#the shadow of a squirrel will make him gasp

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 2

Word Count- 3k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, canon spoilers

Vampires exist. So don’t werewolves and witches, the supernatural. This is what Elena had told me on the way back to Mystic Falls after our adventure with the 3 cannibals. No, not cannibals, vampires. 

Flashback

“It’s true, Y/N. Vampires, witches, and other supernatural creatures exist. Those people who took us were vampires,” She motions to the two men in the front seat, “Stefan and Damon are aswell, but you don’t have to worry about them they won’t hurt you.”

“We’ll see.” The dark-haired one says out loud as he glances back at me skeptically. The look made me want to throw up but since my stomach didn’t have any more food to throw up I just stared at him nauseously.

“Damon, stop it,” Elena glares at him from the seat next to me, “You will not hurt Y/N, ever.” Elena continues her glaring at the man as he turns over his shoulders and rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t worry about Damon,” Elena whispers as she grabs my hand, “I’ll explain everything you need to know.”

“Yo, you good in there,” Theo’s voice calls from the other side of the bathroom door, “I need to do my hair before school and you know I need at least 25 minutes!”

I let out a deep sigh and tried to wipe away the tiredness from my eyes. After I got back last night Theo bitched me out for leaving him stranded at the party, without a license he had to walk himself home. When asked where I went off to I made up some lie about sleeping over at Elena’s. Theo was skeptical since he knows the closest person I have to a friend is the 67-year-old librarian at Mystic Fall’s library, but he’s more brawn than brain so he didn’t think much more of it. I hated lying to him, With Theo and I being so close and age we never kept things from each other, even though he’s a pain in my ass there’s no one in this world I love more than him. After our father and mother divorced that bond only strengthened. 

“Ya I’m fine,” I open the bathroom door and Theo’s usual calm facade breaks for a moment as he looks at me, “What the fuck happened to you? you look like you got into a fight with a squirrel and didn’t stand a chance.”

I roll my eyes at his remark and push past him to my room. As I grip the door handle a hand grabs my upper arm.

“Hey, I’m joking,” I turn to see Theo staring down at me worriedly, “Seriously though Y/N, what happened you look like you haven’t slept in years?” 

I can’t argue with his observation because I know what I look like since I just spent the last 15 minutes staring back at myself in the mirror. I was too tired last night to take a shower so I just used a washcloth for the blood on my face and chest, then passed out. Or at least tried to, my dreams were vacated by thoughts of what is truly hiding in the shadows, now that I know what is out there. 

“I just didn’t sleep that well last night.”

I try to get Theo to understand that I don’t want to approach this subject any further and thankfully he takes the hint. Within a split second the worried look drops and is replaced with a judgy look.

“Fine, but you’re going to need to change whatever it is you’ve got going on here,” He motions with his hands to my Hello Kitty T-shirt and matching pajama pants, “If I’m seen with you like this my social status will take a massive hit.”

My eyes roll and I shove a fist to his shoulder, earning a mocking gasp from him. 

“I’m taking the day off today, I only had two periods today anyway. I’ll still take you and drop you off, be in the car in 15 minutes, or else you’re taking the bus.”

Theo shoots me a horrified look and gasps, “And make me sit next to those peasants! You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

—-

Eight minutes later we’re in my car driving to school. One thing I can always count on with Theo is that he will never do anything to tank his reputation. When we moved here a few months ago I was worried he’d have a hard time making friends and fitting in but that was my mistake. Theo is the most extroverted extrovert I have ever met and has a way of making people fall over and do anything he wants with a flash of a smile. Where he got the charisma I got the brains. I would never admit it out loud but sometimes I’m jealous of just how many people truly liked being around him. My only friend is the librarian and the only reason she hasn’t run away from me is because it’s her 9-5, and she can’t leave. 

I pull up to the front of the school and Theo finishes putting the finishing touches onto his hair. As he steps out a group of football guys all wave and acknowledge him.

“My practice gets out at 4:30 tonight. Don’t forget me this time,” Theo leans down and looks at me with a pointed look. 

“I’ll be there, I give you my word.”

“Great,” Theo smiles at me and reaches his hand over for a fist bump, “Later nerd.”

I bump his fist with mine, “Bye loser.”

—-

As I pull into my driveway, I hear my phone chime go off. Glancing down at the screen I see an incoming call from Elena Gilbert. My brain tells me to ignore it and go back up to my bed and hide away from the world until I’m at least 43 years old, but my body has already made my thumb swipe to answer the call. 

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N! How are you doing this morning,” Elena's voice comes from the other end, I hear the sound of a car in the background making me realize she must be driving, “I honestly didn’t think you’d pick up.”

“Honestly I debated not to,” I tell her honestly. 

“Um, well,” She pauses for a moment, “I know you’re probably very confused, and I don’t know if you want the company or not but I’m going to go do something and was wondering if you wanted to join me?”

I frown slightly at the question, “Why?”

Elena lets out a sound of confusion, “I just thought you might want to know more, or at the very least you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“That’s not what I’m doing I promise you, Y/N. If you don’t want to come that’s fine by me, but I just want you to know you have a friend out there to talk to about this if needed. If you change your mind I’ll text you the address.”

I hum in acknowledgement and after a moment the call goes dead. I sit in my car for the next 20 minutes going through my head all the things I could do. I could do what I wanted to do before and hide out and be alone, or I could help Elena…. Hiding out seems like a great idea. As soon as my hand reaches the car door handle I’m reminded of how Elena defended me yesterday and fought for me and a loud groan escapes my lips. Fuck. I sit back, pull up the address she texted me, and pull out of my driveway. If I’m kidnapped again I’m going to be so pissed. 

—-

I pull my car into the spot next to Elena’s car in the middle of the woods. Yep, I'm getting kidnapped. What teenager hangs out in the woods next to a graveyard? I pull out my phone and dial Elena’s number. It rings for a moment before I get a response. 

“Y/N? Is everything ok? Are you hurt?” Elena’s frantic voice comes from the other end.

“What? No, I’m here. Where are you?” I turn around in a circle trying to catch a glimpse of the brunette girl but see nothing but tall barren trees.

“Oh! I didn’t think you’d come, I’ll be up in a second.” She hangs up the call as I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, come up from where? My question is answered when brown hair makes an appearance as Elena walks up a stone staircase leading to who knows where. As she notices me a small smile spreads onto her face and for a moment I get the urge to smile back, but suppress it back down and just nod at her in acknowledgment. She walks over to me and before I have a chance to react she’s wrapping her petite arms around me in a hug. What’s with all the hugging?

“Thank you for coming,” She releases me, “before I take you down though I should warn you it might be a little weird.” 

Her warning makes my heart start to beat faster and a sense of nausea surfaces, I really have to invest in some Tums. 

“Weirder than being kidnapped by three vampires, which I guess now are actually real?” 

Elena processes the question over for a moment before shaking her head slightly, “I guess not as weird as that, no.”

“Come on,” Elena motions me to follow as she guides me down the stone staircase. I tighten the small sweater over myself once I realize I’m still in my pajamas. With each step down I fear I’m walking into something that’ll make me regret getting out of bed this morning. But all I’m met with at the bottom of the stairs is a small stone room covered with dirt, in the center the stone opens up to darkness and I fight the urge to strain my neck to look in.

“Did you bring me a snack?” 

A tough female voice calls from the black abyss. Fuck, I really am getting kidnapped, aren’t I? I’m just about to run right back up those stairs and floor my Toyota Corolla out of this bitch when Elena speaks back to the voice.

“You’re not going to lay a finger on Y/N,” Elena looks at me as she walks over to the hole in the wall and sits down patting the spot next to her, “It’s ok Y/N, as long as she’s in there and we’re out here she can’t touch us.”

I frown in confusion as I drag my feet to where she’s sitting but as I walk from behind her I stop and stare at the woman slumped over in front of Elena. Or not Elena? What the actual fuck is happening!

“Elena, why the hell does she have your face, wait do you have a twin” I motion to the spitting image of Elena in front of us. She looks identical to Elena, wearing a dark mini-dress that looks like it would be easier to burn it rather than clean it at this point. 

“Don’t insult me like that.” The clone throws me a dirty look. 

“This was the weird thing I was mentioning earlier,” Elena explains, “This is Kathrine, she’s my doppelganger.”

“Correction,” Elena’s dopple-whatever jumps in, “She’s my doppelganger, I’m the original she’s just a cheap copy.” 

Ok…bitchy much.

Elena just rolls her eyes as if she’s used to this treatment, “It’s a supernatural phenomenon I guess where every few hundred years someone that looks just like us is born. Kathrine is the vampire that turned Stefan and Damon a hundred years ago.” 

I try to nod along but with all the information I’ve learned in the past 24 hours my mind feels like it’s going to explode. 

“Is she stupid or something?” I whip my head to Kathrine at the remark.

“Fuck you bitch.” 

Kathrine raises an eyebrow at my retort and shifts her shoulders upwards, “Fine, not stupid,” She slints her eyes at me, “Just slow.”

My anger rises at her insult and I am about to open my mouth to go tell this bitch off but Elena raises her hand in a stopping motion. 

“Don’t listen to her Y/N, she’s just trying to provoke you,” Elena sends Kathrine a dirty look, “It’s what she does.”

I nod my head along and realize that these two don’t seem to like each other even though they share the same face.

“So is this some bonding session,” I question Elena, “What are we doing here?’

“I came here to ask Kathrine questions about why I was taken yesterday, and why Elijah seemed to have known you from somewhere.” I watch Kathrine’s posture change slightly at the mention of the suited man. Appears she’s not a fan of the man either. I sigh as I sit down on the dusty ground next to Elena, and can only sit there disgusted as she pours something thick and red into a little cup. Once the stench hits my nose I realize she’s pouring blood.

I go to ask her what the hell she is doing but stop as she uses a stick to push it over to Kathrine. I disturbingly watch as the dopplebitch grabs the cup with her pale hand and brings it to her chapped lips. The red from the blood paints her lips as her mouth opens slightly and I catch a glimpse of two white sharp teeth protruding from her gums. 

“Finish the story,” Elena urges Kathrine as she flings the cup back to Elena. Kathrine adjusts her posture as she taps her chin in thought.

“Right, now where was I?”

