• Shifting the mini energon cube to your hip as you glance up at Megatron leveling his cannon at the reinforced door, you wrinkle your nose at the former warlord. “You know that’s not necessary, right?” You mutter and he just clears his vents at you. ‘Your conjunx doesn’t want to eat you,’ Megatron growls and you flush when your mind goes straight into the gutter, because the warlord has no idea. And he mutters something in his own language as you step inside and the door is closed behind you. “Dinner time, Percy,” you say hearing a hissing growl, the scrape of metal on metal as one of his barbed tendrils slides across the floor.
• Stalking restlessly, he rumbles as he vents, picking up a familiar scent. It’s so hard to think now, consumed by the hunger. By the need to devour and kill, but he doesn’t really have an appetite for energon anymore. Hissing softly as he crouches and moves closer to the only thing keeping him sane, he knows you. Remembers you. Your scent, your softness, grounding him. Keeping him from losing himself completely. “Hi,” you whisper as he approaches, venting to pull your scent deep, trying to remember your name. To understand who you are, because you matter. You’re the only thing that does. “Are you hungry?” You’re holding up an energon cube, but he doesn’t want that.
• Startling when he mass shifts and keeps pacing closer and closer, circling you like a predator checking out prey, you feel your skin prickle. Know it’s still him, that he’s still in there somewhere. That the others are trying to find a way to bring him back. A barbed tendril rasps against your leg, those sharp points laying flat for now when they could tear you apart instead, and it coils around your thigh as he steps in front of you, looking down at you and growling, engine revving and snarling softly. And a big hand catches your hip, dragging you to his broken, terrifying frame. Feel sharp servos scraping skin when he presses his face against your neck. After something besides energon as he hisses, engine purring raggedly.
• “I missed you, too,” you tell him, that familiar voice anchoring him. You’re his. Knows you. Needs you and can scent your heat. Trying to figure out your coverings, he snarls when you back away from him, but you’re only stripping for him. Spike pressurizing as his barbed tendrils brush against you, snaring you like he would prey as he backs you up against the wall, lifting you. Wishes he could speak. If he could just focus, maybe he could remember how. Can only seem to manage rasping moans and hisses, though as his sharp denta brush your throat and your head tips back. Soft hands brushing over him until he feels out of control and he pins your wrists over your head against the wall with his tendrils. Can’t understand why you keep coming to him even as it means everything to him. How can you stand to look at him like this? He wasn’t always like this, right? Can’t remember.
• It’s still him. The heat of his frame against you familiar as his mouth brushes your neck, denta scraping skin with the threat of biting. Know if you’d been Cybertronian, he’d be tearing into you even though you’re his conjunx. Ripping you apart with those denta even though you’re certain he still knows you. Recognizes you. But since you’re human, he doesn’t see prey. Trembling as the head of his spike slides against your hip, you’re not quite ready yet. Not relaxed enough and you squirm when his hips roll against you, grinding himself against your belly. Arching into him, you feel his mouth slide down your body as he crouches, before he puts his mouth on you.
• Remembers this. The taste of you, your scent. Can’t remember your name, but this is home. You’re home. Knows he’s losing bits of himself every day. That it’s harder to remember things. Snarling against your wet heat, his glossa strokes, tunneling inside you as his tendrils keep you pinned. Because this urge is the only thing stronger than the hunger. The need for you. To drown himself in you. Feels you trembling in his grip as he palms your thighs to keep them open for him, mouth sliding against you until you’re gasping, pleading. Crying out his name as you shatter on his glossa.
• Breathing raggedly as he slowly straightens, you moan at the feel of his spike stretching you in a hard surge. And his hips pump urgently against you, rutting frantically as his clawed servos scrape against the metal wall at your back. When he releases one of your legs from a tendril, you hook it against his hip, chasing that friction. Another release. Needing it, needing him. As desperate and wild as he is. Want him back. The real him, not this pale imitation. Miss his little smiles, the sound of his voice. Straining against the tendrils pinning your wrists, you’re gasping as he ruthlessly drives you over that edge again. Feel him shudder and snarl, the heat of his release when he overloads and his tendrils relax before he’s sliding down onto his knees, taking you with him as you wrap your legs and arms around him. Feeling his spike still pulsing inside you while you hide your face against his neck and he rumbles raggedly. “I miss you,” you whisper, feeling a hand slide up your back and you need to believe he knows you. Remembers you. It’s the only thing keeping you sane.
