↳ Magnus Bane in Shadowhunters
✨ Season 2A
❝There will always be a war. A mission. A problem to solve. Look, I speak from experience. If you fail to grant time for the things you care about, you’ll forget why you’re even fighting at all.❝
Chloe, or chloeslut, as her abductor had a started calling her, whimpered silently as she heard the dungeon door open. She had already learned that lesson early. After her first whipping, he told her that she would remain in this pit until she had been fully trained, and the first lesson the slave needed to learn that she was not to make a sound and certainly not speak, unless her master gave her permission.
The first night he returned she whimpered, knowing that she was probably going to face more agonizing pain, and tried to beg for her freedom. He rewarded that whimper, and request, by viciously beating both of her breasts. He told her, “if this cunt is too stupid to obey a simple order such as silence, then I shall give it something to whimper about.”
The next night she made sure that she didn’t make a single noise.
After that it was the same thing day, after day, after day.
He would come and whip her, or hurt her in some other way, he’d rape her in all three of her, “holes” as he called them. Put her to impossible tasks, designed, he told her, to break her will to resist. Then he’d feed her, a disgusting gruel that he said served the purpose of keeping her nourished, and then he’d leave.
Chloe had tried to keep track of the passage of time, but he had put a helmet on her face early into her captivity and hadn’t removed it since. It had an opening for her mouth, so she could be fed, watered, and mouth raped, but it left her in total darkness, and made it very difficult to hear anything.
He told her that a slave did not need to see or hear to obediently fuck and suffer with its holes and body.
He demonstrated that fact to Chloe repeatedly since telling her that.
As he entered the dungeon, she made sure to be in the exact position that he required.
Kneeling, with her ass on her heels, and her legs spread wide. Her arms were bound behind her, wrist to elbow, making sure that she arched her back. Her chain was pulled tight from her collar to the wall, as if she were straining to greet him, and her mouth was open wide.
It’d taken several nights of repeated beatings to teacher this position. Once he came in, the first thing he did was stuff his cock down her throat. The first evening blowjob. This performance would dictate whether she would suffer normal training discipline, or extra harsh.
She also learned through several failures that while normal discipline was agonizing, the discipline she suffered from a failed blowjob was a horrific hell that she never wanted to experience again.
The thought of the electricity on her opened vagina still gave her nightmares.
Once she finished, he undid the bindings that held her ankles to her thighs, and forced her to stand. She inhaled sharply at the stretching of the muscles, but didn’t actually make a true sound. He smiled at that, at the fact that she was learning.
He examined her quickly and efficiently, making sure that there was no evidence of any damage from the bondage. Once satisfied there wasn’t he examined her overall appearance, nothing that the hormones and injections he was forcing into her were already beginning to have positive results and her once, gorgeous, but relatively small 34B breasts, had begun to grow and were a very satisfactory C nearly D cup.
A few more weeks and he’d be able to begin milking her on a regular basis to get her producing milk and enlarge them even more.
He pushed those thoughts aside as he pulled her to her feet and said to her, “I have good news for you slave, it’s time to take care of your piercings.”
Chloe started to shake. When she’d gotten her ears pierced, it was so painful she couldn’t even imagine doing it anywhere else. When her friends were out getting their bellybutton’s pierced and even their noses, Chloe shied away from it and was always quick to make excuses.
Her master had informed her that she would be given a full set of piercings. A full said to him was nose, bellybutton, nipples, two piercings in both sides of her labia, and, most frighteningly, her clit.
The breasts were bad enough. She wasn’t sure, how he was doing it, but she knew her breasts were growing and they were incredibly painful, and sensitive.
Telling her he was planning to pierce her clit as well, was enough to make her nearly passout and now telling her it was time , she almost broke her discipline and started to beg for mercy. But she held on, barely. Only the memory of what she would suffer if she did try to speak allowed her to maintain her silent.
She had well learned in the time she had been in his dark dungeon, whipped in raped repeatedly, that mercy was never a possibility.