“You were mentioning how you betrayed Rose and Trevor by killing yourself for your freedom, and ever since you’ve been on the run,’” Elena stands up and says as if it’s not the wild-ass sentence I’ve ever heard, she pauses for a moment in thought and I watch as a realization washes over her, “That’s why you’re here isn’t, to bargain your freedom to Klaus?” 

Kathrine follows suit and stands up facing Elena, “Mmm. Five hundred years on the run I figured maybe he’d be willing to strike a deal.”

I shake my head in confusion, “Wait, who’s Klaus? I thought Elijah was the scary cannibal guy everyone was afraid of.”

“Klaus is an ancient vampire who wants to sacrifice me,” Elena replies staring down at me, she must notice the look of utter confusion on my face because she tells me she explain that later. 

As I have no idea what the hell is even going on I just listen and watch as the two “not-twins” discuss the Klaus guy and the ingredients for the curse. Ingredients that happen to be actual people might I add. Caroline who I found out is now a vampire and not just some loud blonde girl that sits behind me in my French class, some special stone, Elena as aforementioned, and Theo’s football captain Tyler Lockwood, who surprise surprise is a fucking werewolf. Self-reminder to keep Theo away from him. 

“Better you die than I,” Kathrine tells Elena as she questions how she can just hand over all those innocent people. Elena shakes her head in frustration and then glances at me.

“Is Y/N a part of it,” Elena gestures to me and questions Kathrine who picks a piece of invisible lint off her shoulder. Kathrine takes her time moving her eyes from the wall in front of her to look me in my eyes. Where Elena and Kathrine may be almost identical it is the eyes that make them different. Where Elena’s eyes are kind and welcoming, Kathine’s are filled with nothing but malice and something much darker. 

“Why would she be? She’s human, and I already have my vampire,” Kathrine sends me a cold glance, “If Caroline doesn’t work out though, you can always be a backup, I guess.” 

I shiver at the cruel chuckle she lets out, and Elena walks in front of where I’m sitting. 

“That’s not what I’m talking about. Yesterday I watched as Elijah’s whole demeanor changed when he saw Y/N. He looked at her like he had known her his entire life.”

A small shift in Kathrine’s face appears for a split second before it’s gone. The cruel look in her eyes is now gone and replaced with something much different. Realization is what I can only think of as she runs her eyes over me as if seeing me in a different light. The corner of her lips tightens as she glances at me with an unexplainable look.

“He’s going to destroy you.”

That’s all she says as she picks herself up and strolls back into the darkness. I watch her back retreat as Stefan’s voice comes from behind me. I don’t focus on anything as Kathrine’s words repeat in my head. I must’ve been standing there looking into the abyss for too long because a hand on my shoulder shocks me. 

“Hey, don’t overthink what she said,” Elena shifts me to look at her, “Elijah is dead. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“Elena’s right,” Stefan chimes in from behind her, “Kathrine has never told the truth a day in her life, whatever she told you was just to rattle you.”

I nod my head as I take a step away from them and towards to staircase. 

“I think I’m going to head home. I have some things I have to do,” I lie about the last part, I just want to get out of here before another panic attack decides to make an appearance.

Elena nods and tries to send me a comforting smile, “OK. Well, can I call you later?” she asks almost hopefully. I just nod my head slightly as I turn around and make my way up the stairs. 

—-

The entire drive home my mind is filled with thoughts of everything that’s happened in the past day. Curses, kidnapping, and the supernatural. Jesus Christ, this sounds like a bad TV show. I try to focus on the road but Kathrine’s last words to me keep ringing in my head. My breathing starts to quicken as I realize what that look in Kathrine’s eyes was. Fear. 

TAGS- @promptly-mercy @superblyspeedydragon @yoyoyoyooy44

@reidsworld

[mysticraven20]

Based on @art-the-f-up BuzzFeed au

BuzzFeed Paranormal: Woodland Investigators.

Marinette stood in front of the old, creaky house as Adrien came beside her holding a high-tech camera and aiming it where she shone a flashlight. He turned it on her.

‘Adrien, are you ready for this? We’ve had reports of strange noises, inexplicable drafts, and even… shadows.’ She could barely hold in the smile as she spoke. Sometimes it was so hard to be serious when you were doing such a shit job.

Adrien, in his usual comical, over-serious voice, dramatically moved the camera from her to his own face. ‘Marinette, you know I was born ready. Tonight… we face the unknown.’

‘Right. Or maybe it’s just the wind.’

‘Don���t ruin the suspense! It could be anything.’ Adrien grinned. He shut off the camera and looked at her. ‘Do you ever think we could be doing more with our lives than this?’

She shrugged. Of course she did, but then she wouldn’t spend all her time with him, not that she would tell him that of course.

They entered the house, the floorboards creaking beneath them. The house was dimly lit, the only sounds were those of their footsteps and the occasional spooky creak.

Adrien turned the camera back on and turned it to his face. ‘We’ve just entered the house. The air is cold. The atmosphere? Heavy. The spirits? Unsettled.’

She snorted. ‘The only thing unsettled here is your hair from all that gel. Calm down, Agreste.’

They walked through the house, and as they headed up the stairs, a loud thud came from the ceiling above them. They froze, both of them slowly looking up at the ceiling

Playing to the camera, as he always did, Adrien gasped. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?”

she grinned, using a finger to turn the camera to her. ‘What, your heart skipping a beat? Or was that the creaky old ceiling?’

‘She mocks now… but soon, we will uncover the truth. The truth that haunts these walls,’ he whispered dramatically, pulling an unladylike snort from her.

They reached the attic door, the thumping now louder, accompanied by faint scurrying sounds. Marinette narrowed her eyes at the door.

‘This is it, Adrien. This is where the ‘ghost’ must be. You ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be. If I get possessed by a ghost, just… make sure I still look good on camera.’

Marinette rolled her eyes and pushed open the attic door. Inside, she couldn’t see much but outlines of objects scattered around the attic. It was dark and cluttered. Dust floated in the air as they stepped cautiously. Suddenly, something moved in the corner.

‘SPIRIT,’ Adrien bellowed dramatically. ‘REVEAL THYSELF!’

As though answering the call. A rustling from the corner was joined by the faintest shadow stretching across the floorboards. Then the scratching started. Faster and faster, the tapping grew right until it was in front of them.

A raccoon scurried across the floor, followed by two squirrels that leap from the rafters, narrowly missing Adrien. He stumbled back, wide-eyed letting out an ear piercing scream. She couldn’t help the laughter escaping her mouth as she snorted, loud and hard.

‘Oh no! The spirits of… woodland creatures!’ she said, grasping her stomach to try and ease the pain.

“I— I can’t— Marinette! We’ve been haunted by… raccoons?!’ He had barely recovered From his scare, which only made Marinette laugh more.

Tears formed in her eyes, her thumbs pressing hard under her eyes to stop the mascara running and making her one with the raccoon. ‘The ghost of trash pandas past!’

Her laughter, unbelievably, intensified as Adrien started to laugh beside her, moving from slight chuckle to full guffaw in the matter of seconds and causing her to collapse into her knees.

‘How— how did we even get hired for this?! Who calls ghost hunters for animals?!”

Marinette took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself down. ‘I don’t know, but I think we’re going to need a different kind of expertise to deal with these “spirits.”’

The raccoons continued to scurry around as Adrien collapsed onto the floor beside her. As soon as she met his eyes she could hear his shriek play on repeat in her mind causing her to start laughing again, both unaware the camera was still rolling. She fell backwards, leaning against a dusty old trunk as they both dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

Adrien crawled across the floor and picked up the camera, bringing Marinette’s attention to the red light still on. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we have uncovered the truth. The noises in the night… were just raccoons trying to open a snack bar.’

‘Next time, let’s make sure our haunted houses don’t come with actual tenants in the attic.’

Adrien snorted, standing up and holding out a hand for her. ‘I’ll call the exterminator… you can call the ghostbusters just in case.’

Adrien turned off the camera just as the raccoon chased the squirrels across the attic, sending them both into a spiral of laughter again. This week they had completely failed to maintain any sort of professional composure—again.

[pizzaqueen]

This has probably been done or thought of before and apologies if it has! But my brain gave me another idea and I had to share. Basically, this is kind of a Pushing Daisies fusion where Steve has Ned’s powers, but where everything else more or less happens as it does in canon. This is kind of a summary/outline, mostly of the backstory, that somehow ended up over 800 words lmao

Steve spent most of his life thinking of himself as an ordinary guy, in an ordinary town, where only ordinary things happen. If you pressed him for the weirdest thing that ever happened to him, he might have told you about the time he found a dead bird when he was a kid that came back to life when he touched it. As a kid, it seemed like a miracle. When he got older, he knew his mom was right—the bird was just stunned.

So, yeah, ordinary guy, ordinary town. And then it turns out the town is not so ordinary. Steve’s life gets really fucking un-ordinary when he fights a monster from a shadow dimension with Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers. But he’s still ordinary. Yeah, he fought a monster, but that was a blip in an otherwise ordinary life.

And then the monsters come back. That’s when Steve finds out he’s not as ordinary as he thought. When he’s putting the dead demo dog in the Byers’ fridge (sorry, Mrs. Byers) he touches part of it and the thing comes back to life in his arms.

It must have been stunned, like that bird when he was a kid, or just maybe got a second wind because, in the confusion and chaos that ensues, he makes a grab for it, and the thing just falls to the floor. Stone cold dead.

If it wasn’t for Dustin Henderson, that’s exactly what Steve would have thought for the rest of his life. But Dustin saw the whole thing and he decides that Steve is some kind of miracle worker and he wants to experiment.

It takes a lot of convincing, but Steve gives in. He wishes he hadn’t. Because he finds out that, yeah, he can bring things back from the dead, but if they stay alive for more than a minute, something else dies. Something nearby and more or less equal. (So, a bird for a squirrel, a butterfly for a bee.)

And if he touches it a second time? Dead. Again. Forever.

So, Steve swears Dustin to secrecy and vows he’s never ever going to touch a person. If he can bring a bird back to life, but sacrifice a squirrel for it, what happens if it’s a person?

And he keeps the vow, though, thankfully, it’s not a hard vow to keep.

And then Eddie Munson dies.

Steve and Nancy and Robin find Dustin cradling Eddie in his arms and the bottom falls out of Steve’s stomach. The Upside Down starts going crazy and Vecna is still out there and they have to get out. But Dustin has a busted ankle and he won’t leave without Eddie and Nancy and Robin are trying to figure out how to get them all out and Dustin is saying, “Steve, please,” over and over and over.