Tried creative mode for the first time last night and mistakes were made after I realized I could spawn Endermen and got a baby, I just kept spawning them trying to find another one. I made the assumption they’d all teleport away and spawned about 30 in my new house. Yeah, no. Most of them went outside but are staying in the immediate area, but about ten just won’t leave at all, they’re merrily decorating my house with dirt blocks and apparently just live there now. If I want to play outside of creative mode, I’m going to have to move and build a new house, because this is their house 😭
Though now I want to see how many I can spawn in one area before I break the game on Switch since I’ve already made a critical FUBAR anyway
Modern Inheritance: Yellow Gerbera (Pt 4 of Torin’s Story)
(A/N: I originally planned for this to be the start of a single ‘chapter’ but to hit all the points I wanted to I realized I would need another part because it got ridiculously long.
Anyway, we get to meet a new friend! And here’s your reminder/confirmation that the ‘I’m not even into women!’ comment Torin makes in a panic in the previous chapter is Torin coming out as gay. Happy pride. Note that Torin was thought up as gay originally probably over a year ago, so this isn’t some pride month ploy. Torin is a gay, anxiety prone mess that needs therapy and friends. And we are doing the best to get him those.)
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // PART 4 // Part 5 // TBC
~~~
“Enough.”
Torin snapped his gaze back up to the Elven Queen as she stood. He had nearly forgotten she was there, speaking aloud his memories as the world faded around him. Through the corner of his eye he could see that the patch of light that wandered the floor of his cell had shifted considerably. The pale golden pinks of approaching dusk barely kissed the ground.
Queen Islanzadí drew herself up before him, expression unreadable. “Enough. I must meet my war council.” A tension that Torin had been unaware of building suddenly released, and he slumped slightly. So she wasn’t stopping to kill him. That was a good sign. He stood slowly, joints sore, and stepped back further into his cell before pausing.
Unsure if it was the right thing to do, Torin awkwardly shuffled his feet and bowed low. “Y-yes, ma’am.” When he straightened the elf was regarding him with what he thought could be the barest hint of amusement, as well as some mild thoughtfulness.
“One of my people will come to you shortly.” The door to Torin’s cell clicked shut, guided by silent magic. The display made him shiver again. “I cannot confirm your account until tomorrow at the earliest, and cannot trust you to roam free. However, that does not mean that you will remain here in your own filth. You will bathe and be provided with new clothing before we next meet.
“If you cause any disturbance or attempt to flee, you will be killed without hesitation. Am I clear?”
Torin heard himself speak in affirmation, but his mind was reeling as the Queen departed down the ward’s hall.
‘Confirmation.’ So some of the men from the High Security Ward had survived the battle. He wondered if they would be truthful when asked about their former comrade, and the consequences for both if they were not.
Suddenly lightheaded, Torin stumbled to his cot and collapsed on to it. His face pressed against the cool cinderblock, providing some anchor to the world. Every nerve tingled with static, fizzling anxiety and long forgotten hope all clamoring for the top spot in his consciousness. The dulled realization that he had forgotten to ask if the elf he had met back then was alive drifted through his mind with a pang of guilt before it too faded.
It took til the sun had set and the moon had risen to peer over the rim of the world for Torin’s overstimulated brain to wrestle the revelations and relivings of the day down. He shifted in his cot and sat up, back to the wall, as he laid out the processed information in simplified pieces to take them in with an emptied mind.
The elves were fully in control of Gil’ead, not the Empire. The Elven Queen, Islanzadí, had visited him at his cell. She was interested in the fire-eyed elf that had been imprisoned here, and in Torin’s interactions with her. The Queen would come speak to him again, probably tomorrow, and another elf was going to come and take Torin somewhere to bathe and give him a new prison uniform.
