#infesting in your kids' ears and nesting

[taylortruther]

today's "they'll just say anything on that website" post: who's afraid of little old me? is taylor's version of eminem's without me

[moldwood]

well dang it now my players wanna fuck him

[camaelias]

Sunny Winter Day

CHAPTER 1: The Man Across the Hall

Pairing : Grumpy Winter Soldier x Sunshine Reader

Tags : enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn Author's note : Omg, after more than a decade spent on and off this app, I finally mastered the courage to post something! Please be kind, but feel free to give feedback! especially when I make mistakes, English isn't my first language I hope you'll understand ^^ Okay so, here the story : PLOT :

In a world still reeling from Hydra’s fall and the Avengers' rise, you are a new recruit—a burst of golden light in a team still learning to trust. You have light powers. They call you sunshine, a little too soft for war, a little too bright for shadows.

You thought you were finally safe. A new world, a new life, a place among the Avengers. But danger doesn’t always knock on the front door — sometimes it smiles from the apartment across the hall. And sometimes, the one sent to destroy you is the only one who might just save you.

- Post-Avengers 1, Pre-Ultron. - Steve Rogers and the Winter Soldier have never met before. In this world Bucky Barnes is not yet part of Steve’s memories. - Hydra has been publicly dismantled, but in truth, it still thrives in the shadows.

CHAPTER 2 - The Winter Soldier

*3 WEEKS BEFORE*

The warehouse was falling apart.

It sat half-forgotten on the edge of rural Portugal, by the sea, tucked in the dry sunburnt borderlands near Spain. An old fish storage or something, or at least it smelled like it.

The air was sticky due to the heat, and the thick haze of dust made every inhale feel like chewing concrete. You were already dreaming about a shower and maybe—if the universe had any mercy—air conditioning.

It was a low-priority mission : some civilians reported strange activities at night. Or better, some lads said it was infested by ghosts at night. Shadows, flitting past broken windows. Whispers with no source. The kids would dare each other to throw rocks through the glass and swore they heard something growl back,which, of course, resulted in The Avengers having to check it out.

“Ghosts?” Clint groaned during the morning briefing, already rubbing his temple like it physically hurt “Damn kids. I’ve got two of my own haunting me—don’t need more"

Nat raised an unimpressed brow “And imagine how fun it will be when Nataniel will be joining the band” she grinned

“I need to retire…,” Clint muttered.

Across the room, Tony was pacing in socked feet and snacking on a bowl of blueberries like this was a brunch meeting “Listen, I for once am thrilled for a haunted warehouse. Monaco’s a short hop away; we check for ghosts, no one's actually cursed, I hit the coast in time for espresso—perfect little Thursday”

Steve crossed his arms “Let’s just make sure it’s not another Hydra shell game”

Tony popped a blueberry as he rolled his eyes “Come on, Cap, let me have one fun mission. You already took Halloween from me” 

You hadn’t argued. You’d even cracked a smile.

Now? You were rethinking every choice that led you here.

You moved carefully through the southern wing, the press of silence unnatural and tense. To your left, a wall smothered in old graffiti and jagged glass where windows used to be. The right opened into a cavernous, mostly empty expanse—save for a few nesting rats and a row of massive rusting machines, all hulking in the dark.

You pressed two fingers to your comm. “South section’s clear,” you said “Just rats and trauma vibes"

You didn’t hear the answer, because the wall behind you blew apart.

You didn’t see it coming. No warning. Just heat and force and the unmistakable shriek of crumbling stone. The blast sent you flying forward—air ripped from your chest, ears ringing. You hit the ground hard, and then— everything broke loose. You could hear at least 2 other explotions detonating somewhere on the other side of the warehouse, a few gunshots here and there.

The air turned to static and smoke. Somewhere above, a light fixture swung violently from the ceiling. you staggered to your feet and darted behind a support beam, one hand clamped over your ribs. Blood. Not gushing, but warm. Persistent. Yours. 

“North wall’s compromised,” Nat’s voice crackled through the comms, sharp as a blade “Three down. Someone new on the field. It's Hydra.”

“Visual?” you asked heartbeat kicking up.

Clint’s voice cut in fast “Yeah, tall, broad, moves like he wants to kill the damn ground, metal ar—”

You didn’t hear the rest.

Because a thud like thunder shook the floor, and you felt him before you saw him—something fast and heavy slicing through the smoke behind you. You ducked just in time.

A gleaming metal fist swung clean through the air where your head had just been and obliterated the support pillar behind you. Stone and steel crumpled like wet paper.

You hit the ground and rolled, coming up in a crouch, one hand already sparking with light.

And then—finally—you saw him.

He was built like a battering ram in black tactical gear, every inch of him made for destruction: grenade belt, knives strapped to his thighs, rifle slung tight to his back. A black combat mask covered the lower half of his face, sleek and impersonal, dark goggles covered his eyes. You felt a chill going down your spine. 

His long hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead, his goggles glinted in the fractured light—cold and unreadable.

Your light surged at your fingertips. You flung your hand forward—a blast. Golden light cut through the haze and hit him clean in the chest. He stumbled, boots grinding across the floor, but not down. Not even close.

Then he moved. Fast.

You caught a blur of black and metal and then he was on you, fists flying low, precise, brutal. You dropped to one knee as his fist cut through the air where your head had been, the metal knuckles slamming into the steel beam behind you. Sparks burst. Your hand glowed again—pure heat gathering in your palm—and you shoved upward with a blast that sent both of you flying in opposite directions.

“Dramatic entrance. You always punch first or am I special?” You said as you were getting back on your feet, slightly breathless, hoping to buy yourself some time just enough to figure how to fight whatever that was back. He didn’t answer, clearly not in the mood for chit chat. No witty comeback, no smug taunt—just a silent, brutal charge, knife glinting in his hand like he meant to end this fast. You met him mid-strike. Sparks exploded as his blade met your light-shield, heat searing your forearm. You twisted out of the way, pivoted, kicked up and caught him in the side.

He grunted—barely. No pain. No hesitation.

“Y/N, status” you heard Clint in your comm, and behind his voice a couple of explotions too. “Metal arm guy engaged,” you said as the man in front of you squared you like you were his next meal “So much for ghost stories…”. 

Your breath was starting to be more erratic, your body starting to register the impact of the blast, the hits, the flying-through-the-air-like-a-crash-test-dummy bit. And he, he just kept coming. Silent. Focused. No words, no hesitation. Just a human switchblade set to kill.

Your powers pulsed under your skin, flickering like a faulty wire as you groaned under your breath. It was really time you would learn how to control them. “Gotta go old school I guess…” you muttered. And then you swung.

No light. No glow. Just a good, old-fashioned, bare-knuckled punch backed by months of sparring with Natasha Romanoff. It connected with his jaw. You could’ve sworn you heard a growl through the mask. Then he grabbed your wrist—and threw you like a rag doll.

You hit the ground hard, shoulder catching on loose concrete. You rolled, groaning, and when your palm flared again, you blasted him with everything you had.

But—

It pulled.

Your power pulled back.

Not gone—but hesitant. Like it didn’t want to hurt him.

You stared at your hand, chest rising and falling.

“What the hell,” you whispered.

He stood across from you, silent and sharp, goggles locked onto yours, his chest heaving with heavy, even breaths. The light cut along his frame—tactical black combat gear, a gleaming metal arm etched with intricate lines, knife still in hand, long dark hair pushed back under the strap of his mask.

You were breathing hard. Bleeding. Confused. And by the time you looked back up from your hand he was gone. So fast, so precise, it was like he vanished with the smoke. Like you imagined him.

Little did you know that now he was standing in your kitchen, baby blue mug with little red hearts in hand, flashing you a shy smile. 

Later That Night When James left your apartment, the apartment building was quiet. A soft hum came from the fridge, the light in James’s kitchen was dim, casting half his face in shadow as he leaned one forearm on the counter, a radio device held loosely in his other hand.

His voice was calm. Clipped. Precise.

“She’s warming up. Give it time.”

A pause.

“…No. She doesn’t suspect anything concrete. Just… instincts. I can manage it.”

He clicked the device off.

CHAPTER 3 - Whispers in the wall

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Twenty Eight: The Itchening (A.K.A. Oh No, She Got Fleas)

It started with a scratch.

Innocent. Light. Tail flick. No big deal.

Then another.

And another.

Then you were dragging your back across the deck like a possessed mop and clawing behind your ears with both legs at once, growling like a tiny, feral chainsaw.

Zoro squinted from across the deck.

“…You good?”

“Fine,” you hissed, upside down with one foot in your ear. “Totally normal. Perfectly stable.”

You licked your arm.

Paused.

Scratched again.

Zoro blinked. “Okay, that was a full-body twitch. What’s going on?”

“I’m malfunctioning!”

He stared. You scratched again—harder this time. And then—

A tiny black speck jumped off your neck and landed on his leg.

The two of you made eye contact.

Zoro looked down.

Then back at you.

“…You didn’t.”

You froze mid-scratch.

“I might have.”

Panic. Ensued.

“SHE’S GOT FLEAS!!” Usopp screamed, leaping onto a barrel like it was high ground in a zombie movie.

“CONTAIN HER!” Chopper yelled, already putting on gloves and a mask. “QUARANTINE ZONE!”

You hissed and scampered across the deck at full speed, leaving a trail of glitter, stray hairs, and chaos in your wake.

“THIS ISN’T MY FAULT!” you shouted, jumping over Luffy.

“It’s the kids, isn’t it?!” Sanji shrieked from the galley window, holding up tongs like a cross. “YOU LET THE KIDS PET YOU!!”

“They were sticky!! I WAS WEAK!”

They caught you eventually. It took three people, a net, and a food bribe.

Now you were sitting in the infirmary, arms crossed, tail puffed out in betrayal, as Chopper did The Inspection.

“...Yup. Fleas.”

You wailed.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

Nami gagged dramatically in the background. “Burn her bedding.”

Robin tilted her head. “Or the whole hammock.”

You flopped dramatically on the table. “I’M A TRAGEDY. A FERAL FAILURE. A WALKING ITCH.”

Luffy patted your head and immediately started scratching his own. “Do I have them now?!”

“Don’t touch me!!” you hissed.

Zoro stood nearby with his sword half-drawn. “If one jumps on me I’m shaving you.”

Flea Treatment: Day One

You were soaked in flea shampoo. You smelled like lemon and sulfur. You hissed at your reflection.

Sanji brushed you while holding back tears. “She used to be beautiful…”

Luffy sat next to the bath with a solemn nod. “Rest in peace, fancy fluff.”

Robin took notes in a small journal: "Chapter 12: Parasite Arc."

Chopper patted your head with gloves. “Three more treatments and you’ll be clean!”

You hissed again, full of shame.

That Night

You curled up in a sad little puffball in your temporary, disinfected blanket nest. You twitched.

Luffy offered you a juice box.

Zoro placed his sword beside you like a silent offering.

Sanji handed you a snack and said, “Still gross, but slightly less.”

You sniffled. “…You’re all lucky I’m adorable even when infested.”

Nami from across the ship: “DEBATABLE!”

You scratched once. Growled.

And passed out, plotting vengeance on all fleas and children who dared sully your glorious fur.

Morning came.

You emerged from the infirmary like a soggy battle survivor—cleaner, slightly fluffier, but twitching at phantom itches like a haunted dryer sheet.

The crew had tried to move on with their day.

But your presence, wrapped in a fresh blanket, eyes narrowed, ears flat, sent a collective wave of nervous side-glances across the deck.

You took a single step.

Sanji immediately sprayed you with citrus mist. “Reflex!” he yelped. “Sorry—sorry—it’s instinct now!”

You coughed dramatically, reeking of lemon.

Zoro passed by with a towel wrapped around his waist and muttered, “Don’t touch my swords.”

“I’ll lick your swords just to spite you.”

He didn’t respond, but he did visibly walk faster.

Chopper, your trusted doctor-slash-traitor, called everyone together around midday.

“Okay,” he said, voice full of professional dread, “I’m initiating Operation Total Decontamination."

Everyone groaned.

You hissed.

Luffy raised a hand. “What’s the operation?”

“Everyone she’s touched, licked, sat on, brushed against, or stolen from in the last 72 hours… gets flea treatment.”

Silence.

Then slowly—

Every single crewmember turned to stare at you.

You bared your teeth.

“This isn’t my fault,” you growled.

Usopp pointed accusingly. “You rubbed your face on my bag.”

Sanji: “She bit my sock.”

Nami: “She stole my brush.”

Zoro: “She slept on my chest.”

Robin, completely unbothered: “She sat on my book while damp.”

Luffy grinned. “She hugged me and whispered ‘you’re my favorite snack.’”

You blinked. “...Okay that one’s on me.”

And so began: Flea War II.

Chopper lined everyone up on the deck. Everyone got flea soap. Everyone was forced to strip off socks, cloaks, coats, dignity.

Luffy loved it. “THIS IS THE BEST PIRATE ACTIVITY YET.”

Sanji screamed the moment the shampoo touched his hair.

Zoro sulked the entire time, glaring at you like this was personal.

It was.

You watched from the crow’s nest, wrapped in your blanket like a disgraced empress, sipping a juice box.

“I have united them,” you muttered. “In mutual suffering.”

Robin stood beside you, sipping tea. “You should be proud.”

You scratched your ear. “...Still itchy.”

Later that night, the crew was flea-free, damp, exhausted, and traumatized.

You were clean, warm, bundled in extra-soft towels.

Franky had built you a personal flea-repelling collar that beeped when danger was near. You wore it like a badge of shame.

Zoro dropped a flea comb beside your head and muttered, “Daily inspections. No exceptions.”

You bared your teeth. “I’m not your fuzzy war criminal.”

“You are now.”

Luffy cuddled up next to you, sniffed, and said proudly, “She smells like lemon cake again!”

You wagged your tail once.

“…Don’t get used to it.”

But the next time you scratched?

Everyone tensed.

Sanji raised the mist bottle.

Usopp dove for cover.

Robin calmly held up a lighter.

And Chopper whispered, “God help us if they return.”

--

It had been three long, itchy days.

You were officially flea-free.

Clean. De-glittered. Slightly humbled. Your fur was brushed to silky perfection, your tail had recovered from emotional trauma, and the humiliating citrus scent was finally fading to something less... edible.

The crew was cautiously relaxing again.

Luffy stopped diving behind furniture when you entered a room. Nami returned your blanket (with gloves). Sanji no longer flinched every time you scratched your ear.

All was well.