And Steve tells them all to shut up and they do, surprisingly, staring at him. There’s no time so he tells Nancy and Robin to get Dustin out and they try to protest but he tells them again. Tells them to get as far away from the gate as possible. And, it’s a miracle, but they listen to him.

When they’re gone, Steve waits, and waits a little longer, and then he falls to his knees beside Eddie. There’s no one else in the Upside Down, no one else to be taken by the gift he’s going to give to Eddie, except maybe himself. But it wouldn’t work like that, would it?

He reaches out and he hesitates. What if it does take him? No. No, it wouldn’t.

And he reaches out again, saying “Sorry”, and he touches Eddie. There’s a little spark and Eddie gasps and he reaches for Steve and Steve jerks back. He tells Eddie he’ll explain later but he can’t touch Steve—not even the tiniest touch—and they have to get out. Eddie nods, goes along with it, stumbling to his feet.

They race back to the gate at Eddie’s with everything going crazy around them.

Steve sends Eddie through first and then it’s his turn. He makes it through the gate just in time to see it close up, which is weird, and then the earth shakes and there’s this booming and crashing and then…everything goes quiet. Also weird. But weird is par for the course these days.

Eventually, they make it to the others (who have a lot of questions Steve doesn’t know how to answer yet) and regroup and get cleaned up, preparing for the next fight. But they don’t know, yet, they don’t have to. There won’t be another fight.

Because Steve and Eddie weren’t alone in the Upside Down. Vecna was down there. And Eddie’s been alive again for more than a minute.

(Of course, that’s just the beginning. Eddie may be alive again but he’s a wanted man. As much as it sucks, it might be better for an alive again wanted man to play dead still for a while. So, he hides out at Steve’s grandparents’ cabin, which they conveniently never visit, and tries to figure out how to be alive again when he was barely dead. And he has to figure out how to deal with falling in love with Steve Harrington when he can never touch him.)

[totallyjustabunchofhocuspocus]

Fic Preview

A little sneak peek of the next chapter of Come Away, O Human Child

I've been VERY excited for this chapter.

He is six years old and he’s so bored. Maddie has drama club on Thursdays and won’t be home for hours. Brandon Thompson from down the street sometimes plays with him, but their car wasn’t in the driveway when he went to look a little while ago. There’s nothing good on TV.

Mom told him she was too busy and to just go outside. He hates the way she’s always too busy. He hates the way she says it—like she’s so annoyed by everything he does, everything he asks for. He just wants someone to play with him. He goes outside, though. Outside he’s still alone, but somehow it doesn’t feel as lonely as it does when his mom is right there and just not looking at him.

She never looks at him. Never seems to see him. He wishes he knew what he did to make her just not see him.

He goes outside and wanders around the back yard. Maddie keeps saying she’ll ask Dad to put a swing set up for him, but so far it hasn’t happened. She looks so weird when she talks about it, too…sad, almost. He doesn’t like the way her voice sounds when she talks about swing sets, but he really wants to have one in their yard, so he doesn’t dare ask why having a swing set would make her sound so sad.

Eventually, he goes a little deeper into the woods that back right up onto their yard. They haven’t put a fence up or anything, even though he’s heard Dad say they probably should. He hopes they don’t—he likes being able to walk around under the trees. The neighborhood garden elves have carved small paths in and around the clumps of bushes, and he loves following them through the cool green shadows of the woods. They’re too small for Mom and Dad, too small for Maddie, but he can follow them just fine and he’s never afraid of getting lost. The wisps and elementals that live in the woods would never let him get lost.

A few wisps float down from the tops of the trees as he passes under them, tickling his cheeks and the back of his neck as they come in close to say hello. He can’t help but giggle at the feeling, like they’re kissing him. It feels like when Maddie kisses him goodnight, makes him feel so warm and cared for. The wisps dart back up into the trees after they tell him hello and he watches them flicker around the leaves. There’s one tree close by that has lots of branches sticking out close to the ground, almost like a ladder.

The wisps don’t always like being so close to the ground, even though they always come down to see him when he comes out into the woods. Maybe they’ll play with him more if he goes up to where they are. Before he can think the better of it, he’s scrambling over to the big tree with all the branches. Maddie wouldn’t want him to, but Maddie’s not here and he’s so bored. He just wants someone to play with.

It's easy at first. The branches are close together and pretty thick. He climbs up them, laughing to himself and puffing out his cheeks to pretend he’s a squirrel. Some of the wisps drift down close to him again, zipping around his head like they’re excited to see him. He climbs higher and higher, the rough bark scraping his hands and crumbling a little under the toes of his shoes, but it’s still easy going. The leaves brush his face and tangle in his hair, and more wisps come darting out of the trees.

No…no…dangerous…careful…careful...

He frowns a little, his small hand reaching for the next branch. The wisps zip around him faster, but they no longer feel happy to see him. Instead, there’s a sense of…worry? It pushes against him, the feeling spreading over him like a blanket.

Too high…too high…careful…dangerous…careful…

The worry gets thicker, the wisps pushing in close to his body as though they’re trying to steady him. He makes the mistake of looking down and gasps when he sees just how high off the ground he’s really climbed. Oh…okay…okay, yeah, he’s really high up. His fingers tighten on the branch he’s holding. The wisps feel scared now, and he realizes with a start that they’re scared for him. They’re afraid he’ll fall. Instantly, he feels guilty—the wisps are his friends! He doesn’t want them to feel scared for him.

“Sorry,” he whispers. “Sorry, I’ll get down.”

But it turns out going up was a lot easier than going down.

He doesn’t know how it happens. One moment he’s carefully trying to step down onto the branch below him, and the next his foot slips off into air. He’s not expecting it, and loses his grip on the branch in his hand. He falls.

And then between one moment and the next something surges in his chest. His magic flashes through him and in a blink he’s standing safely on the ground.

He has a moment to be confused. To look around wildly and wonder how he’s just…on the ground.

Then out of nowhere he feels </I>sick<I>. He hits his knees in the dirt and throws up the peanut butter crackers Maddie left in the kitchen for his afterschool snack today. His head hurts. His body hurts. His magic hurts. The wisps go wild around him, darting in close to brush against his forehead, his cheeks, his neck. The feeling of worry gets even thicker.

“Transport spell. Tricky without an array. Dangerous.” The voice comes from somewhere behind him. It sounds weird—like the person speaking has a sore throat. The wisps go even wilder, darting around him in a cloud. He hears a raspy kind of laugh.

Slowly, still feeling like he might puke again, he turns around, standing up on legs that feel like rubber. His head really hurts. “Who’s there?” he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

It takes him a moment to find where the voice came from, but finally he sees a creature perched on the branches of a half-dead bush. He doesn’t recognize the creature—it almost looks like a fairy, but everything about it is sharp and pointy. Its skin is pale, and it has thick wings shaped like a bat’s. Its eyes are dark red, shiny and glittery, and as he takes a few steps closer, he can see sharp claws on the ends of its hands and feet where they hold onto the branches of the bush.

The creature tilts its head, its lips peeling back in a smile that shows off a mouthful of sharp teeth. It looks scary…but he’s never afraid of magical creatures. They never hurt him!

“Just me,” the creature says. “Felt your spell. Was curious.”

His legs still feel like jelly, so he sits down on the ground, rubbing at his head. “I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly. “I don’t even know how I did that.”

The creature hums, its wings flapping with a dry, leathery sound. “Magic does as magic pleases. Pleases it to protect you. Unusual.” The creature jumps down from the bush and comes closer to him, walking on all fours like a cat with its wings held high in the air. “Very unusual.” It pauses a few feet away from him, then looks up and hisses at the wisps that are swirling in a cloud above his head.

“Don’t be mean,” he says, frowning when the creature’s eyes snap back to him, its teeth still showing. “They’re not hurting you.”

“Hmm. Can’t. Makes them angry,” the creature says, flicking another look up to the wisps. It creeps closer to him until it’s almost touching. Slowly, it lays a bony, clawed hand on his knee. “Feel bad still?”

He thinks about it a moment, swallowing hard. He does still feel a little queasy, and his head still hurts, but not as bad as before. “I’m okay,” he says and the creature smiles again. It’s not really a nice smile, not with all those teeth, but he smiles back anyway. “What should I call you?” he asks politely, knowing better than to ask a magical creature its name…if it even has one. Not all the lesser fae do.

As he expected, the creature just shakes its head. “Just me,” it says again. “Haven’t been here long. Looking for others. Perhaps you help me find them?”

“I’ve never seen anything like you before,” he says, climbing carefully to his feet again. “But I can help you look! I talk to all the creatures around here.”

“Would be grateful,” the creature says. “Would like to know more about you. Very unusual. Wonder if he—” The creature stops suddenly, shaking its head. “Never mind. Lead. Know there is a nest here somewhere. Cannot find them.”

“Oh…we’re looking for a nest? Maybe I can ask some of the garden elves.” He takes a careful step deeper into the woods, following the same garden elf path he’d been following before. The creature takes a few hopping steps before launching itself into the air, flapping its wings hard to circle above his head.

The wisps do not follow them.

So caught up in finding a new friend, he doesn’t notice that the sense of worry doesn’t fade until he’s left the wisps behind.

[mochiwrites]

Itsa me brontosaurus anon! I know I said no happy endings, but rules were made to be broken i guess.

Also an exercise in me finding something mentioned one time and just running with it. You said his blood smells super sweet so I think it gives mumbo some kind of vampire sugar high.

Mumbo left the door open as he ran, flinging himself onto the porch. He took a deep breath, two, three, but the cold night air mingled with the blood stuck to his tongue, flavoring each inhale with the too-sweet smell. That was Grian’s blood, blood he had promised himself he would never know the taste of. He could feel it beneath his skin, surging through his organs, apple-red and caramel-sweet, like magnesium thrown into a fire that had smoldered to ashes hours ago. Grian— why did he do that? Did Mumbo not make it clear that he didn’t want his blood? Why did he do that?! He sunk to the floor, back against the wall, trying to make sense of it all, but his brain was buzzing. Not with exhaustion like it had been, it was less like radio static, more of a busy intersection, thoughts crossing over each other faster than he could really interpret them. It was like he could hear each individual leaf on the forest floor as it shifted in the wind, the crack of a branch above the canopy, curious footsteps approaching his porch. Mumbo gasped as something shifted closer to the light seeping from his open door, quickly summoning shadows to cover any signs of life from the manor—

Darkness. Complete darkness. The moon still shone above, but it fell on deaf ground. No light from the porch, no light from the stars reflected off the still, ink-dark trees; in fact, the only thing still visible was one very disconcerted deer, glowing in the moonlight, alone in a world of darkness. It let out a frightened hiss before stumbling across the shadowed forest.