The last pieces to the day’s puzzle lingered in the young man’s mind as he tucked the rest of the information away.
Torin was not exactly a prisoner anymore, but was not free either. Not only that, but the question that had stayed with him since his arrest may yet be answered.
‘What happened to the elf after her escape from Gil’ead?’
A knock against the cell door roused Torin from his thoughts. He stood, a bit more than surprised that anyone would be so kind as to knock, and warily approached the barred window. “Y-yes?” His throat was dry from his earlier speech.
An elven woman was outside, peering into the cell with the same curiosity Torin once held as he looked in on the imprisoned elf all that time ago. “Stars watch over you, Torin Aldsson. I am Naela, of House Varan.” Her voice was the pitch and tone of a shallow river gliding over rounded stones, a smooth, rich alto with hints of lilting tones and rolling ripples.
“It is nice to meet you, Naela.”
The young man could not help but feel a small sense of relief as his gaze caught on the woman’s hazel eyes. It was clear, through them, that Naela carried the same power as the other elves Torin had encountered. But there was something different about the way she held it, almost cupped in her hands. There was a softness, almost gentle touch at the edges.
Her eyes were...warm. Like laying in the beams of light that graced the ground on a chill day. Whereas the imprisoned elf’s eyes blazed with an undying fire of ferocity and determination, and Queen Islanzadí’s were the sharp, crisp chill of a winters day, Naela’s eyes were the warm sun of approaching autumn, the last vestiges of warmth and comfort at the edge of the cold seasons ahead.
Torin wondered. If the elf from before were safe, with friends, away from this awful place and free from pain...would her eyes look the same?
With a murmured word and a gentle tug, Naela unlocked and opened the door. “The Queen has assigned me to be your guard.” She stepped aside, offering a clear path into the hall. “If you would follow me, please.”
Torin went to fall in, but stopped at the threshold of his cell. It felt as though iron shackles had snapped around his ankles, pulling tight as he tried to step over the invisible line separating him from the world outside the four little walls. A wave of panic washed through him, ice cold to the point that it made his lungs seize.
What if there were spells set on his cell? What if he couldn’t leave? The world seemed to tremble at the edges, and for an instant he felt his foot moving back, away from the door back to the relative safety of his cell–
Gentle hands on his forearms snapped the world back to an anchored clarity. Naela was in front of him, concern tipping her sharp brows inwards. “You are safe, Aldsson.”
Torin could not stop his shaking. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But how could she know? He had only left his cell with another guard before. What if there were things set in the stones to kill him if he left? Or what if the burns on the imprisoned elf’s feet were a result of an escape attempt? What if–
Naela was speaking, then. But the words were...different. They were not in common tongue, yet deep in the marrow of his bones, the very cells of his nerves, Torin somehow...understood. He did not know what she had said but in that moment he understood her meaning, that there was absolute truth in her words.
“Listen to my voice, Alddson. You are safe. Nothing will harm you here.”
The trembling eased to a manageable level.
“Would you like me to help you?” Torin nodded mutely. Following the pressure that the elf exerted on his arms, unable to resist, the young man took his first steps out of his cell in months.
The hall was the same as it always was. But in that moment, as Torin breathed deeply and tried to get his hammering heart under control, the air felt crisp and clear. The lights felt bright, almost too much so. Beneath his bare feet, the cool concrete felt polished and mirror smooth.
It felt...good. And at the same time, everything almost overwhelmed him.
“Are you back with us, Aldsson?” The young man focused back on the elf that still held his arms. Her concern was evident through the tilt of her head and tightening around her eyes.
A pang of guilt and shame washed through him. This woman had come to let him out of a dank and filthy prison cell, and instead of thanking her and doing the only sane thing and walking out, he had to have her physically drag him through the door like a nervous cat from under a bed.
“Yes.” Torin instinctively flexed his fingers, that telltale itch and tingle forming in his muscles that was only pacified through worrying at his knuckles. “I’m s-sorry. I don’t– I didn’t–”
“Do not be sorry for this.” Naela’s voice was firm, and the combination of that and the soothing pressure as she squeezed his forearms drew Torin’s eyes back to hers. “You are feeling things that are natural for some after such isolation.” She suddenly smiled at him, bright and reassuring. “If it will make this easier for you, I can keep contact with you as we walk. Would you prefer to remain indoors? There is a path that does not lead outside if you are not yet ready.”
