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magecrafts · 3 years

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gonna kill you if you don't beat me to it.

RATING: E FOR EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT (18+ ... MINORS DNI).

PART ONE ... PART TWO.

a/n: this was really just supposed to be fun gun smut but uh. oops? i don't know what happened. consider this my 200 follower celebration lmfao.

natasha x fem!reader ; you never wanted to be an avenger. now that you've been one (quite reluctantly) for a while, things are changing. and natasha's finally starting to figure you out — for better or for worse.

warnings: nsfw, explicit smut, gunplay, suicidal ideation, light blood kink, sex in a jet while nobody's piloting it (idk if that's a warning but it's definitely not safe) (the writer does not trust autopilot). darkfic? yeah.

i do take requests but please give this a read before doing so!

You’ve always known that Natasha is beautiful.

Strong.

A little terrifying.

And a crack-shot with a pistol.

One of the most intimidating women you’ve ever met, as well as one of the most stunning.

You think her strength has a lot to do with that. The fact that when you first met her she knocked you on your ass with one swing still wows you.

Like — wow, what a woman.

Arm wrestling on the Quinjet that one time, too. She would’ve beat you if Yelena didn’t step in and tell the two of you to quit comparing dick sizes. And you would’ve liked it.

“You know,” Natasha says, “you’re not so hard-looking without your battle suit.” She’s grinning at you and you like that, too. That smile is powerful. Sly and cocky and so full of pride. Natasha’s got plenty to be proud of.

“You're not so scary either,” you say. You dig your fingertips in and pull her hips against you. You can’t remember the last time you were this close to a woman — if you’ve ever been this close to a woman — but if Natasha never gets any farther away from you than she is now, you’ll die happy. “Now that you don't pull guns on me for fun.”

Natasha’s eyes twinkle and for a moment you forget where you are.

On a stolen jet with your legs stretched out on the floor of the bridge. You’d been trying to nap, sleep off the emotional weight of the last twenty-four hours. Thought it might do you some good to close your eyes and forget the world for a little while. Then Natasha ditched the pilot’s seat and pulled you out of your dreams.

Not that you’re upset about it. You aren’t, you’d like to make that clear. More like you’re tickled that it took her fifteen minutes to make the decision, and surprised it took her that long at all.

“Is that what you want me to do?” She’s not looking at you. Or she is, but only at your lips. “Pull a pistol on you?” Her hand drifts from your chest to the holstered weapon at her side. She thumbs open the strap and pushes the other hand through your hair, wrenching your head back.

Your expression doesn’t change. Gloved fingers flex against Natasha’s hips, drawing her down to you with the subtlest of motion.

Natasha catches every movement, seamlessly follows your guidance. Lets you notch your hips together like pieces of a puzzle.

And you know it’s all her doing, that you wouldn’t be in this position if Natasha didn’t want you to be, that this is all going to be on her terms. You aren't sure any other way is plausible, really, because ever since you walked away from your old life you’ve felt lost to hell with no map in sight. You haven’t known what to do, how to feel — hell, you’ve barely known what to say. You’ve resorted to self-isolation when possible and varying levels of selective muteness.

Gunning your way through the Avengers compound for shits and giggles was easier than this. Putting down your first big bad was easier. Throwing hands with the Hulk was easier. Shit, all of it was easier than whatever you’re doing right now. There’s no more mission, no more threat, no more risk — just Natasha and a stolen jet and too much time on your hands.

This is the first time since childhood you’ve had to truly relax, and you want no part of it. You’d take back the bullets, the espionage, the threats, the risk, all of it, if it meant you no longer had to feel this empty.

So if Natasha wants to take that away, the trillion-ton weight on your shoulders, even if just for a while, you’re okay with that.

You hear your belt click open and the heavy buckle hits the ground before you feel the cold kiss of a gun barrel pressing into the soft skin beneath your chin. For a moment you can taste danger again. It makes you smile, crooked and dopamine high.

“You’re a little more damaged than I thought, huh? Would it get you all excited if I told you it’s loaded?”

“Yes,” you say, but you’re barely listening to her. You’re too focused on the warm hand working its way into your pants, pressing against you through the thin fabric of your underwear. “And yes.”

You hear a click, a soft one, and you know exactly what it is.

Something cracks open in your chest, something weighty and encompassing that ripples through your veins and blossoms in your core. Something familiar: thrill.

“Safety’s off,” she says, but you already know, and she grinds the heel of her hand against your clit, pushing your dampening underwear against your leaking hole. “Still excited?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Natasha laughs.

You don’t dare move your head. You won’t even look at her, eyes falling shut as you suck in a sharp breath.

She’d shoot you if you asked her to, you know her well enough to know that, and you wouldn’t even have to ask with your words. A look would do it. And that terrifies you, but you don’t think it’s your fault that terror intoxicates you. That it makes your heart pound and your ears ring and the coil in your belly start to burn. Terror makes your body feel pressurized, fit to burst, threatening to blow shrapnel into anyone unfortunate enough to be near, and you like that feeling. You like wondering what would happen if every little thing bottled up inside you just … blew.

Kaboom.

You wonder if there would be any survivors.

“You’re not even listening to me,” you hear Natasha say somewhere far away and you yank yourself back.

“I'm really not.”

“Look at me.”

You do.

Natasha’s eyes bore into yours. Hers are searching and inquisitive, probing as she peers into your soul. Yours are cloudy and dark with hunger and you don’t worry about her finding what she wants in them. She’ll find exactly what she needs to find.

“You’re pleading,” she says after a moment, furrowing her brow. “I’m not sure I know how to feel about that.”

A slow grin slides across your lips. “But?”

“But at least you’re fucking wet,” she mumbles, slipping her hand into your underwear. She drags her fingers through your slick lips, lingering on your clit, and laughs. “Honestly?”

Do it, you think, I dare you, matching her laughter with expectancy.

And then something changes.

Maybe it’s the heat — the sweat sticking your shirt to your chest, the warm buzz in your ears between words, the fire rising in your belly — or maybe you’re just losing your mind. Maybe that last mission flipped a switch inside you. Maybe this is the culmination of every moment spent training with the Avengers, the aria at the height of the show where your heart splits open and suddenly you’re looking at things differently, seeing things you never wanted to see before, all because of the people you've spent so much time with. Or maybe your programming has just gone to shit; like Natasha, you were built to be a weapon, a machine capable of decimation and deception without remorse.

Or maybe you don't know Natasha well enough to know anything at all.

All you know is that something is happening.

Takes you another moment or two to realize that it’s not actually something that’s happening to you.

It’s Natasha.

Her hand stills between your legs. The pressure of the barrel under your chin lessens.

She looks — scared? It’s not something you’ve ever seen in her face before.

“You actually think I’d do it,” she says, voice gone quiet, eyes threatening to close off and keep you from reading too far in. “You honestly believe that I’d shoot you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” It’s hard not to smile.

“God.” She’s laughing again, but it’s pained this time, incredulous, and disheartening. “When Tony told me you were fucked up, I didn’t expect this. It’s like...you want me to do it.”

Natasha starts to drop her hand, to pull the gun from your head, to holster it again, but you catch her before she can. Your hands clamp tight around her wrist, unrelenting, and you pull it back until the barrel of the gun is digging so deep into the soft skin below your chin that it’s a little hard to breathe.

“Don’t,” you growl out. Now you truly are pleading, begging her with your eyes, with the desperation written so clearly across your face that it scares you. You still like the terror. “Just” — there’s weakness in your voice, seeping into your hazy eyes, and Natasha’s looking at you with something between pity and horror — “don’t. If you won’t kill me, just fuck me.”

She won’t.

Not until you let her flip the safety back on, which you do, even though it dampens the adrenaline coursing through your veins and kind of makes you want to roll your eyes and roll over and go back to napping.

You don’t let yourself do that because, on some level that you aren’t yet comfortable with, you don’t want to upset her. And you do still want to get fucked, want to break beneath her touch and slump into ecstasy when she’s through with you, but you wanted it a certain way.

It was her fear that did it. The worry in her eyes, the disbelief that rocked her the moment she figured you out.

Fuck your own relationship with fear, you decide, because that’s one thing, but you didn’t like seeing Natasha afraid. You actually kind of hated it. And you’ve never been one to cater to anyone’s emotions before.

It’s all new.

For her and for you.

But she adapts.

So do you.

And she starts to smile again, if slowly, once she’s safeteyed-up and your hands are back on her waist and guiding her hips against your thigh in a steady grind while she takes you.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” Cold metal kisses your temple and you close your eyes. Warm fingers press against your cunt, push in, and stroke you from the inside. “Getting felt up with a gun pressed to your head?”

“Feels forced,” you mutter, biting back a smirk, “now that I know you won’t use it.”

“Fuck off,” she says.

“Just fuck me.”

She doesn’t.

Instead she slips her hand out of your underwear and hauls herself off your lap.

“Focus,” she tells you after she’s dragged you onto your back and stripped off her pants. She swings a leg over your head and hovers just inches above your mouth. “I trust you can manage that.”

You slip your hands around her thighs and pull her down.

She tastes like honey on your tongue, sweet and inviting and wildly intoxicating. Your fingertips dig into her skin, pulling her against your open mouth as your tongue glides over her lips.

It’s only when you start to lift your head from the floor, eager for more of her, desperate to slip your tongue in and taste the depths of Natasha’s cunt, that she pulls the gun on you again. Presses it to the middle of your forehead and forces your head back to the ground with a dull thud that sends a ripple of shock through your system.

“Look at me,” she says, and you do, forcing your eyes open. She smirks at the faraway look in your eyes, and, “Stop thinking,” she says, rubbing her thumb over your cheekbone. “Focus on the taste of my cunt and forget everything else. Can you do that for me?”

You want to please her, you realize, and it’s worse than not wanting to upset her.

Not wanting to upset her is passive, or it can be, but this isn’t, and it can’t be.

This is wanting to act in a way that Natasha will like, that she’ll remember, that she’ll still be thinking about two days from now when you’re back in New York and on your separate ways. This is wanting to rip off your gloves and dig your nails into her thighs because she wants to feel the sting, not because you want to make her feel it. It’s wanting to keep your eyes open because it’s what she told you to do, not because it’s what you’re pretending you would’ve done anyway. Wanting to please Natasha is forcing yourself to stop caring about whether or not the gun’s loaded, whether the safety’s on or off, and whether she’d actually shoot you or not; wrenching your thoughts away from the doom and the gloom and the buzz it brings you is not easy, but Natasha makes it easier.

You nod.

“Good girl.”

A sound rumbles from your throat, something between a groan and a growl, and its effect is immediate: Natasha shudders, thighs trembling in your grip, and she hunches over, digging the metal of her gun into the skin of your forehead so hard that you're certain it'll cut and leave a scar.

You close your mouth over her clit and suck, rolling your tongue against the little bundle of nerves, coaxing her on, drinking her in, all while she fists a hand in your hair and grinds against your eager mouth. Her slick coats your tongue, her hand pulls at your hair. You’d care about how hard it is to breathe if the lips of her cunt didn’t spread so easily around your tongue, swallowing you so smoothly, wrapping you in heaven and giving you a taste of hell.

“Fuck,” she hisses, and, “just like that,” and, “for someone who doesn’t talk much, you’re — christ — pretty damn good with your mouth.”

You’d smirk if you could.

Instead you just hum, slow and steady, sending dull vibrations through Natasha’s clit as you fuck her with your tongue.

When she comes it spills out of her quivering hole in waves, gushing onto your tongue each time she clenches and releases. You feel it coating your lips, slicking your chin, and when she slumps off of you and the gun goes clattering to the floor all you can think about is your heart thundering in your chest and the taste of Natasha on your tongue.

“I’m telling Tony to send you for a psych eval when we get back,” she says after a moment, breaking the silence.

You turn your head, too come-drunk and hazy to let your eyes focus, and, “Sounds about right,” you mumble, your own pleasure entirely forgotten. Giving Natasha hers was enough.

She reaches for you, touching your forehead. “You’re bleeding,” she says. When she pulls away her fingertips are wet with blood. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you tell her, pulling at her hand and kissing the blood from her fingertips, a cheeky smile settling on your lips.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha x reader #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader smut #black widow x reader smut #natasha romanoff imagine #black widow imagine #natasha #!fic #rated: e #!darkfic

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thebloggerbloggerfun · 4 years

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@jellydeans: so are cas and jimmy novak just up in heaven existing at the same time @katebushstandean: #jimmy moves to heaven timbuku so that dean stops trying to make out with him every time they run into each other at the heaven grocery store

LINK

Thanks for letting me write this, guys!!

AO3 (2.1k)

The thing about Heaven was that it was whatever you wanted it to be, and most of its residents wanted it to be familiar.

Technically, Dean didn’t need to fill his car up on gas anymore, but there was still a gas station just down the street from where his new home was placed. He didn’t need to sleep, but he still had a large king-sized bed he made sure to make use of at least once a day. He didn’t need to eat, but there was a thriving supermarket that catered to whatever he was feeling like eating and always boasted the freshest ingredients for when he wanted to get a little fancy with his cooking.

Like today, for example.

Bobby had said he doubted Dean could make a proper souffle, so obviously Dean had to make the old man eat his words - and a souffle.

Dean stared at all of the different options of eggs, trying to decide if “free-range” vs. “organic” actually meant anything in Heaven, or if it was just meant to give him some sort of familiarity.

He grabbed the “free-range” option and moved on to the dairy.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye in the meat section across the way, and the way his heart stopped in his chest when he turned to look would have killed him if he wasn’t already dead.

It was Cas.

Cas, who Dean had spent every day thinking about since he’d left. Cas, who Dean had been trying to find ever since Bobby told him he was still around. Cas, who Dean still had unfinished business with.

He’d spend hours in bed, staring at the ceiling of his room and rehearsing just what he’d say when he saw him again, but in those scenarios Cas had shown up on his doorstep or in the passenger seat of his car where they could have a moment to just be .

He’d never been buying hamburger meat.

Dean rushed forward, cart forgotten, and skidded to a halt in front of Cas, just as he looked up in surprise.

“I love you -” Dean said in a rush, heart pounding, head reeling, “Of course I love you. You’re - fuck - you’re everything I could ever want and I’m - I’m so damn sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t have me, too.”

Cas blinked at him, and it was in that moment Dean realized something was wrong.

His expression, his hair, the way he moved, the way he was dressed - all of it was wrong.

None of it was Cas, he’d just been too overwhelmed to see it.

“Oh, uh... hey Dean,” Not-Cas said, and finished putting his selected meat in his basket, “I didn’t didn’t know that you died. Um, if you’re looking for Castiel -“

Dean turned and ran out of the store.

What were the fucking chances that in all of Heaven, he and Cas’s old vessel were neighbors?

Dean gunned the gas pedal on his car as he drove endlessly, trying to walk himself through what exactly had happened the day before.

Jimmy Novak was here.

Jimmy Novak who - last Dean checked - hated him.

Dean had just spewed his feelings all over him without even thinking about the possibility that he wasn’t Cas. He’d been wearing a sweater vest for crying out loud - but he was willing to forgive himself for that one because he didn’t really know how Cas would dress if he had the choice.

His hopes had soared so high when he’d seen the familiar figure, only to be dashed the moment Jimmy had opened his mouth. They sounded absolutely nothing alike - and Dean yearned for the deep gravel of Castiel’s greeting.

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened.

Where was Cas?

Didn’t he know that there was nothing keeping them apart now?

In what could only be an act of fate smiling down on him, Dean zoomed around a corner near the Heavenly library, and instantly had to stomp on the brakes of the Impala as a trenchcoat-clad figure stepped into the previously empty crosswalk.

Old habits die hard - Dean was still going to brake for Heavenly pedestrians, especially ones that looked like Cas.

Cas turned to look at him, eyes wide, and Dean shoved the driver’s side door open in a panic. The trench coat was unmistakable this time.

“Cas! Cas - don’t go okay? I gotta -“

Cas shook his head sharply and let out a breath.

“No - Jesus Christ - it’s still me, you idiot.”

Dean gaped at him as his brain tried to catch up with the conflicting bits of information it was processing.

“...what?” He heard himself saying.

Had he just wanted it to be Cas so bad that he’d ignored all the signs?

Jimmy gestured at himself like it was enough of an explanation.

“Uh. Yeah.”

“But - but you’re wearing his trenchcoat! ” Dean said, waved at it like maybe Jimmy hadn’t realized he was walking around as the mockery of the angel who’d once shared a living space with him.

Jimmy placed an affronted hand on his own chest.

“It was my trenchcoat!”

Frustration boiled inside of him and Dean quickly slid back into the car and slammed the door shut behind him.

He sped off, once again running from what could have been.

Dean was sulking under a pile of blankets in his bed when there was a knock at his door.

He ignored it.

After a few moments of silence, the knocking came again, louder and more insistent this time.

Grumbling to himself, Dean threw the blankets off and trudged down the stairs, flinging open the door with a scowl.

A person with nearly combed hair was standing on the doorstep holding a six-pack of beer in one hand and had a sticker on his shirt that said, ‘Hello, my name is Jimmy’.

“Very funny.” Dean said flatly.

“It’s not funny. It’s just in case you try to kiss me or something.” Jimmy held up the six-pack expectantly. “Can I come in?”

Dean didn’t appreciate the ribbing, but he didn’t mind the beer.

And after accosting him twice he might as well let the guy do what he wanted.

“Yeah, whatever.” Dean grumbled and left the door open as he walked back inside and flopped onto his couch. “Why are you here? Don’t you hate me?”

Jimmy hummed as he set the beer down on the coffee table and took a seat opposite Dean.

“I don’t not hate you.” He said with a shrug. “But last time we talked you were trying to convince me to chain myself to a comet again and I can’t say I appreciated it.”

Dean grunted in acknowledgment.

“I’ve been in heaven for a while now. It’s nice here. I take a yoga class with my wife.” Jimmy smiled at him. “I think I’m in a much better mental space now to consider liking you, especially if we’re going to be neighbors.”

Dean winced.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like Jimmy, it was just… that was Cas’s face. It wasn’t , but it was. Was he really going to have to be constantly taunted with it?

“Look man - I’m sorry about - you know. That.” Dean waved a hand in the air generally. “But you don’t have to do all this. I’ll stop harassing you.”

“That would be nice,” Jimmy said, opening one of the cans and taking a swig, “So, considering the things you’ve said to me, I take it he finally told you he loved you?”

Dean paused, still raw every time he thought about it.

“You knew?”

Jimmy smirked.

“That angel’s love for you permeated both of our beings so potently I’m amazed I don’t love you.” Jimmy said, like it was the kind of fact you could drop casually. “Though even I will admit, as a happily married heterosexual man, that having a man as handsome as you proclaim your love to me in the middle of a grocery store was very exciting.”

Dean dropped his head into his hands and groaned loudly.

“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Jimmy said, “That first one was pretty good. I’m sure he’s going to love it.”

“He’s never gonna hear it.” Dean muttered.

“Sure he will. You’ve already practiced it twice.”

“I can’t find him!” Dean said, and looked back up, “He’s here somewhere, and I can’t find him. It’s killing me.”

Jimmy held out a beer can.

“Good thing you’re already dead.”

Begrudgingly, Dean accepted the beer and opened it.

“I just. . . I just wanna see him again.” Dean took a long drink. “I want to talk to him. Tell him everything. Share everything. If he wants that.”

Dean let out a long breath, expecting Jimmy to interject with a quip.

He looked over at him when nothing happened, and Jimmy was smiling at him in a way that Dean could only describe as ‘fond’.

“What?” Dean said, indignantly.

“Nothing.” Jimmy said innocently. “You’re just not what I expected.”

Dean looked away.

“Anyway, you asked why I’m here,” Jimmy took another drink, “I’ve seen Castiel.”

“What?” Dean jumped to his feet, beer can dropped to the floor and forgotten about. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I’m an enigma,” Jimmy shrugged a shoulder and leaned back against the plush chair, “Anyway, I wanted to let you know as someone who has literally been in Castiel’s head - I'm pretty sure I know the reason he’s not showing himself to you.”

“Well, fucking spill.”

Jimmy paused.

“Why do you love him?”

Of all the things Dean had been expecting Jimmy to say - this wasn’t it.