Mumbo forcibly withdrew the illusion, breathing heavily, heart racing. That was… unexpected. He could imagine overshooting his spell in panic, but that was far, far more than he could dismiss as panic. What happened? Blood gave him a magic boost, but it wasn’t usually so volatile. Already, he could feel the power waning, feeling his thoughts slow to a reasonable pace. Magnesium in a fire, then, burning bright enough to blind for just a moment. Odd.

He swallowed a mouthful of blood-laced spit, watching intently as his shadow vibrated at the edges. A small test, he raised a hand, pulling threads of moonlight together, this time fully conscious of the way his magic tugged at the light, like a bear trying to tie a squirrel’s shoelaces. He forced himself to focus on the light, weaving the illusion, but with a feeling like a pipe bursting under too much pressure, the poor thing exploded, dousing the forest in a second of blinding light. Interesting. He’d have to try this some other time, he’d— no, no he wouldn’t try it again, that was Grian’s blood, he was never supposed to have tried it in the first place, and oh no no no he was still inside, Mumbo just left him there—

One deep breath. Two. Three. Ignore the caramel-apple taste still lingering in the back of his throat. He pushed himself off the wall, making sure to close the door behind him as he went inside.

“Grian? Are you okay?” He deliberately slowed his pace, trying to keep any anger out of his voice. He stopped by the bathroom to grab an antibacterial wipe (oh, that was going to sting, wasn’t it) and cautiously nosed his way into the library.

Grian was still where Mumbo left him, sitting oddly still next to the overturned chair. He didn’t react as Mumbo sat down next to him, staring past the fireplace at nothing.

“Grian?”

No answer.

“Grian, I’m going to touch your hand, ok?”

Mumbo waited a second for any objection before gently taking Grian’s hand from the floor. It twitched a little, curling around his. Grian opened his mouth, a strangled little noise escaping before he gave up, collapsing onto Mumbo’s shoulder. Mumbo dropped Grian’s hand, instead wrapping the man in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” Grian whispered.

Mumbo rubbed a circle into Grian’s shoulder with his thumb. “It’s okay. It’s okay, you’re okay…”

Grian hiccuped loudly into his neck. “I just, I wanted— I didn’t want to be so…” another sob wracked him, another croaking inhale. “I don’t want to be useless anymore.”

Mumbo’s grip turned vice-like fore a moment, before moving his hold to see Grian’s face. “What?”

Grian’s gaze drifted to the floor, something angry in them. “I’m still useless, aren’t I? I can hardly think straight right now. My brain’s full of cotton balls and my eyes can’t focus on a page, I don’t think I could hold a pen to write, but my blood—you can use my blood, I can help like that—“

“Grian, you are not useless. You are worth so much more than just eyes and hands and blood. you’re my best friend, and I can’t let you talk about my best friend that way.”

Grian stared at him a moment. Then, he burst into laughter. A small chuckle at first then a real, unstoppable laugh that managed to get Mumbo laughing too. “What? What’s funny?”

Grian’s laugh quieted, but his voice was still tinged with some kind of inexplicable mirth. “I don’t— I don’t know. I think we both need to get some sleep. Can we maybe talk about this in the morning?”

Mumbo smiled. Honestly, with the effect of Grian’s blood wearing off already, that didn’t sound half bad. “You promise?”

Grian stuck out his pinky finger, his face now serious, at odds with the childish gesture. “Promise.”

They shook. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Mumbo reached into his pocket for the antibacterial wipe. “Let me see your lip.”

Grian opened his mouth slightly, brushing the spot with the pads of his fingers, frowning when they came away tinged with red. Mumbo unwrapped the wipe, holding Grian in place with a thumb on his chin. Grian hissed through his teeth as Mumbo whispered apologies, cleaning the small cuts. He paused, considering, before tilting Grian’s chin down to press a kiss to his forehead.

“All done. Let’s get to bed, huh?”

“You first.”

“I said let’s, didn’t I?”

And then they cuddle for like 16 hours and mumbo wakes up and panics because how on earth was he so bold last night.

Cya next time!

🦕

WAHHHHH THEY 🥹🥹🥹 I love them so much. I'm so head empty but WAHHHH!!!! I love the peek into mumbo's head and his reaction to what happened <333 and them just agreeing to both sleep and talk in the morning ;A;

god that morning conversation... I can see it being SUCH a mess. oh grian beloved, you traumatized little guy :D

I love this, once again <333

[uarmymoonlight]

"thus with a kiss..." - shakespeare

pairing: vampire hunter!jk X vampire!reader

genre: fantasy!au, historical!au,  forbidden/secret relationship!au, angst, fluff, (a little) smut

author’s note: this is a teaser for an upcoming fic. send an inbox message if you wish to be added to the taglist.

teaser warnings: mentions of blood, death, and murder/attempted murder, eventual smut and angst, tit play

summary: two times Jungkook got so lost sliding his hands through your soft skin and staring into your gentle eyes, that he had to fight to remember the stories of brutal cold-blooded and dead-eyed killers his brothers raised him up with. stories of your kind.

words: 899

taglist: @luaspersona

part 0.1 (teaser)  || "thus with a kiss" masterlist (coming soon) || main masterlist

                                                                 ///////////

It always hits him at the most inconvenient of times that you may actually be a good person. And Jungkook almost feels guilty for plotting your death while you're smiling so sweetly at a little girl as both you and her help a kitten off a tree. But just as soon as the feeling begins, the warnings of his brothers whisper in his mind reminding him how manipulative your kind is - how manipulative you are. His brothers have no reason to lie to him about you or about the stories he's heard since he was a child. The stories of those who took his parents from him, the stories that haunted him, plaguing his dreams with blood and death until he no longer wanted to dream. Stories of those like you.

Jungkook tries to shake off these thoughts and softens his face when he sees you coming back to his side, now that the kitten is free and the little girl is on her way.

"Fourth time this month. Same time, same tree, same cat", you tell him with a smile.

"I don’t understand why Soo-Ah doesn’t just adopt him”, Jungkook scoffs “Would save her the trouble of having to save him every other day.”

“It would. But it’d also take away his freedom of coming and leaving when he wants and of chasing that same squirrel that goes up the tree and disappears. Not to mention one more crucial factor.”

“What?”, he waits confused, eyeing your mischievous smile.

“Helping Soo-Ah with the cat uses up enough of her time that when she reaches the bakery the breads will be fresh out of the oven. She won’t need to wait even a second to get them.”

You give Jungkook another one of your pretty smiles, those he can’t help but answer with a smile of his own, and there it is again. That same feeling from earlier telling him you’re a good person, after all. Fangs and blood-sucking aside.

So Jungkook takes your hand to continue your walk together. It’s only after you’ve entered your house, leaving him with a kiss, that a shadow crosses Jungkook’s face and he heads to meet his brothers, the men waiting hungrily for the right time to kill you.

                                                             ////

Jungkook swears he feels a heartbeat as he buries his face in your tits before putting one of them in his mouth. And he definitely feels the warmth of your skin beneath his roaming hands when one of them goes down, squeezing your ass and making you arch your back. You gasp and Jungkook can see you take in a breath and your cheeks flushed. 

Just like he forgot earlier what you truly are, Jungkook forgets it now too. Worst of all, he thinks days later, - when he’s no longer in your presence and your perfume can’t cloud his mind anymore - is that at that moment he stopped caring to remember. Sometimes he wished he didn’t, wished he could be oblivious to everything, but Jungkook should know by now that his prayers never get answers. So when your lips grace the skin of his neck Jungkook starts to see blood.

He frantically pushes away from you, making your head hit the wall with a loud thud. The push was so sudden and strong that Jungkook himself was thrown to the other side of the room, wide-eyed and frowning.

“Jungkook”, you look at him startled, “are you okay?”

He gets a chill down his spine when he notices that, although he’s breathing heavily because of your little rendezvous and his fright, you’re not. You look perfectly fine. Hair a bit disheveled where he touched, clothes a little messed but…fine. You look fine. And Jungkook feels like a deer who’s been caught by the predator. No, not a deer, because deer know to run when they see a predator. He feels like a foolish fly who walked right into a flytrap. He acted like a fool and he feels angry at you for making him act like such. You call his name again.

“Jungkook, what hap-”

“No!” Jungkook barks, raising a hand. 

It stops you in your tracks and he notes that you make a face of confusion like you really can’t understand the situation. Jungkook takes advantage of that. 

“I have to go.” He says gathering the few pieces of his clothes he’d let you rip off him as quickly as he can, not looking at you. 

He can hear you start to form a phrase, but he’s thankfully already way past the door to hear it fully. At least, Jungkook convinces himself that he really couldn’t hear you asking him why he’s leaving.

This late at night there’s barely anyone left on the streets and once again he’s mentally kicking himself for his foolishness of being so vulnerable at such an hour of the night, very aware that you could very easily be trailing him. Maybe you had decided that was enough of your little game with him. If you had decided that, Jungkook knows him leaving wouldn’t put a  damper on your plans. Oh, no. Your kind doesn’t let prey go this easily. So Jungkook bolts as fast as he can through the dimly lit streets to the only safehouse he knows, constantly looking over his shoulder with the unshakable sensation that someone - something - really is watching him every step of the way.

[shinranweek]

Prompt: Proposal

Rating: Gen

Word count: 1203

Link: AO3

He asks her to marry him on their way to the firefly festival. He could have waited until the festival is over, until they’ve laughed, feasted and watched the hundreds of fireflies sifting through the forest darkness, but he is worried that the gathering crowd of nearly one thousand people may breed chaos and murder, and most importantly, he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

Ran feels the request before he asks; there’s a determination in his eyes but a slight tremor in his hands. He turns to face her when they’re just fifty steps to the matsuri, clamor and laughter closing in around them. The sky is not yet dark, a fading, pale shade of tephra. Shinichi breaths, kneels in front of her and says it simply. In his palm the small box looks strange and discordant, the ring inside dull and lightless.