A soft blanket of solace settled over Torin’s shoulders. He gave Naela a shaky smile, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
With a reassuring pat to his arm, the elf shifted to a position slightly behind his right and settled a hand on his shoulder. Together, the elf and the freed man moved to the stairs.
~~~
Despite Naela’s gentle presence, Torin felt a twinge of unease in his stomach as they passed the door that led to the High Risk Ward’s open-floor showers. Another turn saw the two pass the ward common room and finally stop at the small barracks, where Naela held the door for her charge to enter and beckoned him to the door at the back.
Torin followed obediently, eyes darting to take in the state of his former bunk. Second on the right, lower berth. Like all the other beds it had been stripped, the mattress removed and placed elsewhere. The footlockers were pulled from their places beneath the bunks and sat lined up in front of the empty frames, all cleared of their contents.
With a jolt of sudden homesickness he had not felt since childhood, Torin remembered that the last picture of his family was in his locker when he was arrested. He wondered if it had been thrown away, and made a mental note to try asking Naela if there were any prisoner effects left in the lockup.
“This is to be your room for the time being.” Naela pressed her hand to the door at the end of the barracks, unlocking it with another spell.
Torin blinked. “This is the Captain’s room though....” He followed his guard inside, taking in the space. He had only been inside twice before, and had spent most of the time staring at a particular cracked cinderblock in the wall as the Captain berated him for whatever he had done.
The space was well over half again the size of his cell, but was still quite small. There was only room for a soldier's bed along the far wall, a writing desk beside the door, and a small dresser to the right. At the end of the bed was another door, revealing a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower.
Naela clasped her hands behind her back, hiding a small grin. “The Queen thought this would be the most convenient accommodation until she could investigate your claims.” She gestured towards the dresser and then the shadowed washroom when Torin turned at her voice. “There are several sets of clothes of various sizes for you to find your proper fit once you have washed.”
For a moment, Torin couldn’t speak through the sudden lump in his throat. He turned back to survey the room and hide the watering of his eyes from the elf, warmth blooming in his chest.
This was the kindness those of his own race had abandoned. The simple right to basic living conditions, to proper hygiene, space to move more than two paces and enough light to see and not feel oppressed by constant gloom. To be suddenly provided with it all, even when he could not leave and was still technically a prisoner….
‘...So the Queen is not as cold as she puts off. At least, not entirely.’
Torin wiped his eyes and breathed deeply before facing Naela again. “Thank you.” Feeling mere words not sincere enough to convey the wealth of emotions now inside him, Torin bowed.
Naela laughed and took the young man by the shoulders to right him. “You don’t need to bow to me, Aldsson!”
The sound of laughter, after so long, made Torin smile. “Are there any restrictions that I should follow while here?”
“Ah. Unfortunately, the washroom door must remain open, but I will turn my back when privacy is needed.” Torin nodded. The decreased privacy was not something he was unfamiliar with. He was living, and often showering, with twelve other men before his arrest. And it was not like the cell he was in previously was the most private of places. “If you find yourself needing anything, do not hesitate to ask. I will remain at the door.”
Still smiling, Torin nodded. It took a locking of his muscles to prevent it from turning into a bow again. With another word of thanks, he hurried to the first shower available to him in months, elation bubbling in his chest.
Modern Inheritance: Yellow Gerbera (Pt 4 of Torin’s Story)
(A/N: I originally planned for this to be the start of a single ‘chapter’ but to hit all the points I wanted to will likely cover at least one other part, maybe a third. We get to meet a new friend! And Torin gets clean and has a chat and just multiple things happen and I’m already halfway through but all together it’s almost 4k words so far. So just take this short starting bit for now. Cheers!)
Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // PART 4 // TBC
“Enough.”