Soon, Chloe was strapped, tightly, into something that felt all the world like a gynecology chair. She tested her bonds, and strained against them until her master brought his hand down sharply across her pussy, “stay still slave. If you’re squirming makes me fuck one of these up you’re going to be very sorry. After all, technically I don’t see reason for you to have a clit. So, I could just as easily remove it if your inability to stay still becomes too annoying.”
Those words froze her into complete immobility. Like a statue made of granite, she promised herself not to move. The master, started with her nose. She felt the forceps grip her septum and held her breath as she next felt the sharp pain.
She couldn’t help but whimper, but he said nothing, simply slipped the ring into it, and clamped to close. She heard the snap and he said, “these rings are solid. Once closed they cannot be removed except by being cut. That’s unlikely since they’re made of a high-grade titanium. For all intents and purposes, they are permanent, and I suggest you get used to them.”
The next 30 minutes was an agonizing hell. He pierced both of her nipples, and ringed them next, telling her that she would sometimes wear silver bells, once he moved her on to pony training.
She couldn’t fathom all he was telling her, and her mind was overloading and shutting down again. This was something she’d experienced repeatedly in the past weeks of her pain and suffering.
Through it all she tried to maintain some since of herself, but with each passing day. With each violation, each humiliation, each painful whipping, and agonizing rape, she felt herself slipping further and further away.
She felt herself becoming exactly what she said he would. She wanted to fight but it seemed to hopeless.
She hated herself more and more each day because of that weakness.
Unaware of her inner dialogue, and with little chance he’d care even if her knew, her owner quickly and efficiently pierced both of her labia, and smiled when she wasn’t able to stay silent for those.
In fact, she was now crying almost constantly under her helmet.
He continued to ignore it in lieu of finishing what he was doing and simply continuing his work.
Finally, it came time for the final piercing. Deciding to have some fun, he did this one a little differently.
Chloe was getting more and more terrified as he progressed and finally, she knew it was time. He was going to put a horrible, painful piercing in her most sensitive area and there was nothing she could do about it.
She was pulling against the straps almost constantly now, her fear of the needle she knew was coming overriding her fear of a threat of losing her clit completely.
Then suddenly, incredibly, she felt a vibrator, against her clit.
Her body responded instinctively, growing aroused. Her whimpering, at that point had a different tone, as did her crying.
This was another thing he did, forcing her to orgasm, even when she didn’t want to. He’d explained, as he did about everything he did to her because he wanted her to know what was happening to her, that he liked making her cum because it was another way to demonstrate he controlled her body, now, not her.
No matter how often she tried to resist them he always turned out to be right, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of her body, whenever he wanted to, with frightening ease.
This time was no different, and she couldn’t help the growing arousal.
He began to pull on the new piercings and her nipples, and, amazingly, it just drove her arousal higher.
Her thoughts, while incoherent, occasionally drifted to lucidity enough to ask herself, "how could she be getting aroused by this? What kind of a slut was she?”
If he could have read her mind he would have smiled, his training was doing exactly what it was intended to do, make a question her own self-worth, make her consider herself a slut. From there she would eventually see herself as nothing but a whore, and then a hole, and then eventually nothing.
Once he had achieved that he would be able to rebuild her and do exactly what he wanted.
But that was for later, for now, he was using her own body’s arousal against her. He had learned to read her body well at this point, and knew what she was approaching orgasm.
Then, when she was just at the edge he pulled the vibrator away, quickly grabbed the engorged button with the forceps, and drove the piercing needle through it.
The scream of agony was something she could have never held in and she twisted and bucked against her bonds as she did so.
Fortunately, the piercing was already finished, so he didn’t need to worry about it being ruined.
Once her struggles had started to diminish, as exhaustion was quick to set in, he ringed her clit as he’d done with the other piercings, sealing it into place permenantly, just as he had done with the others.
With that done, he grabbed the new clit ring and twisted it viciously.
