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yourdeepestfathoms · 3 years

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tooth and nail

ask and you shall receive ;) @denpine14 @strawberrygem21

in which the Dimitrescu daughters exhibit cat-like traits

---------

“Dear Mother Miranda,

The girls have grown well, though there are some complications. Bela seems to have some form of anxiety and very low self-esteem, Cassandra has anger issues, and Daniela, I believe, has some type of hyperactivity disorder. Despite all of this, I love all of them dearly.

However…more strangely…they have…feline-like habits. I expected the hissing and growling, but the other things… Well, I’m not too sure how this has happened, as they were born from insects, but they weirdly act like little kittens in the most absurd ways. These mannerisms include, but are not limited to…”

“…headbutting…”

“Oof--” Alcina blinked in surprise and looked down as Bela headbutted her leg. “Yes, my darling?”

Bela giggled and headbutted her again. Alcina rubbed her head, which triggered a strange sound to fill the air.

“…and purring…”

Purring. Her daughter seemed to be purring.

Alcina’s heart swelled with love. She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips.

Later that day, Cassandra and Daniela did the headbutting thing, too, both of them bonking her in the legs while giggling adorably. When she scratched along their scalps, they purred, just like their big sister had.

--- --- ---

“…staring when they want something…”

“Yes?” Alcina asked, raising an eyebrow at the trio of girls staring at her. If it weren’t for their different hair colors, it would have been difficult to discern them from each other with their matching black gowns and hoods. She made the mental note to give something to them to help make them out better.

Her daughters continued to stare.

“Is everything alright?”

Still nothing.

“Darlings?”

Cassandra reached out, swatted at her dress, and then they all took off running in different directions, their sock-clad feet making them run in place for a few seconds before they gained traction and streaked away in blurs of black.

--- --- ---

“…and also staring at nothing at all, as though they are seeing ghosts…”

Alcina blinked. Her daughters were staring intently at the wall, their eyes wide and shiny, like they had just witnessed the secrets of the universe. She tried to see what they were looking at but could spot nothing at all.

“What in the…?”

--- --- ---

“…pushing random things off of surfaces for seemingly no reason other than the fact that they like to…”

A loud clatter echoed down the hallway, and Alcina was quick to hurry to the source of the noise: the parlor, where Daniela was perched on one of the tables inside, staring down at a fallen candelabra. Luckily, none of the wax sticks were lit, as they would have sent the red-and-gold carpet over the floor up in flames. Daniela looked up at her, her eyes awestruck and shiny.

“Did you knock that over?” Alcina asked.

Daniela stared back. Then, slowly, reached out her hand and swatted over a cup.

--- --- ---

“…causing utter destruction…”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Alcina snapped, shooing Cassandra away from the blinds. Her daughter leaped back, her claws ripping out of the fabric she had been sharpening her talons on. “No. Do not scratch things up, Cassandra.”

Cassandra inspected her claws. “Then what am I supposed to sharpen them on? Look at how blunt they are!” They showed them to Alcina.

They were sharp enough to gut a human in one swipe.

In amusement, Alcina said, “How about tree bark? It’s rough enough to hone them.”

Cassandra considered it, then nodded. “Alright!” She bounded away to go destroy one of the trees in the garden.

That same day, Alcina found Daniela chewing on a branch in her bedroom, creating a small pile of woodchips beneath her jaw. She seemed to be doing the same thing as her older sister: sharpening her natural weapons. Alcina left her be.

--- --- ---

“…sudden hyperactivity…”

The loud sound of footsteps suddenly burst throughout the hallways, rebounding like thunder. They would stop at random, then begin again, seemingly in a sporadic pattern. When Alcina finally stepped out of her bedroom to investigate, she barely caught a blur of black as one of her daughters, she couldn’t tell who, whizzed past her like lightning. She spun around, blinking.

“What--”

At the same moment, one of the others came from a different direction and skidded to a stop in front of her. She whirled to them and saw that it was Bela.

“What are you three doing?” Alcina asked.

“Playing,” Bela answered blithely. She stepped forward, headbutted Alcina lovingly, then zoomed off again, slipping on her socks as she went.

--- --- ---

“…getting startled at the most mundane things…”

The parlor had been peaceful at one moment; Alcina was drinking her tea, while Cassandra and Daniela played chess and Bela multitasked reading and watching the game. It was then that Bela’s thread bookmark fell out and she swiped at it to pick it up. However, when the string seemed to catch on her claws, she got frightened, leaping at least five feet up into the air. Seeing their older sister so unsettled, Cassandra and Daniela did the same, nearly jumping out of their skin and scattering the game of chess as they scampered away in terror. Alcina laughed loudly as her daughters huddled against her sides, shaking.

--- --- ---

“…bringing me dead animals as gifts…”

Alcina was cleaning up for bed when there was a knock that filled her bedroom. She walked to the door and opened it, only to see no one. When she turned around, she saw Daniela clinging to her window sill, a mass of fur caught between her teeth.

“Daniela!”

Alcina quickly opened the window, and Daniela hopped inside. She presented the thing in her mouth to her with great pride: a rat.

“For you, Mother.”

“Ah-- thank you, my dove.”

Daniela purred as her head was rubbed affectionately.

The next day, Cassandra padded up to her, her chest puffed in pride, a large snake pierced by her fangs.

“A gift, Mother.”

“Thank you, my sweet.”

And then, that evening, Bela came to her door with a bird in her mouth.

“Here, Mother.”

“Thank you, my darling.”

And then the bird jerked away when Bela set it down and flew off down the hall in terror. They both watched it go.

“It was too pretty to kill.”

Alcina chuckled. “I see.”

--- --- ---

“…laying on my things when I need them…”

Alcina stared tiredly at the stack of girls laying on the folded clothes on her bed. All that space on her giant mattress that was made specifically for her size and they chose that exact spot. On her clothes.

Well. They were much too cute to wake up.

--- --- ---

“…laying on me and keeping me from getting up…”

“Maiden,” Alcina whispered.

The maid passing by stopped and turned to her instantly.

“Get me a glass of blood. I can’t get up and I am thirsty.”

The maid eyed the form of her youngest daughter stretched out on her lap, asleep, and then nodded, whisking away.

She hadn’t moved for three hours.

--- --- ---

“…they have no concept of personal space…”

Alcina was awake that night, her girls piled on top of her to the point where they were practically smothering her, Daniela and Cassandra under arms and Bela on her chest. Every time she twitched, they would move closer, snuggling in deeper to her heat. She wouldn’t be sleeping very comfortably, but at least her daughters were warm.

--- --- ---

“…sitting in strange places…”

“Are you comfortable?” Alcina asked, laughing.

Bela looked up from where she was reading and wedged inside a basket that was meant for quilts. Despite her small, wiry frame, it technically wasn’t her size, but she managed to curl herself inside, piled by the blankets and indulging herself in a good book.

“Yes,” Bela said, smiling.

Alcina would also go on to find Cassandra napping haphazardly on the banister of the upper hallway balcony, which she picked her up from and placed her back into her bed in fear of her falling off, and Daniela hiding in one of the cupboards in the kitchen.

However, none of these things beat when she found all three of her daughters crammed in a box, murmuring and giggling to each other over something.

--- --- ---

“…did I mention the purring? Because the purring is absolutely endearing. I do believe it has healing properties…”

Alcina wasn’t quite sure what she had come down with that day, but she woke up feeling exhausted and achy all over. She didn’t even think to get up and alert her girls to her condition, choosing to rather wallow in her bed, so it wasn’t a surprise when her room was soon filled by three worried bug-spawn creatures.

“Mother?” Daniela’s small hands were set on her shoulders.

Alcina stirred.

“Mother?” That was Bela, now.

She rolled over and blinked tired eyes at the worried-looking faces of her daughters.

“Hello, my darlings,” she croaked.

“Mother,” Bela said again, her voice thick with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Alcina nodded, though her mind was wavering, shrouded in a heavy fog. “I am fine. Just a little unwell.”

“Can we help you?” Cassandra asked, her hands twitching.

“Don’t worry,” Alcina answered. “I’ll be fine.”

Her daughters exchanged looks. A moment later, they were climbing onto the bed, curling up around her.

“We’re helping,” Daniela said.

Alcina had no idea how cuddling was supposed to help her, but then she heard the soft churring that filled the air. The purring in itself did little to actually heal her sickness, but something about the soft sound and the presence of her precious daughters soothed her. Bela, with her head on her chest, filled her heart with a gentle rumbling. Daniela, curled up right next to her, chirred gingerly in her ear. Cassandra, stretched out over her stomach, resonated a soothing burr throughout her body.

She chuckled tiredly. “Thank you, my loves…”

--- --- ---

“…and, at least when they were newly reborn, absolutely hating when I go into a room without them…”

She was just taking a shower. That was all. And yet, she could hear her young, one-week-old daughters on the other side of the door, yowling and screaming and scratching their claws into the wood.

“I’m just bathing!” she snapped.

They wailed louder.

--- --- ---

“…to wrap the letter up, it is certainly a strange phenomenon to the experiment, but I am not complaining at all. They are much more entertaining and endearing this way. I wouldn’t have them any other way. I would like to thank you again, Mother Miranda, for letting me have such sweet daughters.

That will be all for now. I will follow up in another letter if anything new comes up.

-Alcina Dimitrescu”

#resident evil village #resident evil 8 #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #dimitrescu daughters #dimitrescu family #resident evil fanfic #re8 village #tooth and nail

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wolfish-trickster · 3 years

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Liar

Part 3

Loki x female!reader

Word count: 1,7K

Warnings: angst, typos, everything sad besides doggo

Tag list:@gaitwae @lucywrites02 @hard-to-be-the-bard @birdgirl90 @laramoonworld @belovedadam @mascaracoffee @serebrum @myworldgoesboomz

Loki felt miserable. If only he knew what would he start with that lie. Why couldn't he tell her Y/N is his cousin or something? She and her golden-fish-like IQ would've believed him. Damn him! Damn him and Tony for making him do this! Why couldn't Stark do it himself! It was his idea afterall!

Loki was lying on a rug in his bedroom. He didn't feel like he deserved the luxury of a warm soft bed. He was looking through photos and selfies of Y/N in his phone. Her happy smile, her arms wrapped around him in a hug in his favourite selfie of you (his wallpaper), her two fingers giving him horns from behind his back and him doing it back to her. He counted, he had only 7 pictures of her in total. 'I should've taken pictures of her more often,' he thought to himself and wiped his eyes to get clearer view. He should've took a picture of her doing the most mundane things. Reading a book, drawing on a windowsill, chatting with someone. She always had this spark in her eyes whenever she talked about some of her interests. He wanted to see that spark again.

Loki caught himself dreaming of you again. 'Let her go,' he told himself. 'It will be better for her and you.'

But he didn't want to get better. Not without her. But he fucked up big time. He apologized. He showed her a proof of his innocense. She chose to put space between you two. And that was okay, right? He's already used to it, right?

His eyes were staring outside the window the whole night, but he wasn't watching anything. He needed them open, for whenever he closed them he saw you. Either crying and screaming like you did few day ago, or sad smile you gave him few hours ago, or your happy grin you have worn what seemed like ages ago.

Sky changed its shades of blue from dark to light. The morning sun made him realize that no, he isn't used to it.

The need to walk to your room was big. But he couldn't. He promised to leave you alone if you wanted. And you did.

So instead he hid in one of the old rooms everyone forgot about and never really used. He needed to be alone.

No one came looking for him yet. The only sign of someone remembering his existence was one message from Tony. Something about the info Loki got from that woman being useless and agents are taking the lead from the Avengers. Good to know he unknowingly destroyed his whole relationship with Y/N for nothing.

When he read those words the first time he wanted to smash the phone on nearest wall, but that meant losing all the pictures with you and he simply couldn't do that.

Loki wandered where where you. If you were safe. Maybe you took your dog out. Or made someone do it, so you didn't have to risk meeting him in the halls. Thought of you still avoiding him sickened him.

His lower back started to ache from sitting in pragraph position for too long. He decided to stretch and walk a little, clear his head. The plan was to go to kitchen, steal something small to eat (not because he was hungry, he needed a distraction) and go back to his secret room. Or the roof. What will came first.

With a glass of water and pockets filled with chocolate he started walking towards the exit.

Suddenly he heard small clawed paws hitting the floor making soft clicking noises. He followed the distand sound to find your little pup, Rex, walking around as if he owned the place. If he was here then you'll be nearby. Loki looked around the room, but besides the small dog and him it was empty.

When the little guy got his sent into his nose, he turned and sprinted towards Loki. He expected the pup to bite him, just like you promise you will train him, and mentally prepared himself for attack of small dull needles on his ankles.

To his surprise Rex started jumping on his leg, trying to reach his hand. When Loki lowered it to his level he started to lick it, his tail wagging wildly. Good to know at least he doesn't hate him.

"Did you escape her and went on an adventure, little guy?" he asked scratching behind his ears. Rex rolled on his belly and silently asked for scratches. Loki was more than happy to provide.

"Well, we can't leave it like that now, can we? She'll be worried sick if she doesn't find you in her room. Like this one time when she couldn't find her favourite plushie from childhood. We turned her whole room upside down just to find it. Later that day she realized she accidentally left it in my bedroom," he smiled sadly at the fond memory. "We laughed a lot afterwards. I fear she'll never laugh in my presence again," he stopped scratching.

Rex sat up and tilted his head at him.

"I know, I know, it's basically my fault. And I understand why she feels like that. Who wouldn't after their best... ex best friend said those things about them. I just wish I could turn back time and change everything."

"And why would you do that?" loki turned around to be met with face of none other than Tony Stark.

"You would never understand," he looked away.

"I'm capable of undertanding a lot of things, don't underestimate me."

Rex found new sent in the room and ran up to Tony. "Aaaw, is he yours? I never thought you'll be a dog person," Tony picked him up and got a good look on him, while Rex was trying to reach his face with his tongue.

"No, he's Y/N's. He must've escaped from her bedroom. Please, take him to her," he started walking away.

"No way, your friend, your problem. I'm already a very busy man even without pets," he put Rex on the floor and gently nudged him towards Loki.

"Here's the thing, I can't. I can't face her. And I am more than sure she doesn't want to face me."

"What happened? Don't tell me it's some petty reason like 'you picked the wrong movie' or 'those flowers don't go with ma vase'."

Loki rolled his eyes and took Rex to his hands. "No. She heard me telling lies to that woman we needed for those informations and now she doesn't trust me. I doubt she ever will."

"Just tell her how it was. How hard can that be?"

"Don't you think I already thought of that? I showed her the video from security cameras yesterday and she still doesn't want to go back to being my friend. And I understand why," he stared deeply into Rex's puppy eyes. As if the little dog felt his sadnes he tried to cuddle up to his chest.

"Then pray tell, cuz I could never understand women's logic."

Loki played with Rex's soft fur. "She knows I'm a great liar. She might think if that was a lie and she couldn't tell, then might be wondering how much of other things I told her were lies," Rex started chewing on Loki's thumb. "The truth is I never told her a single lie. Only that one time when she asked me if I'm smiling because I saw Thor fall down the stairs," he chuckled.

"Then tell her you never lied to her," Tony suggested.

"I can't. She won't believe me. Didn't you hear what I just said?"

"I did. But listen, life is complicated enough already, why making it more miserable by not talking each other's issues out? Just go to her, return her dog and ask to talk to her."

"What if she slams the door in my face just like the last time? Then what genious?"

Tony shrugged. "I don't know. Write her a letter and slide it down her door?"

Loki rolled eyes and started walking in the direction of your bedroom. "Your advices suck," he called behind his back.

Here he was. Standing in front of your door, which was slightly ajar. Explaining how Rex got out. Behind those doors he laughed with you, played games with you, watched movies while cuddling with you. So many pleasant memories. Scarred by the freshest one.

He remembered the fear and panic he felt when you started shouting at him. He remembered every last word you told him. Those kinds of words only left your mouth in his worst nightmares. He never thought he'll hear them in real life.

Tiny bites along his wrist brought him back to present. He didn't know what to do. Should he stand there and wait until you come out? Or should he knock? Call out for you?

His questions got answered sooner than he thought. "What are you doing here?" he heard her voice coming from the opposite end of the hallway.

He quickly looked down at Rex in his arms, the opened doorand realized how it must look to you. "I'm not stealing him, I swear. I found him wandering around the Tower," he held him out to you.

You took him, your fingers brushed his for a moment. You coughed. "Ehm, thank you. For bringing him back, I mean."

"No problem," he stood there awkwardly, hamd behind his back.

He figured you didn't want to say anything more and he took a step to walk around you.

"Hey," you called out.

"Yes?" he asked hopefully, waiting for your next words.

"I...... uhm," you bit your lip nervously.

He saw her wilingness to talk as his chance. "Can I speak with you? About all of what happened? Please?"

You looked up at him, a small relief in your eyes. "Actually, that's what I wanted to ask you."

"Oh, okay," he felt like an awkward teen rather than over century old man.

Both of you stood in the hallway. Until you broke the silence. "Well, do you want to come in?" you pointed at your door.

"Yeah, okay. Why not? Your bedroom is nice for talking," Loki mentally slaped himself across the face for saying such stupidity.

"Yes. I suppose it is," you gave him a small smile and closed the door behind the two of you.

#loki #loki odinson #loki x reader #loki angst #loki x reader angst #rex is a good boi #im still sorry

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

You’re Safe Now

Prompt: aaaa, i love your story ‘imposter syndrome’!!!! I love the dynamic between black and purple, it’s so sweet!! but what would happen if purple was a little kid, and a stowaway on a ship, and black ended up finding them? how differently would black react to an even sweeter and tinier purple??? (if you could write a small one shot or somethin based off of this, please do!!! only if you wanna, though!!!!)

Ahhh yess! ahhhhh yesss more of protective black, this time with little baby purple!I didn't wanna full on call this an au in the tags, but this is an alternate version of my longer fic 'impostor syndrome,' except purple is a lil bb. you don't have to read that first but you can if you want to--this one is more of an alternate timeline where there's very little context in the first one important

Read on Ao3

Warnings: implied/referenced child abuse, but nothing explicit

Pairings: impostor!black adopts lil bb crewmate!purple, nothing romantic

Word Count: 3471

Black is a senior Impostor. Deadly. Dangerous. This is hardly the first mission they've been on and it is far from the hardest.

...it is the first one with a stowaway.

“You fucker!” Red claws at their suit with the fury of a frenzied animal. “You’ll fucking pay for this!”

Black muscles them into the airlock and slams the door shut. Red pounds their fists against the glass.

“I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me? I’ll—“

Black’s fist slams the button and the airlock opens. Red’s furious body vanishes in the sudden decompression.

At least the anger was a welcome alternative. For all the work that humans had done to build up their reputation as fearless, remorseless, and absolutely uncaring about anyone other than themselves, so few lived up to it. Especially in death.

Black rolls their shoulders back and strides off down the corridor. The ship is empty now, save for their own steps echoing off the metal walls. Good. They can barely breathe with the stench of human fear roiling off of every surface. And soon enough they’ll be off this damn ship, back to Polus.

They shake their head as they round the corner. They really are getting on, aren’t they? Mission after mission after mission. They all blur together after a while.

Black stops.

Tilts their head.

Takes one big breath in…and out.

What is that?

Another scent. Not fear, that won’t go away for a while, but something else, riding the undercurrent. Something…less acrid, less bitter.

They take another breath. Their maw begins to snarl.

Red was the last crewmate. There aren’t any more humans registered on this ship.

So why can Black smell another one?

They fall into stance quickly, one hand going to their knife, the other checking the rest of their weapons, before stalking along the corridor. Their footsteps are silent against the metal floor. Their suit melts effortlessly into the shadows.

Their maw rumbles in anticipation.

Electrical. Of course.

No one would bother to hide in a death trap unless they were certain they weren’t going to be looked for. Black feels their mouth turn up into a smile.

Blur together they may, but a mission does have its fun moments every once in a while.

Their footsteps barely give them away over the humming of the room, creeping inside under the flickering lights. They close their eyes for a moment to scent the air again.

The human is close.

Black turns, pivoting effortlessly on the balls of their feet. Their gaze lands on the space between the lights panel and the back of the computer terminals.

There you are.

They creep closer. Closer. A shadow falls over the machines. Inside, there is a human.

Black leans forward and—

—stops short.

There is a human here, but not—well, not what they expected.

They’re not wearing a suit, that’s the first thing. Instead, they’re wearing a shirt that dwarfs their frame and a pair of trousers covered in singes. Their hair is tied back messily, but not enough to keep it from getting caught on different parts of the machine.

For another, they’re fucking tiny.

Not just because they can fit into this small space—how did they even get themselves in there?—but because their head looks barely bigger than Black’s hand.

Also, why is there a human juvenile here?

Black shakes themselves. No. Now’s not the time to lose concentration. They refocus on the child.

The child looks back at them, blinking slowly, their hands cupped around something in their lap. They tilt their head as much as they can as they stare at Black.

Black tilts their head.

The child mirrors it.

They tilt their head the other way.

So does the child.

They lift their hand up to give a little wave.

The child’s arm looks hurt, they realize, as a little wave comes back.

“Hey, there,” Black says after another moment, “what’re you doing?”

The child scrunches themselves further into the gap. “Hiding.”

“I can see that.” Black runs a finger down the machines. “What’re you hiding from?”

“Everybody.”

That takes Black by surprise. If the child were just trained to hide from Impostors, sure, but…everybody?

“Did the—does the crew know you’re here?”

The child shakes their head. Black squints as they take their bottom lip between their teeth, chewing so hard it looks like it must hurt.

“Hey, hey,” they call, “don’t do that, you’ll make yourself bleed.”

“I’m supposed to.”

Fucking what?

“You’re what?”

“I’m supposed to be quiet,” the child says, and damn right they didn’t mean make themselves bleed, “this keeps me quiet.”

Black shifts, crouching down properly to stare at the child. They’re so…small.

“Why are you supposed to be quiet,” they ask, lowering their own voice, “what are you afraid of?”

There’s a pause. Then: “nobody wants to see me. They don’t like to know that I’m here. So I’m quiet and then I don’t get in trouble.”

They curl up a little tighter.

“…I don’t want to be in trouble.”

Unbidden, Black’s maw snarls. They dragged a child onto this ship and forced it to hide away? Under threat of…who the fuck knows what?

“I’m sorry.”

They snap out of it when they see the child flinch away.

“Hey, shh,” they caution, “you’re going to hurt yourself on the wires.”

The child doesn’t listen, still shying away. Only when Black realizes their maw is still rumbling and forces it to shut the fuck up do they relax a little. Black sighs, glancing over their shoulder.

“Come here.”

The child’s eyes widen.

“Come here,” Black repeats, holding out their hand, “or at the very least, come out of there, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

They shake their head furiously. “Can’t. Can’t come out. They’ll be mad. Can’t be found.”

“Whoa, hey, easy, it’s okay, no one’s mad.”

“You are. You will be. I’m not supposed to make noise. I’m not supposed to be found.”

“I’m not mad,” Black says patiently—since when have they ever been patient with something that wasn’t a mission?—still reaching out, “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

They keep shaking their head. “Getting spotted means punishment. Punishment hurts. No. I’m safer back here.”

Another wave threatens to fully split Black’s maw. What the fuck happened to this child? Why the fuck are they here? Children are supposed to be safe, cared for by their people, not cowering in a dangerous place because being seared by wires is safer than being out in the open.

And why did the crew know nothing about it?

For now, though, the now-familiar scent of fear hits them and they bite back a curse.

A child is a child, human or not.

“Hey,” they call quietly, trying to soften the rasp of their voice, “hey, listen to me, just listen, okay?”

They shift, trying to make their posture as non-threatening as possible.

“I’m not mad at you,” they continue, watching the child’s eyes follow their every move, “I’m not going to punish you. I just need you to come out of there, okay?”

Those eyes narrow. “Why?”

“You’re hurt.” They indicate the child’s arm. “I want to have a look and make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

Unconsciously, they cradle it to their chest, even though the suspicious look doesn’t go away. “Grown-ups don’t care if I’m hurt. They just want me to be quiet.”

Black swallows their rage. “I care,” they say instead, “I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Are you going to hurt me?”

“No, I’m not going to hurt you.”

“But I hurt myself and you don’t like that.”

“I don’t like the idea of you being in pain,” Black says through forced patience, “and I want to help.”

“Why?”

Why, indeed. Black ignores it and wiggles the fingers on their outstretched hand again.

“Because you’re still too close to the wires,” they say instead, “and if you stay back there much longer, they could hurt you very badly.”

The child’s gaze finally softens and oh, oh, they look so small.

“Come here,” Black calls again, gentleness seeping into their voice, “please?”

“…you promise you aren’t mad?”

“I’m not mad.”

“Promise you won’t hurt me?”

“I won’t hurt you.”

The child shifts a little. They hug their injured arm to their chest and take their lip between their teeth again. Black lets out a soft noise, wiggling their fingers again.

“Come on, baby, you can do it.”

Finally, finally, they start to move. They shakily try to get on all fours, crawling out from the gap, only to let out a sharp cry when their shirt gets caught on the machines.

“Shh, shh, easy,” Black soothes, “it’s okay, you’re just a little stuck.”

“I can’t—I can’t move—I—“

“Easy, just look at me, okay?” Their frightened gaze snaps to Black. “That’s it, baby, just look at me, I’m right here.”

“I’m stuck!”

“I know, baby, I know, shh—“ Making sure their gaze is still on Black’s helmet, they reach a little further into the gap— “try and take my hand, baby.”

They reach, crying out when they try and rest their weight on their injured arm.

“Shh, shh, other one, baby, you can do it.”

Their hand is so small and soft and fragile. Black fights down another wave of anger and holds tight.

“I’ve got you now, baby, now try and come to me.”

“I can’t, I’m stuck, I’m—I—“

“I know, baby, just try for me.”

Out of their line of sight, Black grits their teeth and lets a single tendril flick out, disguised by the shadows, and yanks their shirt away from the blockage. They barely have enough time to reel it back in before they suddenly have a lapful of human child.

“Hey, hey, easy, baby,” they murmur, “you’re alright now, see?”

The poor thing is still trembling in their lap, their face all but buried in Black’s chest. Black coos, wrapping their arms tightly around the shaking bundle and softening the suit into something a little less abrasive.

“Shh, shh, baby, it’s okay, you’re out of there now, you did great.” Their maw rumbles softly. “I’m right here, I’ve got you, you’re okay now.”

It takes far too long for scared little fingers to reach out and clutch at Black’s suit.

“There you go, baby, just hang onto me,” Black rumbles, rocking them a little back and forth, “you’re okay, everything’s gonna be okay now.”

“They’re—they’re gonna be mad at me—“

“Who’s gonna be mad at you, baby?” Whose ass do I need to kick?

“The—the crew, I’m—I’m not supposed to be here—“

Stowaway, Black’s brain realizes finally, they’re a fucking stowaway.