Torin snapped his gaze back up to the Elven Queen as she stood. He had nearly forgotten she was there, speaking aloud his memories as the world faded around him. Through the corner of his eye he could see that the patch of light that wandered the floor of his cell had shifted considerably. The pale golden pinks of approaching dusk barely kissed the ground.
Queen Islanzadí drew herself up before him, expression unreadable. “Enough. I must meet my war council.” A tension that Torin had been unaware of building suddenly released, and he slumped slightly. So she wasn’t stopping to kill him. That was a good sign. He stood slowly, joints sore, and stepped back further into his cell before pausing.
Unsure if it was the right thing to do, Torin awkwardly shuffled his feet and bowed low. “Y-yes, ma’am.” When he straightened the elf was regarding him with what he thought could be the barest hint of amusement, as well as some mild thoughtfulness.
“One of my people will come to you shortly.” The door to Torin’s cell clicked shut, guided by silent magic. The display made him shiver again. “I cannot confirm your account until tomorrow at the earliest, and cannot trust you to roam free. However, that does not mean that you will remain here in your own filth. You will bathe and be provided with new clothing before we next meet.
“If you cause any disturbance or attempt to flee, you will be killed without hesitation. Am I clear?”
Torin heard himself speak in affirmation, but his mind was reeling as the Queen departed down the ward’s hall.
Confirmation. So some of the men from the High Security Ward had survived the battle. He wondered if they would be truthful when asked about their former comrade, and the consequences for both if they were not.
Suddenly lightheaded, Torin stumbled to his cot and collapsed on to it. His face pressed against the cool cinderblock, providing some anchor to the world. Every nerve tingled with static, fizzling anxiety and long forgotten hope all clamoring for the top spot in his consciousness. The dulled realization that he had forgotten to ask if the elf he had met back then was alive drifted through his mind with a pang of guilt before it too faded.
It took til the sun had set and the moon had risen to peer over the rim of the world for Torin’s overstimulated brain to wrestle the revelations and relivings of the day down. He shifted in his cot and sat up, back to the wall, as he laid out the processed information in simplified pieces.
The elves were fully in control of Gil’ead, not the Empire. The Elven Queen, Islanzadí, had visited him at his cell. She was interested in the fire-eyed elf that had been imprisoned here, and in Torin’s interactions with her. The Queen would come speak to him again, probably tomorrow, and another elf was going to come and take Torin somewhere to bathe and give him a new prison uniform.
The last pieces to the day’s puzzle lingered in the young man’s mind as he tucked the rest of the information away.
Torin was not exactly a prisoner anymore, but was not free either. Not only that, but the question that had stayed with him since his arrest may yet be answered.
What happened to the elf after her escape from Gil’ead?
A knock against the cell door roused Torin from his thoughts. He stood, a bit more than surprised that anyone would be so kind as to knock, and warily approached the barred window. “Y-yes?” His throat was dry from his earlier marathon of speech.
An elven woman was outside, peering into the cell with the same curiosity Torin once held as he looked in on the imprisoned elf all that time ago. “Stars watch over you, Torin Aldsson. I am Naela, of House Varan.” Her voice was the pitch and tone of a shallow river gliding over rounded stones, a smooth, rich alto with hints of lilting tones and rolling ripples.
“It is nice to meet you, Naela.”
The young man could not help but feel a small sense of relief as his gaze caught on the woman’s hazel eyes. It was clear, through them, that Naela carried the same power as the other elves Torin had encountered. But there was something different about the way she held it, almost cupped in her hands. There was a softness, almost gentle touch at the edges.
Her eyes were...warm. Like laying in the beams of light that graced the ground on a chill day. Whereas the imprisoned elf’s eyes blazed with an undying fire of ferocity and determination, and Queen Islanzadí’s were the sharp, crisp chill of a winters day, Naela’s eyes were the warm sun of approaching autumn, the last vestiges of warmth and comfort at the edge of the cold seasons ahead.
Torin wondered. If the elf from before were safe, with friends, away from this awful place and free from pain...would her eyes look the same?
With a murmured word and a gentle tug, Naela unlocked and opened the door. “The Queen has assigned me to be your guard.” She stepped aside, offering a clear path into the hall. “If you would follow me, please.”