She pauses, and says no.

  They stray from their usual way home two days ago. Black-crowned night-herons breed through spring and summer; they glide across the rivers all year round but Ran has never seen them roost. Shinichi takes her into the deep of Beika Park, first following the desire paths then no path and all, until human cacophony grows thin and the callings of birds drown the silence.

The woods are snowcapped with birds. Egrets call on treetops; blue-blacked herons hunches between twigs, over their brown-colored chicks. In awe, Ran steps forward. The birds explode out of the trees and into a restless cloud.

They feel guilty, but laugh more. Ran moves toward again but Shinichi grabs her arm, stopping her: in front of them a small clump of brown is retreating back into the shadows.

The chick bears stars of white spots all over it and copper eyes. It does not call but stares blankly at them, one wing held closely to its side, the other trailing on the ground. Ran gasps, instinctively reaching out, but Shinichi doesn’t loosen his grip.

“Leave it,” Shinichi says.

“But...”

“Leave it, Ran.”

But he goes to it himself and wraps it in his school jacket. He holds it as tenderly as a cat, a child. A year ago, Conan once gathered an unconscious tit into his tiny palms, smiling in relief as it came to and fluttered away. Longer, longer ago, Shinichi unclamped his hands and revealed to her a confused squirrel.

Shinichi walks away, and this time she waits. He's gone for under five minutes. When he returns empty-handed, she does not ask.

  The day he goes home and promises her, Kogoro and Hakase that he would not go away again, Ran buys a cake. He leaves the front door open; still she rings the doorbell as he’s standing in the middle of the living room, staring up at the ceiling as if it is a miracle he cannot comprehend. She was going to bake, Ran explains, unloading the giant butter cake onto the kitchen table. But she doesn’t want to spend three hours camping by the oven. He looks at her strangely, so she decides to be brave: she wants to be here with him.

The yellow-tinted light bakes the room; Ran feels her cheeks glowing a soft pink. Shinichi only remembers to help when she spills plastic forks and paper plates all over the table. The blue icing spells “To Shinichi”. He dips a finger into it and licks.

“Stop it!” Ran swats at his hand. “Even Conan-kun has better table manners than you.”

Her tone is light, expression hopefully delightful, and he does grin. Still a dread gnaws at her heart: it’s more like a decision than a reaction. Summer heat sends throbs to her head: for days she has not slept well, has worried too much, has missed him. Now that he is standing in front of her, solid and intact, she decides to ask nothing.

She counts seventeen candles. She expects Shinichi to complain with impatience, but he simply stares. His brows are drawn together, his gaze back and forth, visibly trying to restrain himself from spurting out trains of analysis and theories. Silly detective, she thinks. Always making the simple things complicated.

“For the birthday you missed,” she tells him. “Welcome back.”

Three days later she finds out that he is Conan.

  “I’m sorry,” Ran says, blinking from coming tears. The world moves again, somehow has turned cerulean in eye blinks. Several steps away, a bunch of balloons blooms in the evening breeze. A child cries and badgers his mother for cotton candy. “I didn’t mean—”

He replies too quickly. “I know.”

“I’m not ready,” she doesn’t say “we”. A tremor leaks out of her throat and she has to clamp her eyes shut; still shadows of faces press and shake behind closed eyelids. Tears do not isolate her eyes from pain.

“I know,” Shinichi says. She fails to read his voice; it feels distant, weightless. People pass by; some gawk, leaving inches on her skin. A teenager whistles. Ran opens her eyes and sees Shinichi remaining on his knee. Quietly, she asks him to stand up; he obeys. Uncurls his fingers and slides the tiny box back into his pocket.

  Every June in Beika, they host art markets, matsuri and then release three thousand fireflies into the forest. They come here yearly since fourteen. They compete for higher scores in dart-throwing, eat roasted corns and exchange gifts. This year, Ran buys Shinichi a pen and he buys her a wooden duck (“It’s a merganser.” “Shinichi!” “Okay, okay!”).

Fifteen minutes to seven, they slide out of the crowd and into the riverside shortcut; it takes three minutes in the unlit woods but brings them straight to the front row of the release. In soft darkness she gives him her hand; he teases at her night sight but his breath stutters himself. Three minutes, two, one.

They find the crowd just in time. Count down, cheers. Numerous fluorescent dots, into curtains of darkness like pollens of one invisible flower. Shinichi doesn’t let go of her hands.

“Can they stay alive out there?” she wonders aloud. Eighty percent of them die during transfer and after release, fourteen-year-old Shinichi has said, and looked annoyed when Ran cried. And the rest of them would not live past two months as adults.

Do you know there’s a firefly cave in New Zealand? It’s really pretty, you would never want to cry if you see them. They’re not flying fireflies, but slimy worms. But they glow blue and dot the inside of the cave, making it look like a starry sky.

Have you seen it?

No, but I’ll ask Tou-san and Kaa-san if you want to go.

Seventeen-year-old Shinichi says nothing. He says nothing as the crowd breaks, as the fireflies go, dispersed by wind and instinct. She lets him hold her hand until they part ways under the big oak tree. “See you tomorrow,” she says, as gently as she can.  

“See you tomorrow,” Shinichi smiles.

He hands her the duck, turns away first. Ran glances at the lanterns twined between the leaves and thinks: This is the tree; it has watched them grow up. It has seen birds, snow, rain, fireworks, them. She doesn’t feel like crying now.

[thewatcher727]

Sonic X: Gotta Go Fast Again - Chapter 16: Of Light And Dark

Sonic X: Gotta Go Fast again is a thrilling continuation of the beloved anime, promising action-packed escapades and heartwarming moments as our heroes embark on their next chapter! Available for Reading on AO3 & FF!

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14344080/16/Sonic-X-Gotta-Go-Fast-Again

Archive of Our Own: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54991219/chapters/146362597

As Sonic raced towards Mystic Ruins, the Egg Mobile trailed behind, its engines straining under the added weight of the Chaotix. Vector, Charmy, and Espio were crammed into the vehicle alongside Eggman, whose irritation was evident in the tense set of his shoulders and the occasional grumble that escaped his mustached lips. The unlikely alliance sped through the landscape, a blur of colors against the lush greenery of the surrounding forests.

Sonic's plan to take a shortcut through the peaceful village of Harmony Hill was abruptly derailed as they approached their destination. The once-idyllic scene had been transformed into a nightmarish inferno. Flames licked at the sky, painting it a hellish orange that reflected off Sonic's wide, disbelieving eyes. The acrid smell of smoke filled the air, stinging their nostrils and making their eyes water.

"What the?!" Sonic gasped, his feet digging deep furrows into the ground as he skidded to a halt. The peaceful ambiance of Harmony Hill had been shattered, replaced by the crackling of flames and the panicked cries of villagers fleeing their burning homes.

Amidst the chaos, Sonic's keen eyes spotted a young squirrel, disoriented and alone, unknowingly stepping into the path of a falling, flaming beam. Without hesitation, the blue blur sprang into action. In a heartbeat, he had scooped up the child and whisked him to safety, reuniting him with his grateful, tearful parents.

"Thank you, Sonic," the father said, his voice thick with emotion and relief. "You have to stop him."

Confusion furrowed Sonic's brow. "Stop who?"

"Me."

The answer came not from the villager, but from a chillingly familiar voice that seemed to resonate through the very air around them.

Sonic spun on his heel, his quills bristling with tension. What he saw made him draw in a sharp breath. There stood Metal Sonic, but not as Sonic remembered him. The robot had undergone a startling transformation that made him appear more menacing than ever before.

Metal Sonic's form now boasted five long quills instead of the usual three, each one adorned with white stripes that gleamed in the firelight. His eyes were framed by markings reminiscent of Shadow's, giving him an even more sinister appearance. The once-yellow accents in his ears now glowed an ominous red, and his nose had darkened to a deep black.

The robot's body armor had become more pronounced, with curved shoulder plates as black as his robot heart. His gauntlets and leg armor had grown larger, featuring pointy kneecaps outlined in white that looked sharp enough to slice through steel. A plate covered his pelvis, and his feet now resembled elven shoes, adding to his otherworldly appearance.

Perhaps most striking was the addition of a spiky belt from which a black cape billowed, seeming to absorb the light from the surrounding flames. The cape whipped dramatically in the hot winds generated by the inferno, creating an aura of dark majesty around Metal Sonic.

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Grandfather's Ghost (short story)

“So, medicine cat, eh?” Redjay settled beside his grandson, who had snuck out of the nursery and kept to the shadows of the camp wall to avoid being shooed back in or be seen talking to air.

Myrtlekit nodded enthusiastically. He had told Hickoryskip his decision earlier that day, and guessed that either Redjay or another of his family had seen the discussion. “A good choice, right?”

Redjay made a doubtful grunt. “Are you sure it’s the path for you? You have a bloodlust in you, little one, battles are a good way to quench the thirst.”

“But it’s so mindless,” Myrtlekit responded, pulling his mouth to one side. “Slashing around is fun, but it’ll get boring in time, right? And what am I gonna do when there’s no war for moons?”

His grandfather grinned, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. “Aw, so mind games has piqued your interest, has it?” His smile dropped. “But you’ll have to target the weak, and you’re better than that. Stronger than that.”

Anger clawed Myrtlekit’s chest. “I’m no coward! If they’re not weak, I’ll make them weak, then I’ll make them all beg for mercy and give them none!”

Redjay’s eyes sparked. A ring of energy seemed to shoot through his body, lifting his fur in enthusiasm. “Oh, the fire in you, my little one!” He tilted his head, so far it almost looked like the bones inside had split apart. “I suppose I do see the benefits. Herbs and poison right by your paws, to be used at your disposal…”

“Trusted by my Clanmates and leader,” Myrtlekit added, remembering Bella-May’s advice.

“StarClan won’t rat on you, because you’ll be their messenger.” Redjay’s grin was returning.

“Gorsedaisy will hate it.” Myrtlekit spat the name. The elderly medicine cat had never liked him, and wasn’t shy on making her thoughts clear. 

Redjay’s eyes darkened. “Indeed she will. The Clan knows she’s lost her petals. Ha! They’ll trust you more than her!” Redjay’s whole body shook. “I can just imagine what she’d say! ‘No! Please don’t let him become a medicine cat! He’s evil, I tell you! Evil!’”