Too well.

Enter Zoro.

You were lounging on your back in the sun, arms flopped over your head, tail slowly twitching. Purring.

Zoro, freshly volunteered by Chopper for “routine comb duty,” stood nearby with your assigned flea comb, wearing the most tired expression imaginable.

“This is stupid,” he muttered.

“You could just not do it,” you offered, eyes closed, basking.

Chopper shouted from the infirmary, “You agreed to daily inspections! She’s a carrier!”

Zoro grumbled something unkind under his breath, sat beside you, and started gently combing through your fluff.

It was quiet.

Peaceful.

Soft.

Until—

He froze.

Pulled something tiny from behind your ear.

Held it between two fingers.

A…

sparkling, glittery bead.

He stared.

“…What the hell is this.”

You opened one eye.

Paused.

Then screamed.

“IT’S BACK—THE GLITTER IS BACK—”

Chaos erupted again.

Chopper ran in with a microscope and gasped, “It’s not a flea. It’s… decorative debris.”

“HOW DID IT GET ON ME?!” you wailed, clawing at your fur. “I’VE BEEN SO GOOD!”

Zoro stood with the comb dangling from his hand like a cursed relic. “You are never clean. Not truly.”

Robin leaned in, examining the glittery object with amused interest. “It’s shaped like a tiny star.”

Sanji appeared from the galley holding a towel and a bottle of rose shampoo. “Bath time.”

You shrieked. “NO! NO MORE DECONTAMINATION!”

Luffy was already chasing you around the deck with a mop. “GET BACK HERE, FLEA QUEEN!”

“I AM CLEAN!!” you yelled, leaping onto the mast and clinging there like a wet sock.

Chopper: “We need a new phase—this is beyond medical science.”

Usopp pulled out goggles. “I knew it. She’s evolving.”

Eventually, they cornered you.

Wrapped you in a towel.

Sat you down.

Zoro held the comb like a sword again, ready.

“Last chance,” he muttered. “Any more hidden surprises?”

You slumped. Defeated. Horrified.

“…I might have... rolled in some craft glue. During the jellybean incident.”

A long silence.

Robin: “That explains everything.”

Zoro facepalmed. “I’m never doing this again.”

Sanji patted your head. “Yes, you will.”

Chopper set fire to the glitter bead. “For science.”

You sat there, wrapped in a towel, dripping, twitching, purring angrily.

“...I liked being an icon.”

“Now you’re a biohazard,” Zoro muttered.

You grinned.

“Why not both?”

[therealbeachfox]

The Crime Alley Kid Saves Christmas!

[[A semi-noncanonical tale of that time Conrad got conscripted into a bunch of bullshit he didn't sign up for, and his Boss With Benefits didn't fare much better.]]

Twas the night after Christmas, and all through the Nest Not a creature was stirring, except for one guest. While the wind howled outside, blowing snow to and fro A certain hench worked by computer screen glow When up from above, there rose such a clatter He shot from the chair to see what was the -UNGHHPH!-

     There was a sound not unlike a rapidly approaching motorbike, but before Conrad could even process the impossibility of that scenario he was no longer standing up from his chair, but instead embedded into the far wall of the Nest’s main chamber. His head bounced off hard enough to send explosions of light across his vision and he was certain that the metal paneling had crumpled slightly from the impact of his body.

     He cursed from the pain, but all that came out was a gurgling squeak. He couldn’t breathe either. A heavy pressure was wrapped tight around his throat and keeping him a good foot off the ground to boot. A steel beam wrapped in a leather jacket if his fumbling attempts to grab it were anything to go by.

     Someone was speaking to him, but his brain refused to make sense of the words. His vision was starting to clear, though. Details began to filter through the piercing brightness of the Nest’s overhead floodlights. A shock of black curled hair. Sunglasses? Sunglasses. Inside. At night. Ear-piercings that caught the light and glinted like daggers into his eyes. A snarling face. Black leather jacket. Blue shirt with a yellow and red pattern he couldn’t quite process.

     The steel beam wrapped around his throat lifted him another inch and shook him, which just made the no oxygen problem even worse. No helping it. Conrad swung his legs forward and slammed his boots against the gut of whoever was pinning him to the wall.

     It was like trying to kick through a concrete wall.

     Conrad swung again, further this time, bending himself almost double to wrap his legs around the arm pinning him in place. He managed to keep his grip for almost a full second before something grabbed his entire body and slammed him flat against the wall. His arms and legs went flat against the wall, spread out and pinned like he was strapped into-

Momentary panic. Memories of a soundproofed room with walls of alternating black fabric and mirrors. So many different angles to see himself from. Strapped down across a giant X, every whip welt displa-

Just a moment of panic. He barely noticed either the flash of memory or stuffing it back down into it’s box in the back of his mind.

     Conrad squinted his eyes and fought through the headache to get a better look at his assaulter. The symbol across the guy’s chest was the first thing to flicker into focus.

     Oh.

     Oh no.

     “You need to get down here, Rob!” Superboy called over his shoulder. Because that was Superboy, floating(!!) a few inches off the ground and pinning Conrad in place with a single finger against his forehead. Somehow. “You’ve got an infestation in your Nest!”

     Wow. Rude. Superboy should count himself lucky that he had a weak spot for pierced punk boys in leather who could kick his ass. Although… He scanned the floating kid up and down and frowned. “Weren’t you older than me?”

     Superboy’s head snapped back to him, black eyebrows furrowed in anger. “What?”

     Conrad tried to gesture between the cape’s face and his own, but his fingers barely twitched. Shit, he used his hands a lot when talking, didn’t he? “When you first showed. You were older than me. By at least a year or two. But now you look…” he let the rest of his thought drift into silence. The stormy expression Superboy was giving him would’ve been unnerving even if it wasn’t coming from someone who, Conrad was near certain, could shoot lasers from his eyes.

     He coughed and broke eye-contact as he caught motion from the staircase in his peripheral. Red Robin was coming down the stairs, frowning at a slim pane of black glass that looked stupidly expensive. “That doesn’t make any sense. There’s no sign of an intrusion, just a couple of pings from-” He looked up, and the faintly glowing white eyes of his cowl widened slightly before he facepalmed. “Goddamit, Con.”

     “What?” Conrad exclaimed in perfect synchronicity with Superboy. Con blinked in surprise as the other boy glared back.

     “I can’t deal with this right now. Con, keep him there, we’ll figure out…” Red Robin trailed off as he took in the over-screen of the Robin-computer or whatever he was calling it. He stood like that for several seconds before turning towards them with enough force it left his cape swirling around him. “Con, what the hell is all this?”

     “How the hell should I know?” Superboy asked.

     “Pretty sure he’s the one keeping me here.” Conrad replied at the same moment. The two of them returned to exchanging bewildered-slash-suspicious glares.

     Red Robin gave a sigh that was all Batman while massaging his temples. “Oh for… Conrad, also known as Con, meet Superboy, also known as Kon-El. Kon-El, my truest friend and companion, meet Conrad, some guy my brother’s banging. Who somehow broke into my stronghold while I was out.”

     “You gave me the keys ‘in case of emergency’! And you weren’t answering your bat… pager.. thing when I was trying to get permission!” Conrad tried to explain in a way that didn’t come off too much like he was trying to convince an older sibling they shouldn’t sell them out to their parents over some infraction.

     “Wait, which brother?” Superboy asked over him. “Because that hair’s not nearly red enough for Nightwing, and I know Batman would never let someone his age anywhere near Ro-”

     Conrad wheezed as the pressure around his throat slammed back full force. Superboy was close enough their noses were nearly touching. All he could see was the other kid’s eyes. Piercing unnatural blue, with bright red pinpricks glowing in the center of his pupils. Where did his sunglasses go? “He’s fucking Red Hood?!”

     Oh god, Superboy was choke-pinning him against the wall with his lips close enough to kiss. “I wished on a monkey’s paw when I was 15.” he choked out, muscles straining against whatever force was keeping him immobile. “It’s the only explanation for this.”

     The last came out more gurgled whine than actual words, but that was apparently enough to earn his release. Gravity returned with a vengeance, and the very familiar sensation of landing ass-first on cold hard ground shot up his spine. Conrad made the executive decision to just stay there for a quick bit. Partially to massage at his throat and catch his breath, mostly to come off as utterly nonthreatening and not worth the bother of slamming up against anything else.

     “What the fuck?” Superboy was a foot off the ground and several feet distant by the time Conrad could look up.

     “When you first showed up,” Conrad hacked out, “you were older than me. You’re allowed to have fantasies about people older than you! But now you’re younger-” Conrad broke off and shook his head firmly. “You know what? No. I’m not even asking. Not my business, I don’t need to know. Now or ever.”

     “Kon-El got decanted ahead of schedule and one of the side effects was a lack of aging until we figured out how to get that kickstarted. He’s been alive for about six years, is about 17 physically, and mentally…” Red Robin trailed off and waggled his hand with a shrug.

     Conrad bit back an exasperated sigh. “I just said I wasn’t going to ask.”

     “Okay, why are we telling one of Red Hood’s mooks my tragic backstory? And why is he here?”

     “Because Red Robin gave me a key!”

     “Con! Kon! Focus. Conrad. What. Am I. Looking at?” Red Robin pointed firmly at the screen which was currently taken up by a map of the greater Gotham metropolitan area. Specifically, he was pointing at the dozens (two dozen and three, supplied the part of his brain that sounded vaguely like his mother and never shut up) of routs that crossed, looped, and spread across the breadth of the city.

     Con bit his lip and debated. This was something that was almost impossible to explain to someone who hadn’t had to live on the streets as a kid, even before you brought in all the… side details.

     But Red Robin was a Bat. Perhaps the most Bat’esc Bat aside from the original. Con might not get dangled off a building during the process, but he’d still get interrogated a dozen different ways until he gave up every detail. Better to just bite the bullet.

     “Okay,” Conrad pulled himself off the floor and squared himself into his most ‘I am a professional and am delivering a professional report’ stance. “Before I start, I just need to say: I promise I am not fucking with you or making anything up. I know how it’s going to sound, but-”

     “Oh my god, dude, I spent last week having a fistfight with a version of me made out of sentient crystal that was trying to take control of the world’s beetle population. Just spill it, already!” Red Robin placed a hand gently on Superboy’s shoulder and lightly pushed him down until his feet were against the ground. Unreadable mask eyes turned back to him.

     “Please. Just tell us.”

     Con took another deep breath. “Okay, so. There’s this, um, care package… thing that homeless kids get around this time of year. Sweaters, cold-weather gear, snow-rated sleeping bags and shit like that. But it didn’t show up this year and we-”

     “Oh &*#$ me, it’s a Santa thing!” Superboy exploded, suddenly two feet off the ground again. “I swear to whatever gods Krypton had, I’m going to go full Grinch if they pull this shit ever again.”

     Red Robin ignored him and stepped forward closer to Conrad. “Santa’s presents weren’t delivered to the homeless kids in Gotham, so you’re trying to arrange deliveries of those supplies yourself. Thus…” He waved at the screen. “this whole thing to hit every location in Gotham in the minimum amount of time. Right?”

     Conrad just stood there with mouth slightly agape for a second. Not at Red Robin figuring out what was going on just from examining the map and getting a sentence of setup. He was a Robin. Robins were smart. It was the Santa thing that’d clotheslined him. That’d always been the hardest part of the sell, even with the BossJason. He’d never once encountered easy acceptance of it from anyone over the age of maybe twelve. It took a light throat-clearing from Red Robin to snap him out of it. Superboy was up in the rafters now, mutter-ranting to himself. Red Robin was ignoring him, so Conrad did as well.

     “Right. Um. So, this actually happened once before about-”

     “Four years ago, when nothing showed up until late February, middle of March.” the vigilante inserted.

     “Early February, but… yeah. We were lucky it was a mild winter that year or it could’ve been… Real bad.” Conrad shrugged off the echoes of dread from that long month that still lingered. “It’s something I’ve always tried to have a plan for in case it ever happened again. So when Christmas morning arrived with no deliveries...”

     Red Robin nodded decisively. “Kris Kringle was abducted by forces unknown into a splintered off timeline tangent two days ago.” He said like he was just filling Con in on a few extra details about a shoplifting plan. “The elves didn’t contact us until yesterday; just hours before deliveries should’ve started.” The wrinkle of his nose showed just what Red Robin thought about that particular choice. “Most of the team’s followed the abductors into the timeline splinter, but a few of us stayed here to try and get Christmas deliveries taken care of.” He gave a rueful snort, looking back up at the big screen. “We’d come down to use the Nest’s mainframe to calculate our optimal routs. Guess you had the same idea.”

     That was. A lot of information. Conrad shoved most of it on the back-burner to process when he had the time and focused on the important pieces. “I really just needed the Nest’s databases.”

     Red Robin turned back to him, head tilted slightly, featureless white eyes watching. Conrad hurried to elaborate. “Hood’s got a lot of supplies saved aside for things like this, and if it was just the Alley kids we needed to look out for it’d be more than enough, but we’ve got a whole city to cover.” He waved his hand at the map like the vigilante didn’t realize just how fucking huge Gotham was. “I tried getting information on which companies or warehouses would have cold weather gear in stock that we could ..buy,” there was barely a millisecond of stumble over the quick word substitution, “on my own, but no one’s publishing their exact stock figures online and I don’t know how to acquire that kind of information directly from their systems.

     “I tried asking Oracle for help,” that is, he’d turned on his webcam and mic, loaded up an empty Zoom call, and asked for the ghost-in-the-machine’s help every five minutes for an hour “but I don’t have any direct way of contacting them and my signal flares went unanswered. I pinged your…”

     “Batpager.” Red Robin supplied the moment it looked like Con was struggling with the word. “Just call it the Batpager. Most of us do.” The faint undercurrent of exhaustion in his voice suggested that he himself was not one of them.

     “Batpager, but I you were busy... with elves?”

     “Rabble-scabble frigging elves.” Superboy muttered as he slowly drifted back down into the conversation. “Zap us away from Christmas dinner with demands, then refuse to let us use any part of their mission control setup-”

     “Because lil’Lobo tried to set it all on fire with a flamethrower.”

     “Which brings me to my next complaint of why was lil’Lobo brought on in the first place!”

     “They were pretty liberal with their definition of ‘Young Justice Members’ when casting the summons, it looked like.”

     “He hasn’t been on the roster for years,” Superboy continued like Red hadn’t even spoken. “I don’t think he was even with us the first time we had to fill in!” He stopped, furrowed his brow, and turned to Red. “Was he?”

