffed, “Wow, I was really hoping you’d actually possess a bit of emotional maturity, but if this is how you get after a loss I’m not shocked your fucking club is bleeding members.”

At some point the two of you had gravitated close enough that he felt the puff of your last breath on his cheeks. Two comets, ready and willing to collide.

“I’m not being the asshole in this situation, you know that right?” Spinner glared down his nose at you, heart pounding in his ears. “Maybe you shouldn’t make fucking unfounded assumptions about people you don’t know.”

“So then why are your panties in a twist over a fucking game?” you retorted.

He was peripherally aware that your eyes had taken on the same laser focused quality as they had during the last round. Determined and locked onto him without sparing a glance to anything else.

It was this same undivided attention that he’d envied in you as you played, and as Spinner felt it trained on him, his pants once again felt uncomfortably restrictive.

“It’s not about the fucking game okay!?” his voice came out hoarse and far more petulant than he’s been aiming for.

Though he quickly felt the embarrassment give rise to a secondary heat as you both breathed each other’s air and searched the face across from you.

“Then what is it about?”

That strange, unexplainable, inexplicable rush of potential filled the small gap that remained between your bodies—the kind of tension Spinner was beginning to think he’d never feel again.

He’d kissed plenty of people. Almost more than he’d like to admit, or that they’d like to admit more accurately.

But when his flickering eyes found your hard stare still and unwavering from his, it felt incredibly natural to lean in and press his lips against your fading frown.

It was slow going, the few centimeters that separated you seemed like miles as he moved slowly, never breaking eye contact until his mouth was finally slotted over yours and you weren’t pushing him away.

There was still a bit of lingering confusion, as this was decidedly not what either of you appeared to be expecting from the prior conversation. That coupled with the fact that Spinner wasn’t entirely sure he remembered your first name made the feeling of your tongue prodding at the seam of his lips all the more startling.

When he gasped, you slid your hands up his chest and licked into his mouth. Tongue tangling between breaths, Spinner felt himself getting lost in the familiar and coveted taste of another mouth, another body, another hand that grasped, that desired, that wanted him.

***

Your knees dug into the cushions on either side of Spinner’s thighs as you bounced in his lap. He fought to keep his eyes open against the pleasure of his cock sinking into you over and over again, so he could watch the way your head was thrown back and your chest heaved with the exertion.

He dug his hands into your hips and let his head hit the back of the couch, feet planted on the floor to help his hips thrust up into you, earning him some of the prettiest, stifled moans he’d ever heard.

Truthfully, he had not expected to fuck you. He figured you might be down to just make out for a bit until the cleaning staff came and booted you from the building, but both your pants had quite quickly and naturally found their way to the floor.

Neither of you spoke much, which he was thankful for. That would have been far too complicated of a conversation, especially considering you really didn’t know each other all that well.

Spinner usually liked to do a bit of ‘getting to know you’ type activities before he hooked up with people, which he did with surprising frequency for somebody so starved for a long term thing. Sex just fucking felt good and it was this eagerness that was his downfall. Most people he’d fucked around with seemed to read the urge to get into their pants as a diminished interest or emotional attraction and Spinner ended up with more friends with benefits than actual friends...or benefits.

Regardless, it was fine by him that the only form of communication passing between you for now were scattered groans of pleasure and the wet slap of your ass against his thighs.

He’d nearly forgotten how fucking amazing pussy felt.

For no particular reason, Spinner had always found himself fooling around with bodies more similar to his own. Not that he had any real preference, though the lack of experience often made him a bit nervous in the whole ‘pleasing your partner’ department, despite many helpful lessons from his roommate.

That was all to say that Spinner was incredibly thankful you reached down to guide his hand that had clumsily begun rubbing circles on your clit. That is until you simply knocked it away and went back to riding his dick like a fucking champ.

Then he did speak.

“Wanna make you cum,” he mumbled and really did sound like he was pouting this time.

You peered down at him, slowing your pace so you sat flush in his lap, grinding his cock deep against your walls. Spinner keened as you clenched around him, pussy so deliciously warm he felt himself near to drowning in the feel of you.

“Mm fuck,” you panted, leaning in to steal a few more messy kisses from him before lifting up and enveloping him in the slick heat all over again. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” he nipped at the column or your throat, careful not to leave any lasting marks just in case. “If I’m finishing, you’re fucking finishing.”

You pulled back and stared at him for a moment. He felt you purposefully tightening around him just so he would squirm under your curious gaze. After a moment you smirked and rolled your eyes again, taking his hand and guiding his fingers back to that little nub just above where his thick length was seated inside you.

Spinner was proud of his dick, it was hefty but not so long that it was a hassle to fit—just enough to reach all the important bits. He was sensitive as hell too most of the time, so just about any pressure felt amazing. But the best part of it was watching whoever he was fucking fall apart on his goddamn perfect cock.

So when you whispered, “Like this,” and showed him the rhythm and motion you liked, he pulled himself back from the brink to pay attention, speeding up until that look of cooled control slid right off your face.

“Ahh, yes fuck...” the words tumbled from you freely now. “Shit, yeah just like that—”

Spinner could get fucking drunk off the low groan that left you as he planted his feet more firmly and bucked his hips up. He must have hit something good by the way you choked and moaned boarding on too loud, though he had neither the heart nor self control to stop you.

“Feel good?” he grunted, picking up the pace and force he thrust into you, so that you had to loop your arms around his neck and hold tightly as he speared you on his cock.

“Fuck...yes..” you whimpered into his shoulder which did wonders for his ego.

Spinner kept up his rubbing frantic patterns on your clit and feeling the gradual constriction of your walls around him—the coil growing tight and ready to snap. He nudged your cheek with his until you pulled back a bit to face him.

“I want to see you,” he murmured, sucking your tongue into his mouth for a moment and tearing himself away so he could watch as you came undone around him.

You gave him a strange, soft look and pressed your forehead to his, eyes zoned in on only him.

The rest of the room, the whole fucking basement and campus melted away under that stare.

Your nipples peaked through your shirt, brushing against his as you were jostled into him by the movement of your hips. As you reached your peak, words devolved into increasingly breathy gasps. It took Spinner an incredible amount of concentration not to fucking paint your insides then and there.

Your pussy was so goddamn tight and warm and milking him just right, it was a fucking impressive feat to remain staunchly at the edge of his peak as your mouth fell open and your fingernails scratched at his back when you finally came—the telltale spasms around his cock and the near sobs coming from you more than enough indication.

He lost himself well and truly then.

Lost in the false sense of intimacy that came with being allowed to see you fall apart, this person he barely knew yet made him feel immensely important in that moment. Your breath and spit was in his mouth, the smell and feel of you soaking his length pushed him beyond the realm of conscious thought.

There was only a deep and burning need to be closer to you. So, so much closer.

His hands moved of their own accord, hooking under your thighs and flipping your bodies so your back hit the cushions and he hovered above you. The angle allowed him to slide deeper, pulling out and thrusting his hips in fast, hard strokes that hurtled him towards release.

Spinner couldn’t keep himself quite now either, panting and moaning and gasping unashamedly with his eyes screwed shut as you took his cock so unbelievably well.

It wasn’t until your hands, softer than he’d imagined, cupped his jaw and pulled him down to meet you that he was brought back down from whatever higher plane of existence his impending orgasm whisked him too.

Your lips weren’t nearly as frantic as the rocking of his thighs, the slap of his balls against your ass. The sweetness was an odd but welcome contrast.

“I’m gonna—fucking mm...” he tried so hard to get his tongue to form the words but he could feel himself slipping further as you started clamping around his length again.

“I know,” you breathed against his lips, faces pressed together and unmoving eyes steady on his own. “Ahh, inside if you want.”

He did want.

Oh fuck did he want nothing more in that moment to stay sunk in your warmth and pump you so full, but the last few remaining logical braincells reminded him that was not a great idea. Not without a more in-depth conversation neither of you was in a state to have.

“Shouldn’t...” he groaned and moved to pull out but your ankles locked around his ass and forced him back down.

“It’s okay,” you huffed and rocked into him, squeezing around the sensitive head of his dick just once, just right and that did him in.

It was something in the way you looked at him, so that he could feel nothing but secure—nothing but safe wrapped up in you. Something about the way you pressed him closer, in the movement of your thumb on his cheek.

It scratched some deep seated, lonely itch in Spinner.

Made it feel like this meant a hell of a lot more than it probably did.

In seconds he was blowing his fucking load right into you, milking himself in your heat until he was spent and overstimulated. You were kind enough to pull him to you, turning your bodies so you laid side by side on the coach, his softening cock slipping from you in a gush of release.

For a minute or so, neither of you spoke, just stared, long and comfortable at the stranger you’d just fucked on the gaming club couch.

Well.

Fucked wasn’t really the word he’d use at that point to describe what you’d just done, but anything more than that felt presumptuous.

You broke the silence as he nuzzled into your palm.

“You really needed that didn’t you?”

Spinner couldn’t help the familiar, infectious laugh that rattled in his chest. He liked the smile it earned him, far more genuine than any others you’d worn that night.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

You hummed, nodding in response. “Mm, me too.”

And somehow, for no real logical reason, Spinner knew you understood. That you felt the same isolation, the same starvation for love, for holding weight in someone else’s world.

That the games were just a placeholder, a way to fill the space, to get lost in other lives, in other stories where he did matter. Where his actions had foreseeable and measurable worth. That’s why it hurt to lose. Not for the glory, but for the destruction of the only remaining diversion from how empty his reality felt.

Even if it wasn’t really.

Even if there were friends and benefits and friends who offered both. His roommate could let him rest his head in their lap on movie nights or sleep in his bed on occasion when the heat went out and he got cold too quickly. But none of that quite filled the hole like you now, holding his face and knowing the struggle without him having to explain it.

Nothing like you pulling him in and kissing him too familiarly for someone he’d only known a day.

Magne used to say something about shit like this. Something like how people bond in train cars when there’s a rat eating a slice of pizza and you all watch it happen. Some weird camaraderie forged in the shared experience of life being a little fucking freaky a lot of the time.

That was how it felt when you slipped your leg between his and brushed your lips together again. Content to lay, half naked in the media building basement, making out with some guy you beat at Smash and fucked right after.

Reveling in the brief but meaningful feeling of mattering in some small, strange way to someone else.

Of holding weight.

Of being held.

#spinner x reader #shuichi iguchi x reader #spinner x y/n #spinner x you #college au #mha angst #student!reader

97 notes · View notes

fallout4reactsblog · 3 years

Note

What if a sole survivor that’s a teenager(like 14-16 years old) begins to view the companions and faction leaders as parental figures, before slipping up and accidentally calling them “mom” or “dad”? Just a thought.

Ada: “Ah, shit.”

Sole patted themself down, checking their pockets, before sighing. “I knew I should’ve taken the time to skin those mole rats.”

“Is something missing?”

Curious, Ada leaned over to check the project they were working on. They slid to the side to accomodate her.

“I just don’t have enough leather to finish my armor mods. I wanted to put some pockets in my chestplate so I could carry a couple extra rolls of duct tape, but I don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Leather?”

She checked back through her mental inventory, sizing up what she was carrying. Enamel bucket, ashtrays, pack of cigarettes...

“Ah, here we are.” She pulled out a baseball glove and handed it over. “Will this suffice?”

“Oh, yeah, this is perfect!” They beamed. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Anytime.”

If either of them noticed sole’s little slip-up, neither of them said a thing.

Cait: Sole reminded her too much of herself, some days. She knew their jaded expression, their thousand-yard stare, the haunted look of a kid who’d seen more than they should have. She knew more about them than they’d probably like, which was how she knew to stop them before they could do something they’d regret in the long run.

“No chems,” she said, plucking the canister of X-Cell out of their hands before they could get too close a look at it. It still felt dusty from its years laying in a Concord Speakeasy, and she wiped her hand on her pants.

“I know,” they huffed, rocking back on their heels. “I was just looking.”

“Well, don’t.” She tucked it into a back pocket, making a mental note to either toss it in the closest river or sell it first chance she got.

“It’s not like anything bad can happen from just looking at it, Cait. I wasn’t even thinking about it.”

“You better not have been. If you start doin’ that shite-”

“I know.” Somehow, their tone remained patient. “I promised I wouldn’t do chems, and I won’t, okay, Mom?”

The breath left her like she’d been sucker punched. For a moment, all she could do was stand there, eyes wide, unable to form a thought, much less words. Was it really like that? Had she really let things go this far? How long until she ended up like-

“I mean, uh, Cait.”

She glanced up to see their face beginning to turn red, and they ducked their head.

“Sorry, it just slipped out. I don’t, I mean, I didn’t-” They huffed. “Sorry. I know you don’t want to be a parent or anything, and I don’t mean that you should, I just...”

They prattled on nervously, as if trying to comfort both of them, words going right past Cait’s head. To think sole thought of her as a mother. She couldn’t have that responsibility. Her parents had been trusted with a child, and look how she’d turned out. She couldn’t take that risk, not with sole, not when at any moment some switch could flip inside her and she’d turn into the monsters that had raised her.

She’d known this was a bad idea, right from the start.

Codsworth: “I was thinking about putting another mod on my pistol today,” they said, hunched over the kitchen table. They were poking at some circuit board or another, something that they’d never have been allowed to touch before the war. He eyed the screwdriver in their hands warily.

“A fine idea,” he said, resigning himself once again to the fact that a new world meant a new way of life for mum and sir’s child. “Perhaps a larger magazine?”

They chewed their lower lip thoughtfully, tightening a screw. “I was thinking something more quick-eject, you know? Speed in battle and all.”

He couldn’t argue with that.

“The only reason I hadn’t done it was I needed some more adhesive. But since Carla stopped by again and she had some duct tape, we should be set.”

“As I recall, Miss Carla had more than enough for an extra set of sights as well. You asked me to remind you when you had enough material for a large scope, and by my measure, you should be there now.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot about that.” They nodded thoughtfully. “We can get that old hunting rifle in working order again. Thanks, Dad.”

He froze. Dad? Him? No, that wasn’t right. But they’d said it so casually, as if they hadn’t even realized they were saying it. Surely, they couldn’t have forgotten sir already. They’d had years with him as their father. Such things couldn’t be forgotten so easily.

“Sole.” He tried not to make his tone sound warning.

They, too, seemed to have realized what they’d said, ears beginning to turn red. “Sorry, Codsworth. I was just working and not thinking about it, and-”

“It’s alright. Such slip-ups happen, after all! We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t become a habit. After all, I’m simply the family Mr. Handy. Hardly a father. I wouldn’t want to take sir’s place.”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

“No need for apologies! We’ll simply call this a learning moment, for both of us.”

They sighed, “Sounds fair,” and returned to their work.

Curie: “You have your stimpaks, yes?”

They patted a pocket. “Got ‘em right here.”

“And your bandages?”

“In my bag.”

“Extra ammunition?”

They sighed. “Stop fussing, Mom. I told you, I’ve got everything I need.”

She pursed her lips and cocked her head to the side. That was certainly an... interesting choice of words.

“You see me as a maternal figure?”

“What?” They adjusted the straps on their bag, refusing to make eye contact.

“You referred to me as your mother. I am simply curious when you began to perceive me in such a role.”

“I don’t.” Their cheeks flushed, and they turned away further. “I didn’t call you ‘Mom,’ either.”

“Oh, but there is no need to be embarrassed! It is only natural for such things to happen. Your brain is still maturing, and as the primary provider of such maternal care in your life, it is predictable that you would-”

“Okay, okay, I’m leaving now.” They turned hastily to the door. “I’ll see you in a few days, Curie.”

“Certainly. Au revoir.”

As she watched their retreating back, she let herself consider the happy hum in her chest. Did she want to be sole’s mother? Was it that she wanted to be their mother specifically, or was there simply a general maternal instinct that was now surfacing? It was intriguing that such an instinct could exist in her, since she could never have children, but perhaps there was some lingering Ms. Nanny instinct that was affecting her. No matter what, it was certainly interesting.

If sole saw her as a maternal figure, she’d do her best to provide.

Danse: He found sole leaning against a wall, panting. There was blood splattered across their armor, gun dangling loosely from their fingers, but they were smiling, which was good enough for him.

“You look exhausted,” he said.

They laughed a little and smeared some of the blood from their cheek. “That was quite the fight. We should’ve brought some backup, huh?”

He glanced over at the scribe Quinlan had sent along, who had been of even less use than he’d expected, but decided to let that go and focus on sole. “I wouldn’t be so sure. You fared quite well on your own, and for your level of training your performance was impressive.”

Their eyes flicked over to meet his. “For real?”

“I would never lie to you, especially in your field evaluation. You’ve come a long way.”

He caught a hint of their smile before they ducked their head. “Thanks, Dad.”

He paused, sucking in a breath. While it wasn’t an uncommon mistake, it wasn’t one he was exactly willing to overlook. Still, best to approach things tactfully to avoid embarrassment for them. “What was that?”

They wouldn’t meet his eyes. “What was what?”

The scribe, tapping at the terminal, decided that was his moment to be useful. “You called Paladin Danse ‘Dad.’”

“No, I didn’t. I said, ‘Thanks, Danse.’”

He allowed himself a smile. “I didn’t know you saw me as a father figure, sole.”

“I don’t.” Still, their flush of embarrassment betrayed them.

He waved a hand through the air. “It’s alright, Knight. You wouldn’t be the first to refer to their sponsor as Mom or Dad, and I sincerely doubt you’ll be the last.”

Really, they were a good kid. Young initiates usually tended to find a substitute parental figure in the ranks, and of all sole’s options, he was glad it was him. He could keep them on the right track, make sure they didn’t go astray. With any luck, they could probably take his position someday.

All in all, this was a good thing for both of them.

Deacon: “Deeks, how does this jacket look on me?”

He glanced up from the hats in Fallon’s Basement to see sole tugging on the sleeves of a leather jacket. It was a bit rough around the edges, but it was just worn enough that he could believe it had seen some action. It wasn’t really their style, though; Agent Whisper tended more toward a softer kind of spy work, based more on charisma and less on punching people in the face.

“I like it,” he said, rocking back on his heels. “It’s a new look for you.”

“I was thinking I should add a more badass disguise to my collection. Try for that intimidation factor every once in a while, you know?”

He tossed the idea around a moment before agreeing. “We could make it work. It’d need practice, though, and some other accessories.”

“We could go get a bat from Mo while we’re here.”

“Now you’re talking. You put a couple nails in that sucker, and boom. You’re halfway to badass city right there. We’ll just have to teach you how to actually use it so you don’t stab yourself by accident.”

“Yeah, sure, but you’ll teach me, right, Dad?”

He nearly choked. Shit. Did sole know something he didn’t? No, that couldn’t be true. He’d never had kids, despite how much Barbara wanted them. Plus, sole had known their father. He’d seen the body, still half in cryo in 111.

That left the fact that sole had come to see him as a father figure, which left him in the awkward position of either shutting that down, probably hurting their feelings in the process, or just letting it slide. But could he even consider the latter? He couldn’t be a father, not in this state. He couldn’t lie every other word and still consider himself a decent parental influence, now could he?

Still, that voice in the back of his head nagged, “Barbara would want you to say yes. She thought you’d be a good dad.”

“Deeks?”

They looked at him quizzically, obviously still looking for an answer.

He sighed and, just this once, gave in. “Sure, kid. I’ll teach you how. It’s not that much different from their intended use, really...”

Desdemona: She always had a certain fondness for sole’s reports. She never got to hear much about the missions, just a quick affirmation of success and not much else. Sole, though, sole always told her a story, starting from the beginning and highlighting anything that they thought was interesting.

“But, you know, they’re just raiders,” they said, twenty-some minutes after they’d started. “In the end, H2 got where he needed to go. Highrise will take it from here.”

She smiled and ruffled their hair, making them laugh. “Good work, agent. You’re making all of us proud.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

They froze immediately, realizing what they had said, but their moment of embarrassment was cut short by Tom’s sigh of relief.

“Finally! You know how long we’ve been waiting for this? You took so long to join the club.”

Glory caught sole’s look of confusion and added, “Everyone calls Dez ‘Mom’ at some point. It’s basically a rite of passage.”

They looked to Dez for affirmation, and she could only nod.

“It’s true. It happens to everyone, sooner or later. I’m more than used to it by now.”

“You sure?” they asked, voice still hesitant.

“Positive. The only one that hasn’t is PAM, and she doesn’t have the capability.”

“Give her time,” Tom said. “She’ll get there.”

Gage: “You’re being stupid,” he snarled.

They glared back with surprising intensity. “You’re being a prick. You said yourself, I’m the Overboss. Things go how I want them to.”