Torin went to fall in, but stopped at the threshold of his cell. It felt as though iron shackles had snapped around his ankles, pulling tight as he tried to step over the invisible line separating him from the world outside the four little walls. A wave of panic washed through him, ice cold to the point that it made his lungs seize.
What if there were spells set on his cell? What if he couldn’t leave? The world seemed to tremble at the edges, and for an instant he felt his foot moving back, away from the door back to the relative safety of his cell–
Gentle hands on his forearms snapped the world back to an anchored clarity. Naela was in front of him, concern tipping her sharp brows inwards. “You are safe, Aldsson.”
Torin could not stop his shaking. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But how could she know? He had only left his cell with another guard before. What if there were things set in the stones to kill him if he left? Or what if the burns on the imprisoned elf’s feet were a result of an escape attempt? What if–
Naela was speaking, then. But the words were...different. They were not in common tongue, yet deep in the marrow of his bones, the very cells of his nerves, Torin somehow...understood. He did not know what she had said but in that moment he understood her meaning, that there was absolute truth in her words.
“Listen to my voice, Alddson. You are safe. Nothing will harm you here.”
The trembling eased to a manageable level.
“Would you like me to help you?” Torin nodded mutely, not trusting himself to speak just yet. Following the pressure that the elf exerted on his arms, unable to resist her guiding strength, the young man took his first steps out of his cell in months.
The hall was the same as it always was. But in that moment, as Torin breathed deeply and tried to get his hammering heart under control, the air felt crisp and clear. The lights felt bright, almost too much so. Beneath his bare feet, the cool concrete felt polished and mirror smooth.
It felt...good. And at the same time, everything almost overwhelmed him.
“Are you back with us, Aldsson?” The young man focused back in on the elf that still held his arms. Her concern was evident through the tilt of her head and tightening around her eyes.
A pang of guilt and shame washed through him. This woman had come to let him out of a dank and filthy prison cell, and instead of thanking her and doing the only sane thing and walking out, he had to have her physically drag him through the door like a nervous cat from under a bed.
“Yes.” Torin instinctively flexed his fingers, that telltale itch and tingle forming in his muscles that was only pacified through worrying at his knuckles. “I’m s-sorry. I don’t– I didn’t–”
“Do not be sorry for this.” Naela’s voice was firm, and the combination of that and the soothing pressure as she squeezed his forearms drew Torin’s eyes back to hers. “You are feeling things that are natural for some after such isolation.” She suddenly smiled at him, bright and reassuring. “If it will make this easier for you, I can keep contact with you as we walk. Would you prefer to remain indoors? There is a path that does not lead outside if you are not yet ready.”
A soft blanket of solace settled over Torin’s shoulders. He gave Naela a shaky smile, and nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
With a reassuring pat to his arm, the elf shifted to a position slightly behind his right and settled a hand on his shoulder. Together, the elf and the freed man moved to the stairs.
~~~
Despite Naela’s gentle presence, Torin felt a twinge of unease in his stomach as they passed the door that led to the High Risk Ward’s open-floor showers. Another turn saw the two pass the ward common room and finally stop at the small barracks, where Naela held the door for her charge to enter and beckoned him to the door at the back.
Torin followed obediently, eyes darting to take in the state of his former bunk. Second on the right, lower berth. Like all the other beds it had been stripped, the mattress removed and placed elsewhere. The footlockers were pulled from their places beneath the bunks and sat lined up in front of the empty frames, all cleared of their contents.
With a jolt of sudden homesickness he had not felt since childhood, Torin remembered that the last picture of his family was in his locker when he was arrested. I hope they didn’t throw it away. Maybe I can ask Naela if there were any prisoner effects left in lockup.
“This is to be your room for the time being.” Naela pressed her hand to the door at the end of the barracks, unlocking it with another spell.
Torin blinked. “This is the commander’s room though....” He followed his guard inside, taking in the space. He had only been inside twice before, and had spent most of the time staring at a particular cracked cinderblock in the wall as the commander berated him for whatever he had done.