Myrtlekit pressed his paw to his muzzle, stifling the laughter that threatened to choke him, his shoulders shaking as he struggled to breathe. The impression Redjay made was perfect. For a second, he thought that Gorsedaisy really had spoken. Sure, it was a little dramatic in its mockery, but the idea was still clear. “Do it again, do it again!” He prompted.

Redjay did so, though he had to control his own chuckles before he could speak again.  “‘You’re all fools! Fools! I guess I’ll speak to you when you get to StarClan, because that’s where the lot of you will end up, mark my words!”

Myrtlekit burst out in a fit of open laughter, rolling onto his side until he gasped for air. “One more!”

“Myrtlekit, what are you doing out here?” Myrtlekit whipped around to face Grebeglade, his aunt, who had been on guard duty. “What’s got you so amused?”

Myrtlekit looked over his shoulder. Redjay’s spirit had already disappeared. “I saw a frog jump on a squirrel, and I thought it was really funny!” 

Grebeglade looked around. Her whiskers twitched, and she blinked at him with warm amusement. “Must have been a dream. Go back to your mother, alright? You could freeze out here.”

“Okay, I will!” Myrtlekit told her, and bounded back to the nursery. His fur still buzzed as he settled in the nest beside Blacksong, and the smile remained on his face as he fell into the darkness of sleep.

==================

--Probably one of the cutest stories we'll ever see of Myrtlwing.

--I like to think that Redjay does his mimicry often for the amusement of the little ones.

@ambitiousauthor

--Base found in this stash: FREE Warriors Lineart Pack 1 by LexisSketches on DeviantArt

[pey-up]

Ok i am ✨️very✨️ nervous but @daniswatching peer pressured me to post it so here we aree yayy

I wrote williams childhood because i was bored lets goo (ill reblog w elaboration later✨️ i made sibling oc's so ill give mini things for they)

⚠️Some content warnings⚠️

Gore, blood, animal death, and theres none in this chapter but in future ones there might be domestic and child abuse depicted im not sure if ill keep it though :)

----

June's awful. William thinks spitefully. It's hot and sticky and sweaty. The worst part is break. There's nothing to do but sit by the road and watch the passing cars.

SCREEECH

He turns and pulls himself up, walking over to the sight. A squirrel, just bearly longer than his arm lay on the road. Quiet, still, and bloodied. He scoops it up, blood dripping onto his purple sweater.

Budump

He jumps, and almost drops it. It's still breathing. Its heart thumps against his arm.

Budump.

What to do with it? He can't just leave it here. It's in pain! He looks at its pathetic face one last time before running over to his house.

--

There's lots of trees in Utah. It's much warmer than England, though he doesn't have much memory of it. They had moved when he was quite younger after all. He starts off on a walk, but it quickly escalates into a sprint into the wooded area behind the neighborhood. He checks to see if anyones out before disappearing into the towering trees. The leafs leave smallish cracks in the sky, letting sunlight leak in from above. Leaves and just-too-tall blades of grass brush against his exposed ankles. Blood has leaked out all over his arms by now, he rolls up his sleeves and crouches down to the ground. What is he going to do? There's really only one option. He can't leave it here, to be eaten by animals fighting over its corpse. No. No that's too cruel. Should he be cruel? Perhaps not, he should get rid of it. Eliza could help nurse it back to health... oh but father would shout at him for the bloody mess. He rises from the dirt, shadow covering his eyes. One option. He had kept pushing it off, but it's the best one. He grabs a heavy rock, the biggest one he can possibly carry (which isn't very big, it'll be a slow death, but it's better than what it already had... right?) It's sharp on one edge, which hopefully is good. He pins the squirrel to the ground with one hand and slams the rock into its head. Over and over again. Over and over again. Over and over again.

You don't realize how much blood is in one animal until you're covered in it. The animal is long dead by now. A car's break screeching, as another had only a few minutes ago, breaks him out of his trance. He drops the rock and tumbles back. What on Earth is he doing? It's dead. It's been dead. Was it's heart ever beating? Or was it his sick twisted mind giving him an excuse to bash its head in. He gasps. What is he going to do with the body? Isn't murder a crime? He just killed something. He digs his nails in the dirt. His hands are shaking, but he forces himself to push through.

Once he has a decent sized hole, and hands so bloody he can't tell what's from him and what's from Rodney. (He named it, Rodney sounded like a proper good name.) He shoves the corpse in, and burrys it, he stomps on the dirt to pack it in and falls to the ground. Tears overwhelm his eyes, blinding him for a moment before he coughs and vomits, rushing to the right. Hands shaking still, blood covered, already disheveled looking, and sobbing he walks to the edge of the wooded area.

He uses a cleaner part of his sleeve and wipes his face clean from tears. Looking up and down the streets, luckily no one else is out and about like him. A sound startles him before he realizes its coming from him. He's laughing, a sick and emotionless sound. Maybe he did enjoy it. Did he? He can't tell. Possibly.

-

The old wooden door creaks when pushed open by a dirt coved 10-year-old boy.

"Andrew?"

"William," He replies.

"Oh. Tell your sister she needs to come down and help make dinner soon." His mother, never making eye contact or even looking his way scrubs the dishes clean with a cloth.

"Ok, Mother." She continues her cleaning and he passes down the hall.

"And tell your brother to get off that damn phone, he's been calling his girlfriend all day." She mumbles something else. Probably best he didn't hear that last part.

"Which one?"

"Hm?"

"Which brother?"

"Which one do you think?" She spits. He crawls upstairs, leaning into the first door on the right. First floor up from the ground floor, he turns and shouts into the doorway.

"Vinny! Mum says to get off the phone!" He doesn't let himself become visible from Vincent's perspective, he knows that his brother wouldn't let him go if he was spotted all dirty and bloody.

"Oh ok-" He shouts back, his accent just as clear as Williams. "I'll be back later J-" He adds softly.

"No you won't we have dinner- who's J? Is she your girlfriend? That's what Mum says."

"Mum doesn't know what she's talking about-" And just to Williams suprise, and fear Vincent walks over to the doorway to shoo him off. Caught red handed, he gasps. "Jesus fucking Christ..." He whispers. "Will, what fucking happened?" All joking and lighthearted teasing has been lost, as has the color from Vincents face."I- the car- Ro- he-"

"Oh." He's picked up and brought a few doors down. He's tired, and trying so hard not to cry. Once he's set down a few minutes later, he struggles to keep his eyes open. He sees Vincent going through his dresser, before finally finding a shirt and pants. "Put these on, I'll wash these in the morning." His voice is softer, and quieter than usually. Will is thankful, and gets dressed quickly.

"The hell are you two doing?"

"Nunya, what do you want?" Brown hair in her face, Eliza stands in the doorway. Vincent walks up and meets her at it.

"Oh Eliza, Mum wants you to help her cook soon," He says, pulling a new sweater over his shirt. She lets out a heavy sigh.

"I'll be down soon, Mum!" She shouts while running down the hall, practically jumping down the stairs. The two sigh breaths of relief.

"Are you going to tell me what happened now?" Vincent says, turning to William. His grey eyes stare harshly at him, it's a family trait. His brother returns the favor, glaring ungratefully.

"Are you going to tell me about your girlfriend?"

"Touchè."

"I don't even know what that means." He replies, mirroring the energy thrown at him. Vincent's red-brown hair spikes infront of his eyes, messy and untamed. He's lanky, tall and skinny, though, so is William for his age. The walls of Williams shared room are a, you guessed it, sad grey color. More of a blue varation, but certainly grey. They had been meaning to paint it for a while now, work and other things just got in the way of it over and over again. They continue their staring contest before a familar, and frightingly so door clicks. Fathers home.

-----

All i have for right now! I hope it was good!!!! Im very nervous haha :')

[blackblackheart]

Seemingly from nowhere, a rifle cracked in the silence of the autumn woods. A blink later, a large buck fell to the forest floor.

It was a good time to hunt, coming up on rutting season. The deer were already starting to get restless and careless- telltale fresh antler scrapes and scent rubbings against trees were beginning to crop up as well. It'd only been a matter of time, really, and now, Rico paced into the clearing to examine his kill. It had been a clean shot- the animal hadn't suffered, and Rico set his bag down to prepare to clean it. The knives he'd found should be a great help. After cleaning them in a stream, Rico had marveled at their condition. Dangerously sharp, with not a spot of rust or tarnish, gleaming like a pair of silver fangs. The handles were smooth black stone- onyx, perhaps, the whole make smooth and solid. They sliced between skin and flesh easily. Rico had never had such an easy time dressing a deer, but... he felt strange. The longer he worked, the odder he felt- lightheaded, dizzy. His vision was darkening around the edges. Gasping, he slumped backwards to the grass- and went through. Not into dirt, but nothing. A void. Swallowed by sable blackness, bereft of sight, scent, and sound. He still clutched the daggers, one in each hand, almost unconsciously. Wot. The FUCK. OI! OI, CAN ANYBODY BLOODY HEAR ME? THE FUCK IS GOING ON? Nothing. Rico could feel his lips moving, breath pass them, his tongue curling breath into words, but no sound. Whether the place had robbed him of his voice or no sound could penetrate the dark, he wasn't sure. Well, what the hell do I do now? Sighing, Rico took an experimental step forward. Then another. It felt almost like walking in place- he wasn't running in to any obstacles or walls, but there was no real sensation of movement, either. But maybe if he kept walking, there would be something. ------- A shadow moved through the forest. It slid across the grass and through brush and trees with ease- and why wouldn't it? It was nothing more than an absence of light. Maybe it belonged to a squirrel, or a bird flying above. Maybe.

[snappedsky]

Fanatics 99.2

Squee goes up against four aliens in the first game of the competition.

*Links to previous and next chapters in reblog*

--

Greatest in the Galaxy Part 2

Planet Tourney in the Andromeda Galaxy was designed for games, contests, competitions, and tournaments of all kinds. The whole planet- its surface, underground, and even the sky- serves this purpose.

Much of the planet is split into sections; each section is built for different games, holds different stadiums, or has dormitories uniquely designed to remind guests of their home planets.

Grounds B is designed to look like a generic abandoned city, with hundreds of empty buildings, some derelict. Somewhere amidst these buildings sits a single red flag.