How they’d managed that little trick, he didn’t know, but he hated it more and more every day. “Bein’ the Overboss doesn’t mean you don’t have to listen to anyone. You’re still new here. You better show me some respect.”

“Oh, fuck off, Dad,” they snapped.

That only pissed him off more. “What did you just call me, you little shit?”

They blinked, anger seeming to cool for a second. “Gage. What else?”

“No, you called me Dad.” His temper settled in return, hovering at a simmer. “Like this is some sort of family reunion or some shit.”

They snorted. “As if.”

“Don’t try and take it back now. I heard you.”

“You’re old and losing your hearing. Old fucker.”

His temper flared again, and despite that he knew they were baiting him, he couldn’t resist. “What was that?”

“What, I need to enunciate everything for you? Do you need your hearing aids, Grandpa?”

“What the fuck is a hearing aid?”

“What do you think, dumbass? It lets you hear better when you get old and lose your hearing. Like you.”

A knock on the door interrupted what he was going to say, and he snapped his mouth closed with irritation.

“Overboss?” The voice was muffled through the door. “Do you have a minute?”

“Yeah, just a sec.” They dusted their hands on their pants, anger instantly melting into a mask of cold determination. “Come on, Gage. Work to do.”

He huffed and resolved they would finish this later.

Hancock: He was always impressed with how well sole handled Goodneighbor. It went to show that they were much tougher than their age and pre-war softness let on; that this kid who looked like they’d never even handled a gun would shoot you without question if threatened. He’d seen how they’d handled Finn.

“Cold today,” they said, blowing into their hands. “This wind is killer. You wanna head inside and check up on things while I barter here?”

They gestured in the general direction of KLEO’s shop, and he chuckled.

“I dunno. Maybe the big, bad mayor better stick around to make sure you don’t get yourself into more trouble.”

They rolled their eyes. “Come on, Dad. I can handle myself, you know.”

They realized their mistake before he did, eyes widening, jaw snapping shut. He faltered, snappy words dying in his mouth before he got hold of himself again. Dad? Were they kidding? Their face said they weren’t.

“Woah, now.” He held up his hands. “It ain’t like that, kid. I’m not exactly the fatherly type, y’know. Cool uncle, maybe, but I ain’t anybody’s Dad.”

They huffed, clearly embarrassed, and diverted him by saying, “Bet you’ve been more than one somebody’s Daddy, though.”

“That’s more like it.” He nudged them in KLEO’s direction. “You go do your shopping, and I’ll go make sure they ain’t burnin’ down my town while I’m away.”

“Sure. If I’m not here when you get back, I’ll be in Hotel Rexford.”

“Sounds fine. Get me somethin’ nice while you’re at it, huh?”

“Alright, but I’m charging you a convenience fee.”

Content that they were back on the same page, he agreed and went to find Fahrenheit.

MacCready: “Your fever’s gone down a little.” He rested a hand against their forehead. “Seems you’re gonna pull through.”

They smiled a little, eyes still hazy with sickness and medicine. Soon, they’d be on their feet again, he hoped.

“I bet you’re a good dad, Mac,” they said. “Duncan must really love you, huh?”

He let out a sigh. Sole had been strangely emotional ever since they got sick, which had annoyed him at first, but lately he’d just come to accept it. After all, there wasn’t much he could do about it, was there?

“Jeez, I don’t even know if he remembers me. It’s been a while since I got to see him.”

“He remembers you. I mean, I remember my dad, and he’s been dead for a couple hundred years now, I guess.” They laughed a little, as if they’d said something funny. “But you should go see him. Take a break. I’ll be fine without you.”

“Nah, we’ll go together. After all, he’ll probably want to meet you.”

“You think?”

“Yeah. He’ll probably see you as some kind of adopted older sibling or something. You’ll get along.”

They exhaustion in their laugh betrayed them. “Sure, whatever you say, Dad.”

There was a wryness in their voice, an almost mocking note that told him they’d meant it as a joke, but long after they’d fallen asleep, he sat at their bedside, watching them. He’d thought he was joking, too, but now that he was along with his thoughts, he had to wonder. Maybe he did want them to meet Duncan, and maybe he did want them to get along like siblings. Could he do that? Was that wrong?

He sighed and rose from his chair. No use worrying about it now. Sole had probably been joking about him going to DC anyway. After all, there was work to be done here.

They definitely weren’t going anywhere until they were better, though. For now, he had to focus on making sure they pulled through.

Maxson: He watched them across the table as they studied the map of the Commonwealth spread between them. It was a crude battle plan, mostly consisting of bottlecaps and buttons, but it was enough for them to discuss. He found he was regularly impressed by their knowledge in this area; in many ways, they reminded him of himself at that age.

“What if we swung south?” They pushed three bottlecaps across the table. “The way C.I.T is set up makes anything but a direct assault difficult, but we could try to split their forces, or at least their fire.”

He hummed, considering. “You’re still assuming we can’t assemble Prime in time.”

“Right. I’m concerned they’ll force our hand before we’re ready. We need to be prepared for that.”

“If you hope to split their fire, we’ll have to split our forces. That means we’ll need more men overall and be pulling more away from the airport, leaving us vulnerable.”

They scrunched their face as they thought about it. “You’re right, but in these circumstances we’re already at a disadvantage, don’t you think? We’re outgunned and outmanned.”

“Both of which can be overcome by outplanning them.” He leaned back in his chair. “What you lack in physical strength can often be overcome with mental acuity.”

They glanced away from the diorama to look at him. “That’s pretty good advice. Nice one, Dad.”

He felt his heart skip a beat. They had already returned to the diorama, now considering the forces around the airport, but he suddenly couldn’t focus. Sole considered him a father figure. Did he mean that much to them that he was someone they looked to for guidance, not just on the Prydwen, but in all aspects of their life? To be a father to them, to be able to guide them, was more than he could have ever asked for.

He cleared his throat. “I believe you mean ‘Elder,’ Knight.”

“Hm?” They looked up again.

“You referred to me as something else. I’m reminding you that the proper title is ‘Elder.’“

“Oh. My apologies, Elder. It won’t happen again.”

He sighed. “I ask that you’re careful around the others. That is all.”

They nodded, mind clearly already on other things.

Nick: He watched them poke around Earl Sterling’s apartment, careful eyes taking everything in. He lingered by the doorway, letting them do their thing, curious to see how it would play out. He was taking a bit of a risk letting them work the case, but he figured he could clean up any mistakes they made along the way.

Mistake number one was probably letting them pick up all those beers, but he figured as long as he watched them sell them all, it would be fine.

“Aha!”

Triumphant, they emerged from where they had crouched on the floor, brandishing a piece of paper.

“Find somethin’?” He flicked his cigarette to the side, nudging it out with the toe of his boot.

“Some sort of receipt, I think. Facial reconstruction with Dr. Crocker. Appointment date... should have been sometime around his disappearance.”

“That means ol’ Doc could’ve been the last to see Earl alive.” He nodded thoughtfully. “Good work, kid.”

They flushed with pride and perhaps a bit of embarrassment at the praise. “Thanks, Dad.”

He raised an eyebrow, hoping they would realize their mistake on their own, but they were busy tucking the receipt into their bag. It seemed as though they hadn’t noticed at all, and after a moment of thought, he decided not to mention it. After all, there was no need to embarrass them. They’d realize what they’d said eventually.

Plus, it was kind of nice, in a way.

Piper: “You’ve got ink on your face.”

Sole glanced up from the freshly-printed edition of the paper, fingers wandering to their cheekbone. “Here?”

“Little to the left.”

“Here?”

“Less to the left.”

“Here?”

“Oh, just hold still.”

She leaned over, wiping the ink off their cheek with her thumb. It smeared a little bit, but was a marked improvement, and she scrubbed the rest away with the heel of her glove.

“There you go. Good as new.”

They nodded and returned their attention to the paper. “Thanks, Mom.”

They seemed to realize immediately, eyes widening, and Piper felt a sharp pain in her chest.

“Aw, Blue, you know I’m not really...”

They visibly deflated. “I know. I’m sorry, Piper.”

“Not like that.” She leaned forward, putting her coffee to the side. “I’m not upset by it. I’m just not that kind of person, that’s all. I’m like your older sister, not your Mom. I wouldn’t want to replace her. It’s not a big deal, just, you know, get it in your head.”

“Older sister?” That seemed to perk them up a bit, and she smiled.

“Yeah. You’re still part of the family, Blue. Just not like that.”

They smiled. “I guess I’ll take it.”

Preston: The first sign was always the quiet. Sole wasn’t likely to stay quiet for too long; they were always listening to the radio, humming or singing along. When it was quiet for too long, that usually meant they’d either wandered off without telling him, which was never good, or they’d fallen asleep somewhere.

Sign two was the glow of a lantern at the workbench. It wasn’t uncommon for them to work late into the night, but that was always accompanied by the sound of work: the screech of metal on metal, the hum of an engine, the rattling of loose hardware in its drawers.

Quiet and light together meant they’d fallen asleep at the workbench. Again.

“Sole.” Gently, he shook their shoulder. “Come on. You can’t sleep here.”

They sat up, bleary-eyed, a sheet of orange plastic cut from a pumpkin stuck to their cheek. Almost unseeing, they looked up at him with a sleepy, questioning hum.

“Come on.” Gently, he pulled at their arm.

“Sorry, Dad.” They rubbed their eyes, rising on unsteady feet. “I’m going.”

A smile crept to his face as he led them across the Sanctuary street to their home, making sure they got settled. Almost instantly, they were asleep again, long hours of hard living catching up to them all at once. Quietly, he closed the door behind him.

It was too good to be true. They were just tired, and mistook him for their father in the dark. But still, a part of him wanted to believe that it was possible. Maybe he could be a father to sole. He could show them how to make it here, in this unfamiliar world, and support them as they grew into the General he knew they could be.

Maybe, just maybe, they would let him.

X6: He watched them pace back and forth in front of the door, coat tails swirling with every pivot. They adjusted their lapels for the fifth time, sighed, and glanced around for a clock.

“It’s only four twenty-five,” he said. “You’ve still got twenty-five minutes.”

They sighed and sank heavily into a chair. “Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

They groaned and dropped their head onto the table. “You said it was thirty minutes to go, like, an hour ago.”

“Five minutes ago.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

He set his gun on the table with a sigh and set his sunglasses beside them. “If you keep worrying about it, you’ll only work yourself up more, and the time will seem to pass slower. Your best move would be to get a cup of coffee and relax.”

“I can’t relax.” They leaned back in their chair. “It’s my first meeting as the director. Half of the Institute already hates me because I’m so young, so if I mess this up I’ll be out on the street by dawn. This is no time to relax.”

“If you don’t relax, you’ll be more likely to make a mistake.”

“I know, but it’s easier said than done, Dad.”

He blinked. At first, he wasn’t sure if he’d heard them properly, but his hearing was beyond satisfactory. If he’d heard it, they’d said it, but that didn’t mean anything.

“Case in point. You’re upset, you make mistakes. Like that.”

They sank their head into their hands. “You’re right. I’ll- I’ll get some coffee. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. Humans make mistakes, after all.”

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brahkest-fr · 3 years

Text

CW: trauma, maggot/worm imagery, blood, general violence | Titan n Chimera have a moment

Titan rushed down the hall, long tail flailing mercilessly behind him, tripping cursing guards as he sprinted through ancient corridors that reeked with the stench of dust and mold. Another tundra stood at the end of the dungeon, old eyes cold and weary, not at all surprised at the other’s sudden appearance. He crossed his arms as Titan approached apprehensively. He didn’t meet his gaze but the elder bore through him with a fire that could raise the dead.

“Let me see her,” Titan demanded, rare harshness in his voice.

The other tundra squinted. “Be my guest. She will be dealt with by the morning,” he spat and pushed past him, frail old shoulder barely nudging Titan’s massive frame but the sentiment was there. “I told you something like this would happen.”

He waited until the other left before gingerly opening the wooden cell door, its creaking overwhelming the deep, pained breaths from within. His jaw slacked as he gazed over the hunched form of Chimera, kneeling on bare stone, arms folded behind her and chained to the wall. She peered upwards, head heavy and swaying. Her vision was blurry but made out Titan’s broad shoulders, haloed in the dusty light of the door frame. Angelic. She thought she was dying.

Titan conversely became aware of the dull, raspy sound of Chimera’s wheezing and the utter nothing coming from his own throat. Knees buckling, Titan faltered to the floor, hand grasping at the stone as he crawled towards her in a silent frenzy, hesitantly cupping his dear friend’s face with soft paws, head pressed to hers. Her breath quivered, recognizing the gentle touch and glimmering fur that encased her trembling form in a warmth that seemed foreign and unbelievable. He smelled like spices and sun, strong on her dull senses that have been subjected to the stale, putrid jail cell. She mouthed something weakly, spittle dribbling down her chin. He wiped it away, running his hands gently down her shoulders.

She shuddered, gray and melting in the dark of his shadow.

Chimera always saw beauty in bruises. Never was anyone more moved by the blossom of welts and the flush of cut flesh. He briefly wondered if she would have thought the way she appeared now, broken and stiff, was pretty.

She would. Even this dark place - she would.

“I’m so sorry Chimera...I should have stopped you sooner. I should have been with you before-” he gasped as he nuzzled her forehead, ignoring the blood oozing from her cuts.

Should. Should. Should. He always should have something.

“Titan,” she hissed, “It’s not your fault.”

He felt her cool blood seep into his fur, a jarring sick wetness.

He lowered himself, peering into her sickly yellow eyes that struggled to flutter open. They were pussy, glassy - tired. He ran the pads of his thumbs across her cheeks, wiping away thin tears she didn’t realize had fallen. He kissed the wedge of her snout, nauseated by the coldness of her skin, the stillness of her body other than minute flinches. He wrapped his plush tail around her, fur coated in the filth of her blood and sweat. She collapsed into his body, for what little slack the chains gave her. Pressing gentle fingers to the base of her spines, he massaged her neck, earning an exasperated choke from her.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked in the smallest voice he could muster.

Chimera’s eyes widened, manic and fearful though her body remained defeated and limp. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck. “The same. Always the same...” she sobbed.

He constricted her body, desperate to hold her pieces in place. “Where are you?”

Chimera grit her teeth, “It’s all red. All red and flesh and fog. She’s watching me again. But her hands are around me... I can feel her nails-” she heaved into a wailing bob back and forth, Titan pressing her to his chest.

It was routine for him, holding her, talking her through her delusions. It was the same story each time but progressively getting worse, an assault he couldn’t stop. A nightmare he couldn’t end. At first he thought Chimera simply had many peculiar fears here and there, bad dreams and the like as everyone does. But when her tough facade melted away into pure terror, screaming into the morning because she thought the hand reaching from her throat was real, Titan couldn’t pretend it was nothing. He wished it was nothing.

He loathed to be helpless when he shook her awake, failing to convince her she was safe. How the paralysis of sleep and fear would take her - how his very touch would send shock waves up her spine and out her maw as whines for help. How he was a sailor lost in the midst of her storms, throwing him wave after wave into her darkness. Drowning always inevitable. But the sun would rise and she would be there, resting on the railing of their sinking ship. She’d be pale in his nightmares. Dead. But he would hold her, tell her she was really alive and really there with him. The dark would come and swallow them whole. A story he knew the end to. He’d wake up and in a mad scramble would find Chimera sleeping restlessly in the guest room, tangled in ripped sheets. He’d breathe and slide down the door frame. Content. A moment of relief betrayed by continued suffering.

Titan was her rock though crumbling.

In all their years together, she could only cope with his hands stroking the whole of her back as the terrors would keep her up at night and plague her throughout the day with visions she couldn’t understand nor ones he could ease away. Chimera was always her strongest out in the city where she put on a brave face that day after day cracked slowly, along fault lines that he knew too well - the pinches to her forehead, the distant look in her eyes, the smile that was painfully fake. She tried her best to avoid being a burden though Titan would never consider her as such. It was hard to convince her that this nightmare was his own as well, something he chose to participate in, something he wanted to help heal. She’d look at him like a bug to flick away but like a tick he stuck to her side, sharing in the cursed blood. The gods awful nights and tortured days. The unholy body in alien skin.

Often Titan’s thoughts looped back to Sorrow, the vile witch they visited years ago for some semblance of an answer. It was said she knew everything. Foolish of them to think they would get a straight answer from a creature who delighted in the plights of dragons. The snowy, angelic imperial whose divine body was draped in silk and stars smugly sneered, a soft hand trailing down her own neck to chest, indulging in the deliciousness of their desperation.

“The gods certainly like to choose their favorites, don’t they? How cruel of them,” she laughed sweetly, predatory evil behind cold alabaster eyes.

It was hardly an answer but answer enough. Chimera was a victim of divinity, an ant under a magnifying glass. But what solution they could muster would elude them.

It would break them.

And now sits Chimera, kneeling under a shadow of death, oblivious to the world around her except the all consuming thoughts worming holes in her mind since childhood. Squirming like maggots in a wound, hungry to burrow and fester, their chafing claws scratched at her ears, throbbing rustling heartbeats haunted her sleep and peeled away her resolve. She’d pick at them like dead skin, indulging in habits that would only give her seconds of relief. A fight here. A fight there. Hours of physical training. Her mood was always electric and frenzied, focused on the next thing that would distract her. The worms hollowed the space just under her skin, slithering like plump veins in sickening patterns only she could see. Scratching. Wriggling. Squirming.

Titan often had his aristocratic duties and she knew that’d she’d have to cope alone, avoided by neighboring dragons too fearful or annoyed at the ridgeback who stalked the streets with a fervor that danced on the edge of violence. She suffered in silence, other than her wails that verbalized at the cusp of dawn in the arms of her friend who forced her to share his home, worried what such terrors would make her do. What they did make her do.

The grand library was dead silent. Dark. Titan's feet froze on the cold marble floor that could not be a more obvious sign to leave. She’s gone, he thought briefly - unwillingly - and shook his head. No. No. He can help her. She’s here and he’ll help her.

He found her deep in the basement of the library, surrounded by books meant to be locked up now lay open faced, ghostly runes visibly tearing themselves from the pages. Screaming wails from nowhere bounced off the walls as Chimera sat in the middle of a magic circle, muttering a language not even the Shade knew, lost in thought. Possessed. He yelled to her, held back by an invisible force of her own creation and she turned, face wet and screaming, desperate to end her torment. While an ancient tongue left her lips, she mouthed, help me.

Please.

Titan, filled with a fury and desperation that puppeteered his movements, tore through the magic barrier with a feral violence masked by the ghostly paleness of his face: a visible trace of doubt should he fail.

Why couldn’t he be here sooner.

He pulled her away from the cursed tomes but not without a fight as she flailed, child-like and dangerous, claws narrowly digging into the scruff of his throat. In this effort he forgot how strong she truly was, tangling themselves in a heap of limbs. In a last attempt to summon some gods’ forsaken horror, Chimera flew to a book, screeching its words like a siren until Titan grabbed her by face, tearing her away along with a vibrant strip of flesh from chin to eyebrow. Reeling back in pain and blinded by blood, she collapsed, pooled in sweat and sobs as she held her cheek, crying for it all to end, for the maggots in her brain to cease their chatter. Her back arched and she tore at her scales as if covered in ants, rolling along the cool floor to disperse the heat in her muscles. Titan loomed over her, hands unsure what to hold, how to touch. It was a piercing self awareness of his vulnerability in that moment. He heard yelling from above, likely guards posted outside. Chimera kept screaming, scratching, panting, crying. He shakily stared at his paws, fur now sticky with sweat and blood and grime. He wiped his hands in frantic motions, desperate to clean himself of the viscera he drew but it only smeared and matted his fur in pungent red. It was all wrong. Everything was wrong. He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know what to do.

He was beside her again now, no more confident than before but he could hide that, for now. His arms wrapped around her shoulders as she wailed, biting into his flesh, drawing crimson over his sunset fur. The pain was dull and fleeting while his thoughts were scattered and distant in the love he wished was enough. Her ribs cracked as she heaved in coughing fits, delicate and ready to burst. He wanted the floor to fall away, enveloping them in a comforting darkness - a place of attractive nothingness. He wished for a lot of things in that moment.

His tailed tightened, python-tight and unwillingly to let go. The torn flesh cutting across her eye festered, swollen and red. He forced himself to keep from turning away. You did that. Her sobs slowed and she was coming back to the present, away from the pit of worms who for now would slumber, buried deep under her skin, ghosts pricking their nails in anticipation against her bones. He stared at the chains bolted to the wall. Brittle.

“Chimera?”

She hung her head. Resigned.

“I want you to run.”