“The crew is gone,” they say instead, gently pulling the little thing closer, “it’s just you and me now, baby.”

The child stills. Then they look up and Black almost coos at the blatant hope on their face.

“…you mean it?”

“Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, running their hand through the child’s hair, “just you and me. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“So…” Those little fingers clutch a little tighter. “…I don’t have to be scared?”

Oh, baby…

“No,” Black says softly, “you don’t need to be scared. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“You won’t be mad at me and punish me if I do something bad?”

“No, baby.”

“Oh.”

Black blinks as the smell of fear slowly begins to fade, replaced by the softer, sweeter scent from before. In their lap, the little one shifts closer, their arms going shyly around their torso.

“Can I—can I stay here for a little longer, then?”

“Of course you can baby, we can stay here as long as you like.”

The child immediately snuggles up to them with an eagerness that takes Black by surprise. Less than a moment ago, they were shying away from them, suspicious, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, and yet here they are. Curled up in Black’s lap.

Black’s grip on them tightens marginally.

Children are supposed to be kept safe. They are supposed to be raised to know what care looks like, to know what it is to be treated well so that when they do go off on their own, they can recognize what it looks like when someone mistreats them.

Hiding away, afraid to make a noise, stowing away on a spaceship is not what that means.

The child squirms in their lap and they look down.

“Am I holding you too tight?”

They shake their head, still squirming. “Tickles.”

“What does, baby?”

“Your tummy.” They shift again. “Tickles.”

Ah. Black’s maw is humming, contented with the knowledge that the child is safe now, here in their arms, in their lap. A smile tugs at the corners of Black’s mouth as they rumble a little louder, watching as the child squeaks.

“Alright, alright,” Black murmurs after a moment, stroking their back and making their maw be quiet, “that’s enough.”

The child goes to hug them again only to wince.

“Your arm.” Black touches it gently, noting the way they hold it awkwardly. “Can I have a look?”

The child nods, cradling the limb to their chest and placing it in Black’s hand. It’s fairly badly bruised, but other than that, intact.

“Can you bend it and unbend it for me?” They do. “Thank you. I don’t think it’s broken, I think it’s just bruised.”

“It hurts.”

“I can tell.” They give their waist a squeeze. “How about this, let’s go to the medbay and I can get you some bruise cream and an ice pack?”

“I’m not supposed to—“ they stop themselves, swallowing heavily— “you said…you said the crew was gone?”

Black nods. “Just you and me, baby.”

“So I can…I can have the ice pack? A-and the cream?”

Oh. “Yes, baby, of course. You’re allowed.”

They nod shyly. “Then I…I want to go.”

“Can you stand up for me?”

They try, only for their legs to give out almost immediately, tumbling back into Black’s arms.

“Hey, whoa, easy, baby,” they murmur, “it’s been a while since you stood up, hmm?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shh, shh, none of that now, it’s not your fault.” Black gets them settled again. “May I carry you?”

The child’s eyes go wide. “You—you would?”

“How else would we get to the medbay?”

“O-okay.”

“Yeah?” The child nods. “Can you give me your hands, baby?”

Black takes the offered hands, guiding them around their neck and softly bidding them hold tight. In one smooth motion, they slide an arm under the child’s legs and stand, pulling them into their arms. They stand still a moment, letting them get used to it.

“Alright?”

The child nods, tucking their face over Black’s shoulder. “Why isn’t your tummy doing the thing anymore?”

“Do you…want it to do it again?”

Another nod. Well, that’s easy enough. Black smiles as the child sighs, relaxing into their maw as it rumbles softly again. They make their way to the medbay, setting the child carefully down on one of the beds and fetching what they need. As they turn around, they see the child staring at the floor with their eyes shut.

“Hey,” they murmur, hustling back over, “hey, what’s wrong, baby?”

“It’s really bright,” they mumble, “hurts.”

Right, they’ve been in the dim light of Electrical for…who knows how long. Black turns the lights down a little.

“Better?”

“Mhmm.” The child’s gaze lands on the scanner. “What is that?”

“That’s the scanner. It scans your body to see if you’re healthy.”

“Wow.”

“Mhmm.” Black holds up the tin of bruise cream. “Can I put this on for you?”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, I’ll be very careful.”

“Okay.”

As Black starts to spread a thin layer of the cream over the worst of the bruising, the child lapses into silence, occasionally swinging their legs back and forth.

“Are you an Impostor?”

Black’s hands falter for a moment.

“Yes.”

They’re going to be afraid again. They’re going to find out I killed the crew and they’ll—

“Does that mean you can shapeshift?”

Black’s head jerks up. “What?”

The child cocks their head. “I heard that Impostors can shapeshift, is that true?”

“Yes…yes, we can shapeshift.” Black gestures to themselves with their free hand. “Technically, I’m doing it now.”

“You don’t actually look like that?”

“No.”

“Oh.” The child swings their legs again. “Can I see you shapeshift?”

“…if you want,” they say after a moment, “but I’m going to need you to close your eyes for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I get embarrassed when people watch.”

“Oh. Okay.”

As the child closes their eyes, the rush of trust leaves Black more than a little heady. They close their own eyes, rolling their shoulders to let their human shape form, finding a smile still on their face as it settles into place.

“Okay, you can look now.”

The child cracks one eye open, only to gasp in delight and reach out for Black’s face.

“Easy,” Black chides lightly, “I still need to finish your arm.”

“But you’re really pretty!”

Unbidden, heat rises to Black’s cheeks as the child cups their face in their hands, staring at them with the wonder of someone seeing the stars for the first time.

You are the most adorable thing I have ever seen.

“I like this face,” the child declares, squishing it a little, “I like it a lot.”

“I’m glad,” Black chuckles, “and I’m happy for you to look at me while I finish tending to your arm.”

“Can I play with your hair?”

In response, Black takes their free hand and rests it gently on their head. “Try not to pull, okay?”

“I won’t.”

The child lapses back into silence as Black finishes fussing over their arm. Their fingers card shyly through Black’s hair, uncaring about the slight pressure the bandages put as Black finishes wrapping the bruises.

“There,” they murmur as they finish, “all done.”

“Oh.” The child looks down. “Thank you.”

“Of course, baby.” The hand doesn’t leave their hair. “Having fun?”

The child nods, their own flush blooming on their cheeks. Black chuckles, raising a hand to gently cup their face.

“What’s this for?”

“Can I stay with you?”

Black blinks, a little taken aback by the sudden question. The child’s hand trembles on their head and they reach up, holding it and giving it a soft squeeze.

“You’ve—“ they swallow— “you’ve been really nice to me and I—I like you, so I want to—can I stay with you?”

Oh.

“Yeah, baby,” Black murmurs, smiling as the child’s face starts to split in a wide grin, “you can stay with me. I—oof.”

They barely have a moment to open their arms before the child all but throws themselves at them, hugging them tightly. Black chuckles, their maw purring, holding them tightly.

No one is going to hurt you ever again, baby, I’ll take care of you.

“Thank you,” comes the shy mumble.

“Of course, baby,” Black murmurs back, pulling them away enough to see their face. They frown, seeing something in their hands. “What’s that?”

“It’s a, um…” They hold it up, studiously not meeting Black’s gaze. “It’s my flower.”

Black’s eyes widen. “Indeed it is.”

A little purple flower with two green leaves.

“It’s pretty.”

“Mhm.” The child looks up at them and raises it to—

I am going to die. I am going to die, right here, because this is too cute.

The child tucks the flower shyly behind Black’s ear.

“Now you’re both pretty.”

“Oh, baby, thank you.”

The child nods, still looking away. Black can’t stop smiling.

“Hey,” they call softly, “what should I call you?”

“Um—“ the child twists their hands together— “I don’t, um…”

Something twists in Black’s gut as they realize that probably their name hasn’t been…fondly recalled.

“You can pick a nickname if you want,” they encourage, “I won’t mind.”

“I don’t have any nicknames.”

Black thinks for a moment.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“What?”

“Your favorite color,” Black repeats, “do you remember how the crew used to call each other by their colors?”

The child nods. “Are you—are you going to call me by my color?”

“Is that okay?”

“Mhm, but then…do I call you Black?”

Black smiles. “If you like, yes, I’m Black.”

“Hi, Black,” the child says shyly, “I’m Purple.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Purple.”

“C-can I still stay?”

“Of course, baby,” Black murmurs, “you can stay.”

#among us #fic #dragonbabbles

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bittybattybunny · 4 years

Photo

OKAY so here’s the cursed into a dragon story and doodle!!

I wanted to draw the cute knight and the dragon (AKA Ru had an old suit of armor at his brother’s and had no idea the dragon he was asked about was his not GF)

Fic time!! and reminder this idea was suggested by @creepyfuzzymelon!! It did get a lil long for a ficlet but eh it works! Enjoy!

She paused in front of the red door and brushed her hair behind her ear before she walked in. She sneezed as she walked in, the smell of incense making her nose burn. She frowned as her head began to spin.

“Welcome.” Came the shop keeper’s sing song voice. Her green blue eyes twinkled with mischief as she saw the woman.

“Hello.” Eclipse gave a smile but she wanted to leave. Not wishing to be rude she decided to walk around some before she ran from the over scented store. She looked at the cluttered shop shelves and her eyes landed on an ornate dragon mask. She frowned looking at it. She picked it up and turned it around curiously. There was writing in the back. She squinted trying to read it.

“It says to the wearer their heart will become fierce until the knight calms it.”

Eclipse jolted, having not even noticed the woman sneaking up behind her. She felt a cold chill as she looked at the woman’s smile as she chuckled.

“Don’t be so skittish dear.” she cooed and took the mask in her hands. Eclipse watched as she spun it around in her hands, producing a ribbon from the air and tying it on. “I wonder what form you would take?”

Eclipse could only gasp as the mask was shoved on her face and she was thrown from the shop.

She blinked a few times. She reached to remove the mask but it wouldn’t come off. In fact the more she tried the firmer it seemed to stick. She struggled and pulled. She felt a burning sensation starting to grow in her chest. She clawed and shoved at the mask. Her body began to contort as she feverishly tried to get the mask off. She gasped as her face felt the cold chill. She grit her teeth as she felt her face ripping at its own seams. Fangs jutting. She roared as her bones grew and rearranged, horns shoving through her skull as she fell to all fours. She clawed the cobblestone sidewalks of the small village as her clothing fell in shreds.

Wisps began to light up as black scales began to grow and cover her body as her newly formed tail lashed around. Large wings caught between bird and moth spread as she panted and slowly the burning subsided. She collapsed on the stone. Her head was heavy. She sighed.

“Way to go Moony. You walked into that one.” she groaned as she lifted her head to look herself over. She lifted a hand and looked at the claws and whined.

“Great.” she moved to stand. At least a dragon was similar in limbs to a wolf so she had that going for her. The wings were a new feature. She lifted one to inspect it and looked around. She had entered the shop in the downtown of Subcon City but.

Small buildings with no life surrounded the dragon-woman as she walked around. She raised her head to look at the rising moon and huffed. She turned to inspect for her bag among the remains of her clothes but couldn’t find it.

“Guess no phone calls.” she flicked her forked tongue as she jumped on top of one of the buildings. She narrowed her eyes as she saw a church and decided to get a better view.

A wind blew as she climbed up to the steeple and looked over the rolling fields.

She looked at the sky and sighed, “Fierce until the night calms it huh?” she shook her head side to side. “Hopefully this mask comes off soon then.” she ran off, deciding to enjoy the empty fields in the meanwhile.

------

“A dragon?” Snatcher asked as Kaya gave a frown. She scratched her cheek as he stood in her office.

“Yeah. reports of one in the old ruins of Tir na Nocht.” she sighed, “I put SO MANY BARRIERS!” she puffed her cheek annoyed, “I tried to make sure NOTHING would get into Ti Na Nocht when i left!” she fumed, “And this dragon comes WALTZING IN LIKE SHE OWNS IT!” she stomped her foot, “The worst bit is NO ONE CAN GET NEAR!”

“So what does that have to do with me?” he raised a brow, “You know I’m busy watching the kid since Eclipse is working a job.”

“See that’s the thing!” she frowned, “I thought she was home! I was going to ask HER to do this! She’s fought dragons before! And I would ask Jacob since he’s a dragonborn, but he went off on another mission last week with Maki and Tiffny to deal with an issue in the elvish kingdom.” she rubbed her neck.

“Why don’t you go?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she scoffed, “NO ONE can get near!” She groaned and winced as she rolled her sleeves up, revealing bandages all over her arms. “I already TRIED and that bitch roasted me with wisps!” She whined, “And even my healing takes a bit when it’s soul fire.” she sighed, “it’s made to chew up magic in the first palace after all.”

His eyes widened as he looked. He hadn’t ever thought the Solaria Umbra could even be harmed, much less burned. He frowned, “So why me? I’m less resistant than you are.”

“You have a blessing of attraction. It should work on the dragon. If not throw this down.” she handed him a glass orb, “it’ll instantly send you back here.” she explained. “If you’re worried, I saw some Solgarian armor at your brother’s when I was visiting, you could wear that!” she teased, “a knight in shining armor!”

He thought about it and sighed, “Yeah, let’s do that then. Let me just text Cookie see if she can watch Hattie.”

“Oh, right the kid. I’d say i can watch but I need to drop you off, if it takes a bit I can get her from school even if my arms are bacon.” she snickered, “Since I am the one asking you to do this for me.” she moved around the desk and began to shift the shadows. Snatcher sighed and walked over as she used them to send them to the woods.

Marcus jumped as the two appeared on the porch. His potion flying from his hands. Kaya reached to catch it and screeched as it landed on her burned hands and then the floor. Marcus stared at the ruined mix and brushed his hair back annoyed.

“Yes?” he asked, hands on his hips as his tail wisped.

Kata frowned, “Can we take that Solgarian armor?” she asked, “I’m sending your brother to calm and agitated dragon down.”

“Ru? To a dragon?” Marcus deadpanned and rolled his eyes, “Sure I guess.”

“Sweet.” She moved the book shelf to head into the storage room. She grabbed the golden armor with a snicker, “Did you know my dad’s armor actually does have a similar look?” she asked.

“Does it?” Marcus floated over, “Interesting. But it makes sense. Father wanted his approval more than anything.”

Kaya snorted and chewed her lip.

“What?” Snatcher asked taking the suit.

“My dad LOATHES your dad,” she admitted as the two former princes stared.

She laughed loudly, “My dad thinks your dad is a fucking piece of shit who doesn’t deserve his bloodline!” she wheezed. She adjusted her bandages, “I mean he picked a fight with ME!” she snickered, “and my dad is a god of UNION not war.” she pointed out.

Snatcher snickered as he started to pull the armor on. “Yeah sounds right.”

“I pecking LOVE that fact!” Marcus cackled. He looked, “wow you still fit in that.”

“Huh?” Kaya blinked.

Snatcher adjusted the armor and looked around, “my sword should be here isn’t it?”

“Wait--” Kaya’s mouth dropped.

“Yeah I have it upstairs though on the wall display.” Marcus explained.

Kaya looked between them confused.

“Oh, cool. That’s easy.” Snatcher looked around, “is my scabbard around too?”

“Should be upstairs as well.”

“WAIT!” Kaya gasped getting their attention. She frowned, “are you saying that’s YOUR armor??? Not random?”

“Yes? It’s a little tighter but, this was when i used to train with the guards. I wasn’t about to get hurt. Estelle kept it here at the cabin after I was engaged as I didn’t fight anymore. Same with my sword.” Snatcher laughed at the teenager who shook her head and scoffed. He sneered, “What did you think I was a laze about?”

“N-No I just thought you were all books! The whole lawyer thing!” she admitted.

“I had no magic, of course I did something to protect myself!” He cackled.

Marcus snickered, “I can fight with a bow and arrow you know.”

She turned red and huffed, “well, I knew that one, i let you use my archery range.” she scowled, “L-Look let’s just get this dragon dealt with! I don’t want it to get more annoying!”

“Right.” Snatcher scowled.

“Kaya…” he stated as she looked at him.

“You said you thought Eclipse was home?” he asked, he’d thought on it for a bit but not too much, “I thought she was working. She had left and said she’d be out of cell service.”

“I called her phone and it said she was home.” she admitted with a frown, “I’ll look into it. Maybe she’s a frog again?” she suggested.

He frowned and nodded. “Please.” he scowled as he pulled his hair from his face, “let’s go get my sword and head off then.” His stomach flipped.

-----

Her claws traced the rocks as she snarled. It’d been a few days and she was starving. Nothing lived in the area that she could hunt. Her eyes narrowed as she felt someone getting near HER territory. She slunk across the grounds. Tail lashed around as she sniffed. She smelt that annoying twig that’d entered her territory a day before. But there was a new one. Sweet. Salty. She liked it. She licked her jaws as she growled.

“So a giant black dragon with weird wings?” he stated with a frown. He sighed as he looked at the barrier and stepped inside the area. Instantly he felt eyes on him. He frowned and reached for the hilt of his sword. He saw a flash of blue and held a hand up, the wisp nudging him. He chuckled. He frowned. His eyes grew wide.

Wisps.

He turned to where he felt the eyes and began to run towards it.

The dragon blinked in shock as the man came barreling at her. She reared up in her surprise and he looked up as she emerged from the grasses. He sighed.

“Guess I don’t need Kaya to look that up.” he reached his hands up.

The dragon whined and lowered her head. She nuzzled against him, chirping.

“What did you do you silly woman,” he asked as the dragon licked him. He snickered as he pet her muzzle. She purred as he rolled his eyes. He kissed the front of her nose and she huffed a small flame.

He frowned, “well. That didn’t work.” he scowled. A kiss didn’t work. He gasped when she pushed her head against him and he laughed as he reached at her horns. He frowned as he noticed an odd line of scales.

“Eclipse…” he frowned.

She blinked. Eclipse. Was that her? Her eyes flickered.

“Eclipse?” he asked a bit more forcefully. Her head hurt. She whined and pulled away from him.

He huffed and put his hands on his hips. She looked at the knight and growled. He made her head hurt.

“Eclipse show me your head again.” he ordered.

She shook her head and sat definitely. He glared and she lowered her head with a small huff of flames escaping her lips. He walked along and reached that odd line of scales. He frowned as his fingers traced it. It felt like an edge. He scowled and gripped it. The dragon lurched. He held tightly. He wrapped an arm around one of her horns as he gripped the edge. As he held it, it seemed to lift. He grit his teeth as she bucked and shook her head. She roared and growled as he continued to work on the edge, the scaling pulling up. He gasped as there was a spark of blue flame and the dragon collapsed to the ground. He winced as he hit the earth when she slammed into it in her collapse.

He pulled and slowly, her body shrank. The scales vanished, the sound of snapping bones as her body reworked to human form. He shifted her to his lap as he pulled the mask fully off. She laid unconscious on his lap. He sighed and looked at the mask in his hands. He lit it up in blue flames, the mask crackling as it burned to ash.

Shaking the remains from his hand and focused back on Eclipse. He brushed her hair from her face as her ragged breathing grew more steady. He felt his cheeks grow red as he realized she was naked.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. She looked up at him.

“Snatcher?” she asked softly. She groaned and moved to sit, falling against him. He gasped moving to steady her.

“Careful… you just were a huge ass dragon.” he snickered.

She whined and buried her face against his shoulder. He sighed and shifted to carry her. He felt her cling onto him and he was doing he best to not think about the fact he was carrying a naked woman with whom he had affections for. He felt his face heat up as he left the barrier.

Kaya stared in confusion. She stared with all four eyes and sighed heavily. She removed her over coat as she winced, handing it over to him.

“Thanks.” he used it to wrap Eclipse up.

“Of course she was the one to burn the shit out of my arms.” the demoness grumbled, “sooo any ideas?”

“A mask. A dragon mask. I burned it.” He scowled, “she didn’t seem to have any recognition.”

“What did it look like?” she asked with a huff. She looked at Eclipse with a scowl.

“Dark black, had a red ribbon on the back, had gold scales on it with ruby inlaid eyes.” he explained, “it was fused to her face.”

“To my love, may your heart grow fierce until your knight can calm it.” Kaya recited with a sigh and rubbed her neck with a groan, “An engagement mask from the dragon king. How odd. There shouldn’t be one in this realm…” She scowled as her fingers tapped her chin, “there’s no Dragon king in this reality so why would one of his engagement masks be here…” she sighed, “well I’m glad you got it off her. If she had it on too long, she’d have been a dragon forever.”

Snatcher scowled. He smiled softly as she moved some more in his arms. She looked up at him tiredly.

“How you feeling?” he asked.

“Hungry.” she admitted with a frown, “tired… sore… where am I?”

“Near the ruins of Tir-na-Nocht.” he explained, “you were a big dragon.”

“Was I?” she frowned as she shifted how she was in his arms. She squeaked and pulled Kaya’s coat close as she realized she was naked. She groaned and rested against Snatcher, “I don’t remember… I just remember I was in some weird shop and some lady shoved something on my face then it gets blurry. I smelt something really sweet and I just wanted to be near it.”

Snatcher felt his heart race, “O-Oh?”

“It was like… calming. I felt calm so I wanted it. Then I remember pain and I’m just so hungry.” she sighed as she closed her eyes.

“Sho--- OH GODS DAMNIT!” Kaya slapped her face and whined as she hit her own burns, “Red door? Smells HORRIBLE?”

“Yes?” Eclipse turned to look at the demoness who had pulled her phone out and was angrily texting.

“Clockwork Rose” she explained, “I bet you met Belle. She’s finicky like a cat. Says she likes to help people but I swear she makes more messes than not! Stupid interdimensional space witch!” she huffed, “I prefer Briar to her cuz at least Briar only messes with shit in her own territory but nooo Belle makes paperwork EVEYWHEREEE.” she hissed and hit send with a sigh, “Seems you must have been her plaything.

Snatcher froze, “Does she have red hair, like a bright red?” he paled.

“She does.” Kaya admitted, “and eyes that are either green or blue, like gemstones.”

“I-I’ve been in her shop,” he admitted. “She gave me a weird locket! It burnt Eclipse’s hand and made me hear her heartbeat.”

“It made you hear what?!” the woman gasped, red in the face. “I-I remember the locket a few months ago b-but!”

He nodded, “Yeah, it had a weird side effect. I don’t know why.” he sighed.

Kaya frowned as she thought about it and sighed, “let’s go home. I have enough work to do, more so knowing this crosses into spacial law. Damnit I wanted to watch a new episode of Calimari Stage.” she opened a portal and waited for them to enter. She looked back at the fields that were once her home and frowned.

She raised a hand and reached out.

“Kaya?” Snatcher called.

She pulled her hand and looked back. She gave a small smile. She ran towards the portal and shoved them through. Wincing at her burns.

A wisp danced beyond the barrier, giggling before vanishing.

#the little contractor #ahit au #ahit prince #ahit fan character #ahit snatcher #Eclipse Guardian #Prince Arulius #fanart #digital #lines #this was fun!!! interesting but fun!!!#Eclipse's curses are never simple lol she's not as easy to deal with as Ru is #but hey does anyone recognize his armor cuz I've drawn him in it before but as Snatcher for MG

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teenwolffanclub-me · 4 years

Text

Season 2, Episode 1: Omega (Part Two)

once again here’s the masterlist if you’re interested!

Pairing: Stiles x Psychic! Reader

Notes: lydia is finally back guys!! I’ve missed her sass the last few episodes & things are going to start heating up just bare with me for these first parts!

————————

I stared through the glass double doors in front of me, watching people go about their lives like it was just any other day. To them, it was. But for me, simply standing on this property was raising my anxiety.

I hadn’t been at the school since winter formal, when my life had gone from slightly complicated to completely fucked up. I felt ready yesterday, and this morning, and on the way here. Now that I was standing in front of the entrance, though, I was starting to doubt myself.

“You know what, it’s too soon.” I rolled my eyes at Stiles as he whipped around and gripped my shoulders before trying to walk me backward. “We should just turn around. Get you back in bed. Try again next week.”

I sighed and brushed his hands away. “I can’t be a hermit for the rest of my life.”

As much as I wanted to go back home, I couldn’t let myself hide from the world any longer. I’d have to live my life again eventually. Plus, I had a shit ton of late work piling up, because apparently being bitten by a werewolf isn’t a good enough excuse to miss school in Beacon Hills.

“No, of course not.” Stiles scoffed, twitching his eyes at me before glancing back to the school like it had personally offended him. “Just another week or two.”

I rolled my eyes again and brushed past him, feeling a sudden urge to just rip the band-aid off. I gripped one of the handles in front of me and threw the door open, instantly cringing at the loud noises that assaulted my ears.

I hesitated before the threshold, uncertainty clawing at the back of my mind. This place had forever changed for me. It held this energy now, like what happened to Lydia and I was permanently engrained in the walls. With a deep breath, I forced my legs to carry me inside.

I almost immediately froze, waiting for my presence here to set off some unknown supernatural terror. A gentle hand at my back had me releasing a long sigh, my shoulders relaxing slightly as nothing bad happened.

“You okay?” Stiles peered down at me, his eyes rounded with concern.

Part of me wished that he wouldn’t worry so much. He had a long list of things keeping him up at night, and I didn’t want to be one of them. I hated that he looked at me like I was going to fall off the deep end at any given moment. It obviously came from a caring place, but that didn’t make it sting any less.

I nodded, forcing my lips up into what I hoped was a believable smile. “I’m okay.”

————————

“Alright. It’s causing me severe mental anguish to say this, but Jackson’s right. What if the next body part she steals is from someone who’s alive?”

Scott’s head tilted in our direction from his seat in front of us, but he didn’t have a chance to respond as Mr. Harris sighed from behind his desk at the head of the classroom. “This is a pop quiz, Mr. Stilinski. If I hear your voice again, I may be tempted to give you detention for the rest of your high school career.”

Stiles pursed his lips from beside me, tapping his pencil on the surface of our table as he leaned back in his chair. He’d been trying to talk about something he overheard when spying on his dad—no surprise there—since we sat down a few minutes ago.

“Can you even do that?”

“There it is again.” Mr. Harris smirked, getting an unhealthy amount of satisfaction from messing with Stiles. “Your voice. Triggering the only impulse I’ve ever had to strike a student. Repeatedly. And violently. See you at three for detention.”

Stiles jaw ticked in frustration and he gaped up front in shock. I heard snickering from behind us, and turned to send a glare at Jackson and Danny. It didn’t seem to phase them as they continued laughing at his expense.

“You too, Mr. McCall?”

I spun back around to see Scott peering at us over his shoulder with a grimace just before he faced Mr. Harris again. “No, sir.”

I put my hand over Stiles’ reassuringly as it balled into a fist on top of our table. Our chemistry teacher has had it out for him since school started. There was no real reason, he just seemed to hate him with a burning passion. He always treated him unfairly, doing the same to anyone who dared come to his defense.