     “Dude, I don’t even know. My memories of those three months are completely shot.”

     This was a situation Conrad was comfortable in. The guys in charge had gotten distracted by a conversation/argument about shit he had no knowledge of. He just had to hang out and be part of the background until they circled back around to him. Normally, this would’ve been the part where he also turned all the audio into static until he heard his name, but HoodJason kept being real insistent about not doing that anymore, so he didn’t. Instead, he just focused on the name lil’Lobo.

     Lobo sounded like a mirror-inverse of Lupu, honestly. That combined with the lil’ gave Conrad the vivid mental image of a mirror-universe version of one of his cousins. Evil. With a goatee. God, evil Caleb with a goatee and a flamethrower. He could see it all a little too well, honestly. Mirror-flipped so his skin was super white and his body was super jacked. Hair so faintly brown it was nearly white? Or still a dark brown, just with blue-highlights where it caught the light? Some sort of meathead asshole just barging through things without a second thought about anything. Fucking terrifying.

     “Anyways,” Red Robin broke into Superboy’s ranting, making Conrad snap back to attention. “You couldn’t get in contact with anyone, so you broke into the Nest.”

     “You gave me a key!” Conrad’s explanation was getting a little more strained with each repetition.

     “For emergencies.” Red Robin replied.

     Conrad’s expression went blank. “We have blizzard conditions expected within the next 36 hours,” he said evenly. He wasn’t going to shout at a Robin. Definitely not when they had someone next to them who could punch through his spine. “with as much of five feet of snow and temperatures down to 5 degrees Fahrenheit. Kids will die without cold weather gear. Even if every shelter threw their doors open, there aren’t enough beds across Gotham to house more than maybe a quarter of us. Them.” It’d been almost three years, and it still took effort to remember he wasn’t one of them anymore. No longer homeless, definitely no longer a child.

     “Kids are going to die from this and there’s not much shit I can do about it; but I can make sure that the death toll is in the low dozens instead of the low hundreds. I know it doesn’t count as an emergency by Bat standards – there’s no one to punch to make it stop – but it counts as one to me. And all I needed was information on where in Gotham additional supplies were located so the volunteer runners could pick up shit between stops. It was going to be a quick in and out. I’d only been here about half an hour and would’ve been gone in another twenty if you hadn’t shown up.”

     Red Robin frowned and moved to the keyboard. A flurry of quick keystrokes and electronic blips and the symbols on the map Conrad had put down to mark warehouses and army surplus shops where additional gear could be acquired lit up. Con watched as the younger man tracked the various routs, seeing which ones passed by one of the restock points and which didn’t, which ones were sent out with all the gear they’d need and their paths verses the ones who’d be getting most of their supplies along the way.

     “You have the usual districts divided up further into…”

     “Gang territories. Most homeless kids are hooked into one street-kid gang or another. It’s almost impossible to stay alive and not snatched up by CPS or unmarked vans without support. Kids age out as quick as they come in, so the territories and numbers and even names of the gangs are always in flux, but I do my best to keep track of ‘em. I’ve no idea how to track down whatever kids are running independent, so I’ve got to focus on using the gang leaders as the point of contact to drop shit off with. There are a few groups,” He gestured to the larger circles centered around the Tricorner Tunnels access and the plaza around “Simon’s Church” on the southernmost island as examples. “where there’s more of a joint gathering spot for all the local street kids, so those drop-offs are a lot more straight-forward.”

     “And you’ve got each path here making no more than five dropoffs-”

     “The runners are gonna have to roll some diplomacy and spend time convincing them the gear isn’t some sort of trap, so we can’t be rushing people. I’m just glad so many volunteered to help.”

     “Each route has a bare minimum of turns or side-streets required-”

     “Needs to be easy to remember without having it written down. Not everyone can read that good.”

     “Though there’s some weird changing around with the streets and notes about times that I don’t quite get…”

     “Enough people’ve got work that there’s going to be the usual traffic. Plus, we almost always have someone pulling shit at the Steel Gables bridge in the first few days after Christmas, so we can’t rely on that being open.”

     “And the neighborhoods on each side of it are getting taken care of by routes that follow the shoreline. There’s just…”

     “Twenty-seven routes. We had sixty-odd volunteers and I wanted there to be at least two riders on each route so they could back each other up in case of trouble. A few of the least experienced I tripled up with an old wolf because there was overflow.”

     Red Robin shook his head slowly before turning back to look at Conrad. “And you set up the algorithm for this in just thirty minutes?”

     Conrad blinked again, eyes darting over to Superboy for a second (he was still scowling at him, damn) then back. “Ah. No. I… Don’t know how to do that. I already had the rough routes plotted out, then once I knew where supplies were located I just had to tweak things to account for them.”

     “And you just… what, did that by hand? In half an hour?”

     Conrad didn’t like that tone of voice. It wasn’t Red’s fault, he’d just heard it too many time from assholes (parental and otherwise) growing up. The ‘Pretty sure you don’t know what you’re talking about and are too stupid to even realize it’ voice.

     He might be being unfair to Red. Probably wasn’t even what that voice meant coming from him. It was an effort to keep his hackles from rising, though.

     “I had most of the routing already mapped out, but the adjustments for supplies, yeah. I was going over everything to make sure I hadn’t made any mistakes when, um,” he rubbed at the growing bruise around his throat distractedly, “you arrived.”

     Red Robin was giving him the exact same look that Jason had many times at the start of their relationship. Like he was trying to pull up Conrad’s source-code for a deep dive to figure out exactly what was going on in there. He tried not to shift under the attention.

     “So how did you plot the original routes?” He asked in a mild voice that Conrad did not trust in the slightest.

     “It’s just something I work on in my head during downtime while security guarding. I update it as the various kid gangs change, that sort of thing. It’s just back burner shit.”

     “So you worked all of this out in your head.” Red Robin continued in the same mild voice. Conrad nodded cautiously. “Then you reworked it to account for having to hit up places to restock. Also in your head. In half an hour.”

     Conrad took a deep breath. He was pretty sure he knew where this was heading. He let it out in a slow exhale and nodded again. Red Robin made a small hmm of interest and turned back to the map.

     Superboy landed with the faintest sound of sneakers against floor and slid around to break Red Robin’s line of sight. “You alright there, birdbrain? You’re doing that squint thing at the corner of your eyes you do whenever you’re upset someone’s done a smarts thing you couldn’t.”

     “He does it in his head.” Red Robin said in a quiet even voice.

     “That’s what he says…” Superboy gave Conrad a dubious look over Red’s shoulder. It wasn’t a glare, at least.

     “It’s the prototypical NP-Hard problem, arguably what computer programing was invented to solve, where even the best quantum-exact algorithm can’t do better than 1.8 to the n’th power. And he’s just… ‘doing it in his head’.”

     Now it was a glare. And he’d been doing so well. Conrad just shrugged helplessly back.

     “Alright.” Red Robin snapped out of whatever disassociation he’d been in between one moment and the next making both Conrad and Superboy jump in surprise. “Kon,” he helpfully pointed at which of the two of them he meant, “grab the portable computing setup and the mega-atlas from Reference. I’ll get what the elves gave us onto the system so we can actually look at it and grab arctic gear for the three of us. Con,” this time the finger was pointing at him, “call whoever you need to and let them know you’ll be out of town. Hopefully just for a few days. Assuming lil’Lobo hasn’t burned everything down by the time we get back.”

    “Where did he even get that flame-thrower?

     “Uh, sure thing, boss.” Conrad answered instinctively, already pulling out his phone. “What exactly should I be telling them?”

*****

     “ So let the guys know we don’t need the volunteer riders after all; I’ll sort out getting everything back to the supply caches when I get back, sorry for that too. And let Elina know she’s on the line for keeping the gremlins in line for a few days. I think that’s everything. Again, I’m real sorry about this, Boss, but at least it's gonna be a way more cost-effective way to get all the Gotham street kids bundled up for the year. And the rest of the world’s street kids, too .” (‘and every other kid!’ someone shouts in the background) “Sure, and also that , I guess. They’ve promised to get me flown back once I’ve worked out a usable flight plan for,” a small sigh, “the entire world. I’m just hoping that by the time we get up there, the others would’ve already rescued Santa. Fingers crossed. Love you, babe. Stay frosty! And sorry again, Boss. ”

     The message ended with a beep. Jason looked up to Bruce from where he stood over the table with hands braced on each corner, his phone resting between them. “So yeah. Care to explain exactly why I woke up to a phone message telling me Tim shanghaied my boyfriend because of Santa Claus?”

     “When was this call made?”

     Jason blinked at the ice cold growl in Bruce’s voice. The man was still in the very exact way he got whenever he was keeping himself from vibrating in place. “Really don't think that's the thing to focus on, Bruce.” The man growled in response. Jason resisted rolling his eyes. “Three hours ago.”

     Bruce – no, it was solidly Batman now, cowl or no – strode away without another word. Jason cursed and hurried to catch up. Whenever he was in this state, Batman’s grim stride tended to outpace anything slower than a quick jog from Jason. He followed the asshole across the main floor of the cave to the matted black cases where he kept his ‘specialized equipment’. Jason didn’t know what he expected to get pulled out, but a flip-phone that looked like it was made out of glittering ice and colorful tinsel was not it.

     The entire world except for him had gone insane, then.

     Batman had flipped it open and was already growling at whoever was at the other end by the time Jason caught up. “No, what I’m asking, Merrytwinkle, is why I had to find out my mentor had been kidnapped fourth-hand?” Jason couldn’t help the utter disbelief that crossed his face. Batman just held up a hand towards him. Though he did stick up one finger, then curled his thumb in the ‘one moment’ signal that’d developed between them back in the early days.

     Jason was not going to dwell on the fact he still remembered it.

     “It doesn’t matter if they’re the only other people in existence with experience running the Sleigh if they never got any training for it!” Another moment of silence during which Batman shook his head and shot Jason a ‘can you fucking believe this asshole?’ glare. Jason nodded back, brain spinning too fast to do anything else. “No, Merrytwinkle, that actually makes it worse.”

     Batman’s nostrils flared at whatever ‘Merrytwinkle’ was saying. His lips thinned and jaw set and Jason nearly groaned out loud. The idiot on the other end had hit one of the Do Not Touch buttons. Everything was about to get Batman’ed up.

     He was still listening, but Batman’s attention turned towards unlocking and flipping open storage cases from the Specialized rack seemingly at random. His free hand flashed a series of quick signs that had Jason already moving before he’d consciously translated them into “Collect contents. One for each of us. Time critical.”

     “No, I’m already on my way. If I arrive and find nothing but ice-flows, I wont hesitate to force my way through the Normalcy Shield. … Yes, that’s exactly what would happen, which is why it’s not going to be up when we arrive.”

     Jason didn’t recognize half the stuff he’d pulled out of the cases, but it was easy to tell where they were supposed to be equipped. Batman had already stalked off to Outfitting. There was nothing left in him to be surprised when the old man returned with arctic gear that matched both their current uniforms. The extra fur padding across his chest was even stained red with a scrawled bloody bat.

     Batman snapped the phone shut and shoved it into one of his belt pouches as he strode past Jason towards the plane. Jason followed without even being directed to. Only the smallest part of him could make the effort to be pissed about it.

     The engines were firing up as Jason hauled himself in, locking and sealing the doors for takeoff by muscle memory alone.

     “Okay, old man.” he said as he dropped down in the copilot seat, only slightly disquieted to discover a winterized version of his helmet already waiting for him on the console. “What, respectfully, the fuck is going on here?”

     Batman glanced over at him, and Jason would swear there was the slightest hint of a smile on the asshole’s lips. “What else? We’re going to save Christmas.” The faint smile vanished under the much more familiar scowl, “And those little bastards can just try to stop us from doing it.”

     Jason groaned as he let the G forces of their takeoff push him back into the seat. He shouldn’t be here. He should be home. Or at headquarters. Planning shit. Prepping his holdings for whatever bullshit was going to get sprung for New Years like it did every year. Not in a supersonic jet with a possibly insane problematic father'esc-figure on the way to face off against non-existent children's stories.

     Conrad was so fucking lucky he was hot.

[deadpool-wade-wilson]

Well, I'm back, da-na-na-na, na-na-na-na-na-na Fix your bent antenna, tune it in, and then I'm gonna Enter in and up under your skin like a splinter The center of attention, back for the winter I'm interesting, the best thing since wrestling Infesting in your kid's ears and nesting Testing, "Attention, please" Feel the tension soon as someone mentions me Here's my ten cents, my two cents is free A nuisance, who sent? You sent for me?

[edwardseymour]

always funny when i see one of my posts reposted on another form of social media, infesting in your kids’ ears and nesting—

[witchcraft-in-wonderland]

Switch (Pt.1)

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

Virgil Boleyn had never considered himself the smartest person in the world. Certainly not smarter than his husband Janus. But he still knew a lot of things about the world. Dont fall asleep in the woods, dont mess with the mushrooms, dont make deals with strangers at crossroads. Granted, he'd never had to use this information before, but he still thought it was important.

But it was especially important now that he had a son, Logan. Virgil had never really thought about kids before Janus, but a few years after they were married and here he was.

"Good morning my darling," Janus ran a hand through Virgil's hair and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

"Mmmm- good morning dear," Virgil said, to busy smiling at the baby in his arms to return the favor.

"And how has our little astronaut been?" Janus said, leaning over Virgil to hold Logan's hand, which was much smaller than his own.

"Loud and chaotic," Virgil replied, smiling.

"Sounds familiar," Janus replied, smirking. Virgil shot him a glare before going back to the crossword on the table in front of him.

"Alright, I'm going to work ok my darling?" Janus said, placing another kiss on Virgil's cheek.

"Miss you already dear," Virgil replied. Janus smiled at him before fixing his hat on his head and turning to walk out the door.

Virgil wasn't exactly sure when he'd fallen asleep, only that when he'd woken up, Logan was crying, very loudly. He rushed over to the crib only to realize, Logan wasnt the only one crying.

Laying inside, clutching the blue blanket in his tiny hands, was another baby, who looked almost identical to Logan.

Virgil blinked a few times.

"I- dont remember giving birth to two of them?-" he said quietly. But the how wasnt very important at the moment. Babies were crying, and that wasnt ok.

He picked Logan up on one hip, and the identical child, albeit with slightly lighter hair, on the other.

"Aaaaawww, you poor things, dont worry, I've got you," Virgil said softly, rocking the two as best he could until they calmed down. He lay on the couch and allowed them to rest on his chest and stomach.