#I wanted to cry writing this #chimera and titan's relationship is so important to me and ugh #slam dunks my feelings into a trashcan #anyway I like commas can you tell #chimera #titan #fr lore #flight rising #trauma #blood #maggots #my art #tundra #ridgeback

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celestialvoid-fanfiction · 4 years

Text

The Broken Spirit

Five years ago, Stiles Stilinski went missing. Derek’s pack find him in the basement of an abandoned bank, but he’s not the same kid he was when he disappeared.

For @originfire

[AO3]

He lay on the cold stone floor, curled up in a ball.

He drew in shaky breaths, his body trembling as the icy chill of the darkness seeped into his veins.

His lips quivered as another wave of tears welled in his eyes.

The stone walls rose around him. There were no windows, no light. The only way in and out of the room was the heavy vault door that locked from the outside.

His stomach had stopped growling, replaced by an unending ache.

The heavy iron shackle that was clamped onto his legs tore at his pale skin, leaving angry red welts, weeping blisters and streams of blood across his skin.

He didn’t know how long he had been there—days, weeks, months—but he had long given up any hope of being rescued; he’d given up any chance of ever getting out of there.

His eyes grew heavy, his body weakening.

He blinked his eyes open, watching as the shadows began to warp and morph around an emerging figure.

A creature pulled itself forward out of the darkness. Their body was gaunt, the ridges of their ribs standing out against their grey flesh. Their legs were nothing more than bone draped in ashy grey skin. Their head was shrouded by a deer skull, the ivory bone cracked and aged. Streams of black ran through the cracks in the bone like veins of ink. Black antlers rose from the creature’s head. Beneath the jaw of the skull, the monster’s mouth hung open, exposing sharp teeth and rotting flesh. Its heavy breaths rolled through the enclosed space like a howling wind.

Stiles held his breath, hoping the creature wouldn’t see him. Tears rolled down his cheeks, clearing away trails through the dust and grime that covered his face.

The creature stalked forward, talon like nails scratching at the marble floors. The creature towered over him, hunched over and resting its weight on its front legs. It leant forward, bringing its face closer to Stiles’.

Beneath the hollowed eye sockets of the skull, Stiles could make out the marbled white eyes of the wendigo.

Stiles held his hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking as he cried.

Give in, child.

The creature’s words rang in his head, its deep and gravelly voice leaving chills clawing at Stiles’ spine.

Stiles’ drew in a sharp breath as tears streamed down his face, blurring the image of the creature. Teardrops fell against the dusty stone floor, shattering like glass.

Give in and it will all be over.

No more pain…

No more suffering...

Just let go.

Stiles let out a broken sob. He shut his eyes, feeling his body weaken as he surrendered.

The creature charged at him, tearing through his body.

There was a deafening rush of air. Ice flooded his veins, knocking the air from his lungs and leaving him breathless.

He collapsed on the ground, shaking violently.

He fell still, his eyes falling shut as he fell into the abyss.

The next thing he remembered was the sound of the vault door screeching as the metal bars slid back, the heavy door groaning as it opened.

Footsteps echoed across the stone floor.

Stiles opened his eyes, his dark irises fading to a marbled white as he looked up at the man.

The alpha’s eyes lit up red and the corners of Deucalion’s mouth turned upwards in a wicked smile.

“Good.”

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

Derek stepped into the abandoned mall.

Bright halogen lights – the kind used in construction – stood on tall stands in a circle around him. The glaring lights were pointed at him, making Derek strain to see what lay beyond them in the shadows.

The smallest sounds seemed to reverberate off the walls around him, quiet voices echoing in the darkness.

Derek squinted against the light, trying to make out the shapes among the shadows. He could see a large walkway overhead, an old railing running along the edge of it—some of the glass panels smashed in and other stained with dirt and grime or covered in graffiti.

The air was stale and dusty, plumes of dust stirred—the particles dancing about in the bright light of the halogens and the silvery moonlight that bled through the dusty skylight overhead.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Scott muttered under his breath as he looked around.

“So do I,” Derek admitted.

Boyd, Erica and Isaac stepped up behind them, turning as their eyes scanned the shadows.

“Hello, Derek,” the man’s smooth voice rang out through the darkness.

Derek turned to see Deucalion standing at the top of the broken escalators, a pair of blacked-out glasses over his unseeing grey eyes and a cane in his hands.

“I’m so glad you came,” Deucalion said, a hint of mockery and insincerity in his voice.

“Why did you ask me here?”

“I come with an offer,” Deucalion told him. “Join my pack or I’ll kill you and your pack.”

“That’s not an offer, that’s an ultimatum,” Derek corrected.

Deucalion’s expression soured.

“Make your choice, Derek,” he said—or rather, warned—his voice deep and threatening.

Beside him, a young woman stepped out of the shadows beside the still escalator. Her lips curled back in a snarl, exposing her sharpened teeth. She flexed her hands, balling her hands into fists before unfurling them again to expose her jagged claws. Her long straight hair hung loose around her shoulders. She wore a loose shirt and a pair of leggings, standing barefoot among the rubble and glass that covered the floor.

Kali.

Behind them, a man made his way up the stairs of the broken escalator that led to the floor below. He was tall and strongly built, with a square jaw and cold clear eyes. His hair had been shaved off. As he stepped into the edge of the light, his eyes lit up red.

Ennis.

From the balcony overhead, two teenagers leapt down, landing on their feet.

Scott turned, watching as their bodied melded together, morphing into a singular towering figure. The alpha had a seam running down the middle of their body like a scar. Their eyes lit up with a crimson glow as they roared.

“I guess we’ll have to make the decision easier for you,” Deucalion said.

He glanced in Kali’s direction and nodded subtly.

Her howl rolled through the darkness as she sprinted at Derek.

Derek braced himself, catching her arms before she could land a blow and tipping her off balance. He tossed her aside, digging his feet into the dusty floor as he faced off against her.

She charged at him again, slashing at him with her jagged claws. She swung her leg, slamming her foot into Derek’s gut and knocking him back.

Scott and Isaac glanced at each other before charging the Alpha twins.

They grabbed Isaac by the front of his shirt and threw him to the floor, quickly deflecting Scott’s attack. He threw Scott back against the nearby wall.

Scott’s back collided with the concrete with enough force to send cracks across the wall like fissures on ice. He collapsed to the floor with a painful thud, letting out a weak groan as he pushed himself up onto his hands and knees.

He didn’t get time to recover.

The Alpha was on him in seconds, slamming their foot into Scott’s stomach and dropping him to the floor again.

Boyd and Erica turned their attention to Ennis.

Erica lunged at him, slashing at him with her claws.

Ennis grabbed her arm, holding it up as he dug his claws into her ribs and tore open her side. He knocked her feet out from under her, twisting her arm behind her back.

Boyd threw himself into Ennis with enough force to make the alpha let go of Erica’s arm.

Ennis recovered quickly, blocking Boyd’s attacks and knocking the teen to the ground.

Ennis grabbed Erica by the front of her shirt, hurling her across the floor. He hauled Boyd to his feet, wrapping his arm around Boyd’s throat in a headlock as he held him still.

Kali stepped over to their side. She swung her leg out in a roundhouse kick, landing a blow to the side of Boyd’s face. Her claws tore through his cheek.

Ennis let go, letting the teen’s body fall to the ground.

Kali stepped over to Erica and pinned her down, digging her talon-like toes into the girl’s throat.

The Alpha twins dragged Scott and Isaac across the floor, making them kneel as they held their claws to the napes of their necks.

Derek froze, looking around at his pack.

Erica struggled beneath Kali’s foot.

Boyd pushed himself onto his elbows, blood dripping from his mouth and streaming from the gashes across his cheek.

“Kill him,” Deucalion ordered, his level voice ringing out through the darkness. “And the others can go.”

Derek looked from Deucalion to Boyd.

Boyd looked back at him, his yellow eyes wide with fear.

“You’re beaten,” Deucalion said, a hint of pride in his voice. He sauntered down the still escalator. “Do it. Take the first step.”

“Are we serious with this kid?” Kali asked. “Look at him. He’s an alpha—to what, a couple of useless teenagers?”

“Some have more potential than others,” Deucalion mused.

“Let him rise to the occasion then,” Kali sneered. “What will it be, Derek?”

Derek looked to Boyd, his eyes wide and full of pain. He was torn.

A sharp whistle broke the silence.

Derek dropped to the ground as an incendiary arrow struck the Alpha twins, bursting into flames and tearing the two apart.

Scott, Isaac and Boyd dropped their heads, shielding their eyes from the bright sparks. Erica squeezed her eyes shut as another arrow struck the ground beside her, igniting into bright white flames and a spray of sparks.

Kali screamed as she staggered back, shielding her face.

“Cover your eyes!” Deucalion bellowed, but he was too late.

Another arrow struck Ennis, knocking him back.

Erica leapt to her feet, swinging her leg and roundhouse kicking Kali. The heel of her boot stuck the alpha’s jaw with a sickening crack, knocking her to the ground.

A figure stepped closer to the railing of the higher level, the light illuminating Allison’s face as she raised her bow and fired another arrow; a normal arrow that pierced Ennis’s chest.

The alpha fell back against the ground with a blood curdling howl.

Isaac sprinted to Boyd’s side, helping him to his feet.

“It’s over, Deucalion,” Derek said, turning to face the man.

“No quite,” Deucalion replied, his voice low. The corner of his lips curled up in a smug smirk.

Derek’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to ask something when the sound of claws dragging across the tiles reached his ears.

He turned, looking at the shadows.

He watched as a figure emerged; tall but gaunt, towering over them. The creature was hunched forward, resting their weight against their front arms. Their face was shrouded by an aged deer skull and black antlers rose from the creature’s head. Beneath the jaw of the skull, the monster’s mouth hung open, exposing sharp teeth and rotting flesh.

The creature stalked forward, talon like nails scratching at the marble floors.

Derek’s eyes widened, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He turned to Isaac, who held Boyd up. “Get him out of here!”

Isaac nodded, half-carrying, half-dragging, Boyd out of the mall.

He looked around.

The Alpha pack were gone.

He dug his feet into the ground.

Scott backed up to Derek’s side.

“What the hell is that?” Scott asked, his voice breaking as he stared at the creature.

“A wendigo,” Derek answered.

“What do we do?” Erica asked, joining them.

“Nothing,” Derek said.

“What?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” Derek explained. “Wendigos are stronger and faster than we are. If we run, it’ll hunt us down.”

“Derek?” Allison called from the higher level.

“Allison, you and Erica get out of here,” Derek instructed. “Slowly. Scott and I will keep its focus.”

“Derek…” Erica started.

Derek turned to look at her, his pale aventurine eyes softening as he said, “Go.”

She backed away slowly.

Derek took a step closer to the wendigo, catching its attention.

Scott did the same. “Why hasn’t it attacked us?”

“I don’t know,” Derek replied.

The creature stalked forward, tilting its head as it looked at Derek. Its marbled white eyes stared at the man.

The wendigo reached forward to the exposed concrete before Derek’s feet. It dug its claws into the floor, drawing what looked like four arrows pointing inwards.

Derek looked down at the ground, his brow furrowed in confusion.

The wendigo opened its mouth.

“Help me,” the creature said, mimicking a familiar voice.

Derek froze, his blood turning to ice in his veins as tears pricked at his eyes.

“Cora.”

The name fell past his lips in a breathless whisper.

The wendigo looked down at the insignia on the floor and back up at Derek.

Derek met their gaze.

The creature opened its mouth, letting out a blood-curdling screech.

Derek and Scott dropped to the floor, covering their ears.

When the ringing in their ears died away, they opened their eyes.

The creature was gone, leaving only the symbol on the floor.

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

Derek didn’t sleep. He stood hunched over his desk, surrounded by piles of old hardcover books, leather bound journals and other books that looked like antiques, all bound in magnificent colours of scarlet, burgundy, deep green, gold, and grey. The spines of the books were decorated by gold or silver lettering that read the titles, adorned with small metal studs and a few were even fastened with small hinges that looked to be made of brass or silver.

He turned through the wrinkled brown pages that had been thumbed smooth with reading, searching through pages of runes for something that looked like the symbol the wendigo had drawn, but to no avail.

He grew more and more frustrated, feeling desperate and helpless.

He glanced up, looking to where Boyd sat on the couch. Erica carefully cleaned and redressed the gashes across his face and chest.

The back of her shirt hung low with strings of fabric criss-crossing across her back, low enough that you could see the blood-soaked bandages that covered her ribs.

Injuries inflicted by an alpha took longer to heal.

He had to put an end to this. He couldn’t put his pack in danger again; he couldn’t let the Alpha pack hurt them again.

He let out a frustrated sigh, slumping down in his desk chair.

“Anything?” Isaac asked, stepping over to Derek’s side.

Derek looked up.

Erica and Boyd were also looking at him, hoping for good news.

“Nothing,” Derek said, dropping his gaze.

“Maybe you should take a break,” Erica suggested.

“I can’t,” Derek replied. “Not until I have answers.”

“Maybe try Googling it?” Boyd suggested.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Isaac tried to hide his smirk as he picked up Derek’s laptop. He opened it, taking a photo of the symbol and running it through a search engine.

A match showed up.

Beacon Hills First National Bank.

Derek sat upright, opening the web page for the old bank.

“That’s it,” Isaac said, trying to hide the hint of excitement and pride in his voice.

“The symbol is the logo of the old bank,” Derek announced.

“The old bank?” Scott said. “The one that supposedly closed because it was haunted?”

“Yes, that one. And I’m sure that the fact it was robbed had nothing to do with it closing down,” Derek replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Do you think the rumours of the bank being haunted had anything to do with the wendigo?” Boyd asked.

“It’s possible,” Derek answered. “Regardless, it’s a lead I’m going to follow up.”

“We’re coming with you,” Boyd said, wincing as he pushed himself upright.

“No,” Derek said firmly. “If the Deucalion and his pack are there, you’re in no condition to fight them.”

“Or they could be waiting for you to leave so that they can kill us while you’re gone,” Boyd argued.

Derek opened his mouth to argue, but his words died in his throat. Boyd was right.

“Alright,” Derek begrudgingly agreed. “But I want you all to hang back until I know for sure if it’s a trap or not.”

“Okay,” the pack agreed in unison.

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

The building stood tall among the abandoned buildings on the far side of town, the streets left eerily quiet. The marble pillars either side of the front door were carved with elegant shields and filigree. The glass doors were still intact; the gold printing of the bank’s logo and the bold lettering of ‘BEACON HILLS FIRST NATIONAL BANK’ still clung to the dust glass, chipping away slightly. The glass doors had been walled up with cardboard and old brown paper that had withered with time; torn and falling away from the door.

Derek stepped up to the door, glancing into the dark building.

Allison stepped over to his side, notching an arrow as she glanced through the torn brown paper of the other door.

“Looks clear,” she whispered.

He motioned for the rest of the pack to hang back before gently pushing open the door.

Allison slid into the building and Derek followed, letting the door shut silently behind him

The rest of the building was in ruin; the tables were overturned and sheets of paper were scattered across the floors. One of the large chandelier-like lights had fallen to the floor, the chain rusted and the light bulbs shattered, scattering glass across the floor. There was a layer of dust over everything, disturbed by a few footprints.

The mezzanines that ran along the sides of the large building seemed to be intact, leading up to two large vaults—the one on the left hung open but the one on the right was locked shut. A third vault was behind what used to be the teller’s desks.

The building was silent.

Derek motioned for the pack to join them.

He looked at Scott and Allison. “Check the second floor.”

They nodded, making their way over to the staircase to their left that led up to the mezzanine.

The pack searched the old storage rooms, the file cabinets coated in dust and the smell of mould and musk hanging heavy in the air.

Scott made his way to the vault on the far right side of the bank. Loud screech rang out through the old building, echoing in the shadows, as Scott pulled the heavy vaults back. He hauled the door open.

A moment later, he let out a startled cry as he was thrown back against the railing.

A figure darted out of the vault, sprinting across the mezzanine and down the stairs.

Derek ran to her side, catching her before she could reach the door.

“Let me go!” she yelled, thrashing about.

“Cora, it’s okay,” Derek said, gently shushing her as he bundled her up in his arms. “We’re not going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

The girl stilled, slowly turning to look at him.

“Derek?” she whispered breathlessly, his name falling past her lips.

Derek reached out, gently brushing a strand of her dark hair back from her face, tucking it behind her ear. He offered her a soft smile.

Cora let out a sigh of relief, wrapping her arms around her brother and holding on tight.

Derek let out a breathless sigh, resting his face atop her head as he hugged his sister back.

“I thought I’d lost you,” Derek whispered, fighting back his tears.

Cora pulled back slightly. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Derek asked, craning his neck slightly to look his sister in the eye.

“The other one,” Cora replied, her voice quiet as she looked around the dark building.

There was a loud screech as Boyd hauled open the heavy vault door downstairs.

“Oh my god,” the beta muttered under his voice, frozen in place. He turned his head slightly, keeping his eyes forward as he called over his shoulder. “Derek.”

Derek turned. He glanced at Erica who nodded, stepping over to Cora’s side.

He made his way through the rubble and over to Boyd’s side. His heart began to beat faster when he saw the look on his beta’s face.

He looked into the vault, his heart dropping into his gut. His breath caught in his throat, his heartbeat hammering in his ears as he stared in horror.

He leapt over the threshold and rushed over to the body that lay curled up on the cold stone floor.

He carefully rolled him over, watching as his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

He let out a sigh of relief, carefully manoeuvring the unconscious teen and lifting him.

“What is it?” Allison asked as she and Scott made their way downstairs and over to the vault door.

Derek stepped out of the vault, the frail unconscious body bundled up in his arms.

His face was turned in to Derek’s chest, but they knew who it is. They saw the moles that were scattered across his pale skin. His dark hair was a tousled, unkempt mess and his face was gaunt, but it was him.

“It’s Stiles,” Derek said.

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

Derek stood in the hallway, leaning back against the thin piece of wall between the doors to Cora’s room and Stiles’. Cora sat up in her bed, talking to a young police officer – Parrish – who was taking her statement. She shifted nervously, glancing at Derek for reassurance or screwing up her face at the discomfort of the IV in her arm.

Derek turned his head the other way.

Stiles still hadn’t woken up, his frail body laying still. The crisp white hospital sheets made his already fair skin look deathly pale. He too had an IV in his arm as well as a heart monitor that beeped wit the steady rhythm of his heart.

The Sheriff had rushed to the hospital, sitting by his son’s side for as long as he could before he was called away, his face torn and pained as he pulled himself away. Derek had promised to stay with him and to call the Sheriff if anything changed.

“Do you think one of them is the wendigo?” Scott asked, keeping his voice low enough that only Derek would hear him.

Derek nodded.

“How do you even become a wendigo?”

“A wendigo is believed to be an evil spirit. A human becomes a wendigo after their spirit is corrupted by greed or weakened by extreme conditions, such as hunger and cold. In some versions of the legends, humans become wendigos when possessed by a wandering spirit during a moment of weakness.”

“And you think that happened to Stiles?”

“Stiles is stubborn and resilient,” Derek said. “He’s a fighter. But there’s only so much a human can take.”

“But when the wendigo spoke, you said it sounded like Cora,” Scott argued.

“Yes, but wendigos don’t speak; they mimic,” Derek explained.

“You think it’s Stiles?” Scott asked, his voice still edged with disbelief.

Derek nodded.

The idea didn’t sit easy with Scott, but there was no point in arguing it.

Parrish came out of Cora’s room.

Derek pushed himself off the wall, straightening up.

“I have to head back to the station for a little while to write up this report,” Parrish said. “Please call me as soon as Stiles wakes up or if your sister remembers anything else that she’d like to add to her statement.”

Derek nodded.

“Can I sit with him?” Cora asked, standing a few steps back from the doorway.

Parrish offered her a friendly smile. “I don’t see why not.”

He turned to Derek, gently patting his arm before heading down the hallway to the elevator.

Cora shuffled towards the door, wheeling her IV stand forward.

“Come on,” Derek said, stepping back from the door and nodding towards Stiles’ room.

She shuffled into the room and sat down in the seat next to the bed.

“Erica and Boyd are still downstairs,” Scott told Derek. “Alpha wounds take longer to heal and my mum wanted to make sure they’re okay. Isaac’s gone with Allison to see if Chris knows anything more about wendigos or the Alpha pack.”

Derek nodded.

“I’m going to check in on Boyd and Erica.”

“Alright,” Derek said quietly, not taking his eyes off Stiles. “Keep me updated.”

Scott nodded, glancing at Stiles one last time before heading down the hallway to the elevators.

Derek stepped into the room, pulling the other chair over to the side of the bed and sitting with his sister.

Derek let his mind wander, time drifting away as he looked at Stiles’ pale face.

Stiles’ eyes flew open, wide and alert as he bolted upright in the bed.

