#i am barking and snarling and laughing and biting and cackling and biting and biting and biting and ---

[tortoisesshells]

739.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Refrain, chapter two - a Malevolent fic (The start of Surrogate, season two!)

Kayne's "season one" ended with a choice: whichever father Faroe picked, he was ready to let that slingshot fire.

She picked Arthur. Well, that was nice, wasn't it? Especially since he'd spent almost a year pulling that rubber band back, loaded.

Of course, he had no idea how well it would work. Humans are weird, and pieces of Hastur seem to respond particularly well to prolonged exposure.

It was time to deny a wicked man his prize.

Time to give a good man a second chance and see what he did with it.

Time to take the abused piece of a god and find out how it changed when given to someone else.

Part of Surrogate, a Malevolent AU. Written with @sepiabandensis.

AO3 (chapter two)

-------

“Go on, snarl away,” Larson drawled in that infuriating tone he had for when he’d made Yellow extremely upset and cared not one whit about it. “Rage all you want, little one. I’ll be here when your tantrum is over.”

How DARE you, Yellow roared. I am a GOD, you miserable insect! You will bow your head in reverence, you will honor me as I speak!

“You ain’t done a damn thing to earn that,” Larson said, and Yellow did not need a mirror to know he was smiling—that insufferable fucking smirk that he used when he thought he had the upper hand. “For a god, you ain’t got a whole lot of bite to that bark.”

I will make you fucking suffer, Yellow snarled. I will rip the skin from your body and craft a suit for you to wear of it, I will—

“Then do it,” Larson drawled.

Yellow went silent, shocked.

“You’re the big, scary god,” Larson said, and he stretched his hand out, rolling his wrist. “Go on, then. You said you had Arthur’s eyes? Take mine. Take my hand. I won’t even fight you. I just want to see if you can do it.”

Yellow roared, pouring all of his power into the effort, searching out nerves or—or blood vessels, or—

“I’m waitin’,” Larson drawled.

His power found no purchase, slipping off of Larson’s body like oil over the surface of water. Yellow went quiet.

Larson laughed, rolling his wrist again, touching each of his fingers to his thumb. “That’s what I thought.”

It doesn’t— Yellow said, voice halting. I don’t—

“Oh, I know, I know. The ‘fragmented soul of a god’ schtick.” He turned his hand over, flexing the palm. “Not much of a god, if you can’t even take a willing host, hm?”

Yellow remained silent.

“Now, let's go and experiment with that ritual you mentioned. I think a bit of blood will open up some of that power and maybe get us somewhere.”

Yellow didn’t answer. He didn’t have to: he knew Larson had won that battle.

Just one of many, many to come.

#

Watch out! Now!

Yellow wasn’t helping, but he wasn’t hurting, either, and Parker was too focused to reply. He ran.

By this time, a few coppers were up on the rooftops with him. The thugs stayed down below, occasionally shooting when they thought they got the chance.

Parker was absolutely sure Larson would pitch a fit if he knew they were doing that.

“Stop!” called some breathless copper back there, but Parker did not.

He’d been afraid that ten years dead would leave him weak, less in shape than he’d been, but no: whatever else that Outer God had done, he’d left him fucking fit, and so Parker kept running.

The snow slowed him down. He slid a lot; caught himself in the nick of time more than once on a chimney or pipe, and kept going.

Laughing.

Because this was fucking great.

The air was freezing. The ice had cut his skin all over. And he was outrunning the world.

They’d get him eventually, he knew. A lucky bullet, or a patch of ice. He’d run out of roof, or these idiots would get their act together and pincer him. But until then?

Until then, he ran like a mountain goat, and cackled like a wolf.

So far, against all odds, he’d gotten away with it.

Look out!

More shooting.

“West! He’s going west!” shouted cops.

He wasn’t going to make it, but at least he’d try. He’d already been dead, anyway. This kind of death was way more his style than how it went the first time. “Got a do-over,” he breathed, rounding a chimney.

What?

“All we need now is that ticket to Carcosa!” he laughed. “We could take the ferry!”

The tickets would cost too much! A beat. That was a joke!

“Solid fucking work!” Parker approved, braced himself, and jumped.

He barely made this one. They’d gone too far downtown, away from the tenements, from the poorer, crowded housing. He wouldn’t make the next roof. His lead was small, but it would have to do. He started trying doors. Most of these places had exits onto the roof, and he spotted three more before the next alley—before the gap he couldn’t jump. He’d try climbing to the ground, or even into a window, but the goons would shoot him. Parker tried another door. Nope.

Shouts still followed them, gasping coppers and wicked goons, closing in. He tried a door.

It opened.

Parker didn’t hesitate. He threw himself inside.

#

His breathing was loud, but there was no way around that. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out he was in here, so he tore down the stairwell, skipping steps, jumping onto landings. If he could get out a back way and get around them somehow—

Couldn’t ask for help from strangers. Not with war going.

“Chances of this working out are one in a million, buddy!” He opted to try for a second story fire escape, hoping to catch a glimpse of where things lay before making this move. “How’s our luck looking?”

We should have been caught before we even left the estate, Yellow said, voice frantic, but there was a sort of wild mania about it, like Parker’s desperate laughter had become infectious. I—I am a god! It is my will that our luck is good! And he let out a howling laugh. I decree it! I command that it bend to our will, to change!

Parker laughed. “That’s the spirit! Ought'a take you with me any time I bet on the ponies.” And he peeked.

He could hear them down there—not in this alley, but around it, too near. The voices echoed; which damn side were they on?

He decided to assume both.

It was starting to get dark now; they’d been at this for hours. He wondered if he could trick them into thinking he’d gotten further away. If he could make it to the building across the way, he could maybe get through it to the other side, unseen, and further away from this cordon. They knew he couldn’t jump that distance. Maybe, just maybe, they’d focus on this building, giving him time.

Or maybe he’d still be caught the second he stuck his nose out.

Well. That was a possibility, either way. Parker made up his mind. “We’re gonna move,” he said very quietly. “We’re gonna head toward the river. They got culverts and shit down there. Might have a chance to lose them.”

A good idea. The water could disguise our scent, lose our footprints, Yellow said.

“Oh, our scent’ll be disguised, all right. It’s gross in there—but you can really lose a guy. Been part of more than one manhunt that went wrong thanks to that kind of mess underground. It’s risky… but I figure it’ll be risky for everybody, not just us. You in?”

I’m in. Yellow rumbled softly. I feel like I remember something about the underground, here. About tunnels. Tunnels can go many places, Parker. Another pause. But I don’t remember. I’m sorry.

“Don’t need to be, pal. Feel it with me, if you can: sucks that we might die, might get caught, might get hurt, but this is a fucking great way to do it. We are alive. You get it? More than any fuck just sitting in an office somewhere. You feel me?”

Parker… His voice was hesitant, full of disquiet. You… I do not have the power to… help, if all goes south. You might die.

“Pal, I’ve been dead. I’m gonna die anyway, someday, no matter how this goes. It doesn’t scare me as much as dying with regret ‘cause I didn’t live.”

I don’t want you to die, Yellow said softly. And I especially don’t want you to die for nothing, Parker.

“It’s okay, pal. I promised I’d try, so I’m gonna. If they do get us, it won’t be because we weren’t balls to the wall trying.” He watched. He counted voices, and did his best to identify location. Some were still above, shouting to each other. They still thought he was on the roof; this was the time to go. Parker took the fire escape down, heart pounding, and raced across to peek onto the sidewalk.

Luck was with them: they had a brief moment where the search party wasn’t here, wasn’t looking, wasn’t present. He ran all-out into the building beside him and started making his way back uptown.

#

Gophers, that’s what he was thinking of, and he laughed.

What is it? said Yellow, who sounded a bit tired.

Parker was more than a bit tired. He was fucking ragged; his coat was torn, the hat was long gone (and he hoped whoever found it needed a new one), and he was damned hungry. New bruises bloomed, visible and otherwise; the one copper who’d caught him had not been a lightweight, and managed to get cuffs on one wrist before Parker took him down.

And now that he’d taken a copper down, there was definitely no going back. Damn, these bruises sang. “Just thinking of what this is like from the outside,” he said. “Gophers.” He wiped sweat from his brow. The cuff on his wrist was too tight; he held the loose end lightly so he wouldn’t catch it on anything. Stupid copper, losing the key when they struggled.

They were nearly there.

Gophers? Said Yellow, sounding offended at the word.

“Yeah. Ducking into buildings, popping out again. Try to catch a gopher, and he goes under, and pops up in another hole out of reach.”

Oh. Yellow didn’t seem to think it was as funny, but that was fine. How much farther?

“My friend, we are one fucking street away from the slope down to the river—but from here out, there’s no cover. Hanging in there? I need you with me, pal.”

I am with you. He hesitated. I struggle to believe we’ve made it this far.

“You know, me, too? But I’m loving it. Heh. They ain’t never gonna forget this little runaround.”

Nevah, repeated Yellow, who every once in a while tried on Parker’s accent for size.

“Rule of thumb: can’t stop the bad guys? At least cost ‘em so much they regret it.” He breathed deeply, slowly, preparing for this race. Shouting men still called to one another behind him, and nearby; Larson himself had yet to make an appearance, but Parker knew he was around. Just felt it. His instinct was never wrong.

(Though maybe it had been about Arthur? No… no. Shit happened to that guy. Instinct couldn’t predict that.)

A pyrrhic victory. I… I can understand this, yes.

“Ready?” said Parker. “Three.”

Three.

“Two.”

Two!

“There he is!” some guy shouted from behind, and Parker ran for his life.

They shot at him, but they were dumb enough (and he was lucky enough) that they tried shooting while running instead of just standing still, and they mostly missed. He hurled himself down the hill toward the Hudson river and pounded along the steep bank. One of those culverts was dead ahead, built into the earth, dark and scary and nasty.

It would be cold as the devil’s ass in here.

Well, always wanted to kick somebody important where the sun don’t shine, he thought, and aimed himself for it.

He was right: the water was fucking cold.

I can taste it, Yellow complained, because it was true—the fug in here was thick.

No, YOU fucking go after him echoed behind them, and Parker laughed as he plunged wildly into the dark and hoped he wouldn’t break his damn neck.

#

Some gutter provided enough light for Parker to get a look at his side. The bullet had gone through, so he was right about that; but the damn thing hadn’t stopped bleeding, which he’d assumed it would.

It was one of those annoying wounds that only started hurting when he really got his eyes on it.

Yellow gasped. Parker!

“Easy. We’re not done. This just… fuck.” Not done yet, but this needed a doctor. Parker didn’t know one in New York he could go to. In Arkham, sure. Ten years ago.

He wasn’t so sure they’d be amenable to him now. Fuck.

“Nothing for it,” he muttered, balling up the coat and pressing it against the wound (and wow, that hurt) as he continued on.

It looks bad, Yellow moaned, doing nothing to help Parker take his mind off the injury. I’m… I can’t… I’m sorry. I… Our luck will hold. His voice grew firm. I demand it. Our luck will hold. Where are they?

The water had long numbed his feet; the smells were… really not worth considering. But the important thing was the voices of their pursuers, while occasionally still popping up, had yet to catch up.

Parker, where are we?

“This point? No idea. Not far enough, though, I can tell you that.”

I concur. I will be much happier when I cannot hear them at all. But this… it’s certainly not nearly as exciting as jumping across rooftops. Are we still “living?”

“We sure are, buddy.” Parker meant it, and answered without hesitation. “We get outta this, this part here? Is gonna make the best part of our story.”

Even though it’s just wading through shit in the dark?

“Yep.” He followed the line of light from various storm drains. This meant they were under some kind of main road, but he’d lost his sense of direction almost immediately getting in here (and knew part of that was going into shock, thanks to whichever lucky son of a bitch got him), and had absolutely no idea where they were. “This is gonna make the best part of our story.”

You said that already. Are you alright?

Fuck. He had. Parker stopped, bent over, and breathed for a minute. “Focus,” he said to himself. “Come on. Just a little further.”

But we don’t know that. How can you know that?

“It’s not about knowing it. It’s about believing it so I don’t lie down and give up.” And he did neither.

#

This didn’t really seem like a New York City sewer anymore.

He couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the distant sound of crashing water, like some crazy waterfall. Maybe it was the fact that the scents had changed; it wasn’t shit anymore. It was three things, alternating: sort of a soil smell, vegetation gone bad, and a meat smell.

That smell worried him. It didn’t seem real sewery. It seemed more… jungle. Like maybe there was some meat-eating thing down here.

“There’s rumors,” he said.

What?

“Rumors of alligators in the sewers. I mean. Can’t be. It gets cold, and they’re cold-blooded. But funny, right?”

Parker. Why would you bring this up now?

“Don’t you smell that? It’s real weird.”

Meat? Yellow blurted.

“Yep. Maybe we’re near a slaughterhouse? But no, I know we’re not.”

Meat… said Yellow, thoughtful. Meat. Why would there be meat in a sewer? That doesn’t make sense. The only thing I can think of…

He suddenly went very quiet.

“Buddy?”

Parker, how do people… care for their dead, in New York City?

“Same way they do most places, I guess. Bury ‘em in the cemetery.” He thought for a moment. “I guess we got in here not too far from Trinity Church cemetery. Not sure where we are now, but… yeah. Cemeteries. Used to be lots of them here. They got paved over for buildings and shit. Why?”

I… underground, in the Dreamlands, I remember there are… creatures, sometimes. They often eat the dead. I am unsure if you also have them here, but I would recommend caution, if you smell meat. No matter how fresh.

“Eat the…” Parker took a moment to process that one and stopped walking. “Guess that’s… efficient, huh?” His brow knit. “We don’t have those here. But then, you’re here, aren’t you?”

I was brought by magic, Yellow said, almost defensively. But yes. Larson could call upon many sorts of creatures on his own. These creatures, though… there’s a memory, but I cannot grasp it. I know something. His voice surged. I know something, Parker, but I don’t know what it is! I don’t… I don’t remember.

“It’s okay, buddy. It’s okay. We’ll handle it.” Lower: “Don’t suppose you remember how dangerous they might be to living people.”

They were not dangerous to me, Yellow said with a hint of a whine. But… they… They were rational! They are rational, and can be communicated with. They’re not animals, Parker. We might… There was another heavy, meaningful pause. We might be able to convince them to take on our pursuers. Or, at the very least, lead them away—if we have something to offer.

“All I got on me is a bloody shirt, a coat, and the rock I picked up in the park. But hey; I can talk. Maybe we can figure something out.” Because Parker was sure something this weird would happen, here, under New York City, with a piece of a god in his head.

Stranger things have been offered in trade, and stranger things still have been accepted, Yellow said.

“We got this. And either way, I don’t know anybody else who saw corpse-eating guys under a city, so it’s an adventure.” And he walked forward.

He wasn’t trying to be overly quiet now, though he was listening sharply. If these things could be reasoned with, he didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to sneak up.

The damn wound was still bleeding. Sluggishly, but he was pretty sure it needed to be sewn shut. “If there’s anybody here,” he said, just a pinch louder, “I’m open for trade.” Lower: “And if not, I’m gonna fucking bash your head in if you try shit.”

Right on cue there was a sound like a dog taking a sharp, deep sniff.

Fuck.

Parker saw its eyes glinting in the hollow of a branching tunnel, glowing red in the dim light like a wolf’s. It stayed in the shadows, hunched, head tilting—and it sniffed again, deep. “You smell strange. Like a human, but also like the newly-food. You are not newly-food.”

The creature took a cautious step forward on its knuckles—its face was long, mouth jutting out like a snout, pointed ears perked forward, and its lips peeled back from its pale face in a hyena-like grimace. “I can smell your blood, human. What are you doing here?”

A ghoul, Yellow said softly.

Parker thought to himself that it was a damn good thing he’d had a lot of practice keeping his expression neutral. “We’re lost, friend. Not a super-fun situation, to be honest. Could use some help, if you’re up for it. I don’t have a lot to trade, but I’m willing.”

The ghoul tilted its head, like a dog hearing an interesting sound. “Lost? But you’re found, now. I can make you less lost, perhaps.” It slunk around the edge of the light from a manhole—Parker could see it move, the shape of a man hunched over and walking on long, clawed arms and legs with ankle and knee out of proportion, and clad in what looked to be a torn and heavily altered pair of pinstriped pants.

This thing probably knew his heart rate picked up, but there was nothing he could do about that. “That sounds like a good deal. I can trade you some info for sure. Uh. Not sure what else I’ve got.” He offered a crooked grin, hoping it read human facial expressions. “I’m not exactly bargaining from the best position here, so I hope you’ve got some kindness in ya.”

It sniffed at him again. “Another smell. A strange smell. Hm.” It sat back on its haunches, the pants creaking. “But where to? Lost is relative if you have no map. Up, or down?”

Parker, Yellow said softly. I remember now. Ghouls… They’re from the Dreamlands. I told you. I think this one knows how to get there.

There was the sound of a muffled curse, echoing and faint from down the tunnel. The ghoul’s ears flicked toward it, its eyes focusing hard on the tunnel.

Or, Yellow said, his voice thin and hesitant. Or… We could… get out. Find a way out of New York.

“It is cold,” the ghoul said, eyeing Parker—or, specifically, his coat. “I take you, up or down, and you give me the coat. Yes?”

It was a choice. Like that poem Arthur always used to quote—something about two paths in a yellow wood.

Parker knew Earth, or at least New England. Chances were, he could get help here—people who knew him well enough not to think he was somehow working for the enemy.

But on the other hand… a new world. An entirely new one—and, well. He’d promised Yellow. His gut said that really mattered. “Free advice first,” he said. “Bunch of goons looking through here with guns, and they’ll shoot. So stay out of their way.” And he held up the coat. “It’s got my blood on it. That a problem?”

“Mmm… foolish. We will be gone before these goons catch us.” It snorted. “The others will keep their distance. We crave no trouble. But your trust is noted.” Very gingerly it stretched out a hand, feeling the thick wool. “Blood is blood. It matters not to me. In time its scent will fade, and be but a memory—the stain shall remind me of your kindness. I accept. Up, or down?”

Parker was sharply aware of Yellow’s silence. “Which one gets me to the Dreamlands?”

Yellow gasped.

His gut had been right: this mattered.

“Down,” the ghoul said. “Brave man. Foolish man. But… the scent did not lie.”

The voices grew louder. The ghoul’s head snapped towards the tunnel.

“We go now,” it said, turning and loping into a side tunnel. “The coat you will give in time.”

“Thanks.” Brave and foolish—yeah, that sounded about right. He was okay with those descriptors. Parker followed at once, trying to step where this thing stepped.

Parker, Yellow whispered. Are you sure? We’re going to the Dreamlands?

“Yeah,” he murmured softly. “Said I would. This guy’s our ticket.” Damn, the goons were closer than he’d thought—and they weren’t exactly quiet. He might, he thought, have bled more than he’d realized. That was going to be a problem.

A problem for this Dreamlands place. He debated asking about Carcosa. Debated if that would be giving too much away. Decided to see where this new friend chose to drop him instead.

The ghoul stopped at a t-junction, pausing to paw at the wall. Bricks began to come free, tumbling to the ground and splashing in the sluggish, dark water at the bottom of the sewers. Piece by piece, a tunnel was revealed, large enough for Parker to walk through with only the barest stoop, the edges of it roughly clawed out, but smoothed by the passage of time and bodies.

The voices sounded off again. Arguments about splitting up.

The ghoul’s ears pinned, and it let out a soft growl. “The coat, please.”

Parker handed it over at once. “I owe you more than a coat, man. Thank you. Anything I should know before going through?”

It took it, petting the fabric with its hand. “You will be in the Underworld. It is not a place for you. There are stairs. Climb them to the light, and you will be free.” And then its head snapped forward, sniffing at Parker’s side. “And find a healer. Your blood turns to poison by the minute.”

I… If we can get to the surface, I might remember. I will remember something, Parker. I’ll get you to safety.

“Yeah, running through sewers fucked up’ll do that to you.” Parker grinned wryly. “They got guns. Someone might have magic. Good luck. And thanks.” He didn’t have a hat to tip, but he could salute, and did.

Then he dove in.

Behind them he could hear bricks being shoved haphazardly back into place, cutting off the last vestiges of light.

He couldn’t see super-well, but down was hopefully enough of a warning.

#

It felt like days before the slope evened out again, and Parker suddenly stumbled into a massive chamber that echoed with every shocked step. It was dark but for a faint gray light that clung to everything like mist, the temperature cool, but not freezing—a stark change from the sewers of New York.

Yellow let out another soft gasp.

The ceiling was far above them, dark as pitch and featureless but for the faint cracks and spots of light that speckled its surface, like lonely embers of a scattered fire. In the distance, he could see what looked like mountains, lit with the foxfire glow of whatever the fuck went on in this underground area, and he could see what looked like some sort of black-stone city at the base of one of them, and…

The stairs, Parker, Yellow said. There! We can get to the surface, and find a healer. Are you ready?

Parker made one small noise. It wasn’t a laugh or a sob; it was something else, just some raw emotion, and he wiped his leaking eyes. “I’m in another world, buddy. Me. Fuckin’ Parker Yang from Boston.” Then he shook himself. “Yeah. Stairs. This’ll be fun, I’m sure.” He felt too much wonder to flip into true sarcasm. “Let’s do this.”

Pahkah Yang, from Bahston. Private Eye. Adventurer. It was almost a delirious laugh. I’m almost home. We’re almost there, Parker.

He could tell his lungs were a little less efficient from blood loss—but “healer” sounded promising. “I’ll get you there, buddy, if it takes my last breath.” And he couldn’t help saying it. “Funny, huh? All that time, all those years, all those sacrifices. and Larson could’a just asked and gotten you home like that.”

There was a deep, heavy silence.

I suppose I had to wait for someone with competence, Yellow finally said, voice soft and hesitant—like he was asking permission.

“Heh. He’s competent plenty—but I think he meant to keep you. We got this, you and me. I wanna see this shining jewel of a city you talked about.” He wiped his eyes again. “Guess I had to die to get a chance at a better life. Go figure.”

I will ensure you are rewarded, in whichever way you prefer. The Dreamlands would bend to someone of your talents—but if you want to go home, when all is done, I will see what I can do. Yellow paused for a moment. I rather like you, Parker. I will see to it I keep my promise as well.

“That’s real sweet of you, kid. Appreciate it.” Parker stumbled—not enough to fall, or tumble down, but enough that he had to kneel for a moment and catch his breath. “So, just connected to nothing, how do we find a healer? And, uh, can I do dishes or something to pay them?”

The nearest town should have one—and if we’re especially lucky they will be a Cana, and will help us regardless of our ability to pay. If not, they may have us do some tasks for them in exchange: there are many different kingdoms in the Dreamlands, and not all accept the same coin. A deep sigh. I would settle for a traveling bard, even. We’ve one hell of a story to tell, and most of them know at least some minor magics.

“We do have a hell of a story! See? It’s already paying off.” He took a moment and breathed, then resumed, this time at a slower pace, but one he could keep steady. His sweat had gone cold. He knew his body was giving out, but they were almost there. “Magic seems real handy to know. Maybe we should learn some.”

I would use magic now, if I was certain it wouldn’t kill you, Yellow said. Are you alright? You’re stumbling. Our mouth feels strange.

“I’ve been bleeding for a while, buddy. Human bodies are kinda dumb that way—they lose too much juice and they go all wacky.” His new pace seemed to be the right plan. “So magic would kill me, huh?”

Without the attunement process, chances are high. Do you need to stop and rest? There was real fear in the voice now. Larson never… He never got hurt, from what I could see. Other people took risks for him.

“Yeah, that’s rich-guy shit for you. Guys like us have to do the work ourselves.” He took a moment to answer the first question. “Don’t think it’s a good idea to stop here. Feels like we’d be… dunno. Setting ourselves up.”

You’re right. Yellow somehow took a deep breath without lungs. Magic. Let’s talk about magic, then. Humans can use it, but you have to work up to it. Too much would kill you right away—from what you described, I would have thought that’s what had happened to Arthur, though it seems as though something else entirely happened instead. But you… I don’t know. I would have to introduce you to magic slowly, to make sure it didn’t burn your blood to cinders if I tried to heal you. Do you want to learn magic, Parker?

He finally stopped walking so he could laugh, leaning on the wall. “Fucking hell, buddy… went from, ‘hey, turns out you got a soul after all, and hey, there’s gods,’ to ‘do you wanna be a wizard’ real fast, didn’t we?” He continued laughing as he resumed his climb.

Oh, you don’t wish to be the great Pahkah tha Wise? Content with being Pahkah tha Brave?

He laughed again. “Wise? Don’t know I ever got called that before. Hey, you know what? We’re in this all the way. All the way to Carcosa, and whatever happens there. Tell you what: you think I can learn magic? I could learn how to heal shit. That’d make life a hell of a lot easier.”

If I attuned you to magic, I could heal you. And yes, that would make everything much, much easier. He rumbled a bit. I think… Yes, I think you could use magic with responsibility.

Parker took a moment to breathe; it sounded thick and labored. “You won’t be pissed if I can’t do it, right?”