Although it wasn’t the most appropriate time to bring it up, we needed to talk about what he heard. Kate Argent’s liver had been “misplaced”, as he said, from her grave. And there was only one person we knew that could possibly do something like that.

It had to be Lydia.

As much as I didn’t want her to be a bloodthirsty monster, the news had restored my hope that she was at least alive. We still needed to find her before Allison’s family, though, which was proving frustratingly difficult.

“Dude. Your nose...” Danny’s concerned voice fluttered to my ears and I couldn’t help but glance behind me to see what was going on.

I watched as Jackson looked between his hand, which was covered in a thick, black liquid, and the paper on his table. My brows pinched in confusion at the sight. That didn’t look like normal blood. The closest thing I could compare it to was the disgusting ooze that came out of Scott when he was shot with a bullet covered in wolfsbane.

Jackson suddenly bolted from his chair, the metal legs scraping against the tiles loudly. He cupped his nose and ran out of the room, his eyes wide with panic.

“Mr. Whittemore!”

He didn’t look back once as he disappeared into the hallway. I faced forward slowly, utterly confused by what I just witnessed. My classmates seemed equally as concerned, but eventually went back to their quizzes at the request of Mr. Harris.

My eyes trailed back to the paper in front of me, my fingers tightening around my pencil. If I thought it was hard to concentrate before, now it was nearly impossible. Aside from the fact that I didn’t know how to do a single problem, my mind was racing with questions. I couldn’t help but think back to last month, when Jackson was acting incredibly strange.

I chewed on my bottom lip and glanced toward the door at the back of the room. It was taking all the willpower I had not to chase after him to see what was going on. I forced my attention back to the quiz in front of me, squinting at the unfamiliar numbers and symbols.

Scott suddenly turned to glance at me over his shoulder, and whispered harshly. “Why is your heart racing?”

My leg started bouncing anxiously as my gaze swept back to the door. Stiles perked up beside me at Scott’s voice, his eyes flickering around my face in question. He seemed to figure out exactly what I was thinking and put a hand on my arm gently.

“Y/N, just leave it alone.” His voice rose in a quiet plea.

It wasn’t that I actually cared what happened to Jackson. But that whole thing was weird as hell and I couldn’t shake the curiosity bubbling inside me. If there was another supernatural problem brewing, I wanted to know before it got out of hand.

After another moment of hesitation, I jerked to my feet, unable to fight the urge to leave. Stiles’ hand tightened around my arm and Mr. Harris peered up over the rim of his glasses from his desk. Scott, still turned around, shook his head quickly with wide eyes.

Normally, I wasn’t the type to ditch class, but I really felt like I needed to see what was going on. It had gone past usual curiosity and moved toward an uncontrollable impulse.

“Ms. Y/L/N, do you have something to share?” Mr. Harris crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, seemingly amused by my interruption.

Before I knew what was happening, my legs were carrying me toward the hallway. Instantly, the room erupted with hushed whispers. I heard a chair scrape loudly against the tiled floor just as I passed through the doorway.

“Sit down, Mr. Stilinski! If another student leaves my class, I will not hesitate to...” I didn’t catch the end of Mr. Harris’s threat as I made my way down the hallway quickly.

I could only assume that Jackson would’ve gone into the nearest bathroom, which was just down the hall. As soon as I turned the corner, all the air rushed from my lungs as I rammed into a hard chest.

I staggered back with a wince, rubbing at my shoulder as it throbbed in protest. My eyes trailed up the leather jacket in front of me until they landed on one of the last faces I wanted to see right now. Or ever, honestly.

“God, what the hell are you doing here?” I breathed, narrowing my eyes suspiciously at none other than Derek Hale.

Nothing good had ever followed seeing him in places he shouldn’t be. And he definitely should not be here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” He quirked an eyebrow at me and crossed his arms over his broad chest.

I scoffed, his concern very much not appreciated. “Aren’t you supposed to be graduated?”

His lips pulled into a frown as his icy blue eyes trailed over me from head to toe and I took a moment to do the same. I hadn’t seen him since the night he killed Peter, but he didn’t look any different, despite moving up the werewolf food chain. When several seconds passed and he still hadn’t said anything, I stepped to the side to brush past him with a roll of my eyes.

He instantly moved into my path, blocking the doorway to the men’s bathroom in the process. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I glanced from him to the closed door, trying to think of a believable lie before I remembered that I didn’t owe him a damn thing. Including an explanation. “Checking on something.”

“Go to class.” He quipped, standing firmly in place.

“You do realize that I’m not a part of your pack, right?” I huffed out a humorless laugh, moving to walk around him again. “Just because you’re an alpha now doesn’t mean have any right to order me around.”

Somewhere along the way, I’d grown out of my fear of him. It didn’t really make sense, considering the fact that I watched him murder his own uncle only a few days ago, but here we were regardless.

He didn’t budge an inch, the corner of his lips twitching upward in amusement. “Who’s pack are you a part of, exactly?”

My jaw clenched at the unspoken meaning behind his words. It was something I’d been wrestling with since being bitten. I still didn’t know much about the supernatural world and all it’s rules. Was I in Scott’s pack? Or Peter’s?

I squared my shoulders and cleared my throat, trying to appear as self-assured as possible. While he was here, I may as well ask something else that had been weighing on my mind. “Speaking of being an alpha now...did you happen to gain any knowledge about how to reverse whatever your psychotic uncle did to me?”

“Sure you want me to answer that?” His eyes trailed over my face slowly, as if studying me. I raised my eyebrows expectantly, and he sighed. “You’d have to ask the one that bit you.”

My heart skipped a beat at his words. I sputtered silently for a few moments, panic quickly rising in my chest. He couldn’t possibly be insinuating that Peter was still alive, right? Right?

“What is that supposed to mean?” The question fell from my lips in a jumbled rush.

“When an alpha turns someone, they have a sort of...connection.” He drawled, as if this wasn’t life-altering, horrible information.

It was quite literally my worst fear at the moment to be connected in any way to Peter Hale. Not only did he royally fuck up my life by biting me, but he killed countless people along the way and somehow made Lydia disappear without a trace. All without a lick of remorse. He was evil in its purest form.

“Even after death?” I prodded, mostly wanting him to confirm that he was, in fact, six feet under.

“Especially after death.”

My eyes widened in alarm. What the hell did that mean? I parted my lips to bombard him with questions, but froze at the sound of an anxious voice from behind me.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” I spun on my heel to see Stiles jogging toward me with his hands thrown up in exasperation. “You can’t just walk out of class. Mr. Harris is like seriously pissed.”

I just stared at him, waiting for a moment of realization that never came. “Didn’t you just do the same thing?”

“Well, that’s different. Because—you know what? Don’t go pointing fingers at me when you’re the one being weird. Why did you do that?”

“I was just talking to...” I turned, my brows furrowing as I saw that Derek was no longer standing behind me. I spun back around to face Stiles, stiffening at the look he was giving me. His lips were set in a firm line, his narrowed eyes slightly darkened with frustration.

“Y/N, you’re supposed to be...” He sighed, as if rethinking whatever he was about to say. “Just. Come on.”

He extended a hand out toward me, and I stole one last glance at the bathroom door behind me before taking it, not really wanting to leave my questions unanswered but having no other choice. I let him guide me back to our class, but made a mental note to keep an eye on Jackson from now on.

————————

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I sighed into my locker, shoving the last of my books inside. “Yes, Allison. I’m still fine. Just like the last five times you asked.”

She sent me a sheepish smile and popped her own locker open, rummaging inside for a moment before pulling out a dress covered in a protective plastic.

While all of my friend’s concern was appreciated, it wasn’t helping with the whole trying to be a normal human thing.

“No, it was her aunt.” A hushed voice from across the hall had both of us turning to see what was going on.

Two girls stood against the lockers just a few feet away, and quickly averted their eyes when we made it obvious that we’d heard them.

“The one that murdered all those people?” One of the girls leaned toward her friend and failed at whispering again.

“You mean the crazy bitch that killed all those people? The fire, the animal attacks, it was all her.”

I let my eyes sweep back to Allison, and watched as she slammed her locker shut with a tight jaw. The local newspaper hadn’t been kind to the Argents once word of Kate’s death came out. The sheriff’s department easily connected her to the Hale fire, and immediately ran with the idea that she’d been the one going around killing people.

It was both convenient and utterly untrue, obviously. I’m sure that even in his grave, Peter was more than happy to let her take the fall for his atrocities.

“Are you kidding? I sit next to her in English!”

“Find a new seat...”

The two girls snickered and walked away, either painfully unaware of their surroundings or intentionally being huge bitches. I let out a sigh and turned back to Allison.

“Are you okay?” I let my eyes flicker over her face as she sagged against her locker, her dress held beneath crossed arms.

“Fine.” She sent me a tight lipped smile. “They’re right. My family is crazy. It just sucks that now the whole school knows it.”

This is exactly why I didn’t want everyone worrying about me. Each of my friends had their own shit weighing on them. Allison was grieving someone she knew didn’t deserve it, Scott was dealing with Derek being an alpha, and there wasn’t actually anything going on with Stiles, but he was always anxious anyway.

“Nice dress.” Both mine and Allison’s attention moved to the locker a few down from ours at the unexpected voice.

It was a boy I recognized, but didn’t know the name of. I’d seen him around the school plenty, but hadn’t really crossed paths with him much. His dark eyes swept over Allison from head to toe slowly, sending a uncomfortable prickle up my spine. He looked nice enough, but there was something off about him. I just couldn’t place it.

“Nice camera.” She smiled awkwardly, complimenting the device he held in one of his hands.

Oh right, that’s where I’d seen him. He was always walking around with that thing, taking pictures for the yearbook or something. She turned back to me and furrowed her brows, seemingly just as weirded out as I was. I shrugged one shoulder and we made our way toward the exit.

We had a funeral to get ready for.

————————

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Okay, so. I may have forgotten about my detention.

My legs bounced anxiously as I stared at the clock across the room. Stiles let out a slow breath from beside me, his lips twisting angrily as we both counted down the seconds silently. Mr. Harris sat at the front of the room, grading our quizzes from this morning. He’d barely looked at us since we arrived almost an hour ago.

He’d barked the punishment at me when Stiles and I returned to class and honestly, I was surprised he didn’t have anything worse in mind. Not that this didn’t still suck. We were supposed to be going with Scott to Kate’s funeral, although we’d have to hide somewhere within the graveyard since it was for family only.

Time seemed to slow as the seconds ticked by. Stiles held his breath and brought his hands up to squeeze the sides of his face as finally, the clock struck four.

We both bolted upright, only to immediately freeze at Mr. Harris’ curt demand. “Sit.”

“Wha—it’s been an hour!” Stiles threw his hands up in exasperation.

“My detention’s an hour and a half.” The edge of his lips twitched into a smirk as if he got some kind of sick satisfaction from torturing his students.

“You can’t do that.” I huffed, my jaw clenching in frustration.

At this point, we were already running late. The funeral was supposed to start at four thirty and I wanted to talk to Allison beforehand. So much for that, apparently.

“Oh, but I can.” He quipped, his dark eyes dancing in delight as they jumped from me to Stiles. “You see, Stiles...since your father was so judicious in his dealings with me, I’ve decided to make you my personal project. You’re going to benefit from all that strict discipline has to offer.”

I glanced to my fuming boyfriend beside me, the anger rolling off of him almost tangible. His nostrils flared as he worked his jaw, eyes never leaving the man who was steadily moving toward being the worst teacher ever.

I’d nearly forgotten the role he played in connecting Kate to the Hale fire. He’d apparently gone on a date with her several years ago, and detailed how to commit arson and get away with it. Why that wasn’t a red flag for either of them was beyond me. He also ended up recognizing a necklace with their family symbol on it that further helped solidify her guilt.

Let’s just say that Stiles’ dad hadn’t been kind in his sentencing after Mr. Harris kept that piece of information to himself until the last minute.

His eyes narrowed at us as if we were the bane of his existence, despite the fact that he was the one keeping us here against our will. “Now, sit down before I decide to keep you here all night.”

———————

Stiles and I scrambled toward the tombstone Scott was hiding behind, moving quickly to remain undetected. Luckily for us, all the attention was on Allison and her parents. There was an excessive amount of reporters surrounding the cemetery, shouting and taking pictures.

We peered around our hiding place as the three of them stumbled their way through the thick crowd, dodging each question that was yelled in their faces.

“Who the hell is that?” Stiles whispered from beside me, gesturing toward an older man that was talking to that weird guy from school.

My brows furrowed as I watched him inspect a large camera, which I’m assuming he took from our classmate, before taking out the SIM card and snapping it in half. The guy threw his hands up angrily and snatched his camera back from the smug man. His eyes suddenly flickered our way and we all ducked down quickly.

“Definitely an Argent.” Scott muttered, looking troubled by the idea.

“Hey, you know, maybe they’re just here for the funeral. What if they’re the non-hunting side of the family? There could be non-hunting Argents. That’s possible, right?” Stiles tried to sound reassuring, but it was obvious that even he didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.

There were two men with the older guy, both flanking his sides with nasty scowls on their faces. They were intimidating as hell, even from our safe distance.

“I know what they are.” Scott sighed and glanced at us over his shoulder, his eyes clouded with worry. “They’re reinforcements.”

Before either of us could respond, Stiles’ dad appeared out of nowhere. My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him stalking toward us, his face hard with anger. He gripped Scott and Stiles by the collars of their jackets and hauled them to their feet with a jerk. I scrambled upright quickly, eyes wide with panic.

We seriously couldn’t do a damn thing—even support Allison—without being caught or almost killed.

“The three of you.” Mr. Stilinski bit out through clenched teeth, his harsh voice hushed as to not disrupt the service. “Unbelievable. Pick up my tie.”

He sent me a pointed glare and I grabbed the discarded material hastily. I quickly trailed behind them as he shoved the boys toward his car, which was parked just outside the cemetery. He wrenched the back door open and practically threw them inside. I followed suit wordlessly, chewing on my bottom lip as my heart raced with anxiety.

My shoulders stiffened as the car door slammed shut harshly. Scott huffed in frustration and let his head fall back onto the headrest behind him. I glanced between him and Stiles nervously, but felt myself relax—if only slightly—as I saw that neither of them looked all that upset. I guess they were used to this sort of thing, with how much trouble they’d gotten into throughout the years.

He would probably just give us a lecture and send us home. I hoped, anyway. If he was in a bad mood, we could easily end up at the station for the night.

Mr. Stilinski plopped into the front seat with a long sigh. The radio on his dash went off loudly, a quick string of muffled words filling the tense air of the car. He pulled it free quickly, his brows pinching as he spoke into it slowly. “I didn’t copy that. Did you say four one five Adam?”

“Disturbance in a car.” Stiles instantly whispered, eyes flickering between me and Scott.

My brows rose in surprise at the fact that he knew the meaning behind the obvious police code. Although, at this point, I shouldn’t have expected any less. It was clear that he’d spent his entire life beside his dad, whether he was aware or not. He’d eavesdropped and snooped his way into knowing way more than any civilian ever should.

“They were taking a heart attack victim to the hospital, but on the way something hit ‘em.” The strained voice came through the walkie-talkie more clearly this time.

“Hit the ambulance?” The Sheriff’s voice rose with concern, the sound instantly raising my anxiety. It couldn’t be a good sign if he was worried.

“Copy that.” Stiles perked up from beside me and leaned forward, as if that extra few inches would help him hear better. “I’m standing in front of it now. Something got inside the back. There’s blood everywhere...and I mean everywhere.”

My heart skipped a beat, my chest tightening as panic surged through me. I glanced at Scott, and saw that he was already staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. My gaze swept toward Stiles, but he was busy watching every one of his dad’s movements.

“Alright, unit four. What’s your twenty?” He sighed, a little tense but otherwise surprisingly unfazed by what he’d just heard.

“Route five and post. I swear I’ve never seen anything like this.” The deputy was clearly freaking out, making me feel ten times worse.

It only took a split second of hesitation for the three of us to know that we were on the same page. We had to get out of here. Now.

Scott and I popped the doors open and we all tumbled out, instantly running toward the tree line just outside the cemetery. Scott led us through the woods quickly, muttering something over his shoulder about the location being nearby.

Along the way, I tried bracing myself for whatever horror we were about to find. My mind raced with worst-case scenarios as I struggled to keep up with Scott’s quick pace. It could’ve been Lydia, or Derek, or maybe another supernatural creature we had yet to meet. No matter what, I knew it wasn’t going to be pretty.

After a few minutes, Scott suddenly froze mid-stride. Stiles and I clambered to a stop to avoid ramping into him. My chest heaved as I struggled to catch my breath, my eyes roaming over the scene before us quickly as I tried to piece together what I was seeing.

There was the ambulance, stopped on the side of the road just beyond the trees. A man lay on the gurney inside, covered from head to toe in blood. My stomach churned with disgust as I took in the grotesque scene. There was no way the poor guy was still alive. My heart hammered painfully in my chest as I searched the area for any signs of Lydia.

“God. What the hell is Lydia doing?” Stiles breathed from beside me, eyes wide with alarm.

“Okay, we don’t even know if it—” My attempt at defending her caught in my throat as something tentatively emerged from the trees up ahead.

I squinted through the darkness, not quite believing what was in front of me. Without hesitation, I bolted toward the road. The earth crunched behind me as Scott and Stiles raced to catch up. I briefly glanced at Sherriff Stilinski as his disapproving gaze fell on the boys and I, but continued my path to the trees on the other side of the road.

“Lydia?” I called, gaze flickering over her nude form. She walked stiffly toward us, both arms up covering her chest. My mind raced as I processed what I was seeing.

It was definitely Lydia. And she was in one piece. All at once, I felt a wave of relief wash over me, followed instantly by overwhelming dread. She may be alive, but that didn’t mean she was unharmed. She’d undoubtedly been permanently changed by Peter’s bite and her week long excursion in the woods.

She looked dazed as her wide, unfocused eyes roamed the area slowly. I could see her body trembling from here, and was honestly surprised that she hadn’t gotten hypothermia by now. At night, the temperatures had been dropping to the low forties.

Her strawberry blonde hair was matted and covered in dirt, twigs, and leaves, a sign of her living conditions for the past week. Miraculously, she didn’t seem to be injured in any way. Although, it was hard to tell what was beneath the thick layer of grime covering her skin.

“Lydia!” I shouted, hoping to get her attention as I slowly walked toward her.

Her eyes instantly snapped upward. It looked as if she was coming to for the first time since disappearing. Her eyes rounded before flooding with tears as she visibly fought to steady her breathing. Her lips quivered as she became more aware of all the eyes that were currently on her.

“Well,” She gasped, her arms twitching in a sort of tense shrug. “Is anyone going to get me a coat?”

Episode 1, Part One Episode 2

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jaskierswolf · 4 years

Text

The Shape of Love (Pt.2/6)

Geralt had had the most peculiar evening.

The moment the ginger cat had wrapped around his legs he’d known that something was different. His suspicions had been confirmed when the cat had jumped up against his legs, and his medallion had practically leapt off his chest in reaction to the magic. What’s more was that the cat understood him and they’d been able to communicate, just about.

So far Geralt knew the cat was able to shift between his feline form and a human form, which did explain the cat’s fondness for beer, but Geralt didn’t know why he’d chosen to stay as a cat. Surely it would be easier for him to eat and drink as a human, but the cat seemed quite content to lap at the small mug of ale and chew on the left over bones from Geralt’s dinner.

The barkeep was not as impressed with the cat’s behaviour and Geralt had to keep pulling him off the top of the table and back onto his lap.

Once Geralt had finished with his food and drink he stood up with a heavy sigh and the cat leapt from his lap with a discombobulated yowl.

He stared up at Geralt with bright cornflower blue eyes and flicked his tail angrily.

“Time to go, Mister Fuzzball.” Geralt smirked and then remembered the cat actually had a room to stay in. “For me anyway.”

The cat yowled and pawed at Geralt’s leg.

He tilted his head as he looked down at the ginger cat. His fur was all tousled from where Geralt had been petting him. Geralt had never managed to stroke a cat before and he’d been surprised when he’d started purring in his lap. The sound had rumbled under Geralt’s fingers and Geralt felt more relaxed than he had in years. He had never envied humans so much before but he knew it was unlikely that he’d ever find a cat that liked him enough to repeat the experience.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Geralt grumbled. “You heard the man, no rooms.”

If cats could roll their eyes Geralt was certain that this one would be, and he yowled insistently looking pointedly at the stairs.

“You want me to go upstairs?” Geralt asked incredulously.

The cat spun around slowly and meowed again.

“Are you always this bossy?”

The cat trilled, looking somewhat smug.

“Hmm.” Geralt opened his arms and the cat pounced at him. His claws dug into Geralt’s arms as he settled but Geralt’s armour meant that he barely felt it. “I’m not carrying you everywhere.” He grumbled but it was a weak protest as the cat head-butted his chest and purred.

Geralt sighed and carried his feline friend up the stairs. He looked down the short corridor that led into the rooms. One of the doors was ajar. He decided that was probably his best bet and he was sure the cat in his arms would have no problem in biting him again if he got it wrong.

He gently pushed open the door. There was a single bed pushed up against one wall. Brightly coloured clothes were folded neatly on the dresser and the window was cracked open. The room hummed with magic, although the cat sniffing his medallion probably was throwing his senses off. There was a calming mixture of lavender and chamomile wafting through the air. He hummed and tried to scent the cat subtly. There was a faint trace of lavender on his fur so the aroma of the room was probably one the shifter preferred in his human form.

The ginger cat gently pawed at Geralt’s face then squirmed in his arms and leapt onto the bed. He clawed at the sheets and spun round before plopping down happily on the pillow with a contented yawn.

Geralt tilted his head at the cat. “Don’t you want to change back?”

The cat opened one eye and then pointed its nose towards the pile of clothes on the dresser.

Geralt looked between the cat and the clothes. “Right. I can look away?” He suggested.

The cat’s ears twitched but he made no attempt to move.

“Hmm.” Geralt decided it would be best to make himself at home. “You can’t sleep on the pillow.” He grumbled as he unbuckled his armour.

The cat hissed lightly.

“I guess you could always sleep on me but I won’t fit with you like that.” Geralt insisted, pulling his shirt off over his head.

The cat’s ears perked up and he watch Geralt with an intense stare.

Geralt hummed in exasperation, remembering that underneath the feline form was a human. A human who seemed to have no shame about watching him get undressed. Luckily growing up in Kaer Morhen Geralt was used to a lack of privacy and the cat’s unwavering gaze didn’t bother him particularly. He’d seen many strange things in his long life, this wasn’t even in the top ten.

Once he was ready for bed he grabbed the ginger cat by the scruff of its neck and pulled him, yowling, off the pillow.

“I warned you, you bastard.” Geralt grumbled.

The cat sulked and got his revenge, once Geralt had laid back on the bed, by clawing at Geralt’s chest leaving pink scratch marks before he too finally settled down to sleep, purring softly in the darkness of the room.

Geralt fell asleep faster than he had in years.

The next morning Geralt woke up sweating and hot, which was a rare occurrence for a witcher. He’d completely forgotten about his feline friend from the night before until he realised that he couldn’t breathe through the face full of fur. He pushed the heavy lump of fur away from him with a start and jumped at the loud thump as something hit the floor.

There was a yelp followed by a low growl. Geralt sat up and lunged for his sword when he noticed a large russet wolf snarling up at him from next to the bed.

“Fuck!” He pulled his steel sword from its sheath and pointed it at the wolf.

But he didn’t strike.

Those eyes.

Cornflower blue.

“Mister Fuzzball?” He asked in disbelief.

The wolf barked and its tongue flopped from one side of its mouth.

“Huh.” Geralt mused. “Not just a cat then?”

The wolf wagged his tail and barked again.

“Can you change into something less conspicuous? I need to get my money for the cockatrice.” Geralt reached out and scratched the wolf behind his ears.

The fur shifted under his fingers, it became coarser and shorter. The thick pelt underneath the surface thinned out and the wolf shrunk into a mutt with floppy ears and freckles on his snout.

“Still not feeling human?” Geralt asked with a tilt of his head.

The dog shook his head and wagged his tail.

“Can you at least try and tell me your name?” Geralt asked. “I could say the alphabet until we get to the right letter?”

The dog barked and so Geralt began to recite the alphabet slowly.

“Jaskier?” He asked once the dog pounced up and licked at his face.

Jaskier yapped and spun round in a circle.

“Your name is buttercup?” Geralt smirked. “How is that better than Mister Fuzzball?”

Jaskier growled and pulled at Geralt’s underwear. Geralt cursed as he suddenly found himself stark naked in the middle of the room. Jaskier barked and rolled onto his back, wagging his tail, yapping what was probably a laugh. “Little shit.” Geralt grumbled. “Get out whilst I get dressed if you’re gonna be like that.”

Jaskier whined but shifted once more into kestrel and pecked at the window. Geralt rolled his eyes and let him out. “I’ll meet you in the stables, in ten minutes. Don’t be late.”

Jaskier nudged him with his beak and then took flight. Geralt almost envied the shifter. The freedom to fly like that, must be incredible. The humans probably wouldn’t take too kindly if they knew the truth about him though. They had an innate hatred of anything that was different, and yet somehow witchers were the monsters in their eyes.

He sighed and finished getting dressed. The barkeep was already cleaning glasses behind the bar when Geralt finally made his way downstairs. The man looked surprised to see him.

“Where’d you come from?” He asked suspiciously.

Geralt moved his fingers to form Axii. “I had a room.” He murmured.

“You had a room.” The man repeated. “Of course. Hey, you didn’t happen to see a bard on your travels? He was supposed to play for his room last night but disappeared without a trace.”

Geralt smiled faintly.

A missing bard.

Jaskier, it had to be.

Geralt nodded. “He lost his voice, came down with something. I’ll cover the cost of his room, but I need to see the alderman first. He owes me for the contract.”

The barkeep furrowed his brow. “That’s awful kind of you, witcher. Does he need any food taken up to his room?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’ll take something up when I get back. He’s still sleeping.” He lied.

Jaskier would probably still be sleeping if Geralt hadn’t dumped the wolf onto the floor this morning. So he didn’t feel too bad about the lie.

By the time he reached the stable, Jaskier was waiting for him. A red squirrel sitting on top of Roach’s head, between her ears, chattering away happily.

Geralt found the cockatrice head amongst her tack and picked it up. Jaskier jumped onto his shoulder and scurried up his arm. The squirrel sniffed at the bloody head and squeaked before running back up Geralt’s arm and onto his head.

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

Another squeak.

“Hmm. At least sit on my shoulder.” Geralt sighed and plucked the squirrel into his hands.

He held Jaskier up and peered at him. Jaskier flailed his tiny arms in the air.

“Why are you following me anyway?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier squeaked and squirmed in his fingers.