This renewed her screams and he said, “now you’re done slave. With these piercings in place I can control you even more efficiently than I have already. Do you really think you would be able to resist if I pulled on this,” and he yanked on her clit piercing once again.
Chloe realize, frighteningly, that was true. While he had shown brutal efficiency in controlling her in the past, now, with these piercings in place, he would be able to control her like an animal.
She would never be willing to resist anything, a simple twist of one of her nipple rings, or even more frighteningly, her labia or clit piercing and she would do anything that he instructed her to do. She realized that he had just pushed her further into exactly what he said he was going to turn her into.
She realized that he was turning her into a slave, and there is nothing that she could do about it. It was the first time she’d truly understood and accepted that reality and she felt her will collapse under the weight of it.
For the first time she called him, in her mind, her master, and she, she wasn’t Chloe, anymore, she, was chloeslut.
Her head dropped in defeat.
Her master released her from the piercing chair and quickly strapped her into another. He stuffed her cunt with a dildo and then began to whip her newly pierced cunt lips and clit.
The pain was incredible and she couldn’t help but scream. All while her master was saying, “this slave was told to be quiet and it failed. This slave was told what the price of failure was and is still decided to be disobedient. Is still deciding to be insolent. This slave obviously needs more training.”
Through it all she shook her head, desperate to tell him that she would obey, that she was trying her best but he had gagged her, before starting, with a ring gag, that made any intelligible words impossible.
Finally, after an eternity, he released her and dragged her back to the wall where she usually slept. He said, “the slave doesn’t deserve its mattress tonight. And instead it will be punished extra.”
She almost whimpered again at this point but the whipping, still fresh, kept her silent.
20 minutes later, she almost would believe the whimpering wouldn’t do much harm considering her situation. She was strapped on her knees, to something that she had come to learn was called a Sybian.
It was a vibrator that the master often liked to use to force her to orgasm.
Of course, she was never given permission to orgasm, so any orgasms she had were later punished. She knew that if she was being put on this thing, her master intended extreme extra punishment for her for her failure to obey.
She was proven right when he said, "this slave is going to spend the next two hours like this. I’ve made sure it is well lubricated, but it needs to learn its lessons. When I come back, it will be punished for the orgasms that I know this disobedient hole is going to have. Maybe after that, it will be ready to finally demonstrate that it is able to obey such a simple order as to fucking be quiet.”
With that, chloeslut’s bondage was finished, and the Sybian turned on.
She didn’t see her master turn and walk away as, while he’d removed her helmet to wash it, he’d still wrapped her head to keep her blind. As such, she didn’t see him stop at the door and turn back to watch her body as it was slowly vibrated to the point that her resistance was overwhelmed and she came in the whimpering cry of surrendered anguish.
He smiled, she’d only been here a few weeks, and she was already adapting beautifully.
Typically, he needed to train something for at least two months before one of his acquisitions was even rudimentarily prepared for the block.
If she kept going at this pace, he might be able to cut two weeks off the regular training schedule he used.
He probably wouldn’t, she was entirely too much fun to punish and torture, but who knows, with the right offer he might do so.
With that thought, he opened and shut the door, and went up the stairs, plans running through his head.
In another couple of weeks, he would begin her pony and puppy training.
He could not wait to see her dressed as a full pony, pulling a cart, or blind on her elbows and knees in a full latex puppy suit. After that, he was sure that her breasts would be ready for the milking machine. If they weren’t, that would just be one more thing he would be able to punish her for.
One way, or another, she would be a fully trained puppy, a fully trained pony, and a fully serviced hucow when she was sold.
She was going to earn him a substantial amount of money, so he would make sure that she performed flawlessly.
Warnings: Descriptions of blood and gore, brief mentions of bodies, basically supernatural stuff.