No, I would hardly hold it against you if you were unable to use magic. It is the get of gods, not mortals—the talent of even those most skilled mortals pales in comparison to the weakest of the true gods. If you were unable, I could still cast through you once you had been attuned. I had to, for some spells that were too big for Larson, much like the ritual he and I were conducting when you arrived.

“Sounds like you were real useful to him.” There was no censure in this. It was just a statement; and yet, like many of his recent words regarding Larson, it carried strange weight.

Just a pinch quieter, Yellow added, And will you be angry with me? If I cannot will the stars to move, or turn mortal flesh incorruptible?

Parker snorted. “Kid, I’m just happy we’re alive. You turn water to wine, or just keep some damn bread soft, it’ll be enough for me. Hey—What was that ritual for, anyway? The one that blew up and got me involved.”

There was that hesitation again. Fear tinted Yellow’s answer. The ritual we performed was meant to contact another Great Old One so we could broker a deal with them, offer sacrifices for power. Power for Larson, to handle the spells that it would require for me to ascend to something more like my other half; power for me, to bolster and feed the magic through Larson as well. He had… there were many who followed him who would slit their own throats at his command. Some of them would even do so eagerly.

“Shit. No wonder you wanted to go back. Sounds like you were halfway to your goal.” He looked up. There was an exit up there—a pinpoint, bright, still, and tiny. Parker clenched his jaw. He could do this. Slower, he kept climbing. “Those poor saps. They didn’t even get shit out of it, did they?”

For Larson, most people are merely a means to an end. To an extent, I believe he and I were this to each other, too. Though slightly less glamorous, this is a far more direct way to achieve what I want, so I am certainly glad for your interruption. Yellow noticed the point of light as well, letting out a soft gasp. We’re almost there, Parker. You are truly magnificent, did you know that?

Parker snorted. “I’m just stubborn as hell, buddy. That’s not magnificent.” His breathing was wet. “Almost wish we had run into him. Might like to see if he’s got a glass jaw.”

I’m afraid I must disagree: I would prefer to never, ever lay eyes on that miserable little man again. There’s a finality, there, shot through with relief. We’re almost at the top. Fantastic work, Parker.

“Helps having a good travel companion.” He stumbled out into weird, new sunlight, onto unfamiliar ground. The air tasted strange; it was all different, so different, but he couldn’t see so good right now. “This what country air’s like?” he said, and then he collapsed.

PARKER! It was a desperate cry as he hit the dirt. Parker, no! I didn’t realize it was so bad. Oh, gods, I’ve killed us both. I’m so sorry, Parker. I’m so, so sorry.

Parker couldn’t answer. The daylight was bright, too bright, twisting at the edges.

Yellow let out a gut-wrenching sob. You fucking did it, Parker. You brought me home. You kept your promise. I will be eternally grateful to you for that. But I wasn’t…

There was that silence again. Heavy. Looming.

But I made you a promise in turn, didn’t I? And… And if you’re not going down without a fight, neither am I. If this doesn’t work, so be it. But at least I can face you in the Dark World knowing I tried. There was a dark sound, a snarl, a sharp intake of breath. I will not go gentle into that good night. And neither will you. I am the King in Fucking Yellow, and this is my will!

Parker’s mouth moved, tongue licking his lips, and with a voice that was both his own and something completely alien, a single word like the sound of an avalanche boomed from his lips as Parker fully passed out.

(chapter three)

[mcyt-imagines]

halu ^_^ i randomly stumbled across your blog at like 3 am and i couldn't stop reading all of your posts ;-; honestly they're so hecking good !!! tysm for giving us these hq fics <33 anywayy, can i request for another tommy or tubbo fic wherein reader is like this badass chick and everyone is intimated by them but then get soft when it comes to tommy or tubbo :00 you can use any pronouns !! also feel free to make it platonic or romantic :>> thank you <3333

I’ve decided to put both Tommy and Tubbo in bc they’re really a one package deal. Also this can be read as either platonic or romantic I tried to leave it ambiguous for you guys! And it’s set in the DreamSMP universe bc both Tommy and Tubbo need protecting on that damn server. And thank you so much for the kind words! I hope you enjoy it :)

At Face Value

“Tubbo come with me and see the egg, it’s so big now! I’m sure you’d love to see it.” Bad’s bright eyes blink widely at the young boy, “Uh, I don’t know Bad. I’m kinda busy working on rebuilding my bee farm, maybe later?” He tries to excuse himself from the conversation but Bad merely follows him, continuing to try and convince the brunette. Tubbo stumbles with the wooden planks as Bad explains how The Egg works, “If you join our Eggpire, the egg will grant you any wish you desire! Surely you have goals you wish to meet Tubbo? Perhaps to bring L’manberg back to its former glory? The Egg can do that!” Tubbo grounds himself but Bad notices too quickly, Tubbo is considering his offer.

Bad picks up his tone advancing so that Tubbo back up until his back hits the wall of his bee farm, the boy cowering. “Tubbo, you know how important the egg is-“ Tommy suddenly exits from the remnants of the bee farm head in the clouds, oblivious for a few moments until he spots Bad and Tubbo. “Hey! You’re not supposed to be anywhere near us Bad.” Tommy bounds over with unbridled energy, eyes wandering the expanse of land around them searching for Sam. He stands a little in front of Tubbo, trying to shield him from Bad in case things got violent. Which knowing this guy and his Eggpire bullshit, it was likely to.

Bad laughs cruelly in Tommy’s face, moving closer to pinch one of his cheeks with a clawed hand. “Oh, you poor sweet thing. You don’t intimidate me or scare me, and-” Bad cackles only to be cut off as an arrow pierces the ground between them. 

“But I do.” Your voice echoes off the walls of the ruined bee farm, your silhouette cast in the afternoon shadow tightly clutching your bow. Bad’s expression sours immediately, “I told you to leave us alone Bad.” You glare as you advance towards them, jumping down from the structure your lips upturned in a snarl.

You confidently place yourself between the two boys and Bad, the tall demon across from you only sighs deeply. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you would understand what the Eggpire is trying to do. The Egg could make sure the three of you would always be safe if that’s what you wish.” He pauses for a few moments, “However, if you refuse my request who knows what kind of danger you could fall into!” 

A gleeful smile crosses his face, his tail flicking out from behind his back. “Are you threatening us?” Your scowl deepens with each word, “Of course not!” He defends voice dripping with sarcasm, “I am going to take such joy in setting that weed alight.” You finally growl chest puffed futilely as if you could size up this 9ft demon. His demeanour shifts almost immediately, his posture straightening as he reaches his full height. Towering over the three of you, refusing to look weak you all stand your ground.

“Do not threaten The Egg again, or I will have to start taking some pages out of Dream’s book of tricks.” Bad snarls lowly, jagged teeth barred at you in particular. But his words sting Tubbo and Tommy the deepest, their gazes drop. No one speaks to them like that. “Yeah, taking notes from a guy who is going to spend the rest of his life rotting in jail. Sounds like a great plan to me, dumbass.” Tommy speaks before you can even open your mouth, you hope your expression conveys your barely contained fury, eyes glaring holes through the pitch-black skin of his face. 

Bad’s grin widens sickeningly, the ends reaching too far along his cheeks to appear normal. “Watch your tongue before you lose it. The Egg enjoys such a muscle, finds it a delicacy actually.” Bad’s arm moves quicker than you can swing your blade, his hand clutching Tommy’s face roughly.

You raise your blade high to slash it down on the demon’s arm when a trident beats you to it. Bad lets out a cry of pain as the trident is recalled back to its owner, and out of his arm. “Sam!” Tubbo cries, the young man stands triumphantly just over the hill. “Care to pick on someone your own size Bad?” His voice booms, advancing steadily towards you all as Bad stumbles back clutching his punctured arm. He growls in the back of his throat, “I’ll be back!” And he pearls away, like a coward.

Sam eventually reaches the three of you and he implores you all to recount what happened with Bad before he had arrived. Afterwards, Sam decides to cut his visit short to keep an eye on Bad and make sure he doesn’t come back with any backup. You all bid him a thankful farewell before moving into Tubbo’s nearby house and starting a blistering fire. You all sit around it, trying to warm up as conversation flows comfortably between the three of you.

“You were really cool out there y’know.” Tommy suddenly pipes up, “I wish I was that brave.” Tubbo adds with admiration. Your cheeks flush a light pink, “I-It was nothing, really! That Bad guy is all bark and no bite.” You stammer before chuckling awkwardly, sweat gathering in your palms as the two boys watch you with amusement. “How can you be so cool with Sam, and then act like this with us?” Tubbo muses smirk evident on Tommy’s face. “I, uh, I don’t know!” You gesture wildly with your hands, trying to distract yourself and the two ahead of you with anything. “I reckon it’s cause they’ve got a soft spot for us.” Tommy teases, tone light and airy as he eyes you. “Ohhhhh.” Tubbo nods affirmatively, “I see, that makes a lot of sense.”

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Tommy and Tubbo look at each other for a few seconds, then look back and you, then back at each other.  Their smiles widen and your stomach sinks. The two pounce on you, arms wrapping tightly around you in suffocating hugs from both sides. “Hey!” You cry as you topple over, the two following you helplessly as they too lose balance. The three of you end up in a pile of tangled limbs, laughter roaring along with the bright fire across from you.

“Seriously though, without you, Tommy and I would’ve been goners.” Tubbo admits from your side, smile bright on his cute face. “I would’ve been fine! But I didn’t mind the backup.” Tommy blurts blush bright on his cheeks, you find yourself giggling in response. “I’m happy to be back up anytime the two of you need it. I don’t plan on going anywhere.” You grin at the two, “Good! Because we weren’t gonna even give you the choice.” 

Tommy smirks, “He’s right. You’re stuck with us for good.” Tubbo nods solemnly, “Oh, how tragic!” You gasp dramatically hand meeting your forehead as you pretend to swoon. The two only burst into laughter at your reaction, “Hey we aren’t that bad!!” The two cry from your sides as finally, you join the two in their laughter. Grins bright on all of your faces as the fire continues to roar and lick at the logs adjacent to your still intertwined legs.

~Requests are always open!~

[srose-foxfire]

Damirae Week 2021 - Day 7 (part 1)

“Finding Our Happily Ever After: Part 1” Day 7: Soulmates

All Raven could recall was standing before Damian about to confess she wanted to stay with him and his family, if he allowed her. The moments that followed after were in a blur, she had felt a pull from the skies and before long she was rising in the dark grey skies at a rapid speed. Raven looked down to see she was being pulled away from her friends and Damian. Scared, the young maiden called out for him, she heard him call back and bark an order towards her captor. Raven could also faintly remember seeing Sombra, trying to attack her captor but was wounded. The next thing she remembers was trying to punch and free herself from her captor, but she was then struck on her head rather hard making her lose conscious throughout the flight.

Overtime Raven would briefly wake up catching glimpses of the surrounding lands, as they approach a mountain.

When her senses came back and she fully awoke, Raven found herself to be inside a dark cave. It was too dark for any mere mortal to be able to look through but the part of her that held demon blood allowed her to see in the darkness. Raven slowly turned her head, skimming the area, as she tried to stand, she notices a tug come from her wrists and ankles. Looking down on herself, Raven had been tied onto a wooden chair, her wrists and ankles were tied rather very tightly, she notice red bruised marks stain her wrists . Raven tried to wiggle from her chair, when from the darkest part of the room, she heard the grunts of an older man.

The cave was lit with floating wax candles holding a green flame on them, making the room glow in green. Raven managed to see two figures standing close together from the direction she had heard the man come from. One was tall and well built, a man with his face hidden behind a black and orange mask. Next to him was an old woman, though she had a devil look in her eyes as if she shouldn’t be easily trifled with. This woman was dress in grey rags, almost appearing to be her dress, her long grey-hair was in locks pointing in different directions. She wasn’t pleasant to the eyes and might as well frighten any child.

Raven exhaled carefully, “Who are you and what do you want with me?”

The man laughed lightly, he took a step toward Raven, “my… you really cut to the chase, my dear.” He then bowed towards her, “I am Slade Wilson, and I have a proposition for you.”

Before Raven had a chance to inquire, the old woman next to him, place her weary old boney hand on Slade’s arm, “my lord, I must advice not to deal with the likes of her. Contracts with them come at a price, perhaps-”

“Quite hag,” Slade hissed through clenched teeth, then glanced at Raven who had her brows lifted, he gave her a gentle laugh, “apologies my dear. Like I was saying I have a proposition, if you choose to accept it, and I will free you from those binds.”

Not allowing herself to falter, Raven held her head high and spoke with a stern voice. “Listen, I don’t have anything to my name, if you know who I am, I’ve been exiled from my father’s lands. I hold no value-”

“Oh, but you do my dear, you absolutely do and that is why you should be wise to choose this offer of mine.” Slade clapped his hands together, looking over to the older woman, who mumbled some incoherent words and a large wooden chair appeared right in front of Raven, Slade then sat down, she could feel he was studying her through his mask.  

“Which is?” she then asked him.

The masked man, sighed heavily, “you have been staying with a certain and very peculiar family,” She could feel her heart picked up speed as she listened, her chest rised with disdain, and her face was starting to flush with anger as Slade continued, “the youngest child of said family… well he was given a birthright he did not deserve, well to make it short I want to employ you to help me bring him to ruin-”

Enrage, Raven glared and spoke the truth in her heart, “You are wasting your time with me; I will never turn against Damian or his family! They have given me more than my own father ever could… besides Gotham has been with the Wayne’s for generations, its Damian throne to take-”

“Shut her up.” Slade commanded with a hiss, the old woman who stood behind him muttered some words in another language Raven didn’t understand and her lips were sealed, Slade then rose from his chair and walked around her.

“Apologies but I hate interruptions. Yes, the little brat is the heir to rule over Gotham, but he was also given another birthright one he very carelessly gave away to his cousin. The kingdom of Nanda Parbat, a land inhabited by the world’s most elites of assassins, it’s former ruler was Ra’s al Ghul, had chosen his grandson, the one you know as Damian Wayne to take over his kingdom!” Frustrated, Slade then kicked the large wooden chair, across the room with a powerful kick.

The noise frightened the harpy as it screeched and flapped it wings from a corner, hoping around the room. The old woman hissed at it to quiet down, with a flick of her fingers tips the chair was rebuild and place across from Raven. Slade grabbed it and sat down, he clasped his hands on his lap and studied her, noticing Raven had her brows knitted together.

“You must wonder why I hate him so much, correct? Well I was the ‘Demon Head’s’ right man, he almost treated like a son… he once told me I was going to marry his daughter Talia, but what does he do instead? Create a ridiculous alliance with the kingdom of Gotham, King Bruce takes Talia in marriage and she gives birth to the little brat. That boy has stolen what was rightfully mine and gave it away like nothing.”

Slade then stood up, remove his mask to reveal a dark skinned man, with short white hair and a left eye covered by a piece of black leather, placed his hands on either side of Raven’s chair leaning ever so closely to her face, “I needed to have my revenge. That boy took everything away from me, so I took away everything he came to love. I had a cursed place on him, his family, and soon everyone came to forget that the kingdom of Gotham ever existed. Its people became like wind, it was like they never existed. I found pleasure knowing he would never get to experience true happiness… that is until…you came along.”

Raven’s chest was heaving as she strained to breath steadily, she could feel her blood start to boil and her head throb with rage. “You somehow manage to worm yourself into the castle and lighten the darkness I so perfectly designed for them. I had to come up with something else, something that would really bring that boy to his knees, and that is making you my bride.”

Slade started to caress her cheek with his hand, she turned and tried to lean away from his vile touch. Her mouth was beginning to fill with saliva and just for a split-second Raven felt strange. She had a feeling like she could overpower whatever had been placed onto her lips, she locked gaze with Slade’s, glared at him from underneath her lashes and then spit at him.

The older man groined and wipes his face with the back of his palm, the old woman gave out a horrible angry cry as she screamed, “you filthy wench! How dare you break my enchantment?!” Raven’s chair was lifted and flung towards the ceiling of the cave, Raven cried at the impact as she was dragged to the floor and up again. Then she was floating just above the old woman, with a flick of her old wrist, Raven was thrown across the cave, causing the chair she was tied on, to break at the impact.

“Stop it!” Slade yelled as he lifted his servant by the throat, then releasing her harshly. He turned and pointed his finger towards Raven. “You! Do you think you could ever live happily alongside a beast like him? Don’t you want to live a normal-human life with someone like me? I can give you that and so much more.”

“No… you can’t.” Raven strained to speak as her whole body was aching, she lifted herself off the ground with great difficultly, “Damian may be trapped in a beast’s body but even he has shown more compassion and kindness from any demon I have ever met! He is no beast, you are!”

“Enough! I employed this witch long time ago to curse him, now for being a thorn on my side you will perish!”

The old woman cackled and her fingertips sparked with green magic, “oh, what great pleasure you give me my lord to slay a sorceress of Azarath.” Azarath?

“Don’t you dare, hurt her!”

That voice! Raven turned around to what was hopefully the cave’s only exit and to see him magnificently riding on Titus, like a white knight riding on his noble steed. Damian hopped off from Titus, as they both snarled and growled at Raven’s captors.

“Damian!” Raven cried happily.

Slade laughed, “Well now, isn’t this a sight! The beast man with his beast dog!” He then unsheathes a sword he had on his hip and pointed it towards Damian, “You want the girl, you will have to go through me!”

“You will pay for what you did to her and to my family!” Damian yelled. He leaped towards Slade, swinging his claws to land a hit.

The harpy who had been standing nearby flew up and dive to attack Damian but was interrupted as Titus manage to bite one of its winged arms. The harpy cried out and kicked Titus on his muzzle, then tried biting him in return. When she missed used her clawed feet to puncture his shoulder. Titus effortlessly evade each attack, then lodged its fangs onto one of the harpy’s foot and swung it in his mouth like a doll. He then let go, causing the harpy to be thrown across the cave, it shrieks and cried painfully flying away, abandoning it mistress.

Titus barked proudly and ran towards Raven as they watched Damian continue to battle Slade. “You cause me my pet!” Raven turned around and notice the witch was flying towards her, Raven through herself away from the attack and Titus tried to swing his paw at her. The witch shot a bolt of her green magic and Titus whimper as he was struck. Angry, Raven stood and ran towards the witch as she managed to tackle her to the ground. They rolled on top of each other, Raven had the upper hand given to her youth and her own will to survive this terrible ordeal. But the witch had magic and she started chanting some words making Raven float away from her and then launching her like she had done before with the chair. Raven rolled a few feet away, she glanced up as the witch floated slowly towards her.

“Your mother turned me into this! She took away my beauty because I used it to lure men to their dooms, now it is time for me to have my revenge!” She raised her hands up, green sparks going off as she chanted a spell. Raven lifted her hands to shield herself, when she heard a whoosh sliced through the air. Slowly Raven, opened her eyes and widen them when she saw that the witch had been impacted by Slade’s sword. It had entered through her back and the tip managed to pierce through the front of her chest. She slowly floated down to the ground, standing still. The witch then slowly turned around still with the sword embedded through her as she glanced towards Slade. “My lord? Why…?”

“Our deal is off; you are no longer any use for me.”

Damian quietly moved around Slade as he approached Raven, he used his body to shield her from their enemies. He slowly pushed her towards the path he and Titus had come from. The witch continues to walk towards Slade, then pointed her long pointy finger. “You traitor,you dare double-cross a witch, all of you will never see the light of day, I cursed thee all to be buried in this cave!” Her whole body illuminated and burst into green and black ashes, the cauldron started to boil and erupted around the entire room. Which cause the cave to rumble and some stalactites fell all around them.

“Let’s go!” Damian yelled as he grabbed Raven’s hand and together ran along the path to exit the cave. Titus ran up ahead, managing to evade pillars of rocks tumbling down, at some point Damian lifted Raven in his arms and carried her off most of the path. As they near the exit, some rocks came lose, falling right at the foot of the entrance to the cave. Damian stopped, placed Raven down and then jumped on top the nearest boulder, he turned and reached for her hands to help her climb. Titus effortlessly jumped and stood near an opening big enough for them to pass through. When Raven reached the top, she reached out her hand to grab Damian’s paw, for a second her looked at her and couldn’t help but smile towards her.

Then out of nowhere Damian screamed out a roar of pain, one hand clawing the air around him. Raven glanced to Damian’s side and saw Slade had reached them and had use a dagger to pierce Damian. The young curse prince had lost his footing and grip, causing Raven to hold onto him as tightly as she could and not let him fall. Slade used this opportunity to stab Damian again, but he too lost his footing and pulled Damian down with him.

“Damian!” Raven cried as she watches him tumbled down and roll a few feet away from where they had started to climb. She and Titus hopped down the to the floor and running to Damian’s side. She knelt down and gently picked up his head in her hands, trying to shield him from the small debris. Titus stood next to them, using his own large body as a shield for his master and the young girl. The only entrance they had was covered by more rocks, trapping them inside the cave.

“You lost, you lost it all!” Slade exclaimed happily as he tried to stand up straight, with shaky legs started walking towards them. “I was never going to let you live a happy life! You deserved this; oh, you so deserve this!” Slade chanted madly, all reason was gone, now before them was an old man filled with utter madness. Above them a large cracking sound was heard, gazing right above him a large stalactite broke from the roof and landed right where Slade had stood.

The cave continued to crumble around them. Damian was heavily panting, trying to minimize how much in pain he was in. “Save yourselves,” he whispered through painful breaths.

“I am not leaving you.” Raven answered him as she cradle his face. There has to be a way. Raven thought. She turned and turned her head all around her hoping to see something that could save them. But there was nothing, all was truly lost as Slade had said, was this truly what they were fated for from the start? Was the grand design of the universe this cold-hearted towards them in wanting to have a happy life? Wanting to hold on to what had brought her happiness for a short moment of her life, Raven felt that feeling again when she had broken the witch’s enchantment on her lips. It felt peaceful and warmth almost, just like when she had been visited by that strange woman cloaked in white. Without even knowing it herself Raven whispered;

“Azarath… Metrion… Zinthos.”

A dark purple circle suddenly appeared on the ground around them. As more cracks were heard from the cave’s ceiling, she saw some stalactites break, coming down rapidly targeting them. The circle then emitted dark looking shadows that looked like black tentacles wrapping around Raven and her friends. She closed her eyes waiting for their death but then opened them and looked at Damian. If she were to die, she wanted to see him one last time. Then they were  all engulfed by  shadows.

[internalsealpanic]

Icing part 1

Summary:  “Yanno, if you wanted to ogle hockey players, you could have just-” you twirled your hand “-yanno, watch them on TV,”

a/n: So this is part 1 of the ice skating AU which was inspired by Break the Ice. This is, in fact, the ice skating au I was pitching to @birdy-bat-writes. Blame @littleredwing89 for encouraging me (hi wifey). Warning the characters will be nice assholes. 

Warning: Terrible wingman etiquette and blatant lack consideration for logic

“Yanno, if you wanted to ogle hockey players, you could have just-” you twirled your hand “-yanno, watch them on TV,” you laugh, running lazy circles around a shaking Heli who was glaring at you through her dark hair. You snicker when she raises a trembling middle finger at you. “You probably wouldn’t be freezing your ass off right now, dumbass.”

 She glowers. “Well, some of us want to see the glory of the hockey butt in person,” Heli snarls, taking a clumsy step forward instead of the easy glide you showed her earlier. You raise your brow, angling your feet to slow your movement. “Hockey butt?” You repeat dumbly. 

 Heli searches your face for any sign of humor only to find a genuinely confused pinch of your brow. “You’re a fucking ice nerd. How could you not know about this mind-breaking scientific phenomena?!” Heli all but screeches to the heavens. You huff. Crossing your arms, you make no move to take out your phone. “Just cus I like ice skating doesn’t mean I know everything to do it.” You start moving again, drifting away from her as you shrug, enjoying the bite of the cold air and the hiss of metal against ice. “Besides, I prefer watching figures.”

 “You prefer twinks.”

 You flush and not from the cold much to your annoyance. “I- Yanno what, you’re awfully dressed up to just observe. Wait-” you blink and cup your hands over your mouth“-Oh shit, you’re trying to pick them up, aren’t you?” You’re cackling into your glove by the time you face her again. You shake your head and begin to drift away again. “Am not!”She protests weakly, finally managing to reach the railing. “Is it a crime if I just wanna dress up? And what if I manage to pick one up?”

 “The odds of you getting one of them is criminally low.”

Heli makes an affronted noise as you draw near. You scratch your nose with your index finger trying to hide your smile. “They probably wouldn’t even notice you if you managed a quad lutz and a triple toe.”

 “A what?”

 “Exactly.”

 “You come here often.”

 You snicker. “You gotta step up your game if you wanna pick that buff hockey sugar daddy. That’s like the oldest line in the book,” you say, gliding easily to the railing beside her. She punches your shoulder and you wince,  taking a mental note to dodge if she ever throws a right hook your way. 

 “I’m asking if you’d known any of them, you jerk!”

 You arch a brow. “They don’t interact with the public much. ‘Sides if I did, why would I introduce you?”