“Maybe I should find you a tiny lute to play.” Geralt smirked, remembering what the man had said about a missing bard.

The squirrel froze and stared back at him with soft blue eyes.

“Missing bard at the tavern and a shifter with a room. Not hard to put two and two together.” Geralt shrugged and turned his hand over to allow Jaskier to crawl back up his arm.

Instead he hopped back to the ground and landed as the floppy-eared dog from before.

Geralt rolled his eyes and headed from the stables towards the alderman’s house. The man was a weaselly sickly pale man with mousy brown hair and glassy blue eyes. He stank like booze, even this early in the morning. Geralt dumped the cockatrice head in front of the man. He wasn’t surprised when the bag of coins was half full and not nearly as much as he’d been promised. He challenged the alderman who just fobbed him off with excuses about Geralt taking longer than expected.

Jaskier snarled next to him and snapped his teeth at the man.

“Master witcher! Control your beast!” The alderman’s scent soured with fear.

Geralt shrugged. “He’d be nicer if you paid me what I’m owed.”

“Poppycock!” The man cried. “How the fuck would a dog know the difference?”

“Witcher’s dogs. Specially mutated to sniff out human’s bullshit.” Geralt lied easily.

Jaskier growled and bared his teeth at the man.

Geralt leaned in closer. “When they get really angry, they turn into a wolf. They don’t call us the school of wolf for nothing.”

Jaskier’s ear twitched and Geralt could have sworn he was almost smiling.

“You’re lying!” The alderman cried.

Geralt smirked and glanced down at Jaskier.

Jaskier barked and his fur rippled. His ears stood up straighter and his bones crunched as he grew. He shook and then wagged his tail, never taking his blue eyes off the alderman.

“Am I?” Geralt asked with a tilted of his head.

“Fuck!” He swore and ran to the safe to collect the rest of Geralt’s coin.

Geralt threaded his fingers through Jaskier’s fur. He was wearing gloves now so the effect wasn’t quite as calming but Jaskier nudged his snout into Geralt’s leg and wagged his tail.

“Take it, witcher. Just get the fuck out of my town.” He yelled. “Mutant freak!”

Jaskier growled low in his chest.

“It’s alright.” Geralt murmured to the wolf. “I was going anyway.”

Jaskier whined and looked up at Geralt.

“Stand down.” Geralt insisted.

The wolf huffed but shifted back into a dog, he turned and sulked out of the house.

“Don’t expect a job here any time soon, mutant.” The alderman spat.

Geralt raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “Let’s just hope that’s the last of your monster problem. Thanks for the coin.”

Geralt followed Jaskier into the streets. “Come on, Jask. I need to get Roach and get out of here. You coming?”

The dog tilted his head and barked with a wag of his tail.

Geralt allowed himself a smile. He’d never wanted a companion for the road, but then he’d never met anyone quite like Jaskier before.

________

#the witcher #geraskier #geralt of rivia #jaskier pankratz #shapeshifter!jaskier #shifter!jaskier #geralt/jaskier #the shape of love

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true-blue-megamind · 4 years

Text

Daylight and Dark Ch. 2 - Morning

You can find Chapter 1 or read the entire fiction on AO3 HERE.

CHAPTER RATING: Teen; FULL FICTION RATING: Explicit. WARNINGS FOR ENTIRE WORK: violence, sex, language, references to prior domestic abuse, and rock n’ roll! CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mom Friend Minion is too damn loveable

Roxanne woke with her head pillowed on Megamind's shoulder. She blinked blearily in the bright sunlight filling the room, and stretched delightfully sore muscles. It had been too long since she'd last awoken with the afterglow of good, rough sex warming her body.

"Good morning, Beautiful," said a smooth, pleasant voice.

Roxanne smiled up into Megamind's handsome face. "Good morning," she sighed, sliding against him to kiss his mouth. She settled back beside him, nuzzling the side his neck and idly sliding one finger up and down his opposite ear. "Mmmmm, I should get up, but I'm much too comfortable."

"Then don't get up."

"But I really should."

"The Evil Overlord forbids it."

"You're not an Evil Overlord anymore."

"Well, then the Defender of Metrocity forbids it," he grinned down at her, turning to wrap both arms tightly around her. "Stay with me," he added seriously. "It's Saturday. As long as I'm not called to duty, there is no good reason why we can't spend the whole day here."

An electronic buzzing suddenly disturbed the quiet. It was quickly joined by a metallic rattling at the window. Roxanne bolted up in bed, giving a little yelp and pulling her coverlet over her chest as she realized six or seven brainbots were swarming outside the glass. Megamind's reaction was even more animated. He practically tumbled onto the floor, bringing the rumbled sheet with him and wrapping himself frantically in it. He stumbled to the window and, ignoring Roxanne's stuttering protests, threw it open to let the little flying robots in. They massed around him like worried children, bumping him with rounded glass domes and pawing him with long mechanical arms. Roxanne was sure that if they'd had tails, they would have been wagging.

Chuckling nervously, Megamind patted them. "Okay, okay, Daddy's alright. This is just Daddy's… ah… private time… So we really shouldn't be bothering Daddy. No we shouldn't." He shook a finger at them to emphasize his words, but that caused the sheet to slip a little, and he snatched it back up into place. "Look, Daddy's not leaving you behind. Daddy just needs to spend some alone time with Roxanne, okay? Daddy loves both you and Roxanne, but in very different ways…"

Roxanne nearly choked on her giggle. Of all the absurd things she had seen him do during her semi-professional Damsel-in-Distress career, none were quite as funny as Megamind giving the Daddy Has a Girlfriend speech to a hoard of cyborg drones. Her humor was stolen, however, when one of the brainbots left the happily swirling flock to hover in front of an empty section of wall. Moments later, the top minion— or rather Minion— appeared, his image projected by the brainbot's red camera eye. Roxanne blushed bright scarlet and tugged the blanket higher. She knew enough about Megamind's technological creations to realize that Minion could see them just as well as they could see him.

"Oh, sir! Thank goodness they found you! I've had the brainbots looking everywhere! Where have you been all night?!"

"Here."

"No phone call? No message? You just stay out to all hours—"

"Minion," Megamind interjected. "This really isn't the best—"

"Without a single thought of what you might be putting me through—"

"Minion—"

"...worried sick, and—"

"Minion!"

"WHAT? I mean…Ah... What, Sir?"

Megamind took a deep breath and began gathering scattered clothes from the floor with one hand, the other still clutching the sheet tight. "You're right. I should have called. I didn't think about it—"

"Didn't… didn't think about it?" Minion blustered, wide-eyed. "Sir! How could you? After all we've been through! You… You know that my sole purpose is to take care of you, and… and…"

"Oh, Minion! Stop being so dramatic! You know very well I didn't mean it that way!" Megamind threw up his free hand in exasperation, flinging his shirt above his head.

"How did you mean it, then?"

Another deep breath and Megamind collected himself. "I got a little caught up in the moment and… things…"

"Things? What things?! That's no excuse!"

"Things, Minion," Megamind said pointedly, motioning his head toward the bed. "And this seriously is not a good time."

Minion glanced where his master indicated. "Oh good morning, Miss... Ritchi..." his cordial voice grew faint as he finally took in the scene. Large aquatic eyes bulged, flitting between Roxanne and his master.

"Oh, Sir! You didn't!"

Megamind rolled his eyes and snatched one of his boots from the floor. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did."

"Sir!"

"And I plan to do it again!"

"But Sir!"

"A lot!"

"SIR!"

"As often as possible!"

Minion mouthed wordlessly before shaking himself free of shock. "Well, I just hope you're being safe," he quipped in a tone that sounded entirely too matronly.

Oh, dear… thought Roxanne.

Megamind had paused instantly, mouth open to offer a retort that never came.

"Oh, sir," Minion repeated, groaning in despair. "You didn't…"

"I… didn't think… " He gathered himself visibly. "Look, Minion, it's doubtful our DNA is even similar enough to be compatible!"

"You can't know that without tests!" Minion objected, then asked hopefully: "have you run any tests?"

"It's on my to-do list!" Megamind announced defensively.

Minion clapped a mechanical hand to his fishbowl. "This is a disaster..."

At least here Roxanne could help. "It's okay, Megamind, Minion. I'm… Uh…" she shrugged, fighting the burning heat in her face. "On the pill."

The entire room seemed to sigh with relief.

"Well, thank goodness one of you has some sense!" said Minion pointedly. "Sir, I am very disappointed in you."

Megamind spoke through gritted teeth. "Could we discuss this later?"

"No, we can NOT discuss this later," Minion replied in his best parental tones. "Sir, you have a reputation to uphold now, and—What are you doing?"

Megamind had walked up behind the hovering brain bot, tucking the edges of the sheet tightly under one arm, and started fiddling with something on its back.

"I understand," he sounded bored. "Reputation. Yes."

Minion's eyes narrowed, his tone slow with barely restrained suspicion. "With all due respect, Sir, if you're doing what I think you're—"

"What was that Minion?" Megamind called loudly.

"Sir, leave that audio-visual receptor alone!"

"I can't hear you!"

"Stop that!"

"There seems to be a problem with the receptor!"

"Problem with—That's because you're messing with it!"

"Minion? Ollo? If you can hear me—"

"Of course I can hear you!"

"…I'll talk to you this afternoon when I get home!"

"Sir! Don't you dare turn off that—"

The image went blank.

Megamind heaved a great sigh and idly petted the brainbots. Then he walked to the far side of the room, where he had thrown his collection of clothing, and awkwardly held the sheet with one hand while fumbling with his leather pants. He extracted his wallet and turned back to the brainbots.

"Here," he said, holding out a twenty-dollar bill. "Daddy needs you to take this, go to the bait shop, and buy Uncle Minion something nice. Some juicy worms or maybe some minnows. No, no, no," he admonished as one of them snapped at the money. "Not for chewing. Daddy will bring you a new wrench to play with when he comes home. Now go get Uncle Minion a treat."

The little robots circled him once by way of a goodbye, the lead one obediently taking the money in a dangling claw, and flew out the window. The last one ran into the windowsill, and Megamind sighed, scooped it up, turned back on its electronic eye, and patted it. It sped out the window, chattering irately at its receding fellows. Roxanne could almost imagine a running child shouting for his friends to wait up.

"Well," Megamind said, slumping to the bed. "That certainly woke me up. Maybe it would be simpler if you stayed over at the Lair next time." He grinned suddenly, his lightning-quick thoughts leaping to a new subject. "I'm starving! Where's that lasag-na?"

"For breakfast?"

"It's nearly eleven! Besides, it's better than cereal and wine."

Roxanne laughed. "I guess I can't argue with that." She sighed and got up, pretending not to watch Megamind as he dropped the sheet and began pulling on his clothes.

Megamind, thoughtful as ever, had put the food into the refrigerator sometime during the night. The salad Roxanne had made had wilted, but the lasagna was wonderful once reheated. Sitting on the small balcony outside the glass double doors, they enjoyed the pleasant, invigorating bite of the autumn air. Megamind ate voraciously, but then, Roxanne supposed, he had gotten quite a work out the night before.

That thought made her chuckle.

"And just what do you find so amusing, Miss Ritchi?" he teased in that heart-melting tenor of his.

She looked at him, adorably happy with his favorite food and his favorite girl. It took so little to please Megamind sometimes, and his exuberance, coupled with his persona as a dark superhero, seemed both oxymoronic and oddly fitting. It was… relaxing and somehow comforting to be around someone who was so content.

"Has anyone ever told you you're cute?" Roxanne asked, dishing out another serving of lasagna to him.

He grinned at her. "Yes, actually. An inmate in Metrocity Prison when I was a toddler. His name was Kip Kendall— or at least that's what people called him. I'm not sure if Kip was a nickname, honestly. He'd been convicted of murdering some thugs who got on his bad side, and he was very possibly the toughest, meanest brute on Cell Block A. But he was always nice to me when I was young. Around anyone else he was stern and dangerous… Around me, well, he was the closest thing to a father figure I had. He used to play pattie-cake with me, if you can believe that, and carry me around the Yard on his shoulders. No one dared to mock him for it either— not even the guards— and if anyone thought less of him for it, they were smart enough to keep it to themselves." His eyes grew distant as a sad memory ghosted behind them. "I'll never forget the day Uncle Marlow—one of the other two inmates who took the most interest in my upbringing—took me aside and explained that Uncle Kip had gone. Kip had been given consecutive life sentences by a jury too forward-thinking to give a clearly unbalanced man the death penalty, but Cancer had other ideas. I'd known he was sick— they'd had to take him to the infirmary, and the last time I visited him there he seemed so… so unlike himself— but when he went it still felt… wrong. Sudden. I remember thinking how unfair it was that he left without saying goodbye."

Roxanne reached across the table, laying her hand over his, willing him to open his soul and let the old pain dissipate like dark mist in the sunlight.

"I remember feeling that way when—" Roxanne's voice caught. She'd never actually told anyone else this before. Not even the expensive psychologist her grandparents had taken her to for years. With a deep breath, she continued. "I remember feeling that way when my mom died. I was fifteen, in my senior year of high school, and someone told me I had to go to the principal's office. I kept thinking and thinking, trying to figure out what I'd done wrong, and then I saw Principal Hartwell's face. The school counselor and my granddad were with him. And I knew. Somehow I just knew," she paused, wrapping her arms around herself and staring at the glass tabletop. "I started crying before they could even tell me, and I kept asking how. I remember someone saying something about icy roads, and dozing off at the wheel, and how it was no one's fault. I hated that person for saying that. I wanted it to be someone's fault, to be able to blame somebody. I wanted to blame the car company for not making her sedan stronger, or the hospital for making her work that stupid double shift, or my sperm donor for leaving us so that she had to work so many hours in the first place. But more than anything else," she dared to lift her eyes to his, "for a long time, I wanted to blame her for not saying goodbye."

Megamind stood up and moved beside her chair to wrap one arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his warmth, laying her hand on his.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I had already left Metrocity High School by then. If I had known... I would have been there."

Roxanne laughed a little through her sorrow. "Yeah, that would have gone well... The city's new supervillain showing up to offer a spikey shoulder to cry on." She sighed and squeezed his hand. "You know you couldn't have, no matter how much you might have wanted to."

"I would have. I loved you even then, and I would have done anything for you." He kissed the top of her head. "I'm so sorry you lost your mother that way."

"It's alright. I mean, it's not alright, not really, but… It was a long time ago. I still miss her, but I've kept going. I've built a life for myself, just like she would have wanted." Roxanne sighed, but the sound held more relief than sadness. "You know, it's kind of nice to finally talk about it."

Megamind bent to lay his cheek on top of her head. She could almost hear the gentle smile in his voice. "It's nice to finally have someone to talk about it with," he said.

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artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Galactica, Chapter 41 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Halloween

This Chapter: Things look up for Violet but turn iffy for Adore.

***

Pearl swayed a little in her heels as Adore’s lips trailed down her neck. They were half-dressed at this point, making their way to Adore’s bedroom. Adore’s jacket and shirt had been discarded, leaving her in just a thin undershirt, suspenders dangling around her waist. Pearl’s skirt was around her ankles, sweater somewhere on the floor.

She stepped out of the skirt, a sharp inhale leaving her as Adore shoved her roughly up against a wall. Her hands threaded into Adore’s hair, which was up in a tight bun, and immediately began pulling it apart. She loved the whole butch look that Adore was rocking tonight, but she loved it even more when she got to unravel it. Pearl’s hand traveled along the wall, reaching for the door handle, finally pushing it open and pulling Adore into the bedroom.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” Adore breathed, pushing Pearl onto the bed.

Pearl smirked, enjoying the desperate edge in her voice as her hands groped for her bra clasp, the unrefined way she clawed at her panties to yank them down. She spread her thighs, head falling backward, hand tangled into Adore’s hair to guide her along.

“I love your pussy,” Adore continued, lapping her up vigorously, fingers digging into her thighs. “You’re perfect, so perfect…”

Adore kept lavishing praise on her, and Pearl could feel her muscles tense. She tried to squeeze her eyes shut, to close it out and focus on the way her body was responding, but it quickly became impossible. She took a deep breath and rolled Adore over onto her back, thighs straddling her face.

“Stop talking.”

Adore panted up at her, surprise all over her face as her eyes went dark. “Are you gonna punish me?”

The way she just immediately folded, immediately ceded all power to Pearl, was even more intoxicating than if she’d been submissive all along.

“I should,” Pearl said hoarsely. She ran a finger along Adore’s bottom lip. “I should show you who’s boss.”

“Do it.” Adore trembled beneath her, gripping her thighs for dear life.

Pearl took hold of the headboard and lowered herself until her pussy was pressed up against Adore’s face, riding her slowly, dictating the pressure and pace, all the while watching the blissed-out expression in Adore’s eyes. By the time Pearl came with a satisfied groan, Adore’s panties, her usual boy-cut cotton briefs, were soaked through.

It was hard not to laugh. This was the same girl who, just hours earlier, had been manhandling her on the dance floor as if she were the king of the world. And now, all it took was a few swipes of Pearl’s thumb to reduce her to a whimpering, shaking mess.

“You like that?”

“B-baby, please,” Adore begged, pupils fully dilated, hands clutching at Pearl’s hair and shoulders. “I need to come, I need-”

“Shh, shhhh…” Pearl silenced her with a kiss, finally plunging her fingers inside to give her what she so desperately wanted, stroking her g-spot until she cried out, then continuing to play with her until she was wrung out, too weak to even lift her head.

Afterwards, Pearl sucked her fingers into her mouth with a satisfied grin, letting Adore curl against her as usual, wrapping her warm body into a sweaty embrace.

***

Sutan woke to the ever familiar scent of lavender, and the sensation of Violet’s hair up his nose.

He huffed, moving his face away, only to smile when Violet groaned, her hand coming up to grab his arm and pull him back down, forcing him to mold himself back against her back, the bed creaking underneath them.

Last night, they hadn’t returned to Sutan’s place as he had originally expected, instead, they had ended up in Violet’s apartment because Violet had insisted that she would die if she didn’t get pizza from a specific pizzeria near her building, and who was Sutan to argue with that?

“Morning gorgeous.” Sutan smiled, pressing a kiss against Violet’s shoulder, but the action only earned him another deep groan, Violet for once very clearly hungover. “Where is your bed frame?”

“Only rich people have bed frames.”

“Sure.” Sutan snorted, burrowing his face in Violet’s hair, pulling her against him.

It was strange to be in Violet’s bedroom, Sutan realizing last night with a flash of embarrassment that this was the first time he had been inside Violet’s apartment. He had picked her up from her building countless times, but they had always stayed at his, Sutan not even entertaining the idea that he should come up.

“Is there any leftover pizza?” Violet looked over her shoulder, a little bit of the mascara she hadn’t managed to get off smudged under her eye.

“You only had two slices.” Sutan had bought a pepperoni pizza for himself, Violet for some godforsaken reason going straight for pineapple and only pineapple. “I put it in your fridge.”

Sutan had never expected Violet to be someone who enjoyed cooking, but he had been shocked when he had opened her refrigerator last night, a bottle of carrot juice, a carton of almond milk and a half eaten takeaway salad all he had spotted in there.

“I’ll go get it.” Violet slipped out of bed, and Sutan couldn’t help but smile as she was wearing the tiniest pair of panties, her Hepburn jewels still around her neck since Sutan hadn’t been able to figure out the lock with a drunk and sleepy Violet in his arms.

Sutan sat up, running his hand through his hair as he looked around the bedroom, a tower of brown moving boxes in the corner. Violet’s clothes were all put away, two clothing racks holding dresses Sutan immediately recognized, but beyond the wardrobe, the room was strangely bare and devoid of personal touches.

“Huh.” Sutan bit his lip, getting out of bed. He grabbed his undershirt from the floor, cursing to himself when he realized that he didn’t have his reading glasses, using his phone without them a surefire way to feel like shit after a night out.

“Do you want coffee?” Sutan turned his head to see Violet standing in the door, now wrapped in a robe, a plate and a slice of pizza with missing bites in her hand. “I’m afraid I only have instant.”

“Instant is fine.” It wasn’t really, not when he was used to his top of the line espresso machine, but he wasn’t going to create a fuss. “Do you have anything that isn’t pineapple pizza?”

“I can make oatmeal?” Violet smiled, and he guessed that somewhat explained the strange lack of food in her fridge.

“How about I take us out for breakfast?”

***

“Raaaaaaaj,” Raven whispered, her lips right next to her fiancée's ear. “Wake up.”

They had come home from the party last night, Raja helping her out of her costume, the two of them falling into bed, drunk sex always a fucking treat, the feeling of Raja’s fake mustache against her inner thighs so strange they had both been hiccuping from laughter.

“Mmmh?”

“I’m hungry.” Raven smirked as she felt Raja’s hand travel up her back, the other woman finally awake.

“Make breakfast then.”

“I wanna go out.” Raven nuzzled her nose against Raja’s neck.

“You can starve for all that I care.”

Raven laughed. Grumpy Raja was one of her favorites, the whine in her voice one that never came out anywhere else, being allowed to see her like this, a treasure Raven guarded with her life.

“Please-” Raven nuzzled her face even closer against Raja’s neck, pressing kisses to the warm skin. “I want buttered croissants.”

“Mmh-” Raja hummed, her fingers finding the ends of her hair. Raven knew she wasn’t actually tempted by the promise of bread, Raja beyond annoying with how easy it was for her to not give in to culinary temptations.

“If you put some pants on, I can call for a car-”

“No can do buttercup.” Raja started petting her hair. “The moment I leave this bed, I have to work.”

“Seriously?” Raven sat up on her elbows, Raja actually opening her eyes now, a bit of glue still on her top lip. “Don’t look at my tits.”

“Sorry,” Raja smirked, her eyes still focused on Raven’s chest.

“You have to work? Again?” Raven wanted to throw a fit. It wasn’t a new thing that Raja worked on the weekends, it wasn't a new thing that she was constantly fighting for her attention, but this, this was a new low, both of them naked and hung over. “It’s Sunday?”

“The preparations for the Spring collection are right around the corner. You know people depend on me and Fame has unfortunately handed me a mug.”

Raven huffed, throwing herself back down on the bed, turning her back to Raja as she pulled the duvet under her chin.

“Princess-” Raven felt Raja curl around her back. “Don’t be upset.”

“And what about me? I depend on you too,” Raven grumbled, the words caught by the duvet, but Raja somehow still heard them.

“I know.” Raja peeled the duvet down, pressing a kiss against Raven’s shoulder blade. “How about we order in, eat in bed-”

“Hm?” Raven turned her head.

“And when I’m done with my very important job,” Raja smiled, her hand sneaking under the covers and settling on Raven’s hip. “I spend the very important money I make on buying very important things for our trip to Aspen?”

“Mmh,” Raven chewed her lip to keep the smile off of her face. “I guess that’s acceptable.”

***

“Ah, that hits the spot.”

Violet smiled to herself as she watched Sutan take the first sip of the double espresso he had ordered. They were sitting at a small cafe, Sutan actually cleaning up surprisingly nicely for the fact that he had only had his costume from last night at her place.

“Glad to see your craving could be satisfied.”

“Oh?” Sutan grinned, tapping his foot against hers underneath the table. “Do you really think you have room to be snarky, Miss Pineapple?”

Violet bit her lip, her cheeks heating up. She couldn’t exactly remember the entirety of last night after bumping into Courtney, Raven talking her into yet another round of shots, but she did remember Sutan’s hand on her back, did remember unlocking her door and whining when she couldn’t get her necklace off.

“Concentrate on your breakfast.”

Sutan laughed, trapping her foot between his own before he dug into his cinnamon French toast. Violet herself had opted for a sunnyside egg and a smoothie, the pizza slice she had devoured before Sutan was ready to leave sitting heavy in her stomach.

Sutan was chatting about last night, telling her a story about Detox, the two men surprisingly close for how different they were. Violet wasn’t truly listening, but it didn’t seem to matter, Sutan more than happy to just up the space.

“Lovely eyes-” Violet was pulled out of her thoughts, the man watching her with his brown eyes. “You’re tapping along with the music.”

Sutan was pointing with his fork, and Violet looked down at her fingers, her almond-shaped nails tapping on table.

“Huh…” Violet hadn’t even noticed, hadn’t even listened to the music, but now that she was aware, she could hear the notes of Waltz of the Flowers, the cafe for some reason playing Tchaikovsky's Nutcracker. The music was such an ingrained part of who she was, the ballet one she had danced every December since she was 6 years old. “I’m sorry.”

“Bringing back memories?” Sutan smirked, a kind look in his eyes, but Violet felt her entire body run cold.

“Yes.” It did bring back memories, the sensation of leg warmers and sitting on hard dance floors, of chewy protein bars and being soaked in sweat, of the unbelievable satisfaction when a move was finally executed just right and she could collapse in exhaustion. “But how-”

“Did I know?” Sutan put his fork down, clearly beyond pleased with himself.

“Yes.”

Violet hadn’t told anyone in her new life that her first career had been as a dancer at the New York City Ballet, that she had been a soloist on the track for principal before her life had changed forever at 17.

“I’m a modeling agent, lovely eyes.” Sutan took his coffee cup. “I can spot a dancer from a mile away, and everything about your posture tells me that you have done ballet at some point.”

“Ah.” Violet nodded, a rush of relief coursing through her. Sutan didn’t know, hadn’t truly guessed who she used to be. “You got me.”

“What can I say,” Sutan grinned, putting his cup to his lips. “I’m the best.”

She’d tell him one day, tell him her entire story, but that day wasn’t going to be today.

***

When Violet had first started in design, she had wondered why they had several couches scattered around the room. It had started to make sense as she had seen just how social her new coworkers were, the furniture often taken up by people talking, working or even napping.

Violet had never used the couches before today, her desk and her desk chair all she needed, but while Trixie was upstairs for the department head meeting discussing the Spring line, she had figured that it was time to test out if Trixie was actually serious about wanting them to relax.

Which was why she was on the couch, attempting to pass the time while she waited anxiously for Trixie to return.

It felt incredibly weird not to be in the boardroom, to not be standing against the wall taking notes as Fame and Raja presented the new concepts for the collections, Violet’s spine itching with annoyance over the fact that she wasn’t there.

She had considered texting Courtney, but she wasn’t sure Courtney could actually tell her anything interesting, the blonde incredibly talented at hearing but not listening, so instead, Violet had brought her backlog of magazines with her to work.

Violet had started collecting fashion magazines at 17. At first, she had only read American Vogue, but as she had started to get more and more into fashion, her monthly collection had started to grow.

Now, she bought American Vogue, British Vogue, French Vogue, Italian Vogue, Marie Claire, Harper's Bazaar and French and American Elle, her preferred newsstand knowing her by sight.

Violet knew that she could look online for fashion inspiration, knew that it was what everyone around her did, but she had always preferred either print or watching the real people of New York walk by.