Series Summary: The reader is a genetically enhanced assassin who’s on the run from her creator, but what will happen when she get’s taken back to the bunker by Sam and Dean? Or falls for one of the Winchesters…
Author’s Note: Wow part five, only two more to go!If you want to be tagged in the following parts of this please send me an Ask or add yourself to This List. Feedback is always appreciated, and enjoy!
If you would like to read any of my other fics please check out myMasterlist!
*Gif is not mine, all gifs used on my blog are from Google Images.*
The look of tongue-tied shock on Sam’s face was permanently burned into your mind.
After getting your unique emotional responses under control – which in your case were razor sharp claws coming out to play and the urge to maul and maim – you finally had the good sense to get whatever weapons you could carry and go find Dean. Unfortunately for you, the minions of your former master were under constant control and always functioning at top efficiency – or in other words, they left no fingerprints. So when you were forced to track down Dean in a less conventional way - which just so happened to be by scent - Sam seemed to reach is breaking point for weirdness.
He’d fidgeted the whole drive. His eyes kept flicking nervously to your still-bright-red ones. Your head had been hanging out the window like a damn dog. Apparently, getting attacked by – and consequently killing - the closest thing you had to an old friend and having your boyfriend kidnapped by a crazy lady wasn’t enough shit for one day. This final, embarrassingly awkward blow had to top it all off.
When Dean’s trail rushed to a stop and Sam parked the Impala you couldn’t have been more relieved.
Hi I. Idk if you take requests but if you do could you maybe make one where Natasha has a huge crush on the reader and she tries to “woo” Her
Natasha decides she wants to be everything you want.
Content: Friends to lovers, meddling friends, slight angst if you could even call it that, some fluff of course
Natasha is practically in love with you. Literally. Every
day, she watches you walk around the compound in pajama shorts and a t-shirt, fuzzy
slippers on, passing by and greeting everyone. She has your morning routine
down. You walk in the common area with a bowl of cereal or a pop-tart on days
no one feels like making breakfast and you make the rounds. You and Sam have a
handshake between the two of you. Bucky gets a kiss on the side of the head and
a “Good morning, hun.” Steve gets his hair ruffled and sometimes he’ll respond
by kissing you on the cheek. You hug Wanda tight. Pietro gets a kiss on the
cheek that almost always turns into him squeezing you around the waist and
pulling you on top of him wherever he’s sitting. You fist bump Tony. Vision,
for whatever reason, has decided he doesn’t do physical contact unless
necessary, so you just nod at each other and say hello. If Rhodey’s there, you
hug his shoulders. If Thor’s there, he picks you up. If Bruce is there, you
squeeze his shoulder when you pass by. On the off chance that Peter is staying
with you guys or there early enough to make breakfast, you have a handshake
with him, too. Whenever Clint graces you all with his presence, he gets a
high-five. The one time T’Challa was there, you squeezed his cheek. And then
i dont think you understand the gravity of ford failing a project. this ain’t art class in high school. ford’s at that university on scholarships and loans alone. if his gpa drops, he loses scholarship money, and he can’t afford that. so failing a project goes far beyond sad and angry and any simple “cheering up”, because ford is the kind of person to see one failed project as total failure that is absolutely unacceptable.
U said to send u drabble prompts so pls!!!! Write me platonic voltron squad cuddles plsplspls ily
I’m in love
💙💚💛❤️🖤💖❣️(theres no orange heart smh)
“Good job, team,” Shiro croaked, dragging himself into the common area of the castle. “Way to persevere.”
He was met with a chorus of pained groans from the paladins, who were out of their armor and sprawled about the various sofas and chairs.
“Yeah, my body’s really getting its revenge for that perseverance,” Lance grumbled. “Allura, why can’t we just go to sleep? I’m, like, half dead.”
“Soon,” Allura mumbled. She too appeared to be wilting. “But we really must be sure Zarkon will not appear again before retiring. I’m not sure if I trust you all to be at attention if another crisis should arise.”
“If Zarkon comes back can we just let him kill us?” Pidge whined. “At least then I could get some damn rest.”