 “Because that would be such an amazing thing to do?”

 “No.”

 “(Y/n), look at them!”

 You sweep your eyes over the rink, over the men gliding over the ice. Your eyes catch on broad forms. They looked powerful, built to weather any blow. You were at once jealous and awed. You kind of understood Heli. Just a bit. 

 You watch as two large men practice a sweeping check. The other man crashes hard. You wince and figure it was time to get off the ice. You lightly push at Heli but she’s standing still and unmovable. You make a frustrated noise as the bewildering words fall from her lips. “Look at that hockey butt.” One of your brows chases your hairline as you turn to follow her gaze. 

 Standing nearly at seven feet, a broad man with white hair is facing away from you barking orders at the raucous crowd of men. His voice is booming and echoing in the quiet of the rink. You try not to snort when you turn to Heli again, finding her practically drooling.  “Stop staring at his ass. It’s rude, you troglodyte,” you scold halfheartedly. 

 “Oh come on, you have eyes too!”

 “Yes, I do,” you concede, said eyes flicking briefly to the man’s ass despite your best efforts, ”but the dude looks like he’s an entire drinking age human older than you.”

 Heli rolls her eyes at you. “Only you would be that hypocritical,” she says, shoving you. You cringe. You almost fall but the reaction is more to do with how poorly you hid your interest. You breathe a sigh of relief when you catch yourself before you fall on your ass. 

 “You’ve been eyeing him too!”

 “The man is built like a brick house. He’s kind of hard to miss, Hel.” It was a weak defense so you’re thankful that Heli was barely paying attention to you. You squint at him trying to remember his name. “Slade Wilson, right?” you ask with all the confidence of a kid who just put on skates for the first time. Heli sighs dreamily instead of irritably. “It would be great if I could get his number.”

You two stand there quietly watching them practice. You tap your skate against the ice, not out of impatience but more from a contained sprawl of energy. You’re always dumbfounded at how fast they move compared to their bulk. You’re used to the lithe grace of figure skaters but the raw strength and speed they display are breathtaking in an entirely new way. You’d never really considered how much skill and precision the sport took. Sure, it didn’t require as much body awareness as figures but you can see the practiced movement, the muscle memory, and hours of practice that went into each maneuver. With Slade especially. 

 “Hey, if I offer you 50, would you get me his number?” You narrow your eyes at her. You’re pretty sure she’s joking but there’s such an obvious glint of cautious hope in her eyes that you can’t help the grin spreading across your face. You hold out a hand. Heli glares at your open palm then up to your face. “Get the number first.”

 “I need an advance,” you say, tilting your chin up. 

 “What are you? A contract killer?”

 “Why is that the first thing you think off?”

 “Are you gonna do it or not?”

 You shrug and push off the wall. To your absolute delight, Heli looks horrified as you leisurely make your way to the large man. You shove your hands in your pockets, throwing her cocky grin over your shoulder. You move towards him with the easy grace of someone who’s lived their life on the ice. 

 The man looks down at you and you feel dwarfed under the scrutiny but you shrug it off with the ease of someone who’s never met self-preservation. He crosses his large arms over his barrelled chest. Your mind stalls for a bit, half a millisecond, upon realizing that his arm is somehow longer than your torso and scarily enough nearly as thick. “Can I help you?” He asks smoothly. There’s an undercurrent of a southern accent in the drawl of his words. It throws you for a bit of a loop which shockingly goes to your advantage. 

 Throwing your thumb over your shoulder, you say “the fucker is giving me 50 to get your number.” Your bluntness catches him off guard as much as it does you. You’re gonna pretend your mind unconsciously figured out that he preferred straight forward people. Arching his brow and breaking his stoic demeanor, he gives you an amused quirk to his lip. “You are aware our merch costs way more than fifty bucks.”

 You didn’t. You shrug. “She got both a friend and dumbass discount rolled into one,” you say, cocking your head, wry smile seemingly permanent. This earns you a noise that sounds like a snort and you figure you should take the opening. 

 “So, what do you say?”

 “No.”

 You reel back, the tiniest bit stunned. You didn’t exactly expect this to work but- “I’ll split with you,” you offer. Fifty wasn’t much but Heli’s reaction was on the line. 

 He hums, looking you over. You try to read him but don’t glean anything useful. You can tell he’s not about to deck you and that he is extremely amused by the situation but beyond that nothing. You shove your hands into your pockets but make sure not to slump or shrink. You would normally shrink at someone this attractive staring at you but something about the ambiance of the ice rink keeps you solid. 

 “Give me 40 and your number,” he says finally.  

 Your brows disappear into your hair, but come back just as quickly. “We split 70-30 and you get my number.” You think you hear Heli’s palm slap against her forehead. Or maybe, it’s just the puck getting slapped by a stick. Either way, you’re sure you’ve made a miscalculation of your priorities but damn it, you weren’t going to be fleeced by a guy who earns millions a year. 

 “Are you really haggling?”

 “It’s a valuable life skill,” you say evenly despite finally noticing the dozens of eyes on you.

 “You’re not gonna let go of this, are you kid?” He chuckles and suddenly the intimidation ebbs away from his features. The knot in your chest unwinds, so you push your luck. 

 “Sadly, you’re not that lucky.”

 He snorts and your face almost breaks into a smile. “65-35.”

 “No. 70-30.”

 Slade cocks his head to the side, the corners of his lips turning up to smirk. “The way I see it, sugar, I’m the one with the bigger bargaining chip here.” The way he purrs the pet name brings out the huskiness in his voice. It sends your mind spiraling and your cheeks flushing. You lose your ability to speak for a moment. You scratch your nose and quirk your mouth in thought. You don’t take too long to mull over your options before speaking again. “Fine, 65-35 plus my number but,” his brow arches, ”I need a guarantee that it’s real.” You didn’t really but you’re stubborn and you’ve come this far. 

 Slade lets out a huff, holding out his hand. “Phone.” 

 You blink, quietly stupefied.  “Oh- Uh, sure,” you stammer, handing him your phone. He types the number quickly and presses the call button.  When he carelessly tosses your phone, you fumble as it bounces between your hands before settling. You swear under your breath. 

 You scowl at him, holding his eyes with contempt. The phone rings for a bit and then you’re sent to voicemail. You shut it off immediately after you hear the first notes of his husky drawl. It makes your skin feel warm even in the cool bite of the rink air. You shake it off bleating a ‘thanks ’ before pivoting around. 

 You’re dazed and light-headed as you skate back. Almost light enough to ignore the hoots and hollers coming from Slade’s team. Distantly, you hear someone holler a “great job, sweetheart,” and another “Way ta go, you cradle snatcher.” 

 You and Heli stare at each other, equal parts dumbfounded and amazed. 

 “Did you just?”

 You hold out your hand, feeling a little numb. 

 Did you just get hit on by a hockey player?

 Puckwit: Sweetheart, since you only gave me 20% of my cut, I think you owe me 

 You roll your eyes. Because, of course, Heli couldn’t put her money where her big mouth is, so you didn’t exactly have the money to pay Slade. Hell, he would have gotten pocket lint if you didn’t fork up your own cash. 

 You: Relax, you fucking loan shark, I‘ll get your money

 You ruffle your hair in frustration as you type. You can feel a smile tug at your lip. You weren’t really expecting any contact after the incident but you were pleasantly surprised when he texted you out of the blue.  The texts were sporadic. You’re not surprised given his schedule. It was nothing hot or heavy.  You two were just fucking around for the most part. Sure, there was flirting from both sides (mostly from him) but most of it was just an exchange of witty banter that has you biting your lip to hold back a snicker. 

 Puckwit: C’mon, candy 

You:  Candy? You sound like a 50s playbook

 “Has (y/n) ever been this obsessed with her phone?”

 “No, not since her favorite fanfic author stopped posting back in hs.”

 “Did (y/n) get a sugar daddy?”

 You blink and flush. “What? NO!”

 Emi cackles. “Holy shit! You did, didn’t you?!”

 You sputter out some incoherent halfhearted defense. Why are you defending yourself? You’ve done nothing wrong.  

 “She definitely did!” Andy cackles, plucking the phone from your hands. Your heart stops then starts when you remember that there was no way for them to know who this is. Thank fuck, you’re lazy as shit. 

 “Who is it?”

 “It’s just some asshole who thinks I owe him money,” you snap, snatching at your phone. 

 “You’re smiling an awful awful lot for someone getting pestered by the IRS,” Andy says, passing it to Heli who sticks her tongue out as she thumbs through the messages. 

 “He isn’t from the IRS. Even I’m not stupid enough to fuck with the IRS.”

 “Yes, you are!” Emi protests, keeping you from batting at Heli. 

 “Wait! Are you his Splenda guardian?!”  Heli gasps. This unsurprisingly makes Andy cackle and almost fall out of his seat. 

 He makes 25 times what you make. The thought makes you scrunch your nose up. He’s definitely pestering you for the money just to fuck with you. “In this economy? Nope.”

 “Face it, (y/n) is just into funny assholes. You remember-”

 Heli gasps, high and loud. Her face looks like a caricature of a fish. “You’re texting buddies with THE Slade Wilson,” she cries, making you shrink, “YOU BITCH.”

 Emi and Andy exchange confused looks. “Who?” You take that moment to snag your phone out of a seething Heli’s hands. You’re considering bolting when Emi and Andy both put hands on your shoulders preventing any escape. 

 “Who?” Andy repeats with a raised brow. This is the moment you find religion as you pray to whatever god is up there to end you. Heli slams her open palm on the table. You’re fully bracing yourself for a dissertation (including citations) instead you get:

 “He’s just the most banagable silver fox in the NHL.”

 You hold your breath a moment waiting for Zeus or someone to strike you down. Laughter washes over your table. You groan, hand running down your face. 

 “Hel, you make horny teenagers sound like nuns,” Andy says between gasps of laughter.  

 “I can be horny in my late 20s! Look at (y/n).”

 “Please don’t,” you wheeze trying to fuse with the table.

 “YOU BITCH, how did you get a text back?!” 

 “I don’t know,” you say, holding your phone up like a shield, “what did you text him?”

 They, thankfully, take the bait and turn their attention to Heli who is crossing her arms, seething. 

 “I told him that I’m sorry about my dumbass friend.”

 A wry smile breaks out on your face. “Did you seriously throw me under the bus?”

 “It was for a good cause.”

 “Yeah. His dick.” Andy cackles.  “Speaking of which, hey Hel, did you see a dick pic?” 

 “No!” Heli screeches looking disappointed. 

 “You people are the worst best friends.”

 “Sorry, you’re the one who picked.”

 “You do know I have other options, right?”

 “Pfffft, as if!”

 “Shut up, you oxygenated gremlin.”

 “What does that even mean?!”

 “C’mon (y/n), you gotta be a little curious about what he’s packing!” Heli croons. 

 “No.” You lie flatly. You have thought about it in a blurry sort of theoretical way. Sure, the guy was smoking hot but you discipline and pushed it to the back of your mind. (Another lie, you weren’t pure enough to resist entertaining some spicier imagery.) Your body flushes, thinking of the poorly hidden mass of muscle beneath the long-sleeved hockey jersey. You press your face against the cool surface of the table. You fold your arms over your head bracing for the inevitable heckling. 

 You seriously need to sort this out before it gets out of hand. 

 Heli looks like she’s gonna kill you. 

 You’re hoping she does. 

You’re slumped over the railing on your tiptoes, hands raised to cup your mouth. It really isn’t enough to hide the sheer awe on your face. You suck in a breath through your teeth as another man hits the wall courtesy of your favorite loan shark. Clearly, none of that bulk is just for show. That thought stirs something vague in your chest. It’s a twinge like a spark up your spine. It’s not unpleasant. You wouldn’t say so at least. You just don’t know what to call it. 

 You watch Slade. He looks stoic, fully concentrated on his movement. It’s jarring compared to the mental image of him smirking while he texts you. It’s a little jarring. 

 The sound of the puck from one stick to another pulls your mind back down from the clouds. You realize that it’s probably not the best idea to watch hockey practice this close. With there being a high chance of you getting bowled over by 200-pound men skating at alarming speeds but you find yourself unable to peel away, mesmerized by their fluency on the ice. It’s not specifically Slade, although he definitely stands out, but the whole of the team. It’s certainly different from the fine-tuned muscle control of figures but it’s not what you thought it was. You make a mental note to watch more hockey when you get the chance. 

 You hook your leg over the other, the toe of your boot-tapping against the heel of the other. You hum absently as you watch them pass the puck around at speeds you’re sure would hurt. You’re too deep in thought to notice the two players approaching you until they crowd your view of the rink. 

 “You lost, princess?” A man above you purrs. Your vision snags on a helmet with a black skull mask and you want to jump out of your skin.  

 You blink, brain catching up with the words. “Oh yeah. I- No, I’m good,” you hedge awkwardly, not knowing how to tell them that you owe their buddy money. Are they gonna kick you out? You are encroaching on their practice. 

 “Dipshit, that’s the girl who hit on Wilson the other week,” A smaller guy says flanking your right side. Your mouth quirks. You recognize him from somewhere. He’s slimmer than the others and his movements are much more graceful. His name is on the tip of your tongue. 

 “Fuck off, Todd, I’m just trying to make conversation,” the other man says leering at you. You swallow thickly, a mild discomfort makes you vaguely aware of your thermal shirt and leggings are hugging your curves. You bite your cheek. You think after figures you’d be used to people leering at you.  You do your best to suck in a quiet breath as both continue to hassle you with questions that you answer vaguely. It’s not for any reason, more out of habit really. 

“Todd, Sionis, get back in line.”

 “Wilson, we’re just having a chat with our little guest,” Sionis says wrapping an arm around your shoulders pinning you against his side. The noise you make is tiny and a bit helpless and you’re kicking yourself. 

 Slade continues to glare at the man but he doesn’t take his arm off of you. “What? Are you gonna fine me?” Sionis challenges. 

 The stoic expression doesn’t disappear from Slade’s face. “Don’t fucking test me, Sionis, I’ll fine you into the next fucking century if you don’t get your ass back to training," comes the sharp, non-negotiable response.  

 You let out a relieved breath when the other two push of the wall with a grumble. Todd throws you a wink over his shoulder and you recognize him from figures. Your head is spinning again. What was a world-class figure skater doing on a hockey team? 

 “You ok there, kid?”

 “Yeah, I’m fine... Thanks,” you say, skittish,”for stepping in, I mean.”  

 “I’m the fine master for this team. It’s my job to keep them in line,” he says, blandly. 

 “Uhuh, so you were just doing your job?”

 “Mhmm.”

 You give him a crooked smile. “You’re so full of crap, Slade.”

 Slade side-eyes you. “I know you’re not a hockey fan-”

 “I could be,” you shrug. 

 He rolls his eyes. “Tell me about the name of the positions and what they do.” Your mouth wires shut. He nods, vindicated before continuing.``As I was saying, why are you here, Candy?”

 You scrunch your nose. “You know full fucking well that isn’t my name. Am I gonna have to remind you every time?” 

 “Depends.”

 Your brow rises. ”On what?”

 Slade smirks. “On whether or not you keep blushing.”

 You flush and roll your eyes. “You’re categorically the worst human being I have ever met and I work in customer service.”

 “Mhmm,” he hums, his body relaxing a fraction. The smirk on his face softens but the look in his eyes is still teasing. 

 “You’re not even gonna bother to sound ashamed, are you?”

 His lip twitches. “You really know me so well, sugar.”

 You scoff, reaching into your pocket. You shove a thick wad of ones into his broad chest. 

 “Should I ask why it’s all in ones?”

 “Strip club,” you deadpan. His steel-blue eyes gleam and you can see the innuendo forming on his lips when you push off the wall. You’re already flustered as you pivot away. “See you later, Sharky,” you say over your shoulder. 

 “See you next practice, sweetheart.”

 And you do.

 It becomes a semi-regular thing. 

 You come in early, earlier than the public is allowed to be, to do maintenance checks on the building and to watch them practice. Most days you just find a spot to hunker down and watch them quietly then leave before they notice. 

 But you had to admit the best days were when they caught you as practice ended. You’d shoot the shit with them, always standing close to Slade or rather he always stood close to you.  Your quick wit and brash words fit right into the banter. 

 “Hey princess, do you want a signed jersey? I’ll give you one for a kiss,” Roman offers, tracing your jaw. You step back, falling behind Jason and Slade. 

 Slade arches a brow at him crossing his arms which Roman answers with a shrug. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he says, still smirking at you.  You snort. The flirting was commonplace at this point. As it turns out, his team likes fucking with Slade almost as much as you do. Almost everyone on the team flirts with you just to get a rise out of Slade. You play along just for the shits and giggles. 

 A large hand brackets your hip and you're pressed against Slade's side. His body heat radiating off of him like his temper. You lean into it, a smarmy grin tugging at your lips. 

 "How much is it worth, Sionis?" You croon. The hand on your hip tightens. You hear Jason snickers to your left, seemingly catching on to your game.   

 "Princess, we both know mine would sell more," Jason purrs with a wink. 

 You bat half-lidded eyes at Jason. “Would it now?”

 For a moment, you feel weightless and the world’s a wheel of colors and then you stop with a dull pressure on your torso and the back of your thighs. Half of the team is staring at you dumbly while the other half is biting back snickers. Jason’s cheeks are red from the exertion. 

 You look down to where your arms are dangling and you see an easily recognizable ass. 

 Jason, the newest addition to your terrible best friends club, decides to work on his David Attenborough impersonation at this inopportune moment. “As you can see, we have the primitive caveman has captured a mate and is now ensuring that his rival cavemen from capturing her interest.” You raise your middle finger at Jason who just gives you the wingman thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, tiger!” He hoots and you start plotting your revenge. 

 “Slade Wilson, put me down. My legs work just fine thanks,” you hiss, pounding your fists into his back. Unlike most times, Slade doesn’t bother pretending that it even hurt. Stupid hockey player physique. 

 “Would you stop squirming?” It’s less a question and more of a poor attempt to politely demand. “If you’re worried about is falling over, relax, you weigh like a sack of potatoes,” he says, hand squeezing the back of your thighs. You yelp, clutching at his shirt. His hand is far too close to your ass. You maneuver your body the best you can to glare at him and you’re pretty sure he’s grinning to himself.  “I’ll stop squirming if you stop groping me.”

 His eyes flick to you and he pretends to think for a moment. “Well, I can’t promise you that,” he says giving your thigh another light squeeze. 

 “Brute,” you scoff. He smacks your ass playfully and makes odd caveman noises. You flush a smile, tugging at your lips. “Won’t your team miss you?”

 Slade looks over his other shoulder. “They’re grown men. They can go without a babysitter for five minutes.” As if to disprove his point, Waylon starts giving Crane a noogie, and Jason and Sionis start a fight. Slade sighs and you let out a loud snort. 

taglist:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,   @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell   @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

[snickiebear]

If this inspires anything in you, and if you have the time to write it, I hope we can see how you respond to the following prompt:

Kakashi is the god Sakura has to eat and kill.

Lordt help us!

HAHAHAHA MITTENS!! this is literally one of the best prompts ever. thank you SO MUCH!!

i literally had to sit down and outline this so make sure i gave it justice LMAO also, did a little research on japanese kami! which is so interesting btw :))

side note! this is also on ao3 bc i really, really loved it

xiv.

It begins with a girl (doesn’t it always?). A girl made woman who is nothing but smiles and laughter, unfiltered sunshine and the smell of flowers on the warm breeze.

She is good, she is brave, she is kind.

And she grows, that girl made woman, she grows and her eyes open to the world around her. To the hatred of the mortal, to the disease of the gods.

She holds her mother close as she dies in her arms, her father off to war.

They never find his body.

She is the only survivor of her village, war and wreckage in her wake.

This woman made once of sweet sighs and feather light touches learns to survive, learns to harden herself against the world, to bare her teeth and not her throat, to love the scars and hard muscle of her once too soft body.

She meets a woman with too ancient eyes for a face so young and the woman smiles at her, it is a horrible, wretched look. It is a beautiful, timeless look. “Oh, you.” She murmurs, voice old and young, standing slowly. “You’ll do just fine.”

And the girl made woman bares her teeth in a smile, a warning, tilting her head to the side, “Oh? And what shall I do just fine?”

The woman assesses her, amber eyes shining with something cruel, “You will be my avenger, girl.”

And the girl made woman, well, she rather likes the sound of that.

xxiii.

She sees him for the first time at the market, it’s a cloudy day, the streets full of people and the carts slowly selling out of the limited goods available.

The very land has been dying for years now. The mortals do not know it, but Sakura does. Less and less crops, dying plants, brain soil.

The thought itself brings a slight smile of fondness to her face.

But Sakura sees him for the first time at the market, and she knows who he is, what he is. She was under Tsunade’s tutelage for years. Sakura knows a god, a kami, when she sees one, feels one.

So, she walks, shoulders back, spine straight, loose and fluidly until her boot purposely catches on a crack in the cobblestoned road and she’s airborne with a sharp gasp—

Until two strong hands wrap around her forearms, steadying her gently. Sakura looks up, face flushed and eyes wide as she makes eye contact with the Shinigami, who looks at her in concern.

The god takes the form of a tall, broadly shouldered man with a mess of gray hair. Onyx eyes stare at her and they are so black she can see her reflection. Sakura fights the full body shudder that threatens to overtake her.

She has stared into the eyes of a dying god before. Staring into a living one’s should be no different.

“Are you okay?” He asks and his voice rumbles through her, her heart pounding without her consent.

“Yes,” She breathes and offers a shy but sweet smile, slowly taking a step back. He lets his hands drop, fingers grazing her bare skin. She ignores the goosebumps that erupt in his wake. “Thank you very much…”

“Hatake Kakashi,” The liar says, eyes crinkling from over his mask. “And you are?”

“Haruno Sakura,” She replies easily, tucking her hair behind her ear. The Shinigami holds out her basket of goods and she takes it, brushing her fingers against his deliberately, calculatingly.

The wretched kami gives her another eye crinkle, taking a step back himself, “Aa, a pleasure then, Haruno-san.”

Forcing a blush, Sakura waves off the honorific, “Please, just Sakura.”

“Then I am simply Kakashi,” And with a duck of his head, the fraud turns and ambles away.

Sakura turns also, disappearing into the crowd of much too skinny humans, too poor, too stupid. She allows herself to grin, wide and unfiltered, and with teeth. And that scaled, clawed, fanged thing inside her peeks its eye open and purrs.

xvi.

Tsunade— or at least that is what she wants Sakura to call her — takes a long swig from her jug and cackles to herself. “I was right when I picked you, you know.”

Sakura glances up from her scroll of poisons, “You still have yet to tell me why it took only one look to think I can do whatever avenging you want done.”

Swirling the liquid in the jug once more, Tsunade chuckles, “Call it intuition, yeah?”

She huffs, snapping the scroll shut and stealing the jug from her master, taking a long drink herself. It is horribly bitter and disgustingly tart, and Tsunade laughs herself hoarse at the look on Sakura’s face.

“You’re going to do great, mighty, quiet things.” Tsunade says after a long silence. Sakura looks at her curiously. “You will bring war upon earth, disrupt the very heavens. Sweet child, you only know a taste of the power you could hold.”

And Sakura, well, she’s been alone since she was eight years old and surrounded by disease ridden corpses, she’s stolen and cheated and bartered her way through survival. She knows her way around a knife, a piece of glass, a sharp rock.

She has spilt blood just to eat for the night.

“You’ll teach me,” It is not a question.

That cruel, beautiful smile unfurls on her master’s face, “Of course, Avenger. Tell me what you want to know.”

“Everything.” Sakura breathes, demands, pleads.

A soft, aching laugh. “Very well, come here and listen closely.”

And Sakura is a clever girl made woman, she listens to everything Tsunade says, and everything she does not.

So, when Tsunade leaves her alone for the night, Sakura stares at the ceiling of the cheap Inn they are staying in and allows herself to smirk.

xxiii.

She sees him every time she goes to the market after that. He crinkles his eyes at her with a, “Good morning, Sakura-san.”

And in response Sakura blushes and murmurs a sweet, “Hello Kakashi-san.”

It goes like this for weeks until he changes their routine, leaning against one of the carts, tossing an apple into the air. There is only one farmer who can now produce apples, and even then the fruit is weak, no longer crispy and juicy.

The very land, the very life of this village is being drained away. Just as the other villages Sakura has traveled through. There will always be consequences to her actions, she supposes.

Kakashi tosses her the apple and Sakura makes sure to fumble with it before clutching it close to her chest, a teasing smile on her lips, “Kakashi-san, this is new.”

“Mah,” He hums, shrugging, “Just didn’t want you to miss out on your usual, is all.”

Sakura smiles, tucking the apple into her basket, the usual contents dwindled down to a simple jar of jam, a measly loaf of bread, and now the apple. She would need to make this quick and move towns soon.

“Say, would you like to come to lunch with me?” It’s a shot in the dark but she’s hoping that Tsunade was right when she said Sakura was infuriatingly charming. “I understand if you would not like—"

Kakashi cuts her off with a wave of his hand and a friendly look in his eye. Sakura wonders, idly, what he would taste like freshly baked and seasoned. “I am not one to turn down free food, of course.”