"Well we've got a Logan already, but you strike me as more of a Patton," Virgil said, running his fingers through the other's hair. Patton made a small squeaking sound before rolling over and curling in on himself.

"I'm home my darli-" Janus froze as his eyes landed on the two children now laying on Virgil's chest.

"Twins?" He said softly. Virgil nodded.

Janus sat next to him and ran a hand through Patton's hair, the small child stirring slightly at the touch.

"May I talk to you for a moment darling?" Janus said quietly. Virgil nodded and carefully placed the brothers back in the basket.

Janus stood up and began walking out to the porch, Virgil following close behind.

"What is it dear? You seem upset-" Virgil said, barely concealing the worry in his voice.

"Remember how I told you I'd made a deal as a teenager?" Janus said, the yellow eye on the side of his face that was covered in oddly realistic scales seemed to glow slightly.

"Janny you told me it was a bet at school." Virgil said, already piecing it all together in his head.

"Well, it was sort of like that, the fae prefer to call them deals though," Janus said.

"But this particular bet seemed to only go halfway, neither of us could decide who'd won, I was given scales as punishment for supposedly luring the fae into a trap, and forced to give up my first born," Janus continued, Virgil's stomach twisted.

"And?" Virgil said quietly.

"Since the deal was only half complete, it seems they couldnt truly replace Logan, and instead we now merely have a changeling child as well," Janus finished. Virgil stared at him for a few moments, trying to process what he'd just heard.

"Well, they've abandoned their child, so as far as I'm concerned, he's as much our son as Logan," Virgil said finally.

Janus grinned "I had a feeling you'd say that my darling," he said as he stood up, holding out a hand to help Virgil to his feet.

"Papa, Dad! Look what we caught!" Patton raced towards the kitchen counter, dropping his arms on it carefully. There in the center of it was a small yellow canary. Logan shuffled up behind his brother, face buried in a notebook, pencil scribbling furiously, sketching out the bird.

Virgil and Janus both stared down at the bird, Virgil's face breaking out in a grin.

"And where did you find it?" Janus asked, kneeling down so as not to cast any shadow onto the bird.

"On the ground in the front yard!" Patton replied, his pointed ears flopping to the side as he rested his head on his arm.

"And was there a nest anywhere around?" Janus said.

Logan and Patton looked at eachother for a few seconds before muttering a faint "yes," in unison.

"Alright, then let's go put it back should we?" Janus said, standing up. Patton's ears pricked up slightly, Virgil liked to joke that Patton reminded him of a cat, from the pointed ears, to the way his eyes had a faint glow at night. This was incredibly hilarious to both Patton and Logan, as they were allergic to cats. The boys followed quickly behind Janus like a pair of ducklings, Patton still excitedly cooing over the canary in his hands.

Virgil missed those days, before Patton had been exposed to the harsh reality of a world that wasnt used to his kind being allowed in public.

Virgil and Janus had tried their best to keep Patton happy, they'd built a treehouse for him to dance in without risking his family, Logan often leant him headphones and hoodies, since he didnt like flaunting his ears. But humans could always seem to find ways to stamp out even the brightest flames.

But the human part of the family had bigger things to worry about now, the boys were in highschool, and the only school within the area happened to be right next to a fae infested forest, the very same out of which Patton was believed to have come from.

Now, Virgil knew that most changelings tended to go back to their fae heritage much sooner than highschool age, but he wasnt about to let that happen to his son.

"Logan? Could you meet me outside for a second?" Virgil said, watching Patton flee up the stairs to grab his backpack.

"Uh- sure-" Logan said, following quickly after Virgil as he made his way to the porch. The pair of them sat down, Virgil's hands folded awkwardly in his lap.

"So, you know your brother is. . . Different, yes?" Virgil said. Logan nodded.

"Well- this new school you're going to, I need you to promise something for me ok?" Virgil continued.

"What is it?" Logan said nervously.

"Whatever you do, do not let him near the woods behind the old gym, ever." Virgil said urgently.

Logan sat there for a moment, clearly thinking through something.

"Alright- I'll do my best," Logan said finally.

"Logaaannn!!! The bus is here!" Patton's voice sounded from inside.

Logan and Virgil exchanged one final look before Logan ran back inside.

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

Tag list:

@thefivecalls

@willowaudreykeyes

@pricklyfish777

@the-sad-strawberry

@extercs-experiences

@teamplutoforlife

@melodiread

@meowthefluffy

@frawkeye

@cemmy

@nerosdayinhell

@thecolorfulolive

@frog-candy-bee

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au -12

Masterpost

He cawed out to Geralt as he approached. Geralt held out his arm to land on and he did.

“Still too close?” Geralt asked glancing down at Ciri and Roach’s drooping forms. Exhausted. Ciri was half asleep in his arms.

He nodded sadly. He’d found a scout camp not an hours fly behind.

Geralt looked down at Ciri and Roach. “We can’t stop.” His face pinched painfully and he glanced at him. “Jaskier-“

He nodded.

He could shift. He could ride.

They pulled off to the side and he shifted. A few hands taller than Roach with black stockings over his chestnut hair.

Thank you. He told her pressing his neck into hers.

That’s my line colt.

I’m older than you Roach.

I’d never have guessed.

Geralt shifted the tack over to him and he did his best to tolerate the feeling. The few times they’d done this it was bareback and he wasn’t a fan of the way it sat on his back. But it would be better in the long run. Probably.

“I know you’re not a fan of this.” Geralt waved to. The whole situation really. “Thank you.”

He stopped his grooming of Roach’s withers to bump Geralt reassuringly. I might not enjoy being ridden -like this at least- but that doesn’t mean I won’t do it in a pinch. It’s fine.

Tell him he owes me so many apples for this. And some clover grass.

You know you’ll get sick if you eat too much of that. Hm. Apples tho. Not as good as lamb but-

Well that was progress at least.

I’ll make sure he knows Roach.

You’d better.

And they were off.

He wasn’t proud of how quickly he tired but his bones still ached from shifting into the wolf. Less. It hurt less now. But the insistent throb of it wore at him as the hours passed. The grime that still matted his hair itched. Hunger rumbled his belly. Lamb sounded so good right now. He could eat one whole right now, wool and all.

We’re here. Roach interrupted his. Frankly too vivid daydream.

Here? He asked as Geralt turned him off the road into the pinewood forest.

The road home.

Home. They were almost home. He surged forward with it.

“Jaskier.” Geralt grumbled at him.

How much further? What’s it like? What are they like?

She whinnied a laugh at his excitement. Two or three days still colt. Doesn’t have enough grass. Scorpion’s fun.

Days?

The ache in his toes grew that much more noticeable.

They continued on.

Geralt pulled him to a halt and he let his head fall forward panting. They jumped off.

The saddle and bit were removed.

Geralt brushed him down. Picked his feet. He felt. A little cleaner.

“Staying a horse?” Geralt rubbed his neck soothingly as he finished.

No. He leaned into Geralt and let the form collapse under him.

Geralt caught him with a sigh and pet his long ears.

“Does he do that a lot?” Ciri asked. “Turn into a rabbit?”

Geralt shrugged and set about making camp one handed. “He shifts small when he wants to be carried.”

That was. Probably not inaccurate.

No fire again. Geralt had passed him into Ciri’s arms at some point. Her warm hands soothing the pain of the day and he did his best to keep her warm in turn while Geralt worked.

“What else can he turn into? Can he turn into a shrieker? A unicorn? A dragon?”

“I don’t know what a shrieker is. Unicorns are extinct. If he could turn into a dragon he would have by now just to show off. It’s just animals. Bears, wolves, rabbits. The like.”

“What about the griffin?”

Geralt paused. “I don’t think the griffin was. Natural.”

“Why?”

“Because he.” Geralt hesitated as he carried the blanket over, settling behind her. “Didn’t recognize me.”

She looked up at him questioningly as he reached down to pet between his ears.

“But he remembers you now. Right?”

They both nodded.

“So why’d he forget?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Don’t you care? It could happen again! Why didn’t you ask him when he was human!” She turned back to him. “And why haven’t you become human since then!”

He folded his ears back and shrunk down. He. He just-

“If it happens again I’ll deal with it. He isn’t much of a fight. When Jaskier wants to talk about it he will. Talking isn’t his problem, it’s getting him to stop.” He clucked at Geralt. “See?”

He clacked his teeth together a few times before pointedly flopping on Ciri. Look how comfortable I am. More comfortable than you are. Be jealous Geralt. I’m happier than you.

Geralt shook his head at him like he was being Over Dramatic! Which he Was! Because that was his Thing!

“He looked a mess in human form. Probably has some big plan about how he’ll get all fancied up and win you over with his charming smile and music.”

Yes that was the plan.

Ciri’s face scrunched up at that. “Why?”

The drama! He wanted her to like him! He wanted to make a better first impression than the one his dirty unkempt appearance would make. He wanted her to like him at least a fraction of how much he liked her!

“Because he’s an idiot.” He snapped at Geralt’s fingers. “An over dramatic idiot who thinks he has to put on a show to make you like him.”

She studied him. He wiggled his pink nose adorably. Which probably proved Geralt’s point.

“You’re making a production out of this. So it had better be grand reveal or I’ll be immensely disappointed in you.” She threatened him with a yawn.

He purred in agreement as Geralt pulled up the blanket.

“How much further?” She asked curling into Geralt.

“The evening after next we’ll arrive.”

Almost there. Just a little bit longer.

A little bit longer and they’d be home.

 “Fuck” Geralt shifted out from under them, shoving him awake. “Bandits.”

“Nilfgaard?” Ciri whispered grabbing him around the belly which wasn’t comfortable. Support the rear Ciri! This was going to hurt his back!

Geralt crouched over them. Listening. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Plan?” She squeezed him tighter and – nope nope nope! His leg kicked out and she dropped him with a pained start which he was very sorry for except hide- hide –hide run and hide run and hide.

“Jaskier!” He heard his cub whisper shout after him but-

Run hide! Run and hide! Run and hide!

Rabbits were not brave.

He squished himself under the dense cover of a bush and waited.

“What have we got?”

“Horse and a guy with his kid.”

“Easy enough. Let’s make this quick aye? Baz was making dinner.”

Easy. They thought it would be easy. Like Geralt couldn’t lay ruin to them. Wouldn’t lay ruin to them.

Ciri would witness more bloodshed and Baz would eat alone wondering where his unlucky companions had gone.

It was the wolves all over again.

Hungry said the bellies. Easy said the eyes.

It would be a slaughter.

Rabbits where not brave and he wasn’t sure Jaskiers were either. But they were idiots so he darted between their legs and shifted.

He sniffed them loudly and they froze. Eyes and then heads slowly turning towards him.

I have rules about violence Gentlemen. The words coming out a deep growl. Protecting my mate and cub does fit within that framework. But I’d really rather not. If its all the same to you.

They shuffled away from him, clutching their weapons.

He slammed his paw and roared at them. They turned tail and ran. Roach whinnied her terror.

‘Chase!’ The bear and the wolf and the griffin screamed. ‘Hide.’ Whispered the rabbit. It was all that kept him still.

He turned and walked back to their camp. The stragglers fleeing.

Geralt was soothing Roach with axii. Ciri yanked on his arm as she spotted him. Adrenaline and fear rolling off her.

Geralt turned and he watched the tension drain from his shoulders. “Jaskier.”

He smiled back at them. Watching as the axii faded from Roach’s eyes, replaced with recognition. She settled back to her search for grass.

“That’s Jaskier?” Ciri asked. Doubtful.

“Hm.” Geralt confirmed.

She studied him before stomping up to him, hand tucked under her armpits against the cold. “You kicked me!”

He rumbled apologetically but I couldn’t breath and you were breaking my back.

She glared at him. He nosed at her, slowly shoving her into his side. She allowed herself to be tucked into his fur with only a token of protest. The fear scent fading.

“Jaskier.” Geralt returned from their things holding – oh Geralt. “You can’t play like that?” Holding his lute.

He shook his head and dragged Geralt by the arm into his side as well. That would only be significant to us Geralt. Ciri wouldn’t know what the hell we were on about and I’d still look like a disheveled mud rat. Besides she’d get cold and your bedroll’s not big enough for all three of us. Really man.

Geralt plucked a few of the strings. They were painfully out of tune. Really. Had he done any maintenance at all? He glared at Geralt as he curled around them dragging the blanket up over them. Geralt glared back.

“You can’t play like that?” Ciri questioned from insider her burrow of Geralt, fur and blanket.

“It was. What I told him the first time he shifted in front of me.” Geralt explained adjusting them so he was comfortable.

“Oh.” He felt her petting his fur under the blanket. “How’d you met?”

“I’d been hired to retrieve a family heirloom from an infested crypt but it’d been stolen by a group of bandits. I tracked them down and retrieved the sword. But I found something else there too.”

“What?”

“A little lark with a broken wing, clutching a lute like its life depended on it.”

“This lute?”

“No. That’s later.” He told her. “I bandaged it up and kept it in a nest in my saddlebag until it was healed.”

She yawned and sunk heavy into his side.

“Then I woke up and the bird and lute were gone. A single crown on my bedroll where it normally slept.”

“And then, a few months later, I met a boy in Posada, the valley of flowers, at the edge of the world.”

He listened to Geralt recount the tale until sleep pulled her deep under.

“You should have told her that story. You’re better at telling stories.”

Yes. I am. But I like your version quite a lot too.

“You will be human again right?” Geralt mumbled into his fur. “I want you to be whatever you are but I miss knowing exactly what you’re yelling at me for. I miss your stupid raunchy pun infested songs and how you’d complain about your feet being tired but you still wouldn’t shift because you wanted to talk. About nothing. You just wanted to talk.”

Geralt’s hand clenched in his fur and he rubbed his snout against him reassuringly.

“Is it something I did? Is this about the mountain? The griffin? Did I-“

He shoved him slightly to cut him off. Shook his head.

Not everything’s about you Geralt.

“Right. But you will be human again. Someday?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” He listened to Geralt drift off. “Okay.”

He’d get a bath and a haircut and he’d tune his lute and practice some scales and he’d figure out the prefect thing to say and do so that she’d love him even just a tiny fraction of how much he loved her.

That wasn’t how it worked but he needed her to like him. To not be disappointed or disgusted by him.

He longed to be simply human. Then at least he wouldn’t have had a choice. She would have known exactly what he was from the start. No tricking her into thinking he was helpful like a horse or a hawk or as soft as a rabbit or as worthy of trust as the white wolf. He would have just been Jaskier. Simple and human.