“Pidge,” Shiro said warningly, but it was difficult to chide her when he agreed at least partially. The team was completely drained.
Allura was speaking, but no one was listening. Lance wondered drily if she was even listening to herself. Hunk’s head was nodding, trying to snap himself awake. Lance groaned and dropped his head onto Hunk’s shoulder, enjoying his warmth and the soft material of his t-shirt and the way he smelled vaguely sweet. Hunk was the best cuddler, Lance knew from experience.
Lost in his own thoughts, he’d failed to notice the warm weight pressed against his other shoulder. He twisted his head slightly and flushed when he found his nose brushing black hair.
Keith was curled against Lance’s side, face pressed near his shoulder, breathing softly. Lance could see Pidge behind Keith, leaning against his back, and Shiro on the floor in a seated position with his head propped against Pidge’s knees. Allura was on the sofa opposite, head tipped against Coran’s shoulder, and Coran was snoring and open-mouthed beside her.
Lance felt a flutter in his chest. This was… what was the word… fucking adorable?
He swallowed and shifted, ever so slightly, leaning more comfortably against Hunk. Keith squirmed a bit and nestled himself between Lance’s back and the back of the couch, and Pidge too adjusted herself accordingly.
Lance sighed and allowed himself to relax. There was about a 50% chance this would be super awkward when they all woke up, but for now he allowed himself to drift off surrounded by the warmth and soft breathing of his family.
Hey Maria 😊 I have a really big problem. I just can't stop comparing myself to my friends. There was this project that I worked so hard on, yet my friend who did it the night before got a higher grade, and although I got a great grade (97) I just feel terrible, and it happens all the time; even when a teacher compliments anyone. It makes me so frustrated and anxious and I just wanna cry. Words of advice? :(
Hi dear anon! ♡
Firstly, I want to congratulate you for being so honest with yourself and approaching the problem so openly! A lot of people don’t even know it’s there and turn angry, cynical and frustrated without even noticing.
Secondly, you are not alone. This is something that affected me and still does, personally, even though it’s getting better. There was a particular situation where I got a 99% and someone got a 100% and I felt miserable. I’m a very competitive person and dare I say with self-confidence issues right from a young age. So those are the roots of the problem.
If you are extremely proud and confident in yourself, you will never have a problem with others succeeding. Makes sense? Because you’re too focused on yourself. That’s something we should all strive to. This is something I had to learn how to block, remarkably in my gap year, when I saw all my friends move to university and I had to resit exams. But I got more kind, humble, proud, confident, intelligent, all at the same time and it has helped me succeed more and be happier. So bear with me.
I also have slowly come to understand that this is a problem of the human race in general. We all are competing with each other subconsciously. It’s rooted in our brains. At the start, competition for food or partners was literally a problem of life or death. In nowadays society, it’s become more superficial. But it’s evident in so many obvious aspects in our behavior.
This problem will never completely go away, I think it’s just a first reaction that is kind of deepened or rooted, like I said, for multiple reasons. But, definitely, a first reaction that comes unconsciously. And that’s the keyword: unconsciously. As soon as you see it coming, you can rationalize yourself out of it. And that’s something you progressively get better at, with practice.
This is my thought process:
As soon as you identify your frustration and anger, identify it’s caused by someone else succeeding.
Understand how strange and wrong that is: everyone’s allowed to succeed, there’s a place for everyone to win.
You have nothing to do with other people.
Everyone has different journeys, different background stories, and different personalities. Everybody has places where they are naturally better at than someone else. And that’s something to be celebrated.
You should focus on your own work, on your own grade.
Imagine a situation where you had 10, 20, 30 points lower than you got. Imagine you had gotten a 90, an 80, 70, 60! This is a lot better, isn’t it? Start feeling proud of yourself. The teacher was focused only on you when giving the grade. So focus in only you too. Congratulate yourself. Take the compliment. Smile!!