Somewhere else in the fake city, Squee appears beside his opponents- Mixa of Irk, Nimbel of Swif’el, Screwn of Techon-3, and Bikeps of Mus’ular. From the sky, they can hear announcer Mic.

“First player to find the flag wins the game! Ready!”

Squee flinches as the other players get into a ready position.

“Go!”

They all look at him, murder in their eyes. They swing at him simultaneously but he jumps over them, lands on Bikeps head, and leaps away into the shadows of the surrounding building.

“Get him!” Mixa barks.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Irken,” Bikeps snarls, “or it’ll be your head I crush.”

“Uh oh, what’s this? Seems the opposing players have silently decided to take out the new guy first! This is a common practice when newbies are in the game. Will Squee be able to survive?”

The four aliens race around the buildings, searching for Squee who has disappeared from their sight. But not from the sight of the cam-bots. One buzzes next to him as he hides next to a wall, panting worriedly.

“Why are they ganging up on me?” he whines, “why can’t they just kill each other? It would make my job a lot easier.” On Earth, his friends are watching him on Tak’s TV.

“Poor Squee,” Tenna remarks.

“He’ll be fine,” Johnny insists, “once he gets over his anxiety, nobody will be able to stop him.” “I think so too,” Maddie agrees, “it’s like when I sing in front of people. It’s nerve wracking at first, but then I get lost in the music.”

Back in the game, Squee flinches as he hears someone coming. He quickly jumps onto a windowsill and scurries like a squirrel all the way up to the roof just before Screwn comes around the corner.

“Not much is known about Earthanoids, but if Squee is anything to go by, their speed and agility could match Swifs.”

Squee crouches on the roof as he watches Screwn go by below. Not far he can see Nimbel also searching around.

“Fine,” he snarls, “they want me, they’ll have to find me first. And while they’re looking for me, I’ll look for the flag.” Silent as a ghost and almost as light, Squee leaps across to a neighbouring building.

Not far below, Mixa’s antennae twitch and she looks up. Spider legs extend out of her PAK and she scales the wall of the building.

“Hey, isn’t that cheating?” Pepito asks in the stadium.

“Technically no. Since Irkens cannot survive without our PAKs, they don’t count as physical enhancements,” Tak replies.

“Psh,” he scoffs.

Mixa crawls along the roofs with her spider legs, following the twitches of her antennae. She takes a sudden dive between the shadows of two buildings and stops, looking around suspiciously. Her antennae have gone still.

“Where did you go?” she mutters.

A cam-bot quietly follows Squee’s movements as he slinks through the shadows. Mixa senses him and spins, but he mimics her, keeping her back to him, and strikes like a snake.

He slips between her spider legs and grabs her mouth with one hand and both antennae with the other. She doesn’t have time to fight back as he squeezes, causing a paralyzing shock to shoot up her body.

“You’re too much of an issue,” he snarls and tugs hard. She gasps in pain before falling unconscious.

“Amazing! Squee of Earth has incapacitated Mixa of Irk!”

The stadium erupts into roars of outrage. Beneath it all, the Battalion cheers, as do their friends on Earth.

Squee gently lays Mixa’s body on the ground and gets ready to take off again when a chill shoots up his spine. He looks back and sees Bikeps come around the corner.

“Found you!” he cheers and charges, his heavy footfalls smashing the ground with each step. Squee flinches with surprise and barely ducks beneath the alien’s giant fist, making him punch the wall behind him.

“No use resisting, little one,” Bikeps says as he swings at him again and Squee leaps back. “You may be able to take down an Irken with their tiny bodies, but I have no weaknesses.”

“You kinda do,” Squee argues, “you don’t pay attention to your surroundings.” “Huh?” he grunts questionably and Squee points up. The wall Bikeps punched is crumbling, causing the building to come crashing down.

“Uh oh,” Bikeps whimpers as the rubble tumbles down onto him. Squee jumps back well out of the way and continues through the city.

“Incredible! Bikeps of Mus’ular is down while Squee remains unharmed!”

Squee races through the streets, checking each corner as he passes. He sees no sign of his remaining two opponents, but he skids to a stop as he spots a dot of red amidst the drab greys and browns.

“The flag!” he gasps and starts to run for it but stops when he hears a little patter-patter. He looks around the corner and sees Screwn charging his way.

“Stop right there, alien!” he barks in a high-pitched voice.

Squee watches as the knee-high alien runs up to him and pushes against his legs, grunting angrily. He cocks his eyebrow with bewilderment and picks up Screwn by the back of his body suit, like a kitten.

“Wow, you really got the disadvantage here, huh,” he remarks, “I mean, that Irken could use her PAK, but you can’t use anything?”

Screwn sighs heavily as he limply hangs from Squee’s grip. “It’s the Irken domination.”

“Right. Well, kudos for trying anyway.”

Squee hangs the little alien off of a screw sticking out of the wall like a picture frame before running off. He quickly approaches a kind of town square with the flag stuck in the middle. He starts to smile with relief when he sees, across the clearing, Nimbel also enter from a different road.

They both gasp as they spot each other, the flag an equal distance away.

Nimbel drops onto all six limbs and takes off at an amazing speed, almost a blur on the viewing screens.

“This could be it, folks! Across the galaxy, the speed of the Swifs is unmatched! Surely a bipedal creature like Squee doesn’t stand a chance!”

“Come on, Squee,” Johnny urges from Tak’s living room. “Show ‘em what you can do.”

Squee scowls. As his foot steps onto the ground, dust rises up around it. There’s a crackling like electricity before he suddenly picks up speed and zooms across the square, the ground cracking as his feet leave it.

“Amazing! Incredible! Who would’ve guessed Earthanoids possessed such speed! It’s neck-and-neck! Who will reach the flag first?”

Two blurs fly towards the flag. Everyone watches with bated breath, on the edge of their seats, as Squee and Nimbel reach out.

There’s a sudden flash of light and the camera feeds cut. On the stadium ground, the flag appears with Squee and Nimbel gripping either side of it. They crash into each other and crumple to the ground, still holding onto the flag.

“Woo, he did it,” Devi sighs with relief.

“I told you,” Johnny says, “Squee may not be competitive, but he loves to win.”

“Amazing! Incredible! Unbelievable! It’s a tie, between Squee of Earth and Nimbel of Swif’el! This awards both teams five points!”

The stadium erupts into excited cheers. Squee and Nimbel lift their heads, slightly dazed, and look at each other. They both flinch defensively and jump back onto their feet.

Squee glances around, finally noticing they’re back in the stadium. He stares with disbelief at the cheering crowd and the scoreboard hologram overhead, displaying Earth and Swif’el tied for first with five points.

“I...I won?” he questions.

“We tied,” Nimbel spits, “ridiculous. That I could be considered an equal with the likes of you.”

“Well, like it or not, we seem pretty equal from where I’m standing,” Squee smiles, pointing to the scoreboard.

“It won’t stay that way for long.”

“You’re right. Pretty soon, you’ll be in second.”

“No, I mean...ah, forget it.”

“Huh?” Squee questions and watches as she walks away, dejected. “Hm. Even I’m better at smack talk than that.”

He starts to walk away when pain shoots up his legs. Wincing, he grips his thighs and continues a little slower. When he returns to his team’s sky box, he’s met with cheers and hugs.

“That was amazing, Squee!” Pepito exclaims, peppering him with kisses.

“Not a bad way to start the games,” Dib remarks.

“I would prefer a solid win,” Zim says, ��but I suppose a tie is good enough.”

“I’m happy to meet the bare minimum of standards,” Squee replies.

“Are you injured?” Shmoopy asks worriedly.

“I think I just pulled a muscle when I did that super speed.”

“Well, I should still look you over,” she insists and points to the table and chairs. “Please, have a seat.”

“Hey, dorks, get over here,” Gaz demands from the balcony. “They’re announcing the next round.” Everyone but Squee and Shmoopy quickly hurry out to watch as the hologram screen shows the players of the five teams on separate lists. A name from each team starts getting randomly selected.

“Now it’s time for today’s battle! And the players shall be...Tav of Irk, Olap of Swif’el, Wirez of Techon-3, Peccs of Mus’ular, and Gaz of Earth!”

“Gaz?” Dib gasps, horrified.

She smirks darkly. “Yes.”

[dexilou]

Ok so I have a thing where I just write random one-off stories down in my note app. I really enjoyed making this one and thought it was cute so I thought I might as well post it to my tumblr. Keep in mind while reading that it wasn't intented for posting anywhere. Just a wholesome little folksy story I guess?

Run. Run. Run. Chase. Chase. Chase. That's all he knew. The late summer sun gazed down and watched the peculiar sight. A sandy-haired boy, kissed by the sun itself. He quickly weaved through the vibrant grass. It was all so familiar to him. His pumping arms, the grass tickling his legs, the sun warming him inside out. He runs for hours, always chasing. He has chased a variety of different creatures. Birds, squirrels, deer, and even a wolf occasionally. But his favorite were rabbits. They ran the fastest. You might only see a little glimpse of there hazelnut fur and they're off down a trail they've run many times before. He's never caught a rabbit, never caught anything. He doesn't run to catch, however, he runs to live. To breathe. To be himself.

The golden-haired, freckled boy, chased a flash of white fur into the woods. Legs pumping and heart drumming in his chest, he fell into a rhythm. He weaved through trees and ducked branches only to get just a glimpse of white fur bounding away again. His lungs struggled to keep up his pace. He slowed down. His strides became sloppy, legs unwilling to cooperate anymore. He stopped. Gasping for breath, the small tanned boy searched his surroundings. Tall oaks stretch high above him, their canopys forming a leafy green sky. Patches of sun did poke through the leaves however, making strange light shapes dance on the ground. Spots of sun drifted, becoming orange at his feet. The trees' shadows snaked their way down, claiming more ground. The boy's breath quickened but he wasn't running. Spinning in a circle he searched for a familiar rock, a crooked tree, the meadow in the distance. But he didn't recognize this wood. He ran one way passing identical trees, racing along undisturbed ground. The sun began to drift away, hiding itself for the night. The sun was gone, and night had arrived.

The freckled, sandy-haired, sun-kissed, boy stopped running. Tears began to flood his eyes and cascade down his cheeks, dampening the soil beneath him. Defeated, he slumped down against the base of a tree scrubbing at his eyes. A wimper escaped his lips as he pressed his back to the cool bark.