Would she feel tricked when she saw him? Would adding a human face mean she wouldn’t trust him to keep her warm? Wouldn’t trust him to listen to her if he too could speak?

He was just Jaskier and he wasn’t sure that had ever been enough.

It would have to be. He couldn’t be anyone else.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t put his best foot forward. Or at least his best paw until he made that jump.

[bubmyg]

pillow talk - jjk

pairing: jeongguk x reader

genre/warnings: (light) e2l, college!au, fluff, light allusions to smut, inspired by dummy saying he’s been sleeping on towels jfakdslj

word count: 1,772

summary: the one where jeongguk’s pillow smells like alfredo sauce

a/n: this is set in the “not a date” universe (linked on my masterlist!) but this can be read separately. if you are a “not a date” fan...this includes hints at the sequel wink wonk

Upon flicking open the lock to your dorm, you didn’t expect the first words out of Jeongguk’s mouth to be an almost guttural, moaned, “Pillows…”

Your confusion rooted your feet in place, door still half ajar to the hallway when he brushed past you in route for your loft. He tripped into toeing off his shoes, a stuttered movement between the bend of his knees and the launch of his stature onto your meticulously made bed.

You aided the door in closing, gradual in turning the handle so it made no noise and pausing when the lock made one in its place. You turned just a slow, rubbing a neat circle into the rug below your socks as you squinted at the curled lump on your bed.

“Did you say…pillows?”

Bright eyes and floppy fringe popped up from where he was holding the middle of your three pillows to his chest, nose buried at the hilt of the soft material. Almost frantically, Jeongguk cast the object aside in favor of your tiny stuffed elephant suffocated between his thigh and the wall, holding it delicately to his chest as he rolled to face you.

“Uh—” He shifted again, wiggling one arm underneath his head to prop his cheek onto his palm, “—I’m just extra tired today, I guess.”

You nodded, picking your way through a scattered mess of your roommates’ things and Jeongguk’s discarded shoes to boost yourself onto your mattress, perched on the edge next to his wide eyes that regarded you quietly. Your lips rounded to answer him, some sort of conversational rebuttal or a gentle agreeance because you too were very tired.

And then there was a head in your lap with pleading star irises blinking happily up at you.

Subconsciously, you fit gentle fingers into soft black tresses, scratching lightly at his scalp to get him to close his eyes so you could think. When he hummed, turning to dig his nose into your stomach, you tried to scold, “My lap is not a pillow.”

“Your hand in my hair is saying otherwise.”

Your fingers tightened, tugging from the root at his hair but the yelp you got out of him was directly followed by another, deeper, “That’s not punishment, you know that—”

“Stop talking,” You soothed your grip, continuing gentle strokes until he flopped over in your lap.

Round, gentle brown weren’t quite as bright in regarding you, crossed in jagged red lines that softened into swollen, lower eyelids, ones that crinkled the longer you held his gaze but you shook your head, instead choosing to press your palm against his forehead.

“…are you okay?” You flipped your palm to brush your knuckles against his skin.

“I’m not sick if that’s what you’re asking,” Jeongguk shook his head to dislodge your touch, grinning when you instead cupped his cheek.

“Then what’s wrong?” You placed a silencing finger over his widened lips, “Don’t tell me nothing. I’m, unfortunately, around you too much to know better.”

He shrugged, silent in shrugging a hand from the sleeve of his hoodie to hold yours, lacing your fingers together and effectively pulling your grip from his face to rest at his chest. He sighed, “I haven’t slept very well the last couple of weeks.”

Your immediate thought was exams and projects and papers, all of which you shared in your similar majors. Jeongguk’s was spoken with pink cheeks, “You haven’t stayed over since the party Namjoon and I had.”

You pushed into his chest with your hostage knuckles regardless, “Do not blame me for your three am Overwatch binges.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Guk—”

“I’m kidding,” He held your hand tighter anyway, speaking quickly, “I do sleep better when you’re around, though.”

“Stop trying to guilt me for how pitiful you look right now,” You teased, leaning back a bit to get a better look at him, only worsening the blotched bits of red that began to increase over the places were freckles indented his skin.

“Anyway—” Jeongguk stared straight at your ceiling until red began to lessen into pink, “—there is, uhm, something…else keeping me from sleeping.”

“Cricket infestation? Namjoon reciting medical terminology to himself in rap form in his bedroom? The guys above you having a roller skate party?”

“All good guesses,” He inhaled again, “but no, actually, I uh…”

“I spilled alfredo sauce all over my pillow and the smell won’t come out so I haven’t had a pillow and have been sleeping on a bunch of wadded up towels.”

Jeongguk spoke so quickly, it would have been reasonable for your silence to be to reconfigure the syllables that had just left his lips.

But you heard him. You couldn’t stop hearing the words sleeping on wadded up towels.

Then you laughed, gentle, not a tease just disbelief. “Guk, what?”

“I tried washing it,” He continued to ramble to the crown bubbles on your ceiling, “The pillowcase and the pillow itself. It just smells like a gross mixture of my fabric softener and cheese. It made me feel sick, actually. So yeah…towels were the solution.”

“Namjoon doesn’t have a spare pillow?”

“I didn’t ask.”

“Bubs,” You had the urge to hug him and tease him endlessly all at once. But he looked pitiful below you, nothing like you’d ever seen, especially with your toy elephant still perched delicately on his torso, so you spared him with nothing but some more laughter. “I don’t even know what to—”

“Let me nap,” Jeongguk grumbled, rolling so that two arms sanctioned your waist and your plush elephant tumbled into your, now crumpled, mess of duvet and sheets. “That’s what you can do.”

You worked around his lanky stature attached to you at the hip, dragging your pillows so they were situated for sleeping, tugging on the duvet until it was peeled back enough for you to slip underneath if you wanted to. Next step was detached him, something you worked at by pinching the underside of his wrist, “Don’t you want pillows and not me to sleep on?”

Another gravely hum against your navel, “Hmm…pillows…”

Jeongguk moved sluggishly, sliding underneath the nest you’d made for him with one of your pillows firmly pressed against one side of his face. He let go of the savior in the form of faux feathers and cotton to make grabby hands at you, slurring sleepily, “…and you?”

You were one knee into sinking into his embrace when there was the metallic click of the lock behind you, followed by dull shuffling and the not so quite curses of your roommate. You froze, Jeongguk’s hand on your waist underneath the hiked up hem of your top, his body taking up the vast surface of your twin bed. In the flurry of Jeongguk moaning pillows upon entering your dorm for some quick studying before dinner, you’d forgotten to text her to let her know he’d be around.

Before she could express that discontent, you shifted backward, taking Jeongguk’s forearm into two hands and tugging. “Sorry,” You rushed to her figure, “We were just heading out.”

She didn’t speak, dropping her backpack with an unceremonious thud as Jeongguk tripped after your incessant tugging, stumbling around in a haste to gather his shoes onto his ankles. “I won’t be back tonight, by the way,” You continued in shoving your arms into your jacket, forced smile plastered to your teeth, “You get the room all to yourself!”

“Great, thanks,” She answered dryly, eyes flashing to Jeongguk where he stumbled into your back, lips immediately falling to your ear.

“I have no pillows, remember.”

It was almost comical with how you thought your roommate couldn’t hear your less than quiet musings to each other, “We’ll stop and get some on the way to your place.”

You were nearly out the door, hand stopping it from slamming shut when Jeongguk spoke in your ear again, “What if we brought your pillows with us?”

“But you need new ones anyway.”

“…can I keep one of yours?” He began to talk with his hands when he sensed the confusion in the scrunch of your eyebrows, “It would solve the you not staying over lately thing too. You know…smells like you and whatever.”

“But I’m staying with you tonight.”

“Good, it’ll extra smell like you.”

You sighed in defeat, pushing on the door until it was wide to your roommate standing with her back to you at the foot of her bed. “Fine, go pick yourself out a pillow.”

Jeongguk eyed you like you’d just grown a third limb from the bridge of your nose. “You’re making me go in there?”

“If you want one of my pillows, yes.”

You had to clasp a hand over your mouth to keep your laughter at bay when he scurried inside, offering a short wave to your roommate who glanced at him with a less that amused expression over the screen of her phone, turning back to it with a roll of her eyes as he collected your two closest pillows and your elephant plush into his grasp. He tottered back for you like an extra padded turtle, backpack bouncing against his spine, plush material sanctioned against his chest with the happiest grin spread across his features.

You sighed once the door was safely shut and locked behind him, “Ready now?”

“Yes. Might not leave my bed ever again, now.”

Jeongguk traced your path down the back staircase of your building, barely flinching when you dug in his back pocket for his car keys, fiddling with them as you shrugged into pushing open the final door to the outside, “Good, makes the competition in our major far less—”

He used the plush at his chest as a makeshift bumper car, nudging into you until you stumbled off the sidewalk path into a patch of dying grass. “Mmm, I don’t know about that, baby.”

“Not that it’s that high right now, alfredo pillow.”

His eyebrows rose when you tried to push him back, barely getting him to budge off the path, “…good one, babe.”

You began walking backward in front of him when you spotted his car on the street, lifting your phone to your face, “Think Tae and Jimin will find it funny? I can find out—”

“I’ll make you sleep outside tonight.”

“I’ll steal your car and leave you here.”

Another challenging eyebrow exchanged between the two of your trudging footsteps and then you were shrieking as Jeongguk began to chase you.

“You can’t out run me!”

“I still have your keys! And don’t drop my pillows, dumbass—"

[dumbwaves]

Au where everything is the same but Andrew has waves

anon… your mind! (i think i might have derailed a bit lmao)

• the thing is… nobody actually knows that andrew has wavy hair (the twins always kept their hair very short)

• when he was a kid the shelter he stayed at buzzed his hair because of a lice infestation and ever since he kept his hair short because it was easy and cheap to maintain (and his foster families refused to pay more than 5 bucks on a haircut)

• so when he gets to psu and starts to feel safe and settles onto his own skin… he decides to grow it out.. just to see what it looked like. A small change that could be easily controlled.

• and as his hair gets longer and starts to slightly curl around his ears and the nape of his neck, andrew kind of regrets his decision

• the first thing he learns about his hair was that it is a fucking moody bitch who turns frizzy in the blink of an eye. it hates rain and humidity, turning puffy and ridiculous

• somedays andrew wants to rip all the hair out of his head, but he takes a deep breath and just puts on a beanie or a baseball hat and keeps going

• (it is a plus that neil can’t take his eyes off of him when he is all sweaty at the gym and his curls stick to his face and neck)

• allison takes some kind of pity on him and shoves a bag of hair products in his hands one morning: “here, take this! i can’t fucking stand that bird’s nest anymore” she takes some time to explain what which product does despite andrew’s murderous look

• he tries the products out (just out of curiosity)…. and suddenly his hair is shiny + smells good and his waves look defined but not stiff

• when the summer comes around, his hair is already falling in his eyes and really getting on his nerves. he is seriously thinking about buzzing it just out of spite when renee asks him if he wants to make her company while she gets her hair done

• and by some weird manipulation and loads of ice cream, renee cuts andrew’s hair while allison bleaches renee’s hair – it is like an odd gay train of beauty

• anyways, andrew really fucking likes his new hair cut. it isn’t short but it isn’t shaggy: short on the sides and long enough on the top so that his waves show through

• it feels good liking the way his hair looks. it is an odd thing feeling good about himself.

• and neil? well, neil is obsessed. he always asks to touch andrew’s hair. he pets and scratches andrew’s buzzed sides while they kiss or curls a wavy strand around his finger absently when they are lying in bed side by side.

• andrew always calls neil out, complaining he isn’t a cat to be petted like that. but neil just smiles because he feels how much andrew relaxes under his touch

• when they are on good days and there are hugs, neil shoves his nose in andrew’s hair and just breathes him in

• in the morning, they stand together in front of the mirror. neil brushes his teeth and shaves while andrew sleepily applies his hair products. it is a silly routine that they both pretend not to enjoy.

• after practice, when they occasionally shower together, neil shampoos andrew’s hair so that it stands up in funny shapes, like a foamy mohawk, to get andrew to flip him of and shove him against the bathroom wall and kiss him silly

• neil loves andrew’s hair.

• especially when andrew just goes out one day and comes back four hours later with his wavy hair dyed a pale pink. nicky gasps, aaron rolls his eyes, kevin doesn’t seem to notice what is different. and poor neil has a stroke and thinks he is in heaven.

• allison just appears behind andrew and smirks “happy pride motherfuckers”

[mustardprecum]

Prompt: Vampires

Steve stayed in Hawkins after he graduated high school. Most of the town thought it was because he didn’t have amazing college prospects and had stayed to work for his dad. That wasn’t entirely untrue, of course, but a select few knew that there was way more important work to be done. 

There was an infestation in Hawkins. It was worse than cockroaches, worse than spiders, worse than skunks or raccoons, or just about anything Steve would have imagined. Somewhere in the woods, hidden where no one could find, was a vampire nest. 

Normally, Steve would have thought that this would be on every headline of every newspaper he’d ever heard of. But apparently, the US government preferred to keep news of creepy crawlers and all things bumping in the night a secret. 

In fact, Steve only found out in his junior year when a little girl escaped a lab and helped find a kid who had been kidnapped, ostensibly as food for the nest. Steve had been roped in peripherally thanks to Nancy’s involvement with Jonathan Byers. (And that was a whole different story.) 

Chief Hopper gave Steve the most answers, and in the end, the most purpose in life. Because from what Hopper could tell, the soldiers at the lab hadn’t been providing adequate protection from wayward vampires, or demogorgons as Nancy’s little brother insistently called them. 

When Hopper heard about how Steve dealt with the vampire at the Byers house, he offered to teach Steve a little more about fighting, and when Steve was getting ready to graduate, recruited him to keeping an eye on the perimeter of the forest. 

That was where they came from, and all Steve had to do on his nightly patrols was make sure none of them made it past him. Steve stayed in Hawkins because he was one of the only people who stood between the town and the infestation. 

God, that sounded cool. 

Steve grinned, even as he studiously scanned the edge of the forest as he drove down the country road. He was so accustomed to searching for monsters trying to slink out from the trees that he almost missed the very benign sight of a car pulled off to the side of the road. 

The blue glinted from his headlights through the trees for several seconds before Steve thought to step on the brakes. He came to a halt before he passed the car and pulled over to the side of the road. 