If you have failed, don’t leave with empty hands. Take as much from this failing experience as you can. Ask the teacher: what could have I done better? What were my mistakes? What didn’t I see? Pay close attention to the correction if there is one. The situation will definitely make you remember it for next time, and that’s what’s important.
Remind yourself you’re in a learning process. Nobody’s expecting perfection from you. Nobody.
Be remarkably good at dealing with failure. It hurts now but it’s only leading you to a better direction. We learn with mistakes. And we get better with them, with the right mindset. Failures are not tabu.
This is the mindset I want you to put yourself in, whenever you feel yourself slipping. I want you to understand, this is not perfect clockwork. You’ll have to repeat this thought process several times and pep talk yourself. There might be some parts that reason more with you.. and others that I haven’t mentioned that you’ll discover as you go on with life. The key is to never not call yourself out. Always correct yourself.
Now, I want to leave you with some more advice.
never confront or think about the person you felt jealous about directly.
it’s only going to make you feel worse if you do. But most importantly, energy flows to where or to whom you give attention. Don’t waste your precious energy talking or discussing people who cause you these thoughts. Defriend them from freaking facebook if that’s necessary lol who cares!!! You already know it: focus on yourself.
separate people from their grades.
as a matter of fact, don’t even know their grades. Don’t ask, don’t answer if you don’t want to as well. Don’t check their grades on the list. Don’t be curious about other people’s business. Be that person who is completely uninterested.
stop looking at people like they are only competition to you. Some people in your life have so much more to give and you might lose some cool conversations when all you can think about is that person got a higher grade than you in the project.
trust me, I’ve been through this, and the best way is always not knowing. It makes it easier on you.
have personal goals for your grades.
imagine your goal was a 95 in that project. You would be super proud and happy to get a 97 so you would have a different perspective. you wouldn’t care less if someone got higher. you reached YOUR goal.
this helps a lot because once again you are focusing and working to beat your own goals, not to top someone else. this is healthier and wiser.
and even if you don’t reach them, that’s ok, they are only your own standards and there’s always next time.
be around people who respect you for you.
I know that can be difficult to find depending on your people circle, but if someone is disrespecting you and putting pressure on you to be better than the next student, then stop listening to them, no matter who they are.
be someone who respects you for you.
Know when you are in a toxic situation and know how to kindly remove yourself from it.There are truly a million different turns a life can take, back, forward, left, right, around and around in circles! Comparing yourself to someone else’s is… stupid, useless! Your own already has so much to look at.
Also, here’s a quick thought. Who told you that person did their project the night before? The same person who got the grade? Because I bet they’re lying to show off. Or maybe had someone to help them do it. You never really know the work that other people put in their projects and on their studying. You might think you are the only one working hard to get your grades and that everyone else doesn’t have to work as hard to achieve equal or better, but let me assure you: even if the people don’t want to tell you because of some particular reason, consistent straight A students always put in effort. They always study their butts off.
My mom knew the mom of a straight A student in my class in 10th grade and she told my mom that student spent the whole day studying. But that person at school when asked always said they didn’t study much. They avoided that question so they didn’t pass as a “nerd”.
So that’s a note that I wanted to say because I assure you, your hard work isn’t unusual or uncommon in the top of the class.
This is so long because I want to say everything I know that can possibly help you, so here’s my last piece of advice:
enjoy yourself. Sitting around in a classroom terrified the next student has a better grade than you is not fun at all. It’s degrading and makes your life miserable. All this when you should be enjoying learning, growing! This is YOUR life, my love! This is YOUR LIFE. So act like it! Step up!
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to answer this for you and I hope the advice reaches you. ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ lots of love!
2x06 Iron Sisters • There will always be a war. A mission. A… a problem to solve. Look, I speak from experience. If you fail to grant time for the things you care about, you’ll forget why you’re even fighting at all.