Violet wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but as she flipped through the pages, she knew she’d find it sooner or later, at least one of the spots in the Spring collection belonging to her, even if she had to fight for it. Violet almost rolled her eyes as she revealed yet another page of british street style, the fabrics and cuts absolutely horrendous.

Every time the door opened, she would sit up straighter, thinking it was Trixie back with news. After 3 or 4 excruciating false alarms, he finally returned, smiling at the designers, knowing they were all on pins and needles at this point.

“Attention Team! This is not a drill!” Trixie joked. “Everyone meet me in the conference room in 5 minutes for an update on the Spring collection!”

Violet stood up immediately, hurrying directly to the conference room with her notebook, excited to hear the news. Trixie was busy sticking a handful of reference photos onto the whiteboard: A ceramic cup, an egret, a skyline of what looked to be a coastal village somewhere in Turkey, a wheat field at sunrise, a collection of fabric samples stapled together into little booklets the designers could take with them to their desks.

Apparently, this year, Fame wanted a light and breezy Spring collection. Functional and elegant with a touch of whimsy. The color palette was true Galactica: dove grey, cream, straw, ivory flecked with gold, very sparing accents of delicate pink and dusty lilac.

Violet’s mind raced with ideas of ways to manipulate silk so that it rustled and and fluttered beautifully on the runway. Of clean, beautiful lines: crisp linens and soft, feathery edges. Her fingers itched with excitement to get started as she carefully wrote down their deadlines: Thursday to turn in sketches for the in-store prêt-à-porter collection, and the following Thursday for the opening and closing runway pieces.

She knew, of course, that Alexis, Jovan, Gia, April and Maxwell had guaranteed spots in the collection, that group of designers the defining factors in the current Galactica style. She was also well aware that as a new designer, she would be doing foundation pieces.

She would be expected to pay her dues and make sure her collection pieces supported whatever final direction the senior staff chose, but Violet had never been a settler, and she was going to give being in the collection her best shot.

***

Adore sighed happily, swaying to the pounding bass of the house music, surrounded by a sea of sweaty club goers. She and her band had just played an electrifying late-night gig and she was still high on the adrenaline.

She loved being out, loved showing people why her and her band were the next big thing, but the best part of the night was that Pearl was there, had been right there in the front of the crowd cheering her on.

“Hey…” Aja came up to her, a look of concern creasing their brow, Aja’s outfit for the night a light blue latex number.

“What’s up, baby?” Adore asked, pressing a kiss to Aja’s cheek, wrapping her arms around their waist. They’d known each other since Adore first moved to New York to live with Bianca, almost 10 years ago, had been classmates at the performing arts high school along with the rest of her bandmates.

“Uh, it’s just… Dahlia is being a bit of a thot and Pearl looks… Into it…” Aja bit their lip.

Adore turned to look where Aja was gesturing, saw her friend and bass player sitting perched on a stool, back arched, plaid shirt almost entirely unbuttoned and slipping off one shoulder. Pearl stood close to her… Maybe a little closer than needed, a beer in her hand as she chatted her up. There was a bored, almost challenging look on Dahlia’s face as Pearl spoke, and the whole thing set Adore’s teeth on edge.

“Well…” Adore swallowed, fighting her impulse to march over and pull them apart, fixing a nonchalant expression on her face as she turned back to Aja, “They’re both big flirts. So what?”

“So, I don’t know if I’d be cool with it. I’m shocked you are.”

“There’s no reason for me to be a jealous bitch. I knew that Pearl was like that when we got together, so how could expect her to change? And anyway, she’s coming home with me, not Dahlia,” Adore said.

“You sure about that?” Aja asked.

Adore’s eyes narrowed, shooting a nasty look at her long-time friend, who laughed.

“Alright, alright. I didn’t realize that you were so chill.”

“I’m the chillest,” Adore said, taking a sip of her cocktail. But whether she was trying to convince herself or Aja, she wasn’t totally sure.

“So can I buy you a drink?”

“You can fuck off,” came the sneering reply.

“Oof,” Pearl smiled, resting her head on her hand, her elbow placed on the bar. “Kitty got claws. What got you in such a mood?”

“The company.”

There was something strangely familiar about Dahlia, but Pearl was 99% sure she hadn’t had sex with her before. She’d given up trying to place her, instead just enjoying her ice queen vibe. “I don’t think you mind my company all.”

“Don’t I?” Dahlia raised an eyebrow, her plump lips pursed, her beautiful face the picture of disinterest, but Pearl had caught her eyes flickering to her arm, had seen her notice exactly how strong Pearl was in the places where it was needed.

“I know women.”

Dahlia was hot as sin, everything about her soft and delicate, her dark hair styled in careful silky curls, the freckles on her shoulder the most delicious tease, the garterbelt that poked out from under her denim shorts promising Pearl that she’d find mouth-watering lingerie underneath Dahlia’s clothes if she ever got that far.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I could show you?”

“No.”

Pearl had to bite her lip to swallow a moan. There was something about her hyper femininity, something about how she was just a little bit mean, Dahlia radiating a promise of pink pillows, cherry chapstick and fruit scented shampoo that Pearl hadn’t even realized she was missing so fiercely it made her nipples tighten.

“Also,” Dahlia looked over her shoulder. “Your girlfriend is right over there.”

Shit.

***

Violet walked out of the elevator, a cup of steaming hot coffee and a banana in her hand. It was a little after 8--security had finally realized that her company card opened every door and locked her out, but she could still make her way to the design floor without a hitch.

Violet had come directly from the gym, her hair in a ponytail and still damp from her shower, the shoes on her feet running shoes instead of the heels she normally wore. She’d had this routine for awhile now--getting to the office early to do her makeup and hair in the big, clean Galactica bathrooms where, unlike the gym, she didn’t have to fight for mirror space, smile at strangers, or pretend to be interested in small talk. She’d have time to finish her routine and settle in to work just as the other designers began trickling in.

Today though, as she opened the big double doors to the design department, she was surprised at the sight that met her. It wasn’t one lone designer who’d arrived earlier than normal, or two people finishing a project, but rather, at least five of her colleagues sitting at their desks, busily working away already.

Violet had no idea why they were there, seeing so many of her coworkers this early honestly shocking. Thankfully, it didn’t seem like they had noticed her, so she made a beeline for the bathroom, vowing to herself that she’d get fully ready before coming into the office from now on, the risk of her coworkers seeing her as anything less than perfectly put together not one she was willing to take yet.

***

Maxwell stood by the printer, waiting for the sketches he had done on his iPad to come out. For years now, he’d been almost solely responsible for all of the business separates in the Galactica line, and it suited him just fine.

Over the years, he’d perfected the kind of crisply tailored and yet graceful and feminine lines that Miss Fame preferred, which had earned him her favor again and again and again.

When he’d seen the inspiration for the Spring collection, he was immediately flooded with ideas, and after almost 2 days of working, he was quite pleased with the sheer volume and range of choices he was going to present at the meeting, already imagining the pleased nod he’d get from the head of the company.

Violet appeared in the little printing alcove, doing a jump of surprise when she saw someone else in there. “Max, hi-”

“Sorry to scare you,” Maxwell smiled. “My job’s almost done,”

“Thanks,” Violet said, taking a step in, their elbow almost bumping against each other as she snug a peak at the printer. “Wow,” Violet turned her head, looking at Maxwell. “Are these your sketches? There’s so many already.”

“Well, you know Fame and Raja. They like to have options. ” Maxwell grinned, knowing that if anyone did know, it’d be Violet. “My technique with prêt-à-porter is to give them as many choices as possible, with lots of variation. Kind of ‘throw all the spaghetti at the wall and see what sticks’ approach, you know?”

Violet nodded, a very serious expression on her face as she listened.

“I started with a bunch of different suit options, and then I’ll use these to whip up all the other coordinating separates.”

“I just can’t believe that you’ve done so many in only 2 days,” Violet said, looking quite uncertain.

“You’re pretty fast yourself, so I wouldn’t worry.” Maxwell picked his sketches up. “Are you working on any for this week, or straight for the couture spots?”

“Yes.” Violet moved up, pressing on the printer to make it spit out her own sketches before she apparently realized that just yes wasn’t actually an answer to his question. “Prêt-à-porter isn’t my strength-“ Violet bit her lip, “But I’m not a one trick pony, and I want to play ball.”

“My advice? Be ambitious. This isn’t the time to hold back,” Maxwell said, smiling kindly. In spite of his initial reservations, he’d found himself quite charmed by the newest designer. And if he could help her get a leg up, he definitely wanted to do that, adding, “Let me know if you want me to review anything before Thursday!”

“Thanks,” Violet smiled. “I appreciate that.”

***

Courtney rushed down the street in the chilly air, in a desperate hurry to get to Broadway Dance Center in time for her class to start.

She hadn’t really given her personal dreams much thought since beginning at Galactica. But recently, when Adore was telling her all about a series of gig she’d gotten--ones Courtney couldn’t attend because they were all super late at night, mid-week, and all the way in Brooklyn--a rush of envy over Adore’s ability to focus on her music completely had overtaken her, immediately followed by guilt over such an ugly emotion.

Just because Adore had someone supporting her didn’t give Courtney any excuse to be jealous of her friend’s good fortune. Maybe things would be harder for her--that didn’t mean that she shouldn’t try. Instead of worrying about what she didn’t have, she decided to instead look to Adore’s achievements as inspiration.

She’d found an 8 pm class, figuring that it was late enough not to interfere with her work responsibilities. After all, taking an hour for herself one evening a week seemed like the kind of thing she should be able to do without a problem, right?

However, today had been even crazier than usual, with the holiday collection now being finalized, the Spring collection underway, and Fame working on a deal to expand Galactica’s flagship stores in Europe. Fame herself hadn’t even left until just before 7.

Courtney had finally managed to get away, currently sprinting the 15 blocks to BDC--she’d even had the foresight to bring sneakers. If she was fast enough, there was a chance she’d make it in time for her class.

With less than 2 blocks to go, Courtney realized that her work phone was buzzing in her hand. She paused at the corner, trying to manifest some positive energy before she answered. This will be something small. Something I already took care of. This call will end with Miss Fame pleased and happy...

“Hello?”

“Why are the Berlin contracts not in my bag?” Fame demanded.

“You...wanted to take those home?” Courtney asked, though she already knew the answer. Why would Fame be calling her otherwise? She cringed at her own carelessness, stupidly assuming that she’d review them the next day at her meeting with Patrick.

Fame seemed to be just as annoyed with Courtney as she was with herself, sighing and saying, “Deliver them now. This stress is not good for my skin,” and then hanging up even before Courtney’s “Yes, Miss.”

Courtney stood on the corner for a few moments, catching her breath, before turning around and trudging back towards the Galactica offices, shoulders slumped in defeat.

So much for dance class.

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milky-maid-library · 4 years

Text

Chapter 2: Dis aliter visum

Chapter Summary: Elizabeth wakes up in the Institute and learns quickly how they treat the patients with the help of new friends.

Please read these Warning tags: 18+, child abandonment, mentions of abuse, references to racism. Forced rehabilitation.

Notes: Dis aliter visum means “Fate had different plans” and this is a gift for @cursedcursingviking

It was just darkness, a never ending black that Elizabeth was vaguely conscious to, wondering if she’d ever awaken. The sensation of floating was ruined as her body fell and kept falling, hitting her hard away on a uncomfortable mattress. A ripping breath of air tore her to sit up, sweat had soaked her skin, hair and the softness around her. Her palm pressed into her chest trying to control the painful stabs of her pounding heart. Eyes darted around the room, discovering she was no longer in the hospital. She was in a cubicle space. The bed she was sweating on was surrounded by three walls and a curtain, no roof… she swallowed down her hard before hesitantly climbing ontop the mattress and peering over the walls. She discovered a larger room, a grand hall almost. Rows of cubicles filled with single and bunk beds surrounded the area. She counted at least thirty cubicles that she could see.

All the beds were eerily empty, she was so alone, it felt cold. As she climbed down her mattress, she noticed the shapeless dress she was wearing and tennis shoes. The ugliest green puke colour, patterned with long sleeves and high neck buttons. And on her wrist was a shiny permanent metal wrist band with her name, date of birth and blood status carved into it. She felt unable to breathe, it was the middle of spring, it was starting to get hotter! Her fingers ripped open her neck collar, letting her breath.

And as she rolled up her sleeves the curtain ripped back to the image of a wrinkly faced nun….

“Good Morning,” she smiled cynically, her blue eyes icy cold, “Would you like some breakfast?”

She was something crossed between a Delores Umbridge and a testy crow.

Elizabeth was skeptical, scared and definitely fleetly looking for an escape. She couldn’t remember where they’d taken her except that it was a correctional facility. If she managed to look around for a exit it would be in her favour especially since she was sure she hadn’t eaten anything in the last twenty four hours almost.

“Come on now then girl,” the shrewd woman snapped and flicked her hand, “don’t dawdle.”

Elizabeth was quickly on her tail. Her thighs rubbed together and as she walked she knew right away that her underwear was not her own. It made her want to vomit. As the nun lead her out of the hall of beds, they trailed down a hall of doctor’s and nurses offices and rooms filled with kitchens, laundry rooms, art supplies and fake nurseries.

They passed a great symbol painted into the wall. A depiction of a pregnant woman cradling the Omega symbol in her arms while she wore a large smile and a blindfold to cover her eyes.

You and me too lady, Elizabeth inwardly smirked. It wasn’t hard to figure out she was in ‘Saint Selene’s School For Adolescent Omega’.

And then her heart fell when they passed a window. She could see outdoors. She did not see a single building other than the facilities; she saw a grand distance of trees and mountains…but that was not what took away her breath. A fence, a tall and long fence barred her in this place, the tops wrapped with barbed wire.

This place was just a pretty prison.

When she stopped and stared at the fence, she almost broke into sobs. The nun scolded her and tugged her away by her shoulder. She was currently dragged to twin doors and welcomed the vision of three massive tables where over a dozen girls sat and ate their food. They all suddenly stopped, all their loud chatter dying down to whispers and finger pointing.

The woman in the habit grinned at them all who stared at them, “Girls,” she announced shrilly, “I’d like to introduce a new member to our blessed home, Miss Elizabeth Hillard.”

Her claws unleashed her shoulder and gestured to the tables, a bowl of porridge seemed to miraculously sit in her hands, passing it to her, fuck I must be really drugged up, she didn’t always have that with her did she?

“Well then…” the nun said, “Why don’t you find a seat?” and walked off the moment Elizabeth looked for an empty space. As she paced down the aisles, not a single girl looked at her welcomingly. They gave her glares and whispers of “Her hair is so untamed, so un-omega.” And “She looks dirty and smells wild, bad omega, don’t talk to her.”

Elizabeth almost cried then and there when she noticed there was no one that was like her there. Only pale racist bitches….until she noticed a blonde girl, around her age, skinny as a rake curling her fingers for her to come closer.

“Hey new girl,” she laughed, “sit with us.”

By that point she didn’t care if she was alone, but the chance of an invite wouldn’t be ignored when she came to such an ominous place. When she sat beside the girl she understood that the other four with her were her friends.

Chewing her lip, Elizabeth whispered to them, “Are...you all Omegas?”

Chatter of the other tables increased. The skinny girl cackled meanly and regarded to her and her friends, “Nah, Kylie’s an Alpha elf and Gen is a beta pixie and I’m an eleven fingered witch.” She smartly said wiggling her only ten digits. The other girls giggled and snickered crudely.

“Okay,” Elizabeth rolled her eyes and leant back to leave, “‘yes’ would’ve been suffice.” Before another girl piped up over the gossiping crowds.

“What’s got you so hot new girl?” she winked her green eyes and flickered her ginger hair, “Didn’t like the results?” w

Sitting back Elizabeth stirred her cold porridge, mumbling, “I was meant to be an Alpha. But I’m now just a stupid Omega.”

“Easy with the mean words there, new girl,” snapped the girl with a toothpick between her teeth, “Did you think we chose to be Omega?”

Ouch, she never really took in account of Omega’s opinions growing up, knowing they would be the lowest of the low; she just assumed they enjoyed the thought of making babies.

Elizabeth flinched, a new side-effect of being an omega she suspected, “Sorry…”

“Hey, we get it,” The skinny girl scratched her blonde head, “Besides from what we heard, your parents abandoned you here? Talk of the town in here with the gossiping sisters. So you’ll be spending time with us during the summer break while all the other girls go home.”

Elizabeth blinked. Her parents really had abandoned her? After all these years of supposed unconditional love, they sent her away because of a gene she couldn’t control. She rubbed her eyes before any tears could fall. she didn’t feel like looking like a weakling in front of these girls.

“How many stay behind?”

“Including you?” she replied automatically, “Six.”

“Kylie,” she said pointing at a girl who was cleaning her nails and, her lips looked unnaturally dark pink against her olive skin. Her smock was the only one that looked nice on her. It fitted. Everyone’s looked too loose of too tight…

“Gen,” she then gestured to the smallest girl in the group, she had a soft face and full cheeks, bright eyes surrounded by round glasses and appeared the most excited to meet her despite not speaking a single word. She was closest appearance to a black girl compared to Elizabeth, but her loose hair and lighter skin with European features had her sceptical.

“Chip,” the finger directed to the green-eyed winking redhead with a hooked nose.

“Pepper,” was the most intimidating presence. Her eyes were deeply set in, her face was hard and sculpted with a sharp jaw, her teeth might’ve been yellow but that didn’t take away the message her toothpick gave. Her biceps were visible enough beneath the dress, Elizabeth wonder where her other muscles would be and how the hell did she get them? Down from her cheek to her chin, crossing over her lips was a nasty scar. Her short black hair was a poor haircut but that didn’t take away the threatening look she had.

“and me, I’m Legs.”

Out of almost a hundred girls, six remained? The rest had homes and families who cared and loved them. And even though she had a home…they didn’t love her enough to allow her back…her home was now these cold walls and sanitised floors.

She took a bite of her porridge and had little strength to swallow it. They all laughed at her screwed-up face and Chip slapped the table. Chip, Pepper….Legs?

“Are those your real names?” she heaved before pushing the bowl away.

“Fuck no,” Pepper huffed, “but it’s what we call eachother.”

The smallest, Gen proclaimed happily, “After living here for so long we tend to get a nickname.”

The longer she listened, the more she truly felt the ideals of a prison being inflicted….bad food, nicknames, solitary, uniforms.

“How long have you all been here?” Elizabeth looked around the table seeing their curious glances. She held hope, maybe after the summer her parents would gather their senses, she could manage 3 months.

“I have been here the longest,” said Legs, “Turned twenty, four months ago and I was dropped off when I was around seven, that was when they took in this age group. Now little ones go to ‘Camp Neoma for youngling Omega youth’.”

Gen tugged her sleeve and told Elizabeth, “Chip and I were dropped off within weeks of eachother when we were ten, now we’re eighteen, Pepper who’s nineteen got here two years ago.”

Chip wrapped her thick arm around Kylie who rolled her eyes while she chuckled, “And none of us are leaving this place unless we are twenty-one or if our parents come back to take us in. Kylie will be the first to leave since she got here at fifteen and she’ll be turning twenty-one in three months.”

“Absolute abandonment,” Kylie grinned while the rest of them giggled. It seemed they were excited for her freedom, but it only laid heavy on her mind, how long am I going to be forced to stay here?

Her throat tightened while tears accidently fell from her lashes….absolute abandonment… her parents were already there. Within seconds she wiped them up and looked to the ceiling, attempting to rub her eye and pretend it was just dirt in her eyes.

“So small fry,” Pepper prodded her with her spoon, “How old are you?”

“I um…I turned nineteen a month ago.”

“Damn it,” Gen whined, “I’m still the youngest.”

Kylie pulled in the smallest Omega and laid a kiss on her forehead, a fine lip mark appeared between the girl’s eyes. She then started to braid her hair and fix her collar, like a big sister… or a girlfriend. They kissed again, but on the lips before Chip jabbed Gen in the side and gestured to the nerving nuns stalk around the tables. They glared like starved hawks. When Elizabeth turned to look she could feel the unpleasantness of the dresses they were all wearing.

“D-do we have to wear these?” Elizabeth squirmed, scratching the back of her neck and her arms. Her bracelet was incredibly cold against her skin and whenever she moved it stung. Her senses to the new life had increased and she loathed every second.

“Yep,” Legs said, laying back, “Don’t worry, you grow used to it. I mean you don’t have to choose, and stress about what you’re going to wear.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to get used to it, she wanted cotton, denim jeans or at least her own fucking underwear. She shuddered, who even dressed her?

“Kylie suffered the harshest,” Gen giggled into Kylie’s shoulder. Kylie was running her fingers through her hair, attempting a perfect part. The two were soft, and borderline nauseating for her, yet the Omega in her yearned for some part of being looked after in a relationship.

Elizabeth figured she hadn’t stayed long enough to earn a title, but doing the math, surely…why did they all have them but, “Why don’t you have a nickname?”

“Kylie is my nickname,” she smirked and held out her polished hands, “My real name is Hannah, but I used to watch the Kardashians and reality tv like TLC religiously girl,” she whispered while a nun walked passed Elizabeth, “I have the best fashion sense out of everyone here including those guards.”

Elizabeth saw the hate in all their eyes, as their friend Legs explained, “Don’t trust any of the nurses or doctors, those fuckers act nice, but shit depending on your plan you’ll find out what kind of concentration camp this is.”

By all they’d told her, she was sure this was an official prison and with the sight of the fence that sent her into chills she accepted and agreed this was a place of hell.

“So….Legs?” Elizabeth dragged.

“We call Saddie ‘Legs’ since she’s the fastest,” Chips jerked her head to the side, “she’s gotten out, beyond the fence.”

Remembering back to the height and threatening barbed wire atop, Elizabeth’s eyes widened, “You’ve gotten out!?”

“Escaped and caught,” Legs chuckled proudly, fluffing her hair.

“…eleven goddamn times,” Pepper smirked, and sighed with a grimacing smile, “All to see some dumb fucking Alpha at Portia’s Penitentiary for Male Adolescent Alpha’s.”

Elizabeth gawked and kept think about the fence, if they could help her get out...but suddenly her head was spinning around, “I didn’t know Alphas had an institute,” she mumbled. What if she was an Alpha she could’ve still been thrown into an institution if her parents didn’t support her.

“They mostly put the boys who’ve tried to rape from their incontrollable restraints of their hormones and immunity to the basic suppressants you can buy at the counter,” Kylie explained.

“Except Isaac!” Legs defended, “He’s never raped anyone…he just…gets uncontrollably kinky and horny. Like me.”

Elizabeth gawked.

“Nasty slut,” Chips teased poking her tongue at Legs.

Legs scoffed, “Bitch.”

“Girls!” befell a booming tone, a deep solemn voice that had the hairs on the back of Elizabeth’s neck rising, “I hope I’m not hearing foul language being said in front of our new resident.” Prisoner. His thick hand curled onto of her shoulder, heavy and solidly threatening. She bit her lip, don’t interact.

“Hey Doc H!” Legs laughed “Nah,” and threw him a low high-five, she wiped her nose and shrugged while she warranted, “We’re just laying down the rules to the new girl…Like curfew…”

C-curfew?!

“Oh really?” he hummed staring at her.

“Yeah, good ol’ eight o’clock curfew for a four o’clock rise.”

The doctor laughed his head tilting back a slight.

Four o’clock? What the fuck is this place, the military?! This is undoubtedly a prison, Jesus!

“How’s our new resident feeling?” he asked, smiling down at Elizabeth.

She turned and held him in a might glare, her viperous tongue spat “How every girl feels being forced into an asylum without her consent, trapped and imprisoned.”

His smile did not faulter and that was something powerful…it stabbed her in the chest. He was not easily tempted to anger? Maybe she’d have to find another pen…He blinked and nodded slowly, that sickening, stomach dropping grin still on his face.

The silence was cold and the other girls shared side glances, even the other tables fell quieter to listen in.

“Docter H, what have you been up to lately,” Pepper commented brightly, the layer of dimmed joy grew back, “we haven’t seen you for so long!”

“Yeah, well I’m happy to tell you that I’ll be hanging around you more often. Oh and I got you something,” he bent down and whispered, “but I’ll give them to you tonight before lights out.”

He said something into Pepper’s ear and left, a giant smile stretched onto her lips. Like the cat that got the cream.

Walking away Elizabeth leant back in her chair with a relaxed sigh, “Finally,”

“What’s wrong,” Legs murmured, “You and Doc H got bad chemistry or something?”

“He’s the asshole that put me here…” Elizabeth hissed.

“If he’s just an asshole, god help us from the other nurses and doctors, feral dogs they are. Doc H is doing his job but at least he makes time to make us feel human instead of just ‘Omega breeding stock and future wives’. You can’t trust any of the doctors in here, but he’s the least threatening.”

Threatening?!

Suddenly a whistle blew ear splittingly. Within seconds everyone was picking up their plates and standing up, walking from their tables. Shoving away from the table the five girls of the group rose from their seats.

“C’mon,” Elizabeth felt a tap on her arm, “grubs over,” Legs grinned, “how’s your skills at washing clothes?”

She collected her own plate of food and followed the other girls to rows of bins to shove them into…

“It’s not that hard,” Elizabeth finally smiled, “You just chuck it into the washing machine and then the dryer.”

But when her new found friends started to all laugh together she felt a wind of dread…were they not washing clothes?

The steam of the hot water filled the air and entered every ladies lungs as the worked tiredly. The steam would creep up to the ceiling and slip out the cracks in the walls and the barely opened windows. Big bath tubs filled the room, water hot to touch. Drenched bedsheets, and uniforms were piled and soaked in the tubs. The soap was churned into the clothes and sheets with wooden dolly sticks that were heavy and hard to use. This was it….scrubbing clothes clean. Blisters becgan to form quickly onto Elizabeth’s soft hands. When one popped, she hissed in pain and barked with furious frustration, “Ugh mother fucker!”

The Nuns sitting down ‘supervising’ with canes by their sides were quick in action.

“Is something wrong Elizabeth?” The most patient questioned.

“Yea,” Elizabeth threw down the stirring tool and yelled, “This is fucking slave labour!” folding her arms defiantly she jerked her chin to the herself and the other girls who paused from their obedient actions, watching these events, “What’s next?” she wiped her sweaty face, “Cotton Picking?!”

“Miss Hillard!” gasped an older, intimidating nun who was red in the face and wide in the waist, “I would prefer you wouldn’t use such unladylike language in front of others.” She tapped the edge of the tub with her cane and stomped her foot, “This is standard Omega training, learning the basic training is essential for the life you will lead.” The cane was then poked at Elizabeths chest.

She slapped it away from as quickly as it dared settled, “Just because my chromosomes got meddled with, doesn’t mean I should hand wash. When I leave I plan to pay people to wash my clothes at the laundromat, like a normal person.”

Now Elizabeth could hear the girls around her make the same comments again, “bad omega”, “Disrespectful”, “Dirty”, “Lazy Omega”, “No one wants an Omega like her.”