The space was well over half again the size of his cell, but was still quite small. There was only room for a soldiers bed along the far wall, a writing desk beside the door, and a small dresser to the right. At the end of the bed was another door, revealing a tiny bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower.
Naela clasped her hands behind her back, hiding a small grin. “The Queen thought this would be the most convenient accommodation until she could investigate your claims.” She gestured towards the dresser and then the shadowed washroom when Torin turned at her voice. “There are several sets of clothes of various sizes for you to find your proper fit once you have washed.”
For a moment, Torin couldn’t speak through the sudden lump in his throat. He turned back to survey the room and hide the watering of his eyes from the elf, warmth blooming in his chest.
This was the kindness those of his own race had abandoned. The simple right to basic living conditions, to proper hygiene, space to move more than two paces and enough light to see and not feel oppressed by constant gloom. To be suddenly provided with it all, even when he could not leave and was still technically a prisoner….
...So the Queen is not as cold as she puts off. At least, not entirely.
Torin wiped his eyes and breathed deeply before facing Naela again. “Thank you.” Feeling mere words not sincere enough to convey the wealth of emotions now inside him, Torin bowed.
Naela laughed and took the young man by the shoulders to right him. “You don’t need to bow to me, Aldsson!”
The sound of laughter, after so long, made Torin smile. “Are there any restrictions that I should follow while here?”
“Ah. Unfortunately, the washroom door must remain open, but I will turn my back when privacy is needed.” Torin nodded. The decreased privacy was not something he was unfamiliar with. He was living, and often showering, with twelve other men before his arrest. And it was not like the cell he was in previously was the most private of places. “If you find yourself needing anything, do not hesitate to ask. I will remain at the door.”
Still smiling, Torin nodded. It took a locking of his muscles to prevent it from turning into a bow again. With another word of thanks, he hurried to the first shower available to him in months, elation bubbling in his chest.
Summary: Liam really has a hard time controlling his shift in the beginning but Stiles' little sister gets really good at talking him down because she's his anchor though none of them are actually aware of that.
———————————————————————————————————
It was true that Stiles had been very understanding of Scott's lycanthropy in the beginning but as understanding as he was, you were arguably more supportive.
You had known Scott all your life and he was just as important to you as Stiles, so it was only natural that you would be there for him if he ever needed you...which he rarely did.
Both boys wanted to protect you and being a few months older than you just gave way to that. You were never included in anything, until Scott got a beta.
The process was new, and accelerated due to the whole unplanned bite thing, so you were all up in the air. The entire pack was scrambling to figure out what to do with this explosively angry, resentment-filled teenager who was consequently, going to turn into a rage monster.
No one knew how bad the anger was going to be, considering not one of you knew how bad it was in the first place, but it was much worse than you had been imagining. Liam had become prone to fits of inconsolable aggression, wherein he could only see red..something you were quick to figure out.
It had all started during a lacrosse game against his old school, Devenford prep. Brett Talbot, a loathsome, beanstalk of a troll had been tormenting Liam as per usual, but he seemed to be handling it fine.
Until of course, he rushed off the field.
The crowd gasped at his disappearance but Coach quickly bandaged it, sending both your brother and his best friend to go figure out what was going on. They did so without hesitation and that was all it took to send you off.
Worst case, they wouldn't need your help and you could return to the game knowing that everything was fine, but if that wasn't the case, maybe you could help. You had your fingers crossed that his stick had just come unlaced or something but when you made it to the locker-room, you saw just how wrong you were.
Liam was pinned to the tile wall, Scott on one side and your brother on the other. The water was turned all the way up and splashing down on him in a cold stream...though it didn't seem to be helping.
"What the hell are you two doing?" you asked, tensing up instantly as you tried to think through your course of action. Every bit of your nature was screaming to help but it was a delicate situation that you had to approach differently than normal.
Liam's attention snapped to you in a moment, a slight snarl leaving his lips as he pushed against their hold to get to you. You couldn't be sure what he wanted but in his state, it could have been anything. "Y/N, Get out of here! Now" Stiles barked, not willing to let anything happen to you, especially not at the hands of the beta.