“It’s okay,” Derek said softly, rising from his chair and gently holding Stiles by his shoulders as he tried to reassure him. “You’re safe.”

Stiles stared across the room, not looking at Derek as he said, “They’re here.”

Derek’s heart dropped, his body tensing. He stepped back from Stiles, looking towards the door.

“Stay here,” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he edged towards the hallway.

“I want to help,” Cora insisted. “I can fight.”

“You want to help? Stay here and protect him,” Derek ordered.

He stepped out into the hallway, the LED lights flickering overhead. The hallway was eerily quiet; the staff had disappeared into rooms to care for patients, leaving only Derek.

The elevator let out a quiet ding and the doors opened.

Deucalion stood proud in the elevator. A smug smirk turned up the corner of his lips as he stepped into the hallway.

“It’s good to see you again, Derek,” he greeted, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he made his way down the hallway.

Derek glared at him, his eyes flickering with a crimson glow as he faced off against the alpha. He balled his hands into fists by his side, flexing his fingers and exposing his jagged claws.

“It’s over, Deucalion.”

“Is that what you think?” Deucalion said, turning his head slightly and looking past Derek.

Derek turned.

Stiles stood behind him, his face void of any emotion. His dark eyes faded to a marbled white. His jaw twisted, revealing rows of jagged teeth as he half-shifted.

“You see, Derek,” Deucalion started slowly. “I’m his alpha. I control him.”

Stiles stalked forward, his gaze locked on Deucalion. His body began to morph, growing tall and gaunt. The shadows crept forward around his face, melding together in the shape of a deer skull before receding into the cracks and leaving the ivory bone over Stiles’ face. His body arched forward, resting his weight against their front arms, his talon like nails scratching at the linoleum floors.

Derek tensed, ready to fight.

The wendigo walked past him, dragging themself towards Deucalion. They paused for a moment, bracing themself before lunching forward, sprinting – full speed – down the hallway at the alpha. Their claws tore at the linoleum and the plastered walls, leaving gashes like open wounds as they moved too fast for either alpha to react.

The wendigo threw Deucalion back against the wall, towering over him. Their bloodied mouth hung wide open as they leant in close to Deucalion’s face and let out a deafening screech.

Derek and Cora covered their ears, dropping to the floor as they winced in pain.

The wendigo drew back, slowly morphing back into Stiles’ slender form. His eyes were still white, but his body was tense and his face was livid with rage.

“You are not my alpha,” Stiles said with finality, his voice low and firm. “You do not control me.”

Deucalion’s composure fractured slightly, glimpses of fear showing through.

“This is not your territory,” Stiles said. “Leave now, and don’t ever come back.”

Deucalion opened his mouth for a second to argue, but Stiles cut him off.

“I have your scent—and if you threaten my friends again, I will hunt you down and tear you limb from limb,” he warned. “Now, I suggest you leave, before I change my mind and kill you now.”

Stiles stepped back, holding his head defiantly as he watched Deucalion stumble backwards into the elevator, his hands shaking as he pressed the button.

He waited until the doors closed before letting the white fade from his eyes, his dark irises returning to their natural hue as he turned to look at Derek.

Derek looked back at him, equally stunned and relieved.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked somewhat hesitantly.

“I’m fine,” Stiles said nonchalantly. “A little tired, to be honest. But other than that, I’m fine.”

“You can control it?”

“Mostly,” Stiles replied. “It gets a little hard sometimes, but for the most part I’m in control.”

“What about the blood lust?” Derek asked.

“I’ve been friends with Scott since I was four years old, I learnt many years ago how to resist the urge to kill someone,” Stiles answered, making his way over to their side.

Derek let out a low chuckle.

“As for the craving flesh part, I’ll eat a raw steak every once in a while—probably on a night when my dad’s not home, otherwise I might freak him out,” Stiles mused. “And if the wendigo doesn’t like that, it’s more than welcome to leave.”

Derek couldn’t help but smile, looking at Stiles in wonder; if anyone could defy an alpha and tame a wendigo, of course it was Stiles.

141 notes · View notes

himikiyo · 3 years

Text

in saecula saeculorum // himikiyo week day 3

Himikiyo Week Day 3: Vice + Virtue

"If you’re so against the idea of people getting hurt, you should have thought twice before summoning a demon."

Read on AO3, DRA, or under the cut.

Demons did not exist in the modern world. That was common sense, accepted by nearly everyone save fringe conspiracy theorists and fanatics of all types. Those who would believe in something so patently unscientific, so laughable, would be deemed worthy of ridicule themselves. There was no use for the supernatural when humans had triumphed over the natural world itself.

That was the party line, anyway. It was taught to children in schools, passed on in social interactions and media. Even those curious enough to seek out old tomes and uncover the stories within were motivated to dismiss them as legends. Stories of such things were fascinating, but they were from a less educated time. When people didn’t understand the world around them, they were motivated to devise stories of evil beings to explain their misfortunes.

None of it was real. Humanity’s biggest danger was itself.

Locked in a dusty church basement, one girl felt differently.

“Angie hopes you find the answers you seek, Himiko-chan! Remember though, Kami-sama might just smite you down if you aren’t careful! Even as powerful as he is, he doesn’t take threats lightly.” Setting down a small stack of books and clapping her hands together to brush off the dust, Angie took a step back towards the door. “Oh, and lock up when you’re done, okay? Technically Angie isn’t supposed to leave anyone alone here.”

“Yeah, got it. I’ll be sure to take care of everything.”

“In that case, good night!”

Just like that, she was gone. Himiko stayed where she was and waited until the patter of Angie’s footsteps faded out entirely, leaving only silence behind. It was a little creepy alone in a church at night, she had to admit. Best friend or not, Angie’s religious devotion was unnerving even in the daylight. Himiko was more interested in other aspects of the arcane. Things that wouldn’t be taken so lightly if discovered. For the experiments she wanted to perform, the church basement was safer than her apartment in more ways than one.

Summoning a demon was risky at best.

She already had the proper page marked. The candles were lit. The offerings were nearly ready. The demon — whose name in the book was an illegible scrawl, written in a language Himiko had never seen before — would appear or they wouldn’t. Her years of study had convinced her that these creatures were out there, lurking beyond the boundaries of normal human perception, but if she was wrong, this would be the time for that to be proven too.

Her hand trembled as she flicked the light switch off, plunging the room into dim candlelight.

The shakiness made it more difficult to draw blood, scarlet droplets scattering onto the page she was reading from as much as into the bowl they were meant for.

This was an academic experiment, yes, but it was a deeper part of her that would be devastated if it failed. A part of her that thought someone non-human might provide the kind of companionship and understanding she’d always lacked. Angie was sweet, but she couldn’t honestly say they saw eye to eye.

She carried on with the ritual, occasionally glancing around the darkened room to look for any changes. Nothing.

“Maybe...this isn’t going to work,” Himiko said softly to herself, gaze dropping to her own bloodied arm. “Maybe everyone’s right. If demons exist, we don’t really know how to summon them. Not anymore. They aren’t coming.”

Visually, not a single thing changed after she said that. She was alone. From the emptiness, though, an unknown voice made itself heard.

“Not coming? But I am already here. You humans really are blind.” A whispery chuckle followed those words, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

“What? Who said that?” She turned, fumbling for the lights.

“Yumeno Himiko, I have answered your call. It’s been many years since a mortal last pulled me from the depths, but I am, as always, delighted to serve.” Though the voice was disembodied, not providing any visual clues to help her, she could clearly imagine an evil, toothy grin, like a monster waiting for its prey.

Ignoring the stinging pain still shooting up her arm from the ceremonial cut, she finally slammed her hand against the light switch, bathing the room in brightness. The sudden change made her eyes water, but even before she adjusted, she could tell it did nothing to illuminate her new companion’s location.

“Further introductions are in order, aren’t they?” the voice continued. “Demons’ true names tend to be a struggle for such limited creatures to pronounce, so I took the liberty of selecting a human name for myself a few centuries ago. I am Shinguuji Korekiyo.”

Taking a few steps over to the counter, Himiko grabbed the bandage she’d prepared and pressed it to her arm.

“Um, that’s nice, but...would you mind being...visible, Shinguuji-sama?” she asked meekly, being as polite and deferental as she possibly could. It was beginning to occur to her that she might be in over her head.

“Ah. Yes.” Just like that, she was suddenly aware of a presence behind her. Before she could turn to look, she could feel something brushing against the back of her neck. Someone’s nails? They felt sharper than that though, more like claws. A shiver running down her spine, Himiko tensed, feeling unnaturally warm fingertips graze along her pulse point. The heat wasn’t only coming from their hand though. It seemed to radiate from their entire body, like she was standing in front of a fire. Like if she leaned just a little closer, it might devour her.

After a moment, the hand retreated. She turned, and in the half second it took, they were no longer right behind her. Instead, she saw a figure leaning almost lazily against the opposite wall. For the most part, they appeared human. Lanky and incredibly tall, the way they held themself betrayed strength far beyond what their build might suggest. The mask covering most of their face made it impossible to know whether the smile she imagined was truly present, but the sparkle in their eyes suggested it might well be.

“Thank...you...” she croaked, not wanting to say anything that might make this demon — because yes, it was abundantly clear they were one, appearances aside — upset with her.

“Humans can be broken so easily,” Shinguuji mused. “Both physically and mentally. I’d almost forgotten how entertaining it is. Now, tell me, what is it you summoned me for?”

“To prove I could, I guess. That was part of it, anyway. And to learn from you. Studying magic on my own isn’t the same as having a master. And the third reason, I guess, is just...companionship.” Arm nicely wrapped now, she had no excuse to look anywhere but at them, though her face was burning with embarrassment.

“Study? Well, perhaps you’re smarter than you seem choosing me then. I’m partial to research myself. I do hope we can have some fun outside the classroom too, however.” Himiko knew without a doubt then, mask or not. They were definitely grinning, almost leering.

“What kind of fun do you mean?”

Moving closer again, they replied, “Shall we kill together? There must be people you want gone, yes? I can make quick work of them.”

That sent a chill down her spine, canceling out the pleasant remnants of warmth almost immediately. She was no idiot, of course. She understood that demons were violent by nature. But she didn’t call them for anything like that. They...couldn’t insist that she help them get that kind of ‘fun,’ could they?

“What? No. I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she said, pretending she couldn’t hear her own voice shaking. “Sure, there’s people I don’t get along with, but killing? And...besides, should you really be saying things like that in a church?” Himiko didn’t believe, especially not in Angie’s god, but it seemed as good an excuse as any.

“I don’t fear gods,” Shinguuji said dismissively. “They have no power over me. If you’re so against the idea of people getting hurt, you should have thought twice before summoning a demon. My kind isn’t meant to linger in the mortal world for long without reason, and it’s been so many years since I was last given a chance to...sate my appetite.”

“No, we can’t,” she repeated. She could hear the glee in their voice, like they were enjoying not only the prospect of murder, but the experience of winding her up over it. She was probably giving them exactly what they wanted, but she couldn’t help it.

“Well, if you’re so steadfast in your beliefs...I could always kill you instead, yes? We signed no formal contract. I’m under no obligation to keep you safe.”

In that moment, she was acutely aware of everything around her. The occasional flicker and buzz of the fluorescent lights, the musty basement smell of the air, and more than anything, the imposing presence across from her. If they really wanted to kill her, there would be nothing stopping them. But they were just watching her — beautiful, dangerous, and all too satisfied with themself.

Shinguuji laughed, closing the remaining distance between them. A hand cupped her chin, gently guiding her to meet their eyes. They were a brighter, more intense amber than she’d ever seen in a human being.

“Flattering me to keep yourself alive? Well well, that’s one way to go about it. I’m pleased to hear that you find me so beautiful.”

“I didn’t say that!” Their grip, if it could even be called that, was exceedingly light. It wouldn’t be remotely difficult to pull away and avert her eyes, but she didn’t. She was captivated.

“You didn’t need to. You thought about it. So then, what will it be? I have no real need to kill you, not when I can gain energy from you in other ways. And you’re so entertaining besides. If you’d simply allow me to possess you, you would have access to power beyond your wildest dreams.”

“And what’s the catch? There’s no way something that lets you...feed on my energy doesn’t have any negatives.” She chose not to comment on just how close they were now. The warmth of a lithe, not quite human body pressed against her own was oddly comforting.

“There is no catch. However, if it would make you feel better, I’d be willing to write up a formal contract.”

“I’ll look at it then,” she said grudgingly, one of her own arms starting to slip around them in return. “But before that, no weird possession or mind control or anything. And no murder.”

“Mm, I’ll make you fall in love with it yet. Perhaps when we seal our contract with a kiss?”

“We don’t need to do that.”

Shinguuji laughed, once again backing off from the overly intimate invasion of her personal space. “Indeed we don’t. But don’t let it be said that I didn’t offer.”

“Let’s just go home for now. People won’t notice that you’re not human, will they?” Maybe, just maybe, she’d end up taking them up on it.

#himiko yumeno #korekiyo shinguji #himikiyoweek2021 #himikiyo #danganronpa

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sp00kworm · 4 years

Text

A Den of Iniquity (Part 3)

Pairing: Dracula/Count Dracula/Vlad Tepes x Female Reader

Warnings: Death, Murder, Blood, Gore, Injuries, Violence, Vomiting and Adult content.

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 4 Part 5

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A week. He had one week to discover how to consume human food. One week to try and be human. Vlad turned his gaze from the mirror and thrust the covering back over it, hiding the glass from his sight. He didn’t wish to see the smog covered beast he was underneath his trickery. The mirror shuddered under the sheet but didn’t crack. The vampire grazed his fingers along the moustache on his top lip and wondered just what this face looked like. True, he had seen photos of himself, slapped across most of his company’s websites, but it wasn’t the same. The image seemed foreign to him. A reflection of a face that wasn’t his own. At least, not anymore. He looked at the painting hung over his fireplace and dusted dirt from his shoulder as he gazed upwards, admiring the strong face he knew as his own. The sword he held in the painting was positioned below it, shined yet in need of another covering of oil and care. Gently, he took the great blade from the wall and swung it in an arc before rotating it over his hand and turning to thrust it at an invisible foe. His blood sang with the vibration of the blade through the air. Dracula took the blade to his desk and sat in the great chair, a cloth in hand as he pondered on what he could do to remedy the hole he had dug himself into.

The internet yielded no results. Therapy websites for eating disorders or calorie planning for dieting. It wasn’t the answer. A gastric bypass. Stomach removal. Eating with certain diseases. Intolerances. All the while, he shined the blade he had broken the cross with, looking down to avoid the sharpened edges. Dracula admired the blade in the light, satisfied with the shine as he leaned to look at his monitor. Nothing. Modern medicine had no answers. He grumbled as he stood from his chair and replaced the blade in its holder. It shone better in the light. Dracula moved back to his desk and rapped his nails along the wood in thought. Once, twice, and a third and final time as he pondered on what he could do to solve his issue. The only person he had ever encountered that knew anything about his curse was Professor Abraham Van Helsing, and that man had wanted him and his brood wiped out from history. He had, however, lived. His ancestors were somewhere out there. Out of curiosity, he put the name into his search engine and watched thousands of results come up. The name, however, was not common. Van Helsing was a small lineage even now, and he opened various social medias, looking for any relative that could be close. There had to be a remnant of the line somewhere in the UK. Abraham was a Professor in London.

There was a link, some way into the third page of results.

‘Doctor disgraced. Drinking problems hit the highest mind in Pathology.’

Dark eyes narrowed at the news article and the vampire opened it with interest, leaned back in his chair as he read. His eyebrows raised and a smile curled on his lips before he started to chuckle. A Van Helsing worked in London. Disgraced in medicine at the University College Hospital. A former teacher as well. With another click, he was searching for more. Profiles and odd links on profiles. Eventually, he gazed at her name with red, burning eyes.

Dr Anne Van Helsing.

The vampire grinned, fangs sliding from his gums as he stood from his chair, huffing with beastly excitement as he rushed to get changed for the evening ahead.

Van Helsing blood was a stench he would never forget. The woman was easy enough to track down once he had looked up her address. She was still half practicing, apparently sober now for a year. He moved under the door of the shop as vapour, green and curling in on itself. Anne lived beneath the occult store, in the basement. Vlad assumed that she conversed with the owner and fed him information in exchange for a cheap rent. The alarm system blinked in the corner, the camera lens stagnant, watching. He moved up the wall and curled over the top of the camera. Electricity buzzed inside before it fried with a snap. The vampire moved under the door to the stairs and floated along the old wood, sensing his surroundings as he drifted lower and lower, along the old stairs and towards the smell of the vampire slayer he knew so well. The green smog slid through her door and coalesced into a rolling shape of a man.

The vampire hunter was laid in her armchair, snoring softly across from a buzzing television screen. It was a late-night reality show rerun. The smoke curled from his hands as they formed, and the vampire, rippling with vapour, curled his gloved hand over her head, watching and waiting for her to wake and grapple him for a fight. He hissed and waited. Slowly, he leaned down towards the woman’s greying blond hair and snarled. The scent of whiskey hit his nose. She was inebriated with alcohol. The vampire’s red eyes caught sight of the bottle in front of her on the coffee table. She wouldn’t be awake for a while. Vlad’s fingers recoiled as he turned on his heels and looked around her small, basement flat. The room was decorated with hard wood and mismatched old rugs. It was dusty yet lived in, like she forgot to clean. Dracula looked at the walls as a barely formed human figure of smoke, floating before he dispelled himself to look for anything he could use. The book. Van Helsing’s notebook. His mist curled around the rugs before coiling around the coffee table legs. There was a great welsh dresser, full of old pottery, the bottom lined with books, in the corner. He rushed towards it, sending a brisk breeze over Anne. The vampire formed in front of the books, a swirling storm of green mist. There was one book, the spine leather, old and self-bound. Misty fingers reached for the spine, tugging it free. The pages of the book fell open under a gale of wind and Dracula hissed from within the storm.

A burning sensation laced through the fog.

“Beast.” Anne slurred from her chair as she fumbled along her coffee table again, trying to find something among the papers. The burning emanated from where his flesh was ripped from the fog. A blessed blade seared in the dead flesh of his foot and Dracula howled, the walls shaking with the noise.

“Vampire slayer!” He snarled as he reached to drag the hilt of the dagger free, his thick, dead blood splattering along Anne’s wooden floor, “I should have ended your line when I had the chance!” He hissed in Romanian as his claws snatched the book, scarlet eyes burning in the black fog as he took three steps back, his floating hair already dissipating out of the window.

“You should be dead!” She slurred as she took the end of the holy blade in her hand and threw it towards him. This time he was ready, and the mist created a hole before swallowing in on itself and bursting up towards the window. Anne cursed as she tripped over the rug, left alone in her small basement as the creature escaped with the notes her ancestor had made when the beast was supposedly destroyed, so long ago.

“Shit.” Anne howled as she rushed to retrieve the holy dagger from her wall. She peered up at the clouded sky in her pyjamas, cursing violently as the vampire escaped. With a thump, she closed the window and reached for the whiskey she had left on the coffee table.

Back in his own home, Dracula peered at the book in his hands, nails trailing over the old cover. The woman in his lap whined, French manicured nails squeaking over the leather of his trousers. With a single finger under her chin, he tilted her head upwards, pulling her lips away from the inside of his thigh. She whined again, pressing herself against his cold skin, her mouth open and neck bleeding from the first bite. The girl was barely into her twenties, yet she was easy pickings, her brain was too addled with alcohol to resist the mild glamour he had applied. She’d even walked out of another man’s arms, just to crawl into his own. The book detailed many things. Autopsies on other vampires, creatures of his brood from when Abraham was young. He looked at their entries and peered at the drawings as the woman climbed into his lap again, pressing her nose under his chin. He petted the side of her cheek as he read the notes slowly, struggling to understand the medical terms.

‘Dead insides. Heart was dead for longer than is conceivable. Putrefied organs. High salt content in tissue samples. Stomach empty of acid.’

Nothing told him about how he could change these things.

Subject: Dracula, former alias Vlad of the Order of the Dragon.

His own autopsy. It seemed Abraham had even analysed his corpse, drawing the body and decapitated head with gruesome detail. There was pages and pages of notes, but no answers. He read the final line with a sneer.

‘Subject laid to rest by Mrs Harker. Tomb sealed before leaving.’

Van Helsing had not expected his revival in any case. Dracula watched the woman in his lap go bleary eyed and whine once more. He took her by the hair and pushed the book onto his desk before exposing her neck and biting. Her cartilage crunched under his jaw and she shouted in pain before melting against his front. Two pints maximum. That was all he could take before she would be close to death. He counted the mouthfuls between hungry snarls before wrenching himself from her neck. Her eyelids closed as her breathing went shallow. The vampire released her head and wiped at his mouth, licking the blood from his fingers with another dark purr. Carefully he arranged her in his arms and stood with her. Dracula deposited her in the guest bedroom, slipping her clothes from her body before he looked at the holes in her neck and leaned down to lick them clean. They would be healed in a day, but he hid the area with bruises. She would believe something else entirely had happened.