He left his headlights on, shining on the bumper of the car and lighting his path as he got out of the car. 

“Hello?” he called, gripping his bat. 

There was a snap of branches and for a split second Steve froze, but then he spotted figure. A distinctly human figure. 

“Evening,” said a young man as he stepped into view. He was tan with blue eyes and golden curls, and Steve was very relieved until he realized that the guy was eyeing his bat. “Are those nails.” 

“Uh,” Steve cleared his throat and tried to angle the bat behind him as if the damage wasn’t already done. “Force of habit, the woods and all… You new in town?” 

“I am. Didn’t realize stopping for a smoke would get me a welcome party,” he took a drag from a half smoked cigarette.  

“Sorry about that. But you should be careful,” Steve looked past him into the shadows beyond his headlights. “These woods get real dangerous at night.” 

"That a fact?"

“Other than me,” Steve tossed his bat back into his car. He smiled sheepishly, unsure if it was even visible. The guy didn’t seem to mind, but the light was hitting his eyes so directly they were almost glowing. “I promise I’m not a creep.” 

That got a promising laugh. 

“It’s Harrington, right?” 

Steve blinked. “Uh, how－”

“There a lot of people in town who don’t know who you are?” 

There were probably plenty, but Steve didn’t encounter them often. Still, he paused with his hand on the door of his car. “I didn’t realize we’d met.” 

There was a pout, before, “I’ll choose not to be offended by that.” 

“Oh shit, have we?” 

“We’ve been in the same place,” he dropped the cigarette and stomped it out. “Don’t worry, I’m just fucking with you.” 

Steve was starting to get whiplash. He smiled helplessly. “So this is our official meeting, Mister?” 

“Billy Hargrove.” 

“Steve Harrington.” 

“Much obliged. We’ll have to braid each other’s hair next time.” 

Steve laughed for real at that one and his nodded jovially. “Sure, come over any time.” 

There was a slight glint when Billy smiled back, but it was gone before Steve really noticed. “I’ll clear out then, wouldn’t want the spooky ghosts to get me.” 

“You really don’t. Have a good night.” 

Billy gave him a two fingered salute before sauntering around toward the front of his car. Steve figured he was safe enough, and backed up, waiting until Billy was in his car before driving off. 

That was the end of that. Until the very next night when Steve was cooking dinner for himself at home. There was an itch in the back of his mind, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something old and instinctive that was warning him there was a predator nearby. 

But no matter how much he snuck around, looking outside for anyone or anything, he was alone. 

That carried on for nearly a week before he finally told Hopper. He took it more seriously than Steve expected and told him not to patrol alone anymore. Considering that meant Steve’s options went to patrolling with Jonathan or staying home, he decided to stop going out. 

He didn’t hate Jonathan anymore, but that didn’t mean they had anything in common besides Nancy. Hell, once they stopped dating, Steve realized he didn’t have any shared interests with her either. 

No bad blood or friendship there, just awkward history that made for long awkward silences.

Then he reached out to Mike, and by extension, all of Mike’s friends. They piled into his house one day so Mike and Will could talk about possible precautions he could set up around his house, mostly using D&D terms; Dustin and Lucas mostly spent the visit talking about a new girl at school.  

Steve did his best not to do anything stupid. After all, that was Hopper’s number one rule for joining the watch. But the habit of patrolling was too ingrained, and Steve felt frustrated just going home each night. 

He wanted to be alert, especially considering he felt out of practice, so he was grabbing a coffee from a gas station when he heard a drawl from the aisle over. 

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” 

Steve turned, raising his eyebrows when he saw Billy Hargrove peering at him over a rack of candy. “Hey.” 

“Hey,” Billy tilted his head, and Steve realized somewhat belatedly that the glint from that night had been an earring. It really spoke to how much Steve had matured that he only slightly hated how incredibly handsome Billy was, even in the unflattering fluorescent lights. “Been a while.” 

“I don’t get out much these days,” Steve said with a self deprecating smile. Every now and then there was someone who expected him to suddenly return the old Steve. He wouldn’t be surprised if Billy was a mainstay on the party scene. 

“Guess not. Where’re you going now?” 

“Just for a drive.” 

Billy kept looking at him, expectant almost, and Steve had a thought sneak in from somewhere that Billy expected to hang out. He didn’t know why Billy would expect that, considering they had one exchange that made Steve look sort of like a serial killer. 

But maybe that interested Billy. After all, he was standing there patiently while Steve sorted through his syrupy slow thoughts. He hadn’t realized he was so tired. Maybe he shouldn’t be patrolling alone. 

“That invitation still stand?” Billy asked. 

“Huh?” Invitation. Hair braiding. Oh right. Billy could come over and keep Steve company while he tried to wake up a little more. “Yeah. Yeah man, that would actually be nice if you have time.” 

Billy nodded. “I’ll follow you back.” 

They make it to Steve’s and are talking. Steve feels weirdly tired but also buzzed, but he’s not falling asleep, and he feels interested while he and Billy talk. Billy notes the cross hanging in front of the backdoor and Steve is too zoned out to lie. 

“Vampires.” 

Billy chuckles, “wouldn’t want the big bad vampires to get you.” 

For the first time, Steve takes exception to Billy. There’s something that’s been on his mind for a while, after observing the vampires. With the exception of the big bad one, the one Eleven had to seal away with her powers, none of the vamps in the woods seemed ‘bad’. 

“Bears aren’t bad,” he says unthinkingly. Billy tilts his head so Steve continues. “They just gotta eat. It’s not bad. They just can’t eat us.” 

Billy hums, looking out the backdoor, the light is catching his eyes again. He looks like a heartbreaker. Steve is glad he wasn’t around in high school because he would have been dangerous. “They’re feral,” Billy says casually. “If you could talk to them, would you?” 

Steve would like to talk to bears. “Yeah.” 

“With the right ground rules, it could be a good set up. Especially if I could help with your little problem.” 

“Ground rules are good. Like, don’t eat us. Or, we’ll all agree on eating.” 

“Would you still want to get rid of the vampires if they didn’t attack people at random?” Billy looked at Steve, his hair haloed but for some reason his eyes were still glowing. “They have to eat, but they can agree not to kill. And they can help with the hive at the quarry.” 

The quarry? They were out at the quarry? How were they able to hide there? His mind was starting to work a little faster, the sweet haze that had been present since the gas station finally starting to bleed back. 

“If they,” Steve licked his lips. Why was his mouth so dry? “They’re not bad, if all they want is food and a place to live.” 

Something was strange. Steve’s mind was finally clear enough to realize that he brought a stranger back to his house. Billy was looking at him, his eyes were so incredibly blue and now that he was awake, Steve realized how hypnotizing they’d been before. 

“You smell amazing,” Billy stated. His sharp teeth didn’t catch the light, like Steve was sure they had before, but they were fully visible. 

“No biting,” Steve said. 

“I won’t,” Billy grinned, leaning in. “But you can feel free.” 

“Are you going to kill me?” Steve asked as Billy nuzzled along his hairline. 

“Nope, just came for a chat.” Billy’s eyes were glowing again when he looked Steve in the eye. “You’re open to that, aren’t you amigo?” 

“Totally,” Steve gulped. “I like a friendly chat as much as the next guy.” 

“Good. Because I think you and I can help each other,” Billy tucked some of Steve’s hair back. Steve noticed the claws that moved gently against his scalp. “But for now, you gotta keep this just between us. Deal?” 

Steve didn’t stop to think about it, worried that if he gave it too much thought he’d realize what a terrible idea it was to answer: “deal.” 

When looking back on that moment, Steve could have sworn that the whole room had been spinning. And then he suddenly woke up, as if he’d been dreaming the whole time, and Billy was gone. 

Steve later learned what Billy meant by ‘helping each other’ when he found several dead feral vampires in a pile in his backyard. The sticky note on the top one read: 

Burn before they start to stink. - Billy

[thedappleddragon]

Things about valka in no particular order as I think of them

- despite growing up on a Viking ship she doesn’t curse like a sailor

- She can have the manners of one tho lol

- Her father wants her to take over the fleet but she’s conflicted about leaving behind land and the people she loves (like her mom)

- Both parents are alive and well and love her a lot even if her dad doesn’t show it as much

- Big of heart. Dumb of ass, but only a little bit.

- Generally tries to be kind but can be a bit of a brute just because she doesn’t pick up on social cues too well since she grew up with Vikings

- Very agile n sturdy. Got a good pair of sea legs.

- On the ship she would climb up the mast and sit in the crow’s nest for hours

- She used to be really clumsy, but her dad trained that out of her because you can’t just keep sending lifeboats out to retrieve your dumbass child who fell off the side of the boat aGAIN GODDAMMIT

- Confident in herself

- Higher energy than Osi

- Has probably tried to coax Osi into singing for her because she loves her and doesn’t want her to be ashamed of that part of herself

- If she succeeds in doing that she would immediately be enchanted/drawn in by the siren song lmao

- That would probably scare Osi away from singing even more tho 😔 but for different reasons. Instead of ✨racism✨ now it’s ✨manipulation✨ too

- Doesn’t think things through

- Says whatever she’s thinking, not much of a filter, and that can sometimes lead to hurt feelings

- She’s a very tactile person. If she went to ikea it would be a disaster, you could never stop her from touching all the rugs

- On that note, she likes physical touch a lot too. If she and Osi or any close friend are just hanging out chances are she’ll absentmindedly wrap her tail around your ankle.

- The first time she did this to Osi it probably caused her to trip and fall

- She also wraps her tail around stuff when she’s nervous or there’s a possible danger

- To Osi: I WILL carry you and there’s NOTHING you can do to stop me

- Btw with any interaction with Osi its with her older design (even tho in the campaign I’m using her younger one) because otherwise that’s ✨gross✨

- She’s bing on hand holding. Not like walking together holding hands but like if she and Osi are sitting together she’ll just grab her hand and play with her fingers while paying attention to whatever they’re watching

- Likes when she does the thumb thing on the back of her hand

- Idle hand holding is boring, you gotta do SOMETHING

- Big spoon

- She gets to have hand-eye coordination because I dont and she deserves it

- Can’t spell

- Not easily frightened as an adult

- I’m also blessing her with the ability to watch scary movies and eat spicy food because I have to do SOMETHING to keep her from just being very specific parts of me but tall and buff and a goat

- Have fun reading through these and guessing whats me and what’s some extra flavor >:)

- Would cry over nature documentaries

- Animal planet narrator: but unbeknownst to the mother duck, these are crocodile infested waters, and these ducklings make for an easy meal. Valka, trying very hard not to straight up bawl: NOOO NOT THE BABIESSSS Osi, secretly rooting for the croc: ._.

- Doesn’t hurt bugs but will straight up hunt down a whale. Still feels bad about it tho.

- Knows a lot about constellations and stellar navigation n stuff

- Celebrates a Viking winter holiday where the skies are the clearest and the waters are the calmest and the winds are the most merciful and they thank some moon/ocean/wind god with a big feast and stories about the stars

- When she first gets back on land, she’s disappointed about how much dimmer the stars are

- Sentimental about random objects

- CAN flirt but is kinda cheesy about it

- Likes making Osi flustered, since she’s so tough around everyone else, but she often gets flustered right back lmao

- Valka probably initiates their first kiss

- Osi was being a pussy about it

- Very likely to hear a word, roughly guess what it means through context, start using it, and then find out through someone else that it’s a bad/inappropriate word. She proceeds to slam her head into a wall out of embarrassment

- When she (or her horns) hit her growth spurt, she probably hit her head on EVERYTHING for a solid month and a half

- Big cuddler

- Doesn’t like complete silence, it drives her mad

- Not used to having a ton of attention, since she grew up as a scrappy little kid on a crowded boat. Sometimes struggles with the thought that she’s in the way or an inconvenience.

- Her hands are big and strong and with smoothed-over callouses

- Between her and Osi they have never struggled to open a pickle jar

- Although one or two had to be opened with... unconventional methods (cough cough smash it open on the ground cough)

- Low food standards. Oh the milk expired two days ago? Probably fine. Would definitely be halfway though a can of spaghettios and realize it’s 3 years out of date but eat it anyway (she has a high-ass constitution it’s fine)

- picked up some wierd-ass habits that she thinks are totally mundane and no one knows how to approach her about it.

- Would eat the wax around a baby bell cheese because no one told her otherwise

- She emotes a lot with her ears

- Gullible

- Can speak basic conversational fish speak, picked up from trading with various sea folk

- When she shows this off to Osi she makes a face of disgust at how bad her accent is, but it’s cute that she tries

- when Osi yawns and shows off all her sharp teeth Valka’s big dumb lesbian brain just explodes and stops working

- Snorts when she laughs

- Wakes up first in the morning

- Doesn’t understand pranks

[deviant-hunter-rk800]

Break

—Someone’s broken in. Connor is the first person you think to call. But what will he choose?—

A/N: IM BACK!! So this has been on my mind forever now, and I’m so excited it’s finally done!! Please let me know what you think of it!

Warnings: kinda fluffy Connor, swearing, blood, fighting, angsty

“Goddamnit, Kyle!” You rake a hand through your hair, sighing through gritted teeth. “You’re kidding, right? There’s no damn way-”

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says tiredly, “there’s nothing I can do.”

Clenching your jaw, you hang up, nearly throwing your phone across the room. You shake your head, wanting very badly to hit something. A headache quickly forms as you mutter curses.

“Thought you were an officer, not a sailor,” Gavin taunts, laughing as he props his feet up on his desk.

“Fuck off, Reed,” you snarl, “or so help me I will shut you up myself.”

He rocks back, laughing even harder at your sour mood. Without warning, you grab the nearest object which happens to be a pencil. He jumps as you bring it down towards his shin, barely missing your mark as he crashes to the floor.

“Crazy bitch,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his head. He slowly stands up, backing away from you. He’s a good ten yards away before he turns towards the door.

“Don’t get me wrong,” someone says. Turning, you recognize Hank and Connor walking towards you, the older man smiling. “Seeing Gavin nearly get shanked brings me great joy,” he sits on your desk, taking the pencil from your clenched fist, “but you could’ve at least used a pen.”

You sigh, picking at your desk. “Don’t judge,” you mutter, “could’ve gotten lead in his blood. Made ‘im real sick.”

“She does have a point,” Connor agrees. Your lips twitch at his pun. Looking up at him, a timid smile pulls at his lips. “I thought it would help your mood.”

“But you’re just gonna ignore she tried to stab Reed?” Hank shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Oh. Okay.”