Dean sat back down.

“Why?” He asked, a little breathless. “Why does it matter?”

Jimmy shrugged again.

“I guess -” Dean said, trying to unspool his emotions from the knot they’d made in his heart, “He’s - he’s Cas. He cares . . . so much about everyone and - and he’s selfless and kind and he fucking saved me in more ways than just one. He’s always been there for me and Sam and he’s just… he’s just. He’s just good . I’ll never deserve him, but I want to try.”

Dean sucked in a deep breath.

“He pulls me away from the edge, man. I just love him.”

Jimmy nodded once, set down his beer can, and in a bizarre turn of events, began yelling at Dean’s ceiling.

“Did you hear that, Castiel? Not one goddamn thing about how you look! Nothing about me or my vessel!”

Dean stared, dumbfounded.

“Wh-”

“He doesn’t care what you look like! Can you please just come talk to him so I can stop playing marriage counselor for you two?”

Care how he - what?

What was happening?

Before Dean could fully compile all of the new information, there was a hesitant knock at the front door.

Dean whipped his head towards Jimmy, who was smiling in satisfaction.

Nearly tripping over himself, Dean rushed to the door faster than he’d rushed towards anything in his life, and swung it open.

In front of him was the wavelength of celestial intent that Dean had always known existed inside of the vessel of Jimmy Novak - the glint of angelic creation he’d caught glimpses of in the glow of his eyes and in his healing touch. The being was massive and stretched high into the sky with what was (maybe three? four??) pairs of wings scraping the clouds even further above everything. He was flaming rings and rotating divine faces that Dean could barely comprehend - he was raw power and all-knowing eyes.

On the front of his form was a sticker that read, ‘Hello, my name is Castiel’.

“. . . Hello Dean.” The voice rumbled through the air like thunder.

“Cas?” Dean said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I - yes. I’m sorry. I lost my vessel to the Empty - this was the only way -”

“I love you, too.”

The rotating faces on the form towering above him froze in place.

“I do! I love you, Cas. Okay? You didn’t let me say it back before - and if I’ve ever made you feel like I couldn’t love you back, I’m so fucking sorry. You deserve better.”

“. . . you love me?”

Dean nodded, his heart clenching at the disbelief he could hear in Cas’s voice.

“ Even as this?”

“You’ve always been this.” Dean swallowed. “I fell in love with the angel, not the vessel.”

“Dean. . .”

Dean smiled up at him in understanding.

“Just a shame that we’ll have to get a bigger house.”

“Oh I can -”

And as Dean looked on, Castiel began to shrink. The form didn’t change - he was still as striking as he’d been the first time with his wings and halos and faces still firmly in place - but he was now maybe one foot taller than Dean instead of one hundred.

“- make myself more manageable.”

Dean grinned and took a step forward, giddy and thrilled that this was finally, actually happening

He reached up, resting a hand on one of the divine faces.

“Bite-sized.” He murmured fondly.

Jimmy’s voice cut through the moment from somewhere behind them.

“Just so you two know - I. Am. Moving!”

#spn #destiel #destiel ficlet #spn coda #jimmy novak #akasdflks I barely know what this is guys I'm sorry #sometimes I write

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five-rivers · 3 years

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Pennywort and Swallowtails

For @phantomphangphucker :)

Prompt: Flynn, due to being Phantom’s aka the Ghost King’s family and part of the Zone’s society, receives a Prince title and is now getting crowned.

Flynn couldn’t put his finger on exactly why, but the Ghost Zone seemed different lately. There was something in the atmosphere, almost. It felt… lighter, maybe?

He didn’t like it.

After all these years in the Ghost Zone, he’d come to regard any change from the norm with suspicion. The tendency had saved his life multiple times. Usually, such changes were caused by a nearby and powerful ghost. Or, on rare and terrifying occasions, a not so nearby and obscenely powerful ghost.

For example, that Pariah Dark guy he’d heard about from some of the ghosts he traded with. Flynn sure was glad someone else had taken care of him. Not that Flynn was much good in a fight against any ghost more powerful than that annoying one in overalls that showed up whenever Flynn so much as thought of making anything even vaguely box-shaped.

Which wasn’t that often. Flynn had never really nailed the whole carpentry thing. Ha. He’d never been super great at the whole square thing either. Because he wasn’t one. Skipped school and everything. The whole high school experience. Ha.

Sometimes he really cracked himself up, but only in the most depressing of ways.

He sighed, heavily. Maybe he should think about spending more time in his hideaway cave, under his cottage (aka his shack, it was a shack, who was he kidding). Stock up on supplies. Get ready to weather a storm. Literal or metaphorical.

But hiding out in the cave was so boring. There wasn’t anything to do down there. Except try to design better grass shoes and to patch his increasingly ragged clothing with limited amounts of thread. He preferred being outside greatly. Even if it was just on his little floating island, messing around in his little garden, growing potatoes and blood blossoms, digging for those crystals ghosts seemed to fear and desire in equal measure.

Flynn was peripherally aware that he was supplying the ghosts he traded with the equivalent of ghost uranium (one of the few human-world things he’d picked up was a middle school science textbook), but…

Yeah. Guy had to eat, and the Ghost Zone didn’t exactly have cops running all over the place, or the United Nations, or… yeah. Honestly, the Ghost Zone didn’t have much of anything, at least not in these parts. It was pretty empty around here.

Just like Flynn’s heart.

Ha.

Yeah. That was a good one.

Eh. Life wasn’t so bad. He was sort-of-kind-of friends with half a dozen undead monsters of questionable morality, had his own house, most of his teeth, and copious free time. Plus, it had been a while since the ‘rocks from nowhere’ decided to trash his roof. Which was bad for the sport he had invented (Chucking Rocks into the Misty Void), but good for roof integrity. And not having a concussion. Or losing any more teeth.

But, back to his original topic.

Flynn glared absently at the Zone at large. Okay, yeah, something was going on. Was it Flynn’s problem? Maybe. Was it directly Flynn’s problem? No. The day was otherwise clear and ‘normal’ (the term being used loosely in the Ghost Zone), so he might as well go about his day—

The sky tore open in front of him.

Flynn recognized that. Before he knew what he was doing, he threw himself away from the portal. The last time he’d stepped through one of those—

The thought crossed his mind that this portal might lead back to Earth, back home, back to Mom. But he knew from his ghostly friends how unlikely it was that the portal would put him anywhere near his home physically, not to mention temporally. It might not even lead back to Earth for that matter.

He took cover behind a boulder, cursing his blasé dismissal of potential danger. Who knew what could come out of a portal? At least according to the ghosts he talked to. Hopefully, nothing came out that he couldn’t beat into submission with his ectoranium staff.

This was going to suck so much.

The portal disgorged three floating eyeball ghosts in voluminous robes.

(One of the other books Flynn had gotten his hands on was a dictionary. Which he had read. Twice. Living on a tiny floating island was boring when it wasn’t terrifying.)

Ah, heck. He could take one ghost. Three? Yeah. Not a chance.

Maybe they’d leave? They couldn’t know for sure he was here. With how unpredictable portals were, and all.

“Flynn Walker,” intoned the central eyeball ghost with a great deal of gravitas.

Flynn’s body did something between a cringe and a blanch.

He was never trusting Globithar the Lapidarist’s tall tales ever again. He wasn’t going to give him any more discounts for them, either. No way to control a portal his scarred left butt cheek.

“Flynn Walker,” repeated the eyeball ghost, now with a touch of annoyance.

“In accordance with the laws of the Infinite Realms,” said the leftmost ghost, in a higher-pitched voice, “we call you to take up your position in the Court of the King of All Ghosts as a member of his family.”

Ah, that ectocontamination Aunt Maddie had sometimes talked about had finally caught up with him, and he was hallucinating something fierce. Either that, or these ghosts thought unbelievable jokes were good bait. They weren’t. Flynn would know. He’d made many unbelievable jokes. They’d never attracted anything but groans.

Ha.

“This is ridiculous,” hissed the third ghost. “He isn’t even a real ghost.”

“He’s more ghostly than Phantom’s sister,” said the second.

“We don’t have any choice about her, though. Can’t we simply… not tell Phantom about this Flynn? Especially if this cousin of his is so craven as to hide at a moment like this.”

Rude, but accurate.

“He’ll find out,” said the first eyeball, tiredly. “He always finds out. Damn Clockwork.”

This was officially too weird for Flynn. Why were they cursing out clocks?

“Because they’re petty and don’t have anything better to do.”

Flynn may or may not have shrieked like a little girl at the voice behind him. The uncertainty was mostly because Flynn hadn’t seen or heard a little girl since he was in the vicinity of his cousin, Jazz, which was years ago. At least a decade.

But he did scream. Loudly. Which he really should know better than to do, living in the Ghost Zone and all. He brought his staff up defensively, too, though, so his self-preservation skills hadn’t completely shorted out.

“Clockwork!” chorused the eyeball ghosts.

“Yes, yes,” said the ghost who’d snuck up on Flynn, flicking imaginary dust off his robe as he smoothly, and dizzyingly, shifted between ages. “I’m sure you’re all very shocked that I’m here, after you just finished complaining about how much I know.” He examined his fingernails. “Now, Mr. Walker—”

“Walker?” shrieked one of the eyeballs.

“Yes, he is related to our illustrious sheriff. As I was saying, I am here to bring you to your cousins, who have risen quite a bit in this world.”

“What.”

“It is, indeed, rather surprising,” said Clockwork. “To those who cannot see the twists and turns of fate. Or those who are willfully blind to those twists and turns.” He eyed the eyeballs.

“What,” repeated Flynn, more forcefully.

“Clockwork,” growled the lead eyeball.

“Allow me to explain,” said Clockwork. “Do you recall your youngest cousin, Daniel?”

“Uh,” said Flynn. He adjusted his grip on his staff. “Vaguely?”

“He was crowned King of All Ghosts a few weeks ago. As a member of his family and an active participant in ghost society, you are automatically a member of the court. Assuming you wish to be, of course.”

“You- You’re saying I have family here.”

“Indeed.”

“Like, Aunt Maddie?”

Something odd passed over Clockwork’s face. “No. Your cousins. Daniel, specifically.”

“Wait, wait, he was a baby. Wouldn’t he only be, like, ten or something?”

“Fifteen,” corrected Clockwork.

“How did he die?”

“You will have to ask him that,” said Clockwork. He raised an eyebrow. “If you would like, you can sleep on this and I will return tomorrow.”

Flynn bit his lip. Hard. Okay. He wasn’t dreaming. And- And this ghost didn’t seem to be lying. What would the point of that even be, anyway? Flynn was nothing. He didn’t have anything they could possibly gain by lying like this.

“I’ll go with you,” said Flynn.

“Excellent,” said Clockwork, clapping his hands. “Then let us away to the castle.”

Well. That was certainly a castle. Or a palace? Flynn wasn’t sure of the difference. The ghosts hadn’t lied about that, at least.

It was a big step up from Flynn’s house. Which, honestly, more deserved the title of hovel. Or perhaps shack.

Or even hole, when compared to all this. Dear god, this place was fancy.

Flynn hunched his shoulders, feeling out of place even as Clockwork led him deeper into the massive edifice.

Come on, Flynn, he thought furiously at himself. Some of these people aren’t even wearing skin. You are not underdressed.

Clockwork brought him to a normally sized (which was, incidentally, not a given in this place, which contained both huge and tiny doors) door with understated but elegant carvings. “Here are your rooms,” said the ghost. “You will find a selection of clothing in your size in the wardrobe, and the bathroom is fully stocked and human safe.”

“Human safe?”

“Human safe.”

That was ominous.

“There is a bell in the room that will summon a servant should you need one. I will collect you for dinner in three hours. Long enough for you to relax, I should hope.”

Or long enough for him to worry himself into pieces and chew on their curtains.

… There would be curtains, right? This place had to be fancy enough to rate curtains.

He opened the door.

Lots of curtains. Lovely.

No, really. It had been so, so long since he’d seen curtains. He might be crying.

Oh, gosh, that bed looked so nice and soft. He wanted to—

Wait, no, he was filthy. Filthy. Covered in years’ worth of grime. He hadn’t had a proper bath since he’d still been living with his mom.

Pathetic, right?

There was a human-safe bathroom in here somewhere. Beyond the snark, he was looking forward to having a human-safe bath. He was craving a human-safe bath. With clean water and soap.

Could the bathroom also have toothbrushes? Toothpaste? Unrestrained luxury.

The bathroom door was in the same style as the outer door, but the handle was different, lighter. The inside was tiled and surprisingly modern.

There was a sink.

He played with the sink faucet for several long minutes before remembering that he’d come in to take a bath.

He spent several minutes playing with the bathtub faucet.

Then he got into the bathtub and experienced a half hour of combined panic (he didn’t really know how baths worked anymore, and the sensations were weird) and nirvana (the sensations were also good).

He had to keep cycling the water. Because he made it so, so dirty. He sank into the water, up to his chin.

When he got out of the water, he decided his hair was a lost cause. Because it was always a lost cause. Only, it was even more of a lost cause now, because it was also wet and had been stripped of its usual protective layer of oils.

There was a variety of toothbrushes and toothpastes available. He tested them out and discovered that he would probably need the services of a dentist. A good one. Were there ghost dentists? There had to be ghost dentists. They had a lot of teeth. A lot of teeth. Sharp, scary, teeth.

Ugh. His baby cousin was a ghost. He’d probably have teeth like a shark. When he’d last seen him, he’d hardly even had any teeth at all. Because. Baby. Little, tiny, baby.

Who Flynn barely knew.

Why did he even want Flynn? Or was it just some weird ghost tradition thing?

Ghosts were weird. Anything could be possible.

He flopped face-first onto the bed. His bed? His temporary and maybe permanent bed. If he was allowed to stay here.

Oh, gosh. Clockwork and the eyeballs seemed to know how to make portals. Could they make a portal back to the human world? To Earth?

To Flynn’s proper time?

To Mom?

He missed Mom so much, even after all this time.

(Dad? Not so much. He hardly remembered the man.)

He wouldn’t know until he asked, he supposed. But asking maybe-royalty would be scary. Talking to all these powerful ghosts was scary enough by itself.

Ehhhh, he thought he’d gotten rid of his more cowardly side by now. He was living in the scariest place out of the world.

Ha.

Yeah.

He crawled out of the bed, dragging his nice, clean self to the wardrobe. Oh, boy. Many clothes. He hadn’t even seen so many clothes since the last time he’d been in department store. Incredible.

They were so fancy, too. He didn’t know how to choose.

He didn’t even know how to wear half of these things. At least half of them.

He began to tease lengths of fabric from the wardrobe and lay them on his bed. Some of them looked cool. And also the kind of thing that he’d destroy just by touching it.

Except he had already touched them, and they hadn’t been destroyed yet. Yet.

Oh, cool, there was underwear. Wow. It had been a while.

Okay. The bed was incredibly nice, but somehow too nice. Like, no nap nice.

He wanted to take a nap.

But no nap was occurring.

The bed was too soft. Ugh. This was like the thing in that one war novel he’d read when he was probably way too young to read it.

He groaned. He hadn’t thought that was real. He’d thought it was an exaggeration, or just drama. Or something.

He crawled off onto the floor and the wonderfully plush carpet.

Maybe he could sleep here.

He woke up to a faint knocking sound and rolled sideways under cover. What cover? Oh. Bed. That was the bed. He was in the room. In the castle. The ghost king’s castle.

His baby cousin’s castle.

He was going to cry. This was so weird.

Embarrassed, he rolled back out from under the bed and threw on the first clothes that came to hand. Which. Might not have been the best of ideas. But, hey, he was dressed now.

He stumbled over to the door and spent several long, embarrassing seconds sleepily remembering how to open doors with this type of handle. Eventually, though, he managed it.

Clockwork was standing there. One of his eyebrows went up. “Interesting choice.”

Flynn looked down. Orange and green went fine together. What was he talking about?

Forget it, he wasn’t about to develop a sense of social shame after living in a hut for a decade or so.

“Come, now. Your cousins are expecting you.”

Flynn briefly considered ducking out, phasing through the floor and out of the castle using a tangibility trick he’d picked up a couple of years back. At least, that would spare him from this ‘diner’ he was rapidly approaching.

He decided not to do that. Running away wasn’t his style.

(Who was he kidding? That was definitely his style. He would have run away so, so much if he had anywhere to run to.)

(It wasn’t like he could exactly fight ghosts on even footing. Each and every one of them had Martian Manhunter’s powerset.)

“Don’t be afraid, Flynn,” said Clockwork, looking back over his shoulder.

“Do you, like, read minds?”

Clockwork chuckled. “Only the future.” He swung the large, gilded door open.

Inside, there was a long table, set with silvery plates. There were a small group of children beyond it. One of them waved at him. Was that Danny?

Flynn took a deep breath and walked forward, back to his family.

#danny phantom #phic phight #phic phight 2021 #flynn walker #clockwork

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angelicyoongie · 4 years

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desolate (8)

— summary: you just wanted a cute little normal cat to keep you company. so, you're not really sure how you ended up with the grumpiest hybrid on earth that seems hellbent on making your life difficult.

— pairing: cat hybrid yoongi x human reader

— genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut

— word count: 3.9k

— tag list: @mrcleanheichou @ladymidnightt @cheese123344 @xanny91 @dinorahrodriguez @best-space-boy @dulcaet @moccahobi @keijaycreates @staytrillswag @xsmilebitesx @serendipityoreuphoria @jiminot7 @beyond-the-swag @nananaum1 @mult1wh0re @ditttiii @faithsummers11 @twomilkmen-gocomedy @theonewholovestoread @karissassirak @veryuniquenamegoeshere @yourlipssoirresistible @ayoo-bangtan @murderyoursoul @btsxdoll @see3milyblog @gukiyi @mtgforall @narcissism-iskey @sp3ak-yours3lf @cesthoney @imluckybitches @hd-junglebook @sugarrimajins @multifandomgirl29 @beach-bitch-bitch-beach @bangtansleftnut @theresa-nam-nam-me @angeltothecore @ghostkat23 @deathkat657 @awixxx @httpmedxsa @veronawrites @bubbletae7 @serious-addiction @chogiyeol-utopia @nomimits7 @lorielulu7 @1am9root6 @sana-b @diamonddia-mond @jiminiessipabo @myhearttteu @rainbowmagicpixecorn @lidda @rosiethefairy @lovinggalaxies @midnight1199 @trinityautumn @linniewritesficz @fearhoshi @ess-place @juniesoftbot @kingalls00 @toribug2020 @daydreambrliever @moonlight-mochi @sleepyje0n @yoonie-bby @alltimeyoongi @honestlyfuriousharmony

Part one Part two Part three Part four Part five Part six Part seven Part nine Part ten (M) Part eleven Part twelve Part thirteen Part fourteen (M)

The bright fluorescence lights adorning the outside of the shop are starting to hurt your eyes. You’ve gotten a few weird stares, but you’re finding it hard to make your feet move an inch closer. You can’t seem to make up your mind if you’re doing the right thing or not. What if he doesn’t like it? What if he gets angry with you for treating him like you own him?

You glance sideways just in time to meet the security guard’s eyes; the uncertain expression on his face making you realize you’ve been standing in the same place like a crazy person long enough for him to do a third lap. The awkwardness prompts you enough to enter the store, although you immediately feel a little lost. You never expected you would end up in a hybrid store, at least not after you thought you had adopted a regular cat.

“Hi, welcome to Hybrids-r-us! Can I help you with anything?” A girl, probably younger than yourself, approaches you with a smile. She’s wearing a black shirt with the store’s logo on, and the nametag fastened on her chest says Soo-young.

“I’m a little lost,” You admit, hands stuffed deep into your coat pockets as you give her a sheepish smile back.

“That’s what I’m here for! So what kind of hybrid do you own?” Soo-young asks.

“Oh, I don’t–“ You cut yourself off. You do by no means own Yoongi, but it would be weird to show up at a hybrid store if you weren’t buying things for your own hybrid.

“I mean, he’s a cat hybrid,” You say, and Soo-young’s face lights up despite your little slip.

“What kind of breed is he? I have a Persian one myself! He’s the cutest little thing ever,” She rambles excitedly as she starts leading you down the aisles of various hybrid articles.