He left her with a brunch bar and water on her bedside table. The vampire didn’t care about her so long as there wasn’t a trace of her by morning. It was smart not to kill at every chance he got. He closed the door and listened to the old chimes of the grandfather clock at the bottom of the stairs. It was into the early hours of the morning. He glanced at the smart phone in his hand and the time before heading back to his office and closing the book with a snap. He was dead. Putrefied inside. Salt and dead flesh. He opened the drawer of his desk and chucked the book inside it, kicking it shut with his foot as he looked out of the window. A lone cat strayed across his lawn, tail curled in the air before it sat in the grass and looked at him. He hissed around it, voice echoing in the darkness as the cat hissed back at the window. Dracula spat, thumping at the window, fangs slick with spit and blood. The cat watched him, bristling, but ran from his lawn, down the drive and towards the main road. Dracula watched it leave before closing the curtains and going back to his computer. He slumped back in the chair before opening recipes for the coming date he had planned. Perhaps something raw?

You knocked on the door of Vladimir’s home, running your hands over your outfit worriedly. Why you were worried, you didn’t know. This was professional. You reminded yourself of that as the man answered the door with a smile, his pale face looking out from an inside lit up by soft, warm white light. There were candles in great, intricate candelabras, burning in the entry hall.

“Welcome to my home.” Vladimir pulled open the door wide to reveal the inside of his home and himself. He was dressed smartly, a silver suit lined with blue, his hair down, resting on his wide shoulders.

“I thought this was just a professional affair, Vlad.” You moved into the threshold with a shake of your head at the elaborate setting of his home. The door clicked shut behind you, and Vladimir chuckled at your concern.

He slid your coat from your shoulders gently, “I am a host before everything, my dear. My home is my pride. I enjoy impressing.”

You watched him hang your coat on the hook, “You mean you enjoy gloating and showing off.” You snarked with a smile as Vlad pressed a gentle hand to your back, steering you towards the dining room.

“Something of that ilk, yes.” Vlad opened the door to the dining room and your mouth opened in awe at the warm candlelight from the extravagant candlestick in the middle of the old wooden table. That, itself, was shone to perfection with wax. The cutlery was laid out perfectly alongside the placemats and even the tablecloth was ironed. It was perfect.

“Something tells me this really isn’t just a work catchup, Vladimir.” You looked down at yourself and took a deep breath, “I feel like this is crossing a line that…”

His hands wrapped around your bare shoulders, squeezing, comforting as he hushed you, “Perhaps I have…interest in you, yes, but it is a desire to know more about you. I hold no lecherous desires. I have no ill intentions. I only wish to know you.” He moved around to face you, “I promise you.”

Something about his voice was soothing as he held onto your shoulders, his dark eyes bright with happiness.

Carefully, you plucked Vladimir’s hands from your shoulders, “Fine. I’ll accept it, for now.” You pointed to the table, “And because I’m guessing you have an insane spread planned for this evening.”

Vladimir’s fingers curled back into his palms before he pulled you a chair out at the table, “Oh it is a spectacular menu.” He purred as you sat yourself at the circular table. It was made for two people to dine at. Intimate and close among other things. The rest of the dinning room was cleared, the normal, full length table, pushed to the side at the back, and the chairs stacked out of sight underneath sheets.

“So, what’s for dinner then?” You asked as you watched Vladimir pour you a drink of the red wine he purchased from your shop. He avoided his own glass and sat down across from you, “You don’t drink?”

Vladimir shook his head, his dark hair flopping over his shoulders, “No. I do not drink. It does not sit well.” He patted his tummy before gesturing in the air with a smile, “Drink. Be merry. I will see to dinner. Or, well, the staff will.” A waiter waved from the doorway, the towel over his arm wafting as he disappeared back into the other room, towards the kitchen.

“You really hired staff for one night?” You asked, laughing at the absurdity of it all, “Are you wanting to flash your cash and win me over, Mister Székely?”

Vladimir hummed, “Hardly. I don’t need to announce my wealth to you. If anything, that will make you less likely to entertain my advances.” He explained.

Taking a sip of your drink, you looked at him over the glass, “And you think you’ve figured out how to win me over?”

Vladimir rolled his shoulders, “I have no idea how, my dear.” He confessed as the waiter returned with a large silver platter, rested on one hand, “Ah, dinner is served.” He clapped his hands excitedly as the waiter laid a starter before the two of you.

The starter was delicious, the food of a quality you hadn’t tasted in a long time, not since your last expensive birthday get together. You pushed the plate forwards a little with a sigh of content.

Vladimir had poked at his food, eating just over half.

“That was delicious…Aren’t you hungry?” You pointed a finger at his plate, “Maybe you picked the wrong chef?” You teased as he placed his fork and knife in the middle of the plate.

Vladimir smiled cryptically, “It is very rich. My stomach is not good at coping with such things.” He waved his hand, “I have been this way since I was a child.”

“Ah.” You nodded, “I’m sorry for making fun.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I have taken no offence.” He was quiet as the waiter took the plates away from you both after refilling your wine.

After a moment, you took a sip of your drink and changed the conversation, “So, Vlad, where do you come from? You didn’t give that information on your website.”

Dracula felt a sense of déjà vu at the question. Time seemed to shift as he saw Mina sitting before him, laughing and perched like a lady on the edge of her chair. It came and went. He smiled at the memory of it before clearing his throat.

Vladimir spread his hands, “I come from a town, deep in the Carpathian Mountains. It was once a stronghold during the fight against the Persians, many years ago. There are legends, that beyond the forest and in the mountains, that a secret order was housed. Dracula, Vlad Tepes, or whatever they call him, he was part of this order to defend the church against the onslaught. A knight of the Order of Dracul.” He noticed your confusion, “The Order of the Dragon, in English. My hometown was bred on the legends, so here I am, feeding the West them as well.” He chuckled before fixing you with a heavy gaze.

“So, you’re from where he originally lived?” You asked curiously.

“Ah, no, but nearby. Close enough for the legends to be very relevant…” He made a cross with his fingers, “And for the locals to be very superstitious.” He laughed again before you frowned, and his laughter died away.

“Is it pretty?” You asked as you took another drink, “Aren’t the mountains some of the only untouched lands in Europe?”

“Yes. The woods are fresh with clean air, expansive and wide. There is a river. A great one. In English it is called, River Princess, or the Princess River. The tears of a beautiful princess filled it from bank to bank.” His fingers trailed along the wood, “Or so the stories go.”

“I think it would be hard to cry that much…” You smiled behind your glass, “But those are wonderful stories. I would love to hear more.”

The beast inside whined at the pain as he began to tell the story of the knight and his princess, the food rotting his insides.

“Thank you for having me this evening.” You paused at the doorstep to his home, watching the man smile from inside, still looking you in the eye, “I…I was sceptical, but I enjoyed it immensely.”

“I am glad.” Vladimir drawled, “I would like to do this again, if I have not scared you away?” He asked as he took your hand, placing a kiss on the back of it.

Gently, you took your hand back and smiled, “I would love to.” You took out your phone and snatched his from his fancy trousers, unlocking it before you tapped your phone number into his contacts, “So we can arrange another.” You offered before hearing the toot of the taxi’s horn, “Goodbye, Vladimir. Have a good night.”

He caught your wrist before you could escape and leaned forwards. Your breath caught in expectation of a kiss. It never came, but he pressed his lips to the inside of your wrist.

“Good evening. Sleep well.” He whispered before he released you to your taxi. You touched the spot on your wrist as you waked down the drive. The door to his home closed behind you as you made it to the car, and you gave one last look at the house before ducking inside the taxi and telling the driver your home address.

Agony. The beast howled inside but he didn’t make a noise. Dracula’s mouth hung open, spittle clinging between vicious, giant fangs, as he clawed at his stomach. His eyes bled to red, black pupils going wide as he hid his face, dismissing the staff, bidding them to leave as he crawled upstairs to his bedroom. The wooden door shuck as he slammed it closed, dragging his clothes free in pain as his stomach muscles seared. Desperately, he pushed his fingers into his mouth to silence his own agony as he fitted on the floor, his muscles burning as claws ripped from his feet and scratched great lines in his floor. Fur rippled over his back as everything clenched in burning ripples of pain. Dracula heard the door close with a scared ‘good night’. He listened to the staff walk down the drive before he began to howl. Pain seared up his stomach as he morphed into a wolfish beast, snarling and spitting against the wood. The vampire limped to his window, unlocking it before he pulled himself out, his head twisting as he looked up at the moon. Pain curled in his guts again as he managed to jump from the window and to the floor. Dracula landed in the grass with an ungraceful thud. Snarling, and starving, the vampire pulled himself up enough to move, crawling towards the little piece of woodlands that separated his home from the park.

The University College Hospital was bright with the activity of Doctors and patients. Dracula didn’t see nor hear the bustling activity as he snarled in the back of the hospital, his fangs embedded in a young nurse. She’d been out on her break, eating a sandwich with her headphones stuffed in her ears. The vampire grasped her in the bushes, swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood to no avail. His insides still churned and seared with pain with the meal. It was agony. Like being stabbed with holy blades. The red-hot knife twisted in his guts as he dropped the woman. The burning need to drink continued to cripple his throat. Dragging himself along the grass he felt the blood drip past his lips before his stomach lurched and the blood came back up in a spray of curdled red goo. The grass hung under the weight of the blood and Dracula writhed for a moment. He was blinded by his pain.

“Jesus Christ.” A man walked closer with a cigarette hanging from his lips, “I’m…Doctor Seward. Are you quite alright?” A young doctor approached him with a pale face, looking at the gore with horror in his eyes.

Dracula felt a ripple of familiarity about the man as he gazed at the black hair and narrow face, “Van Helsing.” He growled as he forced himself to appear human in the man’s eyes, slicing his own stomach with his nails before the doctor could see.

“My God. Of course, this has something to do with that blasted woman.” Dr Seward looked at his stomach before Dracula snatched his cheeks in his hand, “Calm down. I’ll…”

The vampire pressed his fingers to the man’s cheek bones and watched him grow complacent, his eyes unfocused as he gazed into the red eyes of Dracula.

“Take me to Van Helsing.” He commanded.

Dr Seward’s eyes went cloudy as he nodded and awkwardly helped the vampire to his feet, taking a lot of his weight. No one came close to the wolf man and the doctor as he helped Dracula along the road around the back of the hospital, towards a huge set of iron doors, angled into the ground, leading to a basement underneath the hospital. Dr Seward pulled a ring of keys from his belt, finding the one to unlock the shutter doors before he threw them open. He shouldered Dracula’s weight once more as they shakily descended into the basement. The air grew colder and staler as they reached the bottom of the concrete stairs. Seward left him propped against the sterile wall as he rushed to close and lock the doors again behind them. Dracula took a breath of air, rolling the smell of death over his palette as Seward returned and began to drag him down the hallway. They passed three rooms labelled with ‘cold storage’ and the vampire spewed blood from his mouth again, spraying the concrete floor with goo as Seward dragged him towards a room that stank of congealed blood and bleach.

“Anne!” Seward shouted as he opened the door, still in a haze, “He asked for you.”

Anne Van Helsing looked up from her work on the corpse with a shocked face, her greying hair in a frizz around her head as she dropped her glasses from her nose in shock, “Jesus Christ, Seward!” She cursed as he dropped the vampire to the floor. Her bright, intense eyes looked at the wolfish vampire in his grasp.

“Do not see me.” He hissed and Seward’s face melted into confusion before he walked, like a zombie, to the door, and disappeared down the hallway towards the hospital. Dracula felt her gaze grow cold as he fought to pull himself up, using the metal table as a prop to keep himself upright.

Anne pulled a blade from her leg, “Tell me why I shouldn’t fucking kill you now.” She spat as she held the blade towards him.

The vampire looked at her, his eyes rolling as he smelt the air. She was stone cold sober, her hands shaking around the blade with withdrawal.

“Your grandfather tried it, Van Helsing, and look what it did to me.” He hissed, claws slamming through the metal of the table as the vampire killer held her blade to his chest, “I lived. My head was severed yet I remain…undead.” He wrenched his fingers from the metal and watched her. She levelled the vampire with a stare, “Would you not like to understand, Anne? Would you not like to understand the secrets of the dark?”

Anne took the blade from his chest, “You are vermin.” She conceded as she tucked the blade into her boot again, “I will find a way to kill you, Dracula.”

“You can try, Van Helsing.” He hissed as he crawled up the table, “But I will gut you like I should have done Abraham.”

“You’re in no state to do anything.” Anne pulled him up on the table, gloves slick with blood as she wrestled him upright and reached for a bottle of heavy syrup. It smelt foul. The vampire retched as it was brought towards him. Anne wrestled him backwards , snapping a scalpel through his hand to hold him still and she held his maw open and poured the thick syrup into his mouth, “Ipecac syrup works on animals, so it should work on you. You’ll be vomiting for a long time.” She pressed his mouth closed under his chin and pushed hard against his head to keep him from spitting anything out.

“What is that…” The vampire gipped, “Poison…”

“In about…” Anne looked at her watch under her glove with a mild amount of interest, “Twenty minutes, you’ll be vomiting your guts up... Figuratively that is.” She sat back in her stool and watched spit drip uncontrollably from his mouth as he flipped onto his stomach and wretched, his abdomen clenching and rippling as the vampire heaved, “I find it surprising that this works on vampires.” She observed as he heaved uncontrollably on the body table. The Van Helsing woman began to count as the vampire heaved and gagged, the noise growing more intense until he finally gave in and spewed out a great gush of red and black. Anne stepped back as he sprayed the table and floor with blood, and continued into another burst of thick, black sludge like vomit. She covered her nose as a thick, mucus membrane slipped past his teeth and onto the floor.

“Fucking hell.” Anne whistled as she walked over to the vampire, a pair of tweezers in hand, “I didn’t expect you to actually…throw up your stomach lining.” She plucked the mucus from the mess of black goo and blood curiously before looking at the vampire.

“Vile woman.” Dracula spat as he wrenched himself from the floor, “Cursed line of…” He collapsed against the table with a bubble of blood in his mouth.

“Cursed line of god worshippers? Please, vampire, I’ve heard it before.” Anne moved away from him, leaving him heaving on the table as she went to collect something. She returned a few minutes later with a bag of red liquid in her hand, “Blood.” She tossed it onto the table, barely defrosted and cold, “You need it.” She tossed another on top of it, “For good measure.”

Dracula looked at the blood next to his head with red eyes, “Foul.” He commented.

Anne rolled her eyes, “Six hundred years old and you’re still a baby.” She walked over, her glasses perched on the end of her nose and stuck a bloodied scalpel into the edge of each.

The beast snarled before pushing the plastic edges into his mouth and drinking, gulping the bags with gusto as Anne watched him.

“You are a monster, Count Dracula…” She flipped the table he was laid on as his eyelids grew heavy, pushing him towards the wall, the dry blood bags falling from his lips with the movement, “It’s time you started acting like it. Nothing can reverse damnation. I suggest you remember that when you tear her from her life, just like all your other victims.” Anne leaned over the vampire with a dark look.

Dracula snarled and banged at the table as she turned her hip and slammed the trolley into the cold locker. The vampire felt his eyelids grow heavy as he howled at her worlds, the will to fight leaving his body as the cold set into his dead flesh.

Anne looked at the cold locker as she pulled the gloves from her hands, binning them before washing her hands and finding the packet of cigarettes Seward had dropped on his way out. She walked towards the lift and pulled a cigarette free with three nervous taps to the packet. When she reached the smoking area she dared to exhale, her hands shaking as she wished for the whiskey bottle to take the edge off.

The plush fur of a bear was soft underneath his feet as he dragged the body behind him. The woman screamed as he pulled her by her hair, crying to God, begging to be released instead of being killed. He couldn’t particularly hear her cries as he crawled along the stone, looking around his own castle, heading towards the great cross. The cross was rotting, the metal rusted and the gash still bleeding drips of blood. The woman. The faceless woman was sat underneath it, her lace covered fingers moving up to caress the hole, blood dripping down her wrists. He drew himself up onto two legs before speaking.

“I have brought you food.” His mouth was not his own as he wrenched the young girl forwards. Listening to her cries, she turned to look at the human. She descended the two steps in a roll of silk and came close to him before her veiled face turned to the girl. Bloodied, lace covered fingers moved to snatch her by her cheeks, stopping her noise before the veil shimmered. She reached to pull the bottom upwards and Dracula felt his chest heave in expectation. A mouth appeared but she tucked the lacing tight behind her head, hiding the rest of her features as a mouth full of fangs opened in her face.

The girl screamed as the faceless woman tore into her neck, gulping blood before reaching for his own face, tugging his wolfish snout down before she kissed him, blood pouring past his own lips. Dracula felt himself snarl with excitement, claws dragging over the silk, tugging, and tearing but getting nowhere through the fabric. She continued to feed before offering him another, bloody, kiss. Dracula raked his own claws over the girl’s throat and watched her gag as blood spurted from her. He dropped the body to the floor and pulled the faceless phantom forwards by her hips. Blood squelched under his feet before he was pushed onto his back, the black silk following him as the green snake hissed behind her, dipping from under her skirts to eye him with one, black eye. He felt his blood sing as she mounted his hips, teeth snapping as he dragged at the black silk again, revealing no skin to himself even as he tried to pull it upwards. His own fangs grazed her throat before the snake hissed and snapped around his neck, pulling its coils tight. Bones creaked in his neck as the phantom over him leaned down to lick along his furry chest.

“Please.” He begged before the snake struck, fangs digging deep into his dead flesh. The beast howled, the stone shaking, as he felt his legs go numb. Her face disappeared as soon as she tore the veil free.

The vampire awoke with a snarl, claws snapping forwards to snatch at the veil that was no longer there. His legs ached, and so did the throbbing erection between them. Huffing, he managed to open his eyes enough to watch icy air curl around him.

“Van Helsing.” He hissed as he pulled himself up, shaking ice from the fur on his shoulders and back, cracking the bones as he attempted to shift back. He was still too weak, and the vampire collapsed from the table with a grunt.

“What the fuck…What the fuck?” A worried man whittled outside before the key clunked in the door. The vampire slinked back towards the shadows as the door opened, “Where the fuck did the body go?” He reached to tug at his hair as he spotted the empty blood bags on the floor, “Jesus Christ someone’s stolen it.” He panicked until the vampire launched himself from the shadows, fangs tearing open the man’s throat. Dracula gave a great hiss of relief as the hot blood poured into his icy gullet.

He made sure to leave a mess for Van Helsing to clear up before he smashed his way out of the basement and into the new evening.

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Hello! I'm new to your blog but I have very much enjoyed your work! Esp your Dabi w Deku's darling series, you write Dabi in a way that makes my heart soft and it's a nice way to see him written. I was curious if you may share headcanons or a drabble following up the last part of their interactions, so further healing of the two of them moving on/coping w their respective past traumas? Maybe even some fluffy romance if possible! Hope this finds you well and best of luck with your writing! 💖💖💖

While I will leave the nature of Dabi and his Not-Darling’s relationship ambiguous, I figured I might as well give him the birthday present he deserves. Here’s a link to the Masterlist for this series, but it’s easier to take fluff for what it is, honestly.

TW: Past Abuse (Physical and Emotional), Guilt Over Abandonment, Panic Attacks, and Mentions of PSTD.

“Do you have a lighter?”

Dabi couldn’t help but chuckle, watching as you sloppily threw together another round of shots with ingredients you had spent far too long looking for. Kurogiri had given up trying to limit the League’s alcohol consumption hours ago, instead turning his attention towards Shigaraki and the boy in pink he was sitting next to, Toga and her own guest having been deemed a lost cause as soon as they noticed an old dartboard hung on the back wall, Twice still attempting to edge his way into their game without ending up on the wrong side of half a dozen knives. “I am the lighter,” He replied, reaching out and letting a small, blue flicker of a flame form in his palm for emphasis. “Don’t say you’re trying to replace me, dollface.”

You pouted, batting his hand away, your elbow throwing a spare bottle of tequila off-balance. Dabi caught it without thinking, only earning another huff and a glare on your part, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you. “When you start letting me dip my fingers in your drinks, I’ll let you stick yours in mine.” Again, you ducked down quickly, pawing at something under the counter for a moment before you came back up, a dusty box of matches in hand and a renew glint in your eyes. “Besides, it’s your birthday, you’re not allowed to do any work. It’s, like, birthday law.”