She laughs, a light and tittering thing and bares her throat the slightest bit before looping arms with him, “I shall lead the way then.”

Luckily, she has some dried meat and left over vegetables to make something decent and she smiles as him as she sits.

“You’re a healer.” Is what he says, eyeing the herbs and the bandages she had left out.

Sakura shrugs, “I try to lessen pain,” It is one of the many things Tsunade had left her.

He looks at her as if she is something new and so very interesting and she knows what he sees. A thing of life, a thing of preservation, has invited a creature of death, a creature of destruction into its domain, and allows that dark creature to live there.

It is what she wants him to see. Sakura smiles with teeth and she knows he does not see the wolf that sits in front of him.

xvi.

“Dodge!” Tsunade barks harshly and Sakura just barely avoids a direct hit, her skin still burning from the way the air sizzles from her master’s blow.

Sakura twists and flips backwards to gain some space between them, thighs quaking and sweat pouring as she pants, chest heaving. “I fucking am!” She bites back.

“Do it faster.” And then Tsunade is in her space, uppercutting and a blow to her stomach, sending Sakura flying into the corpse of trees behind them.

But Sakura is used being beaten down and she snarls loudly, landing on all fours, fingers digging deep into the ground before she lunges upwards, narrowing avoiding Tsunade’s next hit before spinning horizontally and lashing out with her foot.

And for the first time, Sakura lands a hit on Tsunade; sending her stumbling back, golden blood bleeding down her face.

She lands, gasping for breath, knees collapsing out from under her as she stares wide eyed as her master wipes blood and sweat from her face with the back of her hand. Her amber eyes sharpen to knife points as she grins, feral and oh so wild, “Very good, Sakura. Now we’re making progress.”

Despite her exhaustion, Sakura smirks, tasting blood and salt and victory. “Think you can handle more, old lady?”

“Don’t push your luck, brat.” Tsunade smirks, stalking towards Sakura to pull her up, “Now let me see that jaw of yours. And the stomach, the hell did I tell you about the sto-“

“I know,” She snaps, rolling her eyes as her body throbs something fierce. She allows herself the weakness of leaning into Tsunade’s as they trudge back to their small cottage. “I’ll do better.”

“Good.” They leave it at that. Then, “That was a good hit, my pupil.”

And Sakura, well, she’s feeling indulgent, so she smiles, a slight twitch of the lips as she murmurs, “Thank you, shishou.”

xxiv.

She finds him at the usual spot, draped over a branch like a limp curtain, book in hand. Sakura is still not quite over the fact that the death god reads awfully written porn, but at this point in her life, nothing can truly shock her.

Sakura is well past expectations.

Hiking up her pants, she climbs up the tree and to the branch he’s lounging on, straddling it so her back is to the trunk. Kakashi makes a curious noise when she pulls out her book from the waistline of her pants, “I never took you as an Icha Icha reader, Sakura-chan.”

Peering over the top of her book, Sakura quirks a brow, “If you can read porn, so can I.” A pause as she turns the page, “Plus you’re reading Paradise, I’m reading Violence. Two very different pieces of literature.”

What she will not tell him is that Tsunade taught her how to read with these books, she’s memorized every page, paragraph, and line written.

“You wound me so,” He sighs, going back to his book.

Comfortable silence descends upon them and the only sounds are of nature and the rustle of paper. Time passes and she cannot help the slight twitch of her lips whenever Kakashi giggles at a certain part. It is nice, this quiet.

But she knows it will not last. She will not allow it.

And like an omen, low rumbling of thunder rolls through their quiet, small droplets landing on her hand before the rain steadily picks up. Sakura snaps the book shut and shimmies down the tree, Kakashi landing soundly next to her.

“My place?” She asks, though she knows the answer.

Kakashi intertwines their hands, gently and slowly, his hand encompassing her own as he looks at her, dark eyes reflecting the sky as lightning strikes. Something hot pools deep in her belly when she makes eye contact with him.

And she knows. She knows that she has him.

They stand in her small cottage, dripping and studying each other before they move as one, ripping at each other’s clothes, all lips, teeth, and tongue.

She claws at his back when he thrusts into her, rough and unyielding. The rain pounds outside as her back arches and he groans deep and rasping.

He falls asleep, his face pressed into the crook of her neck and Sakura allows herself to smirk, the taste of glory on her tongue once more.

xiv.

Sakura glowers and bares her teeth at the woman, “You still haven’t fuckin’ told me what we’re supposed to be doing.”

Truly, the only reason why Sakura is even here is because of the free food and shelter. She is well aware that nothing is free in this world, Sakura has learned that the hard way.

The woman tilts her head, studying keenly and Sakura rears her head in a snarl. But the woman’s lips pick up at the corner, “What’s your name girl?”

“Sakura.” She bites out, fingers curling into fists. Glancing around the tavern, she notes the exits, the windows, the people who could be an issue. Then again, she’s sitting across the biggest threat in the room. “And yours?”

The woman hums, “Call me Tsunade.”

“And what am I supposed to be doing here?” She grounds out. Sakura nearly bites the woman when two strong hands clamp down on her shoulders, the woman’s face inches from her own.

“You are the catalyst, girl. The commination that will teach the world the very meaning of power.” Sakura’s eyes sharpen at the last word and Tsunade nods. “You like that, hm? I will teach you then, Sakura. And you will enact my vengeance on the heavens itself.”

Sakura stares, tension slowly melting from her body as she stares at this woman, at this savior. And she thinks, she remembers how cold her mother’s body was, the look of grief her father wore when he left.

She remembers tripping over the bodies of friends, of neighbors, half coherent and sickly.

Looking at Tsunade, Sakura licks her lips, “And what will you teach me?”

“How to turn that rage into a dagger and slit gods’ throats with it.” The woman purrs and Sakura smiles.

xxiv.

She wakes to a freezing cold chest to her back and puffs of air on her neck, just as she has since that night.

It is exactly as Tsunade said it would be; fishing. Lure, hook, and reel.

Sakura lets herself smile with teeth, a smug and sharp thing before she slowly extracts herself from the tangle of limbs they had become. The Shinigami slumbers in her bed, wrapped in her blankets.

Leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms, she looks at the god who she has fallen in love with. He loves her with just as much ferocity, she knows. And despite it all, she finds herself not quite hesitating when she goes to dig through her cabinets, finding the small nine pedaled flower. It once had ten and after this morning it will only have eight.

It is as if sinking into a familiar skin as she picks one of the petals, tucking the flower back where it was. Humming under her breath, Sakura grounds the petal in a small bowl before brewing some tea, sprinkling the powder into it.

The Shinigami’s arms snake around her waist, kissing her temple as he rumbles, “Good morning.”

Sakura turns her head to smile at him, offering the tea.

The scaled, clawed, fanged thing within her has its ugly maw open, head throw back as it cackles and howls.

xviii.

“Listen brat,” Tsunade says, snapping open a scroll.

“I’ve already read that,” Sakura interjects, her brows raising. “You know that.”

Tsunade slaps the back of her head, “When I say listen, I mean it.” She shoves the scroll into Sakura’s lap before striding towards a chest that had not been there before. “Come here.”

Slowly, Sakura makes her way towards the opened chest and peeks inside. She drops the scroll, “Is-is that-”

“Weapons to kill the divine,” Tsunade finishes for her, nodding. “Find one you like.”

Sakura swallows harshly as she kneels down and digs through the weapons, careful of every sharp point, as she palms a knife, a curved dagger with a golden blade. “This one.” She whispers, looking up to her master.

Tsunade nods in approval. “There are few ways to kill a kami.” She holds out one finger, “One, with an ichor dipped weapon.” A second finger. “Two, a very particular poison.”

Picking up the scroll, Sakura glances down the list before landing on one flower, “Kami koroshi.”

“That’s right.” Tsunade nods, “And do you know what to do with it?”

Sakura stands, flipping the dagger in her hand. It feels like coming home, having a blade at her side, bathing in the intimately dangerous knowledge of how to bring about the destruction of the heavens.

“Crush it for indigestion.”

xxiii.

Her stomach aches with laughter, clutching at her sides as she cramps and chokes on her tears. “An-and then wha-what happened?” She manages to get out as Kakashi laughs himself, leaning against the wall, a jug of liquor in hand.

He passes it to her and Sakura takes a long drink, reminiscing of a time similar to this.

“Then I told him, fuck off you little shit—" Kakashi wheezes and Sakura shouts with laughter, curling over as she gasps for breath. “And go blow som-someone else!”

They both dissolve into giggles and howls, Kakashi joining her on the floor. Sakura’s panting by the time she catches her breath, wiping tears from her face, and when she looks over Kakashi is not much better.

Brushing hair from his face, she points skyward, the stars winking down at him. “Hey Kakashi,” She asks, drunk off her ass and still giggly. “Where do you think we go when we die?”

Silence meets her question, and she sluggishly looks to the side to find him watching her, eyes soft and so full of— of—

“You’ll go somewhere safe,” He says softly. “Somewhere beautiful.”

“Yeah?” She mumbles, eyes dropping closed.

“I’ll make sure of it.” Is the last thing she hears before the dark overtakes her.

xix.

Tsunade sits across from her, laughing as she takes another long drink from her jug and sets it down heavily.

Sakura simply watches, leaning back in her chair, eyes cold and head tilted as her master coughs once, twice, three times.

Her arms begin to lose its color, being paler and paler and Tsunade watches with detached interest before laughing. She looks to Sakura, “Took you long enough, you fuckin’ brat.”

Snorting, Sakura stands, dagger in hand as Tsunade’s body begins to writhe, her breathes coming quick and uneven.

She yanks her master’s hair back, exposing her throat and slitting it in a single slide, so deep that she knicks bone, golden blood spraying.

The body drops forward, ichor pooling on the table and dripping onto the floor. Sakura sighs, rubbing the back of her neck as she kneels down to look into Tsunade’s lifeless eyes, “I will take it from here, Shishou.”

The promise rings out into the silence and Sakura revels in it.

xxiv.

Kakashi takes a sip of the tea as they both sit down, Sakura across from him. She takes a bite from the rest of their bread, watching him keenly.

He jerks suddenly, choking and hacking as he looks to her in horror and alarm. “You—"

“Me.” She confirms easily, getting up, dagger in hand.

The Shinigami roars and pushes the table away from himself and into the wall, Sakura ducks, the wood barely grazing her head before she lunges.

His already pale skin grays some more as he attempts to fight her off. She laughs at him, holding him down with one hand, knees on either side of his hips. And in the morning light, her dagger glints like a heaven sent prayer.

She plunges the blade into his head and drags it down his breast, carving him open as the kami screams and screams and screams.

Sakura feels his life bleed out from him under her hand. It is quiet once more.

And the girl made woman smiles, all bloodied teeth and gold stained hands. "And here we are." she whispers, caressing the corpse's cheek, reveling in her quiet victory. "Divinity dies at my wretched hands once again."

xvii.

“Shishou,” She begins, treading carefully. Her teacher looks at her in question, quirking up a brow. “Why were you outcasted from the other Kami?”

Tsunade— or more commonly known as Inari, Goddess of Everything Important, of the very Life— laughs and it is a hollow sound. “Oh, darling girl,” She says, a bland smile on her face. “Even gods hunger for power."

xiv.

Sakura sits, a feast laid out in front of her, a goblet of wine in her hand as she smiles, eyes flashing with something predatory.

Picking up her fork, Sakura spears into the first bit of meat, taking a bite and moaning at the way it melts in her mouth, the way the spices and flavors all blend.

She sips at her wine, running her tongue over her teeth before she laughs, throwing her head back and cackles at it all, with it all. Oh, she is a god killer, she is god taught and god fucked and she will be the one to rule them all.

Sakura sits, a feast laid in front of her, and eats the Shinigami’s flesh, one bite at a time until she can feel the power in her roar.

xix.

The corpse still sits at the table as Sakura rummages through the shit Tsunade had left behind, finding a thick envelope sealed in wax. Prying it open, Sakura laughs.

If you’ve found this, it means you’ve finally grown a pair and done what you were supposed to do. Well done, my pupil. You know your mission. I have trained you well. Do not disappoint me.

And behind the scrawled letter is a recipe.

She looks to the corpse and back down to the paper before she stands, going to gather the ingredients needed.

Sakura stands, flipping through the rest of the contents of the envelope until she pauses at another paper; a list of names and common dwellings.

The Shinigami’s is underlined three times in red.

xxv.

It ends with a girl (doesn't it always?), a girl made of nothing but destruction and anger, all slit throats and bleeding teeth.

She is horrid, she is wretched, she is powerful.

And she has grown, that girl made woman, she has grown and her eyes are wide open and she is intimately aware of the hated and evil of the world, of the weaknesses of the divine.

She finds them laying under a tree, peacefully existing and smiling at each other. The blonde one laughs, clutching his stomach while the raven simply watches on in adoration.

Sakura takes out the list, and under the Shinigami’s name crosses off two more, Raijin and Fujin.

Smiling, she makes her way towards them making sure to look a little lost and a bit scared.

And that thing inside her, the scaled, clawed, fanged thing, it smiles wide and hungry.

[how-about-you-rogal-dont]

Wrote a thing, felt like sharing

some background:

I'm an aspiring writer, and I have a collection of CSM, CU, and general Chaos OCs do not steal blah blah blah (feel free to steal). I decided to write a bit about how their most recent addition joined the crew! Specifically, a Sororitas Meleficarum of the Order of the Verdant Chalice called Zethra. This bit of writing is a bit long, so I'll put it under a read more. TW for: violence, nurgle shit, space marines. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.

The inner halls of the Seventh Hell were a maze of lush gardens and fetid swamps, overtaken by the crawling filth that marched with Norvegicus’ every step. This ship had been under his sway for a very long time. Hives of unknowable daemonic parasites honeycombed the walls, squeaking rodents scuttled underfoot, and the buzzing of flies threatened to drown out any spoken communication. I could feel disgust rising in my throat with every step we took further into this despicably lush realm. It was difficult to read the other’s faces, sealed as they were beneath layers of steel and ceramite. None of us dared to bare an inch of skin in this place.

I looked over my shoulder, Cataphractii plate growling with killing instinct as my eyes fell upon Zethra. Despite her desertion from Norvegicus’ host, my skin still crawled at the thought of having my back watched by a member of the Plague God’s chosen. How much further? I did not bother holding my disgust away from the sending.

There was a slight click as Zethra tuned in over the vox. “Two hundred meters ahead, then we’ll be in the welcoming hall.” If she noticed my contempt, she did not care to remark on it.

“What manner of warship requires a welcoming hall?” Came Kalus’ voice a moment later. The duelist-marksman was walking with a casual gait, baroque bolt rifle slung over one shoulder. His helmet, like his armor, was the deep amethyst of his birth legion, with an obscenely loud crest of white feathers running down the middle. In all things, ostentation. Kalus never changed.

Djehouti spoke next. “This vessel was not always solely an implement of destruction. During the great crusade, when it still bore its original name, it would be host to all manner of dignitaries. Visitors from other legions, surrendering leaders of target systems, the like. Though I am surprised they have kept it for its original purpose.” Djehouti walked briskly, clearly struggling to keep up with the lumbering gait of my terminator plate. A brush against his mind revealed a certain distance in his thoughts, as though he were not entirely paying attention to the situation. I closed my mind off from the others, sending my thoughts to him and him alone.

Are you well, brother dearest?

Zandros. Yes, all is well. Forgive my absence. This ship brings back memories. Of course it did. It reminded him of our time aboard the Endurance during Horus’ rebellion. It stank of the same decay.

You are remembering our time as Ahriman’s emissaries to the Fourteenth. It was not a question. With my brother’s memory fading more with every day as the Wych’s toxins worked through his mind, any memory he could manage to grasp was worth ruminating on.

Djehouti’s response came slowly, tinged with more emotions than I could name. Yes.

We were younger then.

Young. Foolish. Power-hungry. A nostalgic smirk tinged his thoughts.

We might not have changed as much as we would like to think.

At this, he gave a single, forceful exhalation. After a moment of silence between us, with only the trudging squash of our armor against the filthy deck to break the monotony, he sent again: Zandros, should we survive this excursion, I have something to ask of you.

Anything, brother. What would you wish of me?

Djehouti smiled beneath his helm, coloring his thoughts with a whistful sadness. It can wait. I nodded.

“We’re here.” Zethra’s voice came abruptly, with a fuzz of static. I returned my gaze to the corridor ahead of us. It open up as we stepped forward, widening in size from a hive street to a grand causeway large enough to admit a Warhound Titan. It was here that Norvegicus’ touch was most evident. The ‘welcoming hall’ did not resemble the gilded splendor of an Imperial-built spacecraft. Instead, it was covered, every inch, in growths of flora both natural and empyrean. The room was lined with twisted, pale mangrove trees, drinking greedily from shallow pools of green scum that spread beneath their shade. A thick coating of mud covered the floor, with mushrooms of every color and shape sprouting from beneath the diseased soil. The walls were covered completely in snaking alien vines, bulbous pustules of ichor pulsing at irregular intervals. The ceiling was hung with lichen, smothering the lumiglobes almost completely. Cackling Nurglings stalked and butchered each other for sport in a twisted mockery of children at play. All in all, the room was so overgrown as to leave only a single foot path traveling down the center clear of the grove’s touch. But the centerpiece of the room was undoubtably the warrior standing sentinel at the far edge.

He was an astartes, and massive even for one of the XIV. Like I, he was clad in Cataphractii plate. That was where the similarities ended. His armor was a rich green, the trim a burnished bronze. He carried no visible firearm, instead leaning on a massive two-handed chainscythe. What singled him out amongst his brethren of the death guard was the total lack of decay visible on his armor. Not a single fleck of rust could be seen, not a single dribble of pus or twisting bone growth. Indeed, to the naked eye, he seemed completely devoid of Nurgle’s taint. But beneath that clean exterior, there was a certainty. A fear. Where other champions of the Seventh exemplified to terror of rotting flesh, the pungent smell of blight, this man seethed from within with the hushed fear of infection. Held breaths, averted eyes, a populace knowing there was disease among them, but not knowing when or from who it would come. He was the knowledge that every breath you take could doom you, that shaking your neighbor’s hand would have you dead within a week, the simple truth that you were not safe and that the threat could not possibly be fought against. His helm swiveled to meet our gaze, red lenses glinting in the sickly light.

“Miscreants. You walk the halls of hallowed ground. Your unholy sanitation is an affront to the beauty of these luscious halls.” His voice was deep and harsh, with the barest hint of a Barbarusii accent. The vox-grille of his helm rendering it a predator’s growl.

Mizi’s mind connected with mine in an instant. I’ve got a shot. The sending came with a series of images: Crosshairs held steady over a green helm, the kick of a rifle thumping against a shoulder, the red smear of a head bursting.

I stepped forward, my external vox opening with a barely-audible click. “I am Zandros Lucarian, and I speak for the Ashen Hunters. State your name, that I might know whose death I command.”

A series of sharp barks escaped the warrior’s helm. After a moment, I realized he was laughing at me. “You speak for a mongrel warband of bastards and thin-bloods. But you shall know my name. I am Holgius, seventy-seventh scythe of the Deathshroud.”

The minds of those at my side sharpened instantly. Before us stood a member of the Deathshroud, the chosen blades of the lord of the Seventh Legion. This was no petty champion, no pit brawler elevated above his brothers by savagery alone. His deeds had been enough to draw the attention of the Rotten King himself. To face him would be to invite ruin in a thousand different forms.

And so, of course, it was Kalus who stepped forward, twinned cutlasses slithering from their sheaths with a crackle of energy. “I’ve always wanted to kill a Deathshroud,” he purred. “Never thought that one would volunteer.”

Holgius did not turn his gaze from me. “Does this wailing peacock speak for you, Zandros Lucarian?”

A poorly-contained snicker distracted me as Mizi’s aura smeared with mirth.

“In as many words.” The challenge had been issued. Kalus knew this dance. Like the Samar-Hai of ancient terra, warbands were fond of sending champions forth to duel to the death before the commencement of a slaughter. It was clear that the rotting creatures that served as crew aboard the Seventh Hell understood the significance of Kalus’ headstrong challenge, too. Obese nurglings crowded the fetid canopy above us, clamoring for a better look at the contest. Through my sixth sense, I felt other, more ethereal eyes lock on to our plight.

The Gods were watching.

Holgius stepped forward, revving his chainscythe in a squall of tortured metal. Kalus did likewise, his blades twirling in lazy, lethal arcs. The Deathshroud regarded him for a moment, then rolled his shoulders into a hunched combat stance. My champion crossed his blades over his sternum, lowering himself into a catlike stance. “You seem confident.”

Holgius’ response was a husky, rasping laugh like a knife scraping the rust from ancient metal. “When set against such a meager creature as you? I see no reason why I should not be.” He had begun to pace their arena now, his boots trudging puddles in the floor.

Kalus raised his blades to compensate for his foe’s movement. “Now you seem overconfident.”

The first blow was struck faster than the eye could follow. With a snarl of servos, Holgius swept his weapon towards Kalus. Kalus was already ducking below, spinning into a strike that was both parry and riposte. The scythe roared harmlessly over his head, guided further upwards by a flick of his left blade. His right was already lashing out like a silver viper to bite into his opponent’s knee. There was a flash as the strike connected, but the armor held. Kalus danced out of engagement range, and I did not need my psychic gifts to see the wry smile spreading below his faceplate.

Holgius was already spinning, keeping the momentum from his first missed stroke into a crushing downward blow. I watched frantic realization bloom in Kalus’ mind as he realized that the warrior had guessed his plan, and was already striking towards where he stood crouched. Even he could not evade in time, and so he crossed his blades over his head, braced to take the strike. It impacted with a scream of micro-engines. Pain flooded Kalus’ aura as greenstick fractures began to spread down his arms. He was holding the blade, mere inches from his marble helm, but the clash of weapons was straining his swords’ power fields to their limit. Thousands of miniscule impacts from the teeth of the chainscythe built until the haze around the blades began to flicker and dull.

Kalus spun aside, letting the natural weight of his opponent’s weapon buy him precious nanoseconds as its tip ground against the muck. Two more flashing strikes thudded into Holgius’ side, opening deep gashes in the ceramite. Holgius lashed out with a hand, thudding a fist against Kalus’ helm. Kalus soared through the air, landing with a splat against a pale, warp-touched tree.

Holgius did not pursue his quarry, instead looking down at his dented armor. The gashes opened by Kalus’ strikes had not penetrated his plate. Neither had my champion angled his strikes for the weaker joints in his opponent’s hide. Holgius raised his gaze to Kalus, now standing with defiance in his eyes. “You are mocking me.” The barely-controlled rage beneath his voice shone like a beacon to my sight.

Kalus was rising from where he had fallen against the fetid flora. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” His breathing was ragged and labored; the pain that smeared his aura evident of a punctured lung. Still he stood, mischief painted across his stance as it was his face.

Holgius gestured to the rents in his armor. “Three strikes against me,” he said accusingly, “All of them botched. Every one could have been fatal. You are mocking me.” The grating fury in his voice had been restrained to a dull seething just below his skin.

Kalus shrugged. “Well…” He struck again, faster than we could see. Holgius swept his blade upwards, but too slow. Like lancing a boil, the blade in Kalus’ right hand plunged into Holgius’ forehead with terrifying ease. As his opponent wavered, not yet realizing he was dead, Kalus met his eye, their faceplates inches apart. “…Maybe a little.”

What happened next is difficult to describe. Not in terms of the physicality of the matter, for what took place was simple, if incredible. Holgius went slack, held aloft by misfiring nerves, hands twitching in the final throes of a death rightfully earned. And then… he bloomed. His armor split apart, ceramite shearing away and peeling back like the petals of a diseased lotus. In its place, bloated, pestilent flesh swelled and bulged outwards, throwing Kalus’ sword free. Knots of warped bone split forth from his shoulders, piercing skywards with the promise of infection. Row upon row of greenish fangs crowded his human teeth. While all of this happened, he was growing. We watched on in horror as he swelled from a giant of a man to a corpulent, heaving mass of filth. The Daemon within him, so well camoflauged until now, had been forced into the open by its host’s death.

What my sixth sense saw was altogether more complicated. In his human form, Holgius had been choked thick with the warp-spun false memories of a population terrified of the plague in their midst. Now, with his possessor revealed, those emotions took on a whole new context. Before me stood a daemon born of realization. For so long, the fear it gorged itself on had been limited to the sight of one’s neighbors covering their face, the scent of decay on the air, the primal certainty that something was terribly wrong. But here was the terror of a society advanced enough to look within, and realize that it was dying. The full extent of the infection revealed, and there was nothing to do but watch.

The thing that had been Holgius was on Kalus before my champion could react. Bloated, sore-pocked fists pummeled into Kalus with preternatural strength. A horrific shriek of tearing metal shuddered through us as Kalus’ breastplate split, caving inward under the force of the daemonic assault. Holgius grasped the broken pieces and hauled the cavity open even wider, exposing pale flesh to the diseased air of the Seventh Hell. A weak gurgle escaped from Kalus, carried to us over the vox. Holgius raised his fists to finish the job.

