Contains: Just pure smut from the word go. Mariano belongs to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump Part Two to this!

Oh They'll Have An Interaction Alright :) Mariano belongs to @crash-bump-bring-the-whump Contains: Build up to smut, exhaustion Part Two Here --

Snow had insisted on blue light glasses. They had hounded Ryder about it for weeks, saying if he was going to spend hours surrounded by massive screens he might as well do it safely. Even when Ryder had agreed, Snow had decided he wasn’t getting around to it quickly enough, and he came into his office one night to a pair sitting on his keyboard.

He didn’t like wearing them. He didn’t need them. His vision was fine, and his eyes burning was typically his cue to curl up on the couch in the back of the room and sleep. It was a routine that worked, but Snow had been adamant on changing it.

So Ryder sat hunched over his keyboard, letting his coffee cool for the sake of his new glasses that would fog up if the steam came anywhere near them. His eyes felt heavy; his keystrokes were slow and inaccurate, and he could barely keep his focus as he trudged through his research.

This time it wasn’t the screens that tired him out, it was the dead end after dead end his research brought him. He couldn’t rest until he was done, couldn’t stop until Mariano and Bastian were safe to go home, and they couldn’t go home until Montgomery Lawton was behind bars.

He eventually found himself six links deep in his research, reading into the bank statements of Lawton’s accountant’s associate’s granddaughter's small business. He scanned the pages, barely taking in the words in front of him. Something had to be here–something substantial was always just a few clicks away. He just needed a lead, then he could rest.

“You’re up late.” Mariano spoke up from the doorway.

Ryder all but flinched. He pulled himself back to reality, adjusting his god forsaken glasses as he turned to Mariano. He felt caught. Mariano had the same presence Snow did when they found him overworking himself: calm and gentle and completely disapproving.

Mariano stepped inside, looking over the enormous screens that loomed over them both. “Find anything?” He asked.

“No.” Ryder admitted. “No, not even close.”

This is so old it was sent to my OLD writing blog!! Here you go @crash-bump-bring-the-whump this one's for you baby.

Contains: Team Whump, choking, blood, violence, light gore

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Ryder’s hand clutched at his side, sticky and warm from the blood soaking his sweater. The acrid smell was all he could process before the pain set in. Sitting there, hazy from the shock of it all he stared up at the ceiling.

He hated field work. It always turned out like this. Any time he left the safety of the control room he ended up gored or held captive in one way or another. He thought about the way this particular kidnapping would affect him, once he got out–how the trauma would nestle into the rest of his neuroses.

“Stop it! Get the–fuck off me.” Marcello’s voice cut through the noise. Ryder blinked, pulling himself out of his self pitying haze in time to see Marcello on the ground beside him.

One of the guards was kneeling over him, a knee pressed into his stomach as gloved hands wrapped around his throat.

It was like the wound on his side didn’t matter anymore, as Ryder slowly got to his feet. He was clumsy, not used to fighting by any means, as he pressed his body weight forward and charged into the armed guard.

It threw the man off balance as he and Ryder crashed gracelessly to the floor, Marcello left gasping raggedly for air. Ryder brought his fist down into the guard’s mask, landing a decisive blow. There was a moment where the guard reeled, cursing from behind his helmet before grabbing Ryder by the waist and throwing him aside.

Ryder found himself on his back, barely able to orient himself before the guard was on him, straddling his hips and settling a hand in his hair.

The sound of a single gunshot filled the room, and in an instant the guard slumped over on top of Ryder, still and heavy. He stared wide eyed to the ceiling, only barely aware of the gore splattered across his face. “What…”

“Close your eyes.” Marcello said hoarsely.

Ryder did as he said, and felt the weight of the guard get slowly, painstakingly lifted off of him.

“Don’t open them, don’t look.” Marcello continued, “I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

“Marcello, are you–you’re okay?” Ryder said with his eyes screwed shut. Somewhere from above, Marcello grabbed him to haul him to his feet. Pain shot through his body, his hand went back to his side. He didn’t open his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Follow me. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to look.”

Starting a project where I redraw every page from my high school sketchbook. I'm gonna draw so much homestuck.

Drip, drip, drip. The rain trickled down onto the stone floor. Bright moonlight filtered in through the temple’s ruined roof, reflecting blue onto the wet tiles and tall looming walls. Severin awoke lying on his side, notably comfortable despite it all. He couldn’t remember what had landed him here, huddled in the shadows amidst the rubble, but he knew immediately that he’d made a mistake somewhere. Something was… strange. The way the shadows enveloped him, the towering ruins around him, it was–comforting. It felt safe. And the thought of stepping out into the moonlight only filled him with instinctive dread. Shattered stained glass painted the floor, reflecting an image he didn’t recognize in the darkness. He stood, and the motion was smooth like the darkness around him. Had the ruins been so small before? Had the pews been so far beneath him? The center of the chapel welcomed him, even despite the moonlight that repelled him so fully. It ached to step into the light. Looking to the moon felt like staring into the sun. He brought his arm up to shield his eyes and was greeted with the sight of something thick and shapeless where his arm should be. What should have been skin moved like liquid, and swallowed the light that touched it. He sucked in a shuddering breath and stepped back, out of the light and into the safety of darkness. Beneath him, the gathering rain reflected the temple above. Stepping forward felt more like sliding on ice as he moved, staring into the puddle at his feet. Hollow, white eyes that shone like the moon stared back at him–set into a face that lacked any distinctive features. He blended in with the shadows behind him, and as he brought his hand up to touch his skin, the reflection followed suit. “What…” He whispered softly. What had the temple made him?

Cheating for the five sentence prompt game and borrowing @cyberwhumper's Rex again! Dog with a (broken) bone. Contains: Broken bone (Leg), Torture, Interrogation, Begging "Who's your captain?" Rex's boot pressed down further, straining the bone beneath it as he pressed his weight forward. Panic drew air into Miguel's lungs, and his voice came out in a ragged whisper: "Please--god, please don't…!" Rex's lip curled into a snarl, and he lifted his heel momentarily only to slam it back down. Miguel's vision exploded into white, and again the world around him danced.

Thank you @cyberwhumper for letting me borrow your horrifying man. I love him. Contains: Implied broken bones, interrogation, torture -- "Hey! Hey, I need you to breathe." It was a command, devoid of any warmth or concern as the heel of Rex's boot settled on his good leg. Miguel fought to clear his vision, barely able to make out the massive shape of the man above him. Miguel couldn't speak, he just took a ragged gasp for air that didn't quite fill his lungs. "Breathe, you still have more to tell me."

I'm gonna clear out my ask box heheheheh

Tucked away behind the dumpsters and the discarded litter, standing over cigarette butts and broken glass, there was a set of wooden doors. They were old, large, intricately carved with precise filigree. They didn’t belong, not by any means; beautiful and heavy looking mahogany in contrast with the dirty metal doors of the bars on either side of the alleyway. Tevvy looked over his shoulder. The city carried on behind him, no one so much as glanced his way. Whatever You’re Here For, was engraved into one door; on the other it read, All Are Welcome. A swirling, elegant underline danced beneath the word “all.” It should have felt like a trick, it should have made the hairs on his neck stand up, but it didn’t. Instead, it felt warm, almost. It felt like he was supposed to be there, standing in that alley, reaching for the door handle, and as his fingers fell on that polished bronze it felt like coming home.