It took him a moment to process what you’d said, no one had mentioned his birthday in years. He might’ve told you the date in passing, but that had to be ages ago, and the fact that you remembered somehow surpassed the shock that he’d forgotten. Still, he tried not to let you see that, only slumping forward and propping himself up on the bar-top. “When you’re seven, maybe,” He countered, trying to steal one of the now-finished B-52s, only to have you move them out of his reach. “What do you want me to do, bring in cupcakes for the class?”

“I want you to relax for once, but cake wouldn’t hurt.” You were only half-focused on him, now, sparking up a match and letting it brush against the drink’s surface, not pulling your hand away fast enough to out-run the combustion. But, much to Dabi’s relief, you shook it off in a few seconds, your fingertips hardly even reddened. He had to remind himself that you were capable, these days. More than he was, at least.

Not that he’d set the bar very high.

“Besides,” You continued, your voice quieter than it’d been before. You didn’t seem reluctant, no traces of hesitation breaching your tone, you were just… quieter. Calmer, in a way that sobered Dabi as much as it sobered you. If only slightly. “You… you made my birthday really nice, after you took me in. I don’t think I told you, but it was the first time I went outside. For more than a few minutes, I mean.”

Dabi didn’t have to think, he knew what you were talking about instantly. It’d been a struggle to get you to do anything on your own, back then. You’d had tears in your eyes as you’d stepped out of his apartment building, and you hadn’t said a damn word the entire day, only clinging to his arm and shaking your head whenever he asked a question, not unlike Shoto on his first day of school. But, he’d been in kindergarten. You’d been in a pervert’s basement. “I can still feel your fucking nails digging into me, sometimes,” Dabi commented, no real force behind the statement. “I’m going to make you take me out somewhere nice one day, to make up for it.”

“Put on a decent shirt first, and we’ll see.” The shot was shoved in front of him unceremoniously, a drop or two spilling over the side in your eagerness. You weren’t trying to stop yourself anymore, laughing at nothing and beaming as he blew it out, his narrowed eyes enough to make what would happen if you sung graphically clear. It was still smoldering as he swallowed it, singing at his throat and leaving a sickeningly sweet aftertaste, but the fruits of your labor went down easily. You seemed content too, slamming your glass back down on the counter, if only to giggle at the sound of wood against metal.

With a sigh, Dabi stretched, leaning back on his stool. “Is that all? I’m an old man now, (Y/n), and I’m not sticking around here long enough to see Spinner fist-fight Handjob in the stockroom. I’m not cleanin’ that shit up unless I get to punch one of the bastards myself, either.”

You groaned, already fed with his social aversion, but your resolve lessened at the threat of more whining. “There’s… there’s one more thing,” You admitted, reaching into your back pocket. He recognized the game advert you’d stolen from Shigaraki last week, but hadn’t expected to see it wrapped around a small, nearly flat container. You weren’t careless with this one, placing it delicately in the hand he offered. Like you were afraid he’d break it just from holding it too tightly. “Happy birthday, Touya.”

He opened it hastily, tearing through the thin paper without reserve. The box underneath was unmarked and unlabelled, and the inside wasn’t much better, just a scrap of paper with a few numbers and a street name messily scrawled across its length. All he could do was glance up at you, expression somewhere between entertained and utterly confused. “What the fuck is this supposed to be?”

“The address to a soba shop down the street, one that stays open until the sun rises.” You shifted awkwardly, clasping your hands in front of you. “It’s where your siblings hold a memorial every year. Just the three of them. I think Rei’s going too, but I’m not sure.” With a sigh, you glanced up, meeting his eyes and steeling yourself, if only to keep from looking away. “I thought you might want to see them.”

He didn’t hesitate, crumpling the note in his hands and letting it fall back into the box, pushing himself to his feet. “I can’t do that.”

“You don’t have to,” You assured, already walking around the bar. He could’ve left, he could’ve ran, but his pulse was suddenly beating in his ears, his heart pounding against his throat, the idea of speaking becoming as impossible as executing any plans he had to flee. A soft touch on his back made him jolt, shoulders squaring into a defensive position, but the look of pure concern etched into your face was enough for a forming attack to dissipate. “I’m not going to make you. I wouldn’t blame you for not wanting to, either.” There was a pause, and you pulled away. Dabi wished he could say how desperately he didn’t want you to. “But, your siblings miss their brother.”

“Fuyumi’d never forgive me.” It wasn’t an opinion, to him, the thought as objective as any other fact. “Natsuo wouldn’t, either. Not a single fucking one of them should. I’d be lucky if Shoto doesn’t arrest me on the spot.”

You shrugged, but you didn’t correct him. “I don’t think you’re right but… neither of us really know, do we? You’ll have to go if you want to find out.”

He didn’t respond, and you lowered your head, taking his silence as a signal to leave him alone. It hurt, seeing you walk away, a thousand pins and needles driving themselves into his lungs, something as simple as taking in air becoming an act of resistance. It felt like he was trying to inhale smoke, like everything around him was ash and debris and crumbling, and he was stuck in the middle of it, and he couldn’t do anything to stop it. As helpless and as weak as he was back then.

But, there was something he could do, even if it limited the damage. One thing that was within his reach, or… half a block away, rather.

He caught your hand tentatively, stumbling forward to reach you. He could hear the others muttering, whispering amongst themselves, but he didn’t care, focusing on what was in front of him as you stared over your shoulder. It took another hitched stutter before he could spit something coherent out, but you waited patiently. He wondered if he’d ever be able to tell you how much he appreciated that. “I’m not embarrassing myself alone, idiot.”

For a moment, he thought you would be the one to break down, your eyes fogging over as you brought up your free hand to rub at them. But, he was able to let go of the breath he’d been holding in as you smiled, then laughed, intertwining your fingers with his as tears began to flow openly. He couldn’t tell whose they were, at this point.

He knew he was smiling, though, and he knew he couldn’t stop as you started to tug him towards the door.

“I don’t know why I ever expected you to.”

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sandpumpkin · 4 years

Note

Hey!! For night of terror I propose X Drake / Haunted House / Treat 😁 Thank you

Hallo!! Another Dino boy!! he sure is popular!! Hope this is okay :)

Night Of Terror

Drake/haunted house/ treat

Drake wasn’t a superstitious man but he was cautious. He stood in front of a dilapidated building and his instinct told him not to enter but he had too. A crewmate had vanished during their inspection of the house. As captain it was his duty to go in and find him.

He’s probably just playing a joke..Drake thought as he took a deep breath and walked up the warped wooden steps up to the front barely touching it causing it to fall off it’s rusted hinges and landed with a loud thump. Drake walked over it crushing the glass in the panes under his boots. The air itself smelt old and dusty. Apparently there was a hidden treasure in the lower levels of the building according to the locals. It looked to be an old hospital, there were wooden benches for the patients to wait on and a desk at the back of the large lobby which sat at the front of a little office with clear windows. As he progressed into the lobby, he spotted a large map on the wall to his left.

The shrill sound of a phone ringing startled him. His heart racing in his chest. Drake looked around for the source of the ringing, the phone sat on the desk. Trying to calm his nerves, Drake crossed the room to the phone and reached out a few times pondering if he should actually answer it. Taking a deep breath, Drake picked up the receiver holding it to his ear.

“Are you sick too?”

A cold chill ran down his spine, turning around with the receiver still in his hand. The voice hadn’t come from the phone but from behind him. Drake scanned the lobby but it was vacant, nobody there but him. Frowning, he replaced the phone on it’s receiver. This is all a practical joke, he was sure of it. But until proven guilty, he would trust his crew.

But why would they joke about a missing shipmate?

Striding back over to the wall mounted map of the building, that hadn’t been touched in years, he wiped his forearm across the map making a large clean spot across the middle of the map. Tracing his gloved fingers across the details of the map, he found the stairs leading down to the basement level and headed off into the darkness. For a hospital Drake came across numerous heavy wooden doors lined with iron bars. Perhaps this was more than a hospital? He thought yanking the doors open, sendings metal and nails cascading loudly to the floor.

The door to the basement was at the back of the building and behind several barred doors.

“Finally,” he hummed, opening the door to the basement, a rush of cold air rose up to meet him which almost knocked him off his feet. This sparked a sudden concern in Drake, what if they were in actual trouble? As he was about to descend the stairs, the sound of a loudspeaker screeching on before a loud ear piercing tune was blasted out of it. It was so out of tune, the tune itself was unrecognizable and between that and the sheer volume of the music, it was extremely painful. Drake covered his ears hunching over in agony. It felt like it was piercing his very skull, feeling something wet against the side of his face, he pulled his hand away to see a thick liquid against his black gloves. Blood? Did my eardrum burst-

“So..you are sick?”

Drake looked up from his hand and recoiled as the room seemed to blur before him. The music was still blaring out but it sounded so dull now. Blinking to try and clear his vision, Drake saw a figure in the distance moving closer every time he opened his eyes. The music and his sudden perforated eardrum made Drake feel so nauseous and dizzy, it wasn’t until the figure stood before him, simply a dark shadow to his eyes.

“Sick people should rest.”

Raising its arms they pushed Drake with more force than he expected sending him falling backwards down the steep stone stairs into the murky basement. A loud crack reverberated through him as he hit a few stairs on his descent. His eyes still hazy, managed to make out the figure watching him fall, waving at him slowly as he tumbled further into the darkness.

“Captain! Captain Drake!”

Drake slowly opened his eyes, his vision now a little clearer but his head throbbed terribly. Pushing himself up he felt his more nausea.

“Careful, y- hit your - bad.”

Drake frowned, reaching for his ear. Still can’t hear properly… He looked up at his crew which included the missing member, he pointed at him as he opened his mouth.

“We found him sleeping in the old nurse's quarter, hungover.” One explained, Drake made sure to watch the man’s mouth as he tried to make out his words.

“We should leave then.” Drake announced, rising to his feet clumsily. He for one was eager to leave this accursed place and whatever called this place home.

#pumpkin writes #x drake #night of terror #horror #haunted house #spoops

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legemjohn · 3 years

Text

an introduction.

by now the "vinyl resurgence" has been so talked about, so reported on, so lived in that even kids know about it. you can easily catch children barely old enough to drive flexing a collection deep enough to make a lifelong aficionado envious, or a few choice cuts that are worth enough second hand to pay off someone's student loans. this isn't anything new anymore, it simply is. but for me, growing up, i didn't know what the hell "vinyl" was. my first experience with it was crawling around the floor in the family room of my childhood home, pulling back a door on our TV stand, and finding a short row of tall, colorful spines hidden behind a bag of playstation controllers. the pigments were faded, the text eaten up by missing pieces of print, the corners dented... they looked neglected, almost like antiques. i carefully grabbed one and pulled it out from the back of the cabinet, holding it in front of my face and trying to figure out what the hell it was. the picture on the front, while desaturated from years of dusty living, held a bright and warm color scheme that grabbed my eye immediately. hues of red and purple blended together on top of a large drawing of what kinda looked like bird wings, kinda looked like a flower in full bloom. a marble in the middle held a bob ross lookalike landscape inside, almost like a snowglobe. across it all was a single word in blue: "journey". "wait, journey? ugh, i hate journey." in my house, the only music that ever played was journey adjacent. any soon to be "classic rock" hair metal and blues rock bands you can think of, the more stereotypical the better, were the norm. journey, bon jovi, aerosmith... these were what i exclusively heard growing up. before i heard anything else, i enjoyed the music enough, but at this point, i had already had a borderline religious experience listening to "hybrid theory" by linkin park for the first time and realized what i had been missing out on. those aforementioned bands, with their flaccid riffs and sing along choruses just didn't hit anymore. regardless, my initial confusion wasn't quite solved. so, this has to do with the band journey, but what was this? i turned it over to see a list of songs on the back. i didn't really recognize any except for "wheel in the sky", a track that would often play from the speakers on top of the tv stand i was curled under. did this thing have music on it? i flipped it back around and felt one side of it gently open. looking inside, i was taken aback by how bad it smelled. it reminded me of my grandparent's basement, especially the corner of it filled with bins of old picture books that probably had seen more mold than air in recent years. the symptoms of neglect began to pile up. despite the less than stellar sensory experience at hand, i reached inside and grabbed hold of what felt like a thin plate. pulling it out softly, i found myself holding a flat, black disc. looking at the label, the deeply etched grooves, the rainbow pattern that would faintly shoot across the surface just in the right light, it dawned on me... i had seen these before! it wasn't rock music that introduced me to vinyl, but hip-hop... albeit, somewhat subliminally. countless music videos, photo shoots, album covers all featured these flat, black discs... either spinning endlessly or being pushed, flipped, and altogether manhandled by DJs. i didn't know what DJs did, but i at least knew that if someone was behind a machine with these discs on them, they were a DJ. eventually, my mother walked in and tersely told me to put the item back. i obliged and didn't think much of it for the immediate future. but as i got older and my passion for music grew insatiable, what i now knew as "records" or "LPs" became a curiosity i just couldn't ignore. my deep love of hip-hop led me to learn the history of house parties and sampling, educating me not only on LPs as a medium but as a tool. artists like trent reznor would speak endlessly about their experiences at record stores, how a single copy of pink floyd's "the wall" changed their life

beyond just the music in the grooves. i was entranced and i wanted in. meekly, i asked my mother if i could have some of the records sitting in the cabinet, maybe even just the duplicates. she flat out rejected the idea, to my dismay. i didn't even know how i could get a hold of these! i didn't have a credit card, so ebay was out of the question, plus i didn't have any record stores near me. but, i knew i could eventually find one if i looked online hard enough. for what i believe was my 12th or 13th birthday, i spent all my collected present money on a mail order shopping spree. i dropped something like $50 on CDs and 2 records from chicago's reckless records, to the confusion of my parents. while my love of music was growing in a way they couldn't ignore (despite them not even knowing yet i had been releasing music online already), any holiday money i would collect almost immediately got dropped off at a gamestop (or eb games when they were still around... or a babbages when they were still around) and exchanged for the newest tony hawk or gran turismo game. but no, not this time. this time, i was cashing out on music. so, when the package finally arrived and i excitedly had my mother open it, euphoria rushed in at lightning speed when i saw a black square inside, the same dimensions as that "journey" record all those years ago. sure, it was a cheap and somewhat scratched copy of a "the hand that feeds" remix 12" from nine inch nails (and a 45 copy of the "somewhere i belong" single from linkin park below), but it was my cheap and somewhat scratched copy. i didn't even have a record player, but i had finally did it... i bought my very own record. over 10 years, numerous moves, one massive sell off, and a half-decade tenure at a record store later, i currently have a record collection of over 500 pieces. i spent years and years endlessly curating and collecting LPs from all across the world, of any and all genres, and in all manner of conditions. and now i'm selling them. see, now we arrive at the point. (sorry for making you wait so long.) after all this time, i've made the decision to sell the vast majority of the collection i've basically spent a lifetime putting together. it wasn't an easy decision to make, as the idea bounced around in my head for years before i finally succumbed to the necessity of it, but this blog will be my way of giving the history i've been so lucky to collect over the years a proper, respectful send off. so here we go. over the next however long, i will be melodramatically and probably infrequently giving chunks of my collection one final rotation on my turntable, making my peace and saying my goodbyes to a part of my life that's come to define my relationship with my deepest passion: music. i'll reflect and share any stories or thoughts here as i go through, and hopefully someone other than myself will find some joy, entertainment, or even connection in these words. let's begin.

#vinylcollection #vinylrecords #vinylcommunity #records #lps #music #tumblog #writing #nonfiction #personal #nine inch nails

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forlornmelody · 4 years

Text

Impulse Control--Why Startling Poison Ivy Is A Really Bad Idea

Rating: E (Smut with some plot, for flavor.)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Kate Kane

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: To find Harley, Ivy must make an uneasy alliance with one of the more notorious (and notoriously attractive) members of the Batfamily. A simple, easy in-and-out. But nothing is so simple or easy, is it?

Note: Commission for @rookie009. Dude, thank you so much for commissioning me again. And indulging this weirdness.

->->->

Pam-a-lamb,

I’m doing bad stuff but don’t worry ‘bout it.

--Harley xoxo

“It’s completely unlike her, right?”

Jason leans against the doorway, one boot braced against it and the other flat on the floor. He holds Harley’s unfolded note in his gloved hands, narrowing his eyes at it as if the answer lies in the creases. “You know her better. What’s your gut telling you?”

“She--” Ivy sighs, rubbing circles between her eyebrows--a futile gesture against her impending headache. “--She doesn’t leave notes. Harley just goes . Maybe she texts me while she’s out somewhere because the color of someone’s jacket made her think of me.” Waving her hand at the note, Ivy meets Jason’s eyes. “This…”

“...is planned.” Jason rotates the note, flipping it forward and back. “You sure it’s her handwriting?"

Honestly, Ivy doesn’t know what to think. “It...doesn’t look any different.” She coughs. “It smells like her.” Like buttered popcorn and Chinese food. Remembering cuts right into her sternum.

Jason puts a gloved hand over hers. He’s the only Robin who ever dared to touch her. “You’ll get her back. I know you will.”

She watches him step back towards the door. “Not we?”

“Sorry, Red. I can’t help you.” Jason shifts on his feet. To be honest, Ivy kind of expected this. She can still see the scar running down the side of his face, where a crowbar had bashed his head in, and where a coroner had sewn it back shut. Funny how the Lazarus Pit didn’t remove it when it brought him back. “The Outlaws and I have work in Markovia.” Ivy’s teeth grind together at the blatant lie, but before she can speak, he continues, “But if it’s a gun you need, I’m not the only one in the Batfamily who can handle them.”

“Who--?”

“Don’t worry. She’ll find you.”

He shuts the door behind him so softly Ivy almost doesn’t hear it. The gears in her mind clicking into place drown it out.

You better be joking, Kid.

-----

Jason was not kidding. Ivy enters her greenhouse lab, and finds Batwoman herself leaning against a drosera glanduligera . “I’d give Frankie some space if I were you. He finds unannounced guests quite delicious and full of nutrients.”

Batwoman quickly puts distance between them. Frankie’s tentacles sag with betrayal. “Red Hood told me you needed a favor?” Her crimson-stained lips wrinkle with distaste.

“Harley’s missing. Jason Todd told me you’d help.” It’s an exaggeration of his promise, but Ivy isn’t leaving anything to chance.

It’s hard to tell with the cowl, but Ivy swears Batwoman’s eyes widen just a little before narrowing into slits. “That depends. Am I aiding you in a crime?”

Ivy turns around, pretending to ignore her as she prunes a mutated rosa gymnocarpa, one that will fire its thorns at will. She’s thinking of naming it Lucy. “Depends on what you consider a crime.” Before Batwoman can answer, Ivy continues. “Is hacking government systems a crime? Is kidnapping?”

Batwoman steps next to her, and nearly fingers the rose petals, but thinks better of it. “You think government agents took her somewhere?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. But I want to find her before someone worse does.”

Ivy’s desk seems like a safe enough place, and Batwoman perches there. “You’re not worried I’m going to turn you in?”

That gets a chuckle out of her. “You’re certainly welcome to try.”

The suggestion rolls off of her like rain on a window pane. “Oh, like Batman hasn’t turned you in several times before?”

Ivy licks her lips. “Only when I wanted him to.”

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Look. I owe J--Red Hood a favor. So I’ll look into it and--”

“No. I’m coming with you.”

“Why?”

“I have to make sure you’re not giving me bad intel.” Before Batwoman can protest, Ivy continues. “You don’t want to disappoint Jason, do you?”

Is it Batwoman muffling her grumble, or is it her mask?

“This can’t be the Batcave.”

“It’s not. It’s a safehouse. One I will be relocating after this.”

Ivy snorts, eyeing a piece of ancient weaponry, a Roman shield by the looks of it. It seems neither of them trusts the other. She’s fine with that. Not once has Ivy ever appreciated having someone depend on her. Well. There’s always an exception, isn’t there? But that exception is off doing fuck-knows-what, and Ivy’s relying on a godamn hero to help find her. “Nice place,” she murmurs.

“Don’t touch anything.” Batwoman says quickly, sitting down at her desk, bracing her chin on her elbows in front of her keyboard. It’s so... candid of her that Ivy catches herself staring. Apparently even superheroes let their shoulders roll forward sometimes. Ivy wonders what Batwoman looks like when she finally removes her cowl for the night. The red hair most definitely is a wig--real hair would never hold curls like that. Her hair is short underneath--putting it up would take too much time when an old lady needs help crossing the street. But other than the fullness of her red lips--Ivy has no idea who the woman is underneath. It’s going to drive her crazy--just like it did with her male counterpart. “CIA says she’s been “acquired for a black ops mission out of Bell Reve. But anything beyond that we’ll have to access on si--Are you even listening?”