And instead of feeling the senses to cry, she gritted her teeth and tightened her hands into fists. The nun mimicked her actions as she spat, “I will not tolerate your tone or disobedience. If you don’t wish to participate in today’s activities you can conduct hall duty.”

In the corner of her eye she could see Chips shaking her head while she mouthed the word “no”…But how could hall duty be worse than this? It’s just making sure people are not in the halls without passes and permission!

Hall duty? A blessing! Great heaven you are good! She would said confidently, “Anything but this…”

#tw: abuse #alpha beta omega #dark fic #asylum #abusive nuns #tw racism #tw forced labour #Henry cavill x original female character #Henry Cavill x original black female character #Henry Cavill x black female character #POC character #ao3 #archive of our own

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katsukikitten · 4 years

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Rouge 3

A/N MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR DEPRESSION AND SUICIDAL THOUGHTS

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"April 20th, I know that's Bakugou's birthday but...but he said...." You swallow thickly your body raging with emotions not sure which you would finally land on. As if it were a wheel of fortune spun, hinting heavily that it would land on either mind numbing despair or burning hot wrath.

Why would he *lie* to you?

And why did you care?

The room flashes in vibrant color and in boring tones of grey. Kirishima's ruby hair and eyes are suddenly too bright before they dull just to blind you again. The red reminds you of something.

Of someone.

Of skin decaying away like caked mud to reveal crimson beneath.

Of scarlet eyes pleading for you to move. To run and far away from what the two of you faced.

Despite him being trapped.

A scene that has since played in your dreams for the past few months.

The world spirals with dizzying color that attempt to swatch into gray.

"Y/N?" Kirishima calls softly, strong hands cupping onto your shoulders as his face leans towards yours. Alchohol wafts into your nose, burning as everything else does.

You clench your eyes shut. Forcing the episode into its place, before letting your face meld into a small smile.

"I guess I really need this drink then." You force a laugh and Kirishima cannot tell otherwise, "Thanks for setting me straight Kiri."

He smiles softly, pressing a kiss to your hair line before whispering in your ear.

"He's been worried about you."

With that he leans over and pours extra liquor into your cup. When he leaves the kitchen you swallow down the whole bottle in a few swigs. A dangerous game to play considering there could be two outcomes when you're fucked up.

One you're giddy, overly happy and laughing your ass off.

Two, the world is so oppressive that everything is tainted in an awful sickly black.

Slolwy the world blooms in distorted color as a smile creeps onto your face.

The music shakes the house with heavy bass as lyrics filter through the massive speakers.

*"I'm only alive when I'm with yoooouuu."*

You sway to the music allowing yourself to be lost in the blinding swirling colors as more and more heroes offer you drinks. Smiling faces as they laugh with you and your stories. Coming alive thanks to booze and the occasional slipped pill. Your head is heavy, yet light as you float across the living room turned dance floor as the bass rings out hard enough it seems to shake the sweat from your skin.

You're not sure who ends up grinding on you first, or who kisses who first but you know you enjoy it. Love laughing, teasing and touching with anyone who's down. With anyone that helps you forget. Further encouraging your high, the colors blinding and so vibrant you can see them even when your eyes are closed, especially so when they're pressed against a soft set of lips.

Mina breaks the kiss first giggling as she does.

"Okay Denki now you've got to take the three shots!" The crowd erupts in a cheer as he does watching him down those three double shots causes you to stare into your empty solo cup.

Reminding you that you need another drink.

But the longer you stare at the blinding bright red, the more it seems the plastic melts in your hand.

Turning sticky, thick and much darker.

"Fuck." You hiss to yourself as everything floods your senses at once.

Your quirk finally kicking in to sober you after the ungodly amounts of painkillers and alcohol you've consumed.

Suddenly it is as if you've touched a live wire, hearing beyond the ear shattering cheers all the way into the walls of the house where the mice chew on the wood.

As if their teeth are gnawing directly on your eardrums.

The sound competing with the crowd's seemingly collective heart beat with their red cups raised high. The plastic catches in the lowlight shimmering with the sweat of condensation before everything snaps.

Feeling everything so intensely it's numbing.

The room plunges into deep black but no one bats an eye, especially not as you snatch a pack of smokes and a lighter from an unsuspecting bystander right out of his black denim jacket.

You climb the steps, eyes guiding you in the dark, pushing past a kissing couple that you think is Todoroki and Momo but your mind is too warped to tell.

After three tries you finally find a room empty of slapping bodies and drunken moans. You slide open the window, snaking out before climbing onto the upper roof.

Back nestled against cooled shingles beneath the light of the stars. Filter to your lips you flick the lighter and watch the black flame dance before you inhale enough for the tabbacco catch.

The bass vibrates the ceiling below you as smoke escapes your lips and nostrils in a slow hiss.

"I feel like Bakugou would fucking hate this type of party." Is all you can think to say to the pale moon hanging high in the sky.

Silence stretches between you two as you stare into the ancient face of a long forgotten deity.

"Did I miss telling him happy birthday?" You ask the moon and still no answer comes.

Typical for you to ask all the wrong things.

At the wrong time.

And to the wrong celestial being.

Tears prick your eyes as that endless weight settles in your chest, slow blinking hoping that one day your lids will never reopen.

"You're right. I do fucking hate this party." Fear hardly clutches your stomach before the vice is quickly released, spying flecked red eyes.

Your fingers twitch before you light another smoke, half wondering if he is real or just something your ever adaptive mind is giving you to ease the pain.

The heavy loneliness.

Still you sit up and tilt the pack towards the possible mirage despite his sitting more than ten feet away.

He sucks his teeth, using precision to obliterate the offered pack with out burning your fingers.

"That's new..."

"Those are fucking bad for you." He snarls, you manage enough energy to roll your eyes before meeting his again.

Wholly noticing how his irises pale in the soft light, looking more like two blood moons forever suspended over a perpetual snarl.

It makes you laugh how something so breath taking could be paired with such displeasure.

Well that and the fact that he thinks a little smoke is gonna hurt you.

"Uh did you forget my quirk?" You tease, slowly you manage to force some life back into your face.

It's his fucking birthday after all.

Embers burn hot into your skin until shame settles over you once more.

You sigh out gripping the shingles of the roof, trying your damnedest not to break them. Thoughts swirling in your head with every passing second.

Continuously landing on a few.

Like how could you really forget his birthday?

Or more like how could you really think almost a whole year passed since your last failure?

Or how could you even count the days when all you could see was the red of his cheeks as his arms snapped backward?

Of the way his sunkissed skin fell as if it were chipped away by dirty nails?

Of the color beneath the flaking skin solidified before threatening to turn that precious fucking red into soul shattering grey.

The tile shingle snaps coming up to slice your palm causing red to ooze out onto all the shades of black.

The quiet between you becomes suffocating as time ticks by, furthering your spiral.

All the while memories from high school until now flood into the forefront of your mind as you feel nothing but a heated gaze raking across your skin.

Had he always been watching?

He sure did show up at odd times in your life.

At times you were moments away from the edge, even pulling you back majority of the time.

All the while acting as if you were the biggest nuisance to walk the Earth.

But looking back you can see it, subtle yet obvious when it clouded those blood red moons.

Worry and fear paired with a tight grip and even harsher words.

An instigated fight, an encouraged argument until slowly the emotions changed from that worry.

From the fear you hadn't thought the arrogant hot head capable of to something else entirely.

Relief.

That's what flooded his eyes each time he safely brought you back to the dorms or the agency. It feels as if he's been the only one to ever truly worry.

The only one to look hard enough, to see past the fogged glass.

Words claw up your throat, fighting one another as they do.

Phrases and cries for help all the same as all you want to do is reach out for those strong arms to wrap around you.

To openly cry as you pulled on the fabric of his shirt until it took the form of your fist, even when you released it.

You swallow thickly finally deciding on what to say.

"Happy Birthday Bakugou-chan!" You sing song, forcing every ounce of what little happiness you have into the well wish. Hoping beyond hope it makes up for everything you should've said.

His heart hammers in his chest as he watches your lips curve upwards and over your teeth, as your cheeks scrunch up your face, lids closing over such a stunning fucking color.

He would have thought it real if he hadn't known better.

If he hadn't watched you climb from the window with that God damn zombie look plastered on your face.

"Don't." He bites, causing your heart to free fall into your stomach, "I can't watch you fucking lie any more."

His jaw ticks while your nails bite into your fresh wound, keeping it open to keep you seated.

"I..." He growls audibly before going on, "You can show me you know. I can handle it. I can fucking try to help."

You open your mouth to say something but a gust of wind blows through you before a hand is wrapped tightly around your neck.

Half of a lanky grey body justs out from a swirling portal in the sky.

"You think we'd let you get away with that golden quirk? The things we could do with you..." Manic joy oozes out in the form of a grotesque smile. Chapped lips wide enough to be seen from beneath a large hand.

"Let. Go." His tone is primal as he speaks, coming to his feet as you're yanked to your own.

"Oh I didn't realize you had company golden goose." For once fear stays with you as it curls into your muscles, your bones. The grip on your throat tightens as your heart hammers in your chest.

This is it, this would be the last time you ever saw him. Your last opportunity to ever say all the things you needed to fucking say after being so ignorantly oblivious to his actions.

To his heart.

Things begin to go in slow motion, watching him obliterate the roof beneath his feet, fingers outstretched for you as that damn emotion plasters openly on his face.

Fear twits into rage on his features.

But all you can do is smile, wholeheartedly smile as you look at him.

Tears of mixed feelings blur your vision as you say the one thing you so desperately needed to say to him.

"Thank you, Katsuki-kun. Thank you."

Just as he is within arms reach the portal swallows you whole closing as quickly as it opened.

Leaving Bakugou Katsuki to fall onto his hands and knees, slamming popping firsts into shingles that turn into sharp confetti all the while fat droplets fall from angry cheeks.

#bnha bakugou katsuki #bnha bakugo #bakugo x reader #bakugo angst #bakugou angst #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bnha angst

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panda-noosh · 5 years

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welcome to my world {finn shelby x reader}

Words: 7.5k

Summary: Falling in love with a Shelby boy has dire consequences.

Genre: angst

Warnings: graphic depictions of death, drug use, blood.

Notes: support my writing or ask me about commissions!

---

Sometimes Finn doesn’t want to live in the world he lives in.

Sometimes he thinks it would be ten times easier if he was just a normal kid, someone who could go to school and complain about exams, hold hands with people under the table, wind teachers up by never being quiet.

Sometimes, Finn thinks his life is a bit of a curse.

And it was like that for years. He wasn’t in the war, has never experienced the same PTSD as his older brothers, but he still wakes up in the middle of the night, cold sweat dripping, bare skin clinging to freshly washed sheets. He still sleeps lighter than air, just in case someone sneaks into his room; he needs to be able to hear them. He needs to be ready for when someone wants him dead.

He’s fully aware he shouldn’t be living like this, of course. To any normal human being, this description of life would be seen as ludicrous, dangerous, child abuse.

You just thought it was interesting.

Maybe that’s why Finn was so drawn to you in the first place - you never looked at him with pity, but you never looked at him like he was some kind of hero, either. You didn’t look at the guns strapped to his waist and say Wow, what a handsome, buff man. You looked at the guns strapped to his waist and said hm, that’s odd, i wonder what that’s for and that’s what really won Finn over.

He hates the term. Won him over, as if he’s some prize that’s been left hanging on the rack for a week or a month or a year too long. He was never waiting, he was never a prize, he was never hopeful. In fact, Finn never once convinced himself that he would ever sleep with anyone besides whores for the rest of his life - Tommy would simply not allow it, Finn would simply not allow it, the world would simply not allow it.

But then he met you, sitting at that table one day with your textbook open and your hair ruffled and that pen dangling from those lips that Finn immediately saw as impeccable, but was too shy to say anything. Tommy had told him to tell you off for taking up a table without a drink, and that was exactly what Finn planned on doing; in the end, he’d ended up sitting with you, sharing his whiskey as you talked him through a passage you were reading for some class you were interested in. You ended up dropping it a few weeks later, picking up something new, an experience Finn has never had but admired anyway.

“You’re just free to do whatever you want,” Finn remembers saying to you one evening after hastily sneaking out the back to see you; John was working that night, and he didn’t want his older brother to notice anything strange.

You had shrugged, sitting idly against the wall, legs outstretched in front of you. Finn had one foot on top of your own, tilting your foot back and forth and back and forth, a lazy action that meant nothing but everything at the same time.

“I think everyone’s free to do what they want,” had been your response, and then you had both gone quiet, and Finn remembers holding back a laugh because the mere idea of him ever having that kind of freedom was just so… bizarre, so far out of reach it was almost laughable to think he could ever possibly make it to that point.

But the freedom had come in tiny flashes. He got the night off from The Garrison, and he spent it with you. Tommy let him take one of his pistols, and Finn had shown you how to use it, watched you squeal and throw it to the floor, had rubbed your shoulder when you complained about the kickback hurting your muscles.

He was finally getting the freedom he’d always desired, and he was spending it with you.

Bizarre.

Now, he sits in the back of an abandoned wagon, head leaning against the wooden panel. Your arm is pressed against his, the cold air having nothing against the warmth your mere presence brings him; he has long since stripped off his checkered jacket and draped it over your shoulders, but he feels totally fine.

You have your head leaned back, staring up at the afternoon sky. Around you, people bustle back and forth, doing double takes when they see the Finn Shelby sitting oh-so-casually in a wagon with a person nobody knows the name of.

“You never told me how your day went today.”

Finn cracks open an eye, glances over at you, does his usual thing of ignoring the little jump of his heart. “I didn’t do much.”

“Liar.”

Finn raises a brow. “What makes you say that?”

You don’t even look away from the clouds when you answer, though there’s a small dopey grin on your face. “Finn Shelby never just doesn’t do much. You’re always up to something.”

Finn scoffs. “Not today. I woke up, had breakfast, had a wank-”

“Lovely.”

“And now I’m here.” He nudges your arm. “With you. What more could you fucking want?”

You grin, and Finn blushes. “That is the question, Mr Shelby, that is the question.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How has your day been so far?”

Your grin fades, morphing into a frown that has Finn leaning forward and inspecting your expression with a raised brow. You finally look at him, roll your eyes and shove him just a little bit, just enough to jostle the wagon, just enough to make a bit of laughter erupt from his mouth.

“Why do you look so confused?” he asks, louder than he meant to, but you make him excited.

“I’m not confused!” you protest. “I just can’t think of anything to tell you - I didn’t do much today.”

“Did you wake up this morning?”

“Yes…”

Finn sighs as if in content, leaning back with his hands threaded behind his head. “Good. That’s what I like to fucking hear.”

You roll your eyes, but that grin is back on your face and it makes Finn want to kiss you.

So he does.

There’s that other little sliver of freedom he’s allowed himself recently, the sliver of freedom Tommy would never approve of, but Finn has lost the ability to care when it comes to other people’s thoughts about you. Tommy wants Finn to be with someone powerful, someone who benefits him and the business - Finn, honestly, is content just sitting in a wagon with you by his side as you wait for your exams to happen, as you chew a pencil and study.

You smile against the kiss, that adorable smile Finn loves so much. He laughs at the feel of it, breaking the kiss immediately, though as soon as he feels you pull away, he mumbles a “No, wait,” before pulling you back by the jaw and kissing you again, and again, and again until you’re both giggling too much to continue.

“Your breath tastes like whiskey,” you say.

Finn shivers. “The word taste coming out of your mouth-”

“Finn!”

He smiles. “Kidding.” A pause. “But not really.”

And that’s how the two of you stay for the remainder of the afternoon, talking and laughing and kissing and teasing until the sun is falling down over the mountains and the moon is starting it’s slow ascent into the sky. Finn knows Tommy will be looking for him - hell, he’s been out so long that all of his brothers - maybe even Ada - will be looking for him, but as he helps you out of the wagon and pulls you in for a final goodbye kiss, he can’t find it in him to care.

----

Finn hates family meetings.

He used to complain when he wasn’t a part of them, but now he envies his little seven year old self, being able to sit in the back room and mind his own business while his older brothers and dear Aunt Polly dealt with the Big Kid Stuff. Now, he’s forced to sit in these uncomfortable chairs, sip whiskey, inhale smoke as his brothers rant and rave about some person, or some organisation, or some deal that he really does not give a fuck about.

He does that now. Arthur had called him in to the meeting room only a few minutes before, and already Finn is craving his second glass of whiskey; alcohol, it seems, is the only thing capable of getting him through these oh-so-important meetings without reaching into his belt and pulling a gun on everyone in the room.

Tommy stands at the head of the long board table, fingers clawed against the oak. Finn would laugh at the sight if he had a death wish, but he doesn’t, because he’s going to see you tonight. He’ll keep his description of Tommy’s Serious Face in the back of his head for later, because he knows you’ll enjoy it.

“It was a genuine threat,” Arthur says. Finn’s been counting - this is the seventh time Arthur has said that. “A genuine, real life fucking threat. Do they have any idea who they’re messing with?”

“I’m sure they do,” Polly replies. “They think they’re better than us. They think they’re bigger. They think they’ve got what it takes-”

“We know fuck all about them,” John cuts in. “What if they have got what it takes?”

“Nobody in Birmingham’s got what we’ve got,” says Arthur. “We know that for a fact.”

Finn sips his whiskey.

Tommy stays quiet. It’s never good when Tommy stays quiet.

Finn listens to his family talk, but he doesn’t really know what they’re talking about - he hasn’t seen this threat, hasn’t been told what this threat is, and he doesn’t care enough to ask. He won’t be allowed to do anything about it anyway, so what’s the point?

“If it comes down to it, are we willing to waste resources on these people?” Polly asks. Finn knows what she means by ‘waste resources’ - ammunition. Are they willing to kill.

“I think so,” says Arthur. “I don’t see another way around it if they do what they say they’re gonna do.”

“I agree,” John replies, taking a swig of his whiskey. “Kill ‘em all.”

Polly slowly turns her head towards Tommy, takes a puff of her pipe and says, “And what says you, O Great One?”

Tommy inhales. His shoulders move, bunching up to his ears before he lets them drop and pushes away from the table. “We’ll see what happens.”

The room goes quiet. Thomas Shelby, the man who usually has a plan laid out years in advance, is talking about just seeing what happens. Finn glances around at the rest of his family to see they are all sharing similar looks of confusion - this just isn’t right.

“Sorry, mate?” John says, cutting through the silence.

Tommy doesn’t turn around, continues looking out the window with his hands behind his back. “We’ll see what happens, and go from there.”

“See what happens?” Polly shakes her head, placing her pipe on the table with a clatter. “Tommy, these fucking idiots could show up at our door any minute now, and you’re prepared to just see what happens?”

“If you want to go and sort it out on your own, Polly, be my guest.”

Polly’s eyes are wide, snapping from Tommy to the rest of the table, silently asking for a backup nobody can give her, because nobody expected this, either.

“Oh, great,” she finally says. “We’re all fucking dead then, are we?”

Finn leans forward and timidly says, “What exactly was this threat?”

“Who the fuck let him in?” Arthur demands.

Finn reels back. “Fuck you, Arthur.”

“This isn’t the type of conversation you need to be involved with,” Polly says to him.

Finn’s stomach curls; of course, he’s heard this all before. He used to hear it all the time, never being let through the doors of the meeting room, and sure, sometimes he hates being left out, but god, when how unwelcome he is is put so bluntly, he just wants to punch something.

Instead, he stands up. His chair screeches, and Tommy says, “Finn,” but doesn’t even do anything to stop him, and that on it’s own is enough for Finn to get the hint. He downs his whiskey, slams the glass back down on the table and storms out of the room, making sure to create as much noise as possible on his way out.

Fuck them. Fuck all of them and their high opinions of themselves; Finn is grateful he never inherited such a toxic trait. In fact, he would even go as far as to say he’s jealous of his older sister for managing to get out of this shit hole ordeal whilst she could.

He finds himself at your door before he even realises where his final destination is. One minute he’s storming through the streets of Birmingham, and the next minute he’s sat on your sofa, tucked under your arm with your hands messing with his hair and the sound of your voice soothing him into something close to peace - as close to peace as a Shelby boy can get.

“Tell me what happened,” you whisper. You’re tired. He woke you up by knocking on the door, and he had apologised but he hadn’t offered to leave, because he took one look at you in your night clothes and he knew then and there that he would not be leaving your doorstep unless you asked him to.

And of course you never asked him to.

So Finn retells the story, and he curses his brothers, and he curses his life and his family and this job he was involuntarily sucked into. You listen, humming when need be, and the noise reverberates through your collar bone, tickles Finn’s cheek and soothes him further, until the story is melting from his mouth and not so difficult to put into words.

When it’s over, you press a kiss to the top of his head. Just a small one, one he barely feels but it’s perfect nonetheless.

“Fuck them,” you whisper into his hair. “You can offer so much, Finn. It’s them suffering by excluding you like that.”

He closes his eyes, nuzzles his nose into your neck. He isn’t completely convinced you’re telling the truth, but the fact that you’re lying because you love him is enough to comfort him, anyway.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” you ask.

“Do you?”

“I’ll wait till you fall asleep.”

He tightens his grip on you, pulling your legs across his lap. “I’ll wait till you fall asleep.”

You giggle, curling a strand of his hair around your finger. “Then we’re both staying awake, aren’t we?”

Finn kisses your neck. “Fine by me.”

----

“Why are your parents never home?”

Finn asks the question over breakfast the next day. In front of him sits a plate of bacon and beans, a stack of bread piled in the centre of the table. You are stood up, arms folded over your chest because you have never enjoyed sitting still; Finn looks up at you, mouth full of breakfast, and he watches you shrug as you tear a piece of bread in half.

“They’re busy,” you reply.

“With what?”

“Work.”

“What do they do for a living?” Finn never thought about it before, but now he thinks it’s kind of strange how he’s been in love with you for so long and has yet to find out what jobs your parents have.

You shrug. “All sorts. Business deals. Selling stuff.”

Three different answers.

Finn frowns. He stares at you a second longer before you sigh, clap your hands together to rid them of crumbs, and start back towards the kitchen. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, I’m alright.” He picks his plate up and follows you, placing the plate in the sink before he presses his palms against the counter, encompassing you in his arms. You spin, grin when he pecks your lips before he says, “What are you so afraid of?”

The question clearly startles you, as your eyes widen and you pull back as far as Finn’s make-shift cage will allow. He raises a brow, tilts his head to the side in a silent plea for you to tell him the truth, because you’re the love of his life, and all he wants from you is honesty, something he has never received from anyone else.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” you reply. “I don’t even fully understand what it is my parents do, Finn. I’m not lying to you.”

“Do you see much of them?”

“I see them around.” You shrug, reaching up to pluck at Finn’s shirt. “They’re more like roommates than they are parents - and I’m perfectly fine with that.”

Finn frowns, but decides to push it no further. There’s so much he wants to ask, but he can see you’re slightly uncomfortable, can feel your arms tensing against him. Slowly he peels away from you, nods and says, “Alright then,” ending the conversation before he really wants to, before he really thinks he should, because he’s so used to seeing you carefree, minding your own business - but something about this line of conversation has clearly bothered you, and it puts him on edge.

Nonetheless, the two of you spend the rest of the morning together with little to no tension. You read some passages from your book to him, and he stared at you as you spoke. He told you stories about his brothers and his sister and his life, and you stared at him as he spoke. Neither of you got dressed, simply lounged around in pyjamas until it was time for Finn to say goodbye, and even then the farewells lasted far too long; Finn didn’t want to leave. He never wants to leave. He gives you a kiss on the cheek, a kiss on the nose, a kiss on the forehead, a kiss on the lips before he finally turns and heads home, carrying what feels like the weight of the world on his shoulders.

----

Finn knows something is wrong from the moment he walks downstairs.

It’s been a few days since he stormed out of the meeting room, but things seem to be solved; nobody has brought it up, too busy fretting over threats and business to pay any attention to Finn’s childishness. He walks downstairs and pretends everything is fine, but it is then he notices his families stricken faces.

Tommy isn’t there.

Polly looks up from the page laying in front of her. She meets Finn’s eyes, takes a puff of her cigarette and says, “The bastards made their move.”

At first, Finn is confused. He raises a puzzled brow before things start clamouring together and he’s struck with a feeling of understanding - he doesn’t know the full story, but he doesn’t need to know the full story.

“Who got hurt?” Finn asks, bustling around to Arthur’s side to glance at the page - a note, written in messy handwriting, detailing Tommy’s death. “Is Tommy alright? Fucking hell, Pol, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tommy’s fine,” Arthur replies. He sounds drunk, maybe a little high. “It’s the other bastards who aren’t. Tommy’s got them locked in the basement as we speak.”

Finn straightens up. “No fucking way. How did he get them in so quick?”

“Did you even read the letter?” John spits. “The idiots fucking threatened Grace. Tommy wasn’t wasting a god damn second.”

Oh. Then it makes sense. It’s one thing threatening Thomas Shelby himself, but the moment you bring his loved ones into it, all hell will be broken loose and there is nothing but revenge that can bring it back.

Finn feels a little empty and he doesn’t even know why; this kind of thing happens all the time. His brothers came out of the war seeing red, seeing danger as a thing worth walking towards. For all of Finn’s life, he’s been trained to think in the same way as loved ones of police, or firemen, or soldiers - you love them, but there’s never any guarantee they’ll come home.

Sometimes, though, hearing of Tommy’s anger is scary. It’s off putting, and it doesn’t matter how long Finn has been around it, has witnessed it for himself, it never gets any easier.

“Where is he?” Finn finds himself asking, though he doesn’t know why - it’s not like his brothers will let him go and see what is happening. They never do.

John takes a swig of whiskey and shakes his head. “The crazy bastard went down to speak to them on his own. Wouldn’t let any of us go with him.”

“He’s got a death wish,” Polly adds. “I didn’t even see a pistol on his waist when he walked out. He was too caught up in his own fucking head.”

“What’s bloody new?” Arthur spits. “God, sometimes I just wanna rattle him.”

Finn shakes his head. “He can’t go down there without anything on him.”

“But that’s what he’s done.”

“So we should do something.” Before he can think better of it, Finn snatches Tommy’s pistol from the table and clips it to his belt. He turns on his heel, starts towards the door-

And of course, John’s hand clamps down on his shoulder before he can get very far. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Finny Boy.”

Finn knew he would never get very far. His brothers love him too much. They’re harsh, and they curse, and they make him feel like shit but he would be lying to claim they didn’t love him - they just showed it in the most frustrating of ways.

Finn hollows out his cheeks, shrugging John’s hand from his shoulder. “Fine. Let him die.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Arthur says, throwing his head back. “He’s going to be fine. He’s Tommy.”

“You lot are stupid for thinking he’s invincible,” says Polly.

Arthur shrugs as if to say What else is there to believe?