I commanded his death with a single word, spoken clearly and calmly over our group’s Vox.

“Mizi.”

The cracking report of a las-fusil accompanied the split-second in which the entire chamber was washed with red light. When the momentary blindness had cleared, Holgius stood slack-jawed over Kalus. Mizi’s shot had scorched a deep, blackened pit into his misshapen head. Steam curled from the crater as his dying mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. The daemon riding within his veins howled in rage as its handhold on reality began to slip away. As his spirit began to fade, Holgius met my eyes.

“C-co… ward…”

An insult that had long since lost its bite. I informed the Deathshroud as such, before tossing his limp corpse aside with a whim of telekinesis. I pulsed my orders throughout the chamber, calling my bound to follow.

Forward.

I was nearing the far end of the chamber when Kalus spoke. He was a ruin, his helm torn off to allow him to breath through a mangled face, his torso a bloody ruin, bone protruding near his pectorals. Still, he stood, swaying back and forth as he forced words out.

“I… would have… had him…” I smirked at that. A rudimentary scan of his mind revealed he truly believed it, too. He began to waver, and his legs would have given out if Mizi had not arrived at his side, steadying him. “I would have had him.” He repeated, firmly this time. Mizi shot me a look. I didn’t need my second sight to register the exasperation in her thoughts.

I am sure you would have, cousin. I extended a hand, willing his riven flesh to reknit itself. Kalus winced as the psychic impulses began to do their work. I am not so naïve to believe I can be rid of you that easily.

[vitamx]

Over the Farlands Wall: Chapter 1, Part 3

[ Also Read on AO3! ] [ CH. 1 P. 1 ] [ CH. 1 P. 2 ] [ You are here! ]

~ An “Over the Garden Wall” Hermitcraft AU ~

---

 Mumbo was still laying across the floor, probably a few minutes away from dozing off, when he heard a muffled scream outside, along with sounds of crunching wood and creaking.

He sat upright, rubbing his eyes, heart catching in his throat.

  "Grian?" He whispers, staggering up to his feet.

Not even a second later, Xisuma runs inside frantically, eyes wide.

  "What's happening? Where's your friend?" He asks urgently, eyebrows furrowed angrily.

 "I-I don't know! He went outside to find his parrot, and-" He begins nervously, shrinking in towards himself.

  Grian then slams through the door, heaving and wheezing with exhaustion.

Mumbo and Xisuma swerve towards him, eyes wide.

  "G-Guys, we have a bit of a situatio-!"

  He never gets to finish his warning before the creature, slobbery and snarling, breaks through the door, knocking Grian into the flight of stairs. Mumbo lets out a yelp, and stumbles backwards, eyes flickering between the creature, which he assumed to be the Beast, and Grian, who was groaning in pain atop the staircase.

  "That- That's the Beast!" Mumbo yells shakily.

  Xisuma grabbed his axe and rushed forward, swinging his axe, although the creature caught it with its jaw, growling ferally.

  "This creature, scary as it may be, is not the-!" Xisuma's breath suddenly hitched in his throat, and he toppled over, landing on his face, cracking his visor. The lantern rolled out next to him.

 "F-Fuck, I was trying to hit the-" Grian huffed, a piece of wood clenched between his hands, eyes wide.

  The creature snarled at him, before swerving its head to look at Mumbo, who was banging against the fireplace gate loudly. It leaped forward, and Mumbo shrieked, grabbing the gate and holding it up to use as a shield.

  "It- It's fine, we can figure this out!" Mumbo yells frantically, although talking mostly to himself. "Grian- HELP!"

  The creature whimpered suddenly, and swerved around, growling and baring its teeth, a gash in its side that bled black ooze. Grian, axe in hand, gasped, dropping the axe immediately.

Mumbo pushed the gate onto the creature, then grabbed Grian's hand, running into the mill.

  "RUN RUN RUN RUN RUN!" He yelped, slamming the door shut behind him, and climbs.

 "It got through the door!" Grian shouted, and Mumbo frantically grabs the nearest thing- a sack of potatoes.

  He throws one at first, then the whole sack, which toppled over pathetically.

Sighing in frustration, he tugged his hair as Grian panicked.

  "Wh- Am I supposed to be throwing something?!" He yells, scrambling away from the edge where the creature is slowly crawling up. "Oh-! My- My golden carrots!"

  Scrambling through his satchel, Grian pulls out his bundle of golden carrots, and throws them at the creature, who stopped in its tracks and leaned down to eat them. The two of them scramble to the next platform they can reach, heaving with the effort it took, finding that they were now atop the roof.

  "You're- you're carrots, it's eating them-" Mumbo begins, exasperated, before halting. "You're... Y-Y-You're carrot trail led the Beast right to us!" He yelled angrily, glaring at Grian.

 "How was I supposed to know?!" Grian yelled back, his voice hoarse.

  The creature then leaped up at them, teeth bared, eyes still glowing endlessly.

  "AH! Grian- give it more carrots, give it more carrots!" Mumbo yelled, shaking Grian as he rummaged through his satchel.

 "I don't have any more!" He cried, teeth clenched as he groaned in frustration, before spotting a piece entangled in the fibers of Mumbo's cape. "Oh!"

  Grian grabs it, and throws it off the roof, the creature leaping after it with a hungry snarl.

The creature then yelps, and both Mumbo and Grian peer over the edge of the roof, gasping when they find it stuck underneath the waterwheel. And the waterwheel turns, and turns, and turns, until the creature coughs up a tiny, black turtle, of all things, and falls under the river.

 Grian covers his mouth with his hands, staring in horror, as Mumbo's mouth lay agape. Sure, it was a feral animal, the Beast, but that just looked outright painful.

 And then, poking out of the water with a bark, was a dog, completely unscathed. It swam towards shore, and shook its fur out, sniffing at the black turtle before hacking and kicking it away with its paw.

They let out a sigh of relief, before gasping, the roof creaking underneath them.

  "Jump!" Mumbo shrieks, grabbing a hold of Grian and leaping into the river just as the roof collapsed beneath them.

  The water was icy cold, and as they resurfaced and climbed onto shore, they found a familiar, yet angry face waiting for them, lantern in his hand. Mumbo shivered, not just because of the cold water that now dripped off of him, but due to the sheer anger that was poured into Xisuma's glare.

Part of his visor was cracked and missing a few shards of glass, thus revealing his vibrant green eyes and pale skin, only making the glare much, much worse.

  "The mill is destroyed now!" He seethed, fists clenched at his sides. "All the oil! It's gone!"

 "But, b- but look! We- We got the Beast problem solved!" Mumbo cried, offering a nervous smile, pointing towards the dog who was now asleep on the grass.

 "That dog?!" Xisuma yelled, furious. "That is NOT the Beast! The Beast can't be mollified like some farmer's pet!"

  Xisuma's eyes widen, his glare still apparent, and he stalks forward one step, arms raised above him.

  "He stalks like the night! He sings like the Four Winds!" He cried, a powerful gust of wind passing through the clearing. "He is the Death of Hope! He will ruin-"

  Mumbo ducks his head down, and glares towards Grian.

  "If you hadn't left that dumb carrot trail..." He hissed, Grian glaring right back at him.

 "Oh, shut up!" Xisuma screams, grabbing Mumbo by the collar and dragging him up. "You have it backwards! His mistakes are yours! You are both responsible!" He hisses.

 "I-I, I'm sorry! M-Maybe I- I can fix it?" He offers, eyes wide, before biting his lip and wincing. "No, I- I can't fix it."

  Xisuma lets him go with an exhausted sigh, shoulders drooping as he finally dropped his glare. Head hanging low, he exhales slowly, and points north.

  "You need to go," He states firmly. "Go north- look for a town."

  Mumbo nods, and quickly stands, Grian placing his hand on Mumbo's shoulder.

He starts forward in the direction they were given, and makes it a good ten steps forward before Xisuma interrupts them.

  "One more thing!" He calls, not facing towards them despite them doing as such. "Beware the Unknown! Fear the Beast! And leave these woods!"

  Mumbo and Grian nod wordlessly, and turn around once more, treading towards the forest, the familiar sound of crunching leaves soon filling their ears. They don't talk for a good while, the occasional parrot caw filling up the silence.

  "...Hey, Mumbo?" Grian murmurs, eyes drooping.

 "Hm?" Mumbo hums in response, looking over at his friend.

 "I think I thought of a new name for our parrot," He smiled. "I'm gonna call him Mumbo."

  Mumbo let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

  "Are you sure? That, uh, might get a bit confusing," He mused.

 "Nope!" Grian grins, petting his parrot, now called 'Mumbo'. "I'm just gonna start calling you Kitty."

 "Pfft- what?!" Mumbo laughs, pushing Grian lightly and playfully. "I'm gonna start calling you Carrot-Pants, then."

  Grian cackles, skipping forward and kicking up a few leaves, poking out his tongue at Mumbo.

Mumbo (the parrot) squawks, and Grian hums, nodding thoughtfully.

  "You're absolutely right, Mumbo," He says with a business-like tone.

 "Uh... Thanks?" Mumbo responds.

 "I'm not talking to you!" Grian giggles, petting his parrot once more, who caws happily. "I'm talkin' to Mumbo!"

 ---

[doing-an-okay-job-miranda]

Crowns and Treehouses: Chapter One

AO3 / Masterlist 

Chapter Two

Chapter warnings: Mentions of beheadings, mentions of death, mentions of a rebellion

Summary:

Janus and Virgil arrive from the kingdom's capital with the village's old scholar Logan out of nowhere.

But Roman and Remus are just excited when they hear about a new kid their age and are immediately determined to make friends with the boy no matter how different Janus's old life may have been from theirs, the three of them will become the bestest of friends and no, Janus does not get a choice on the matter.

-

Remus buzzes with excitement as he dashes through the trees of grandma Lori's apple orchard (Not actually his grandma but Remus doesn't doubt that Grandpa would change that if he didn't have that stick up his butt.) It only takes Remus ten minutes running full speed to get from the village square to the treehouse he knew Roman to be in.

"Roman!" Remus shoats from the outside, scrambling up the latter and into their small shelter. "Get up, get up- Ha!" Remus barks a laugh as Roman lays on the ground, looking rather confused with his feet still tangled in the hammock. "You fell again!"

"Shut up!" Roman glares at him. "Your yelling keeps startling me awake! I got into attack mode!"

"Is your attack mode just falling to the floor?" Remus cackles as his twin detangles his legs to stand up. "Good strategy, they might think your a doormat and trip over you."

"Is there a reason you woke me up?!" The other ten-year-old glares at his brother and Remus bites back the joke about Roman needing his beauty sleep because this is so much better.

"Logan's back!" He bounces on his feet, pumping his arms up and down with his excited energy. "You'll never guess who he's with!"

"He's back?" Roman immediately perks up at the idea of the scholar having returned, the man who taught the twins how to read during the small windows he came home to visit. Remus would never admit it like Roman but the both of them were a little worried about the man, all the adults were talking about the revolt in the capital and the death of the royal family lately with no news about who was spared or not. "Thank goodness he's okay! Do you think he's staying this time?"

"Not important right now!" Remus whines as Roman completely misses what he's putting down. "He came back with another guy and his kid! An us age kid." Remus wiggles his eyebrows as Roman's eyes light up.

"New kid?" Roman asks, starting to bounce like Remus.

"New kid!" And just like that, Remus is bounding out the entrance door and practically hopping down the ladder to take off back towards the village.

"Hey!" Roman shouts after him but Remus doesn't need to look back to know his twin is following a bit behind him. "I call dibs!" Roman catches up fairly easily as he didn't just run all the way to the treehouse and would have run past Remus if the boy didn't shove him to the side.

"You'll scare him away!" Remus calls back.

"I'm the charming one!"

"No! I'm better at friends!"

"No! You smell weird!"

The twins bicker as they run, eventually slowing down as they approach the down both because Remus's lungs burn from running so much and because they always get in trouble from their grandpa for running around people since Remus changes paths for no one and will barrel his way through a crowd.

"What do they look like?" Roman asks like a dummy, how would he not recognize the only new people in the village.

"Clean." Remus still answers though. "He and his dad looked kinda fancy, I bet they're from the capital with Logan."

"Do you think Logan has a boyfriend?" Remus makes a face at that as his brother giggles. "Lo could have saved them and escaped the castle together with their child."

Remus snorts at whatever gross romantic daydream wedding his twin is having. "More like they saved Logan, the dude looks ripped. Do you think they saw the King and Queen get beheaded?"

"Remus!" Roman hushes him with a shove. "Grandpa said not to talk about it!"

Remus shoves back, harder to make Roman stumble. "Now I wanna talk about it more! I bet they squirted blood all over the place! I bet the castle was on fire-"

The boy is promptly shut up with a hand over his mouth. "Shhhh!" Roman shushes and pulls Remus behind one of the shops. "Is that him with- Eek! Gross!" Roman cries out and wipes the slobber from his brother linking him off his hand.

"Oh! That is totally him!" Remus peeks from behind the wall, completely ignoring his brother's sputtering behind him. "Look, his dad is talking to Patton." Roman, of course, pushes Remus's head down to look over top his head instead of just leaning around him.

"Oh, he is strong." The twins look at a tall man wearing dark clothing smirks as he talked through a window with the baker. Now that Remus was actually looking, he could see the scars that travel up the man's arms, and Remus can only assume past the rolled-up sleeves. This was obviously someone who's seen a lot of battle so Remus couldn't help but agree when Roman spoke again. "He's totally evil."

"Duh, look at his cloak!" The dark fabric only covers one half of his body, obviously made more to look nice then actually keep him warm.

"He's an evil wizard." Roman nods above him.

"No, no. He can't be a wizard." Remus points to the man. "Look at all those scars, that's close combat. He's some sort of warrior, definitely magic but he probably uses a sword."

"A Knightmare." Roman says in a mysterious voice but Remus just snorts.

"Nightmares are horses, poo brain."

"No, like a Dark Knight!" He explains and the twin feels more inclined to agree with that so just nods along because an evil knight sounds really cool.

"Oh!" Remus shoves his brother off him as he finally spots the kid they came here for, who was just leaning against the side of the bakery looking kinda sad. "That's him!"

Remus doesn't wait for Roman, immediately running forward towards the other kid who notices him near immediately and looks increasingly startled as the boy approaches. "Rems!" He ignores his brothers hisses to wait and instead stands in front of the shorter kid and holds out his hand.

"I'm Remus, I'm ten and I like to eat worms because it makes my brother scream." Remus introduces himself as Roman catches up. "That's my little brother-"

"We're the same age."

"Roman, we're twins but I'm older so I'm cooler and we're friends now." The boy in front of him looks alarmed but hesitantly reaches out to shake Remus's hand.

"I am- I'm Janus." Remus has to bite back a giggle at Janus's accent, this is totally a fancy city kid. "I don't know if friends work like that but okay."

Roman takes this moment to push forward, taking Janus's hand from Remus and bowing to the other boy. Remus doesn't miss the way the new kid tenses up and sends a panicked glance to his dad who didn't seem to notice them at all. "I am Roman, protector of this town, and slayer of dragons!" Roman introduces himself like the wannabe knight he is. "Please forgive Remus, he has hit his head on hard surfaces more times than I can count."

"He can't count very high but it's still been a lot." Remus informs and Janus raises a hand to hide his snicker as Roman's face turns red, the boy relaxing as his brother stands straight again.

"I can count higher than you!"

"Can not."

"Can too!"

“Can Three!”

"As riveting as this conversation is," The new kid interrupts before the twins can get too deep in an argument. "Is there a reason you're talking to me or..?"

"We're kidnapping you." Remus puts on his serious face and stares the kid right in the eyes but Roman punches his arm before he can get much of a reaction.

"Don't scare him!" Roman snarls before flipping back to smile at Janus. "Wanna come play with us? Remus won't actually kidnap you, promise. He's all bark except sometimes he'll actually bite so don't put your hand near his mouth or anything."

"I'm... not sure if I should." The new kid hesitantly looks between them and his dad and immediately Remus can tell that this is a snobby rich kid who's probably never had fun in his life and Remus completely blames his Knightmare dad guy since obviously that has to be the reason he looks nervous.

"You can ask your dad first if you want." Roman gestures to the Knightmare and Remus watches Janus as it seems like a switch has been flipped.

"That's not my dad and I don't need his permission to do anything." Janus moves forward from the wall he was leaning on, heckles raised like a pissy cat. "Let's go, he's too distracted with his flirting anyway."

"Ooohh, rebellious city boy." Remus giggles and doesn't hesitate to grab Janus's hand. "Let's go!" He yanks the boy with him, cackling as he scrambles to run with Remus and as Roman sputters in offense at having been left behind.

[fulloffloweryprose]

Sent flat to his back on dewy grass he waits breathlessly for the final blow, for metal to sink in. There’s a cackle light firelight and Link felt it on his face, glaring back up at that roaring heat. Don’t gloat about it, he thought through his fever, trying to slip his sword out from under a metal-hard foot. Sweat surged down his forehead, his throat, down the dip of his chin. He waited and struggled and listened and said a silent sorrowful sorry to Zelda and, in the end, the rest of history.

“Ah it seems I finally have you pinned down like the little gadfly you are,” hissed a burning voice, breath pulse against his face. Ghirahim was practically sitting on him. Link jerked his body up but the demon was as heavy as a metal block. “Have you given up so easily?” Link writhed to be free; he couldn’t lose because everyone died if he did, he couldn’t lose because Ghirahim kept laughing. “Wriggling about like a trapped mouse… Adorable.” He felt the sick wet slick of a long tongue and turned his head, his skull digging into the dirt beneath the grass.

“Stop,” Link rasped. “Just shut up.” 

Another ringing laugh, deep and dancing. “You are hardly in a place to be barking orders.”

“Why are you--” He shifted more, trying to slip Fi free, but couldn’t. “Do it already.”

A gloved finger ran down his face and Link snapped his neck up to bite it, tired of this back and forth, tired of being sought out and fought.

“You are much too fun to play with, Skychild.”

“This isn’t a game!”

“Oh, I am not so sure about that…”

He was petted again and he turned his head away, smelling grass and dirt as his skull churned earth. He waited to die. Ghirahim had come close before but he’d never come this close. He’d be dead any moment. The demon was merciless -- Fi had said so herself.

Master Link…

“Sorry,” he murmured to his partner.

There was stillness, the vague warmth of his sword in his palm, the quiet of the Faron Woods in the midst of a demon. Link closed his eyes to stop himself from crying. He wouldn’t give Ghirahim the satisfaction.

Cold steel met his throat. It just-barely touched. Like a pinprick, no more painful than a bee sting, which he’d felt for the first time only two months ago. He sucked back one of his last breaths of air. He wondered why he was shaking, he had been ready to die since all of this began.

It wasn’t him. Link wasn’t shaking.

The hard thighs that straddled him left as fast as lightning. The press of rigid steel vanished.

“Yet if I killed you here, who would be around to entertain me?” 

Link was up like a shot, roaring and leaping at the demon until he was the one on top, until he was the one, cut and bleeding, with steel pressed into a throat. Link grabbed Ghirahim’s shoulder with one hand to orientate himself and then brought Fi to his neck.

“That sword of yours is useless. Not even able to protect you from one single adversary...” Ghirahim said, a hand holding the side of Link’s face. “I am the singular reason you continue to draw breath, Skychild.”

Link growled and pressed his sword down against his throat, fingers digging into skin too hard to be natural. “You keep trying to kill me!”

“Well, now’s your chance,” the demon said, his tone carrying a smirk. “Cut my throat, little hero. Rid your quest of its most cumbersome burden. Without me Demise will never be risen, and your maiden need not go through the trouble of purifying her pathetic soul. You may take her hand and return to your home in the sky.” The hand on his jaw cupped his cheek and a thumb caressed it languidly. Link gripped the hilt of his sword. “How lovely that all sounds, hm? Peace, quiet, happiness.”

Link was silent. The fingers on his face trailed down his throat. Off in the distance he heard birds returning, and he felt each breath rake up his chest, tearing ragged along his lungs.

“Once…” he started, pressing his knee down against an iron-hard chest, sword still at its mark, “...when I was in the desert, I was surrounded by lizalfos. Way more than I could handle.” He heard a soft huff and kept going. “But I made it out. I only killed four, but there were at least fifteen. Fi told me so.” The hand on his face became stiff and Link did his best to glare down at the demon. “Why do you keep helpi--”

“Don’t misunderstand,” Ghirahim hissed, cutting him off. “No other is permitted to make a corpse of you. You are my lamb to slaughter, not bait for some mindless horde of lizalfos.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if I was just out of the way? Don’t you have a job to do?”

“It would be far too easy. As I said you provide a modicum of entertainment.”

“You know what I think?” Link said, gripping at Ghirahim’s shoulder, “I think you’re lonely.” Before the demon could undoubtedly snap and deny it with a typical snarl, he continued, “You let me live every time and-- and I--” Link said a silent apology as he dropped Fi onto the grass beside them, “I don’t want to kill you, either.”

He took a chance. A wild one. One that might really get him killed. But there was something here, even if there shouldn't be, something burning and low and off-kilter. 

Link felt blindly for a pair of lips, and then he leaned down.

Kissing Ghirahim was like kissing metal. He tasted like iron and fire, and he was heavy and cool, and Link sighed as he felt warm lips kiss him back. He didn’t pull away. Even if he was right about all of this Ghirahim wasn’t likely to be nice about it. Not with words.

“You are even more senseless than I had thought,” Ghirahim whispered against his mouth.

Link pressed their foreheads together, taking a few slow breaths. “Ghirahim,” he said, “I’m going to beat Demise. I’m going to be stronger than him and I’m going to save Zelda and if you just wait -- if you give me time -- I’m going to get you out of this.”

“And yet you continue to further depths of idiocy…” 

He responded by leaning down and kissing him again. Words always meant nothing to Ghirahim, he’d noticed that pretty early on. Link hadn’t ever kissed anyone but pressed in firmly, moving his knee from his chest until he was sitting on top of him flatly. He tilted his head and kissed all across his mouth, breathing out a sigh as unfamiliar friction worked down his stomach.

When he pulled back he was met with silence. Link reached out with his hands and felt something sharp. Fangs.

“You will have no choice, you realize. You must slay me to save your maiden.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he breathed against warm lips, “I can save you both. I promise.”

“I am a demon lord. I do not require saving.”

“I already know what you are,” Link said, letting that statement hang in the air between them.

The laugh that met his ears was deep and rumbled. “Now how did you suss that out?” It was desperate, too, though Link wasn’t sure if it was the laugh that told him that, or the feeling of taut muscles under his fingers. 

Hands threaded through blond hair, gloveless and clawed, and Link was pulled back down for another kiss. He felt the tip of a tongue he knew was long; he felt Ghirahim sighing with breath he knew the demon didn’t need; he felt a shaking hand drag down his back, pulling him in closer.

The demon vanished in a cascade of diamonds. Link felt them pricking at his cheeks, his throat, and through his hair. He hadn’t said anything else. Best of all, he hadn’t denied any of it. 

When Link picked Fi back up, dusting grass and dirt from her blade, it was with a smile.

[thepartyresponsible]

my adventures in fluff continue. i think i’m getting better.

for the anon who asked for winterhawk, here’s bucky and clint, expertly dealing with the morning after.

fair warning: there’s a bit of the fake dating trope involved. no one asked for that. i threw it in as a bonus, because i have no self-control.

Clint squirms awake at some ungodly hour of the morning and damn near elbows Bucky right in the liver as he burrows out from underneath his arm. “Coffee,” he mutters, shoving aside sheets, kneeing Bucky in the thigh, headbutting him in the chin. “Coffee, coffee, coffee.”

Bucky grumbles under his breath and hip checks Clint out of the bed. “Jesus,” he says, rolling into the warm spot Clint so foolishly vacated. “Go get your fucking coffee.”

Clint fumbles around a bit, walks into at least two separate pieces of furniture, and finally finds his way to the door. Bucky closes his eyes, breathes in the smell of Clint’s stupid shampoo, and nearly flinches out of his skin when Clint comes barreling back into the bedroom at high speed.

“Shit,” Clint says, sounding high-pitched and desperate. “Shit, shit, shit.”

Bucky rolls over and catches sight of what might actually be panic on Clint’s face. Which is strange, because he’s seen Clint looking bored out of his damn mind while hurling himself off the top of burning buildings.

“The hell happened to you?” Bucky asks, incredulous.

“The jig is up, Barnes,” Clint tells him, frantic, and then dives back under the covers, shouldering his way into the middle of the bed and, somewhat worryingly, putting Bucky between him and the door.

Bucky blinks. “I’m not getting your coffee. That was a one time thing. And we’re not engaged anymore.”

They were never engaged. It was a cover story that spiraled completely out of control, primarily because Bucky wanted to see if he could make Steve laugh on the comms and Clint, the absolute lunatic, has never met a bad idea he didn’t “yes, and” all the way into oblivion.

“Don’t be like that, babe,” Clint says, voice muffled by the blankets he’s hiding under. “It’s not like he’s going to kill you.”