Ivy shakes it off, pretending to examine her nails. “And why can’t I touch anything if you’re moving?” She’s trying to remember why Bell Reve sounds so familiar.

“I would like to keep some of it. I like the way it looks. And I don’t want your pheromones on everything.”

Then it clicks. “ Beautiful View. Is that another prison?”

Batwoman presses her lips together, then nods. “Blacksite.”

Fire roils in Ivy’s veins. “Of fucking course it is.” No accountability. No oversight. Whoever kidnapped Harley can do fuck-all with her and get away with it. And Ivy (and Batwoman) have barely scratched the surface.

“Doctor Isley?” Batwoman says, her voice rising and tense.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay? The vines in my spider plant look about ready to strangle me.”

Ivy glances over at the chlorophytum comosum, whose children are quickly inching towards Batwoman and her slender neck. “She says you’re smothering her and her babies with the constant watering. And she prefers the name Billie.” Waving her hand, Ivy watches as the spider plants retreat back towards their home, leaving their caretaker well alive, for now.

------

The “site” is a nondescript cubicle-laced hell in the basement of a social security office. Neither of them can go through the front door--well, Batwoman could if she’d take off her goddamn cowl, but that isn’t happening any time soon. So they pop open a basement window while the mailroom workers are on their lunch. They meander through the maze of modular walls and humming towers, dodging the occasional wayward paper crumble. “Our info should be in that corner office.”

It doesn’t look like much, just an otherwise empty desk with a computer that has dust gathering on its keyboard. The room lacks widows, and Ivy wrinkles her nose at the musty air. It could use a sathiphyullum or two to freshen up. Batwoman leans over the desk, firing up the computer and clacking at the keys. “Almost there….”

Ivy smells them before she hears them--donuts, coffee, and the musk of unwashed skin. Security. “Bats---”

Batwoman doesn’t even deign to look up. “Keep ‘em busy.”

“Poison Ivy?” The first guard fumbles to keep his walkie-talkie in his hands.

“Good afternoon,” she says neutrally. Batwoman gives her a steel look. “Work here often?”

His mouth hangs open, his thumb still glued to the talk button. He means to ask what she’s doing here, but all that comes out is: “Are you seeing anyone?”

Ivy snorts. “Maybe if you set that radio down, Casanova.”

As soon as he complies, the radio hisses with static. “Sending backup, over.”

“Ivy!” Bats hisses, glancing over at her.

She scoffs, listening for the tell-tale thunder of boots down the hall. “You know, this would be a lot easier if you weren’t hung up about property damage.”

“No one can know we’re here, Ivy.”

For the love of pete. Her heart already races out of control, and fuck if Ivy can slow it down now. Harley’s calming techniques be damned. “Well, you’re not going to like this either.”

“Like what?” Bats says flatly, in the middle of a download.

“You’ve only two other options, Batsy.”

“Enough with the nicknames, already.”

The backup pours into the room, and the room flashes white, and Ivy swears her eardrums explode with the noise. Her body reacts before her brain can, and the air’s filled with a dusty haze. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Sex or murder?” Ivy calls out over the coughing militarized guards. Who the fuck guards a building with a SWAT team? Harley, what have you got yourself into this time?

“What?” Batwoman yells back, coughing too.

“SEX OR MURDER???”

“...Sex, I guess?”

Ivy holds up her hands, seeing half a dozen sights aimed at her chest. “It’s gonna be sex with me. You okay with that?”

Batwoman doesn’t look up, but she does stop typing. “Is this hypothetical or…?”

“Not anymore it isn’t.”

“Are you going to kill me otherwise?”

Ivy pinches her nose. “ NO. For crying out loud. But we don’t have time to get arrested.”

“HANDS ON THE GROUND.” Ivy and Bats comply. What else are they going to do while they hash this out?

The vigilante rolls her eyes. “Ugh. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“ Yes, Ivy. But only if it’s not around these idiots.”

“If you insist.” Ivy waves her hand as subtly as she can, letting the pheromones escape her skin like a fine mist.

“Uh, boss?” One of the sights drops to her hand. Shit.

Five more join the first. “Hey! None of that. ”Pigs never were known for their subtlety.

Ivy plasters on her most repentant expression. “Too late.” And she’s not lying. She can already see the green mist being pulled into the HVAC system. Which is another problem, but one she’s not going to worry about just yet.

“Plant Lady! Get that shit out of the air!”

One.

“No can do. Sorry.” Not sorry. Not one bit.

Two.

“I mean it, Lady. Or I’ll shoot!”

Three.

“ Lady, I swear I’ll--”

One piggy turns to the other. “Hey, Frankie?”

“Not now, Mitch.”

“There’s something I gotta tell you, Frankie.” Mitch takes his hand, fingering the clasps on the other man’s armor.

“Mitch? What hell-- mm. ”

Batwoman holds her flash drive in her hands, stunned by the site of an entire SWAT team playing tonsil hockey with one another. Ivy grabs her by the cape. “That’s our cue!” And she drags her to a cubicle by the stairs.

“Wouldn’t it be easier if we just left ?”

“‘Fraid not. Unless you packed an antidote to my new toxin with you.”

“Actually.” Batwoman fishes around in her utility belt. “Shit.” She turns on her, jabbing a finger in her face. “You were supposed to be on your best behavior.”

Ivy folds her arms, leaning against the cubicle wall. “Wasn’t expecting them to send the SWAT after us.”

Batwoman takes a deep breath. “So, how does this work, exactly?”

Licking her lips, Ivy answers. “There’s an antidote in my saliva, but it’s the most potent after I’ve had an orgasm.”

“Then why does it have to be sex?” Bat’s candor is refreshing, if not unexpected. “Why not jill yourself off and get it over with?”

“It’s not so simple,” Ivy chuckles. “My DNA is too dissimilar to yours--”

“But if you have my DNA, aka my saliva , with it--”

“An effective antidote.”

“An effective antidote that won’t cause you serious side effects.” She steps towards Bats, holding out her hand. “Any other questions before we start?”

Batwoman quirks her head at Ivy’s clinical tone. “Will Harley be okay with this?”

Ah. There’s the question of the day. Ivy closes her hand, examining her nails as she shrugs. “She’ll be alive . And free.”

Black gloved hands take her bare ones in their own, squeezing them gently. “You love her, don’t you.”

Ivy swallows, feeling as if the ground is moving beneath her boots. “I’d--” do anything for her , she means to say, and give Batwoman the vantage over her.

Batwoman seals her mouth over hers, muffling her reply. And to think this woman had the more ruthless reputation over her male counterpart. Her slips are soft and full, and the gloss slides between them and tastes like dark cherry. Intoxicating. Ivy dares to dart her tongue between them, and taste that poison just that much more.

Her pheromones work quickly as they enter Batwoman’s system. Her professional silence slips into wanton moans, and her hands work into the top of Ivy’s bust. She shivers, leaning into her touch, whispering encouragement. “Go ahead. Touch me everywhere you’d like.”

Nearby, an officer lets out a guttural cry, “Please, baby. Gimme more.”

That pulls Batwoman’s attention away, and Ivy drags it back with the drag of her nails across the material of her uniform. “Shh. Don’t mind them. They can’t even hear us over the sound of their own sex.”

Batwoman’s voice is husky as she pulls the top of Ivy’s corset down. “You sure?”

“Mmhm. Happens all the time.” Batwoman laughs at that, and moans as Ivy’s hands dally around her utility belt. “Now, aren’t these things booby trapped?”

Nodding, Batwoman whispers. “Security disengage: Code Sappho.” The utility belt snaps open falling into her hands.

Ivy laughs. “Oh my god .”

“Laugh all you want. I’m changing it as soon as this is over.”

Setting the belt aside, Ivy runs a finger down to Batwoman’s crotch. She drinks in the hiss from her lips, adding more pressure and more fingers, drawing heat between her legs and hopefully a little wetness. “You like that, don’t you.”

“Nn, fuck.” Batwoman leans into her touch. She’s a goner.

Ivy loves this part of the game, taking the most stubborn partner and watering their desire until it breaks them apart like tree roots in a sidewalk. It’s different from when she makes love to Harley. This is less like romance and more like chess. How many moves until she queens her king? “That’s it. Tell me what feels good.”

Batwoman’s knees go weak, and Ivy shoves her into a rolling chair. She presses the heel of her hand into her groin. “Oh g-- . Mm.” Gasping, Bats grabs Ivy's hand and shoves it into her own pants.

“Mm, demanding, aren’t you?” Ivy bites her ear lobe. “I like that.”

“Just get it o --oh. ” Bats leans into Ivy’s skillful touch, and she plays her like a violin, basking in the melody ringing from her lips. But Batwoman would never let a bad girl win, now would she?

Teeth graze Ivy’s neck, and the gasp slips from her mouth faster she can stop it.

“Oh fuck. Fuck yes. Right there.” It no longer registers which goon is saying what. They could all be chanting in unison for all Ivy knows. And she doesn’t care.

Batwoman licks the red line she’s created, and she squeezes Ivy’s breast through her uniform, just on the edge of too hard . She knows exactly what she’s doing. Check . Ivy catches her mouth, tasting her, drawing quick, tight circles around her clit. Just as Bats quakes in her arms, Ivy pulls back. “Oh come on, ” she groans.

“You get tied up a lot , don’t you?” Ivy glances at the zamioculus zamifolia, potted at the opposite desk corner. “You must enjoy it, then.” Batsy’s eyes widen as the vines stretch towards her. “Why else would you keep going to work?”

“It’s annoying as fuck--” The vines halt their progress, and shudder, and the Bat licks her lips. “--On the job.”

“That’s more like it.” The vines curl and twist around Bat’s wrists, binding her to the chair. Two more bind the chair, albeit loosely, to the desk. Let her move her hips, without letting her roll away. Once she’s in place, Ivy sways her hips, slowly undoing the zipper in her one piece suit. She lets it slide down her skin, and Ivy presses her bare breasts into Bat’s face, and just for a moment her mark closes her eyes, breathing her in.

Ivy frowns. This won’t do. This won’t do at all. She whisks the vines away, and Batwoman stares at her. Pulling back again, Ivy kicks her suit past her ankles, and tosses the keyboard aside. She sits on the desk with her legs spread wide. “I’m gonna need you to bed over, darling.”

“I’m not your darling.” Bats turns her chair around, leaning down, and breathing in Ivy’s musk. She barely remembers to tie her up again.

It occurs to Ivy that she hasn’t let anyone other than Harley get this close in a very long time. Usually Ivy leaves her marks to die after they get her pheromones in their system. There was that one time with Selina when one of their capers went sideways. While Ivy swore up and down, Catwoman pulled her goggles away from her eyes and kissed her full on the mouth. And things escalated from there. But that was before Harley.

Batwoman takes her sweet time tasting her, and Ivy finds herself gripping the desk with white knuckles. No. She won’t let her know how nice this feels-- oh. Oh God. “ Fuck.”

And then Batwoman pulls back. “Has Harley been gone that long?”....Did she say that last part out loud?

“Fuck you.”

Tilting her head to the side, Batwoman asks, “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

Oh, but Ivy wants to wipe that coy smile off that face and replace it with her pleas for mercy. “Almost. Do you prefer to be teased or penetrated?” Ivy leans forward with her breasts pressed together, her words clinical and her grin anything but.

Bats dares to look her over, drinking the sheen on her skin. Her mouth never quite closes. She licks her lips, almost panting as she asks. “Must I choose?”

Ivy takes Bat’s chin in her hands. “Greedy, aren’t you?”

Whatever Bat’s snarky reply is, it’s lost in Ivy’s mouth as she claims her once more. This time neither of them hold back, devouring each other sloppily and noisily. Ivy trails kisses down Bat’s neck, and she summons another vine. The tiniest, softest leaf brushes across Bat’s clit. Batwoman cries out sharply, straining against her bonds.

“Ready?” Ivy pulls the vine back, examining the wetness dripping down its stalk. Oh, she’s ready all right. But Ivy wants to hear her say it.

“Ivy .”

Digging her fingers into Bat’s chin, Ivy nearly growls. “ Beg for it. ” The vine teases her clit faster, not harder, never quite getting her where she wants it. No, needs it.

Goosebumps run down Batwoman’s arms. “ Please.”

How fortunate that one of the cubicle dwellers has taken to growing a ficus ginseng microcarpa as a bonsai tree. Ivy draws out one of the aerial roots, sculpting it into the right shape. She slides a condom on it, safety first, of course, and lets the plant do the rest. It enters Bats slowly, slowly filling her up. Her eyes bulge as it pulls back, and pushes back in. No sound spills from her mouth, but her hips shift, thrusting with the plant as it fucks her.

Fuck, but Ivy’s mouth is dry. Her thighs twitch, rubbing together hungrily as she watches. She wants to touch herself so bad but she won’t give Batwoman that satisfaction. She won’t. She...

Batwoman’s face twists, and her mouth pinches shut. Her back arches and the chair squeaks across the floor. The groan rasps out of her mouth as her jaw drops into the perfect Oh.

“Not bad.” Ivy picks some lint off of her arm, releasing Batwoman from her bonds. “The antidote should be working now. Thank you for the view --”

The vigilante charges forward, gripping Ivy’s arms and pressing her back into the desk. Ivy watches the monitor crash to the floor. “I’m not done yet.” Batwoman’s signature lipstick has smeared across her chin in a very un-Batlike fashion. Her gloved fingers poke at Ivy’s clit, and she hisses. “Still sensitive, aren’t we? Still unsatisfied?” Her voice drops low and teasing, and fuck, Ivy won’t tell her to fuck off now .

Those same fingers that cast batarangs and grip grappling hooks dig into her, twisting and pulling. A chorus of cries ring out in harmony with her own, as Ivy lifts her hips off the desk, thrusting into Batwoman’s touch. “Yes. Yes.” Bats grins into Ivy’s mouth, drawing out her moans. Harley would do the same thing, but Ivy doesn’t want to think about her right now. She doesn’t want to think about anything at this moment. She draws up a vine, letting it coat itself in its own juices. Nice and easy , she tells herself, pulling away from Batwoman so she can look her in the eyes.

The vine slithers between her butt cheeks, small end first. Batwoman raises her eyebrows, but she doesn’t stop her delicious torment. In fact, she licks her lips a little. “Ah, fuck. Fuck. ” Her hand works in tandem with Ivy’s vines, pushing and pulling her hips back and forth like a rubber band. She chuckles into Ivy’s mouth, claiming it again, tasting it again. Only chuckling louder as Ivy begs and begs for release. Batmwoman clenches Ivy’s hip with her free hand, digging in her fingers so she feels that much more used . And fuck her, Ivy loves it.

If the pigs nearby are still fucking, Ivy can’t hear them.

She doesn’t even hear herself moaning into Batwoman’s ear. She only hears the slick as she’s fucked from both sides. And oh , the fullness of both . Ivy grips Batwoman’s shoulders to keep from shaking apart, and she bites the skin of her neck as she explodes with the heat of the sun.

Ivy stretches as the vine and Batwoman pull back, and she hums with satisfaction. Batwoman watches her with molten eyes. “Should we go agai--”

Ding! The computer chimes nearby.

Ivy sits up quickly, shaking off the last vestiges of her afterglow, slinking her one piece on and zipping it up the back. The zipper gets stuck, and before she can weigh the pros and cons of asking , gloved fingers finish the job for her. “Transfer’s done.”

“Finally.” Ivy grabs her boots, marching to the office barefoot.

Batwoman clicks a few keys, and whistles . “Mission’s already done. She’s at Metropolis General.”

“She’s hurt !?” A branch snaps in a horrid crack behind them.

“She was, but she’s being discharged today. Better hurry.”

Batwoman doesn’t need to tell her twice.

Ivy pauses to don her boots in the hallway. Nearby she hears the sound of a half-a-dozen special response officers zipping up their flies. “Ah, fuck. I lost a button. Anyone see the button to my uniform?”

“Fuck off. At least you’re not missing a contact lens.”

“Hey! Who stole my gun?”

“Ah shit. Mine too.”

Leaving them behind, Ivy chuckles. The green always knows how to take good care of her. Soon she’ll return the favor.

------

Room 23. The hospital stretches on in an endless maze. Ivy forces herself not to run, to carry her empty clipboard like she’s a doctor making her rounds. Just act like she belongs there and no one will notice. So far so--

Ivy’s heart soars when she spots the room number.

“Harley!”

Harley shoots up in bed, swaying a little, but her shit eating grin tells Ivy everything will be okay. “Pretty girl!”

Ivy sits on the bed, planting a shy kiss on Harley’s lips. “I need to tell you something.” She explains the events of the past 24 hours, and Harley’s eyes go wide. Twisting her hands, Ivy waits an eternity for Harley to reply.

“Was she good? Do you think she’d be down for a threesome?”

“Harley!”

#dc comics #poison ivy #batwoman #jason todd #poison ivy x batwoman #finished this a few weeks ago #but was dealing with a breakup #sorry about the delay #melody writes #thank you asshat anon bot for reminding me to post more content you hate :P #lemon

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aliceslantern · 4 years

Text

Heartlines, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 21--Radiant Garden

Twelve years ago, Xemnas betrayed the royal court of Radiant Garden to his father, Xehanort. Prince Ienzo flees to another city and begins university in the aftermath, hoping the anonymity will protect him from eager eyes with ill intent. The darkness spilling across the country, as well as an individual from his past, cut short Ienzo's new beginning and bring new conflicts to light. Strained between the desires of his magic and his heart, Ienzo's choice will change him forever.

Modern Fantasy AU, Soulmates, Zemyx. Updates Fridays until it's done.

Chapter summary: Demyx, Aeleus, and Ansem arrive in Radiant Garden.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

---

Demyx expected Radiant Garden to be… nicer.

Then again, it apparently once was, if anything Ansem was saying was true. The whole city kind of stunk , a smell that made Amalia cry. Demyx knew by then it was darkness.

The three of them didn’t talk much on the ferry ride over, as though saying too much might give them away. But the workers just ushered them on boredly and treated them as normal passengers, not that there were many this early morning.

“So where are we going?” Demyx asked.

“Not to worry, I’ve got it all straightened out,” Ansem said.

So bizarre still, to think that the king was his father-in-law. He kept looking at Amalia, as though she might disappear. Demyx noticed for the millionth time just how much she looked like Ienzo--the shape of her eyebrows and eyes, her pale skin, her hair. Sometimes he thought she smelled like him.

Ienzo was alive.

Along the waves and waves of longing for him was something bitter and sharp. How could you have left me? Have left us? Demyx tried to squelch those thoughts down--it wasn’t as though Ienzo wanted this to happen--but it was tough doing.

They disembarked from the ferry and walked through the streets. They were eerily empty--the few people they did see narrowed their eyes and walked too quickly. Ansem sighed heavily. “This was once such a beautiful place.”

Demyx could see that too. The flower gardens were everywhere, but a lot of the flowers were limp, brown, dying. The few vibrant flowers they saw turned out to be plastic as they approached. Amalia lay against his chest limply, as though exhausted. While they saw old signs for streetcars, Demyx didn’t see any on the streets.

So they walked. Amalia only weighed a little over seven kilos, but even with the sling Demyx found himself getting achy. After a while, Ansem offered to take the baby from him. “It’s the darkness, making you weak,” the king said out of the corners of his mouth.

Many of the houses were boarded up and shuttered, and in some places there was evidence of destruction--soot from fires, broken glass, rubble. What seemed like hours later, they arrived at an apartment building at the farthest edge of the city. Demyx’s feet were positively screaming. Ansem handed the baby back and took a small skeleton key from his pocket. “This used to be the resistance’s headquarters,” he said, equally as quietly. “Some years ago they got smoked out.”

“How is it safe, then?” Demyx asked.

“Because Xehanort thinks we’re not stupid enough to return to the places we’ve left.”

They walked up to the fourth floor landing. The building was abandoned; Demyx could feel it. It was old, dusty. Amalia sneezed. At least the power still seemed to be on, flickering unsteadily in bare bulbs. They reached a door at the end of the hall and Ansem unlocked that, too.

This must’ve once been a nice apartment, but dust and water damage bloated the silk wallpaper, and dirt permeated every crevice. Demyx could see spots where the resistance must have… resisted the “smoking out”; gouges in floors, cracks in the wall, a chair with one of its legs broken. Most of the furniture left was covered in sheets. Aeleus tried to open one of the windows, but it was stuck and didn’t get more than a few inches. He sighed. “I don’t suppose you know any wind magic,” he said to Demyx.

He shook his head. “Water, mostly. Sorry.”

Aeleus thought. “Actually, that might just work.”