“Siberian?” You can’t help the unsure tone of your voice, considering you actually don’t have a clue what type of breed he actually is. But you know your old neighbour’s cat was a Siberian, and since Yoongi reminded you so much of him when you first saw him, you figure his breed can’t be too far off.

“He’s a fluffy one!” Soo-young squeals, stopping in front of a section marked as ‘cat hybrids’. “I would recommend getting him some clothes from these racks, they have bigger cut-outs for fluffier tails,” You listen attentively as she lists of her recommendations, following her gestures to see what products she thinks might work and what she thinks Yoongi might enjoy. You wince inwardly as you think of the crude hole you cut into your sweatpants so that they would fit with Yoongi’s tail. You’re sure it can’t be too comfortable even if the fabric is soft.

“Call for me if you need any help!” Soo-young leaves you to pick out your stuff by yourself, you giving her a quiet thanks as you turn around to face the massive selection of clothes.

Your wallet is lighter than it should be, so you make a bee-line towards the clearance racks, making sure that you pick out clothes from the right ones. You didn’t even think that the clothes would differ based on breeds, and so you’re thankful for Soo-young’s input. You have no idea what Yoongi likes or what his style is considering he’s just been pulling clothes from your closet so far, and so you try to stick to neutral colours. Black and white are classics for a reason after all.

You probably should have asked for Yoongi’s size, but you know where your own clothes are either loose or tight on him, and so you try your best to eyeball it. After you’ve picked out a decent amount of clothes, at least enough to give Yoongi some different outfits to circle through; you follow the direction Soo-young pointed you in earlier to the skin and hair care section.

There’s an overwhelming amount of different products to choose from, but you try to go for those that promise to give silky soft fur and extra shine. You know cats love to groom themselves, so hopefully that applies to their hybrid counterparts as well.

You try not to look at the amount after Soo-young is done ringing up your things for Yoongi. You can already tell it’s too much compared to the little sum that’s supposed to last you another two weeks. But, Yoongi deserves it. You’re not sure how long he’s staying, but he deserves to have his own things and feel at home – for however long that might be.

The bags crinkle obnoxiously loud in the stairwell up to your floor, and you just pray Yoongi won’t take your gesture the wrong way. As you step in front of your door, it flies open before you can even reach for your key. A slender hand reaches out to pull you inside, and you barely manage to squeeze through the opening before Yoongi leans over your shoulder to close the door behind you.

“You’re home late,” Yoongi’s breath tickles against your ear as he locks the door, the ticklish sensation making you clutch the bags tighter in response. His chest brushes against your shoulder as he steps back, but you find the space he’s given you to breathe doesn’t do much when his eyes are locked so intensely onto yours.

“Why?” He prompts, eyebrow quirking at the lack of response.

“Oh uh, I went shopping! After work .. That’s why I’m home late,” You grimace. It had been a spur of the moment thing; otherwise you would’ve let Yoongi know beforehand. You wish you had enough money to get him a phone, but sadly, that just isn’t in your budget at all right now.

Yoongi’s eyes finally slide down to the bags in your hands, head tilting curiously as he sees the logo plastered on the sides.

“It’s for you,” You thrust the bags towards him, a flush creeping up your neck as Yoongi gives you a weird look.

“For me? Why?”

“You need your own clothes, you can’t just keep stealing mine.” Yoongi gives you a half-hearted shrug in response, but his tail does an interested flick despite the nonchalant expression on his face.

You rattle the bags in impatience, and Yoongi swipes them out of your hands with a huff.

“Go wait in the living room,” Yoongi mutters as he breezes past you to go into the bathroom. You’re not entirely sure why he wants to wait there, but you oblige easy – only stopping to remove your coat and shoes.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but Yoongi holding his own personal fashion show definitely wasn’t it. You have to bite down on your lips to hold back the smile threatening to take over your whole face as he ventures back and fourth between the bathroom and the living room, showing off new clothing every time. You can tell he’s trying his best to seem disinterested, but the little quirk of his lips and the more energized spring in his step tells you everything you need to know.

“What about these? Are they too tight?” Yoongi gives you a slow spin, showing off the black pair of jeans you picked out. You feel the smile die on your lips as your eyes follow the curve of Yoongi’s body, your throat going dry as you realize they probably fit him too well. “Maybe a little?” You squeak, desperately trying to subtly clear your throat to make your voice sound normal again. You’re not sure how you’ll survive being at home if he starts wearing those jeans frequently. Yoongi peers down at his legs, taking a few steps back and forth. He lets out a low hum.

“I like them,” He smirks; the look in his eyes perhaps a little too knowing for your liking. Yoongi walks out of the room before you can convince him otherwise, his fluffy tail swishing languidly behind him. You wait for a second to make sure he’s gone before you reach up to fan your face, desperately trying to make the heat in your cheeks go away before he returns.

Thankfully for you though, Yoongi settles on using a new pair of sweatpants you got for him instead. You’re both relaxing on the couch and finishing up your dinners, the TV providing some mindless entertainment in the background.

Yoongi silently collects your plates, the expression on his face seeming a little torn as he brings them out into the kitchen. It takes a few minutes before Yoongi returns, when he does, his ears are turned back, posture tense as he drops down on the couch besides you.

“I need to tell you something,” Yoongi grumbles out before you can ask. His tail is resting in his lap, pale fingers threading through the long fur. The cat hybrid’s jaw is clenched as he stares out into the room, and you feel the mood of the room turn like someone has flipped a switch.

“Okay ..” You murmur hesitantly. Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, like it pains his lungs to just even expel the air.

“I think I need to tell you about my past – why you found me at the shelter,” Yoongi’s dark eyes flicker over to you quickly before he moves his gaze back to the wall. You suck in a quick breath, the topic catching you completely off guard. Your stomach twists uncomfortably as you give him an encouraging nod in response.

“I’m not hiding because I did anything wrong. I just .. needed to get away. The last place I lived wasn’t – it wasn’t good,” He swallows thickly, ears pulling back until they’re flat against his head.

“Actually, it was a hellhole. My owner –” Yoongi’s lips curl in disgust as he spits out the word, “was an abusive ass. He didn’t care about me unless he needed someone to let his anger out on,” You sink further down into the couch as Yoongi’s words knock into you one by one. It’s not like this is something you haven’t encountered before, hell, your job is dealing with cases like Yoongi’s, but it still feels like someone has plunged a knife inside your chest.

“One night he came home drunk. He passed out in the hallway, but I just knew, I knew he would wake up in a few hours and lay all of his fucking issues onto me and I was just so tired,” Yoongi’s voice breaks, his shoulders hunching as he brings his tail closer to his body. You feel sick as you notice Yoongi’s fingers dragging over clear patches of skin between his fur. You’ve seen that a lot in your case files. Punishment for misbehaving. You advert your eyes back to Yoongi’s face, feeling guilty for never having noticed it before.

“So I ran. I had tried it once before, but a stray hybrid is so easily noticed. I knew that if I got caught again and sent back that I wouldn’t ..” Yoongi trails off, voice barely above a whisper. He doesn’t need to finish his sentence for you to understand what he meant to say. I wouldn’t have survived.

“It’s easier to hide as a cat, but I suppose someone saw me loitering around in the same area for too long and decided to call it in. Hybrid shelters normally don’t accept regular animals; but I guess the one you found me at did, at least until they could transfer me to a proper one. It really wasn’t that difficult to convince them I wasn’t a hybrid, you just got to pretend really hard to not understand what they’re saying or doing,” Yoongi shrugs half-heartedly, a bitter smile on his lips.

“I was there for a month before you adopted me, or well, cat me. Hybrid me is still legally owned by that fuckhead,” He hisses, hands shaking as he gathers them in his lap.

“I couldn’t tell anyone in case they sent me back. There was no one I could trust.”

Your eyes are burning with unshed tears. The more you get to know about Yoongi’s story the angrier you feel. You just can’t understand why people would treat hybrids like that – fellow humans like that. Yoongi looks so small and beaten down sitting on the opposite side of the couch of you, and you can’t believe your snarky kitty has been carrying something like this by himself for so long. You can’t help but feel like you’ve somehow failed him – that you could’ve done better.

“There was no one .. until you,” Yoongi utters softly, the mellow voice shutting down your screaming thoughts.

“Yoongi ..” You breathe, your throat so choked up it’s hard to say anything else. The cat hybrid shakes his head as he turns to look at you, a gentle smile forming on his lips as he sees your glossy eyes.

“I just thought you deserved to know why I’m here. No need to get sappy,” He huffs, reaching forward to swipe his thumb across your cheek. You’re surprised to see moisture clinging to his finger as he pulls back, and you hastily run your hands under your eyes to catch any other stray tears. You let out a weak laugh, embarrassed that you didn’t even know you were crying.

“But why the sudden honesty?” You ask. Today was the same as yesterday, and the day before. Well .. almost the same.

“You didn’t feel like you had to tell me because I brought you clothes, right?” You feel horrified. What if Yoongi felt like he owed you something?

Yoongi takes a look at your panic stricken expression and snorts, his long fingers reaching out to grab yours. He gives your hand a squeeze, his thumb running over your knuckles.

“Don’t worry y/n. It was just as I said; I thought you deserved to know. Who knows what will happen tomorrow, or the day after that. I just wanted at least one person to be aware of my situation in case ..” He trails off, eyes growing blank as he stares out the window behind your shoulder. He looks tired, you notice. Maybe he hasn’t been sleeping as well as you thought he had. Or maybe this has been weighing on his mind for quite some time. Whatever it is, you’re determined to fix it.

“Ah well, now you know!” He seems to snap himself out of whatever thoughts that took over him, the glint you’ve grown so accustomed to returning to his eyes.

“Yeah, now I know,” You give his hand a squeeze in return, but for you, it’s more than just a confirmation. It’s a promise.

You’re not that surprised that you end up with Yoongi’s soft hair between your fingers again. He has a hand curled around your knee, head resting on top of your thighs.

“This might sound weird – but the first time I saw you I really thought I was seeing a ghost,” You mutter. Your fingers halt momentarily, the memory of when you first saw Yoongi at the shelter still so vivid in your mind. Yoongi makes a disgruntled noise at the sudden lack of contact, nudging his head back against your palm until you take the hint and resume your scratching.

“A ghost?” He questions, his voice muffled against the fabric of your sweats.

“Yeah. You reminded me so much of my neighbour’s old cat. You were like a splitting image,” You hum, a smile slipping onto your lips as you remember how cute Fluffball was.

“But of course, now I know you’re two very different cats. He was never as grumpy as you are,” You stifle down a laugh as Yoongi’s tail flickers irritably. He’s too easy to annoy.

“What happened?” He grumbles out.

“He passed away. My neighbour said he had suddenly gotten sick and there wasn’t anything that could be done to help him. I cried for like a week afterwards,” You frown, the little special place you have for Fluffball in your heart aching as you remember how upset you were.

“I’m sorry,” Yoongi’s tail curls around your wrist, the long silky fur almost ticklish against your skin. You hear the hesitation in his voice before he continues,

“I often heard that I looked like my mom,” He murmurs.

“Really? What’s she like?” You run your fingers down to the back of his neck, brushing over the shorter hairs at his nape.

“I–I don’t remember. I was taken away when I was really young,” Yoongi says quietly, his tone mournful. You don’t even want to imagine how Yoongi must have felt, so young and alone and probably terrified all by himself.

“I’m sorry,” You echo his words back to him, your voice barely above a whisper. You clench your jaw tightly as you continue to stroke the his hair; the same low hitching purrs rumbling out of his chest once your conversation lulls. You’re going to make sure Yoongi’s owner will have hell to pay for all the things he has done to him, even if it’s the last thing you do.

You lean back in your chair with a sigh, the light from your computer screen almost making your eyes water. Your computer is whirring loudly in protest as it tries to process all the new data and files you’ve entered into it. It’s way past due for an update, but it isn’t like you are going to go and ask your boss for a new one now. Not when the whole company is still in shambles trying to figure out the breach.

The office is almost completely empty, and it only makes your struggling computer sound even more pitiful. You stare mindlessly at the glowing circle that has replaced your cursor, knowing you can’t do anything else until it has worked through everything you asked it to.

“Staying late?” A deep voice startles you out of your thoughts, making you jump as you swivel around on your chair. You’re greeting by the kind face of Mr. Yang, an older man that has worked here even longer than you have. You honestly consider him as some sort of distant uncle.

“You bet,” You wince. “Got a load of new cases today, and this old thing doesn’t seem to want to cooperate,” You jab your thumb over your shoulder to direct his attention to the screen behind you.

He gives you a knowing sigh, dusting off his hat before he places it on his head.

“Well don’t stay too late now, you hear me? This whole hacking business is making me anxious,” He gives your shoulder a friendly pat, his face tight with worry as he notices the pretty much deserted office aside from you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be out of here as soon as this finishes logging the new data,” You give him a tired smile, and Mr. Yang takes that as his clue to leave. He tips his hat with a smile of his own as he passes, and you settle back down in your chair, pretty sure you’re in for the long haul. Thankfully you remembered to tell Yoongi that you would probably be coming home late –new case files almost always resulted in you working overtime to catch up.

It doesn’t even take five minutes before your computer screen goes black, the whirring fan stuttering loudly before it promptly shuts off. You curse under your breath, annoyed that it had to act up now, with the office close to empty and the IT department most likely abandoned long ago. You try pressing the power button repeatedly, but to no avail. You’re going to need help if you want it to work again.

You push out of your chair with a huff, opting to leave your stuff behind as you hurry towards the staircase. The likelihood of the IT department being empty is high, but you at least have to check to make sure.

Your footsteps echo loudly as you descend down the two flights of stairs. You always dislike staying at work late, the normally bustling building feeling so eerie when it’s quiet and empty. You shake of the tight feeling in the back of your neck, rolling your shoulders purposefully as you push the door to the IT department open.

There’s no need to feel nervous, there isn’t like anything is suddenly going to pop out of the dark and grab you. Maybe you should stop watching those scary movies that has been marathoning on TV for the past week.

The floor is dark, as you expected. You’re about to turn around when you notice a light further down in the room, the blue hue of it unmistakable. It seems like one worker is staying late after all. You trudge down the middle of the room, passing by the empty desks one by one until you get closer to the source of the light. It’s a computer that’s still on, the screen lighting up the desk in a soft glow. But as you come closer, you realize that this desk seems empty too.

“Maybe they forgot to turn it off,” You mutter, the silence in the large room swallowing up your words. Your eyes travel over the empty desk, a flash of pink rooting you in your spot. You lean in closer, your eyes widening in alarm as you recognize the cat-formed sticky notes.

You don’t understand how they ended up here. No one from the IT department has been near your area lately, and you can’t imagine anyone from your floor bringing it down here either. Moving your gaze ever so slightly makes you suck in a harsh breath. Lying next to your sticky note pad is the unmistakable shape of your favourite pen, the end of it showing off the indents of your teeth from all your nervous biting.

You grip the edge of the desk tightly as you realize that your thing going missing aren’t a coincidence, nor is it just your co-workers simply displacing them. You suddenly realize that you do not want to meet the owner of this desk, your work be damned. This isn’t something you want to deal with now, and especially not alone.

You quickly turn around, legs ready to bolt out of there, but you freeze in your tracks as you see the large shadow blocking your path. You take a hesitant step backwards as the shadow moves closer, your legs knocking into the sides of the desk.

The movement is enough to finally bring the figure into the light from the computer screen, and you feel your heart stop as you recognize the lanky stature and big eyes staring right back at you. It’s the same guy you saw that day in the lunchroom with Jihyo, and the same guy that was loitering outside of your boss’ office.

You can see the surprise flit across his face as he realizes that it’s you, but the blank expression his face quickly settles into makes your stomach lurch uneasily.

It’s only then that it dawns on you what kind of situation you’re really in. You’re here all alone, pressed up against a desk in the dark with no possible escape – at least not unless it’s through the man in front of you.

You’re trapped.

You’re screwed.

- - - -

Hello! Hope you enjoyed the eight chapter of desolate, now we’re just over halfway there! Some backstory was on the menu today .. And uh oh, what's going to happen to y/n now? 👀

Hope you’re all well and my inbox is always open if you want to chat about the story or just fics or life in general! See you all soon! <3

#hybrid!bts #cat hybrid yoongi #bts au #yoongi #hybrid au #yoongi x reader #bts x reader #min yoongi #fluff #scenting #angst #romance #bts #suga #hybrid bts

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years

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Hey steph!! This might be a specific ask but could u like recommend me some fic thats like slow burn, unresolved sexual tension, and some bottomlock. And please please please let it be long so that it hits the sweet spot of satisfying your fic needs but also not stupidly long. Also I love your blog

Hi Lovely!!

AHHHH I’m glad you enjoy!! I try my best, LOL.

AHH I’ve SO MANY slow burn fics, it’s ridiculous, and I do have separate lists for bottomlock, so I can direct you to those.... BUT I DON’T HAVE A LIST FOR MY U.S.T. FICS YES. So can I do that??? Please??? ANY EXCUSE TO START A NEW LIST :| Hee hee. Forgive me???

AND as per usual, all my fics are in word-count order, so you can start at the bottom and work your way up, hee hee. CHEERS!

As usual, add your own, friends!!

First, here’s the lists you asked for:

Love Confessions / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. (Fluff Version)

Falling In Love / Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. || [MOBILE POST] (April 2019)

Platonics & Domestics Pt 2 / Hugs, Cuddles & Kisses Pt. 3 / Tooth-Rotting Fluff Pt. 5 / Love Confessions, Slow Burn & Dev. Rel. Pt. 2 / Established Relationship Pt. 3

Slow Burn / Dev. Rel. / Falling in Love Pt. 3 (Nov. 2019)

Slow Burn / Dev Rel. Pt. 4 (Apr 2020)

Bottomlock (April 2019)

Bottomlock Pt 2

And now, check out my UST/URT list :)

UNRESOLVED SEXUAL / ROMANTIC TENSION

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Sherlock, Angst, URT, Post-TSo3) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

Clarity by socomessnow (thoughtfulwishing) (NR, 1,283 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Tarmac Scene, Stream of Consciousness, URT, First Person Present Tense, Implied/Referenced Drug Use) - During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. Part 1 of Rifts

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

Love Hurts by Grac3 (T, 2,215 w., 1 Ch. || Magical Realism, Pining Sherlock, One-Sided Pining / URT, Sherlock / John Whump, Angst, Ambiguous Ending) – In a world where someone's physical injuries manifest themselves on the person who is in love with them, John didn't think that there would ever be anyone who was willing to risk falling in love with him - until he got shot on a case, and it didn't hurt. Unrequited Johnlock.

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dancing, Pining Sherlock, URT/UST, Romance, Angst, POV John) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

There's Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w., 1 Ch. || Mutual Pining, Love Letters, Angst, Mutual Pining, UST / URT, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

You Can't Always Get What You Want by hubblegleeflower (E, 4,804 w., 1 Ch. || Pining, Sexual Tension, UST / RST, First Time) – John wants. He always has, but now that he's living with Sherlock again, it's all he can do to hold it back. And Sherlock isn't helping...

Wasted Hours by songlin (E, 4,973 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || O!John/A!Sherlock, Pining, UST, Angst & Porn) – John is respectful. John keeps his distance. He doesn’t look at Sherlock when Sherlock decides trousers are for dull people. He doesn’t breathe in and savor it when Sherlock flings himself onto the couch first thing in the morning, wafting alpha scent, dressing gown settling around him in a cloud of blue silk. He doesn’t linger when he’s piecing Sherlock back together after a fight, even though he’s half-dressed and beautiful and right there. He can ignore it. He can control it.

Captain John Watson, Genetics, and Other Crazy Things by cyerus (M, 5,581 w., 1 Ch. || Torchwood Crossover || Humour / Crack, Jealous Sherlock, Sexual Magnet John, Captain John, UST / RST, Three Continents Watson) – The explanation for John "Three Continents" Watson? Jack Harkness is his father. Sherlock doesn't know whether he's going to die from jealousy or sexual frustration first.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension, UST/URT) – Relates to both Sherlock's and John's feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Drawstring by May_Shepard (E, 7,412 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3/TAB, Friends to Lovers, UST/RST, Fluff and Smut, Post-TAB, John POV, Sherlock’s Pyjamas, Rimming, Wanking) – John is bothered by Sherlock’s slowly-falling jim-jams… as in hot and bothered and he is trying to deal with a sexy dishevelled Sherlock while also keeping his pining in check.