Bucky opens his mouth to object to the petname, since the mission ended fourteen hours ago, but then he catches the rest of that. “Who’s gonna kill you?”

It comes out a bit closer to a growl than he thinks is entirely warranted. Whatever. He hasn’t shaken completely free from the cover story yet. It happens. Last night, it happened so much and so thoroughly that, after a couple post-mission drinks, it had seemed completely natural to fall into bed together. But Bucky’s not analyzing that, not right now. Not until the sun’s up.

He’s not doing a damn thing but lying here in bed. He’s not getting coffee. Not even if Clint gives him that wide-eyed look of despair that had levered him out of their shared hotel bed three days ago. He’s not getting coffee, and he’s not getting dressed, and he’s not going running with Steve, and--- shit.

Steve.

“Oh, shit,” Bucky says, shoving the covers back. “Oh shit.”

“Shush,” Clint whisper-yells, “shut up, God, he’s gonna hear you.”

“Oh, he’s gonna hear me?” Bucky hisses back, throwing one arm over the side of the bed and scrambling blind for his pants. His boxers. His socks. Anything. “He’s gonna hear me in my own Goddamn bedroom? You shut up, asshole. You’re gonna blow your own fucking cover. Just let me get---”

“Buck?” Steve calls from Bucky’s living room. He sounds vaguely disappointed, the way he always sounds when he has to come up here and drag Bucky downstairs for their morning run. The note of confusion’s new, though. “Did you just scream and slam the door in my face?”

“Didn’t scream,” Clint mutters, sounding mutinous, blonde hair just barely poking up from under the covers.

“Sure,” Bucky calls back, fingers finally, mercifully closing around fabric. “Sure did, Stevie. Be right out.”

Steve’s footsteps start thudding ominously over. “Hey, did Clint come back to the Tower after you guys got dinner? No one’s made coffee yet.”

“Uh,” Bucky says, still juggling whatever the hell it was he found on the floor, hoping for a hem or an arm hole or something.

Steve makes a soft, annoyed noise. “Will you come out here? I know you’re up. C’mon, what’s---”

“Steve, wait,” Bucky says, but it’s too late. Steve Rogers is shoving the door open and walking right into Bucky’s bedroom, and Bucky’s just standing there, one arm outstretched toward the door while the other holds Clint’s stupid purple hoodie over his dick.

“Oh God.” Steve slaps his hands over his eyes, like he hasn’t, through the decades of their friendship, seen pretty much every part of Bucky there is.

“Rogers,” Bucky snarls back, because you have to go on the offensive with Steve or he’ll draw the starting line right in front of the goal. “This is a private space, you Goddamn creep. You want to see skin, you gotta buy me dinner. Now get--”

“What the hell are you doing in here, Buck?” Steve says, dropping his hands away from his face so he can set them prissily on his hips. “You were supposed to be downstairs thirty minutes ago. You don’t even sleep naked. Why the hell are you—oh.”

Steve looks toward the bed just long enough to goggle at the lumpy shape under the covers and then slams his eyes shut all over again.

“Ma’am,” he says, respectfully, and then grimaces. “Sir?” he tries, and then wavers again, and Bucky can see the desperate scramble in Steve’s head as he tries to come up with a polite gender-neutral way to greet someone in Bucky’s bed. He settles, mystifyingly, on: “Citizen.”

“Citizen,” Clint repeats, an incredulous snort breaking into a full-on laugh that cuts off sharply about two seconds too late to do them any good.

Bucky could pick Clint’s stupid, delighted cackle out of a room full of giggling morons, and he’s maybe a bit more attuned to Clint than Steve is, but Steve is also, unfortunately, not a damn idiot.

“Barton?” Steve barks, goes right into his mission yell in a way that has Clint visibly tensing under the blankets. “Barton, what the hell are you---”

“We’re engaged, Steve,” Bucky says. He has no idea where his boxers ended up, but he finally found the jeans he wore last night. They’ll fit easier without the boxers anyway. He let Natasha take him shopping, and the pants she bullied him into buying are so tight he can use whatever spare centimeters of clearance he can get.

He’s been pissed about the pants, but Barton damn near swallowed his tongue when Bucky wore them last night, so. They have their redemptive qualities.

Across the room, Steve sucks in an appalled breath. “Oh, bullshit, Bucky. That was a cover story. For a mission that didn’t even need a cover story. You are not engaged. You are not—Barton, I know you’re in there.”

Bucky shimmies his way into his jeans and then pulls Clint’s hoodie on over his head. “Leave him alone. You’re horrible to look at in the morning. God, Stevie. Where’d you even find shorts that short? The little girl’s section?”

Steve cocks a dangerous eyebrow. “You really wanna talk about clothes right now, Buck? Sorry, were you putting on pants or having a seizure? I didn’t know humans could move that way.”

“Move what way?” Clint says, suddenly deciding he wants to be a part of this. He pops up out from under the covers like an interested meerkat. The sheets pool by his waist and then slip lower as he kicks his way free. “Shit, did I miss that thing he does with his hips?”

“Clint,” Bucky says.

“Barton,” Steve agrees.

“Aw,” Clint says, blinking at Bucky, looking rumpled and sinful and hopelessly charmed. “You’re wearing my sweater.”

“You’re wearing my boxers,” Bucky says, because it’s true. Because he’s just now realizing that that’s where they ended up, slung low across Clint’s hips.

“I am going,” Steve says, earnest and intent, flushing to his ears, “on a run.”

“Kinda looks like you’re going on a stand, Cap,” Clint says, innocuously.

“We’re talking about this later,” Steve says, making meaningful eye-contact with Bucky.

“Great,” Bucky says. He’s not scared of Steve. Hydra used to strap him in a chair and blend his brain like a morning smoothie. What’s Steve going to do? Be disappointed in him?

Shit, he’s been letting Steve down since he fell off a train back in the ‘40s.

“And Barton,” Steve says, swiveling, barking out in his Mission Voice. “You--”

“Nope,” Bucky says, planting a hand in Steve’s chest. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Clint shifting lower, posture going defensive, the way he always does when he thinks he’s fucking something up. “Out, Steve. This isn’t a mission. Go away.”

He shoves Steve, walking him backwards through the doorway, and it’s hard to say, really, who’d win if they set their strength against each other, but Steve lets himself be pushed off balance, takes a few slow steps just to prove he’s leaving because he wants to, and then he’s gone, in a flash of worried eyes and borderline inappropriate athletic shorts.

“Oh my God,” Clint says, rubbing at his face. “We’re so fucked.”

“Well,” Bucky says, a little hesitant, awake enough to be unsure, “we were.”

Clint’s still for a second and then he smirks, breaks into a low, wry bite of laughter. When he stretches his arms over his head, Bucky’s eyes catch on the line of marks he left down Clint’s chest. “I need coffee,” he says, almost a whine, and it’s embarrassing, really, how quickly Bucky starts strategizing a way to make that happen.

“Put some pants on,” he says. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

  He lets Barton pick the place, which is how they end up at some disreputable diner where the waitress takes their order like she’s doing them a favor and nobody looks up long enough to realize there are two Avengers eating their body weight in breakfast food at 7:00am on a Sunday morning.

Now that the adrenaline rush from getting caught by Steve has worn off, Clint’s lazy and disheveled, looks entirely too smug in Bucky’s sweatpants and t-shirt. His hair is sticking up in six different directions, and there’s a red mark right below his jaw that makes Bucky feel particularly accomplished. He looks like he rolled right out of bed to get here, and it’s some kind of distracting, the way Bucky can see himself – his shirt, his sweats, his bite marks – all over Clint.

“So,” Clint says, licking syrup off his fingers, “we’re great at this undercover thing. We should do it more often.”

“Undercover or under covers?” Bucky asks, musingly, and Clint looks up just long enough to wink, outrageously.

“I mean it,” he continues, boppy with caffeine and anxious energy, kicking his foot out to nudge Bucky’s ankle and then just leaving it there, resting against Bucky’s leg. “Everyone at that conference thought we were fucking. Pretty sure Bruce thought so, by the end.”

And Bucky can forgive Banner for that, because, honestly, they almost were. Four days sharing a hotel bed and meals and almost every single moment with Clint Barton, and what had happened last night seemed fated, inevitable, promised.

There’s a charm to Barton that’s easy to miss. A kind of brightness that’s so distracting it’s obnoxious until it wins you over. Bucky knew he was doomed the morning he woke up to Clint crooning love songs to the coffeemaker and was hit with a black surge of jealousy so intense that he almost stole the coffee pot and threw the damn thing off the hotel balcony.              

“How many times,” Bucky says, “do you think there’s gonna be some need to go undercover as a couple?”

Clint hesitates and narrows his eyes, and Bucky’s charmed and exasperated by the way he counts it out on his fingers, gaze shifting up and to the side as he thinks his way through it. “Well,” Clint says, finally, “listen. Maybe numbers aren’t the point. Maybe it’s like Cap says.”

And Bucky’s got no idea what the hell Steve’s been saying to Clint, except Barton, no joking on the comms and No, Barton, we don’t have time for a coffee break right now.

The thing about Steve is that he’s a walking, talking national icon, which makes people inclined to listen to him, and that, in Bucky’s opinion, is exactly how so many things go so very, very wrong.

Bucky’s always going to be ready to follow Steve straight to hell, but he probably wouldn’t have to make the trip so many times if people didn’t keep listening when Steve acted like he knew what he was doing.

“What’s Steve say?” Bucky asks, bracing for something grim and dutiful.

Clint leans forward, narrowly avoiding putting his elbow right in the middle of what remains of his pancakes. There’s syrup on his chin, and his eyes are happy and laughing and interested.

“Steve says we should always be prepared. Right?” Clint grins, and it makes the corner of his eyes crinkle up. Bucky thinks, a little desperately, that, from this distance, you wouldn’t even know how dangerous Clint is. From this distance, all you can see is the blue of his eyes and the glow of his smile and the tousled mess of his hair.

“Sure,” Bucky says, because it seems like a safe bet.

“So,” Clint continues, “we should probably head back to the Tower. Go back to bed. Get all the details right for our cover story.”

And it’s stupid and playful, and Bucky can’t even complain about how shitty the line is, because it damn sure worked wonders on him last night.

But.

“Clint,” he says, pushing his plate to the edge of the table, clearing the space in front of him. “I’m not doing this for the authenticity of the cover story.”

Clint blinks. He looks surprised for a second, and then he just looks happy, warm and sunny and uncomplicated, the same way he’d felt this morning, when Bucky woke up to find Clint nuzzled up against him, nose buried in Bucky’s throat, fingers curled around Bucky’s hip.

Comfortable, Bucky thinks. In a way that things haven’t been since the war, since he left Brooklyn. Warm, like he hasn’t been since back before he even knew what cryo was.

“Oh good,” Clint says. “I wasn’t either.”

And then Clint leans over, gets a hand in the hoodie Bucky’s wearing, the one he left on Bucky’s floor last night, and hauls him up so they can kiss right there, in the middle of the diner. For nothing and no one except themselves.

Bucky hears the thump and rattle and splash of Clint’s coffee toppling over, and his heart soars, beating double-time in his chest, when Clint just keeps kissing him, doesn’t pay any attention at all as the coffee drains out across the table.

[artificialqueens]

razorback, part 1/2 (branjie) - sheep

an: really all i can say at this point is: oops. warnings for slightly graphic werewolf/panic attack/anxiety descriptions. a part 2 will happen soon hopefully.

—

They meet on a Saturday night when the moon is dark.

Vanessa’s head is spinning with nicotine and tequila, and she’s stepped away from the party for a breath of the night air. Muffled music drones behind her, fading in and out as Vanessa lights a second cigarette, quickly accompanied by drunken singing.

It had taken a great amount of convincing from A’keria for Vanessa to show. More specifically, a twenty minute call on facetime, and many, many reminders that Vanessa had missed the last three parties she’d been invited to. Once A’keria started pouting, and Vanessa realized the date actually matched up with her schedule, she relented.

As if on cue of thought alone, A’keria stumbles out through the back door of the house, visibly hammered; dragging a much taller, much more sober blonde behind her. She lights up when she sees Vanessa, dropping the stranger’s hand and latching onto her instead.

“Vanjie, baby, are you good?” she drawls. Her breath smells like rum but Vanessa laughs, wrapping an arm around the girl’s waist to straighten her out.

“I’m fine. What’s wrong with you?” she sighs. She knows A’keria. She knows A’keria when she’s drunk.

“I’ve got something to show you.”

She reaches blindly behind her until she grabs hold of the unknown girl’s shirt, tugging her forward so she stands beneath the porch light with them.

It’s then that Vanessa really looks at her. Jaw cut from marble. Milky pale skin. Deep, ocean blue eyes that ripple green as Vanessa continues to stare. Her lips are colored a soft, baby pink, and the white of her daisy patterned skirt glows with the stars.

“This is Brooke,” supplies A’keria, slurring her words. “She thinks you’re hot.”

Brooke’s face flushes delicious cherry red, and Vanessa licks her lips. A’keria looks between them and grins sloppily. She spins on her heel, surprising both Vanessa and Brooke by managing to stay upright. She giggles, fumbling with the door handle.

“Get some, baby,” she calls to Vanessa before unceremoniously tripping over the doorstep. She slams the door behind her.

Vanessa dissolves into barking, uproarious laughter before she can stop herself, dropping ash onto her boots as she wheezes. Brooke chuckles too, nerves audible, and takes a larger than average sip of her Palm Bay.

Vanessa takes a drag. “So,” she hums on the exhale, “come lookin’ for a piece of the mysterious Vanjie charm?” She interrupts her own flirting with a coughing fit, hacking up half a lung before turning back to Brooke as if nothing happened.

The girl laughs in earnest, this time, tilting her head back and letting her gorgeous voice ring into the night. “Vanjie charm?” she repeats, flushed and smiling and beautiful. “Is that what they call it?”

Vanessa turns away, taking another long drag and praying that her blush doesn’t show. “That’s what A’keria seems to think,” she flicks the now finished cigarette away, attention fully on Brooke. “Sorry about her, also. One too many shots and she acts like she’s livin’ a sitcom.”

Brooke looks away before smiling. “I’ve noticed. She was looking for you. She seemed really worried, so I offered to help her find you.”

Vanessa’s eyebrows raise, but her voice has the same gravely, questioning tone as always. “Oh,” disappointment pangs in her chest, “yeah, she does that. I left without tellin’ her one time and now she gets all freaked if she can’t find me.” She rubs the back of her neck, suddenly sheepish. She doesn’t mean to meet Brooke’s eyes again, but doesn’t do anything about it when she finds herself staring into them. Brooke seems to be searching her, inviting her into the sea, and Vanessa falls in without a fight.

“I did tell her you were hot, though.”

The water is cool against her skin, and in that moment Vanessa wants nothing more than to swim to the very depths, to let her breath go. Her voice somehow sounds less shocked than she feels, and she attributes it to the shots A’keria had her do earlier in the evening. “So you are here for the Vanjie charm?”

“I suppose I am.” Brooke’s smile is sweet candy and Vanessa wants a taste, but the music inside booms and the sudden drunken chorus of Cascada’s ‘Everytime We Touch,’ causes Brooke to laugh so hard she snorts. Vanessa immediately cackles in response, overjoyed at the sound, and they each take a step closer as they laugh together.

She takes a glance at the moon. Something hopeful warms her chest, and she can tell it isn’t the alcohol. She drifts towards the door, grinning, and holds her hand out to the blonde.

“May I offer you a dance, Brooke?” She tries the name, kisses it with “what if,” and sends it off. Brooke’s hand is soft against her own, and she leads the girl inside with another gruff chuckle. She doesn’t miss the excited glint in Brooke’s eyes.

A’keria uses Brooke as bribery, after the party.

Vanessa loves her friends, she really does. She doesn’t avoid them because wants to. It’s just that the weather is getting cold, and everything gets… harder when the weather is cold.

They’re a week into November now, and Vanessa knows she’ll have to leave again soon. A’keria knows, too, by the sound of it. They’ve been friends for years now, and no matter how many times Vanessa vanishes with the first snowfall, A’keria never seems to get used to it. When temperature starts to drop, she starts inviting Vanessa anywhere and everywhere. The mall, the grocery store, one of their friends’ places. It’s a gamble whether or not Vanessa will accept, but it’s their yearly game.

And this year, A’keria has an advantage. “Come hang out at Silky’s, Brooke will be there,” or “We’re going to a movie. Come with. Brooke will be there.” As ashamed as she is to admit it, Vanessa falls for it every time.The promise of seeing Brooke again before Winter sets in is enough to get her to drag her aching body out of bed, and to to whatever bustling place A’keria summons her to. They always end up sitting together, wherever they are, just talking and drinking each other in until someone breaks them apart with a question or comment.

Today, they’re meeting at a cafe. Her hair is a fluffy, tangled mess, and the scent of everyone else’s breakfast sandwiches is sending Vanessa’s sleep addled brain into a slight frenzy. A’keria waves her over to a table unfortunately bathed in sunshine. Vanessa spots Nina, Silky, and of course, Brooke, sitting with her. They’re all nursing various sugary lattes, save for Brooke who’s drinking some sort of cold brew that looks awfully dark. She smirks, even though A’keria is looking.

“She showed up,” Silky exclaims, drawing a laugh from Nina. She looks to A’keria, and reaches out to grab Brooke’s hand. “You were right, this girl is magic. What’s your secret?”

“Leave her alone, Silk,” Vanessa huffs, shoving the girl’s shoulder and taking the seat beside her. “I came ‘cause I had some free time.” Brooke is watching her and she can tell, but it’s sort of exciting.

Nina wipes some whipped cream from her face before interjecting. “You? Free time? In November?”

Silky laughs her boisterous laugh and says, “Right?”

“Shut up,” Vanessa whines, “I don’t air your dirty laundry in public, why are you fucken’ with me?”

Brooke giggles at the exchange and Vanessa melts a little.

“Because we love you, dear, “ smiles Nina from across the table, and Vanessa grumbles her gratitude for the girl’s motherly tone.

“That, and I want to see you this Christmas.” A’keria’s eyes are suddenly serious and it shakes a nerve somewhere deep in Vanessa’s mind. “You never even text.”

Her fingers twitch against the table, and she ignores the way Brooke’s expressions morphs to one of surprise and cursed, cursed curiosity. Vanessa hates curiosity.

“Not now, A’keria,” her voice is close to a growl, and it startles everyone at the table. Heat rushes beneath her skin. She stews in regret as the silence stretches.

Silky recovers first. “She’s right, though.”

She sinks her canines into her lower lip and struggles not to look at Brooke’s face. “Shut up, Silky.”

“You’re around ‘til Halloween and then, poof, you’re gone.”

Concerned blue fills Vanessa’s tunnel vision. She struggles to breathe in, something carnal fogging her senses. “Shut up,” she whispers, weak.

“And no one hears a word out of you until March,” A’keria joins in, apparently keen on probing for an answer. “It’s ridiculous.”

She’s a word away from panic, reaching for her cigarettes, fearful instinct overtaking her. Everyone’s looking at her, eyes cold and colors mixing into a muddled mess. Another voice, though gentle, is enough to make her snap.

“Where do you go?”

Her voice bursts from her throat in a snarl, and it resembles words in only the vaguest sense. She stands quickly, everyone flinching back from her, and hurries to the door. She didn’t even get to buy a coffee.

She makes it three steps from the entrance when a hand touches her shoulder. She whirls around, unlit cigarette hanging from her mouth, body buzzing. Brooke looks back at her, worry written plain on her face. She’s only in a light sweater and leggings, and the sight brings Vanessa crashing back to earth. Before she can comment, Brooke looks at her with those horrible, lovely eyes of her.

“Please” she breathes, biting back a shiver. “Please don’t go.” She chances another touch, brushing some of Vanessa’s hair from her face. “I’m sorry for asking.”

Vanessa blinks up at her, bones aching with chill, and murmurs, “I’m sorry. I- I…” The words escape her. Her brain is running on overdrive, and she’s split between tucking herself into Brooke’s embrace or running as fast as she can.

The decision is made for her. Brooke pulls her close and the scent of her vanilla perfume is intoxicating. Almost against her own will, Vanessa relaxes.

“Are you really gonna leave?” Brooke asks, her voice is soft, yet heavy with the words, and there’s a sadness to them that Vanessa desperately wants to ignore.

She wants to lie and say maybe. She wants to be stupid and say no. Instead, she pulls the cigarette from her lips and tells the truth. “Yeah,” she rasps.

Brooke hums as if deep in thought, and slowly pulls away, reaching into her pocket to fish out her phone. “Here,” she says simply, “I’ll give you my number.” When Vanessa remains quiet, Brooke tilts her chin up so she’s staring straight into Vanessa’s confused, conflicted soul. “You can talk to me, if you want.”

Vanessa wishes that talking were enough.

They call each other every night.

With each ticking second, pain seeps into Vanessa’s bones like an illness, and she lays in aching, lazy misery for days; subsisting off only microwave meals and Brooke’s voice. Her phone bill is going to be fucked, but she doesn’t really care. She’s going to disappear soon, anyhow. None of it is going to matter until the spring, and the pain makes that feel ages away.

A’keria calls, too, but Vanessa can’t bring herself to go out and see her. Or Nina. Or even Brooke. She just waits in gruelling, visceral anticipation. She waits for the snow to start, for her anxieties to howl away with the blizzarding winds, for her teeth to grow so sharp that nothing can touch her. Her bones shift with yearning. She smokes the rest of her cigarettes within a few hours.  

And, every night as the moon grows, they whisper to each other. Brooke talks about her day, what would be mundane details capturing Vanessa’s attention and taking her mind away from her ails. Through these talks, Vanessa learns a lot about Brooke. For example, she likes dogs. Her family used to own a husky when she was a child, and when Vanessa finds this out, she makes Brooke tell her stories about the dog until she falls asleep.

Brooke likes coffee, too. Vanessa promises to take her out to the cafe, when she gets back. Just the two of them.

“So it’s a date?” Brooke sighs over the phone, her voice a dream, and Vanessa is suddenly very thankful that they aren’t video chatting.

Her face is flushed deep red but she answers, “Hell yeah,” with a conviction that makes them both laugh. She inhales, content, and shatters when Brooke speaks again.

“Where do you go, Vanessa?”

It’s the second time she’s asked, and Vanessa wants so badly to be honest with her. She wants to look her in the eyes and tell her everything. But ‘everything,’ is too ugly, too grotesque to show anyone. The secret burns the tip of her tongue and she whimpers like some pitiful little mutt. “Nowhere.”

“Then come here, love. I’ll text you my address.”

Something inside her breaks. Fat, shameful tears roll down her cheeks, and her spine aches with the despair. “I can’t,” she sobs, barely able to hold the phone. “I can’t.”

Brooke shushes her, tells her to breathe. “It’s snowing,” she murmurs, “look outside, baby.”

Vanessa’s heart drops.

“No, no, no,” she thinks, maybe out loud, and drops the phone.

She rushes towards the window, looking fearfully towards the night sky. It can’t already be the first snowfall. She thought she had a few more days. The full moon taunts her from above, calling her name.

Though that may just be Brooke. Her frantic voice is echoing quietly throughout the room, but Vanessa can barely register her own breathing over the sirens wailing in her head. Her brain dissolves into tiny white flakes and flurries away from her, leaving only biting cold and instinct.

She hangs up the call, looks at her messages, and runs.

She’s soaked with snow and sick with moonlight when she reaches Brooke’s door. She breathes in jagged puffs, an animal in her anxiety. Her body buzzes like pitch-broken glass, and she only knocks once before Brooke swings the door open, glowing bright safety before her bleary eyes.

“Vanessa,” Brooke calls her name in a sweet, scared murmur. Syrup drips thick down Vanessa’s ears, and she sways under the weight, but it instantly makes her feel the smallest bit better than when she’d been walking over here.

She takes a breath to speak, but every word she tries to start fizzles on her tongue, and as her voice gravels into nothing it takes her mind along with it. Then, Brooke’s fingertips are warm against her cheek, and she’s nothing but sticky, liquid sugar in the girl’s hand.

“Do you want to come inside,” Brooke whispers again. It’s not a question. She gently pulls Vanessa in, and the motion seems to startle her back to reality. Her breathing quickens, and the animal instinct creeps along her spine through to her twitching fingers.

Brooke closes the door, and finality of the sound makes Vanessa rabid. Panic rushes hot in her veins, bursting and bubbling beneath her skin, and she’s dying. She’s boiling herself alive, and her brain simmers with the knowledge like spice. Everything rolls and becomes molten. A scalding, soupy mush, and she’s dying. She’s raw and scorched and steaming and-

“Look at me.”

A drop of sweetness. Vanessa opens her eyes.

Brooke looks terrified, but her voice is smooth and steady. “That’s good. Just…” she pauses, swallows, exhales. “Just focus on me and breathe, okay, baby?”

The petname brings Vanessa a final moment of calm, but now that she’s been in the moon and snow, nothing can stop her.