Connor blinks, head tilting to the side. “I assumed her actions were a side effect of her fever.”

“Fever?” You and Hank say simultaneously. You don’t break eye contact with Connor as you lean towards the older man. “Jinx. You owe me a coffee.”

Hank’s head turns fast, scowling at the side of your face accusingly. You smile innocently at Connor despite the two holes being bore into your head. His brows furrow at your actions.

“You never get sick,” Hank says, the frown tipping into concern, “and now you’ve got a fever?”

“It’s not severe, Lieutenant,” Connor interrupts, “her body temperature is only at ninety nine point-”

“But you don’t get sick,” he repeats.

“Long story short,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair, “I’ll be staying at a motel for a month or so cause the pipes in my apartment building froze.”

Both Hank and Connor’s brows raise. “Holy shit, kid.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, resting your head in your hand. “Kyle — the shitty landlord? — says he can’t get anybody to come look at it for a couple weeks.”

“Why not ditch the motel?” Hank places a hand on your shoulder. “Stay with us till the shit gets fixed.”

“Hank-“

He rolls his eyes, cutting you off with a wave of his hand. “Oh c’mon, Y/L/N. I’ll even make pancakes.”

You chew your lip, considering his offer. Bunk with an old cop, his dog, and a cute android? It wasn’t the worst idea. It definitely beat getting some disease from mysterious stains in a broke down motel.

“Alright,” you say finally.

Hank smiles, a dimple pressing into his cheek. He ruffles your hair. “Alright.”

The squeal of brakes from a train echoes distantly accompanied by three solid knocks on the door. Sumo pick his head up off your lap, giving a soft woof. Setting your book down on the nightstand, you scratch his ears, earning a couple whumps of his tail against the bed.

“It’s okay, buddy,” you coo sweetly. You manage to free your legs of the blankets as the saint bernard settles again. Using your foot to swing the door open, you tie up your hair, quietly padding down the hallway.

You’ve just rounded the corner when the handle jostles. You hesitate, holding your breath as muffled curses make their way through the door. Goosebumps rise on your skin. A thousand thoughts flood your mind, the scariest one being, That’s not Hank.

The lock clicks. “Fuck,” you snap, your voice a whisper.

The door swings open, it’s handle denting the drywall as two men push through. You lock eyes with the first man, the two of you standing shell shocked for half a breath. The second, the younger looking with a heavy bruise on his cheekbone, slaps the first.

“Fuckin grab her!” He shouts, slamming the door shut. And just like that, the standoff comes to a jagged end, the first guy lunging at you, his cigarette stained teeth bared.

Grabbing his wrist, you twist his arm to the side, driving the heel of your palm into his nose. Losing his balance, he topples backwards. The second man reaches out, but with a rush of fur blurring by, Sumo latches his teeth into his arm.

“Sumo!” Cigarette Teeth seizes your moment of distraction and get you in a headlock, his forearm held tightly against your throat. Bruise punches the dog in his ribs before throwing him off. “No!”

He adrenaline coursing through you hinders rather than help, turning your motions frantic as you scratch and scream; your fingernails leave angry, red welts across his skin. Bruise moves forward. You bring your knees to your chest, a savage growl pushing through gritted teeth as you kick him in his stomach. The loss of his footing sends him to the floor, his face meeting the wood with a loud thump!

“Jesus, fuck,” the man holding you grunts, an undertone of fear taking over his words.

The slamming of your heel on the arch of his foot paired with the whip of your head against his already bleeding nose earns a well deserved howl of pain.

Finally able to slip from his grasp, you kick Cigarette Teeth in his knee, watching him drop to the floor with a loud cry. You grab the nearest object — a book off one of the many shelves — and bring its spine down across his temple. With a groan, he crumples to the ground.

“Sumo,” you murmur hoarsely, chest heaving. You quickly fall to your knees, gingerly running your hands across his fur, turning his head towards you. “Are you okay? Fuck.”

His tail wags lightly, letting out a small whine. You whip your head to see Bruise pushing himself up with a groan. Quickly looking at your options, you stand up.

“C’mon, boy,” you urge, helping the large dog limp towards the bedroom. “Good boy! Just a little more! C’mon!”

Slamming the door, you rip the chair from the desk, lodging it beneath the door’s handle. You grab your phone from the nightstand, your book long forgotten. Sumo growls.

“I know, buddy,” you say weakly, scrolling hurriedly through your contacts. 1-800-CYBERLIFE comes into view and you hit dial. “C’mon, Connor. Pick up! Pick up!”

A rumble from the other side of the door. Sumo, crouching low, bares his teeth. You back away.

Click.

“Connor?!”

“Why is it,” Hank says dully, “that every time we gotta go chase some fuckin dead end, it’s always at some creepy, abandoned, probably haunted building?”

“If it’s any consolation, the likelihood that this building is haunted is very low.” Hank turns slow at Connor’s remark, glaring at the android with a dangerous look in his eye. Connor tilts his head. “Would you prefer rat infested?”

Hank narrows his eyes, grimacing nonetheless. “I fuckin hate you.”

Connor can’t help the faintest shadow of a smile that tugs at his lips. With a shake of his head, Hank’s attention returns to the warehouse, the rusted sign worn beyond recognition. At least to the human eye; there was still enough residue from the paint for the RK800 to confirm the location, despite the many years.

“I know you do, lieutenant.”

A middle finger is thrown over the older mans shoulder. His free hand taking hold of the door handle, he draws his weapon. Dust kicks up at their feet, the squeal of the hinges echoing off the graffitied walls.

Quiet steps are placed carefully amongst broken glass. Hank pulls one hand from the grip of his gun, his pointer finger aimed at the ceiling, drawing a circle into the air. Connor follows the order, scanning the small room with a flick of his eyes. The disturbance of dirt trailing through the door on the opposite wall is highlighted.

“There,” he says quietly, jutting his chin. Anderson takes the lead.

With the ceiling half collapsed on itself, rusted cross beams hang dangerously low, the sunken roof giving way to a darkened sky. The moonlight — one drag from an old cigar away from hazy — makes the room glow. Hank’s hand lays flat, making a sweeping motion towards the right side of the warehouse. Silently, Connor tips his head.

Parting from one another, each officer carefully makes their way through the building, scanning and searching for leads. Connor ducks beneath a shelving unit, one hand resting on the wall as he maneuvers quietly. He’s sure to miss the rebar haphazardly sticking out from the floor. He stands, but not before the remnants of a bloodstain is highlighted by his sensors.

Walsh, Chris

3 days old

Suspect is injured.

His record is littered with aggravated assault, theft, multiple drug charges, and battery. Violence is nothing new to Walsh, and from previous statements, he finds a certain appeal to the chaos. Got caught more than once, but was often let out on good behavior. There’s a soft curse from the other side of the building, Hank’s flashlight piercing the veiled darkness.

Scanners highlighting an otherwise dark corner, Connor finds himself standing in something akin to a home; a rat’s nest composed of unwanted trash, the bed nothing more than stained cardboard with a tattered and worn sweatshirt acting as a blanket. The android — clean and tidy in every sense of the word, with only a few strands of hair out of place — is so very juxtaposed to his surroundings. Crouching, Connor tilts his head left, eyes darting about for a trace of the suspect. There, on a soda can tipped on its side, it’s contents half spilt onto the floor, are smudges of fingerprints.

Walsh, Chris

7 hours old

“He’s been here, lieutenant,” he calls out. But the answer doesn’t come.

Looking over his shoulder, he stands slowly, carefully awaiting a smart comment or a grumble of disapproval, but there’s only the wind, a distant siren from somewhere in the city, and the tremble of a loaded gun.

“Lieutenant?”

Connor listens, sensors heightened to a degree, he isolates Hank’s heartbeat. It’s slow, steady, and it’s not the only one. The second pulse is wild, barely tamed by ragged breathing. Straightening, the android begins to move.

“Chris Walsh.” His voice is loud in the hollow building, smooth and demanding; dangerous on a calculated level. “Detroit Police, show yourself.”

Keeping the wall to his right, Connor silently makes his way towards Anderson, finding him on his side. The android drops, assessing the remnants of ketamine in an abandoned syringe, a needle mark in the man’s arm. A bruise begins to blossom on his neck, the ugly shade of purple dark against the silvery beard.

Connor grits his teeth, a half contained, “Shit,” escaping him. He radios in to the precinct.

Code 243, 11-41. Officer down.

A frustrated howl rips through the air, the ring of a gunshot piercing. “Where the fuck are you?!”

11-99. 1083 Wilson Avenue. Repeat: 11-99.

Ducking away from the unconscious officer, Connor finds the suspect standing in the spotlight of the broken roof, his eyes darting frantically. Given the levels of chemicals in the man’s system, Connor estimates Hank will wake up in two minutes and forty seven seconds. The android is several paces away before speaking.

“Chris-“ the suspect’s eyes find a spot in the darkness, gun pointed at the yellow — now red — ring of light “-put the gun down.”

“I could- I could kill you! Right now!”

The light touches Connor’s skin, and Walsh jumps. The shadows peel back with every slow step. “No,” the android says flatly, “you can’t.”

“I’m the one with a gun!” Connor nods, not furthering his agreement.  The suspect’s hand shakes, a tremor wracking his entire being. “There’s laws! Androids they-“ a shake of his head “-they can’t have weapons!”

“You’re right.” Hesitation. A smooth step closer. “There are laws. Plenty of which you’ve broken.”

Walsh bares his teeth. Knuckles pale against the black steel, he adjusts his grip, uncomfortable with its weight. Connor begins to circle him. Walsh turns in his place, frantic eyes never leaving the android.

Connor, as calm as he is efficient, watches the suspect, easily filing away every flaw. He’s dissecting him from five yards away. The bandage haphazardly wrapped around his bicep, the bloodstain dark, is most noticeable. Chris is ramabling by now — a desperate attempt at  justifying his actions.

“I’m- I’m sorry, okay? I never wanted- he owed me!” His pleas go unheard. “I didn’t have- have a choice!”

Estimated time of awakening for Lt. Anderson: fifty three seconds.

Reinforcements estimated time of arrival: three minutes and fourteen seconds.

Attack: 86% chance of success

Without further thought, Connor lunges forward. The gun goes off, missing it’s mark by inches and with a dramatic clatter, it skids across the floor. Programming takes over his movements; a dog, trained to be unforgivingly vicious. And Chris – poor, poor Chris – was the cat.

A whir of mechanisms within the android urge his movements, ducking beneath a wid swing. In turn, a knee is brought to the fugitive’s stomach, folding him over with a grunt of pain. Locking his jaw, a determined look settles on his face. He wraps his arms around Connor, lifting him off the ground and tackling him into a nearby shelving unit.

The pressure on his biocomponents is unwelcome and earns a groan. Walsh takes hold of the android’s shoulders, spinning him, and driving his head into the corner of the shelf. Blue blood easily spills. Before another blow can befall him, Connor braces himself, pushing back against Walsh’s hold. But he still has his momentum and slams his own nose into the android’s elbow.

He cradles his now broken nose, blood quickly flowing between his fingers. Connor turns. LED still a blaring red, thirium drips from his left brow, the liquid following the shape of his eye socket before rolling over his cheekbone and dripping off his jaw. If he needed to breathe, his chest would be heaving. He makes no effort to fix his crumpled (and now stained) shirt nor straighten his tie. Disheveled but nowhere near distraught, he suddenly fits his surroundings.

Incoming call: Detective Y/L/N.

He answers, hesitating when he hears a hushed yet frantic, “Connor?!”

“Detective?” His mouth doesn’t move, but his voice rings through all the same. You let out a choked breath. “I thought you-“

“I need your help,” you cut him off.

He can’t see you flinch at the pounding of the door, but he can hear the fear in your voice. Hank, from the other side of the room, groans.

“Now may not be the best time, Detective.”

His answer is cold, but Walsh is eyes the door behind him, feet shifting.

“Please! Please!” A fleeting thought occurs to him that’s he’s never seen, let alone heard, you cry. “Two guys broke in, Con. They’re twice-“ your voice cracks “-twice my size and I don’t think I can hold them off.”

Sirens close in around the building. Had the call not been directly wired into his head, he would’ve missed the way your voice died at the end. Walsh’s finger wrap deftly around an iron rod. Raising it above his head, he takes a swing which Connor narrowly misses.

“What is it they want?”

“I don’t know!” Venom taints your tone. “Lemme ask em real quick!”

Chris recovers, bringing the rod over Connor’s throat, forcing him to bend backwards if only slightly.

“Think, Y/N.” The android brings his elbow to the man’s rib cage, but his grip is firm. “How do you get out of this?”

There’s true terror in your voice now. “I don’t know! Connor, please! I need-“

You’re cut off by your own yelp, the door finally giving way, splinters flying. Sumo barks wildly. There’s a thud, the scuffle of feet, and the sounds of a fight.

“Detective?”

Now he’s worried. Hell, he’s scared. Flashlights flood the room and Walsh’s head snaps to the source. Panicking, he drops the rod all together, taking off towards the back corner.

“Y/N?!”

He says it out loud this time, but there’s no response. There’s a loud crack within his own head, followed by a sickening thump of something heavy hitting the carpet.

Time slows – no, it feels like it slows. Damn near coming to a halt as the sight of Walsh’s back, his feet carrying him towards freedom. But there’s also the silence that he so desperately wishes would leave him; an ache to hear your laugh, saying it was all a joke. It doesn’t come, and with one of Sumo’s cries cut short, he knows something is terribly wrong.

And yet, he hesitates.

[X] SAVE HER

[O] CHASE SUSPECT

Want to join the revolution? Send me a message!

Break Series:

@nayscharacterstrash

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[oneandahalfwolf]

happy birthday to @tigresswraith​, the mun behind @hellishtrickster​.

Winter had arrived once more. The wind had an icy bite and snow was starting to fall, lightly for now but eventually would cover the region in a thick blanket.

Also once more, Benkai'l and Orianna were heading to Neverwinter to rent a cabin for the season. They had met up earlier to go on one last adventure before settling down for a long and much needed rest. An adventure together.

They'd taken a freelance job from the town noticeboard, a kobold nest in the local mines. The siblings had taken care of the infestation and headed back to collect their extra coin before moving on to the inn for a drink to celebrate a job well done. They still had a day before their cabin was ready, what better way to spend it than getting blind drunk.