High and Tight, Soft and Loose by cwb (E, 7,429 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, Miscommunications / Misunderstandings, First Kiss / Time, BAMF John, Insecure Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock, POV John, Embarrassed John, Adorable Sherlock, Junk Size, UST / RST) – John pressed the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth and sighed. “So, you're coiled like a spring and ready to be ... sprung?” “If you want to be pedestrian about it, yes.” “Like I said, you should do something about that.” “And like I said, pedestrian. What would you have me do? Take up jogging? Yoga? Oh! Unless you mean –” “I don't mean anything. Let’s drop it.”

Alone On the Water by Mad_Lori (G, 7,725 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, UST/URT, Angst, Euthanasia, Love Confessions) – Sherlock Holmes never expected to live a long life, but he never imagined that it would end like this.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w., 6 Ch. || POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Canon Compliant, Angst, Friendship/Love, UST) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w., 2 Ch. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John's identity tags around his wrist.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

Their Great Reward by BeautifulFiction (T, 10,095 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Fluff) – Boxing day, in John's opinions, is the worst day of the year. Christmas is over, the tree is wilting and stripped of gifts, and there's a week of dead-time until the clean slate of the new year. However the combination of a blizzard, a power-cut and Sherlock might just make it a day to remember.

The Five Stages of Mourning, Plus One by SunnyRea (T, 10,557 w., 1 Ch. || MCD, Pining / Grieving Sherlock, URT, Heavy Angst, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Drug Use, Graphic Death, Depression, Unhappy Ending) – Sherlock did not want this, did not want another stalemate with John in the middle, a gun in Jim's hand. This cannot have happened without a sign. There has to be something he missed anything which said today is the day I kill for real.

Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder by cypress_tree (E, 10,669 w., 1 Ch. || UST/RST, For an Experiment) – John helps Sherlock with an experiment: for an entire month, they are not allowed to touch each other and must remain at least one metre apart at all times.

I'm content as we are (but) by inqui (The_Circus) (E, 13,086 w., 1 Ch. || Jealous John, UST/RST, Pining, Victor Trevor, Minor Whump, First Kiss / Time, Misunderstandings) – In which John Watson sees something unusual, becomes jealous, and makes too much of a small thing as an old friend of Sherlock's shows up in the middle of a case.

Say For Me, Love by MirabileLectu (T, 13,147 w., 1 Ch. || UST, First Kiss, Drama, Pining John, Victor Trevor) – If you had asked John this morning what the result of his quiet afternoon at home would be, discovering a truth about Sherlock's past startling enough to shift the foundations of their friendship would not have been his first guess. So naturally, that was what was bound to happen.

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w., 1 Ch. || HLV Fix It, Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice, First Time, Pining Sherlock, Time Skip Filler, Drunkenness) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone's sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w., 1 Ch. || Post-HLV, Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John's divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that...

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w., 1 Ch. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavours) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him. “You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

John Watson doesn't have a Boyfriend by naughtyspirit (E, 18,932 w., 7 Ch. || UST / URT, Fluff & Smut, Voyeurism, Masturbation) – John's date has gone very well. Sherlock requires tea. John wishes he hadn't resolved that their relationship was strictly hands off and isn't about to address it. Unless he has to. Smut, fluff and shower time for a naked John Watson.

For you, there's only me by shock_blanket (E, 19,557 w., 7 Ch. || Jealous Idiots, Virgin Sherlock, UST/RST, Pining, Miscommunication, First Kiss / Time, Insecure Sherlock, Masturbation) – Sherlock realizes he has fallen in love with John, but believes he is unlovable. Cue lots of pining and jealousy on Sherlock's part, followed by our favorite cuddly marksman making it all better. Because for Sherlock, there's only John.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w., 1 Ch. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w., 20 Ch. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

Knotted by naughtyspirit (E, 23,166 w., 4 Ch. || UST/URT, Cuddling, Sharing Body Heat, Confessions, Kissing, Masturbation, Frustration, BAMF!John) – John has to cancel a date because of Sherlock's case, which leads them to be tied up in a basement from which they have to escape. They get wet, get tied up close and John has to step up and save them. Because he's pretty. And hot. And just a little bit of a BAMF.

Hellfire by testosterone_tea (E, 28,596 w., 9 Ch. || Fantasy / Magic / Mages / Elementals AU || Mage Sherlock, Elemental John, Developing Relationship, Torture, Powerful / BAMF John, POV Alternating, Dark / Blood Magic, UST, First Kiss) – Sherlock is a Mage that gets involved with a case involving Dark Summoning rituals, leading him to John Watson, a man with Berserker blood. The only thing is, Berserkers have been extinct for centuries. And of course, nothing involving Mycroft and his interfering ways is ever simple. This time, even Sherlock may have bitten off more than he can chew.

That Partitioning of the Things of Youth by wearitcounts (E, 35,353 w., 7 Ch. || Humour and Angst, Post-TRF, Fake Relationship, UST / RST, Friends to Lovers, Jealous John) – Victor Trevor is in town, and nobody's happy.

The Case of the Vanishing Pants by SwissMiss (E, 44,025 w., 6 Ch. || Five and Ones, Post-TRF, Case Fic, UST, Homophobia, Friends to Lovers, Pining John, Showering Together, Couple for a Case, Sherlock’s Bum, Fantasies, Jealous Sherlock) – Five times John and Sherlock lost their pants in the course of a case.

Wars We Fought, Things We're Not by blueink3 (M, 55,204 w., 10 Ch. || Post S3 / Post TAB, Parentlock, Fluff & Angst, Kidnapping, Whump, Post-TAB, UST/URT, 3G, Mild Peril, Slow Burn, Couple for a Case, Protective Mycroft, Infant Death Pre-Story, Friends to Lovers) – Five months after John's world has fallen apart, Mycroft sends the consulting detective and his doctor on a case that neither is prepared for.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Facial Shaving, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w., 19 Ch. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate's charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #ust fics #urt fics #babyyoushouldseemeinacrown

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rawbin69 · 4 years

Photo

*Slowly walks up to you, cradling this*

*Gently sets it down in fromt of you*

*SPRIN TS THE FUCK AEWAY IN PANIC*

Okay anyways hi I’m back after like, months lol, sorry about that (but I’m not actually back because I’m busy trying not to die because of school-work and trying to work on some MAP parts. I literally said five days ago on my yt channel “Hi I’m back now!! :-D” and school just said “no <3″ which, um, rude. So yeah I might come on and occasionally come post something but I’m really not gonna be coming on here to be active

OKAY OKAY but I need to explain these sketches because they will be suuuper confusing without context, I am very aware, yes, so there’s an explanation (+ some extra art and a non-shaded version of the stuff above) under the cut :-)

BASICALLY, @lulzyrobot made this AU of Pokémon Sword and Shield and now I have brain rot because of it. Also this AU will indeed be confusing to those who have no knowledge about sword and shield so here’s a skippable paragraph about the game:

(OBVIOUSLY SPOILERS BELOW)

Basically, SwSh is just a Pokémon game (no surprise there) and its gimmick or whatever is Dynamax, which turns Pokémon like. Really fucking large. (Some of them can also Gigantamax which changes their appearance as well as size, but we don’t care about that here bc it really isn’t relevant). In all gyms (except one, Spikemouth) there are power spots, which are needed for a Pokémon to Dynamax. If they’re not close to a power spot, they can’t do it. There are also power spots in the Wild Area (which is, you guessed it, an area in the game). At one point in the game, the villain -- Chairman Rose -- starts up something called “the Darkest Day”, which happened before in the Galarian region (which is where everything takes place), in hopes of getting infinite energy for them or something like that (really makes no sense but like ok pop off ig). To do this, he basically uses these things called Wishing Stars -- which are what allows Pokémon to Dynamax -- to summon a Pokémon called Eternatus. In-game, you basically just summon two other legendaries (Zacian and Zamazenta -- they’re on the cover of the games) and fight Eternatus and then catch the fucker. That’s all context you need for this AU so let’s move on to that now:

The AU is basically that Eternatus sends out a powerful blast which fuses trainers with Pokémon, to varying degrees. The closer to a power spot you are, the more likely you are to get it bad. If you’re far enough from one you won’t be affected at all. A person can merge with multiple Pokémon, but the more of them, the harder it is to not go wild. If you merge with a wild Pokémon, you’ll become a Wild Trainer (and those basically act like, well, wild Pokémon).

If you want more info (which you do want, trust me on this), here’s a post made by the creator themself!! https://lulzyrobot.tumblr.com/post/610890677032747008/pokemon-dynamorph-au-masterpost

OKAY ANYWAY, back onto this specific sketch (wow I really went on a rampage there lol)

I decided to Dynamorph my trainersona(??????) (btw, both the Dynamorph version AND the “human” version are WIPs, I’m not completely happy with either of them) and this was the resuulltttt

- Their name is Robin (because I’m a bastard that does self-insert ships with no shame)

- They merged with their Arcanine (and I’m considering also adding a wild Lycanroc, both so I can give them Epic Claws™ and so that their whole extremely volatile nature makes any sense)

- They have some REAL trouble keeping themself in check. Like. They’re constantly on the edge between becoming a Wild Trainer and being “normal”

- Because I am, like I said, a bastard who does self-ships without any shame they are together with Piers. yes I am a simp for him.

- Robin has their select group of friends (made up of all gym leaders minus Opal because they have no idea what the fuck is up with her, as well as Marnie, Hop and Leon. No they don’t give a shit about Bede) which they are super protective of. They have to be reminded that they can all handle themselves, because they might otherwise become a bit possessive.

- While they are a raging storm you do NOT want to get involved with in any way to anybody outside their friend group, they are really nice to be around when they really care about you. They may be pretty stubborn, but they always do what they think is best for their loved ones. On multiple occasions, they’ve gone out to collect any sorts of gifts they can find that they think their friends will enjoy. They are super gentle and kind with Hop and Marnie (which, by the way, they’d literally die for either of them) and they’re overall a good friend/partner. Their main flaw here is their temperament and somewhat possessive nature.

- If anybody did something to even moderately hurt any of their friends... hoo boy, you do NOT want to do that. They’ve nearly killed people for leaving so much as a scratch on their loved ones, and have to be physically dragged away so they won’t really kill somebody.

- However. Despite really, truly believing they'd never, under ANY circumstances, hurt ANY of their friends... they’re wrong about that. The only ones they could truly never purposely cause harm to would be Piers, Marnie and Hop. Yes, it would take A LOT for them to hurt any of the others (like, they’d only hurt the others if they tried to, idk, kill them or something. Or if they tried or actually did kill somebody else in their close circle) but it could hypothetically happen.

- If they ever were to see Rose, he’d probably be torn to shreds on sight. Literally nothing would be able to stop them.

- While it’s near impossible for anybody they don’t care about to calm them down, it’s pretty easy for especially Hop, Marnie, Piers, Raihan, Leon and Milo (and the others, but less so for them lol).

- They were right by a power spot, like they were about to step into a den, when the blast happened so they were. Really fucking affected by it. They stayed in the Wild Area for a while after that, searching for their Arcanine who had “mysteriously vanished”, before they transformed. They were basically a Wild Trainer for at least a month before Piers found them and managed to get them to remember who they actually were over the course of two days. It was,, really concerning when they’d at first been texting him pretty much non-stop to update him on what was going on with them just to then go radio silent for a few days, especially since people had begun transforming at that point. Haha angst go brrr

- You must ignore how their clothes still kind of fit despite them growing to be both more ~muscular~ and tall and how it’s not dirty for the sake of my convenience ok

Ok I think that’s all? woah that was a long post lmao

Anyways, here’s the promised extra art (first one is the same sketch without any shading and that stuff (buT I MISSED ONE, I DIDN’T REMOVE THE SHADING FROM ONE I AM SORRY LOL), second is Robin as just a regular trainer)

Oh also some context for some of the sketches:

Bottom one where they’re screaming “yOU mOthErFuCKeR” is what their reaction would be to one of their loved ones being killed

The one with Milo is Robin just. Being near him. After probably having some sort of panic or anxiety attack because they’re worried about everyone. Because Milo is a really calming person to be around.

Top one in the middle is Robin just patting the red eye-lens-things Raihan got from his Flygon because they find it to be Very Entertaining to just pat them for no reason at all.

The ones where they’re hugging Marnie would take place right after they come back to Spikemouth after their month(s) as a Wild Trainer. They still weren’t used to being around people (and much less BEHAVING like a PERSON) so they were pretty awkward about Marnie hugging them.

The one where they’re surrounded by darkness to the right and kneeling forward is them in the middle of their “transformation” after the blast happened.

Fiery ones at the top right are just Robin being pissed as fuck lol

(Still haven’t decided if this will be the “official” team of Pokemon I have, but it’s cool for now. Also yes, I added an extra Pokemon to my “team” who isn't actually a battle-Pokémon or whatever. I NEED APPLETUNS EMOTIONAL SUPPORT OKAY)

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sabraeal · 3 years

Text

Seven Swipes for Shirayuki, Chapter 3

[Read on AO3]

Written for @fade-touched-obsidian‘s birthday, which was....nearly two months ago. BUT IT IS DONE NOW, and quite frankly two months is better than some of my other late-birthday posts 🤣

The sedan is stifling.

It may be the luxury size, purchased through the deep pockets of the Wisteria’s business accounts, but the real leather interior presses in too tight, crushing her beneath the weight of her choices. This is what Shirayuki’s leaving behind: plush seats and plastic dividers, penthouse views and double ovens, the sort of security only money could buy.

She’d never wanted it; it had all just come part and parcel of being with Zen, the baseline for orbiting in the same stratosphere as his social circle. None of it had ever felt natural; guilt dogged her every time she slipped into the back seat of an empty car instead of the front, every dish left in the sink for the cleaning service smacked of superiority, and having a doorman--

Well, she’d been late to more than a few galas because she got caught up chatting. It was rude to just blow by someone without even a hello, and if Antonio had a new picture of his granddaughter, she couldn’t possibly pass without a coo or two over the sweet Sharpei of a baby his daughter, the light of his life, had given birth to.

Haruka had frowned at that one, digging the corners of his mouth to new depths as he told her, one is not late to a charity gala because they are indulging The Help.

Shirayuki tightened her arms around her diffenbachia, burying her face in its spotted leaves. It’s so clear now, so obvious: she was never going to fit in. There was never going to be room for her in Zen’s life. She was never going to be able to turn off the parts of her that saw other people as people; even if she could, she would never want to. Not even for him.

The radio flicks on, the smooth strains of Clair de Lune tumbling through the air, making the cab lighter, more spacious.

“Debussy?” she hums, the diffenbachia rustling with her curiosity. “I wouldn’t have pegged you as a classical lover.”

Obi huffs, affront entirely feigned. “I’m a man of many depths.”

Shirayuki lifts her head, looking at the console’s digital display. “It was a preset, huh?”

His mouth twitches. “It was a preset. I thought you might like it better than smooth jazz or whatever else comes standard with wood interiors.”

“Probably.” She shifts back, removing her whole head from her leafy escape and settling it on the rest. It’s fine; she’ll be fine. Maybe it took six years to figure out what she should have known in six months, but she knows better now. No compromising, not like...that. Not with how she lives her life.

“So.” Obi’s gloves tighten on the wheel, leather creaking against leather. “You’re single now.”

Shirayuki nearly drops the whole vase. Not that it has far to go from her lap to the floor, but her plants have been shaken up enough the past few days. “E-excuse me?”

“For a whole--” he checks the dash with a grin that can mean nothing but trouble-- “forty-five minutes.”

“It’s been a week,” she reminds him primly, squeezing the diffenbachia for support. “Ever since--”

(”I can explain,” Zen says, fingers spiking runnels through his hair. “I wanted to do this in person--”)

“Sure,” Obi interjects smoothly. “But it’s only been forty-five minutes since you moved out of your sugar daddy’s apartment.”

“Zen was not my-- my--” the sedan is soundproof; Obi informed them all of it the moment he’d driven it off the lot, even if the way he said it had made Mitsuhide snap his name like a whip crack. She lowers her voice anyway. “Daddy.”

Obi’s hum does not fill her with confidence.

“He was only seven months older than me!” she huffs. “It’s biologically impossible for him to be a big brother let alone a-- a father.”

“Daddy is a state of mind, not an age gap. Though I’ll grant you--” his teeth flash, quick as a bear trap-- “boss doesn’t have much of that going for him either.”

It would undermine her point entirely to start arguing this one-- lord knows she doesn’t have a single horse in the race on how daddy Zen is anymore, if she ever did-- but her gut instinct is to hunker down on this hill and die on it. One she stifles successfully.

It’s not her job to staunchly defend Zen Wisteria anymore, and certainly not from Obi. And to be fair, out of any of them, she trusts Obi to have the most sense of...daddy, whatever that may be. Hopefully, he’ll never enlighten her.

“I didn’t take any of his money.” Every word tips stiffly from her tongue. “Nothing...personal. Only what was given to me as an employee.”

Beneath his shades, Obi softens. “I know that, Miss. I wasn’t trying to say...” He sighs, leather gloves flexing on the wheel. “That wasn’t my point.”

Her fingers ease where they splay over the pot. “Then what was?”

It’s the wrong thing to say. His mouth twitches at a corner, and--

“Isn’t it about time to find a new one?”

“You know,” Obi hums, fumbling with the guest house keys. “You can’t ignore the question forever.”

She squints up at the sky-- it’s a pure blue here, not covered with the haze that settles over most of LA, the one way to tell they’re no longer in the city anymore-- and sniff, “I think you’ll find I can.”

“Come on, Miss.” With a bump of his hip, the door swings open, the bags dangling from his shoulder helping it complete its arc instead of clapping back on him. Because it’s not a thin little beach screen, made to shiver open at the slightest touch, but a solid, weighted thing, made to hold up against everything but an LAPD battering ram. And maybe even then.

Shirayuki spares it a concerned glance, nearly missing as Obi adds, “You need to secure your future.”

“I thought that was what I was doing,” she mutters, toeing off her tennis shoes by the door. “Or am I working for Izana for my health now?”

Obi clucks his tongue, unceremoniously dropping their bags in the hall. “Well sure, but you should be doing it the fun way.”

Her eyebrows climb up the short jaunt to her hairline. “Am I to take it that the ‘fun way’ is on my back?”

“Can’t think of many things that are more fun,” he laughs, like she should know, like at her age this is an experience they must be able to share. She pads down the hall after him, shoulder rounding over her cross arms. Clearly she’s had the opportunity. Six years in a relationship; anyone else would have, but--

“At least,” he continues, words scattering her thoughts like crows on a wire, “you should be able to live off being pretty.”

She coughs out a laugh. “I think you have to be a good deal prettier than me to manage that.”

He hesitates at the end of the hall, natural light limning his long limbs, making him seem taller, broader than he is. His head turns, just enough to catch her in one eye, and the look he rakes up her--

“Maybe in this town,” he rasps.

Her hands fall numb against the twill of her trousers, and she begs them to do something, anything but lay there boneless; to reach out the scant space between them--

But the moment’s gone, quick as it starts.

“Ooh, look at this,” Obi says with a whistle. “There’s a kitchen.”

“The apartment had a kitchen too, you know.”

Obi barely looks up from the drawer he’s inspecting, fussing with something that looks both like a corkscrew and a garlic press. “Yeah but this one’s bigger. It’s got double ovens.”

“We already had double ovens,” she deadpans. “There’s only two of us, we don’t need a kitchen the size of--”

“Ooh,” he sighs rapturously, “there’s a gas range and a cook top.”

“What?” She scurries over beside him, playing a hand on the cold metal. Opa would have killed for a set up like this. “Oh, now that can make a lot of pancakes.”

“And bacon,” he adds, giving it a solid tap. “And check out that view.”

His arm snakes around her shoulders, turning her. “Wha--?”

Oh. Oh.