----

Finn gets his chance a few hours later, after everyone has gone to bed and the house is quiet.

He’d drank only a little bit. A glass of whiskey, maybe two, but he’s certain there was a drop of water taken in at some point in between, so he doesn’t really count himself as drunk. His head is just… somewhere else, on fire in a heap somewhere. That’s why he sits up and waits for the sound of Tommy’s office door closing, waits for the usual sound of his older brothers pacing before it abruptly stops, and Finn knows Tommy is inhaling his sleeping pills and will be out like a light within a few minutes.

As soon as the pacing stops, Finn jumps out of bed and heads down to the basement.

He’s been in here before, but he never enjoyed it. The stench of sweat is suffocating, mixing in with alcohol that Finn is fairly certain isn’t even legal in most places. The wooden floor creaks beneath his feet. One of the lights in the hallway blinks and then breaks, shattering glass over him. He wipes it away and continues walking until he reaches the very last rooms.

There’s three of them currently in use. Finn knows this by the way the doors are tightly shut, though they’re not locked. Tommy likes giving his prisoners that temptation, the ease of escaping; it’s the fear that keeps them locked in there. If they want to leave, they can be his guest - it’ll be them crawling to reach the exit by the time they get to surface level.

Finn turns the handle of the first door and pushes it open. The room is dark, but he flicks the light on when he steps inside and is immediately greeted by the sight of a middle aged man slumped over in a chair placed in the centre of the room. Blood dribbles from one of his eye sockets, and it’s only upon closer inspection does Finn realise that where once an eyeball should have been is now nothing.

He doesn’t flinch away. This is only light punishment, he knows.

The man looks mildly familiar - a square jaw, hair going grey from either stress or old age, wearing clothes that once may have looked expensive but are now tattered and torn, hanging from his limp frame.

Finn closes the door and takes another step forward. His shoe skids against the concrete, startling the man enough for him to look up.

Finn grits his teeth. “That eye looks bad.”

“Get out,” the man pants. “Get out and let me die.”

And Finn is tempted to do just that - in reality, he doesn’t even know why he’s here in the first place. He should have stayed in bed, maybe snuck out to see you.

Instead he steps forward, just close enough to reach out and brush his hands through the mans hair. He pulls his head back to inspect the damage, baring the mans throat; it’s soaked in blood, but Finn can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from. “You shouldn’t have fucked with Thomas Shelby.”

The man snorts. Blood runs from his nostril. “He’s got my family.”

Finn pauses. “Your family?”

“He took them. My kid, my wife. He took them both away because of the letter I sent. I don’t know where they are.”

The other two closed - but not locked - doors. Finn glances over his shoulder, bites his bottom lip - he really shouldn’t be playing into this. He should be leaving, going back to his room and pretending this never happened.

He turns back to the man. “Did he tell you what he was going to do to them?”

“I can only imagine the worst.”

“Tommy isn’t a rapist.”

The man smiles. Blood coats his teeth. “That’s what they all say.”

Finn steps back, releasing the mans head. His chin crashes into his chest, his strength depleted to the point where he can’t even hold his own neck up.

“Please spare them,” the man whispers into his own sternum. “Please. Kill me, but spare them. My child - My child has so much potential.”

Finn takes another step back. “I don’t control what Tommy does.”

“Of course you don’t.” The man coughs. Blood splatters his chest. “He’s got all of you wrapped around his finger. He’s got you all bent to his every fucking will, doesn’t he?”

“Shut your god damn mouth or I’ll end your family myself.” The words are sour, but he was taught to fight past the bitterness.

The man groans. It’s a sound Finn has always associated with the end of life, a desperate noise. He takes a final step back, wraps his hand around the handle, makes to leave-

“Karma will get you, boy.”

Finn closes his eyes and steps out of the room. That’s something he’s heard far too many times - he doesn’t understand why it still bothers him so.

Once the door is closed - closed, but not locked - Finn leans against the far wall and glances at the two remaining rooms. Again, he tells himself this is a bad idea. If anyone were to come down and see him standing there, he would be in so much trouble.

But he steps towards the first door and opens it up, because he feels like he should. He doesn’t owe that man anything, of course; it’s the man who threatened his family, who threatened Tommy’s wife, who doesn’t know his place in a time when it is most important to know exactly where you stand. Finn shouldn’t feel the need to do anything for him.

But it’s really his own curiosity that drives him to it. He pushes open the door, turns on the light-

And god, he should have just gone upstairs.

Because there you are, head up, eyes alert in the way your fathers weren’t. You see Finn enter the room, and he hears you breaking into sobs almost immediately, and he panics. He panics so much, a leap in his heart that leaves him feeling breathless because he can feel the pull of his world as it is ripped apart completely.

“No.”

The word falls from his lips, useless.

“No, Y/N, no.”

“I didn’t think it was you,” you cry out. “Oh, Finn, I didn’t think-”

He throws himself next to your chair, pulls on the handcuffs that he knows he will not have any chance of opening without a key. Your stuck to the chair, waiting for your death, and you’re in Finn’s basement, and you’re the love of Finn’s life and he can’t do anything.

You’re sobbing so loudly now that Finn is certain one of his brothers will hear, will come down to get you to shut up, and they’ll see him and know everything. The punishment will be ten times worse - you, the person Finn has been ditching work to go see. You, the person who has got in the way of Finn dedicating his entire life to a cause he should have known he would be stuck in from day one.

“Get out of here,” you demand through your sobs. Finn clambers to his feet, and your fingers reach out as far as they can, latch onto the sleeve of his coat even though you’ve just told him to leave. “Finn, is my dad alive?”

“He’s alive,” Finn croaks out, because it’s not really a lie.

You close your eyes, biting your lower lip. Finn wants to kiss you so badly. He wants to hug you and hold you and drag you to a safe place he can’t quite think of right now, but is determined to figure out as soon as he possibly can.

“He messed up so bad,” you whisper. “One of the men - your men - told me my dad had sent a letter to Tommy, and he mentioned his wife, and I didn’t want to believe it was your Tommy they were talking about, but-”

Finn drops to his knees and cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look at him through your tear-blurred eyes. “Listen to me, okay. I need you to calm down. Fucking calm down.”

“Finn, I’m gonna die here. They told me they were going to kill me.”

“They’re all talk.” The lie burns like acid crawling up his throat. “They won’t do anything. It’s your dad they’ve got the problem with.”

You whimper.

Finn leans his forehead against your own, gently stroking his thumbs along your cheeks. “I’ll talk to him, okay? Give me - Give me tonight. Can you stay in here for a night?”

You shake your head.

“Please,” Finn whispers. “A night. Tomorrow morning, everything will be sorted. I’ll make sure of it. Do you understand?”

You nuzzle your head a little more forcefully against his own. “Please don’t leave.”

Finn pats your cheeks and stands up, but it takes everything in him to do so. You look at him as he steps back, those pleading eyes breaking his heart, and he genuinely wonders what powers you have that have given you such a tight leash on Finn’s neck.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can be,” he promises. “I love you. I love you, and that’s why I have to leave.”

You purse your lips and nod. Finn recognises the look; you don’t really want him to leave, but you’ll agree because you love him back. You’re the first person in the world to truly, truly love him back, love him enough to let him go when he needs to go.

“I love you,” he repeats, and when you nod again, he turns and flees from the room, darting up the stairs to Tommy’s office.

He bursts in. Tommy, of course, is asleep, head tilted against his shoulder, a bottle of pills open on his bedside table alongside a half-drunk glass of whiskey. Finn doesn’t think about the consequences of waking Tommy up from a deep slumber - he’s in too deep by now. His panic has reached new levels, so it means nothing to him when he grabs Tommy’s quilt and rips it back.

Tommy’s hand is around his neck in seconds.

He’s slammed against the wall. Splinters dig into the thin fabric of his night shirt. His head throbs with the contact, and Tommy is snarling in his face like a lion about to feast on prey.

“It’s me,” Finn calls out, grabbing his brothers arms. “Fucking hell, Tommy, it’s me!”

Tommy reels back, grunting, running hands through his hair. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? I could have killed you!”

“We need to talk.” Finn rubs his temples, waits for Tommy to turn, to give him his full attention.

Tommy downs the remainder of his whiskey. “Well? What is it?”

“You need to let those prisoners go.”

Tommy pauses. Finn expected nothing different, of course, because it is so rare for someone to question Tommy’s authority. His older brother stares at him like he’s just grown a second head, and all Finn can do is wait lest he rock the boat any further than he’s already done.

Tommy tilts his head. “I beg your fucking pardon?”

“The prisoners,” Finn repeats, even though he knows that’s not really what Tommy is asking for. “At least the young one and the wife; they’re innocent, Tommy. They don’t deserve this.”

Tommy scoffs. He scoffs, and with the noise, Finn can feel every last hope of his dwindling into nothingness; Tommy won’t pay him any attention. Tommy will call him a wimp, call him weak, a coward, and that will be the end of the conversation.

But Finn is desperate. Never before has he been one hundred percent willing to beg for someone to listen to him, but god, he will gladly get on his knees and scream Tommy’s praises if it means budging his mindset even the tiniest bit right now.

“Tommy, please,” Finn says through gritted teeth. “Just this one time. For me. Please.”

Tommy raises a brow, and Finn knows he’s gone too far. He doesn’t care, though, not if it means giving you a chance.

“What’s this really about, Finn?” Tommy asks.

Finn looks to the floor. “For me, Tommy.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

Part of Finn still wants to keep you a secret, even though he knows that’s not possible - not if he wants to give you a chance. So, with a deep breath to help ground him, Finn says, “I love them, Tommy. I love Y/N.”

Tommy takes a minute. It’s silent. Downstairs, Finn can hear Arthur rattling around in the bar, no doubt making himself another drink, another amongst many. In this room, Finn’s skin burns with Tommy’s gaze.

“What are you talking about?” Tommy says slowly.

“What you feel for Grace? Yeah, I feel that for Y/N. I have for a while now.”

That’s the flood gates opened, and Finn knows this - he’s just admitted to seeing you outside of Tommy’s knowledge, has just admitted to falling in love with you when he should have been falling in love with the family business.

Tommy is fully awake now. His eyes are alight, eyebrows raised. Veins pop from his arms, knuckles clenched as he tries his hardest not to draw back and punch his youngest brother - that won’t sound good to the people downstairs. That won’t fix the damage Finn has inflicted.

“Did you do any research?” Tommy suddenly spits.

“I didn’t - I didn’t know what their parents did, okay? I never asked!”

“Well why the fuck not?” Tommy groans, spins on his heel, runs his hands through his already bed-messed hair. “Isn’t this just fucking wonderful? Exactly what we need. What do you think I’ll be able to do?”

“Let Y/N go,” Finn suggests. “It’s their dad that’s done the damage. Y/N just wants to go home with her mum.”

Something ticks in Tommy’s jaw. “You’ve really fucked my plans up, Finny Boy.”

“I know. But I never ask you for fuck all, Tommy-”

Tommy whirls around. “And I never ask you for fuck all, either! The least you can do is treat my business with a bit of respect! You’re out there giving your dick to anyone who asks for it, and now you’ve fallen in love with some mobster gangs whore-”

Finn’s fist makes contact before he even realises he’s moved.

It’s the pain that gives it away, the pain suddenly cradling his wrist and his knuckles. And then he looks down, and Tommy is doubled over, sleeping pills making him too drowsy to do anything besides yell. Horror takes form in Finn’s stomach, and his jaw drops open, an apology leaping to the tip of his tongue, but then he remembers what Tommy said, and he can’t even bring himself to be sorry.

“Y/N isn’t a whore,” Finn pants.

Slowly Tommy uncurls. There is blood on his lip that he wipes away with the back of his hand, looks at it once before he nods and says, “Fair enough.”

“They aren’t,” Finn repeats. “Y/N loves me just as much as I love them.”

“I get it, Finn.”

“So let them go home. Punish whoever needs to be punished, but Y/N isn’t one of them.”

“Alright, Finn-”

“And I never ask you for anything, but just this once-”

“Alright Finn!”

Finn shuts up. Tommy pants. His eyes are dark and lowered, but they no longer hold the same fierceness they once did, which Finn takes as a good sign - maybe he’s calmed down. Maybe Tommy is seeing sense for once.

“Alright,” the older Shelby repeats, softer this time. “I just want you to tell me how you and Y/N became acquainted.”

“Why does that-”

Tommy holds up a hand. “Just tell me, Finn.”

And so Finn starts from the beginning. He describes seeing you that day, sitting in The Garrison with your study books scattered in front of you, how you hadn’t even looked up when Finn was stood over your table. He was meant to tell you to leave, but one look at your face and something inside him had stirred, and he sat down instead. That was the first conversation the two of you ever had, and Finn knew after the first few words that it wouldn’t be the last, he wouldn’t let it be the last.

“You were sneaking out?” Tommy says.

Finn nods.

Tommy sighs, running a hand down his face. “What if one of our enemies saw you? What the fuck would we have done then?”

“We were careful.”

“Have you fucked?”

Finn’s eyes snap up. “What-”

Tommy raises a hand. “You know what, I’ll save that line of questioning for later.”

Finn pauses. He isn’t sure where to go from here - if he pushes too hard, he might get on Tommy’s nerves and then there will be no way he’s getting what he wants. But he also hasn’t got a straight answer, and he doesn’t just want to leave without knowing the consequences that follow.

He awkwardly kicks at the ground and says, “So what are you gonna do?”

Tommy sighs. “You can release Y/N tonight, but the mother stays in there until tomorrow morning. The father…” His voice darkens. “I’ll handle him on my own.”

Finn barely even hears those last few words. He’s pushing himself away from the wall halfway through Tommy’s sentence, throwing open the door and dashing back down into the basement. He can hear his heart thumping in his chest. It hurts, a physical pain right at his collarbone, but he doesn’t slow down until he’s reached the basement.

And he sees your door is open.

He falters on the steps, hand pressed against the cold concrete wall. He hears nothing - no footsteps, no screaming, no voices. Your door is just propped open, a little sliver of light crawling out.

Footsteps sound behind him. “What are you doing?”

Finn leans back, bumping shoulders with Tommy as he gestures towards the door. “The door.”

“What the fuck?”

They all-but sprint down the hallway towards the door. Finn nearly slides, just barely managing to stop and swing himself into the room.

“Oh fuck, Finn, no-”

Tommy makes to grab for his arm, but it’s too late for that. Finn is already standing in the room, already standing in the little pool of blood, already frozen. The world is dribbling away around him. He can hear nothing, smell nothing, taste, see, feel nothing.

Because there he is. Arthur, his oldest brother, the person who used to tease him and protect him and make sure he had everything when it felt like he deserved nothing. He’s curled up in the corner of the room, an empty bottle of whiskey in his hand, a knife in his other. Cocaine coats his nose. He isn’t even conscious, probably doesn’t even know what he’s just done.

And it’s clear as day what he’s just done, because whilst Arthur Shelby is slumped in the corner, you are slumped in your room with your throat cut.

Finn isn’t sure if he screams, or if his voice breaks, or what he really does. One minute he has Tommy’s arms wrapping around his waist, trying to drag him out of the room, and the next Tommy is on the ground and he’s on his knees by your chair, grabbing your head and tilting it up so he can look into those lifeless eyes of yours.

And they didn’t used to be lifeless. It was only a few minutes before - a few minutes too long - that he’d been talking to you, and you were crying but you were alive and that was enough.

“No,” Finn chokes out. “Fuck, no, no, no, Tommy, do something!”

Tommy looks up from the floor, eyes immediately shifting to Arthur. “Finn, I’m so sorry.”

“No!” Finn punches the concrete floor, doesn’t even wince when his knuckles immediately open. “No! You said I could let them go. You said they could go home!”

Tommy looks away.

Finn falls to the floor again, scrambling forward to reach for your hand, nails coated in your own blood. He was so close, so fucking close to getting you home safely, just like he promised, just as he planned. But he was minutes too late, his brother having drank a few too many drinks, snorted a few too many lines.

It’s just so strange how an entire future can be wiped out in the space of a few minutes, all because of a few mistakes.

Finn’s hands are trembling when he finally stands up and unlocks your handcuffs. He feels like some kind of prison guard doing this, but he had no say in your imprisonment, had no choice, would have done everything in his god damn power to see you free again. But now he’s forced to scoop you from the chair, your head crashing against his shoulder, blood soaking his shirt almost see-through in two seconds flat. He closes his eyes, inhales and starts walking back up the stairs.

Tommy calls after him. Arthur stirs, groans, shouts “Ay, Tommy!” before the sound of someone hitting concrete follows Finn up the stairs. Finn makes a mental reminder to thank Tommy for doing the thing he is too occupied to do.

----

“You really loved them, didn’t you?”

Finn nods, plucks at the loose threads on his trousers. Grace sits beside him, her warm Irish accent soothing him, but not enough for him to fall asleep. Grace has never suffered with insomnia quite like Finn has been suffering since your death, but she’s been making an effort to make sure Finn isn’t alone when he can’t sleep, even if it does eat into her own sleeping time.

Finn appreciates it a little bit. Some nights he feels like he’d rather be alone, and some nights he craves your presence so much that sitting with Grace seems as close as he’s going to get, so he takes it anyway. It’s not the same, of course, but it’ll do - it’s all he has.

“Arthur’s sorry.”

“Arthur can fuck off.”

“Arthur can fuck off, I agree.” Grace sighs, places a hand on Finn’s shoulder. “But I think you need to remember that Y/N was the most carefree, forgiving person on this fucking planet, Finn. They wouldn’t want you holding this against him forever.”

This. As if that single word could ever mean anything, as if that single word was enough to describe the absolute horrors Arthur inflicted.

And yes, Arthur has apologised. Yes, Arthur has stopped drinking, and he’s stopped taking drugs, and he’s trying so hard to prove to Finn that he truly, deeply regrets what he’s done, but fuck him. Finn doesn’t have time for it. He’s done forgiving, done forgetting - he’ll live in forever misery if he wants to.

“Do you think you’ll ever be able to move on?”

“No.” The answer is instantaneous, doesn’t take a moments thought.

Grace nods like she understands. “Okay.”

Finn curls his fingers against his thighs, inhales deeply and takes another swig of his whiskey.

Another long night without you. He marks it off the calender.

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arotechno · 4 years

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The Heartless: Chapter 8

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Chapter VIII: in which sometimes we surprise ourselves

After being recognized in my hometown—and tearing through it screaming in the most conspicuous way possible—there was no way I could stay there any longer, so I fled into the northern woods to consider my next course of action. It was only once I was alone with only the trees and creeping undergrowth that I let the tears begin to flow, initially white-hot with anger before sinking into unrestrained grief.

Maybe this was what Bertrand had meant when I said I would only end up getting hurt. But there had been a part of me that was hoping against any kind of rationality that I would return to find my parents alive and well. Even if they had rejected me, being able to chew them out for it would have been far more cathartic than the pain of only reopening a wound that could never be healed. A small part of me may have even been hoping I’d find Basil still here after all these years. But the idyllic notion of even having a home to return to had been a fantasy. Maybe people like me were only ever meant to be transient, like any home we’d ever have could only be temporary unless we built it for ourselves, clawing at the earth trying to create something out of nothing. Maybe this was the natural order of things, like if I tried to fit any sense of permanence or belonging into the caverns of my ribcage it would only ever inevitably be swallowed into dissolution by the empty space.

When I had finally wept myself dry, I reassessed my options. The easy answer would be to head back to Bertrand’s house with my tail between my legs and continue on as if nothing had changed at all. But I had reopened an age-old wound that left a sharp pain in my chest, as if I’d been cut open and left out in the woods to rot until the soil and the trees moved in through the gash that’d been left behind and made a home in the vacant space between my ribs. I concluded, perhaps foolishly, that the only path remaining was forward. No matter the costs, I had to press onward for answers, all the way to the far reaches of the kingdom if that was what it took. I would keep moving, leaving my hometown and the Village of the Heartless in the dust. I vowed that I would not return until I found answers, whatever that ended up meaning; no matter what, I refused to return home empty handed.

In spite of myself, I pulled the portrait from my room out of my bag. I had not seen my parents’ faces since the day I left, but their fading memory came rushing back clear as day as I wiped the dust and decay from the old frame—my father’s stoic kindness, my mother’s impish but steadfast guidance.

When the oppressive feeling returned, I went to put the picture away, but hesitated as I saw the afternoon sun reflect off something clear and shiny at the bottom of my bag. In disbelief, I reached in and pulled it out—three little glass vials of familiar red liquid, tied together with a piece of fraying string. There was a note attached:

Ace,

I have no use for these anymore, but perhaps they may help you on your journey. I do not know if they work, though I suppose you may get desperate.

Please take care, Ace. It is not a kind world out there. Though I suppose you know that better than most.

Bertrand

“Foolish old man,” I muttered to myself bitterly, though I was unable to keep a fond smile from creeping onto my face. Of course Bertrand had sent me with love potions, and nothing of actual use. I figured he must have slipped them into my bag at some point before I left. It was typical of him; ever insistent on his efforts to break the curse, no matter how futile. Nevertheless, I slipped the parcel back into the satchel carefully, followed by the picture frame that had been laying discarded at my side.

With a newfound resolve, I pushed myself to my feet, wiped the dirt from my pants, and began stumbling weary and bleary-eyed eastward.

* * *

As I traveled further from home, the quiet pastoral villages blurred into bustling small towns that made me hyper-aware in a hollow sort of way of the few measly coins jingling in my pocket. The evenings sang not with the quiet chatter of families and children’s rhymes, but with raucous laughter and live music that spilled out of taverns and large, ornate homes. The roads were all paved with neatly cut bricks or stones that clacked pleasantly under the dusty worn-out soles of my boots. The streets were always well-lit and well-maintained, lined with diligently trimmed bushes of sickly-sweet smelling flowers set against yellowing foliage. The trees still held a little greenery, as though summer were taking its last breath before giving way to the fall.

The further east I traveled, the more I stuck out like a sore thumb, though people seemed more content to simply brush past me in the streets rather than pay me any mind. I’d heard stories of the eastern towns as a child, tales of opulent mansions six stories tall and streets paved with gold. There, where the rich nobles and all sorts of other important folk lived, the wells never ran dry and the cellars were always overflowing, even in the longest winters. This, of course, had been a fairytale, nothing more than an over-exaggerated pie-in-the-sky dream of a life of wealth and bounty that was always going to be out of reach.

Seated in the shadow of an alley beside a lively tavern, stomach rumbling at the smell of freshly fried meat emanating from the open doors, I reckoned that the myth and the reality may as well have been the same, for all it was worth.

The night was cool, a light autumn breeze pushing the fallen leaves across the dirt floor of the alley. The only light came from the full moon and a flickering oil lamp that hung in the window above my head, casting my quivering shadow against the opposite wall. The sound of drunken laughter and clacking cups reverberated off the bricks, echoing in the empty night air.

The window flew open and I pressed my back as far against the tavern wall as it would go, sucking in a breath and holding it. An arm swung out and tossed a dirty canvas sack out into the alley, and then the window snapped shut again. After a moment of still silence, I exhaled and leaned forward on the balls of my feet to get a closer look at the bag. I pulled back a corner of the fabric; the sack was full of food, what looked to be burnt scraps and almost-rotting produce, the leftovers that paying customers didn’t want. My stomach growled, so loudly I feared it would alert half the town. Desperate, I leaned in closer—it wasn’t stealing if the food was being thrown out, right?

“Hey, get back!”

A figure jumped out from the other side of the building, sending me stumbling backward onto my butt. I clambered to my feet and reached instinctively for my bow, the figure for a knife on their belt. We both froze, squinting in the dim light of the alley.

“Wait a minute,” the figure hissed. “It’s you!”

“Knife Boy?” I blurted.

“Arrow Guy?”

“What?”

“Nothing.” The hand at Knife Boy’s belt moved to rest on his hip, and my eyes were drawn to the glint of moonlight off the dagger’s blade. “Wow, what is with you Heartless and scamming other folks’ food?”

My grip on the bow at my back tightened. “Keep that word out of your mouth before you get me arrested, or this time I won’t hesitate.”

Knife Boy raised his hands in surrender, taking a step backward. “Right, listen, I’m not going to attack you. I’m better than that now, I promise.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing all the way out east?”

“I could ask the same of you. Pretty risky for you to be traveling this close to the castle, no?”

“I asked you first. Do you live out here?”

Knife Boy stifled a laugh. “Do I look like I live around here?” He gestured down to his clothes, which even in the poor lighting I could tell looked more or less the same as mine. “I’m just here to steal, and you were about to take my loot that I waited hours for.”

I finally released my grip and lowered my hand back to my side. “Wait a minute. If you’re a thief yourself, why did you chase after my friend for stealing food back west?”

“You and I both know that had very little to do with the food,” Knife Boy replied bluntly.

“I—Fair enough.”

The tavern kitchen window opened brusquely, startling me back onto the defensive, and a deep voice bellowed, “Hey! What are you rotten kids doing out there?”

Knife Boy made a hasty dive for the discarded food and shouted, “Let’s get out of here!”

“Why should I trust you?”

He tossed me a burnt roll from the bag and urged, “Let’s go!”

Juggling the offering in my unexpectant hands, I took off after him out of the alley, halfway across town, and into the moonlit woods that lay beyond. Eventually, we reached a small clearing with a clear, bubbling stream. The leaves had been pushed into a pile like a makeshift bed, and a circle of stones and charred wood comprised the remains of a campfire. It looked as though Knife Boy had been camping out here for at least a few nights, perhaps longer.

Panting, Knife Boy dropped down clumsily onto his leaf pile and began rifling through the sack of food, appearing to toss away anything he deemed entirely inedible. I sat down cross-legged a cautious several feet away from him, drawing my cloak tighter around myself and taking bites out of the bread he had thrown me in the alley. The resolve and courage I’d had back there had disappeared into the quiet night, settling into an unfortunately familiar sense of danger and otherness. Seeming satisfied with his inspection of his (our?) loot, Knife Boy passed me a bruised apple and set the bag aside before he began gathering kindling.

“Why are you helping me?” I found the strength to ask, hating the uncertainty in my voice.

Knife Boy did not look up from where he was trying to start a fire. “Do you want the honest answer?”

“I certainly don’t want you to lie.”

“Wonderful, you’re going to make me admit it.” As a spark finally took hold and ignited a small flame, Knife Boy wiped the dirt from his hands and sat back down on his bed of leaves. “To tell you the truth, the way you stood your ground for that girl made me realize maybe I was wrong about you bastards. I didn’t think you could act like that.”

“Like what?” I prodded.

“Like a person.” Knife Boy turned to me and the firelight shone bright against his face. I had never seen him this clearly; he couldn’t have been any older than 15, features still soft around the edges, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes, something familiar and sad.

“Can I ask you something?” I found myself saying.

“That’s mostly all you’ve done since I ran into you, so I don’t see why not.”