Why is it that you can have fifteen size US1 needles and 3 US5 needles, but apparently zero of any other size
amy went through her yarn donations and gave me three skiens of pumpkin spice colored yarn, which I am unable to do anything with until I make an Effort and find a size US9 needle
at least I tidied up some making the discovery I don’t have any large needles that aren’t from the failed experiment at using interchangables
it turns out that if you knit from left to right, instead of right to left, because you are a LEFT HANDER and refuse to knit like an OPPRESSOR unlike your TWIN SISTER, the um, screw thread? on the needles loosens as you knit instead of tightens which is. A Problem
theres no way to make it not weird but honestly VIctor Nikiforov strikes me as a dude who learned to cuddle from a dog, and not a human
He’d be very nervous for you. Number one you’re out of your country and number two you’re not exactly putting the k in kpop. He’d help you learn the language and the rules of the industry and would support you fully but it’ll all shake him a bit.
Really doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He’d pray to his lucky stars that you were just joking but sadly his luck ran out. Its not that he doesn’t believe in you its just that he’s seen the best and has definitely bumped heads with the worst and he doesn’t want you to go through that. Most likely he’d try to change your mind but will end up supporting you after he gets that nothing will go through to you.
Same as jin at first. He knows what rock bottom is and he knows how slow of a ride it is to even get to where he is. Although the worry he’ll tell you what to expect at first. He’d tell you stories from his trainee days and share the struggles of being recognized. And he’ll always remind you, “Always have patience and take experience from a fail.”
Your number one fan. He’s your own walking billboard ad while he parades around with every piece of merch you’ve ever produce. If it has your name on it its on his shelf. He also recommends songs to his fans or share insite about composing your own music.
A bit worried at first but will encourage you until the world stops spinning. He’d talk to you about what to watch out for and will always remind you that dieting is a personal choice that doesn’t need to be act upon. If he has the time will help you with vocals and never miss a showcase and god forbid the man sees a hate comment. Probably the most likely to make a sns account to crush antis and make friends with people in your fandom.
Same as hobi he’s your lil fanboy. Your lightstick is always on him and he has you on everything he can stick it on from his phone wallpaper to his member’s suitcases. Wouldn’t ever misses a showcase and will ask his fans to stream a new song. As loving as he sounds he slightly wishes you picked an easier profession.
He’s a mixture of all the members. Glad, sad, worried, It’s really hard for him to pick one. He’d love to support you on such a journey but really doesn’t want you to do it at all. Your ambition is quite the pill to swallow this time.
We’ve all kinda been throwing out ideas and guesses as to how the whole clone thing is gonna be revealed. But like…what if Kuron just remembers enough things from his time being experimented on/seeing the other failed clones/overhearing the doctors talk, that he pieces together that he’s not actually Shiro… First he’d deny that bc there’s no way, he knows what Shiro knows, looks like him and sounds like him. But he remembers that the Black Lion rejected him. Maybe he realizes he’s been fighting the others (and Keith) more than he did before too.
And just the thought of him unknowingly sabotaging the team would make him feel horrible. How would he try to tell the team this? That he thinks he may not be real? How would he explain his spotty memories of the experiments- especially since they all seem to roll into one. And a clone? That seems so ludicrous and full of paranoia. It would almost be funny if so many pieces didn’t fall into place from that idea alone
Original Request: can you write an imagine where stiles has a sister who gets taken by the dread doctors and they plant sperm inside her to create a genetic chimera. When she is found she preggers and cause the baby is to be a chimera, it speeds her pregnancy. So she gives birth at home with the help of the pack but the baby has Down syndrome and the dread doctors are now trying to come and take the baby because “experiment failed” and they all have to protect and help stiles sister and the baby.
A/N: If you have read the first and seconds parts, then you already know which parts lie in this request. This current part will go from after the Dread Doctors had told them the experiment failed the end. You might want to kill me now ;)
The two words kept repeating themselves in your head as you rode in the passenger seat of Stiles’ jeep. Michael was sleeping soundly in his car seat, giving you a few moments of what you would normally consider peace. Right now, though, you would prefer his cries over the continuous thoughts in your head about how the Dread Doctors would eventually find you and the baby and take him away.