“The beach,” she murmurs, watching the surf crash against the rocks, right at her feet. Or beneath her feet, from how the cliff is shaped. “It’s right down there.”

“I bet it’s private,” Obi murmurs, voice rumbling against her ear. “Except for paparazzi and their telephoto lenses, of course.”

She waves him away, like a horse does with flies. “Beaches are public property, and trying to restrict access is wrong on an ethical level, never mind that--”

“Right, but consider,” he hums, batting away her hands and her protests, “that you don’t have to share it with anyone else.”

Well, he does have a point there. “But public beaches always have the best snack stands.”

“We can just bring our own snacks.” He waggles his eyebrows. “You could have one of your weird little veggie boards down there because you can just carry it.”

“There’s nothing weird about enjoying vegetables.” Her elbow prods at his side; it’s solid beneath the cotton of his button-down, barely flinching even when she nudges him square in the oblique. “You just have the palate of a kindergartner.”

Obi presses a scandalized hand to his chest, silk tie rumpling askew beneath his palm. “Please, Miss, you wound me. I select my snacks with no personal regard for health or authority, which is fourth grade at least.”

She bats away his hands to slip her fingers around the knot, tugging it straight. “You’ll eat hummus.”

“Because it tastes good with pita chips. Now, Miss...” He casts a quick glance toward the second floor, mouth already twitching. “Do you think our rooms are adjoined?”

Shirayuki blinks, trying to imagine a purpose for it. The guest house itself was mystery enough-- after all, any business partner Izana wanted to impress would stay at a property of their own, or failing that a hotel, somewhere they could guarantee no Wisteria would be listening when they went to decompress from the day. And a personal guest of Izana--

Well, all his family lived within driving distance. And his friends were...few and local, if his soirees were any indication. “Why would they be?”

“For old time’s sake.” His smile’s all trouble as he saunters to the stairs. “Just like Tanbarun.”

“Hopefully not just.” Although Shirayuki can firmly say that having the breaks cut at Vitsjo was the worst experience she’s ever had with a millionaire, a double kidnapping ranks somewhere in the top ten.

She nearly says so; the quip is hanging at the end of her lips, poised to jump. But she glances up first, just in time to see every muscle in Obi’s body gone stiff, his jaw locked tight and his gaze a hundred miles away.

No. Five years. His body might be here with her, standing in a guest house the size of her childhood home, but his mind is back there, in a room that’s empty and a balcony door hanging on its hinges.

“Obi...” she breathes.

His body jerks, like someone’s yanked all his strings, and when he turns his smile hangs wrong from his mouth, never quite reaching his eyes.

“I hope the beds are those big fuck off kind,” he says, words hurtling from him joylessly. “That seems like His Majesty’s style. The kind that can fit five people and all their emotional baggage.”

His knuckles are white where they wrap around the wrought-iron banister, clenched so hard she’s sure black will flake off when he moves it. She takes a single, painful step toward him. “Obi...”

“Oh dear,” a voice hum, pleasant and smooth like suede. “I’m so sorry to disappoint.”

Haki Arleon-- no, Haki Wisteria now, leans in the doorway, smile just as radiant as when all her billboards. “But they’re only kings.”

(“So when are we going to meet the lady of the hour?” Obi asks, tie already loose around his neck. His waistcoat’s still neat, pressed so it clings to the narrow curve of his torso, but his jacket’s well on the way out the door. It hardly makes sense; that’s what he wears usually, easy as breathing, but with two drinks in him it hangs limp on his shoulder, just asking to slide off them. “This mystery Mrs Wisteria.”

“Future Mrs Wisteria,” Mitsuhide corrects, tugging at his cuffs. “And you’re not strictly supposed to know that. This is just Ms Haruto’s retirement party.”

“Right, and her retirement plan is grandkids,” Obi huffs, scanning the ballroom. “So where is she? I want Miss to start murmuring to me about Punnett.”

“I would never.” Shirayuki wobbles on her heels-- too tall, but Kiki said that anything less than three inches would be informal in this crowd-- relaxing when Obi’s hand grips her elbow. “Besides, Punnett squares only work for Mendelian traits. Once you get into eye color there’s at least eight known alleles involved--”

Obi’s hand slides to her back, hot even through the silk of her dress. His eyes are the same, that molten honey they melts to when he’s been frequenting the open bar and-- and maybe it’s about time she quits her cosmopolitans too, if she only feels steady holding onto the hem of his waistcoat. “Save the pillow talk for the bedroom, Miss.”

Her teeth snick shut. She can’t remember what she was about to say anyway.

“If you’re so interested in seeing her--” Zen jerks his chin over to the head table where Izana sits, Haruto radiant beside him, wearing an inoffensive smile-- “she’s already over there.”

Obi cranes his neck-- well, they all do, but he’s the least subtle about it, not even trying to cover his gawking. “It’s all just some old fogies your family does business with and-- no way.” His head swings back, eyes round as saucers. “Are you kidding me?”

Shirayuki squints, and the blonde head to his other side resolves into a pretty woman, her smile twice as bright and a hundred times more genuine. It’s her the men are flocking around tonight, but she hovers at Izana’s side, a hair’s breadth away from touching. “Oh, isn’t that the woman who was running the funding drives at Lilias? Ah, what was her name...?”

Gold eyes fix on her, no longer molten honey but hard flashes of coin. “Haki Arleon?”

Silly of her to forget; she shook her hand and everything. “Oh! Yes, that sounds right.”

Kiki shakes her head. “Only you, Shirayuki...”

“Wha--?”

“That’s Haki Arleon,” Zen tells her, as if Obi hadn’t said it already. “She’s--”

“The top of Maxim’s Hot 100,” Obi offers, followed by Mitsuhide’s stern, “Obi!”

Zen sighs. “She’s Hollywood royalty.”

“One of the most famous actresses of the last decade,” Kiki continues at her blank look. “She won an Oscar at sixteen...?”

“Oh.” She certainly looks magazine perfect now, every fold of her dress laying just right along the curves of her body, not a pinch of mascara out of place. “I don’t really watch movies.”)

That Haki Arleon is not the one that stands before her now. Though to be fair, she’s not the same Shirayuki Lyon she was then, either.

“You’re here.” America’s Sweetheart slumps across their spotless hardwood floor, flopping onto the sectional. “Finally. Save me.”

(”Is this where you ask me to sign an NDA?” The limo’s hardly pulled away from the curb, but Shirayuki’s temper is already boiling, rattling the top of the pot. “Do I need to sign an affidavit to say nothing happened between us? Should I send the Inquirer a note about how I no longer exist?”

Izana hums, his annoyance a dangerous buzz beneath his tongue. “There’s no need to be quite so melodramatic, doctor.”

“Isn’t there?” She rattles the tabloid in her hand, every word from her mouth so waspish it could sting. “This is your work, isn’t it? You’re the reason--”

He leans, one long-fingered hand plucking the paper out of her grasp. “There are reasons more innumerable than I can mention as to why the future folded out into this particular pattern, but if you are accusing me of holding the scissors to my brother’s apron strings in order to gt my way, I must gladly disappoint you.”

Her whole body aches from the rictus she holds it in. “What are you trying to say?”

“I’m saying that I did not ask you into this car to talk about my brother’s inability to properly navigate his love life,” Izana replies, sour, one leg crossing sulkily over the other. “I asked you here to offer you a proposition.”

She takes in one deep, steeling breath, then another. “You’ll have to excuse me if I’m not interested in any of your--”

“It is a professional proposition,” he informs her swiftly, nipping her complains in the bud. “I would like to hire you. For...in-house care.”

“Are you ill?” For how much rage had been rattling in her bones for the last half hour, it’s strange how quickly it evaporates in the face of her concern. “Does Zen know? No, is it your mother--?”

He raises a hand, quieting her. “No, not me, nor my mother, though I appreciate your concern. It’s...” Izana may have his reputation as a man who mountains find impassive, but for a moment she sees it, true fear flashing across his eyes. “...My wife.”)

There is no photoshop perfection as Shirayuki kneels in front of her, fingers pressed to the racing pace of her pulse. “Are you sleeping?”

“A little.” Haki squirms under her touch, her body angled as much away from her as she can manage. “Some. Barely.”

“But you’re tired?” She’s wan underneath her natural tan, the sort of stark white that says anemia. Already Shirayuki’s riffling through panels in her head, wishing she had a phlebotomy department at her fingertips. Then again, maybe she does; she’ll have to ask Izana just how much medical care will be magically available to her. “Have you been keeping anything down?”

“Hm...” She coughs, delicate. “Yes?”

Haki might win awards for her acting, but it will take a better liar than that to fool her by omission. “Have you been eating?”

America’s Sweetheart gives a very unphotogenic grimace.

“I had a yogurt.” Shirayuki sits back, waiting for the list, but it doesn’t come. Instead Haki just slips from her grip, palms pressing into the cushions as she strives for a casual lean. “And some of that tea you sent me. That stuff’s been great.”

“Oh, that’s just-- it’s ginger tea.” She sits back on the cassock, waving off her praise. “With some lemon and a few other things. Nothing special.”

“Miss is being too humble,” Obi rumbles from his corner, slinking out to perch on the sofa’s arm. “She stayed up all night making that stuff.”

“It’s important to get the proportions right,” Shirayuki informs him, prim. “Both for effectiveness, and preg-- er....”

Haki’s brows raise, and for a moment, she looks just like her cover on Vogue, arch and pleased. “Well, I see that cat’s out of the bag.”

“Ah...” She sheepishly rubbed at her cheek. “Izana did mention it...”

(”You understand nothing I tell you can leave this car, correct?” Even in his vulnerability, Izana is implacable; an unmovable edifice between her and his loved ones, as unnecessary as it is. “We had only just heard the heartbeat before this all started, and if word were to get out and we...she...”

For once, Izana Wisteria flounders, at a loss. “It’s rare for a fetus to fail after seven weeks,” she offers, biting back the actual number. Five percent only seems low to people already in the other percentile. “A miscarriage--”

“Can’t ever get out.” He huffs, agitated. “I am aware that you do not follow celebrity gossip avidly, but my wife...”

Shirayuki had always been under the impression this had been an arrangement, something forged from good business sense and perhaps a hint of mutual trust. They’d grown up together, after all-- at least that’s what Zen whispered in her ear at the wedding, watching them sweep across the floor. But now--

Now he falters again. “Every moment of her life has been for public consumption, even her grief. I won’t give them this.”

If it were anyone else, Shirayuki would lean forward. She’d put her hand over theirs, giving a comforting squeeze as she told them just what they needed to hear, the way they needed to hear it. It was her gift, after all, knowing how to tell both the best and worst of news.

But instead she looks at him, steel in her spine, and tells him, “You won’t have to.”)

“I take it the vomiting is still frequent, then?” Shirayuki takes in the dark circles around her eyes, the dull sheen of her skin. “Even though you’re not eating.”

She at least has the grace to look abashed, caught out like she is. “I am...it’s just better when I don’t.”

Her palms tap absently on her knees, fingers wishing they had a keyboard to key entries into while she thought. “We’ll have to go over your full medical history before I make any recommendations, but you need fluids-- plenty of them.”

“I drink--”

“No, I mean IVs,” Shirayuki clarifies with a shake of head. “We’ll have to call the hospital, see if--”

“No hospitals.” Haki stares back at her firmly, unmoving. “That’s how the tabloids find you.”

“Izana mentioned that too.” She sighs, rubbing at her forehead. “We don’t really like doing IVs out of the hospital without some support staff, but I might be able to get someone to come out...”

Haki waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry. Just ask for what you need, and Izana can get the hospital to make it happen.”

Oh, how she’d love to be a fly on Garrack’s wall for that conversation. “We’ll see. Until then, let’s just make sure you’re comfortable.”

Twelve hours later, Obi closes the sedan door after Haki, making sure the bucket is appropriately situated in her lap. “Comfortable, huh?”

She sighs. “It was a nice thought. You can get her to the hospital--?”

“Well.” His teeth flash white under the lamps. “I certainly know the way.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #my fic #seven swipes #seven suitors #modern au #ans #listen i still struggle with whether ENOUGH happened this chapter #and then i realize that like #if you did not already read seven suitors #OR you're you know...not me #there is a BUNCH of new info in here #this is the hardest thing about adapting this...i'm a much more proficient writer #so i know how to keep the story more active #but also i feel like i have to retread SO MUCH #but it actually stands just fine on its own #DEEP SIGH writer problems

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missorgana · 3 years

Text

only waiting for this moment

pairing: loki/mobius

fandom: marvel cinematic universe

rating: general

word count: 4272

warning: swearing, implied character death

summary: Loki is not looking forward to sitting next to a stranger on the way to faer older brother's wedding. But said stranger proves to be good company, after all. (meet-cute, human au, single dad mobius)

(yet after loki’s ended i still obsess about lokius my god..... anyway! i’ve been working on this silly au for way too long so finally it’s out there! is it stupid yes. most likely. but it’s based on this cute fanart so let me live! also loki goes by fae pronouns because :’)))) enjoy! ❤️)

read on ao3

Why does Loki find faerself on a stuffy plane to Venice in the summer heat with several suits and a ring in faer luggage, you may ask?

Because of faer stupid older brother, of course.

Now, don’t mistake fae, fae’s happy for Thor getting married. Seriously!

Faer brother is one romantic bastard, and fae’s seen his looks and smiles around Bruce, fiancee and future husband in about three days, it’s like he would be lost without him. It’s quite endearing, in an overbearingly annoying way. Loki’ll let him know it’s annoying, plenty.

But of course, fae agreed to be the ringbearer, it’s the least fae could do, and fae loves that big fool just as much as he loves faer, even though fae’ll never willingly admit that to anyone other than faerself.

Fae just doesn’t understand why they had to make everyone travel out to Venice to celebrate the wedding, when they could’ve just saved the trip for their honeymoon, but nooo, the ceremony had to be at “the most romantic location in the world”, as Thor dubbed it.

Absolutely ridiculous, but what can you do?

Fae’ll just have to strap faerself in for the nine hour long plane ride, dear god , hope the food isn’t completely horrendous and that their movie selection is decent.

The last part seems to be true, but alas, Loki’s bound to have trouble, considering fae’s found faerself in questionable situations many, many times before. Often Thor’s fault. Often fae’s own fault. Siblings you annoy the shit out of and siblings you would die for, simultaneously, of course.

However, Thor and Bruce arrived in Venice the previous day for arrangement, Jane and Brunnhilde are only leaving tonight because of Brunn’s schedule, and since Sif left earlier today, Loki’s alone. This fae doesn’t mind at all, appreciating peace and quiet, especially with an older brother as enthusiastic and energetic as Thor.

He’s not always annoying, he’s rather comforting, in that way. But times like this, fae could use a little break.

Until the passenger for the seat next to fae arrives, that is.

The person that comes into faers line of view is apologising profusely to a flight attendant for blocking their way, then nearly drops their bag in the face of a passenger in front of them, until they greet fae with decidedly way too much vigour.

They look to be a typical tourist, grey hair and moustache and a goofy smile and a pale blue button-up with fucking flamingos on it. Lord, have mercy. But it really would be fine, absolutely fine, if the person next to fae would have the decency to leave fae alone. Which they didn’t.

It’s clear to fae that they’re the sort of person to spark up a conversation with strangers, and Loki isn’t really in the mood. Rather, fae wants to plug in faers music and hopefully sleep through most of the flight.

“Hey there, buddy!” faers new companion says cheerfully, strapping themself in, apparently not noticing one earbud already in faer ear, “Going to Venice too, huh?”

Loki feels the well-known urge to roll faers eyes. But suck it up, you know… try to be polite, fae tells faerself. “Sure am.”

The passenger nods, satisfied with the short answer it seems. This is why fae is quick to plug the other headphone in before they can get the chance to change their mind. Maybe it isn’t a big deal, they’ll get the hint, surely.

But boy, fae is soon going to discover how wrong fae is. This is going to be a long trip indeed.

It’s about one hour after take-off that the trouble starts, more or less. Loki managed to nod off to sleep in an instant, thank the heavens, because… flying. Not great. Sleeping’s become fae’s number one strategy, if fae absolutely has to get on a plane, that is.

Fae made sure to give faers older brother shit for this trip due to that very reason, but Thor’s apologetic eyes and the convoluted three other ways of transport he desperately planned to specifically get fae out of that plane was too endearing, and also too much trouble. Fae loves him for it. Fae also hates carrying luggage, so this is definitely the least tiring option.

Soon enough, however, Loki’s stirred from faers slumber by the tinny voice of the pilot over the speakers, and faers new companion tapping the armrest.

On and on and on. Oh my god, they’re tapping their foot, too.

It’s fine, it’s fine , fae almost feels bad, but fae’s also antsy and groggy which is in no way a good combination.

Regardless, Loki figures fae might as well shake it off, for now. One hour down, eight left to go.

The tapping, combined with the sickening heat sneaks up on fae way, way too quick now. Fae nears the point of airing a snappy comment towards the person next to fae, which could potentially start an argument but who cares .

Perhaps luckily faers stream of thought is interrupted by the flight attendant from earlier, blonde ponytail and a slightly strained smile, rolling along a cart of coffee and soft drinks. Or rather, interrupted by their companion calling out for the attendant.

“Oh, excuse me? My apologies,” they say once they have the blonde’s attention, “My buddy here, they were asleep earlier. Didn’t know what you’d like to drink, heh.”

The last part obviously aimed at yours truly, Loki finds faerself furrowing faer brows. That’s… thoughtful. Fae could’ve surely asked for something faerself. Alright. Anyway.

The attendant nods, seeming to hesitate whether they should start listing all the drinks. Loki puts faer hand up in confirmation, “I’d appreciate some black tea, if that’s possible?”

“Of course,” they reply, hilariously chipper. Faer companion winks, which isn’t really a wink because they don’t seem to know how .

And now, that is what fae expects to be the end of a talk, once more, as fae thanks the blonde and sends them on their way. In fact, fae would grab faers earbuds again, immediately, if the person next to fae didn’t nod in faers direction and tapped the seat twice.

“Sorry to put you on the spot, there,” they say.

Loki tries to keep faer huff in, but to no avail. “Don’t worry about it.”

And faers companion flashes another one of the goofy smiles, such a suburban parent thing. They can’t be more than ten years older than fae, twenty years at the most. The grey hair suits them, Loki decides.

“Oh and how silly of me!” they nearly gasp, “I forgot to ask for your pronouns. I’m terribly sorry.”

Jot fae down as pleasantly surprised.

Fae’ll admit, faer is a little too quick to make assumptions. And given the generational gap, Loki had faer expectations at the very bottom, sadly.

Maybe this person isn’t too bad. Now, at least, whatever. They better be quiet soon, though, because fae’s not sure fae will last a nine hour plane ride with polite small talk, the thought alone is enough to get on faer nerves.

“That’s alright,” fae replies, and if fae returns the smile for just two seconds, it’s not like anyone else will notice, “I go by fae/faer. And you?”

Faers companion’s smile widens by about three sizes, which should be impossible, logistically. “Lovely! He/him for me. Argh, I’ll quit bothering you now, I fear that announcement woke you.”

Loki nods. It did. And he did. Whatever.

“What can you do,” fae sighs, trying to make it significantly less noticeable. “Thanks for the, uh, the tea.”

This man is a lot more pleasant than fae had feared, could definitely have and have had worse company. He’s frustratingly nice, actually. The annoyance will be bearable though, Loki concludes.

And so faer companion waves his hand dismissively, before picking up the magazine from his lap, “No bother. Name’s Mobius, by the way.”

“Loki.”

Mobius will soon prove to be interesting company, well, besides the horrendous clumsiness from earlier, which is just more than consistent.

The man has stumbled over Loki’s legs both times he went to the bathroom, dropped the lunch tray from the blonde attendant straight on the floor and had to get it replaced, and, of bloody course, couldn’t figure out the small television without fae’s help. It’s fine .

It’s not nearly as angering as faers brother at his most oblivious and annoying, but fae needs to sleep again at some point. Soon.

Loki would be lying, though, if fae claimed the sheepish smile from faer companion wasn’t just a tiny bit endearing.

Fae can imagine Thor wiggling his brows if he saw fae, now.