Demyx handed Aeleus the baby. It still felt weird, to use his own power after so long, but he was surprised at how easily it came. He felt like he was doing something wrong, sweeping water off of the floors, the surfaces he could see; the grime was coming up more easily than he thought. He guided the water across the furniture, too, washing it clean, then drying everything back out and dumping the waste out the window. “Would’ve made apartment life in college a lot easier,” he muttered. The place was a different color.

“Can you ward?” Ansem asked.

Demyx felt his face heat. “...No.”

He passed the baby back to him. “No matter.” He started casting the then-familiar barriers at the door.

“I didn’t think you were a magic user.”

“My power is considerably less than Ienzo’s--much like your daughter got his, my sister got our father’s.”

“...Magic is so weird,” Demyx said.

He laughed. “Indeed it is, my dear boy.”

“I’m going to see if I can find some food,” Aeleus said. “Don’t go anywhere if you can avoid it.”

Demyx and Ansem continued to get the apartment ready for living. Demyx missed with a sudden ache his old apartment with Riku, the basement in the townhouse. Reliable clean hot showers. Restaurants, bars. Clubs. Friends.

Ansem rested a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“I… know I should be glad we’re together, and alive. But…”

“You miss your old life. Of course you do.” He smiled kindly. “I think we all do every now and again.”

“Especially you--I mean, you must’ve had it pretty freaking sweet.”

“Things are just things,” Ansem said wistfully. “I miss mostly… my family.”

“Ienzo,” Demyx said, feeling the now-familiar accompanying stab of pain.

“My son… Even, that dear man… my apprentices. And those members of staff who became family, too.”

Demyx considered the way Ansem said Even’s name. “Do you… love him?”

Ansem looked confused. “My son? Of course.”

“No, Even.”

Ansem looked out the window.

“You don’t have to tell me. It’s okay.”

After a moment Ansem said, “We never… said as such. I’d hoped… things would evolve eventually, and then…”

“...Shit hit the fan.” Amalia cooed as though in response. “Right.”

“...I’m hoping that somehow all this nonsense will be behind us soon. That your daughter can grow up knowing Xehanort as only part of history.”

She made small smacking sounds. Very deliberately, she smiled. “She likes you,” Demyx said. “Well. She likes mostly everyone, but…”

Ansem chuckled. He leaned forward to take Amalia’s tiny fist into his hand. “You’re a seeker, right?”

“...Yeah.”

“From where?”

“Destiny Islands.”

“So you’re--”

“...Yeah.” He swallowed. “She’s got the, uh, scales. You’ll probably see them if you ever change her.”

Ansem sat on one of the covered chairs. “You’ll have to forgive me,” he said in a low voice, knotting his hands.

Demyx knew how he would answer, but he said, “for what?”

“For choosing this life for you. I assure you I did not know your people intended a living person to be behind Ienzo’s protection. I was… woefully ignorant of the cultural implications.”

Demyx considered this. “My parents sold me so they could stay together,” he said instead. “What would the alternative have been? I’d have still always been seeking Ienzo, whether or not I knew it. And I’d never have found him if I stayed where I was.”

“Is that what you sought? A partner, a family?”

“Must be,” he murmured. “I… I don’t know. I feel divorced in a lot of ways from my past self. I didn’t even remember a lot of it until recently. Swiss cheese memory.”

“Darkness can cause amnesia that only time and coincidence can heal.”

“Apparently.”

There was a gentle knock at the door; they all tensed, even Amalia, and Demyx’s heart broke a little more ( she shouldn’t feel afraid like this ). Ansem drew a dagger from his boot and approached it slowly. Then he looked through the peephole and sighed heavily, and Demyx knew that kind of sigh. Longing.

Even was sopping wet as he came through the door. “Don’t ask,” he said, before he caught sight of Ansem. “Oh--”

“Hello, Even,” he said.

Even’s face had gone oddly blank. “Hello... I…” A faint flush spread through his face, and he turned instead to Demyx. “How’s the baby?”

“She’s fine. Want me to dry you out?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Demyx did so. “Nice day for a swim, huh?”

“Boy, I said don’t ask. ” He took off the unflattering parka he wore. He seemed to struggle to gather himself. Then, to Ansem, “I thought we’d agreed to keep you out of this.”

Demyx wondered if now might be the right moment to try and get the baby down for a nap. He stood carefully and eased his way towards one of the bedrooms. “The time for cowardice is over, I think. Lest Ienzo be in more trouble than he’s already let on. At some point my safety becomes complicity. Don’t you agree?”

Demyx eased the door shut. They continued this discussion in low voices. Amalia squalled a little, reaching towards Even. “I know, Li-li. You missed him. But he has to talk to grandpa Ansem.” He washed out the blanket on the bed quickly and tucked it into a larger drawer of the dresser. Before all this, he’d thought the babies-in-a-drawer thing was only pop culture. They used to have a pack-and-play she’d used as a bed, but they’d had to abandon it one night. That was before Isa taught him about pocket dimensions. Either way, she didn’t seem to mind, and he sang her a lullaby until she fell asleep.

He must’ve slept too, draped in the musty armchair; he was only woken by the gentle tapping of nails on the wooden floors. Demyx jerked awake, reaching automatically for the baby, before he saw it was just Isa; moonlight bled into the room. “Your time of the month already, huh?” he asked.

Isa just glared at him with the wolf’s eyes and trotted over to the baby, sniffing her once; she cooed.

“Must’ve been easier to swim this way though, I bet.”

He just bobbed his head once.

“Everyone else still out there?”

Another nod.

“Keep an eye on her for me? I bet she’s starving.”

On shaky legs, Demyx walked back over to the door, which Isa had left open. Ansem, Aeleus, and Even were gathered at the small round kitchen table in the dark, their eyes on Even’s phone, something like horror in their expressions.

He didn’t like the sinking feeling he got. For the first time in a while his own magic pinged unpleasantly. “What?” Demyx asked.

“Oh, Demyx. Let me get you some coffee,” Ansem said. He crossed back over to the pot. “I’m afraid there’s only milk--”

“What. Happened.”

Even just sighed, and it was a sigh of someone about to have a hard conversation. “Why don’t you sit down?” He took off his glasses, but this only made him look more exhausted.

Another unpleasant ping. “Ienzo,” he said, with something like desperation.

“...is still alive. Physically, anyway.” Even guided Demyx over to a chair and pressed the coffee into his hand. He touched his shoulder, once; Even only initiated physical contact if something bad happened. “Take a breath. It may not be as it seems.”

Aeleus just shook his head.

But Demyx had always been smarter, or maybe more intuitive, than the once-scientist thought. “He’s been brainwashed.”

“The picture I have is not completely clear--” He began, then took a moment to compose himself. “The city news has been unreliable, as it’s now owned by the state.”

“Let the other shoe drop before you give the boy a heart attack,” Ansem said. He was still facing the counter.

Even’s lips pursed even more. Without ceremony, he presented Demyx the phone, which was open to a news article.

Missing princess actually prince, voices support for new regime.

He thought he might faint. “Oh, shit .”

#heartlines #demyx #ienzo #zemyx #ansem the wise #even (kingdom hearts)#aeleus #child oc - amalia

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touchingoldmagic · 4 years

Text

Day 6 - Villain

Day 6 of the 30 Day Ghostbusters Challenge!

Author's Notes: I still can't believe they teased us with Samhain in the intro of EGB and never gave him to us in an actual episode.

"I am eternal." The voice that echoed through the first floor of the firehouse sounded like an oily shriek overlaid with a drawn-out wail. Under the voice rumbled a sound like thunder.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the weather. It was the squat old building shaking on its foundation, as if the specter had mastered control of the earth itself. Dust and debris filled the air, making it hard to see and to breathe. A basketball-sized chunk of plaster fell from the ceiling and bounced off Ecto's hood with a metallic clunk.

The swish of old dusty robes announced the spirit's arrival, and the voice continued, "Time means nothing to me. Unlike you, Egon Spengler. You, who has grown old and feeble, while I bided my time."

Crouched behind Ecto for cover, Egon glanced at Kylie and Eduardo. "Get your packs. Find Garrett, Roland and Janine, make sure they're okay," he whispered. Then he stood up and moved around the vehicle, ready to provide the distraction his students needed.

The specter hovered in the air above Janine's desk. Long, gnarled fingers tipped with claws emerged from the tattered robes that hid the rest of the figure, save for the engorged jack-o’-lantern that made up its head, wearing a grin almost wide enough to split the gourd in half.

Egon stepped much closer to the receptionist area than he really felt comfortable with, angling himself away from the stairway and hoping to keep its attention on him. He could see the structural damage to the building behind the ghost. The stairwell up from the basement was forcibly enlarged, as if a controlled explosion had been directed up the stairs. Thankfully the physicist had to conclude that the structural integrity of the Containment Unit was not compromised, as they were not currently standing in a smoking crater. Yet.

"This is an impressive show, but it doesn't compare to your last one," Egon announced. "I think your incarceration made you more rusty than you care to admit."

Like dry leaves rustling together, Samhain laughed.

Clawed hands flexed and a sudden wind kicked up in the firehouse, dry and hot. Egon lifted his hands to try to shield his face, trying to keep an eye on one of the oldest, most powerful creatures that had, until very recently, been confined by the Ghostbusters. Egon allowed the wind to push him back a few steps, away from the receptionist desk and toward the wall, drawing the spirit's attention further.

"Has your pitiful mind crumbled like your frail body?" Samhain wondered aloud, his words like nails on slate. "I have waited so long for this revenge. I hope you do not disappoint me. If nothing else, I will get to hear your wails of torment."

One clawed hand suddenly grew impossibly large and swooped down, as if to snatch Egon off the ground. He threw himself backward to avoid it but lost his balance, landing on his back with a grunt. His head impacted against some of the scattered tools Roland kept in the garage bay to work on Ecto and stars exploded across his vision, accompanied by the sharp pain of fallen debris from the ceiling digging into his back.

The hand reached for him again, claws curled this time as if to stab into his chest.

Before they could connect, the room was lit up in the bright electric green of focused protons. Egon squinted and tried to force his swimming vision to focus. Kylie and Eduardo stood halfway up the stairway to the second floor in full gear, weapons trained on the ghost. Samhain's hand jerked back.

"No! Run!" Egon shouted, his voice pitched up in alarm and pain. Even with the upgrades done to the current proton packs, two streams would never hold Samhain. Indeed, the spirit turned to the two teenagers and had no reaction to the throwers, other than to hold his cloak up slightly like a man bracing himself against an inconvenient rain.

The small holes that served as the jack-o’-lantern's eyes narrowed almost to slits. "Spawn of yours, Egon Spengler?" the raspy voice rang out, taunting. "Then you will see them die, before you succumb yourself."

Egon attempted to scramble to his feet, knowing in his heart that there was no way he could react fast enough, and nothing he could do even if he were faster.

Samhain flicked his hands and currents of black lightning shot out toward the stairway. The two teenagers yelped and retreated upward just in time, out of view. The stairs gained some new scorch marks but remained intact. At the same time, the whining sound of labored machinery could be heard. The open elevator that connected the first floor garage area to the second floor had been activated. Garrett and Roland stood on the platform, also in gear, and they fired at the floating phantasm as soon as the platform cleared the ceiling.

Samhain turned to face this new threat with interest rather than alarm, but as soon as his back was turned to the stairway, Kylie and Eduardo reappeared and fired once again. The ghost was caught and pinned between the four beams, and this time there was a definite reaction. A screech of displeasure filled the air.

Egon pressed a hand to his aching temple and felt a swirl of vertigo. He almost fell again, but then strong hands were around his shoulders, steadying him. He looked over his shoulder and was surprised to see Janine. "Are you okay?" she asked lowly, barely heard over the sound of the battle.

Egon wasn't sure where she had come from, but he was very glad she was here. In more dignified times he wouldn't lean against her, but he really would not enjoy another impact with the ground and now was not the time to be mulish. "We have to get packs," he panted, bracing himself against her smaller form. "Even four streams will not hold him without weakening his--"

As if on cue the specter screeched out a word in another language and the foul wind kicked up again with gale-like strength, and the tremors in the building's foundation became a full on earthquake, brief but intense. The four proton streams lost their marks as the teenage Ghostbusters scrambled to keep their footing. Garrett's chair almost rolled off the platform until he dropped his thrower to grab the brake.

Samhain's head swiveled to glare at Egon and Janine (a disturbing image, as his body didn't move to match the motion). "I will return with my army, and then you will all die in agony," Samhain promised, the haunting wail full of rage. The lights flickered overhead and then the spirit vanished, nothing but a pale mist left in the air where he had been.

The ground had already stopped shaking. Kylie and Eduardo quickly came down the stairs as the elevator continued its way down to the first floor to deposit Garrett and Roland. The four teens converged on their two mentors.

"So who was Pumpkin Spice?" Garrett quipped, looking at Egon and Janine for answers, completely unconcerned at how close they had come to complete destruction.

"Whoever it was, he shook off two streams like these're Super Soakers," Eduardo snorted, gesturing to his thrower. They hadn't met many ghosts who could shrug off their equipment so effortlessly.

"That was Samhain," Kylie cut in breathlessly, before Egon could speak. "There's a lot of information about him in the Spirit Guide. He's been worshiped since the seventh century. He's like the embodiment of Halloween."

"Yes, and one of the strongest spirits we ever had to face." Egon cast a worried glance at the smoking hole that used to be the stairwell to the basement. "We need to get downstairs and check on the Containment Unit. Immediately."

#ghostbusters #ghostbusters cartoon #extreme ghostbusters #ghostbusters fanfiction #ghostbusters fanfic #egon spengler #kylie griffin #eduardo rivera #roland jackson #garrett miller #janine melnitz #samhain #he's my fave #i luv halloween #just you guys wait til october #i'm so so sorry this ended on a cliffhanger #i want to continue it after the event is done #ghostbusters 30 day challenge

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scarofthewind · 5 years

Text

Bughuul x Reader (III)

A/N: Hello everyone. This is going to be a fun one. Hope you enjoy! Anyone who wanted to be tagged for the updated parts will be at the bottom of the page.

The kids meant it when they said you’d be lonely without them. It had been two weeks since you last saw any of them and you checked the news everyday to see if their deed had been done. However, there was nothing but the same old robbery or grass fire on the road.

The house felt empty. There was nothing there but the occasional visit from him which consisted of a staring contest from across the room. No words were exchanged out of fear that if things escalated, there would be no hope for you. The kids wouldn’t save you this time.

You were currently getting ready for work, fixing your lunch for the day when the front door swung open. “Jared?” You asked, having a small panic attack from the sound the door made as it hit the wall.

“Oh thank god!” Your ex practically ran over to you, grabbing you in a tight hug.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, pushing him off and watching him look around like a scared animal.

“Are they gone?” He asked, eyes wide and breathing labored.

“Are who gone?” You watched him carefully.

“The demons.” He said shakily. “The kids and the man with no face.”

“He has a face.” You mumbled, watching Jared turn to face you quickly.

“I’ve come to tell you that I found a new place for us and that we need to leave.” He grabbed your wrist tightly and you winced, pulling back.

“Stop this! It’s ridiculous. I won’t go anywhere with you.” You hissed, feeling his nails dig into your skin. “We aren’t together anymore, remember?”

“No, no! (Y/N) we are! You just took a small break while I went to find us a new home.

“Have yo lost your damn mind? Let go of me!” You snapped, trying to pull out of his grip only for him to grab your other arm and start to pull you from the kitchen to the front door. “Jared stop!” You yelled, yanking away from him as hard as you could.

“We can finally start the family we had talked about! Maybe even get a dog!” He laughed, almost reaching the door before it slammed shut.

You both froze and you immediately noticed the hair on your arms raising. “Jared let me go.” You calmly said, watching him turn to look at you.

“You know I can’t do that. Call them off (Y/N).” He growled, advancing on you, pushing you against a wall and pinning your there. “Call off the damn kids!”

“It’s not them!” You shouted, fear tainting your voice as your ex yanked on your hair, exposing your neck to him. “Stop it.” You whined, your eyes burning with tears that threatened to spill.

“Fine then. They can watch.” He grinned, forcing your button up shirt open with one of his hands, pinning your wrists behind your back.

“Get off me!” You screamed, lifting your knee up quickly and hitting him in his nether regions. You let him release you and loose his balance before you took off towards the basement. The air was ice cold and as soon as you reached the floor of the dusty level, your were overcome with the familiar dizzy sensation.

The basement light suddenly went out and a projector came on instead. The sounds of a film being started echoed through the darkness as your eyes watched what was being put on. As soon as the video started, your stomach dropped. “Oh my god.” You cried, placing a hand over your mouth in shock as you watched the children you had grown to care for murder their families. One after another, the videos played and you didn’t realize Jared was next to you until you felt his hand on your shoulder.

“We need to leave.” He said with a shudder. You turned your attention back to the wall and watched Milo set up for his family’s execution. The rats, the blood. The fact that Bughuul called them upon his family. Everything became numb within you in that moment and you truly thought that death would be better than living with them for eternity.

However, what came out of your mouth surprised everyone in the room. Your eyes met Jared’s and you moved back, away from him. Not far behind the man was the ghastly figure of the demon himself. You focused on him in that moment and spoke, “I can’t leave them.”

“Are you insane!? (Y/N), these are killers we are talking about!” Jared yelled, moving closer to you than Bughuul liked. Barely taking two steps, the deity reached out and grabbed Jared’s shoulder. The man looked up to the demon, his face showing many signs of fear which only fueled Bughuul to complete his task. The last thing Jared heard was a deep, menacing voice saying, “She’s mine,” before he was turned into complete dust in the matter of seconds.

When Bughuul flicked the remnants of the man off his fingers and looked towards you, he stiffened. You were already staring at him with a look of approval that he’d never seen before. “Just like Zach.” Bughuul was taken aback by your statement but nodded slowly.

“They told you then? About that boy.” Bughuul spoke clearly, the dizziness in your head calming into almost nothing. With a nod, you turned your eyes back to the wall where Ashely’s video was playing. Bughuul moved to stand by you, watching the videos with pride at the work of his children. “She was so small to be doing such a strong job.”

You looked up to him, searching his face for any signs of emotion. “But she did it.” You whispered, watching him turn his head slightly to look down at you. A hum of agreement was the answer you received.

“Thank you.” You said, looking down at your bruised wrists from where Jared had grabbed you. “He probably would’ve killed me.”

“Yes he would have.” Bughuul agreed, “Although we can’t have him doing what I am to do, can we?” That’s right. In the end of everything, when you finally become his, there’s a ritual. It involves your death amongst other things. “I have a face.” The deity chuckled, mocking your statement from before.

“You do. Even though it’s hard to read.” You smiled a bit. Your mind wandered for a moment then something clicked, “This is the first time we’ve talked nice to each other.”

“It is.” The film shut off and the basement light came back on, only to make Bughuul disappear.

For a moment you played with your fingers, trying to get out what you wanted to say. Taking a deep breath, you finally did, “I want to try.” You cleared your throat and spoke louder. “I want to be with the kids. I care about them like they are my own. And I know sometimes we fight terribly, but it’s not everyday that a deity saves a human like that so it counts for something.”

“Do you mean that?” A gentle voice asked you and you turned your head to see Ashely standing there with her small yellow raincoat on. Behind her stood the others, watching you with different eyes. Almost, hopeful.

“I do.” You nodded, kneeling down to her level and letting her hug you. You wrapped your arms around the small girl and looked over to Milo, ruffling his hair. “That means you too kid.” You watching him smile a bit before nodding.

Bughuul watched from his place in the shadows behind you. It was then that he realized why you were destined to be his. The deity felt himself almost smile genuinely, watching as the kids were given the correct love they needed.

“By the way, we have someone new we want you to meet.” Milo said, letting a new child come forth and make you freeze in place.

“(Y/N)?” Ashely asked, tugging on your arm and watching the little boy freeze as well. Bughuul watched curiously before feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Aiden?” Your voice cracked with pain as realization came over you.

“You know him?” Milo asked with shock as he looked over to Bughuul who was now standing behind you. Your eyes traced over the child and you refused to reach out and touch the kid. You stood slowly, turning to face the ghoul who stood rigid.

“Did you do this on purpose?” You asked lowly, tears falling from your face.

“Who is that child to you, (Y/N)?” Bughuul asked, watching as you braced yourself against the wall. Your face had become pale in the past minute and it was then he realized what had happened.

Aiden made his way forward, standing next to your sinking form, “She’s my sister.” Immediately, Bughuul’s stomach dropped and he reached out and touched your head, making you pass out for what it took for him to pick you up in his arms and take you to the other side.

_______

Tagged:

@zachc342 @darimq

#bughuul #sinister #bughuul x reader #horror x reader #🏵.original work

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