“Y/N?” Stiles asked softly, not taking his eyes off the road as he reached over and gently grabbed your hand in his. “You okay?”
The worry in your brother’s voice squeezed your heart. You shut your eyes and let out a sigh. “No, Stiles, I’m not okay.” You turned towards him, tears burning at the back of your eyes. “The Dread Doctors are coming after my baby, and I know that there is nothing that I can do for him.”
Silence fell like a blanket over the two of you as Stiles processed what you said to him. You turned away, continuing your stare out the window. The silence continued until you reached the vet clinic where Deacon awaited you. None of the pack members were sure whether he could help you or not, even Scott. But it was worth a shot.
“Unfortunately, Y/N, there isn’t very much I can do,” Deacon said, leaning on the steel examination table. You felt your shoulders fall, and you could see the distress on his face at not being able to help you. “We can only hope that Scott and the others will be able to keep the Dread Doctors at bay long enough for them to move onto their next experiment.”
You swallowed the growing lump in your throat and looked down, studying the shining, steel table in front of you. “Are you sure there’s nothing we can use?” You asked one last time, already knowing the answer. “No potions or powders or herbs of any kind that can help me a little bit?”
You heard Deacon sigh. You looked up, meeting his gaze as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but there is not.”
You closed your eyes, feeling your cheeks grow wet with tears as they slid down your face. You could hear the coos of Michael in the other room, and Stiles’ voice speaking softly back to him. A sigh escaped your lips as you stepped away from the table, placing your head in your hands.
“Thank you, Deacon,” you murmured, dropping your hands to your sides. “Thank you anyway.” You left the room, crossing into the waiting room where your brother sat in a chair, Michael bundled up snuggly in his arms. Your heart swelled at the sigh. “Come on, Stiles.” He looked up at you, face full of happiness immediately falling away at the sight of your face. “Let’s go home.”
Derek had decided that it would be safer if you and the baby stayed at his apartment, with Scott, Stiles, and Maila keeping guard over you and Michael as well. Lydia, as much as she wanted to be there, was kept home by her mother, and Kira had training with her mom. So it was down to just the five of you to try and protect Michael from the Dread Doctors.
You ended up curled up on the couch, Michael sleeping in the makeshift crib across the room. The pack was talking, their voices quiet murmurs that were slowly lulling you into sleep. Eventually, you slipped under, your dreams eventually turning into night terrors.
Gasping, you sat up, wide awake, in the darkness of Derek’s apartment. Soft snores floated up from the floor and you looked down to see Scott, Stiles, and Malia splayed out across the living room, each of them sleeping deeply. Your racing heart stayed steady. You didn’t feel out of the woods yet.
Slowly, you turned to face the crib where Michael was sleeping. You heard no noise. No baby chatter, no creaking from the old wood. Your heart stopped.
You tore the blanket away from your legs, leaping to your feet, and making a mad dash across the room. You skid to a stop beside the crib, staring down into it for your son.
Your heart fell to the floor.
And you screamed.
The three pack members jumped awake behind you, all three of them rushing over to you, words getting louder, voices getting harsher. Derek’s feet pounded on the metal stairs as he came to investigate. You looked towards him, saw his mouth moving, but you didn’t hear anything. Couldn’t hear anything.
Blood roared in your ears and your heart pounded hard in your chest, so much that you thought it would burst from it. Your body went numb. You watched as your feet moved, carrying you fast to the downstairs bathroom. You watched as you hands slammed the door shut and locked it. Only then did you regain control of your body.
Sobs slammed your shoulders and racked through your chest, tears burning their way down your cheeks, turning your eyes red. You could feel your heart hurting, hearing it audibly break. Your back hit the wooden door, and you slid, your knees giving out.
He was gone.
The Dread Doctors collected their failed experiment.