I chose to ignore his pointed comment. “Where are your parents?”

Knife Boy’s expression shifted into something unreadable and he quickly looked away. “They’re dead,” he whispered tersely, picking up a twig and dragging it through the dirt in front of him. “I’ve been traveling mostly on my own for a few years now.”

“Can I ask how they died?”

“You can ask, but I won’t tell you.”

“Right, sorry.” I turned the apple over in my hands, still uneaten. “I don’t know what happened to my parents, but I think it’s safe to assume they’re dead as well, or otherwise rotting in a cell somewhere. Either way, I doubt I’ll ever see them again.”

Knife Boy hummed in acknowledgement. After a moment, he looked back up at me, the unease in his eyes glinting in the firelight. “You knew your parents?”

“Now you’re the one asking questions?”

“It’s only fair,” Knife Boy muttered brusquely. “But you don’t have to answer.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. I did know my parents, I lived with them for ten years. I had a friend, too, also Heartless, but when he was discovered, he was attacked by the other kids in the neighborhood. My parents sent me away, and that was the last I saw of them or him. I recently returned to my old home, only to find that both my parents and his parents were detained by the royal guard soon after, and nothing was ever heard from them again.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

I shrugged again, even though Knife Boy was no longer looking.

“So that’s why you’re traveling. What are you hoping to find?”

“I’m not sure anymore,” I admitted. “Answers, I suppose.”

Knife Boy reached across the distance between us to snatch the apple out of my idle hands and took a king-sized bite out of it, and I saw no use in chastising him over it.

“What you want is revenge,” he countered with his mouth full.

“I’m sorry?”

“If you want to get to the bottom of this, then aren’t you headed for the top?”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the question, earning a puzzled look from Knife Boy. The idea of infiltrating the castle grounds had crossed my mind on several occasions since I left the empty house. There was a voice in the recesses of my mind that said this entire journey was futile, but until the rest of me could accept that possibility, admitting defeat would simply never be an option.

“I have considered that,” I responded. “But I don’t think I’d make it very far.”

Knife Boy nodded and set his gaze somewhere far off beyond the trees that surrounded us as he continued devouring the apple. He said nothing more, leaving only the stream’s gentle gurgling and the crickets’ chirping to fill the void our voices had left behind. As the minutes passed in relative silence, I assumed the conversation had died, as Knife Boy didn’t seem eager to say anything more.

Then he chucked the remains of the apple core far into the woods and offered, not at all helpfully, “On your own.”

“Sorry, what?” I prompted, unable to hide the bewilderment in my voice.

“You wouldn’t make it very far on your own,” Knife Boy clarified in a biting tone, as if saying it out loud were physically painful.

“Are you… saying you want to come with me?”

Knife Boy groaned petulantly. “Ugh, when you say it like that it makes it sound like I actually like you and don’t think you’re weird and gross!” He huffed, not meeting my eyes. “Look, let’s just say that I owe you, okay? For sparing my life, twice now actually. And for showing me that I was wrong about you.”

Admittedly, “weird and gross” was one of the less scathing remarks I’d had directed at me or my kind before, so I let the petty insult wash over me like the rushing water over the rocks in the stream.

“And what do you get out of helping me?” I prodded.

“Let’s make a deal. You stop asking me personal questions, and I’ll help you sneak into the castle to find answers or avenge your formative childhood tragedy, or whatever.” Knife Boy reached his fist out towards me. “How’s that sound?”

With a smile, I returned the gesture; however, Knife Boy pulled back before our fists could make contact.

“Deal.”

#the heartless #aro #aromantic #aro writing #aro writers #aspec #aspec writing #aspec writers #writing #writeblr #op

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caddy-whump-us · 4 years

Text

I feel like the things I’m writing lately for the vampires aren’t so much whump as they are angst or just “scenes from a captivity.” So if you’re still reading this stuff, I hope you enjoy it. I’ll get back to Etienne in a bit; it’s Nikolai time right now. And I’ll get back to some more “classic” whump soon.

This piece also involves a character named Cyprian who I think was mentioned before? All the backstory you need should be here anyway. He’ll be showing up a bit more hereafter.

I also highly recommend this playlist for some mood music.

---

“Glad as I was to hear from you, do you truly believe you can mend the rift between you?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

They were sitting before the fire again. They were always sitting before the fire, with the night pressing in like black walls. But this time there was a stranger with them.

His Lord sat on the couch to one side of the fire, and Nikolai sat on the little velvet stool beside him. Across from them, though, was the stranger--to Nikolai, at least. Adrastos seemed to know him all too well as they spoke across the elaborate, twisting patterns of the carpet between them.

White faces, such white faces, like moving marble statues when they spoke, one to the other. But this stranger, their guest, seemed, although they both had the same smooth, grave-marble faces, younger in some way. The way he lounged on the couch, the tilt of his head.

But his Lord was just as nonchalant; the comfort of a lord in his own home, of course. Nikolai was beginning to fidget: twisting the ends of the ribbon around his neck, pulling at his jacket draped over his shoulders, worrying at his fingers.

Nikolai watched them from under his brows. All of this sitting before the fire was for show, pantomimes and shadow-plays of life as it had once been and could never be again for these two monsters. Yes, pretend to be cold and weary after riding out to this house and come warm yourself by the fire. It was a play for the two of them only, a game. After all, Nikolai and the postulants all knew them for what they were. Perhaps this was their only entertainment left.

Adrastos reached out and began to stroke Nikolai’s hair.

“After everything you’ve done, Cyprian?”

Cyprian shrugged, his eyes closed, white palms turned up in the dark. His hair was auburn, dark in the shadow but copper bright in the light of the fire, in loose waves that fell across his forehead.

“Or is this because you know Viktor will have to choose an heir someday?” Less question than statement. “Perhaps Ruslan told you--”

“About the new boy he’s caught? No. But I heard tell of it.”

“Cyprian, please.”

Cyprian rolled his eyes. “Black swan,” he said, then went on, “I’m quite comfortable as I am. I don’t know that I’d need an inheritance.”

“You’re living a bit like Ruslan these days.”

“I enjoy it, the squalor down in the shadow of the university.”

Nikolai’s eyes flicked up to Cyprian’s face and he found Cyprian looking back at him, eye to eye. Cyprian shifted in his seat, rested his chin on his hand.

“I only ever met Ruslan perhaps twice, you know.”

“Viktor tolerates him but there’s no love lost between them.”

“They’re too different. And your master needed you to bridge between them.”

“Is that why you wrote to me, then?” Adrastos said, leaning forward across the span between them.

Cyprian matched him. “I’ll have a lineage of my own someday.”

“After what you did?” Adrastos hissed.

But Cyprian went on: “As will his new” a pause “black swan. What is a disagreement between us now could become true factions within a few years. Think of that.”

Adrastos sat back, considering. “You could as easily be killed. Kill the serpent in the egg, as they say. After all, you know what you’ve done, as do I, as does he.”

Cyprian looked disinterested and was looking sidelong at the fire.

“In fact,” Adrastos went on, “some scrap of what you have done has made its way back to him.”

Cyprian still looked towards the fire. Nikolai tried to see the color of his eyes in the firelight, with no success.

“So. It’s not inheritance, it’s not envy, it’s not guilt, it’s purely to prevent this speculative ‘war’ between the lineages. You’re a fool if you believe that could happen.”

“I am already outnumbered, that is true.”

“You’re only half a fool, then.” And Adrastos leaned forward again, his fingers steepled before his mouth. “So why are you here?”

Cyprian was still turned aside. He closed his eyes. “Because I need him. And I need you to help me back to him.”

Adrastos scoffed. And Cyprian turned on him, blazing.

“I do! You know the things I’ve already done. I’ve crossed paths with--” and he paused and closed his eyes.

Adrastos gave a low, slow sound of understanding. “Is that it? You’ve found the first of your impossible creatures, your own black swan.”

Cyprian dropped his forehead to his hand. “How do I resist it? Or how do I accept it? I don’t know what to do.”

“And you mean to go to him to ask.”

“He is still my maker even if I refuse to call him my master. He knows me.”

“Indeed so.”

“I understand the break between us. I promise you I do. But I need help to cross it. He needn’t speak to me again after this, so long as he answers me. If I write to him I’m sure he’ll burn my letters before reading them. I would have gone to Ruslan, but I know how things stand between them. And so--”

“So you wrote to me. I can’t say I’m flattered that I’m your last recourse, but here we stand.”

Cyprian was looking up at Adrastos and his eyes were wide and pained. “Will you help me?”

Adrastos sat quietly a moment, looking into the darkness beyond. Nikolai found himself twisting his fingers again and willed himself to stop. This unexpected meeting had pushed back his first dose of the day (call it that) and he was beginning to want for it.

“I think,” Adrastos said, “I can do something for you. But more than half of it will still lie with Viktor. I can intercede, but only so far.”

“Any help would be welcome. I don’t expect forgiveness or for him to welcome me back with open arms. I only need his help. And I can promise him that he won’t hear of me again if that’s what he wishes.”

Adrastos set his hands gently atop Nikolai’s to still them. Nikolai looked up towards him, then down and aside, ashamed. But he could feel that strange fever beginning to come over him. His eyes were hot. The skin of his back was tight and itching.

“Then I will write to him on your behalf. You’ll be in my debt, you know.”

“I do know, but I think perhaps it is worth it.”

Adrastos laughed, softly, and drew the jacket off Nikolai’s shoulders. “Now, come: we’ll pledge our cooperation.” He set his hands on Nikolai’s shoulders, “This is my black swan.”

Nikolai fixed Cyprian with his dark eyes.

“And his name?” Cyprian asked.

“Nikolai,” Adrastos answered, rising and going to the writing desk set against the wall beside the fireplace. He opened a drawer there and Nikolai breathed a sigh, almost a sob, of relief. He knew what was kept in that drawer. He opened his eyes again to find Cyprian staring at him and he ducked his head, all humility.

But still, he watched his Lord come back to the couch with the wooden box, the bottle, and the delicate knife; he kept his eyes most on the box and the bottle.

“This is, perhaps, a bit taboo? A bit questionable? But you must experience it for yourself.” He spun a spindle-footed table from around the arm of the couch to stand on the rug among them all. “Consider this quite a demonstration of trust. But we’re pledging our good faith, aren’t we?”

Now Adrastos was laying out his tools: the syringe, the needle, the cord (a cord this time?), the harsh liquor to clean the implements, the knife, the bandages for after. Nikolai was trembling slightly.

“Have you ever drunk from one who was drunk, Cyprian?”

Cyprian looked at him quizzically. “I have.”

“Then you know that sensation.” He had opened the grappa and let the stinging smell fill up the space around them. “In my life before,” Adrastos said, “I was at times fond of the spirit of the poppy. As content as I am now--” Cyprian interrupted with a scoff, but Adrastos went on “--I do miss those dreams sometimes. And knowing what we know about drinking from a drunk…” he trailed off.

Cyprian’s eyes narrowed. “It seems dirty, somehow.”

Adrastos held up the syringe and fitted the needle to it and began to clean it, gently, with the grappa. “Perhaps it does.” He drew up a full syringe of the grappa then shot it into the fire where it flared blue for a moment, then died. “But you must try it.”

Cyprian was quiet, but he looked from Nikolai to Adrastos and back again.

With everything laid out to his liking, Adrastos slipped Nikolai’s jacket from his shoulders and helped him up onto the couch. Nikolai pulled off his leather slippers and set them neatly beside the clawed foot of the couch. Adrastos surrendered his place to Nikolai and Nikolai lay back, looking up into the ceiling, chewing at his lips in anticipation? Frustration?

Adrastos crouched on the floor beside him, and smoothed Nikolai’s hair back from his forehead.

“I’ve been increasing his doses for several days now,” Adrastos said, not looking away from Nikolai’s face, “in anticipation of your visit.”

“Whatever for?”

“So he can endure the dose I will give him tonight, which he will share with us.” He began rolling up Nikolai’s sleeve.

Nikolai breathed deeply once, and closed his eyes. The tightness had gone from his forehead and around his eyes. Already he seemed close to sleep.

Adrastos took up the cord and wrapped it around Nikolai’s bare arm. That blessed numbness and thickness spreading down his arm from the pinch of the cord--Nikolai licked his lips.

With the needle in hand, Adrastos drew up the dose of morphine from the bottle, pressed a few drops back into the bottle and let a few more drops slip down the needle as he held it upright, examining it. He turned back to Nikolai and smiled.

“I could hold a drop of laudanum on the tip of a pin and I think he’d crawl across stones and glass to lick it off.” He smiled. “Or let me prick him with it.”

Now Adrastos had Nikolai’s hand in his. Now the chill of glass and metal against Nikolai’s skin. Now the pinch and sting of the needle. And now the hot rush of blood back into his fingertips as Adrastos untied the cord around his arm.

“Come,” Adrastos said, “Sit here beside him.”

Soft shuffling in the dim firelight and Cyprian came to sit at Nikolai’s feet.

“Just a moment more,” Adrastos said and, as he did, Nikolai’s eyes drifted open, rolled back to show the whites, and fell closed again. And in that moment he fell limp, boneless as a ragdoll, or as the old adage went, like a puppet with its string cut. His breathing was slow and deep and, to Cyprian, it seemed that he was almost smiling, as one would smile in a sweet dream.

Adrastos was leaning over him, smoothing his hair and his forehead. “You’ll be a wretch after our guest leaves, won’t you?” he whispered into Nikolai’s ear. “No, you can’t stay so blissful forever.” He kissed off the bead of blood from the needlemark and then he reached for the silver knife.

Adrastos took up Nikolai’s hand. “I won’t sully him with scars,” he said to Cyprian as he unfolded Nikolai’s fingers, a white flower blooming in the dark. “You needn’t worry: he’ll feel nothing.” Drawn so close as they were now, Adrastos whispered velvet in the dark to Cyprian.

With the silver knife, he cut small nicks and cuts into Nikolai’s fingers; the blood trickled down to pool in his palm. Adrastos cut him again low on the palm (the Mount of Venus and the Mount of the Moon, that was what a fortune-teller had said once when there was a traveling carnival passing through the town out beyond his house and Jonathan’s house and the forest and the fields and they had bears and wolves but maybe those were only dogs and a girl who would balance on the hand of the strongman and…)

Adrastos held Nikolai’s hand like a cup, letting the trickles of blood gather there, then offered Nikolai’s cupped hand to Cyprian. “Try him,” he said.

Cyprian paused a moment, holding Nikolai’s hand, then sipped at the collected blood once, twice, enough to finish it. Salt, sweetness and copper. And heat. And something bitter, but that was his own mind: there seemed to be nothing he could do that was not a sin in someone’s eyes. He sat back again, leaning against the couch, licking the last tastes of sharp metal from his mouth.

Adrastos looked at him and smiled, then set to freshening the cuts on Nikolai’s hand, to start the flow of blood again. He waited, letting the blood collect in the cup of Nikolai’s hand, and watched Cyprian.

Cyprian had been sitting, waiting, with one arm on his crooked knee and his back straight against the seat of the couch when, suddenly, his posture slackened. His mouth dropped open. He leaned forward at first, then laid his head against the seat of the couch. His leg slid out before him, another puppet with cut strings. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and blinked slowly.

“How quickly the thirst can be slaked,” Adrastos said, watching him.

He brought Nikolai’s hand up to his mouth but stopped short and, instead, toasted to Nikolai with Nikolai’s own hand and own blood, then drank up the collected blood.

He laid back against the couch as well, but with his shoulder pressed against it so he could go on stroking Nikolai’s hair a while, so he could go on lapping up the last droplets from Nikolai’s fingers. But he succumbed as well, and nearly as fast, with his head leaning on the couch.

Perhaps this oblivion was the nearest to death he would come until some madness took him and he killed himself out of boredom or frustration or because he had become some gaunt monster cursed with a nigh-endless life and buried in darkness as if buried alive--for so he was buried alive in a sense. Any number had taken their own lives, if the consciousness he endured could be called life, ending some of the great lineages, destroying their masters in the course of it, causing some great cascade of despair among some houses.

But he had this sweet bliss now, for now, like wandering through an endless house of dark rooms, unhurried, unafraid, only passing from room to room, unaware that they were rooms, only moving without knowing he moved, gliding, existing without existing, persisting…

---

Some time later, Nikolai awoke, vaguely sick, his body still like wet sand and wet velvet. The two vampires were still unconscious, one at his head and one at his feet. And, yes, he did consider that he might kill them both in that moment. Or, if not kill them, make clear his rage, perhaps, though he felt only cold inside, with no heated rage. How long had it been since he had felt it? But still he could take the knife they had used on him and he could use it on them, make them bleed as they had made him bleed.

He was reaching out for the knife where it lay near Adrastos’ hand when he saw the dried tracks of blood in his fingerprints and in the lines of his palm. He held his hand in front of his face, considering it: he had not been bandaged.

He looked to Adrastos, who had always been so careful to bandage the tiny cuts he made when he was finished, even when he took from Nikolai after a large dose like tonight. But the bandages were still in the box and the box was on the table and the table was perhaps a mile, perhaps two miles (or so it felt) from where he lay. He did reach out for it, but fell far short.

He sighed and then wrapped his hand in the hem of his shirt in case any of the wounds opened again, and turned to lie with his face towards the back of the couch. Soon enough he would feel the fever of wanting again, his head would ache, he would shake, he would sweat and feel sick to his stomach. And whether that was better or worse than the leaden feeling now--he looked over his shoulder at the two vampires, still asleep if they did sleep, and envied them. He was past that bliss now, left in a useless stupor, and with only the fever to come.

He pinched his eyes shut to stop from crying and willed himself to sleep just a bit more, just a bit more.

#whump #vampires #Nikolai #adrastos #cyprian #Drugging #caution: drug use #Blood #captivity #dehumanization

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infinite-hearts-333 · 4 years

Text

Masked Love Chapter 1

Sander sides, Rociet, Human/Magical AU

WARNING: mentions of past dehumanising, reference to PTSD flashback??, um bullying reference.

Masterpost

~~18/5/2022 6:37am (Present time)~~

“Janus?”

Janus grumbled, pulling the weighted blanket over his head more as what sounded like his mama's voice filled his too-tired, half asleep brain. “Noooooooooo….”

“Janus! JANUS! I know you're awake up there!!”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” Janus groaned back, pulling the blanket tighter over his head.

“JANNIE IF YOU DON'T LISTEN TO YOUR MOTHER I’LL COME UP THERE WITH THE COLD BORE WATER AGAIN~!” Came the singsong voice of his mom, and Janus full on scrambled out of bed, covers sent flying and he had to double check his claws to ensure they didn’t ensnare on anything through his half sleepy, half panicked daze.

“COMING! COMING!! Yesh….” he called, before grumbling, yawning, completely use to the soft popping of his unhinged jaw, forked tongue tasting the air. Waffles…. Mmmmm….

He quickly got ready, body automatically from routine, getting changed into his clothes- a lime turtle neck, black jacket with pins and patches attached, sunflower yellow beanie, skinny black jeans and his boots. He hummed a loose tune as he moved, alike to clock work, moving to turn to his bed, tugging the poor flinged sheets back into the right position, snatching up his stuffed dragon that had fallen onto the floor and placing it on top of his pillow gently.

Janus’s room was, in fact, the attic. His mum and mama weren't… expecting him when he showed up, but they took him in and loved him all the same. The rickety old house they had didn't have enough rooms for Janus to move into when he got older, so his parents spent ages rebuilding the attic for him. You could tell in some places- the seams where the wall met the roof weren't all the same size, the floorboards ran crookedly rather than straight, there were chips in both the walls and the floor where the wood wasn’t smooth.

But janus loved his room. It was cosy- there different metals and CD disks strung up which glinted like precious gems under the sky window, he had a large rainbow flag hanging over his bed in the corner, fairy lights stuck on the wall all around the room. Boxes upon boxes peeked out of his bed, filled to the brim with the most random things, leaves, feathers, stones, shells, bones, name it, Janus probably had it.

Walking to where his room ended, a wall with a human sized hole in the floor, he paused by the mirror, only to wrinkle up his nose in disgust at what he saw staring back. Janus was actually pretty handsome, nice clear tanned skin, brilliant eyes that shined lime and forest green and firefly yellow all at the same time. Chestnut hazel hair that hung in ruffled curls framed his face. He was strong, a little buff and according to his mother and mamma, quite the personality. But there were two things.

Janus’s jaw. It faded into the most horrid shade of olive green, splotches of lime, deep forest green and the colour of dying cactuses for scales, littered across the bottom half of Janus’s face. Two gross dusty pink scars ran from the corners of his mouth, stretching out and curling, nearly to touch his ears, one on each side. Darting in and out of his abnormally large fanged mouth was a forked blue tongue, fading into pink at the back of his mouth, the slightest sign that janus was once human.

He softly sighed, turning away to wander to the wall, and so the holes well, jumping through it to land on the couch flawlessly. “Morning.” He mumbled to the two females cooking and giggling at each other. “Morning' darling~!” called Mamma, smiling brightly. “Did you sleep well, little snek-a-doodle?” Teased his mum, smiling warmly as she parted from her partner to ruffle her adopted son's hair.

Janus smiled back up at her, and couldn't ignore the pang of happiness when all he found in mum's eyes was love. “We made waffles for your big day!” Chimed Mamma, beaming as she worked at the stove.

Ah. Right. High school. Janus groaned, leaning back to painfully donk his head against the wall. “Do I have to go?” He whined. “Yup!” his mum said, popping the ‘p’. Janus rolled his head off the wall, allowing his eyes to drop to problem number two in his life. His hands. Or well…. Talons.

Janus’s hands, a lot like his jaw dyed into that horrid olive colour, splattered with scales. He had four ‘fingers’ instead of five, each ending with a large sharp claw that was almost an ivory green if held in the right light. Scars lined his hand where the scales started, signs that janus wasn’t born with these abnormal features.

His mum then slapped him over the head with a rolled up newspaper. “OW! Hey!!!!!” snapped Janus. His mum raised an eyebrow. “You were pulling the face you make when you're judging yourself. And I'm having none of that. You're beautiful, fullstop.” she narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to prove her wrong. Janus chuckled. “Guilty as charged.” he hummed, standing to walk over to their small island counter.

His mom huffed, nodding, walking alongside her son, combat boots making a soft thumping noise on the tiles. Janus hid a wince as the sound of clicking heels entered his mind.

Click, click, click.

He swallowed, sitting. “Here you go!!” chirped Mamma, smiling as she placed the plates down. “Thank you dear.” Mom said softly kissing Mamma’s cheek on her way past. “Thanks mamma.” Janus chipped in, trying not to show his teeth while he smiled. Mamma beamed, swirling around to plop down in her seat.

Janus reached out to grab the berries, randomly dropping them over the waffles. He was cautious, ensuring he didn’t open his mouth too wide, taking in small little bites. Mum started talking about what she would be doing while Janus was at school, working on the new barley crops. “Those darn aphids! They've been going off everywhere!!!” Janus slowly chewed on a piece of blue berry.

“I think you're gonna need to get some pest spray mum.” Janus pointed out. Mamma nodded. “Do you want me to pick some up honey? I’m going into town anyway for some more mango seeds.”

Janus smirked against his milk glass, washing down the waffles. “Again with the Mangos Mamma?”

Mamma shrugged, smiling. “I want to make some jams! And maybe I might try making mango sorbet again.” Janus grinned. “Yes please!” His gaze flickered to the clock on the wall, and he sighed. “Well, as much as I hate it, I should go.” he said with a huff, shovelling the last of the waffles into his mouth and drowning the milk.

“Okay darling, have a nice day!” Mamma said with a smile. “See you this afternoon ‘kay snek-a-doodle? You’ll help me with the cows again?” Janus smirked, collecting his plate and glass. “Absolutely.” he stated, placing his dishes in the sink. “See you this afternoon!” he called, snatching up his gloves and mask off their hanger and then scooping up his bag.

He swung his bag half on, fumbling to put on his yellow gloves. They were bulky and too big to allow room for his claws, a black band around the start of the four fingers and wrist to prevent slipping and looked ridiculous, but it was better than exposing his features to the world. He had to be careful, pausing to ensure none of his scales got caught on the fabric. He then put on his mask, a simple also yellow fabric that covered his mouth and nose. He then twisted to reach into his front pocket of his bag, pulling out his earphones and lime mp3 player, shoving the buds into his ears and turning it on, blasting the music at the highest volume.

[ 🎶 Looking for an exit in this world of fear

I can see the path that leads away

Mama never left, and daddy needs me here

I wish the wind would carry a change

Looking through the window to a world of dreams

I can see my future slip away

Honey you won't get there if you don't believe

I wish the wind would carry a change 🎶 ]

He wandered through the fields of crops and fields of animals, waving a hello to the farmer next door. Michel, his name was, he grows the best peaches. He guessed that there was a satisfying crunch as Janus jumped from a small ledge down onto the orange autumn leaf-covered road. Wandering along the side of the road, Janus quietly hummed along to his music all the way to the bus stop. He quickly checked the suns position, having done it many many times, relieved to find he was on time and the bus should be here any minute.

[ 🎶 I've had enough

I'm standing up

I need, I need a change

I've had enough

Of chasing luck

I need, I need a change 🎶 ]

Sure enough the death machine, painted yellow and screeching nearly as loud as its passengers came swerving around the corner, somehow audible through Janus’s music, metal rusted gears screaming as the beast came to a halt. That thing was definitely gonna kill people one day. Janus huffed, climbing the rickety steps and flashed his card at the bus driver, who looked like he had been going for six months without sleep and would snap someone's neck.

They traded nods, having known each other since Janus first ‘moved’ to the country. They never really spoke to each other, but traded nods, ‘hey’s’, and ‘mood’s’ so he was cool. Janus sat right behind the bus driver, dumping his bag next to him so no one would take the seat next to him. Not that it was necessary, everyone actively avoided him. He then maintained his death glare, slipping it on as easily as putting on his mask.

Some kids, janus found, take enjoyment in throwing things at the bus driver, so janus took it upon himself to protect the bus driver from the nuisances, and in return, once the bus driver found out, he would keep the passengers from taking the spot so Janus wasn't forced to sit next to anyone.

[ 🎶 I'm setting fire to the life that I know (I know)

Let's start a fire everywhere that we go (we go)

We starting fires,

We starting fires till our lives are burning gold 🎶 ]

Janus sat, guarding the busdriver and spacing out till he felt the bus sharply halt. Hip hip hooray for hell. He sighed, standing up and wandered off the bus, bidding farewell to the busdriver with a small nod of the head. He turned his attention to his new problem.

The school's shadow engulfed him standing tall over him, and a part of janus feared it may crumble and crush him. People were chatting, boys flirting and betting, bullies shoving random people and dropping curses. Janus’s personal hell. Well, here goes nothing!

[ 🎶 I've had enough

Of chasing luck

I need, I need a change 🎶 ]

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