This Mobius is just so overbearingly polite and ridiculous, it strangely doesn’t bother Loki all that much. Fae’s not going soft for a complete stranger, though. How dare you even suggest such a thing?

And when fae attempts to fall asleep for the second time, for real, Mobius starts rummaging for something on his side and tapping his feet obnoxiously loud and adjusting the air conditioning when it was already perfect, thank you very much , Loki’s just about to put faer rule of politeness to hell and let the man know what fae thinks until-

Fae stops in faer tracks for a second.

Mobius is humming. Another reason to be annoyed, perhaps, only detail is that Loki instantly recognizes the melody, not from faer own playlist, but a place a bit further away in faer memory.

That’s Blackbird. No doubt about it.

Who is fae kidding, logistically, there’s probably only a tiny fraction of the human population that doesn’t know The Beatles. Regardless, it strikes Loki as… nostalgic.

Faer mother used to sing that song, in particular. It was her favorite, fae recalls. She even sung it to fae and Thor when they were very young. Long before she got sick. And… okay.

Loki shakes faer head at faerself. Not now .

But that memory’s been distant for a while, so it’s rather almost relieving to unlock it now, the revelation that it still exists, still tangible if fae digs it up from faer recollection.

You see, Thor talks about their mother a lot. He can deal with emotion, you know, unlike faerself, hence why faer older brother is the best shoulder to cry on. But don’t tell him fae said that.

For some reason, the words slip out of fae’s mouth before fae can stop them, “I love that song.”

The man next to fae seems to startle for a moment, but quickly collects himself. “Hm?”

“My apologies, uh… you were humming. Blackbird. ”

Mobius’ eyes widen, like he’s had the biggest revelation of his life, “Ah! Me too. Gave that one to my daughter, actually- she collects vinyl records, and that was her first.”

Loki finds faerself chuckling, fondly, in a way that seems uncharacteristic, even to faerself. Reminds fae of faer mother, again.

“My mother used to sing me that,” fae decides to tell, since the man has already shared some information from his life, might as well return the favor, “When my brother and I were little, growing up.”

And Mobius puts the crossword page of magazine he was occupying himself with before down, already engaged in the short conversation, that… is a little endearing, fae’ll admit it. “It’s a classic. Are you traveling with them? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

Loki waves a hand, “You could say that, hah. My brother’s getting married tomorrow.”

This news only excites the grey haired man more, by several degrees. He’s grinning, at this point, and almost jumping in his seat, as if he’s been waiting for something, anything to celebrate. “Oh my, congratulations!”

Fae nods, simply, shortly. Hopefully it still conveys that fae is very much excited for the big day. Loki feels bad that fae doesn't quite express this that much, not… bursting with energy as many would, but that doesn’t mean fae’s not happy!

“Got stuck on ringbearer duty,” fae jokes, grimacing for good measure. Wait, fae’s joking with a stranger right now? What the fuck?

“Of course,” Mobius replies, getting the sarcasm, thank heavens. And when Loki asks the same question, he laughs, “Not nearly as exciting here, I’m afraid. My ex-husband and I split up a year ago, and I haven’t exactly had any vacation since then, so… flying solo.”

This is something that could make Loki flinch, almost.

First of all, embarrassing to ask something personal and the reveal of something that personal and that just makes fae feel all kinds of rude. Second of all, ex- husband , huh. Wait, wait, wait. That’s not shocking, fae means… it’s not like fae starts to think about the fact that the man next to fae is single or anything. What?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, don’t apologise. Peaceful divorce, no worries there.” This talk is… nice. Another sort of peaceful silence falls upon them and it isn’t even uncomfortable, Loki thinks. Fucking weird.

And fae guesses that maybe Mobius is attractive, his face is soft and smile annoyingly contagious and his hands are rugged, wonder what he works with- no, no , stop. Brain, shut it. Shut it down immediately.

Thor would be having a real field day if he could see fae, right now.

“One day, you’ll find someone to melt your heart, trust me!” he had assured fae - once again, older brother, such a romantic, they couldn’t be more opposite. Perhaps that’s why they get along so well.

And so their talk progresses, and it’s really not that dull small talk to fill the void as Loki expected. Most shocking thing all day, of the year, even, fae might just like this man’s company.

Turns out this Mobius has an extraordinary interest in watersports, particular jet skis, knows way too many facts about that, too. He’s also a history teacher, and likes pineapple on pizza, which is nearly unforgivable, but he also shows Loki tons of vacation pictures of him on said jetskis, and him with his daughter, and his dog, so fae will look past it.

Pity this is a chance encounter, in… six and a half hours, they’ll be on the ground and fae probably won’t ever see the man with the silver hair and moustache and horrendous flamingo shirt ever again.

Perhaps it’s for the best.

Good news! Loki finally managed to fall asleep again, fae was due for that, only to be awakened once more by shaking and tumbling.

Until now, fae’s been talking more and more with the man next to fae and noticing little things about Mobius which fae doesn’t want to consider too much why fae is noticing or why fae is finding him adorable and attractive and way too funny for his own good. Right.

Is Loki turning into faer brother, right? God forbid.

But the grey haired man’s jokes are good, fae swears. And he’s so goddamn polite and has apologised to fae for the smallest things, even going to the bathroom , so many times that fae’s lost count. Now, normally, a stranger next to fae being this unable to sit still or be quiet, but… at this point, Loki’s struggling to be mad about anything.

Mobius’ voice, even, is strangely soothing, huh. It goes even softer and almost to the point of a whisper when he talks about his daughter, which may or may not make fae’s heart warm. Just a bit. Listen. Listen.

He just sounds so caring, right?

Besides that, his hands. And eyes. Everything about him just exudes warmth, for some reason. Strangely enough, it makes Loki want to hold the man’s hand. Nuh uh, not happening.

Maybe that’s why fae somehow found it easier to fall asleep again, about halfway through the flight. A sense of safety, somehow. That is, until fae’s now awake once again, the seat feels like it’s moving, most passengers back seated and strapped in, the plastic cup of water on Mobius’ tray table looking awfully disturbed and fragile.

Shit. This is not good. Not good at all.

Granted this is probably just turbulence, right? Right. Most flight crashes begin with turbulence, though, don’t they?

Oh god. Why is fae’s companion so fucking calm right now? This is bullshit.

Loki feels like ripping faer seatbelt off and screaming at whoever is responsible for this, but no one is and fae’s legs feel frozen and hands are shaking way, way too much.

When the sky turned grey when they were younger, when they were home alone as their mother was in the hospital and their father was… God knows where, Thor used to comfort fae. Loki’s always been scared of lightning. Fae’s older brother loves it, fascinated by it for some stupid reason, but Thor also knows when fae needs him without even saying anything.

His presence alone helped, and he’d only hug fae when fae asked. What the fuck is Loki supposed to do now?

Fae is not about to cry in a damned airplane full of strangers because of turbulence. Absolutely not happening. But fae’s throat is almost closed up, now, Loki can’t do anything , even if fae wanted to.

It’s sort of like the world’s cracking and swallowing fae up. No, fae doesn’t really give a shit if fae sounds overdramatic right now, because fae’s freaking out, almost to the point of the tears stinging like needles behind Loki’s eyes, and if the tight feeling in faer chest is any indication, this is bad. No. No, no, no.

Thing is, Loki doesn’t quite realise how long the shaking’s been despite the pilot reminding them all to remain calm, or how long fae’s been stuck without being able to breathe, until a hand comes to rest on faer upper arm.

Fae can’t even turn faer head, but notices the touch immediately. Then, a whisper of unintelligible words meets fae, Loki doesn’t understand, so fae swallows thickly and gets a, “I beg your pardon?” out through clenched teeth.

“Is there anything I can do?” The question comes clearer now. Loki frowns, faer hands shaking even more than before.

“What?”

“To help. I know it’s scary,” Mobius says. He sounds eerily calm, but also as a fog of assurance and stability, distracting fae even if it’s just for a second or two.”

Loki sniffs, shakes faer head at faerself, “This is childish.”

“Fear isn’t childish, darling,” the man says, and when fae finally finds some way to look at him, a bearable way through the held in tears and the voice in faer head nagging fae to suck it and not be such a fucking coward, Mobius smiles, “If you want me to leave you alone, I will.”

So Loki considers this. That is, after all, what fae wants about 95% of the time.

However, embarrassingly enough, fae sort of has come to prefer the attention of faer companion. Fae hates him a little bit for it.

“Do you mind if I hold your hand?” Loki asks then, surprising faerself, and Mobius perhaps, but maybe he’s just hiding it. The request for affection sounds strange in faer mouth. “I just need a moment.”

And will you look at that, the grey haired man has already grabbed faer hand before replying. Softly, simply a hand moving down from faer arm and resting on faer knuckles. Loki decides to latch onto his hand, because screw it. Mobius doesn’t remove it.

“Not at all,” he replies.

This is, by all measurements, very uncommon.

Loki’s holding a complete stranger’s hand, a stranger who offered comfort and fae asked for comfort, a stranger who apparently could see past faer gritted teeth and realise just how scared fae was.

The turbulence feels like it’s never going to end. Mobius doesn’t say anything, or hum anything, or tap his foot like he did before. Just looks at his little screen and suddenly taps his thumb one time on the back of Loki’s hand, and while fae still can’t breathe, fae does nod to the man offering one of his earbuds to him.

The Beatles, typical.

When Loki counts the minutes of each song, it helps. Fae focuses on the strumming of the guitar and the warmth of the man’s hand in his until fae’s own has stopped shaking completely, and not long after the plane stops, too.

They’ve passed. The glowing seat belt sign is turned off. A two digit number of passengers rush for the bathrooms. The baby four rows down has stopped crying.

Loki sniffs once, breathes out like faer life depends on it, before realising and extracting faer hand from Mobius’. Fae held onto it for way longer than necessary. The grey haired man just smiles again, however, snaps his fingers and offers fae a piece of gum. “You did great.”

Fae accepts. Why does Mobius feel… safe, somehow? They’ve known each other for seven hours now, goddamnit.

Whatever. Maybe fae can catch sleep for the rest of the trip.

But then, fae only now realises what the man next to fae said earlier, or rather, what he called.

Darling . That’s a nickname. A nickname by a divorced dad who enjoys The Beatles and wears printed shirts and is passionate about jet skis and holds Loki’s hand when fae’s nervous. Alright, then.

To Loki’s and probably everyone’s surprise, those nine hours have suddenly passed surprisingly fast.

Soon enough, they’re preparing for landing and fae’s not feeling like the world’s crashing down and Mobius is chatting again, which fae doesn’t mind at all anymore. Damn that man.

But here they are, on the ground, and faer companion is grabbing his luggage and gestures for Loki to go first, such a gentleman, and he’s smiling so stupidly all the goddamn time, it’s exhausting. Almost.

In fact, Loki’s caught up with Mobius and his chatting and his gestures and faer own thoughts and smile fae can’t hide until a text pops into faer phone, from Thor. Over half of it is emojis, faer older brother is ridiculous, but fae reassures him fae has safely arrived, now fae just has to get to the hotel.

The rehearsal dinner is early in the morning, so fae better get unpacked.

Brunnhilde sends a group of selfies with Jane, too, because you know, couples. Loki being the only single person in their friend group at this point is in no way surprising, and it’s not like fae was eager to bring a date to the wedding, either.

Except… well.

Fae is tragically still staring at Mobius just a little too long when they pick up their suitcases, the conversation dwelled to a comfortable silence already.

The grey haired man must be talking on the phone with his daughter, if the, “I love you,” is any indicator, then he tells a puns that is just so bad fae can hear her laugh from the speaker. He also freaks out about his lost sunglasses until Loki nicely ( very nicely) points them out on the top of his head.

Okay. Loki’s about to do the stupidest thing in faer life. Here goes nothing.

“Mobius,” fae says as they exit the airport out into the street, fellow tourists bustling alongside them, “I have an… unusual preposition, if that’s alright. If you’re not in a rush?”

Loki finds the nerves bottling up in faerself, for some reason. Fae picks at faer black nail polish before the man turns back to fae with a raised brow and smile perfectly intact.

“I’m all ears,” he grins. Fae may feel a little like floating.

Fae also takes a deep breath before continuing, “Remember my brother’s wedding tomorrow?” It’s more a rhetorical question, but Mobius nods in certainty.

“Well, Thor- my brother, offered me a plus one, of course,” Loki starts out, trying to word it in a way that doesn’t sound absolutely absurd, “I don’t have one, uh… a date. And well, I was wondering if you’d like to come with me.”

The grey haired man raises both his eyebrows now, seeming deep in thought.

Was that weird? It was weird. Can fae even save this, oh god, “I mean, you’re probably busy. Gosh, my apologies, that was stupid-”

“Loki,” Mobius interrupts, a hand on faer upper arm once again, grin turning even bigger and warmer if not just a tiny bit curious. He adjusts the sunglasses on his nose before continuing, “That was far from stupid, I assure you. I will say I’m probably not a good choice for that.”

Loki almost wants to scream. “What do you mean?”

Faer companion has this habit of laughing at himself. Loki still can’t decide if it’s most endearing or annoying.

“I’m just an old fool,” Mobius tells fae. That’s rather infuriating, definitely false, but fae can’t bring faerself to interrupt, everything about the man just signalling softness and familiarity and like an embrace of some kind that fae hasn’t even experienced, “Can’t imagine why someone as… stunning as yourself would want me around, is all.”

Loki softens faer irrational irritation several degrees. The compliment might even cause a blush to rise in faer cheeks, but you take that to your grave.

Fae likes this Mobius, that’s absolutely certain. An old fool, faer ass. Consider that faer new plan, to get to know faer new companion way more than this. Hopefully soon. Hopefully for more than just this vacation, maybe. One can dream.

“Excuse my bluntness,” Loki answers, already reaching out for the man’s hand the same way he did to fae mere hours ago. This is new, and yet, like coming back home. “But I don’t think I’d want anyone else.”

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you-can-wear-my-face · 4 years

Text

Thomas Hewitt/Selectively mute!Reader, part 5

Summary: The Sheriff picks you up after you broke down on the side of the road. You know this can’t end well, but he makes you an offer you can’t refuse; use your nursing skills to heal the giant man he brings you to, and you can go free. Unfortunately for you, he obviously needs more than a nurse. (And how can you be sure he’ll really let you go when ‘Thomas’ is healed?)

Content Warning: Female reader, cannibalism, mild violence/references to violence, veiled reference to rape, period-typical homophobia. (PLEASE NOTE: These are not my feelings on homosexuality, and in context, Luda Mae is relatively open-minded for her time period, but I’d consider it mildly homophobic by today’s standards. No slurs are used, but I’m tagging for safety.)

A/N: We’re switching perspective, but maintaining 2nd person narration. I think it should be clear, but let me know if anything is confusing. This is only my second attempt at writing in 2nd person.

Part Four

Part One

In the kitchen, while you were upstairs tending to Thomas, Luda Mae stood at the kitchen cutting board, slicing tomatoes. Hoyt came up behind her with a package of meat, a shaky “S” scribbled on the brown paper for “sausage”. Thomas may not have been literate, but the family knew his brand of shorthand and that was all that mattered.

Hoyt laid the package on the counter beside her, then leaned his weight on one elbow. “What’re you thinking, Mamma?” She glanced at him, mouth pursed. Her gaze drifted upstairs, and Hoyt sniffed derisively. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

She stilled her hand, resting the tip of the blade on the cutting board. It gleamed in the harsh light of the late afternoon sun spilling in through the window. “Where was she going, I wonder,” she asked aloud.

“Don’t matter. She ain’t ever getting there,” Hoyt replied.

“Think she’s got any family that’d come snooping for her?” Anyone she would miss? Anyone that would miss her?

Hoyt grumbled. “Ain’t ever mattered before. I don’t know why it’d matter now.” He gave her another pointed look. She just shrugged and resumed slicing. The knife slipped through the tomato so easily the flesh never so much as bruised. Thomas made sure his Mamma’s knives were never dull. Such a good boy....

“Brave little thing, isn’t she?” Luda Mae observed aloud.

He grunted. “She’s meat—soon as Tommy’s back on his feet. So don’t go getting attached. Ain’t like we need another mouth to feed.”

“It’d be useful. Having a nurse.”

“She ain’t family.”

“She wouldn’t be the first adopted Hewitt.” Or she could marry into the family, but Luda Mae didn’t want to give Charlie any bad ideas.

He snorted. “Oh, yeah? How good do you think she is with a chainsaw?” Luda Mae glared at him, but he returned the look with upraised brows. “She ain’t family, Mamma. What makes you think she’ll be willing to do what needs doing?”

“The girl ain’t a stranger to hardship. She’d understand.”

“Now, how do you figure that?”

She didn’t bother trying to explain to him. “Call it woman’s intuition.”

He snorted, a little smirk quirking his mouth. “Woman’s intuition, huh?” His tongue fumbled over the word ‘intuition’, but he managed to convey his derision nonetheless. “Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” He lifted his chin, scratching the underside of his jaw. “Sure is pretty, at least. I wouldn’t mind getting better acquainted—“ Luda Mae whirled around, knife uplifted. “Jesus, Mamma! What the hell’s wrong with you?!” His eyes were focused on the blade’s tip, mere inches from his nose.

“You’re gonna leave that girl alone.”

“What does it matter? She’s meat.”

“Not while she’s treating Thomas she ain’t!” Luda Mae lifted her chin, eyes fierce as she held the knife with an ease that came from long practice. “You leave that girl alone. Whether she ends up at the table or on it, you ain’t gonna touch a hair on her head. Not ‘til Tommy’s well. You got that, Charlie?” she emphasized his name, earning a disgruntled sigh.

Ultimately, though, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah. I got it.” He looked away, arms crossed. “Girl’s already puttin’ maggots on his chest. Can’t see how she could make it much worse for him, but I won’t give her a reason to. Happy?”

“I’ll be happy if you keep your word. And you watch your tongue—the good Lord didn’t die so you could use his name like that.”

“Don’t go pointing knives at my face, and I won’t!” he said, already leaving the room.

“Where’re you going?” she asked.

“Talk to Monty about our guest.” Under his breath, he added, “If I ain’t allowed to have fun with her, then he ain’t either.”

Luda Mae shook her head. “Men,” she grumbled. It might be nice to have another woman in the house. Henrietta and Kathy were fine friends—practically family—but it wasn’t the same as having another woman in the home. Especially if you took to Tommy.

Tommy’d always been so shy. If he’d ever had a crush on a girl—or even another boy; Luda Mae might have, initially, disapproved of such a thing, but if Tommy ever found a boy to love, she imagined she could find it in herself to accept him—he never said ‘boo’ about it. Poor boy was probably too shy to act on his feelings, if he even allowed himself to acknowledge them. Besides, the kids he’d gone to school with had been so cruel to him. It was no wonder her sweet, sensitive boy had been too timid to approach any of them.

But you....

You barely seemed to notice his facial scarring. You treated him like he was just another patient—even after Hoyt had kidnapped you. You weren’t squeamish, and you’d even said good people could be driven to do bad things despite themselves. You seemed ideal.

Luda Mae wasn’t going to get her hopes up—disappointment was too close a companion—but it seemed a shame to dismiss this opportunity or to sabotage it. She’d keep Charlie away from you, and he’d make sure Monty minded his manners. The rest would be up to you and Tommy.

She tilted the cutting board over the pan, dumping tomatoes in amongst the diced onions, already sizzling. Then she opened the package of sausage, breaking it up into bite-sized pieces to brown. Her nose curled a little at the unpleasant smell—not quite like boar taint, but closer than she was comfortable with. She wished for a little thyme or oregano, but settled for rosemary. The hearty shrub didn’t mind the Texan heat, unlike the more delicate herbs the family could no longer afford.

She wondered, as she ground the fresh rosemary between her fingers, if you were more like that hearty shrub, or if you were too delicate to withstand their way of life.

Well. They’d find out soon enough.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt/reader #female reader #luda mae #sheriff hoyt #charlie hewitt #selectively mute reader #texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface #leatherface/reader

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eirabach · 4 years

Text

Taking Chances [1/1]

For @janetm74 and @badthingshappenbingo! Scott + Alan and ‘More Expendable than You’

This is the danger.

This has always been the danger.