You didn't answer, ignoring him so he turned to Scott this time. "He's right Y/N, it's not safe" he warned, watching with curious eyes as you continued even deeper into the locker-room. Anyone in their right mind would have ran for the hills at such a thing but you didn't seem scared-you knew how dangerous he was, but you weren't afraid.
Slowly but surely, your footsteps increased in pace until you were standing just behind Scott, you eyes still keeping contact with Liam's own. He was fighting just as aggressively as before against the two older boys but at least he was focused on one thing now.
You knew that Liam could easily tear you to shreds, not that Scott would allow that, and you had to keep that in mind. It wouldn't be on purpose, you knew he would never hurt you but he was wild.
Wild.Feral. Angry.
Luckily, you weren't one to turn away in the face of danger. It was a family thing, when sane people turned and ran away from something that could kill them, Stilinskis had this tendency to do the opposite.
"Liam...can you hear me? It's Y/N" you ask, he was only a few feet away, if that, but there was no way to tell what stage of the shift he was in. Every stage would differently affect how his body was processing information, you could only hope he still knew who you were.
He grunted, a good sign as far as you were concerned.
"Good...that's good right?" You shrugged, turning to Scott who looked just as confused as you were at this point. You could vaguely hear Stiles complaining about how bad of an idea this was in the background but you'd spent your whole life tuning him out so it didn't bother you all that much.
You were more sure of yourself now, taking notice of how Liam's attention was only poised on your now. If he was really only that concerned with you, that would make it easier for you to calm him, which was the ultimate goal.
"You're okay Liam, I'm right here for you, alright?" you coo, breaking away from behind the cover Scott's body had created to close the distance between you and the beta. Everyone noticeably tensed, everyone but you of course. You weren't afraid of Liam, no matter how dangerous he may have looked in this moment.
Liam snarled and snapped as you neared his body but didn't lunge at you as you'd been expecting. He even let you rest your hand on his shoulder slowly, something you were sure you would lose a finger over.
You didn't know what to say? What would make the situation better? Over the course of the interaction he had calmed a little already and the longer you were near him, the more even his heartbeat became. You had no way of knowing that but Scott knew. He could already tell that Liam had just began to experience the Anchor's bond, whether he knew about that or not.
Eventually, you had your hands on either side of Liam's face, holding him still as you stared into his face, urging him to ease with your presence. You didn't know what you were doing or if it would work but you had to try. The water had began streaming down your back now, as apposed to the splashing you'd been experiencing before from his close proximity.
It was unpleasant, but you didn't seem to care one bit.
In truth, there might as well have been no one around because all you could see was him. The little beta you had only spoken to in passing before now was occupying all your attention. His raging breath had began syncing up with your own, his large, still clawed, hand held over your heart as he tried to cling to the bits of him that were still human in the moment.
By the time he was calmed, the two of you were panting as you tried to come down from whatever experience you'd just had. Shock dressing both of your faces as you thought over it all.
"What was that? How did you know to do that?" Liam asked, sliding down against the tile until he was on the floor, looking up at you as you turned off the shower. You were both soaking wet and stammering for words, but there was this level of understanding too, something comforting between you both that was impossible to understand.
You shrugged, sitting down beside him on the ground, not even asking before settling into his side. It was as if you had known each other all your lives at this point, some kind of bond had been formed between you and the wolf raging inside him.
It was unbreakable.
"You needed help, and I was here" it was so casual, as if what you'd done was no big deal and that brought a tired smile to Liam's face. All this time, the two of you had went to school together and he'd never spoken to you.
All it took was a supernatural changing and a near death experience to bring you together. "Thank you Y/N" his words caught you off guard, you hadn't been expecting a thank you or anything. Why would he need to thank you? You would have done it for anyone who needed help, it just really worked out well with Liam.
"Don't mention it" You grin, your eyes widening when his wet lips pressed against your own. The kiss was just as unexpected as most things had become in your life but that being said, you weren't upset about it by any means. "I'll have to save your ass more often" you wink, silently glad Scott and Stiles had disappeared at some point during the exchange.