They entered the inn and Ben directed Ori over to a booth with their things while they headed over to the bar. Arden greeted them warmly and instructed his assistant, a young man very new to the job, to fetch two large tankards of his finest ale - on the house of course - while he asked the wolf-kin about their exploits with ‘that blasted nest’. Ben happily told a short, but still impressive sounding, tale to the barkeep as he poured them a shot of Lycan Whiskey. While it wasn’t the only ‘werewolf proof’ (as in alcohol that could beat a werewolf’s fast metabolism and get them drunk rather than alcohol that a werewolf was immune to - which was most other alcohol really) beverage available, Arden could tell Ben wanted to start slow today, wanted to last well into the night. But that didn’t mean the kid didn't deserve a good buzz to begin the afternoon.

Ben accepted the shot and knocked it back with no trouble, hissing slightly at the pleasant burn the drink left behind as it travelled down their throat. They inhaled and opened their eyes, irises flashing yellow as warmth pooled in their belly. They gave Arden a big grin and the man laughed heartily, clapping them on the shoulder. His new hire finally returned with the tankards and the wolf-kin took them with a nod before heading back over to their sister. They placed her drink in front of her before sitting in the seat across and taking a swig of their own.

They made a face as the set the tankard back down, brows furrowing. The drink had a slight bitter taste they didn't remember this ale having. But it was gone as quickly as it came, washed away by a sweetness that made their tongue tingle. Orianna gave them a quizzical look but they just smiled and shrugged. The tiefling accepted it and the siblings soon devolved into quiet conversation, intermittently drinking from their tankards.

About halfway through their drink Ben started to feel lightheaded , something that shouldn't be happening after such a small amount of a drink that wouldn't so much as get them tipsy after ten let alone half a tankard. The wolf-kin made a soft groan and scrunched up their face, one hand going to their head as the other went to their stomach when a dull pain shot through both. Ori made a teasing remark but they didn't hear it. They were starting to feel sick, sweat beading on their skin as a hot and feverish sensation started to make itself known, body beginning to ache and hands shaking much worse than usual. It all felt somewhat familiar, reminding them of when they were much younger, when they had wandered off from their Mama in wolf form while on a walk in the forest and eaten a flower they shouldn't have. One that had made them very ill.

Their eyes widened and their blood ran cold as realisation hit them. They stood suddenly, almost knocking the table over and stumbling slightly as they tried to get out of the booth, but immediately froze as their body locked up. All the colour drained from their face as they swayed on the spot, mouth agape as all words caught in their throat. They could hear blood rushing in their ears as their gaze flicked to Ori, eyes filled with fear.

“Alchemist,” was the only word the managed to croak out before their eyes rolled back in their head and the wolf-kin keeled over, hitting the wooden floor with a loud thud.

“Kai!”

Orianna rushed over to her brother’s limp form, worry and concern now full blown panic. Golden eyes were wide as she shook them, trying desperately to rouse them. But her attempts did nothing and she could only watch in horror as a trickle of black liquid escaped from the corner of their mouth. Arden joined her, face drained of colour as his own fear at the situation showed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I… I’m not sure.” The tiefling’s voice was quiet, eyes trained solely on the wolf-kin on the floor. She had an inkling but she didn't want to voice it. In case it was wrong, or perhaps because admitting it made it real and meant things could be dire - she wasn't sure. “But they said ‘alchemist’ before they fell.”

“Then you better get them there then,” Arden said softly, clapping the tiefling on the shoulder and giving it a squeeze. “And don’t worry, I’ll look after your things lass. You just take care of the wee pup.”

Orianna nodded robotically before scooping up Ben to carry them bridal style and then hurrying out the door. She sprinted as fast as she could with the, thankfully light, werewolf in her arms, down the road towards the alchemist - not giving the other denizens another thought as they were forced to leap out of her way. She ignored their indignant shouts and reached the door she seeked. The tiefling kicked the door hard repeatedly, since her hands were busy, and hoped the alchemist was in. The gods were on her side when she heard an exasperated shout from the other side, though she didn’t let up her incessant banging.

Eventually, after what seemed like an age though it was probably only a few seconds, the door flew open and a rather grumpy looking elf in green robes glared at her from inside. His expression changed when he saw the sight before him - the stricken tiefling panting hard and the pale figure cradled in her arms.

“Help,” Orianna said desperately, “Please.”

The alchemist paused for a brief moment before nodding and ushering the red woman in quickly. Ori moved through the doorway and the elf shut the door behind her before urging her to place his new patient on the table in the next room. The tiefling did so and tried to settle Ben comfortably, needing to do something that could be helpful given she felt so helpless. However the elf soon pushed her out of the way - Orianna having to resist hissing at him for it - so he could examine the skinny person now on his table.

“Tell me about my patient.” The elf was blunt but when it came to trying to urgently save lives sometimes tact took a backseat.

“Their name’s Benkai’l. They’re a wolf-kin, and a werewolf. We were drinking at the inn. They only had half a tankard when they started to act funny. They stood up, asked for an alchemist, and then fell over.”

The elf nodded along with her as he moved around the table. He placed a hand to the wolf-kin's forehead and felt the heat from the fever they were clearly under immediately, also noting their pale complexion yet oddly shiny and rosy cheeks. He saw the trickle of black liquid on their chin and peeled back their lips, seeing elongated fangs that were stained with the same blackness. Unconscious transformation and onyx ichor already was a bad sign. He opened their eyelids and thankfully saw grey irises, as well as pupils that responded to the change in light. Some good news at least. He gave a firm nod to himself before scampering over to his work station.

“It's as I feared,” he said as he pulled various vials off the shelves and placed them onto the desk in front of him. “Your friend -”

“Brother.” The man raised a brow but didn't say anything. He'd seen many a strange family in his time, so this was nothing new.

“Your brother has been poisoned. With wolfsbane.”

Orianna felt her heart sink as her suspicions were confirmed. While she'd only ever witnessed Ben be hit by non-lethal or knockout wolfsbane, she knew the horror stories of the flower and its effect on werewolves. Her brother had told her some of their own, and now she had to witness it first hand.

“Can you fix this?”

“Perhaps,” said the alchemist as he placed ingredients into a mortar before crushing them with a pestle, adding splashes of liquid from three different vials and finally stirring. “First I need to purge the poison, get whatever hasn’t been absorbed into their bloodstream out of their body. Do that and it will give them more time, a better chance. It will also allow me to get a better idea of how much of a toll the poison has already taken on their body.”

The elf placed the pestle down and picked up the mortar, before bringing it over to his patient. He propped up the werewolf’s head and then carefully poured the mixture down their throat. Orianna moved closer, protective instincts kicking in, her eyes trained on the alchemist’s every move before they flicked to Ben as he moved back and placed the mortar down.

It was lucky she had moved forward as suddenly Ben's eyes snapped open, their irises now glowing bright yellow, and they twisted their body so the could lean over the side of the table, the only thing saving them from pitching right off it was Orianna's hand now grasping the back of their shirt. The air was filled with the horrible sound of retching as Ben vomited up thick black liquid onto the floor before, eventually, they collapsed back onto the table, unconscious once more. Ori gently pulled the wolf-kin onto their back again and wiped their chin free of residue with her shirt, not caring that it was getting stained. The alchemist checked their eyes again, pleased to see they'd gone back to grey, before looking at the splattered mess on the floor. His jaw clenched and his face hardened when he saw blood mixed in with the expelled ichor. He licked his lips and turned to Orianna with a grim expression, placing his hands on the table as he leant against it.

“You have a choice to make,” the elf said gravely. The tiefling tilted her head in confusion.

“A choice?” The alchemist nodded.

“I can give them a basic antidote made of the Nine Herbs, but there’s no guarantee it would cure them. This particular wolfsbane may be too powerful for such a simple antidote. The only way to be certain would be to find the exact strain of wolfsbane that was used to poison them. If you find that, then they I can synthesise a specific cure with no problems. However if you failed to find it, then we’d be forced to use the basic antidote and the longer we leave it, the less effective it will be.”

“Can’t we just give them the basic one now, and then the specific one later when I find it.” The elf shook his head.

“Unfortunately not. The two potions cannot both be administered as some of the ingredients do not mix well together, while others are in both and would lead to an overdose of said ingredient. They would end up dying anyway.” The alchemist sighed and glanced at his patient before turning back to the tiefling with a grim expression. “That’s your choice. Either I give them the basic antidote now and hope it’s enough, or you find the wolfsbane they were poisoned with and get it to me as soon as possible so I can make the cure. You have to make the decision.”

Orianna had to fight to keep her breathing steady at this grave revelation. She looked down at her brother - their face paler than usual, dark circles around their eyes even darker and shinier, their blue tinged lips now stained with blackness - and clenched her jaw. There was no way she was going to let them die. She had refused before when they were a self-destructive mess, she wasn’t about to let it happen when they weren’t to blame. She looked back up at the elf, golden eyes hard with resolve.   

“I will find the person responsible,” the tiefling growled,  “and I will make them give me the flower they used to poison my little brother.” The elf couldn’t help but smile and nodded sagely, accepting her choice.

“Very well, I’ll begin making the cure while you go and find the most important ingredient. Just remember, be quick. It’s hard to say how much time they have. But I don’t see it being more than a few hours.”

Orianna nodded before turning back to Ben. She bent down and, after sweeping sweat soaked hair away, placed a kiss to their forehead, stomach dropping when she felt the skin beneath her lips blazing hot instead of the usual freezing cold.

“I’ll be back soon Kai. Just hold on okay.”

She gave their hand a squeeze before finally taking the courage to leave them in the alchemists care, letting go and heading towards the door. She marched quickly and purposefully back towards the inn. That’s where Ben had gotten sick, she would bet all the coin she had that’s where the person who poisoned them was too. She had a suspicion based on the events that had transpired, and again she’d bet on herself being right.

When she reached the door she kicked it open and stepped inside. All talk ceased, the air palpable, tension thick. Heat wafted off Oriannas body, the immediate area around her form hazy. She turned to Arden, gaze steely. She knew it wouldn’t have been him, but he would know who.

“Who poured our drinks?” Her tone was hard and left no room for arguments.

Arden frowned and looked over to his new barkeep, who was standing at the other end of the bar, leaning against it next to a couple of young men around a similar age - likely his friends. The tiefling set her jaw and stalked over to him, placing her hands on the bar and leaning in close. His friends seemed to scoot back, and while the man himself tried to remain nonchalant, Ori could see the sweat breaking out on his forehead and the fear in his eyes.

“Why did you do it?”

“What?” the man said with a shrug and a smirk that Orianna wanted to punch off his face. “It was just a prank. He’s only a stupid wolf-kin. He’ll get sick and then be fine.”

Orianna growled, barely restraining the urge to roar in his face, and reached out, grabbing the lapels of his shirt and pulling him clean over the bar. The man giving a loud yelp that quickly turned into a grunt and a thud as the tiefling slammed him into the ground. The fabric of his shirt started to smoulder, golden eyes boring into his as she yanked him back up towards her a little, face inches from his.

“They’re a werewolf too you imbecile! You poisoned them!” The man at least had the sense to pale. “Where is it!? Where’s the wolfsbane you used!?”

“It’s behind the bar,” he said pointing in said direction, “Under the ale, behind the jerky jars.” Arden immediately moved to said location, unnoticed by the man who simply gave the tiefling a sneer. “If you ask me, it’s better off dead. It’s kind don’t belong here. Besides you’re the only one who cares if that mutt dies hell spawn.”

“You're wrong there,” came Arden's gruff voice, no longer kind and soft but harsh and full of underlying rage. The man looked over at him, swallowing at the hard look on his face, before craning his head back to see pretty much the entirety of the tavern patrons - bar his friends - standing tall and staring down at him with equally hateful and angry expressions. The barkeep held the small vial with half of a dark purple flower inside it to Ori. “We'll take care of this pathetic weasel lass. You go take this to the pup.”

Orianna looked back over to the group of patrons, who had moved closer with a few cracking their knuckles and glaring down at the spineless man who had hurt one of their own, and couldn't help but smile a little. She let go of the man's shirt, letting him crumple to the ground, and grabbed the vial from Arden before rushing back out the door without looking back, the desperate attempts. of the man to beg his way out of whatever was to come music to her ears.

She hurried back to the alchemist, wasting no time in knocking as she burst through the door and headed back to where she'd left the elf and Ben. Her breathing hitched and she stopped in her tracks when she laid eyes on her brother, looking so much worse for wear already. Their claws had come out, though only on their left hand, and the black ichor had started to trickle from one of their nostrils as they struggled for breath, rattling and shallow gasps barely escaping their stained lips.

“Over here child,” the alchemist said, breaking her stupor as he urged her over to his work station. “Hurry.”

Orianna rushed over and handed him the vial. The elf quickly uncorked it and tipped the contents into the mortar before grinding what was left of the flower down into a fine powder. He added that to the large beaker that held the rest of the ingredients and finally stirring everything together. The potion turned from a pale green to the same dark purple that the flower had been. Happy the alchemist took the beaker and walked back to Ben, tilting their head and pouring the specialised antidote down their throat before gently placing their head back onto the pillow.

The tiefling cautiously moved closer, eyes trained intently on Ben as she held her breath. She could see their claws slowly start to retract and their fangs follow suit, but still their eyes remained closed. Her heart was beginning to sink when finally she was met with the sight of grey pupils as the wolf-kin woke with a deep inhale. Orianna couldn't help but laugh with relief, crouching down beside the table and taking hold of Ben's hand in both her own. She watched their gaze dart about the room before finally settling on her as she provided a point of focus. They looked at her with bleary confusion before they seemed to realise they were somewhere different, that things had changed since they were last conscious.

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Ori couldn't help laugh again. That was Ben all over. Literally on their deathbed and asking if someone else was okay. She leaned forward and gave them a kiss to the forehead.

“I'm fine Kai, you just get some rest okay.”

The werewolf didn't seem to have the energy to question or argue, so despite still looking confused they just nodded their head before letting it fall back onto the pillow. Orianna gave another kiss to the back of their hand, not once letting go as she took vigil by their bedside, eventually sitting in a chair the alchemist provided but other than that remaining there, right beside her little brother.

[come-to-the-opera-with-me]

Well, I'm back, da-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na

Fix your bent antenna, tune it in, and then I'm gonna

Enter in, and up under your skin like a splinter

The center of attention, back for the winter, I'm interesting

The best thing since wrestling, infesting in your kid's ears and nesting

Testing, "Attention please"

Feel the tension soon as someone mentions me

Here's my ten cents; my two cents is free

A nuisance, who sent? You sent for me?

- Without Me by Eminem