Scott’s up here, and Alan’s down there and really, John ought to know.

It isn’t like he wouldn’t do it too.

There’s a hole in the ground and a hole in Scott’s belly where he thinks, he thinks, he used to keep his stomach but it dropped right out oh, about ten minutes ago, and now it’s burning up in the lava flow right about where Pod B is creeping its way toward – well. Hell, by all accounts.

All accounts except John’s, anyway.

John has other words for it. Long, scientific ones. Like pyroclastic and rates of descent and –

And it’s possible Scott stopped listening somewhere between watching his youngest brother clamber up the side of a rumbling volcano and the thunder that followed, and now there’s ash billowing from one hole and bile from the other and he doesn’t really have time for this. At all.

“Say again, Thunderbird One?”

“You heard me, John.”

“I heard someone suggest something unutterably stupid. Are you sure you don’t want to try again? That ash cloud isn’t staying up there all day, Scott, and you do not want to be under it when it drops.”

“I can beat it.” There’s the John equivalent of a long, pregnant pause. “I can.”

“You can’t just demand – that isn’t how physics –”

“I don’t give a damn about physics, John!”

A voice pipes up from the smoking, burning fields below. “Uh, do I get a say in this?”

“No!”

“No.”

“Right.” Alan sighs, “I mean I am the one on the ground so –”

“Shut up, Alan.”

“Hold your position, Pod Explorer. Scott –”

But Scott’s done with listening, already out of his seat, helmet on, jet pack primed. He sets Thunderbird One to hover outside of the range of the ash cloud, and kicks at the emergency egress button.

“Save it,” he says, and jumps.

And it works – at first. He roars down toward the little yellow dot below, boosters at full power, and honestly John worries way too much about all the wrong things. Scott’s got this and then he’s gonna get Alan and then –

Ah. And then. The wind changes, ash blinding him as it sticks to his visor, settles heavy on his shoulders. Makes his jet pack whine and stutter and –

He hits the ground with a grunt, not quite hard enough to really hurt, but enough to wind him, the jetpack taking most of the impact anyway. Which is just as well, really, because as he sits up – gingerly, not that he’d admit it – he realises, oh.

“Uh, John –” The piece of land he’s landed on is maybe ten feet square, the edges crumbling into a bubbling, stinking lake of fire. “I may have a situation.”

Even through the sound of the ground cracking around him, the sputtering of the lava around his little island, the howl of the dying volcano, he hears the sigh – “Alright. You asked for it.”

—

On the other side of the volcano, Two is ferrying the unlucky denizens of the closest campground to safety and Virgil – Virgil sounds pissed.

“EVA. Under an ash cloud that’s gonna drop blocks of rock the size of Four on your head. Of course, why wouldn’t you?” Alan’s pretty sure he can hear a migraine forming just from the tone of Virgil’s voice. “How long?”

“Under current atmospheric conditions? Less than three minutes.”

“2.5074,” Eos pipes up cheerfully. “And counting.”

“I can’t – I have fifty people to get to safety here Scott!”

“I know, I don’t expect –”

“No? Now we’ve gotta worry about you as well!”

“No one needs to worry about me!”

“Oh well that’s okay then, hope you’ve got your best boots on.” And then there’s Gordon, sticking his oar in. “Since you’re gonna be tap dancing your way to a fiery doom.“

"Right this moment I’d pay to see that.”

“I can hear you you know.”

“Oh it’s just selective hearing loss then?”

Alan drops his head to the dash with a metallic thud.

“Uh, you ok?” His rescuee looks pretty uncomfortable squeezed into the back of the pod. Listening to International Rescue bickering is probably not helping.

“I’m really sorry about this.“

"Hey, no. I got a brother. I get it.”

Alan hits his baldric with a grimace. “Thunderbird One hold your position.”

“Ala –”

“Do as you’re told for once Scott.”

He has no idea if the answering silence is due to shock or muting, and he doesn’t honestly much care.

His fingers tighten around the Pod’s controls. He could – he ought to – ask John what to do next, but John’s kinda got a lot going on right now with the whole ‘evacuate an entire county while simultaneously dressing Scott down to the size of a newt’ thing. But the clock is ticking and the hiker in the back is sweating and –

And this is his goddamn job, isn’t it?

Pod B makes its delicate way over the cracked crust of the lava flow, and Alan keeps his eyes fixed on the route ahead – on Scott – instead of the billowing threat 200 yards away.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He grits his teeth, counts down from ten. “Rescuing an idiot.” Then, because he feels like it. “Duh.”

Already Alan can see the rock beneath Scott shifting with the currents, and they’re slow enough now but that cloud’s coming down and Scott’s gonna be –

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Alan extends the Pod’s legs and sends up a swift, silent prayer that Brains’ heat proofing stands the test. “I’ll be one minute and then we can –”

“Alan, no. Back off.”

Pod B pauses, one spindly toe dipped into the lava field between Alan and Scott. “Say what now? Look Scott, I dunno where you were during third grade history but lemme tell you what happened to the people in Pompeii cause it was –”

“Get out of here, and that’s an order.”

“You gotta be –” Alan’s denial is cut short, a block of volcanic matter as tall as the Pod and twice as wide slamming into the unstable ground to his right. The hiker whimpers. “Oh man! Okay. okay!” He sets the Pod skipping through the pools, smoke and steam obscuring much of what’s in front of him until Scott’s just a vague blueish blur. “Get ready to jump on cause uh, I ain’t gonna have time to roll out the red carpet or anything –”

“I said, leave.”

“Nuh huh, not happening, hang on just two more seconds –”

“Alan!”

He skids to a halt at the edge of Scott’s little island and shoves the door open.

“Come on, come on, come on!”

Scott – Scott backs off. Alan gapes at him.

“What are you –”

“I said go!”

“And leave you to roast? What, like you’re expendable now?”

“Well – well maybe I’m just more expendable than you.”

It hits him harder than any pyroclastic flow ever could. His heart skips a beat, six, starts up only to try and climb out his throat and god, he might actually be sick. He might just straight up vomit his entire heart out onto the floor ‘cause that only sounds over dramatic but what Scott’s threatening – what Scott’s doing –

Alan narrows his eyes. Wills his heart to stop trying to beat its way through his chestplate.

“I have never heard anything so stupid in all my life. Get in. Or I’m getting out.”

They stare at each other. Somewhere in the back of his mind Alan faintly recognises the sound of his hiker having a panic attack. He thinks it’s the hiker. Maybe it’s him. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Scott’s still just standing there and their two minutes is up and –

Gordon’s voice is grim, serious, and man there is gonna be one awkward family dinner tonight.

“Alan, grab him. By the balls if necessary.”

Alan does as he’s told. Scott’s almost twice his size and weighed down by a jetpack but he hardly even notices, dragging him up through the hatch and launching him in the direction of the definitely semi hysterical hiker. Two’s grappling hooks hit them at the same moment Scott lands half in the poor guy’s lap, and Alan points a shaking finger at him as he tries to stagger to his feet against the sway of the Pod.

“Stay there. Say nothing.”

They rise towards Two’s belly in a perfect, awkward silence that’s broken only by the clang of the pod doors opening and the shuddering breaths of the unfortunate hiker.

Alan docks the Pod with far more force than is really necessary. Scott grapples to keep his footing again, and a little dark part of Alan thinks serves you right. The hiker clears his throat.

“Uh – thank you. I um – I can get out now, right?”

Alan grunts, and pulls the lever for the exit. The hiker skitters down the ladder and disappears into the vastness of Two’s belly. He’ll probably get lost there, too. Alan will have to remind Virgil to drop him off. Somewhere. Whatever. His hands are shaking and his face feels hot and Scott’s looking at him all oh no what’s the matter like he doesn’t know. Like he’s forgotten.

“Alan, I really – I don’t understand what you’re so upset about?”

“You think it’s a compliment? So – so what? I’m the youngest, I’m the baby so fuck the rest of you right?”

“Alan!”

“Oh my – I’ve got ears, you know! Ears and – and feelings and I don’t think I ought to be all touched that you apparently think the best thing for me is to leave me on my own.”

“That isn’t what I meant –”

“No.” He spins round, face hot and fists tight. “No, but it’s what you did. What you do. And you – one day you might actually – and I have to live with that? No.” He shakes his head, wills the furious burn to stay behind his eyelids. He won’t cry. He won’t. “Never. Don’t you dare.”

Scott blinks at him.

“Sorry,” he says, and it’s all cool and calm and ugh. “But if it comes down to you or me –”

“What about me or Virgil? Or John, or Gordon? Huh?” Alan takes two steps forward and jabs his finger into Scott’s chest. Scott stares down at it, nonplussed. “What, do you rank us?”

“No! No of course not!”

“So what is it then, huh? Cause I dunno if you’ve noticed but by the rules of the universe you can only die for one of us. Once.” And dammit, dammit his breath is coming in stutters and his eyes are leaking and – “I lost dad, I don’t remember mom, I don’t – I can’t –”

And Scott wraps his arms around him and squeezes, tight.

“I’m sorry I frightened you, kid.”

Alan groans into Scott’s dusty flight suit. “I wasn’t scared. And I’m not a kid.”

“Uh huh.”

The steady rise and fall of his brother’s chest helps him to regulate his own breathing, the thud of Scott’s heartbeat a steadying force as he risks looking up.

He doesn’t have to look up quite as far as he used to. Not quite.

“Doesn’t matter anyway,” he says. “You won’t be able to try it again.”

Scott’s eyebrows tick up.

“No? You gonna stay home next time?”

“Not likely,” he sniffs. “John’s gonna kill you, you know.”

“With you around to rescue me?” And Scott’s smiling, hand in Alan’s hair, and he lets himself smile back because – because this is what matters, isn’t it. This is what isn’t, won’t, can’t ever be expendable. “I’ll take my chances.”

#thunderbirds are go #Thunderbirds #scott tracy #alan tracy #bad things happen bingo #clare vs writers block

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 138: Excess of Phlegm

A gnome tried to bite him on the nose. James snatched the thing by its ankle right before the teeth broke skin and was already hurling it as far away from him as he could before he'd even properly gotten to his feet.

The fact that none of them suffered from their brains melting for the recurring switch between night and day was the real mystery to all this. There was a big green pond full of frogs Longbottom was sloshing his way through, the place was lined with gnarled trees and plenty of plants he'd been able to identify from Herbology class and a few he hadn't. The Burrow was just visible in the distance and his stomach snarled with hunger, they really should have taken advantage of Slughorn's food selection while they had the chance, but then he saw Regulus storming over there and decided he'd starve rather than dealing with that arrogant child right now.

His scowl intensified when he saw Peter going after him, Merlin what he wouldn't give to have just left that kid behind! Between him and Snape, who ever would have guessed these two bothersome ones would cause so much misery along this blasted trip.

Sirius was coming over to him eagerly, and he did a double take as he saw the Polyjuice Potion had completely worn off of him and glanced down at himself in surprise to confirm the same, only just realizing everything was fuzzy back around the edges again not from his head still being sore from his latest impact with the ground. The feeling of moving like they were was worse than changing bodies, who knew?

"Odd," he pulled the ripped up shirt off and passed it back, half a mind to steal more clothes from the Weasley's for both of them while here. "Doesn't feel like it's been an hour."

"That spell I put on Longbottom wore off with the jump," Sirius recalled as he passed his glasses back. "To us, it definitely wasn't long enough to have done so. Guess this mess makes even the magic we use on each other wonky, how annoying." It would have been sort of interesting to somehow find a way to gauge time before now if they'd thought about it, but James found when he slipped his pants back on he still had the Polyjuice Potion in his pocket anyways and sighed as he uneasily patted it.

He looked back to see Sirius giving him a beseeching look. His eyes flickering to where Regulus had vanished and back with a look James couldn't quite believe, was he really fixing to defend that kid?

"Listen Prongs, thanks, really, but I wish you'd let him keep going. I hadn't even realized, but he needs to get all that off his chest if he really has a problem with you and I'd rather him take that out on me even unintentionally anyways." Sirius still finished with a guilty look in place that set him bristling.

"You don't deserve that Sirius!" He snapped back at once.

"He thought I was you," Sirius quickly reminded.

"That's not the point!" James insisted. "I wouldn't have just stood there letting him yell at me! He's not your bloody parents, and I'm not going to let him start doing that shit to you if you're hoping that makes it all better! I'm not even sure why you're trying!" He regretted the words the instant they slipped out, Sirius looked so confused and he'd been trying so hard to bite his tongue against saying anything, letting Sirius make his own decisions about his little brother.

"What do you have against Regulus?" Sirius didn't quite demand it, but he sounded so surprised James chose his next words carefully, he'd already felt vaguely paranoid before this. He'd only just turned fourteen after all.

"You never talk about him Sirius, less than even your parents. I always wondered, well, how much he knows about, well, some of your punishments," he admitted, and didn't like the response when Sirius rubbed absently at his shoulder and didn't look at him. Moony wasn't the only one with scars, but some weren't so visible.

He pressed in now that Sirius didn't flat deny it, "I'll not have you feeling guilty you didn't keep that in your life if he stood by and did nothing instead of helping you in that forsaken house."

Sirius let his hand drop and looked back at him steadily. "I don't know okay, I honestly don't want to know if he knows. He's not been in the room and laughing, if that's what you mean. Mostly he just hides in the attic when I start going at it with them and doesn't come down until he's summoned and I've usually cleaned myself up by then. If he suspects anything he hides it well."

"A trait you two share," James grudgingly let some of the ire trickle out of his voice, at least Regulus had never actually hurt Sirius then to appease his parents, the nightmare he hadn't been able to shake. Hearing Voldemort do so to his Padfoot had not let the idea rest though. "I still can't say I'm all gung ho helping you out with him Padfoot, especially if he's going to turn that temper on either of us."

"Hasn't had the best role model from anyone," Sirius quietly muttered.

"You're working on it," James gave a sort of laugh in admittance. Better than having come down the stairs and the two dueling to the death he supposed. He still didn't quite like Sirius just taking this in stride though if this was the alternative, it wasn't natural to not see Sirius fight back.

He sighed when he heard Smith starting the book and decided to brave the house alone for now as he distracted Sirius, "I'm going to see if there's food, and get us both a change of clothes. Go find Moony would you, haven't seen him exiting the garden with the others. Tell him for me I don't bloody care who he snogs in the meantime, will you?"

Sirius looked so hilariously startled that James wondered if he'd gotten it wrong then, but it was probably even better he leave the two to it then. Whatever the hell they were up to, it was helping Sirius, he could tell that much as Padfoot grinned and took off.

James walked with his head held high into the kitchen and made straight for the stove. The others crowded around the table watched him when he walked in, the book still having a few leaves clinging to pages in Alice's hand as she alternately read and shook her head at whatever conversation abruptly stopped at his entrance.

Snorting in derision as if he was supposed to care about being talked about, weather it was a group this size, the whole of his house annoyed he'd lost such a huge chunk of points for his latest prank, or the whole of Hogwarts laughing both at him and with him whenever a prank or counter prank was in action, he strode over to the stove and followed the basic steps of potions class to get a fire going and setting a pot in place before pausing in confusion.

Alice disengaged herself from the table, both of them ignoring the annoyed look Evans and Longbottom gave each other as she came up to him and asked, "like some help?"

"Sure," he smiled at once. "Know how to make grits? Ever tried syrup in that, it's to die for!"

She grinned at his enthusiasm and promised, "oh I'm sure we can whip up some of everything."

He couldn't help but smile at her, there was just something about her round face that radiated kindness, it wasn't hard to see why Longbottom was so smitten even if she was a little too timid for him to get the full appeal. She was short too, barely a few inches difference to Peter, but she nudged him aside gently and he didn't even think about stepping aside for her as she began going through the motions and talking in a level voice everything she was doing, though he hadn't actually asked for a walkthrough.

He listened though. He was painfully aware because of this future his parents clearly hadn't survived to take care of Harry, and it twisted up something in him to ever wonder for long how much time they had left, had they ever shown up in his wedding photos to Evans? While he could go home now and ask his mum to teach him this, he instead likened more to the idea she might not just laugh along with her boy for once, but give her something to be proud of as he studied her wand movements and copied with wavering success.

The milk, water, and salt were all carefully blended together and at a steady boil, even if he was sure they came out a bit too lumpy when Alice quietly redirected, "I hope everything's okay with those three."

The invitation was clear. He ruffled up his hair, his wand slipping and the stirring stopped for a moment as he considered telling her yes, and he would deal with his problems, again. That hadn't exactly been working out for him so far though, and damn if she hadn't been right back in Sirius' own house. Maybe if he'd just bloody talked to Padfoot before this future slammed him in the face he wouldn't have broken his ear drums and had his feelings so viciously kicked into him.

"Not sure how to get Sirius and Peter to talk to each other," he finally admitted his problem. It may have even worked there for a second in Slughorn's house, before Regulus had so rudely interrupted he was sure. "Padfoot's trying, but ah, he's not the best at using his words." He was always more of a free spirited, gestures, and reactionary kind of bloke, and he rarely tried to hide any of it. Maybe if Padfoot hadn't been suppressing how little he'd forgiven Peter on his behalf it wouldn't have been so bad! James wouldn't change him for the world. "I know he tried back in Malfoy's room, but it doesn't seem to have done much good."

He and Remus had been worried about just that, but hadn't let themselves interfere. "I'm not their mother, I can't just make them apologize to each other, but I don't know how else to help. What the hell do I say?"

He finally tapped the pot to get it stirring again lest something burn. It still felt weird to be saying this to anyone but Remus, but he hadn't anything else to offer but an apologetic shrug and mutual agreement there was just no mending this broken bridge with magic. At least Moony had promised he'd keep the two away from each other if he wanted, but that wasn't helping anymore than the two interacting the past few times. They'd been faking it thus far for his sake, and he knew that.

Now Regulus was trying to throw his opinion in, and he'd probably just pushed Peter farther away towards that kid. It's not like Wormtail had stood up for Sirius against the brat! He still didn't appreciate the last time Peter had shouted at Sirius back in the forest!

When Alice finally spoke, her voice was quiet but gentle, she seemed to respect he still was not trying to air their business and the others talking quietly at the table over their game once more should not be able to hear. "I don't know them as well as you do, but I hope you see laughing this off just isn't helping."

He grit his teeth to stop himself snapping at her that wasn't helping either, he still didn't know what else to do!

"I'd say, first step, just make sure you're all on the same page. Then, maybe, see where they want to go from there. Sometimes, we outgrow people, and that's not always a bad thing." She frowned at Evans, and James refused his own look to confirm it even if he knew in his heart what she meant and it was very, very true. He didn't see it as the same thing at all, Peter had never done anything like old Snivilius had. Sirius had over reacted in his anger, but this future wasn't letting up on them for a second about how awful things to come could be, he was entitled to an emotional outburst! He and Remus had tried to stop him from doing Peter a real harm!

"That's not very helpful," he huffed, removing the pot from the heat and grabbing down bowls.

"Sometimes the advice we need isn't what we want to hear," she shrugged, but she still looked sadly at her friend, and then back at him. "I'm sorry."

He huffed and changed the subject to syrup, bacon, and gravy, at least her company wasn't as bad as her fortune cookie nonsense.

Remus was still leaning against the apple tree he'd landed face first on and hadn't chosen to move, instead knocking his head softly against the bark in hopes it would knock some sense into him. Anger at himself still dominated rather than Padfoot not giving him some bloody warning for their stupid prank as he kept replaying what Sirius had said.

A break? They weren't even together as far as Sirius was concerned and he was already laughing about a break. What if Remus never asked for a break, would Sirius keep hooking up with him along with how many others when they got back? Would he be able to keep himself in check and go along with that, pretending to ignore any such thing was happening? He very much doubted it, and it only confirmed in him what he should have known back in that alley way, he really should put a stop to this now.

Amongst the cawing birds in the bright morning sun and the frogs still splashing about in their water, he heard someone approaching him and looked around in mild concern when he realized no shouting had resumed. If James and Regulus were off killing each other, they were doing it quietly.

It was the real Sirius this time, of this he was very confident of as Prongs would still be looking at him like a concerned parent about to give him the sex talk.

"You told him?" Sirius confirmed in delight as he barely came over in arms reach. He even turned around like the conversation was done there and they could go off to join James like nothing had happened.