A wet, guttural sort of cracking sound begins to emanate from her skull. She grabs fistfuls of her hair, the bones of her fingers snapping as her grip grows tighter and tighter. Brooke’s syrupy tone has been replaced with undeniable fear, but her words are completely lost on Vanessa as she writhes.

She splutters out apology after apology, deaf to anything Brooke is trying to tell her, and spits blood as her jaw fucking breaks. Brooke screams at the sound, backing away when blood oozes from between Vanessa’s fingers. She screams, too. Her body is breaking itself apart, and blood caked canine ears soon emerge from the gashes in her scalp. Her teeth grow long. Her voice fades into an animal whine. Her claws tear fresh bloody wounds as she drags them down her face, and Brooke can’t say a word.

She covers her ears when Vanessa’s spine begins to twist.

She closes her eyes when Vanessa’s face grimaces itself into a gored mess.

She cries when she feels the ground beneath her shake with Vanessa’s tremors.

Then, there is stillness.

[melodiouswhite]

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 21

21. On rivalry and the art of courting

Jekyll hated this.

Hyde was clearly planning to seduce the man he loved and the blond did not like that at all.

He hated himself for being so possessive of the black-haired lawyer, when the latter wasn't even willing to take the step from friend to lover just yet.

“Oh come on, Jekyll”, Hyde taunted him, “In a way, he would still be doing it with you, even if he chose me! And vice versa!”

Jekyll gritted his teeth.

“Maybe. But you can't tell me that you wouldn't be jealous, if he would choose me instead of you to be his first.”

Hyde cackled: “Oh, Jekyll! Even if I had grown possessive of him at that point, I wouldn't be jealous. That would require that he was mine at some point! What I would feel in that case is envy. But look at you! If anyone is jealous, it's you! You see him as yours, but he doesn't even return your proclamations of love! The closest thing he comes to doing so, is saying 'I know'!”

The doctor's face darkened further. “Don't speak about love, as if you know what it is.”

His alter ego appeared on the next reflective surface.

“You're wrong, my dear soulmate. Just because I never loved, doesn't mean I don't know what it is. I'm a part of you, of course I'm familiar with the emotions that you feel.”

The blond whirled around to glare at him. “Prove it!”, he barked.

The brunette raised an eyebrow. “You sure you want me to give you a disgustingly sentimental explanation on that ridiculous sentiment?”, he scoffed.

“Yes, actually. Show me that you know what that words means!”, Jekyll challenged.

Hyde rolled his eyes and began. “It's when you put another person's needs and wishes above your own, think about them all the time and feel, as if they were the only thing that mattered in the world. You happy?”

Jekyll glowered at him. “That was just the general definition of love as everyone sees it. You obviously have no idea what you just said! It's plain by the derogative manner you said it in.”

Hyde raised his hands in defeat. “Well, maybe you're right. For once. But that doesn't matter, because I have no intention of ever finding out, what that revolting sentiment feels like.”

Now it was Jekyll's turn to be smug.

“Oh, but you are on the best way to find out!”, he taunted back.

Hyde's smirk vanished. “What do you mean?”

“You're already growing attached to him. His kind gestures towards you make you flustered. You're determined to make him yours. There is only one reason anyone would act like that.”

Hyde's face twisted into a ghastly grimace. “You're a fool, Jekyll. He is nothing but a toy to me. A toy I can play with, break it and throw it away, when I grow tired of it. He means nothing more to me than all the prostitutes I dab it up with.”

Jekyll's eyes grew equally hard. “Sure, Mr. Hyde. What ever helps you sleep at night. But soon enough you will find that I'm right.”

Hyde said nothing. He just stepped out of the mirror and took on a corporeal form.

Before Jekyll could ask what it was about, the smaller man grabbed him by the shoulder, slammed him against the nearest wall and kissed him savagely. The doctor growled and kissed back.

What followed was … a fierce battle for dominance, rather than a make-out session. There was biting, clawing, groping and yanking each other's hair.

“I hate you, Edward Hyde!”, Jekyll snarled, as soon as they had regained their breath.

Hyde laughed savagely: “I hate you too, Henry Jekyll.”

Then he stretched his arms.

“I hate you thiiis much!”

The next time Lady Summers was consulted by Dr. Jekyll, she saw at first sight, what the matter was.

Ich wusste es!, she thought angrily, Ich wusste, sie würden einen Wettstreit daraus machen!*

Even though she had learned to think in English, sometimes she slipped back into German, if she was angry enough.

He grew pale and gulped, when he saw her face. Good. So he knew that she knew.

“I thought I said something about turning this into a competition”, she hissed.

“It wasn't my intention!”, he immediately tried to defend himself.

“Excuses, excuses!”, she cried in outrage, “You made up your mind as soon as Hyde suggested it! It's always like this. You men are all the same! Once you set your eyes on someone, that person must be yours at all costs! Why is it so hard to find a man, who isn't greedy and possessive?!”

She pinched her nose in frustration and leaned back in her rocking chair.

“Agh! Well, I can't say that I'm surprised. Mr. Hyde is a vicious person and both of you have a … gay disposition. Sit down, Doctor. And then tell me, why you are here. If I read your mind, I fear that I'll get angrier than I already am.”

Dr. Jekyll looked genuinely ashamed.

Good.

That put her short Prussian temper a little at ease.

“Milady”, he said quietly, “I really don't see him as a trophy, you have to believe me-”

“I do”, she interrupted him calmly, “I know that you don't. And that is your saving grace, because I hate nothing more than people who regard others as objects to be owned. Mr. Utterson is not a thing, he's a living, breathing person.”

Of course she was aware, that he knew it, but she still felt the need to point it out.

She pointed a gloved finger at him. “That's directed towards both of you.”

“I don't think Hyde has been listening”, Jekyll said awkwardly.

“Well, then I'll just say it to his face next time I see him”, she retorted.

And if he talks any rubbish about Utterson just being a toy to him, I'll punch him, she added in her mind.

Dr. Jekyll spoke up: “I'm here, because I'm concerned. Hyde has been … more aggressive than usual. More forward too.”

“Towards you, I presume?”

“Yes.”

Now she was calm enough to read his mind. Oh dear … that is pretty pushy, she thought at the pictures.

“You seem to be handling it comparatively well, though”, she stated.

He sighed. “Yes and I owe that to you. Before you became my therapist, I was so weak. He overpowered me so easily, I feared that one day Henry Jekyll would disappear completely. I was depressed and had no strength of will. You gave it back to me and I will forever thank you for that.”

She frowned. “That sounds like you want to break off the therapy.”

“No, no!”, he cried, “I just wanted to thank you for saving my life in more ways than one. I guess I could say that you're my guardian angel, because you stepped into my life right when I needed you.”

She stared at him incredulously. Then she blushed lightly and broke into giggles.

Guardian angel? More like a fallen angel, but who cares!

“Oh, you cheeky devil!”, she giggled, “For someone who prefers men, you certainly know how to flatter a lady!”

He laughed awkwardly, then he sighed and continued: “Anyway, as I was saying earlier, Hyde is more aggressive and forward than usual. Now that I have my strength of will back, I can meet him on an equal level, but it still worries me.

He always loved to taunt me and make me angry, but lately he's been more infuriating that usual. He enrages me to the point, where I just want to strangle him. But there is something wrong about the way he taunts me. There is something wrong with him. I need to know what his problem is. Is it my fault? Because I don't stop confronting him about his own emotions and behaviour?”

That was a good question.

She read his mind and thought for a moment.

“Hmm … I would say yes and no. It is only partly, because you keep confronting him about his emotions. The main problem is that he has these emotions. He knows that you're right and that scares him. Mr. Hyde is used to being indifferent to everyone and everything but his own self and desires. But now that there is someone who treats him differently from everyone else, he feels things that are completely foreign to him.

Of course it's too early to say that he's falling in love. But he is feeling something new, something very profound. He's experiencing emotional attachment. And he's frightened of how intense and overwhelming it is.

Perhaps it has crossed your mind at some point. But deep down, everyone's scared of letting someone close and give them the power to hurt them. I'm no exception. But most people have the courage to risk it, in the hope of finding love and happiness. Mr. Hyde is not one of those people, at least not yet. Just like you said to him, he doesn't truly know what love is. All he knows is the heartache that you feel, when you love someone, the hopeless pining, yearning and daydreaming. He's scared of going through that.

Love requires a special kind of courage. A kind of courage that Mr. Hyde neither has nor knows.

His relationship to Mr. Utterson is already more emotionally intimate than everything he has ever known. Of course he is closer to you than to anyone else, but you're his creator and his other half.”

“And for him that doesn't count”, the Doctor guessed.

“Exactly”, the Countess confirmed. “He just thinks that it's supposed to be this way. That he can't help but be attracted to you, because you are two parts of one soul.”

That makes sense, she could hear him think.

“But with Mr. Utterson it's different. Mr. Hyde doesn't realise that your friend is trying to love him for his own sake as well as yours. And even if he did, he wouldn't understand it. To him, your lawyer is the man you're pining after. He sees love as nothing but a weakness, a disgusting sentiment. The fact that he refuses to change his opinion, is a defensive mechanism. He doesn't want to become what you used to be, when it came to Mr. Utterson or Dr. Lanyon.”

“A pining, perpetually depressed and emotional mess”, Dr. Jekyll noted drily.

She chuckled. “Yes. You must know that, despite his self-mockery, Mr. Hyde does have a modicum of pride. He fears that love will not only make him weak, but confine him as well. Committing to a single person other than himself? Pining, sighing and daydreaming like a lovesick schoolboy? No way!”

Dr. Jekyll grimaced. “You just summed up his entire nature.”

“I know. But I had to explain his attitude to you somehow, because he's not going to do it.”

“Fair point. So he's acting the way he does, because he suddenly has … profound emotions. And because I remind him of it, he feels cornered and is scared.”

“Pretty much, yes.”

“Do you think I should stop doing it?”

That too was a good question. Continuing would keep the young man on edge. But from the way Hyde was acting, she found that Jekyll's call-outs were needed to keep him in check. Hyde's mind games were getting out of hand. His other half's retorts might agitate him, but they also showed that the young man couldn't taunt Jekyll without the older man returning the favour. The doctor had grown a spine and was now more than ready to stilt his alter ego when necessary.

“Quite the contrary, Dr. Jekyll. Continue. He needs someone to counter his mind games. Be careful, though. After all, you're playing with fire.”

The next time Jekyll came to the Lady, he felt a little lighter than last time.

Hyde was still being a pest, but now that he knew what the problem was, Jekyll had more patience with his alter ego.

That seemed to have an effect on the brunette as well. To the blond's surprise, he had agreed to a few terms, concerning Utterson.

Neither would pressure him into doing something he didn't fully want.

The lawyer's personal space was not to be invaded.

Flirting would be done in moderation and with subtlety.

Of course for Hyde, 'subtle' meant that he would keep it at the level of making suggestive remarks. Obviously suggestive remarks.

But it was a start.

“I see, you have set up some rules”, she noted, when he entered her greenhouse. “Well, I'm still not happy about the whole ordeal. But that puts me a little at ease.”

“Yes”, he mumbled awkwardly. Her anger from the last meeting had been terrifying and she hadn't even raised her voice to the level of shouting.

“I just wanted to make sure that neither of us pushes something on Gabriel. But …”

“But what, Doctor? Choose your next words wisely.”

“I do wish to court him. And I was hoping, that you could give me some advice.”

He had needed days of consideration to bring up the courage to ask that question. After all, he did have a sense of pride. But she knew the human mind so well. And she was a Lady of the highest class. Surely she would know a thing or two about the art of discreet courting.

But to his surprise, her expression turned awkward.

“Doctor, I'm a conversational therapist and consultant. Not a dating advisor. And to be honest, I'm no authority when it comes to that. It's been half a lifetime, since I last romanced someone. And no, I'm not actively courting Dr. Lanyon”, she added, when he opened his mouth to ask.

For a second he wanted to ask her, if she was really sure about that. But she gave him that look and so he kept his mouth shut.

“However, I understand where this is coming from. So I will try my best. Well, you know what he likes, so one important criteria is off the list. The most important part of courting these days is discretion. Sadly, because of our society with its ridiculous morals and expectations, you can't tell the world how much you love him. I wrote several letters to the parliament, telling them how much of a mistake they made by criminalising same sex love. Of course I didn't receive an answer. Not that I expected one, but hope dies hard.”

Jekyll's heart warmed. He certainly loved how open-minded, understanding and unbiased the Lady was. Of course it could be attributed to the fact, that she was a telepath, who had seen the world. But even so, it was so rare that someone didn't judge you, just because you had other preferences than the masses.

She giggled: “Oh, you would be surprised at how many people are unconsciously homosexual or know, but suppress it. To be honest, I never understood what the big deal is. Love is love, that's how it works. It never even occurred to be, that there should be something unnatural about people not preferring the opposite sex.”

“Never?”, he echoed in surprise.

She smiled and shook her head. “Never. My parents were non-judgemental people themselves and they never told me that other people would think this way or why. I was quite shocked, when I found out. When I asked my father, he shrugged and said that most people are hypocritical philistines.”

She smiled fondly. “That's how he was. He drilled me to be perfect in everything I do, but he also kept reminding me that everyone has their flaws and that I should never think of them inferior.”

Jekyll almost laughed. Then something came to his mind.

“Did your father … uhm, have unusual abilities too?”, he asked hesitantly.

For a second, she seemed to consider if she should answer that question or not. But then she seemed to decide she should and nodded. “Yes. He could tell, when someone lied or told the truth. I inherited my affinity for the supernatural from him.”

“And your mother?”

“She had no supernatural abilities. But she did have endless tolerance, patience and empathy. She was one of the few angels among humankind.”

Jekyll tried and failed to suppress his envy. His parents had never cared about anyone or anything but their name and reputation. If he didn't live up to their expectations (which had been almost always the case) he could be sure to regret it.

“That's terrible”, Lady Summers answered his thoughts sadly. “It's so depressing, that most people don't know how much children need their love and appreciation. Of course my father was strict and had high expectations of me too, but he valued me and my mother above anything in the world. Screw his good name, what mattered to him is that we were fine.”

“I wish my parents had been half that caring”, the Doctor said bitterly.

She took his hand and said gently: “Now, now, Doctor. We can't change the past. All we can do is fix the damage that has been done. That's what my father always said. In fact, he was the one who inspired me to become a therapist.”

“Really?”, he asked curiously.

“Yes. When my husband died, father said: 'Don't waste time on tears, Luise. Instead work on making his dream of a better world come true. Maybe you won't succeed in making the world a better place, but that shouldn't stop you from trying. You have such a wonderful understanding of people. Use it to help them.' And that's what I did.”

Jekyll smiled. What a man her father must have been …

Suddenly the Lady clapped her hands in a businesslike manner. “But enough of these reflections! You wanted advice on discreet courting. Don't ever forget to remind him that you love him. Never ever forget a meeting. Take him out to places he likes from time to time. And give him subtle messages. Are you by any chance familiar with floriography?”

The doctor shook his head hesitantly. “I know that it's the language of flowers, but I have no idea what it entails. I'm too much a man of science.”

“It's actually simple. Every flower has a meaning or several. You use that to convey messages. It's a tradition from the Middle East and has been a popular trend ever since it was introduced to Europe. Most ladies carry bouquets around and the gentlemen who are interested in them, mostly carry pocket books on them that contain the meanings of each flower.”

“So, if I gave flowers to Gabriel, everyone would know what the flowers mean?”

“Most people would. Therefore I wouldn't recommend handing bouquets of flowers to him, where everyone can see it. Give him secretly one flower each day. He knows the meanings. But be careful. Some flowers and plants carry negative messages. But you know what, Doctor? I have a book on flower language in my office. Do you want to borrow it?”

Jekyll nodded. “That would be wonderful”, he said gratefully.

“Good. I think we can end this session. I will just get the book, before you go. Oh, and Dr. Jekyll? Please, do something about all the sexual tension between you and Mr. Hyde. Your relationship is so bipolar and dysfunctional, that it's getting painful to deal with.”

Jekyll blushed and sputtered, while Lady Summers grinned smugly.

He returned home still flustered from her remark, but with a dictionary about flowers in his bag. Good thing he had brought a bag to begin with.

“What are you reading?”, Hyde asked curiously, when he appeared to find Jekyll reading the book he had borrowed earlier.

The blond didn't answer, but allowed the brunette to look over his shoulder.

Hyde's bilious green eyes skimmed over the page and he giggled.

“What is this? A book about the meaning of flowers?”

The corner of Jekyll's mouth turned upward. “Yes, actually. Her Ladyship lent it to me.”

With that, he continued reading and said no more.

Hyde remained in his spot, leaning over and obviously reading along.

From time to time the comfortable silence was broken, when one of them pointed out a flower whose meaning they particularly liked.

“Oh my god, the yellow carnations!”

“Hah! Look at that part about the narcissus! That flower is just perfect for you!”

“Look who's talking! And the orange lilies! I'm so going to leave those out for you!”

“And I'm so going to shower you in geraniums, because you're a fool!”

But apart from those little banters, they read together in silence.

At some point Hyde leaned his chin onto Jekyll's shoulder. His long, café brown hair tickled the blond's neck.

“I really don't understand how you can wear that stupid stiff collar”, the smaller man muttered.

The taller one shrugged. “It's just a part of a gentleman's attire.”

“Well, I hate it. Also, you're at home. Take it off.”

Jekyll could see, where Hyde was coming from. The collar was quite uncomfortable and rubbed against his skin. If he moved his head the wrong way, it could even hinder the blood circulation in his neck.

“Fine”, he chuckled and took it off.

Ahhh, much better, he thought, as he rubbed the irritated skin on his neck.

Then he tensed up in surprise and shuddered, as he felt the other's lips and tongue glide across his sensitive skin.

Whoa there, Edward!

“Are you planning to seduce me, or do you just want to leave a mark?”, he grumbled.

Hyde snickered. “Don't worry, just the latter.”

Jekyll cried out in shock, when Hyde nibbled at his neck with his sharp canines.

“Just a friendly reminder, Henry dearest: you're mine and even your lawyer agrees to go out with either of us, it will remain this way”, he purred.

The blond growled lowly.

Oh, two can play that game!

With a swift movement, he grabbed the smaller man by the small of his waist and pulled him into his lap. Hyde gasped in surprise and had to cling to the taller man to not fall off.

“Well, I can only return that statement, my dear creation”, he snarled. “I made you. That makes you just as much mine as it makes me yours.”

The brunette blinked. Then he caught on and smirked salaciously.

Jekyll requited the smirk. “Could it be that you lied earlier, when you said you didn't want to seduce me? Because I find it hard to believe you right now.”

“Ohhh, maybe?”, Hyde breathed lowly into his ear. “Alright, I lied. I absolutely planned to have my way with you.”

“You wicked tempter.”

Hyde chuckled gutturally. “You're easy to tempt. Look at you, Doctor. Where is the gentleman everybody knows? You're just a sexually frustrated old man in his midlife crisis.”

“And you're a short-tempered little goblin, who doesn't leave me alone”, Jekyll retorted.

Hyde mock-gasped and clutched his chest. “A goblin?! That's just rude, I must say, Doctor! Besides …”

Jekyll shuddered, when the smaller man caressed the sensitive skin on his neck with his sharp fingernails.

“… You're just too willing to indulge me. And do you know what? It has become so much more fun lately!”

“Has it?”

“Ohhh yes! There is fire in your eyes … resolve in your voice. I love it, when you get feisty and finally give into your dark desires, you dirty old man! You have no idea just how much it turns me on!”

Jekyll snorted. “Actually, I think I do.”

The bulge in Hyde's pants said it all.

“You know, perhaps I should deny us both, just to spite you.”

Hyde smirked smugly. “You won't.”

“You're right. I won't”, the blond admitted.

Feeling bold, he let his hands wonder down the smaller man's legs. They were comparatively long, sinewy, swift and strong. Enviable.

“Do you know what turns me on about you?”, he purred.

To his satisfaction, Hyde shuddered at the touch.

Oh, sweet, sweet revenge!

The brunette smiled, obviously flattered. “No, but do enlighten me.”

“Your guttural voice, especially, when you purr …”

Hyde chuckled throatily.

“Your strong limbs …”

“Why, thank you!”

Jekyll clasped Hyde's middle and pressed their bodies together. “How perfectly you fit against me …”

“Oh good grief, stop!”, the other laughed.

The doctor smirked. “That roguish glow in your devilish green eyes …”

“Alright, alright, enough!”, Hyde cried and held a finger to his mouth. “What the hell was that, Henry! Warn me next time you're going to be so grotesquely saccharine!”

Even as a spectre, he couldn't hide (pun intended) the intense blush on his face.

For some reason that made the blond feel incredibly empowered.

“It's a shame you can't keep that corporeal form for long. There are so many things I want to do to you right now!”

The brunette grinned lopsidedly. “What, strangle me or snap my neck?”

Jekyll laughed. “Sometimes you make me wish that, yes. But no. I wouldn't do that, no matter how angry you make me. After all, I couldn't live without you.”

Hyde blushed even harder and lowered his head, mumbling something unintelligible under his breath.

But it didn't need to be coherent. Jekyll knew what he had said.

“But most of the time, I'm grateful, that we're not completely separated.”

“How come?”, the younger wanted to know and looked up.

The Doctor smiled. “I will never be alone. There is something comforting about that. You will always be with me …”

… Right?

Hyde's eyes softened and he touched the older man's cheek. “Of course I will, Dr. Jekyll. Even in death.”

Suddenly he grinned. “Now shut up and satisfy me, you dirty old man! If we keep being this corny, I will throw up!”

Jekyll chuckled. “Of course, you horny brat. But it's late and I'm tired.”

“See you in your dreams, then”, Hyde purred.

Then he gasped: “Oh! I almost forgot!”

Jekyll yelped in surprise, when the smaller man sank his teeth deep into his neck.

“I did promise to leave a mark!”, he cackled and vanished back into their head.

“Sweet dreams, Doctor!”

“You'll certainly take care of that!”, the older man muttered and went to disinfect the hickey.

There was no doubt that he would have passionate dreams tonight.

God, what a brat! So many mood swings this evening! Maybe the Lady is right … I really need to do something about the sexual and emotional tension between me and Hyde.

---

*German for: I knew it! I knew they would turn this into a competition!

(A/N: Btw, it was totally custom to communicate via flowers in the Victorian Era. It’s called floriography or semlalik and it’s really awesome)

[that-one-fandom-vore-blog]

Audrey II is an even BIGGER BITCH than I thought (A follow-up thesis)

*Cracks knuckles*

Let’s go!

Quick warning, there’s going to be vore under this here cut, so if that isn’t your thing, proceed with caution

Okay

So now that the normies are gone, let’s get on with it.

We know right from the start that Seymour is… a little suspicious of the Audrey II

It’s the little things it does that set him off

Little red flags

Besides the fact that it drinks blood (which is a little bit of a Giant Problem) it seems to have quite the mouth for insults and little comments that get under his skin

“Hey, that girl still around?”

“Her name’s Audrey, and yeah… she’s still here…”

“Surprising, considering she shares space with you!”

It always makes him grit his teeth and pray Audrey isn’t around to hear it

For the most part, she never is.

She knows the plant is… strange, and she swears she’s heard another voice in the shop when she’s downstairs with the flowers, but Seymour never mentions it, so she figures she’s making things up.

Until she catches the plant talking

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Seymour’s just on the other side of the store, and she stays completely frozen as he whirls around and snaps “would you just can it already?”

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

Cue a moment of panicked silence.

The plant is grinning at this point with its wickedly sharp teeth, vines drumming on a few empty pots.

“Was I supposed to just let her wander around in here forever? C’mon, Seymour, you couldn’t hide her from me!”

Seymour’s deathly pale.

He can scarcely breathe

Every second he can’t see her is another second where he thinks that his stupid pet project snatched her up and devoured her, just like that, like nothing—

And then he catches her eye

Audrey’s never seen him look as frantic as he does as he kneels beside her and pushes away the pot at her side

“Are you okay? Did— did it hurt you?”

She can’t help but flinch away as he jerks his hand toward her.

“I’m— no, I— I’m fine.”

Seymour bites his lip and gently curls his fingers around her waist

This is new

This is very new

He’s always been so sure to ask her if he can hold her, or extend his hand and let her make the choice, so him snatching her up out of the blue is enough to raise some red flags.

“Seymour?”

He doesn’t respond right away, and as Audrey’s pulled close to him, she realizes his gaze is trained on the plant, which is still grinning away and laughing to itself.

“This is just too good!” It howls.

Audrey’s pawing at Seymour’s chest at this point and trying to catch his attention, her heart rate slowly climbing as she feels him beginning to tremble.

“S-Seymour, please, what’s—“

“I don’t know.”

The plant laughs.

Seymour lets out a startled gasp when a vine wraps around his legs and traps him in place.

Audrey yelps when Seymour’s grip reflexively tightens around her.

“SEYMOUR!”

He stops.

His grip loosens.

She’s still pressed firmly against his chest and she can hear his heart hammering away.

The plant’s coil around his legs tightens.

“Now, Seymour, why don’t you explain?”

“I—“

He breaks off into a whimper when it raises its upper lip in a snarl.