He should have expected the gleeful smile. Sirius made himself as clear as possible on Slughorn's bed, Remus quickly reminded himself, and even before that. He only sees you as a playfriend, get over it!

Remus' scowl deepened, some of his self-anger getting an easy redirection. "No you arse, he figured it out when I didn't know it was you!"

Sirius just looked confused for a few more moments before he got it, and then he laughed as he edged closer. "What did you do?"

Remus shoved him back away in disgust. "It wasn't funny! What the hell are you so happy for?"

"I wanted to tell him," Sirius reminded with an eye roll, "what are you so angry for?"

Remus bit his lip rather than answer, this was going as horrible as it was possible to! "Look, it means something, different to me, telling people, alright." He tried to plead with him to understand. He clearly didn't. "Sirius, I know you don't see it as a big deal ever to tell us of your last dalliance, but it does to me, okay!"

Sirius just cocked his head to the side and kept watching him as if waiting for further explanation, like he couldn't fathom what other meaning there was, like he really couldn't picture telling his brother who he was hooking up with for any other reason than the fun of it. Remus tried to take some comfort in that Sirius really just didn't have the capacity to even be looking for anything more with anyone, not just with him.

"Okay, fine," Sirius mercifully gave in, though it was clear he still didn't get what Remus' problem was. Remus breathed in relief. "If you don't want him to know yet, I'll push him off what happened. I'd still like to know what you did," he added with a grin.

"How the hell do you think you're going to get away with that?" Remus demanded.

"If I can get McGonagall to not give me detention for transfiguring Eckers into a rocking horse I can do anything!" Sirius declared with the greatest hurt to his pride Remus was questioning this. He still hadn't stopped grinning. "You still have to tell me so I know what I'm working with."

Remus groaned and put his face in his hands, was this not bad enough without the teasing? "I hate you so much."

"Love you too Moony," Sirius casually agreed. "Now come on, work with me!"

Remus finally dropped his hands so he could glare at the bastard, and then let his hand rest on the inside of his thigh of the real Padfoot this time, leaning forward and whispering with as much annoyed suggestiveness in his voice he could, "is that a challenge?" He quickly dropped his hand and crossed his arms with a huff.

His pissed off attempt didn't really work, Sirius' eyes still glazed over with lust for a moment and he licked his lips before he shook his head and muttered, "yeah, that's not very subtle. Any more context I should know?"

"I still never got my pineapple," he sulked, as if that was really his biggest concern.

Sirius gave him a cheeky grin as he patted his bag. "Moony, I'm insulted, you really think I'd leave you hanging?"

He could not imagine where and how Sirius had found the time to nab that in between everything else that had gone on. The thoughtfulness in the action stunned him. Damn him for still getting aroused by this asshole when he wanted to keep glaring at him.

Padfoot's eyes flickered around the garden for inspiration, they even listened to some of the chapter in mutual silence as Harry finally confessed to his friends of the Prophecy hanging over his head and the Phlegm being Fleur Delacor back in wedding bliss to Bill Weasley, but that wasn't striking much. Remus' concern grew even Sirius' silver tongue wasn't going to get out of this one.

"Look, just hang around out here if you want to, avoid Prongs and the others, I'll cover for you, just like always." Sirius finally sighed. "I promise I'll get some actual food for you for the next spot, okay?" He even sacrificed the crystalized pineapple now, tossing him the box and not even taking a single one for himself.

"Don't bother," he grumbled as he caught it, but pocketed it. Deciding to scale the tree for now in any relief to get away, and half tempted to pitch himself off head first. Sirius pouted at him the whole way up until Remus was crunching on an apple so loud he could pretend he didn't hear him walk off.

Sirius kicked and huffed and paced the whole way back to the door, taking twice as long as the trip should be. Great, yeah, even Moony was mad at him now, this just really could not be going worse. He knew he couldn't force the guy to relax about being gay, or whatever he considered getting off with another guy to be. He'd heard plenty of horror stories from other kids in school for their parents' reactions. He had no wish to envision Remus anywhere near that, but did he really think so little of Prongs? Sirius just had to find a way to get him to relax about this, it was by far the easiest problem to focus on, he knew Moony so well he was sure he could come up with a solution to this. It was too bad he couldn't turn into another animal for him to help, he'd do it in a heartbeat.

He walked in and found himself plenty distracted by Alice teaching James how to cook. She was being really nice about it too, even as Sirius watched he waved his wand a little too enthusiastically and sent a packet of bacon flopping to the ground. She corrected him and he got it right in the next go with a very pleased smile and a half glance at Evans, who was ignoring him and playing cards at the table with the others again. James turned away remarkably fast and wasn't even trying to talk to her but kept his focus on Smith. The book was left open at an empty chair, so at least nobody was reading it to try and get them out of a nightmare.

Regulus at least looked in a semi better mood. He wasn't shooting death threats at Prongs at least, but just flat ignoring him, and he didn't at all look up at Sirius' entrance as he took the deck from Evans and shuffled with quite a bit of skill. Peter at least looked around with a half smile at him before waving him towards the food.

Sirius needed no such invitation and leaned next to the stove, stuffing himself silly and still not quite sick of breakfast meals despite the fact they'd been having that in abundance lately but purposefully leaning on Alice's other side and not engaging as her and Prongs chatted casually about their mums different home spells, something he couldn't join in on anyways.

James had never had a problem making friends, Sirius thought back, it was him who'd made the four of them friends, Sirius was still half convinced sifting through memories it would never have worked without Prongs as their buffer until they were all used to each other. So it was still his fault really James was now keeping himself on the outs and not engaging with the rest, but instead sticking by Sirius and keeping himself apart, something he and Moony much preferred.

Attention was one thing he'd had all his life, whether he wanted it or not. He glorified in it at school as much as Prongs, but still far more enjoyed their private jokes alone in their dorms once the laughter had died down, a choice when to be in the spotlight for his amusement and when to leave it, something he'd never been allowed before James.

It wouldn't kill the rest of these guys to understand a good joke and curiosity could do wonders for their own moods.

Stuffing the last of his food into his mouth, he went back to the scullery for a new change of clothes rather than this ripped up shirt, maybe that would help Remus at least somewhat. It greatly irked him nobody did ask why he was outside still even with a ready excuse.

Maybe it was slightly better this way, Remus would refuse this on principle and spoil what Sirius was going for.

He snatched the bottle of Polyjuice Potion out of the back of James' pocket and snagged five cups down, slamming them on the table and pouring a dollop into each, keeping just enough left in the vile he slipped it back in for Remus later and glared at the lot.

"Don't even dare tell me you're not curious?" He accused each and every one of them.

Alice came over at once plucking a thin black strand of hair away. "When I tried in class it was too lumpy, nearly a solid it was so gross, Slughorn gave me an A and I was worried it would be the wrong color if I tried. Thanks Sirius," and she dropped it in.

It frothed and bubbled for only a moment before settling on a beautiful shade of the lightest yellow, like a soft warm light, it even looked kind of fuzzy, like a baby chick.

She grinned in delight, but none of the others exactly looked encouraged to play along.

"Frank?" She sighed.

"I already know what mine is," he tried to put off, glancing guiltily between her and Lily and needlessly rearranging his hand. Sirius had no idea what was going on there. "It's blue, love, and yours is beautiful of course."

She was still pouting at him with those large amber eyes of hers, and so he finally gave in and winced as he came away with some loose blonde hairs, dropping them into his own.

Blue indeed, a very dark royal shade that had the consistency of a squashed berry. She still smiled in delight and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek, but neither went so far as to offer swapping cups and bodies, apparently even they weren't going to indulge them that far.

Peter glanced around but finally went next to at least show a spot of good faith, his mousy brown hair vanishing into the mud for moments before it changed. It was a speck of the light, just before the dawn sky showed a hint that was not quite black. It even had little sparkles of the stars, he'd swear it, the pinpricks desperate to still be seen as the opaque of the day began forcing its way through the peaceful night. In the crest of the velvet, just before the nocturnal animals would end, he smiled and shook his head fondly for the deep purple color.

"Come on then," Peter even reached over and gave Regulus a light prod. "They really didn't mean anything by it this time."

"I'll just wait for my own potions class when I do it," Regulus said stiffly, still only glaring at his plate as he played a card.

Alice knew better than to try and talk Lily into any such thing, she was too stubborn and probably already knew hers anyways considering her advanced potions work.

She was half right, Lily did know what color it was going to be, but with one last begrudging look at Potter to make sure he knew this wasn't for him, she gave her and Frank a friendly smile and plucked a red hair free for them to see.

It was the soft blush just under the surface, the light airy breath that flashed over and warmed the skin. Her breath caught in her throat again as she could already taste how lightly it would flit down one's throat. She brushed her hand through her hair and smiled softly to herself with pride, she'd never been fond of the color pink, it had always been Petunia's favorite, but she looked almost gleefully now at how it softly glowed in her cup, warmth seeping right through to the tips of her fingers once more.

Sighing in resignation of being left out and only for Peter's sake and not the other two, Regulus finally pulled a hair free as well.

Trapped in the forest, it would be the first hint of light. The faint sun flicking through trees, the slightly thicker grass getting just a little more springy with each step, the same shade of hazel flickering out of the corner of his eye when he was on a broom and the Forbidden Forest was just lively enough to grab his attention. The darkest shade of green, or a freckled shade of brown, he smiled softly as he tipped the cup this way and that to catch every last glimmer it would show.

Lily took all of their distraction to collect all of the cards this time and pocket them with purpose when Alice told she was going to finish the chapter.

Alice beamed at everyone smiling once more and mouthed a thank you to Sirius, who graciously acknowledged this with a competitive smirk. She made sure to catch James' eye before picking up the book to finish, and he nodded his resignation at last, their quiet whispers before Sirius had entered finally sinking in.

HPHPHPHP

And just because I don't have a better time to share this considering the location of the future chapter it shows up in I won't spoil, you got these now and this below:

Luna- light Orange/ Hermione- Dark Orange

Ron- Dark Brown/ Neville- Light Brown

Dumbledore- Gold with silver flecks

Fenrir*-

It looked more like smoke resting in the cup, the thick cloying kind that would choke your lungs and suffocate you faster than the fire could reach you. Even being nowhere near the lips, the urge to gag, plug up the nose and run was the first instinct upon seeing it. Surly such a vile color was not meant to ever be seen, let alone consumed, for it would never let go once it latched on.

Voldemort-

It's the color he feels pulsing all around him when that sense of purpose, power, rightness, and even triumph surrounded him. He could feel it now, almost burning out of the cup as the color reflected back his soul. It would darken with time just like the murky little depth of solid black color in the center was now, turning deeper and deeper shades with every new murder he granted those not worthy of this life, but always in the very edges before the liquid traced the rim of the cup, you could still see burning red.

Umbridge- pink

It sits like a heavy film over the tongue once swallowed down, leaving an almost chalky, lingering weight behind. The fluorescent, almost painfully bright color would be bitter, like the darkest tea, and would curl into a nauseating feeling the lower down your body it traveled.

Bellatrix- light green

The neon glow was enticing to look at, as if the vividest shade of a particularly tart apple were sizzling in the cup. One sip was all it would take, and you could not stop. You would keep drinking, even when you were out of breath, and the tang became painful because your mouth was burning, you would still keep swallowing happily for the phosphorescent liquid of the verdant shade. ( I can not believe the books literally glossed over what this canon color should be!)

Snape- light purple

It seemed painful to even look at, the image of drinking it would be worse. The morbid feeling of prodding this color, the heavy purple would whiten slightly and then turn back an even darker shade, to have that inside of him made him want to be sick. He wished it would mottle to the greens and yellows of a fading bruise, but feared it would never happen.

Don't worry, you'll get Remus' eventually. I think mine would be similar to a lime green, and sweet with a nice kick at the end. Let me know yours?

*You would not want to drink Remus/ Fenrir's, or any other werewolves FYI. I have a headcanon of what would happen if you tried to use polyjuice potion on a werewolf, and it's similar but more gruesome than what happened to Hermione when she tried to use it on a cat. Check out my AU, Proper Life, chapter 5 for details if you're curious, it's in the very first section so you don't have to read much if you're not invested in the whole thing.

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #reading the books #HBP #HP #Weasley Garden #Polyjuice Potion #Wolfstar #Jilly #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith #Lily Evans

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shalebridge-cradle · 4 years

Text

When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it’s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

#the cradle will write #six the musical #not the historical figures #but that won't stop me making references to them

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britishassistant · 4 years

Text

When I Took You In (1)

(Snake Summoner Mayu AU, because I have no control over my brain.)

It is bitterly cold in the mountains.

Ikuchi should not be here. She should be nesting down in a warm cave, belly fat and full, sleeping til the spring.

But the summoner has commanded she undertake this mission. It is a task beneath the summoner’s dignity, but the client is willing to pay good coin for its completion.

Enter the samurai nest. Find the hatchling of the client’s kin. Kill it.

She had been selected for her pale scales, her small size, her venom.

The summoner had remarked these made her perfect for infiltrating the snowy mountains the nest was hidden in with a cruel smile.

Manda is all too willing to swallow even small snakes like her who refuse or question the summoner’s commands.

She does not wish to be eaten yet.

So she slithers through another snowdrift, desperately praying to the Sage that she won’t freeze before she even arrives.

She stopped being able to see a while ago.

Her tongue feels like it will snap clean off if she tastes the icy air too frequently.

Only the faintest sensation of vibrations keeps her from curling in on herself to preserve whatever smidgeon of warmth she has left.

Only that makes her push her frozen muscles to keep going, heading towards rather than away as her instincts feebly hiss.

Where there are vibrations, there are humans.

Where there are humans, there is heat.

She will not freeze if there is heat.

She will not die on this Sage-forsaken mountain. She will not.

She forces herself to crawl forwards.

Ikuchi is so so cold.

She stiffly twines herself up and around something not-alive, slithering cautiously over new terrain with tiny bumps in it.

There is no snow anymore, thank the Sage, but it is still so so cold.

She cannot even taste anything anymore.

Her head bumps into something else. She noses it carefully.

Not-alive. Safe to climb.

She sluggishly heaves herself up the not-alive thing.

There are faint vibrations coming from above her. She needs to get to the vibrations. She’ll die if she can’t get to them.

If she could just heave herself over the edge of this not-alive thing—

Heat.

Lovely, warm, delicious heat.

She twines eagerly around the source, burrowing her head under where it is hottest, letting out a hiss of contentment as the cold burns out of her blood.

Aaaah.

The heat source rises and falls rhythmically, a gentle thud-thud-thud vibration filling her senses.

She shuts her eyes and lets herself drift in the warmth.

She is jostled awake when the heat source lets out a snuffly noise and wriggles slightly before settling.

As the heat source has saved her from dying an ignoble death via cold, she graciously decides not to bite it to stop it from moving.

Instead she retracts her head from the warmest spot to get a good feel for what exactly her new warmth generator is.

Her tongue flickers out over soft, faintly downy skin, over small features that scrunch up at the inspection before smoothing back out in sleep.

It’s a human hatchling. A very young one at that, barely a few days out of the egg at her best guess. Or was it weeks for humans? Or maybe months?

Humans are strange, Ikuchi reflects.

They’re so vulnerable for so long early in life, it’s a miracle that any of them even survive to adulthood.

That’s probably why the adult humans that are running around are so hardy. The summoner is proof enough of that.

Though other adult humans calling for the deaths of hatchlings, like the client, probably don’t help survival rates much.

Wait.

The client.

The mission.

Ikuchi pokes her head over the edge of the hatchling’s resting place and tastes the air.

A bigger human, also asleep.

Stuffy cloth.

Tatami mats.

Sharp metal. Lots and lots of sharp metal.

She retreats back down and noses over the hatchling, searching its cloth coverings until she finds what she was hoping she wouldn’t.

A stylized bird with wings raised, its beak piercing its own breast to draw blood.

The symbol of the client and his kin. The kin whose hatchling she’s supposed to kill.

Well.

Hm.

She settles her head back down in the warmest spot, burrowing under where the hatchling’s head meets its body and tries to think.

It’s...regrettable that the hatchling is what saved her from an icy death. But she has a job to do. A mission to complete.

It’s not like she particularly wants to do it. No, no, if she had it her way, she’d gladly bite the summoner and the client for good measure. Teach them for sending her to die in the cold for worthless bits of round metal.

But she has to complete the mission. Manda will eat her for failing the summoner otherwise.

All it will take is one tiny little bite. The hatchling will only suffer for a few moments.

...Okay, more like several minutes. It’s not like it’s her fault the venom will take longer because the hatchling is so big. She’s not a constrictor!

She flicks her tongue out irritably.

One bite.

Just one bite is all it would take.

Then she could be back in the caves with her brothers and sisters and never have to think about warm hatchlings and their weak, pathetic, pitiful death throes ever again.

The hatchling above her makes a little cooing noise and shifts above her, covering more of her coils in warmth as it squirms.

It even considerately takes some of its weight off of where she was beginning to feel a bit squashed.

She finds it distinctly annoying that this tiny human she’s supposed to kill has done more for her than her own summoner.

At this rate, she’d rather throw her lot in with it instead of continuing to—

Wait.

She pokes her head up again, considering the hatchling.

...Below average chakra reserves. But those should increase as it grows, right?

And she could help guide its growth.

Make it a much better summoner than her current one, or even his student.

Perhaps most importantly, she knows the Great Snake Sage will not let Manda eat her if she is contracted to another summoner.

He had thrown a tantrum when the summoner’s student had turned on him, but the Sage had not let him eat those snakes contracted to the student. She will be safe from his wrath.

In the caves at least. If they meet on the field of battle, she’ll be fair game.

But even one safe haven from Manda is better than none.

The scroll is heavy and difficult to unravel for a snake her size.

Still, she gets it open and props it up against the wall of the hatchling’s resting place.

After ensuring that the right segment is where she needs it to be, she twists around to look at the tiny human,

The hatchling looks back at her.

Its dark grey eyes do not focus on her, moving with the restless blindness of the very young.

“I am Ikuchi of Ryuichi Cave.” She hisses softly. “By your blood on this contract, we will become bonded. Do you accept?”

The hatchling gurgles.

Close enough.

She carefully pricks the hatchling’s finger with her lower fangs.

It wouldn’t do to poison her summoner.

Not yet anyway.

The hatchling whines, wiggling weakly as if that would make the pain stop. Blood beads on the appendage, bright red and hot.

She coils her tail around the tiny, soft wrist, and guides it to drag against the blank space on the parchment.

A rush of chakra.

A sensation not unlike a successful shed, useless dead scales sloughing away for gleaming new ones to take their place.

Ikuchi hisses in pleasure.

Ah. Her summoner is crying.

Squalling really, red-faced and snotty-nosed, thoroughly miserable.

The bleeding on its hand hasn’t stopped. It looks like it might have gotten worse, actually.

Ikuchi racks her brain for what little she knows about human physiology and healing.

Did the bastard summoner say it was saliva or excrement that slowed bleeding?

A shadow falls over the resting place.

She coils back on the chest of her summoner, ready to strike at the intruder. Did the client already send another assassin, despite paying the bastard summoner? Was betrayal planned from the beginning?

The adult human above them has its teeth bared in threat, eyes furious yet frightened.

“Get the hell away from my daughter.” It snarls, drawing a short blade from its midsection.

What?

Oh.

It’s trying to defend its hatchling.

Ikuchi reluctantly slithers off of her summoner’s chest and does her best to look small and unassuming.

The human scoops up her summoner in a flash, one hand cradling its head while the other bares the blade, ready to strike at any moment. It’s an instinct she approves of, even if it is completely pointless in this particular instance.

She curls up in the warm spot her summoner left behind, and announces, “I intend no permanent harm to the hatchling. It is contracted to me, and in my best interests to protect it.”

The human’s face creases in confusion, before its eyes land on the contract scroll.

Color drains from its face.

Huh. Ikuchi hadn’t known humans other than the bastard summoner could look like that. Maybe it was indicative of an emotion the bastard summoner felt all the time.

“Jirou!” The adult human’s shout is nearing a scream, eyes never leaving Ikuchi for a moment. “Jirou, get in here right now!”

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