“Tell. Her.”

Audrey’s starting to squirm in his grip. “Seymour, you’re scaring me!”

He feels so awful, because the coil around his legs keeps tightening and the plant won’t stop laughing at him.

“I— it eats blood!” He regrets blurting it the second the words leave his mouth.

Audrey freezes.

“It…”

The plant laughs harder. “Where do ya think Orrin went?”

Seymour blanches.

Audrey’s shaking harder by the second.

It’s when the plant starts dragging Seymour closer to its jaws that Seymour starts thrashing and trying to get away. “HEY— H-HEY! WAIT A MINUTE!”

Audrey’s never heard anyone so scared in her life as Seymour digs his heels into the linoleum.

“I haven’t eaten in days, Krelborn!” There’s something… off about the way it says it.

Still, Seymour nods. “I— I know, Twoey, I know, but I can’t—“

“You’ve got a snack right there!”

It takes a moment for him to notice it’s taking about Audrey.

Audrey watches in silent terror as a tendril from the plant curls around one of her legs.

Seymour yanks her back against his chest. “NO! You— you can’t eat her!”

“Why not?”

“Be-Because she’s not food!”

“Neither was Orrin, but you chopped him up for me anyway!”

Audrey’s horrified at this point.

Seymour’s clutching her like she’ll disappear from his grasp in an instant. “You don’t touch her!”

There’s silence.

Blessed silence.

Seymour struggles against the vines wrapping tighter and tighter around his torso.

It’s when the plant brings its head uncomfortably close that Seymour freezes and cups his hands tightly around Audrey.

“How about a bet, Krelborn?”

Seymour sinks his teeth deep into his lip.

“What… kind of bet?” He manages to wheeze around the vines constructing him.

“Either you feed on her, or I do.”

His heart stops.

His blood feels icy.

Audrey’s shaking so badly she can’t speak as Seymour’s grip on her tightens substantially.

“What… do you—“

“Eat her, or I get a snack!” It barks.

Audrey manages to look up at him with wide, terrified eyes.

“Seymour, S-Seymour, please—“

She breaks into a whimper when he brings her up to his face.

He looks just as scared as she feels.

“Okay.” He breathes.

The plant’s coil loosens a little.

“Let’s see it, then.”

Audrey can’t breathe as Seymor raises her above his closed lips, his expression pained, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

“I’m sorry.” He wheezes.

For a second, she almost believes him

But then, he opens his mouth.

Wide.

She manages a cut-off scream before he drops her in.

“Wow, kid, didn’t think you’d do it!”

Seymour feels physically sick as Audrey starts to squirm as his mouth snaps back shut behind her, effectively trapping her.

He can hear muffled sobbing from between his lips.

His heart twists.

The plant is borderline giddy as Seymour slowly, slowly tips his head back.

He doesn’t swallow.

He can feel Audrey starting to struggle harder and harder by the second.

She’s pleading with him to spit her out

She sounds like she’s crying

He thinks, maybe, he can convince the plant that he’s done it, and for a fleeting moment, his heart lifts.

Only to sink again.

“Do it.” The plant hisses, wrapping a vine loosely around his neck.

Seymour’s sweating profusely and manages to let out a little whimper before his tongue rises beneath Audrey and pushes her down his throat.

The noise of a slick swallow makes the plant’s grin stretch wider.

She fights all the way down.

It doesn’t help that the plant’s laughing and tracing her path beneath his skin with a vine, giggling madly as Seymour gags af the feeling of her kicking and squirming harder by the second.

He wants to cry.

The feeling only intensifies as the plant’s tendril finally comes to rest over his middle.

“Look at that, kid, we’re the same!” It chuckles as it releases him, letting him fall to the floor in a crumpled heap.

“We’re not the same.” He chokes out past the knot in his throat.

The plant laughs.

“You enjoyed it, didn’t you? Is she still squirming around, in there?” It asks with a tap to his belly.

Seymour feels sick.

Every hit to his insides from Audrey is enough to make him feel like a monster.

It’s worse when he feels her give up.

“I am not enjoying any part of this!” He spits at the plant, stumbling backward on shaking limbs.

The plant only laughs at him as he presses a hand to his middle, frantically feeling for any sign of Audrey.

He never thought he’d be relieved to feel her shaking.

The plant won’t stop cackling and pats him on the back. “Yeah, yeah. Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Maybe we get a feed me style duet in which the awful plant won’t stop trying to convince him that this is the “natural order” of things.

He spends the whole number trying to get away, trying to talk to Audrey, trying his best to keep the brave face on and get the plant to leave him be.

It ends in Seymour stumbling downstairs (or maybe being pushed) and trying to talk to Audrey.

He sits on the edge of his bed and presses a firm hand to his belly.

“Audrey?”

Audrey can hardly breathe.

She hasn’t moved since her initial struggles and punches to the fleshy walls around her.

But now

Now that she feels him pressing on her and his voice rumbles through her, she looks around at her slimy surroundings and feels something other than fear.

White

Hot

Rage.

“HOW COULD YOU? I TRUSTED YOU!”

Seymour lets out a whimper as she kicks the walls around her with shaking limbs and starts yelling at him.

It’s the first time he’s ever heard her so angry.

He never wants to hear it again.

“YOU—“

“Audrey, please, I’m— I’m sorry—“

“Spit me OUT!”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

Audrey’s surprised to feel the pressure of his hand disappear, and for a moment, thinks he’s doomed her to die, but a cough rattles in the air around her and the chamber she’s in convulses, forcing her back up his esophagus.

She gets a moment to breathe, once the crushing pressure of his throat relents and she’s sprawled across his tongue, panting, shaking, and struggling not to cry as his mouth opens and she tumbles into his waiting hands.

He expects her to keep yelling at him, but instead, she curls into a ball on his palm and starts shaking harder by the second. 

He tries to comfort her, but the second his other hand falls across her back, she tenses and jerks upright.

Her eyes are wild and panicked as she stands and backs away from his face. “P-Put me down!”

He can see tear-tracts drying on her cheeks.

For a moment, she thinks he won’t do it, but then, his hand falls to the floor.

“I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t look back or even acknowledge that he spoke before bolting into the walls. 

He manages to last until she’s out of sight before he lets out a choked little sob.

I promise things start looking up in this AU eventually, but this...

This is a breach of trust for Audrey

And he’s going to have to work to get her back.

[creepypasta-archive]

Jeff Vs Freddy Krueger

by the MADD HARE

Another Jeff vs slasher story, this time agaisnt the dream demon Freddy Krueger (a previous rival of Jason)

In this timeline's canon this story is the only one to not happen in Earth (as it happens in Hell) Now how did Jeff get to hell? Well... That's complicated, and in fact this causes many ramifications in the timeline. Just you wait

CW// hell, stabbing, laceration, blades, murder

Click below to read the original unedited story

Jeff travels to elm street trying to find more victims for his pleasure and delight Walking down the fresh rained road his footsteps causing small splashes in the puddles as he begins to sing a song “Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep precious victim, nighty night, nighty night, pray to god the hell hounds don’t bite” he sees three little girls jumping rope as a his eyes light up with fire as he slowly begins to stalk towards them his knife drawn, but stops in mid step as if frozen in time he listens carefully to a song that they sing that he knows all to well.

“1 2 Freddy’s coming for you, 3 4 better lock your door, 5 6 better grab your crucifix, 7 8 better stay up late, 9 10 never sleep again” just then a figure appears out of Jeff’s shadow a low unholy laugh escapes the figure’s lips, Jeff turns around his ever lasting smile still on his face but deep down the figure knows he is not amused. “So your the famous Jeff the killer huh” the figure replies a snarl on his face. “And you must be the Infamous freddy Krueger,not a fan and most importantly not amused by your work” “What is that suppose to mean you little maggot” Freddy barks “Well first of all your all burnt and fugly as hell and 2 you got your ass kicked by several girls and a little boy. You’re suppose to be a dream DEMON not a dream FAIRY” Jeff laughs

Freddy begins to walk slowly around Jeff who remains unfazed by the dream killer, after about 5 minutes freddy is the first to speak up. “So how about a little wager huh lets see who dies first” “Be my guest sunshine, how about you make the first move but please try not to die quickly I want to savor this kill for it will be my greatest ever to be able to help the very dream demon that killed so many people go to….SLEEP” Jeff cackles as he draws his knife.

Freddy lunges at Jeff who dodges his attack with ease and kicks freddy in the ass which causes Freddy to fall onto his face and tumble, Freddy gets up and dusts himself off an evil snear makes itself present on Freddy’s face “Time to take this to my home” Freddy laughs as they are transported to the dream world.

“Oh this world seems wonderful so dark so damp and full of despair and pain….I think I shall take over this place once I kill you Freddy don’t worry I will take good care of it” “No fucking way you will ever beat me in my own HOME!!!” Freddy says stabbing Jeff in the back, blood gushes from Jeff’s stomach as he looks down and sees 4 blades from Freddy’s claws coming out from his stomach which causes him to only laugh and look back at Freddy who now has a worried look on his face. “Was that your best trick? if not then please try harder I can take more” Jeff laughs maniacally. “W…What the fuck are you?!” Freddy screams as he pulls his claw from Jeff and tries to stab him again but Jeff turns around and stares deep into the eyes of Freddy, all Freddy can see in Jeff’s black eyes is Pain….and Death.

“See Freddy the difference between me and you is, your a dream demon…I am I guess u can call me the devil’s favorite demon, 2 I don’t fear you, and 3 you are just a BAD dream, me I’m am the fuckin black plague, shit I AM THE APOCALYPSE….so please lay down….AND GO THE FUCK TO SLEEP” Jeff laughs as he launches himself at Freddy.

[typingdyslexiaisathing]

Bleach Fanfic The Sparrow of Division 11

// An older fanfic I did when I was trying to come up with OC shinigami. This was one of the few that actually worked out really well in my opinion. It’s a KenpachiXOC fanfic. Read below the break if you want. //

"Hey look, it's Bird Girl." I roll my eyes at the pun, turning around to face the shinigami who was snickering at me. "Did you need something?" The guy pats my head like I'm a child, and it takes all my restraint not to snap his elbow the wrong way. "Just wanted to see where the little fledgling was flitting off to, Bird Girl. Do you enjoy being the little princess in our squad?" I blink at this. "Do I look like royalty to you?" He snickers at me. "If the slipper fits, since weak-" The shout immediately follows the snap as I give in to teaching him when to shut up. He hugs his busted arm to his body and I say, "Don't call me weak. Do so again, I rip the arm off." I take one step, and he flinches and steps back. I give a half smirk at this to then ask, "Now then, you know where Third Seat Madarame is?" The guy nods vehemently to choke out, "Just got back with Fifth Seat Ayasegawa." I turn and walk away, turning the corner as the guy runs off. Lieutentant Yachiru Kusajishi is around said corner, looking up at me to note, "I take it he called you the taboo word?" I nod to lean down for her, and she climbs up onto my shoulder like she does to our Captain. "Did you have need of me Lieutenant?" She shakes her head at me. "I wanted to know if you were okay, Sparrow." I sigh at this. "No. And you don't have to call me that. Suzume is fine." Yachiru giggles at me. "But I like calling you Sparrow instead. Or would you like to have me call you Susie?" I shrug the shoulder she's perched on. "I really don't care anymore." I start walking again as she frowns at me. "I had a feeling you were mad. You usually give a warning on the taboo word before you break someone like that." I snort and say, "I'm not up for being any semblance of nice anymore. What little lady like behavior I had got used up last month. The rest has been professional courtesy. Now, I'm just outright pissed." Yachiru notes this to ask, "That why you looking for Cueball?" I nod and say to her, "Partly. More like I wanted to bounce some ideas off his chrome. If not my blade." Yachiru sighs at this to state, "Uh oh. You must be mad if you want to use your actual zanpakuto." I nod once, the action sending the braid at my back dancing. The braid is long and done in a french style, with feathers woven into it. Each feather is a rufous red color, the known color of the russet sparrow I get my name from. I turn the next corner to tell her, "I get that it's weird having a girl in a squad that is made up of tough guys. But the idea that I'm not just as strong as the men because I have cleavage is really aggravating." Yachiru sighs to pat my shoulder in sympathy. "I'm actually surprised you haven't killed anybody yet, Sparrow." I grit my teeth to growl out, "I'm getting there. Hence why I need to see Ikkaku. Either he helps me work this out of my system, or there will be a dead body the next time I lose my temper. Which is not something I’m going to enjoy explaining to anybody or having to clean up."

I get to the training hall, the usually packed area nearly empty, since the sun is about to set and everyone else went off for dinner. I look around to find Ikkaku or his best friend Yumichika, but neither are here. I give a loud snarl to growl out, "Great. I am not in the mood to walk all over the barracks right now. Especially if-" I'm interrupted by a curt voice behind me. "If what?" I turn around to look up at my Captain, his one visible eye on me. I say to him, "If more of the squad decides to test my expended patience any further. I take it from the look on your face I'm in trouble?" He nods at this to say to me, "Partly. Since one of the squad came in with a very broken arm to report you for insubordination." I growl audibly at the fact I got reported, but I nod regardless. "Yeah. I broke him." Yachiru hops onto Kenpachi's shoulder to tell him, "He said the taboo word to her, Kenny." He grunts at her to say absently, "I figured as much. Still, this makes ten incidents where you've broken something of importance on a squad member outside of training. Not to mention how you break them during training." I nod in agreement. "Hence why I'm about to get a few things broken in turn?" He shakes his head, the bells in his spiked hair catching my attention. I note for him, "By the way, one of your bells broke." Both Kenpachi and Yachiru go wide eyed at me, Kenpachi asking me with a hint of surprise, "Wait a minute. Suzume. You can hear them?" I nod at the question and tell him, "I noticed earlier during the sparring match this afternoon. When those seven guys tried attacking me all at once and I had to use more of my reiatsu than I wanted to make a point. I'm thinking it's the one to your far left." Kenpachi blinks a few times as Yachiru tells me, "But Sparrow, the bells can't be heard by anybody unless they have enough reiatsu to beat Kenny!" I go bug eyed at this news, then I give a hard sigh to put a hand up to my face. "Oh shit... I think I just shot myself in the foot... Yes, I'm certain I just shot myself in the foot… If not both feet at the same time..." Kenpachi leans down to meet my gaze with a wide smile on his face. "Indeed! How long have you been able to hear them?" I grumble out, "Since the Ryoka Invasion and I was with you guys when you were fighting Captain Komomura. That's when I first noticed, since that's also around when... well..." Kenpachi stares at me, then he smirks. "Heh. I figured you got your bankai out of that." I wince at this, since I’m aware the news will only encourage him more to an inevitable display of what I can really do. "Yes, you figured right. I'm thinking that's why I've been getting so easily pissed off. I know full well I'm a lot stronger than the others. Yet they still treat me like I'm lower than them, at all times. It makes me want to rip their spines out to prove a point!" Kenpachi cackles rather loudly to state, "No wonder you've been walking on eggshells since the Ryoka incident! But I think we should get that anger out of your system. Yachiru, get the others out of the backyard." She nods to jump down and run full tilt. "Right! HEY! EVERYBODY IN THE YARD! KENNY SAYS HIGHTAIL IT! RIGHT NOW!"

The squad members in the yard don't need to be told twice, heading inside the training hall to either head for food or to stand about with puzzled looks on their faces. Ikkaku and Yumichika walk into my field of vision, Yumichika asking us, "Hey now. Suzume? Captain? What's going on?" Ikkaku takes one look at us both, then grins wickedly. "Oh hot damn! Suzume! You didn't?!" I nod and he bursts out laughing. "HAH! I knew it! Looks like I win that bet! Fork it, Yumichika!" Yumichika sighs at this news to hand him a pouch of what I assume is money. "It would seem she's more skilled than I guessed. Or you haven't been very honest at how hard you two have been training together." Ikkaku snickers to swing the pouch around by the string, looking back to me to say in warning, "Just don't be reckless like when you fight me! He's a lot faster than-" But Kenpachi tells him, "I'm sure she'll hear me to make up for that." Everyone goes wide eyed as I grumble under my breath, then I walk out and take my stance. I bark at them, "Let me make this clear then! Any of you dare to keep pushing me, and I'll do exactly what I'm gonna do now! Shed crimson, Akane Bushi!" My zanpakuto shifts in my hands to that of a naginata, it's shaft that of brilliant red like it's name. Kenpachi releases his reiatsu, the force of it blowing over the yard. The gale he brings in his wake sends my braid streaming out behind my head as he says to me, "I want all you can give me, Suzume! That's a direct order! No holding back on my account! We stop when I say so, or I'm dead at your feet!" I growl at him, "Fine. Just don't be surprised when we both end up in pieces in the grass." He gives me a look and I explain, "I have issues with control, and this excess power hurts me just as much as my opponent." Then I ramp my reiatsu up as high as it will go, the power roaring around me as my eyes go from their light blue to darkest crimson to pair with my reiatsu. Kenpachi shakes his head for a moment, and I hear the faint chime of the bells as I shout, "BANKAI!" My power explodes as I twirl myself and the naginata to intone, "Shed crimson in eventual triumph, Katsumi Akane Bushi!" My shinigami clothes are then encased in fine armor of deep crimson made entirely of my reiatsu, the naginata shifting to a finer and more deadly make. My naginata glows as it emits multiple copies made of my reiatsu to have them hover around me. I twirl the handle of the real one in my hands, then I charge. Kenpachi takes the first hit just like always, but his reiatsu might as well be paper. I get him good in the shoulder, red spraying as he goes bug eyed, then I strike again. His blade comes up to catch the one in my hands, but then the others start stabbing at him on their own under my direction.

Kenpachi tries to catch one of the blades barehanded in a counter, and it bites through his palm when he does so. He flinches as he hisses and backs up. So I keep going as my body starts to ache from the oppressive amount of reiatsu I'm using. I keep pressing forwards as I yell, the assault unrelenting as he parries with his blade. He disappears to come up behind me and I hear the bells as he swings. I parry with the shaft and the blow rattles through my whole frame, so I strike with three of the naginata that I laced behind him. One hits right over the kanji on his haori, the red gushing as he growls. He swipes at the blades behind him as I lunge with the kaiken in my sleeve. I get him in the other shoulder as he backs away from me, the pocket dagger still in my hand for him to see. "Right, I'm sure you have the dagger skills to go along with your naginatojutsu." I nod as he swipes at me again, the blade bouncing off my shoulder guard to have me yelp. The shoulder guard is very dented, and the area beneath it more than likely bruising over as I pant. He slashes at me again, and I block with one of the naginata in the air to spin and strike out in turn. We fight for what feels like hours, my reiatsu burning over my frame as I give it my all. Nicks and gashes bloom aplenty as we assault each other, one nearly taking Kenpachi's leg off for him to grunt and go down on one knee. I circle my weapons around him with the blades pointed to swivel in a circle, then they all lunge the same time I do. Kenpachi knocks away two of them to then jump through the opening, but the other naginata just batter him back into the circle. I keep the tips at his skin to follow through with a strike, and he gives me a snarled roar. Kenpachi rips his eye patch off as everyone gives a shout, and his reiatsu explodes around him in all it's power. The naginata go sailing away from him as I flinch at the force, bringing my weapons around to shield as he swings again to use an energy wave on me. His strike is precise and shatters all the copies of my naginata, knocking the real one out of my hands as the wave cuts through the armor of reiatsu in turn. Red goes spraying everywhere around me as I go down, my zanpakuto reverting back to thunk blade first into the ground. I go down on my knees and fall forwards, Kenpachi catching me before I end up face first in the dirt. His laugh rings in the air around me as he says, "Well fought, Suzume! I enjoyed that very much! You even got me to take my eyepatch off! As of now, I declare you as Fourth Seat Suzume Kawakami!" I cough and groan in response, my smile spreading over my lips as everyone starts cheering. "Cool... maybe now the others won't tempt me to kill them..."

Yachiru runs up to us as Kenpachi picks me up, my front getting redder by the moment as she says, "Great job, Sparrow!" Kenpachi brings us inside to lay me down, Ikkaku coming up to grin down at me. "Nice to see all that naginatajutsu I taught you didn't go to waste." I cough again, but this time red dribbles from my lips. "You only grin because you made a killing betting he'd take his eye patch off..." Ikkaku snickers at this statement to nod, his shoulders shaking as Yumichika comes up to kneel next to me. "That was impressive, Fourth Seat Sparrow." I chuckle as Ikkaku undoes the pummel on his zanpakuto, kneeling next to Yumichika as he says, "I'm thinking you'll bleed out before we get you to the relief station. Here, I'll just-" Yachiru swipes the ointment from him to exclaim, "Not a chance, Baldy! I'm doing it! Sparrow won't appreciate you rubbing your hands all over her front!" I give another cough as I say, "I don't care who does it... Just plug this flowing faucet already..." Kenpachi props me up for Yachiru to use the ointment on me, her fingers lacing over my front to note, "Kenny got you really good, Sparrow. This is definitely going to scar over." I cough to tell her, "Like I care... That was worth it... Though you may want to... convince our Captain to... get his leg stitched back on..." Kenpachi snorts at this idea, Yumichika saying to me, "He'll be fine, Sparrow. You on the other hand are a mess. Why are you all burned?" I flinch as Kenpachi shifts my weight a bit. "I did say my reiatsu... hurts me as much as... I hurt my opponent..." Kenpachi tells me, "No more talking, Suzume. Everyone save for the Seat Officers, scram." The crowd disperses as I give another hard cough, Ikkaku giving Kenpachi a look. "What's up?" Kenpachi glares at me to ask, "Why didn't you tell me you have bankai earlier?" I flinch slightly, Yumichika noting the reaction as I say, "Since I can't really use it without scorching myself... and I didn't want to challenge you... until I could use it better..." He scoffs at this answer to state, "Did it ever occur to you that training how to control it with my help or one of them might make a difference?" I growl at this point. "Yes... But that wouldn't have... impressed you one bit..." The others give me surprised looks as Yachiru asks me, "You wanted to impress Kenny? Does that mean you were gonna tell him?!" I nod and Yachiru grins to giggle at me. "Great! I was wondering when you'd get around to it!" I ask her as the others glance around at each other, "This mean you're okay with it?" She nods in vehemence to tell me, "Of course, Sparrow! I give you my full blessings!" She hugs me at this point since she's finished spreading the ointment over the gash in my front. Then she gets up to say, "And now that I'm done, you two can have some time alone. Yun-Yun, Cueball. Let's give them some privacy." Both men get stunned looks on their faces the same time as Kenpachi, Yachiru shoving both Ikkaku and Yumichika up onto their feet and out of the training hall.

I look up the same time Kenpachi looks down, my face hot as I give a curt, "You got where she was headed with that, right?" He nods at me to say with a stunned expression, "I can take a guess." I flush all over as I say, "You can always say no. I won't mind if you aren't interested in that stuff." He looks away to note, "It's never come up before. I'll say that much." But then he looks back down at me to tell me, "But it has been on my mind since you joined my squad." I go wide eyed to ask, "May I ask why?" He snickers at the look on my face to tell me, "Since you're the second strongest woman I've ever met! I've been dying to fight you for weeks, Suzume! You willing to do so on a regular basis?" I grin and nod. "Sure. I'd love to pit my blade against your might whenever it's convenient. Does this mean we can tussle in the sheets, too?" He blinks a few times and I laugh at the look on his face. But then he laughs right along with me. "It's fine by me, Suzume. As long as you don't mind my rougher ways." I grin at this to snicker and tell him, "Oh please. Like I'm one to care about that, which you well know by now." I get back up on my feet, swaying slightly to head outside and get my zanpakuto. Kenpachi comes up behind me as I sheathe my blade, noting to me, "You do realize you're walking like a drunk, right?" I laugh really hard to tell him, "You told me to hold nothing back, so I didn't." I look up at him, and note that he's smiling. One that holds both warmth and respect as he tells me, "Hence why I named you Fourth Seat. Now then, have you eaten?" I tell him, "Not yet. I was more concerned with getting my temper in check." He nods at this fact, then he surprises me by lifting me up into his arms. He walks me back into the training hall, heading for him room. "I have a tray of onigiri we can share, since there are a few things I want to go over with you in private." I snicker at this statement to ask, "You trying to rope me into doing the paperwork at your desk? It's fine with me if you want me to tackle those kinds of things." He shakes his head. "No. But I will take you up on that. It's about this offer you've made." I look up at him as he tells me, "You ever want out, just say so." I blink a few times, then my hand whaps him in the shoulder as I tell him, "Don't even start, Kenpachi! Going into this already thinking it won't work will only ensure defeat! You want a victory in this kind of fight, you give it all you can to make it work! Anything else is weakness, if not hypocrisy!" Kenpachi stops walking at this point, looking down at me again as I wrap my arms around his neck and bring my lips to his. His eyes go wide as his hands automatically shift his hold on me, his fingers twitching as I tilt my head for a better angle and deepen my attentions. It only takes a heartbeat, then his eye closes to return the kiss as his hands press me closer. I give a very loud moan as one of his hands drifts up to the back of my head, the other coming down to my waist.