"Hello," a voice said, startling him. Wiping his eyes, he saw a girl standing before him. She must've been his age, with bronze skin. She was petite and limber, dressed in a simple peasant dress. But her hair, it was all white, pure, pearl white.

Afraid of the stranger, the frightened boy pressed himself into the tree trying to make more space between them.

"Don't be scared," the girl said softly. "I can help you." She offered a small hand to the boy.

Carefully, he reached out and took her hand, letting her pull him up.

"I'm afraid I'm very lost," he said. "I don't know the way out of this wood." He noticed he had to look down to meet the girls eyes, which were a warm golden brown.

"Don't worry, I know the way. I've been through here lots of times." Without letting go of his hand, the strange girl with the pearl hair lead him through the woods. The night was quiet, neither child spoke as if it would wake the forest.

The freckled boy didn't know if he trusted this girl. She had just appeared in the forest. Her hair was white as snow. Perhaps she was a witch. But witches he heard were quite mean and ugly. This girl was neither of those things. He trusted this girl. He couldn't place why. Still, he found himself gripping her hand as they neared the end of the wood. She stopped at the edge of the meadow, gazing up at the moon.

"Thank you for helping me." the boy said, finding he didn't want to let go of her hand. "I never would've made it home without you."

The girl mearly smiled at him. He found himself smiling back. After a moment he faced the meadow, her hand slipping out of his. He took a few steps out of the woods, towards his home. He turned again to forest expecting the girl to be there watching him go. But the girl with the hair as white as the moon was gone. He frowned scanning the woods for her. He couldnt see her. She had disappeared.

The sun-kissed boy, under the light of the moon, began to run. He ran all the way home, imagining the strange girl disappearing into the air. When he got home to his worried mother he told her everything. The rabbit, the woods, the girl. He then realized he hadn't asked what her name was. He decided he would go out tomorrow and find her again so he could learn her name. The sandy-haired boy fell asleep that night dreaming of running through the woods with a mysterious pearl-haired girl.

[esonetwork]

Timestamp #CLS4: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart & Brave-ish Heart

New Post has been published on https://esonetwork.com/timestamp-cls4-co-owner-of-a-lonely-heart-brave-ish-heart/

Timestamp #CLS4: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart & Brave-ish Heart

Class: Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart Class: Brave-ish Heart (2 episodes, s01e04-05, 2016)

Loads of character development in a two-hour adventure.

Co-Owner of a Lonely Heart

Far across the universe in the halls of the Shadow Palace on The Underneath, Corakinus receives word that his servants can make his heart whole again. Unfortunately, his attempts to sever the attachment to April only strengthen the connection. On the other end of that connection in Shoreditch, April gasps in pain before picking up the sword of the Shadow King.

The next day, a strange petal dances on the wind before landing on April’s window as she practices her violin. April breaks a string and cuts herself, but the power of the Shadow King allows her to heal quickly. She also shares some bad news with her mother Jackie: He father has recently been released and made contact with the family.

Ram is feeling better after connecting with April. Meanwhile, Charlie shares the truth about the Cabinet of Souls with Matteusz. Everyone heads to school where Miss Quill watches as Mr. Armitage‘s name is added to the memorial and meets Dorothy Ames, the new headteacher sent by the Governors.

Later in class, April challenges her teacher during a lesson about warfare and the Dunkirk evacuation. As she literally breaks into her locker later, it’s apparent that the Shadow King is bleeding into her psyche. After ignoring a call from her father, she asks Ram for help. While they chat in Ram’s car, several more petals fall on the city and April’s father Huw MacLean shows up. His appearance is a violation of a court order, but all he wants is the chance to apologize. When he presses the issue, April manifests as the Shadow King and scares him away.

They are confronted by Ms. Ames for their truancy and Ram is encouraged to take April home while the headteacher is bitten by a flower petal. As Ram and April talk in her bedroom, the Shadow Kin locate Earth and plot an attack. April and Ram turn from talking to romance, which has a similar effect on the Shadow King 9,000 years of space travel away. Unfortunately for him, the Shadow Kin are disgusted by the thought of intimacy during sex. Afterward, April and Ram are discovered by April’s mother.

Charlie and Matteusz discuss the Cabinet of Souls and the prince reveals that the cabinet could transfer the souls into the bodies of another race. The cabinet is a powerful weapon capable of genocide. Miss Quill is angered by the discussion and storms away.

Later on, Tanya confronts Charlie about how he lords over the team. Matteusz chimes in occasionally while also being bitten by a flower petal. In fact, the petals are growing in number. Meanwhile, Miss Quill requests time off to deal with something at home, but Ms. Ames calls her into a meeting. The new headteacher also has a file with Charlie’s true identity on paper.

Jackie confronts the two teens about their relationship. Ram acts with respect toward her, but after he leaves, Jackie expresses her concerns about Ram and the parallels with April’s father. Ram calls Tanya and tells her that April is in trouble, which is a call that Huw overhears as he lurks nearby. On the ground is a squirrel, bloodied and killed by the flower petals.

Ms. Ames shows the petals to Miss Quill, remarking that there haven’t been many squirrels or birds around. One drop of blood causes the petals to multiply rapidly, and Ms. Ames asks Miss Quill to help solve the problem. She offers to remove the creature from Miss Quill’s head and free her from the contract.

April leaves the house to make up with Ram, but her departure is interrupted by Huw. After her parents argue, April is attacked by the Corakinus and the two personalities begin to merge. The Shadow King’s servant amplifies the effort but April resists as she attacks her father. Ram arrives just as April is about to execute her father with the Shadow King’s swords. April spares his life as she returns to lucidity. The rest of the team arrives just as April turns on her mother and heals her with the Shadow King’s power.

The act displaces enough energy to reveal Earth’s location to Corakinus, so April takes the initiative and slices open a rift. She dives inside, headed toward The Underneath, and Ram jumps in after her.

Brave-ish Heart

Ram races through The Underneath as a Shadow Kin chases him. He is saved by April and her scimitars, joining her as she makes her way to the Shadow Palace. She reveals that she cannot open a rift back home, so the two of them may be trapped there permanently. Back on Earth, Tanya reveals the truth of April’s condition to her parents, and they accompany Charlie to find help. Tanya finds Ram’s father and brings him into the team.

Meanwhile, Miss Quill and Ms. Ames continue their discussions. Ms. Ames asks for her thoughts on genocide, linking her plan back to Charlie and the Cabinet of Souls. They meet up with April’s parents and Charlie and Miss Quill confronts the prince over the cabinet. She’s angry that all of the people who slaughtered her people are still alive. Ms. Ames and the Governors want to use the cabinet’s power to destroy the petals.

April and Ram make their way through a cavern that reminds the Shadow Kin that they must defeat the universe or be crushed by it. They believe that they are a mistake of the universe and destined to live as shadows beneath everyone else unless they can overpower the universe. Ram discusses his Sikh heritage with April, proclaiming that doing good for the sake of doing so means getting closer to his god. They are interrupted by a telepathic link to Corakinus. He knows where they are.

Ram’s father and April’s parents argue about their children’s relationship while Tanya talks them down. As April gears up for war against the king and his army, Jackie’s heart glows. At the Quill/Smith home, Ms. Ames, Miss Quill, Charlie, and Matteusz debate the merits of using the cabinet to save the planet. Since only a Rhodian can operate the cabinet, Ms. Ames threatens Matteusz’s life to force Charlie into action. Tanya escorts everyone to the headteacher’s office as Matteusz sends her a text message. Apparently,  according to Ms. Ames, shadows can kill the petals. But bringing the Shadow Kin to Earth is a non-starter even though the petals are now consuming humans.

April engages Corakinus in a one-on-one battle where the victor becomes the new king. As they duel, the connection between Jackie and April intensifies. Using that connection, April opens a rift and she is joined by her father and Ram’s father. April finally defeats Corakinus. Huw talks her out of killing the king, and April declares that defeat is enough to depose Corakinus. The newly-crowned king has Corakinus locked away before she returns to Earth.

Under duress, Charlie decides to use the cabinet, but Matteusz is able to ambush Ms. Ames and throw her gun away. He stops short of committing genocide when April opens a rift and dispatches the Shadow Kin against the petals. Once the threat is obliterated, April orders the shadows to return home and destroy the path along the way.

Inside his cell, Corakinus severs the link that his followers created. April’s powers are gone, but they still share the same heart. Fortunately, the actions she took with the powers remain, including her mother’s ability to walk again. Her family is healing, but she needs Huw to stay away until the MacLean women can forgive him.

Meanwhile, Ms. Ames reveals that the Governors foretold all of this. The offer for Miss Quill still stands.

This should have come a lot sooner in the series. There is so much character development in this pair of episodes and it is a shame that we had to trudge through two really thin and slow plots to finally reach it.

I love seeing the weight on Charlie’s shoulders as a deposed prince, the last of his people, and the pressure placed upon him by his former enemy now turned indentured servant and protector. Miss Quill is hungry for revenge for her people and she’s willing to make a deal with the devil to get it. These two living under the same roof is delicious tension, particularly as Matteusz tries to tread the thin line of armistice between them.

We got a glimpse of Tanya’s leadership last week, and this week brings it back as she wrangles the personal conflicts between April and Ram’s parents while trying to save her friend. April and Ram continue to develop their new relationship, and they both show intense boldness alongside brilliant empathy. April’s personality tempers her heart – a most appropriate weakness for her empathy – with her wisdom, making her my favorite character of the bunch.

I also love that she’s practicing “Night Visiting” on her violin. A follow-on from that previous story, it’s a song inspired by legends about the spirits of deceased loved ones. Those spirits would knock on their living relative’s windows at night and appear as either warnings of danger or as an escort to drag their living relatives to Hell. It seems to have stuck with April, especially since she’s a student of folk songs.

Finally, in a neat bit of trivia, Charlie’s last name is Smith. Presumably no relation to the other Smiths that we know, either Time Lord or journalist.

Rating: 4/5 – “Would you care for a jelly baby?”

UP NEXT – Class: Detained

The Timestamps Project is an adventure through the televised universe of Doctor Who, story by story, from the beginning of the franchise. For more reviews like this one, please visit the project’s page at Creative Criticality.

[littlemisspascal]

Little Red’s Shadow Part 1

Pairing: Werewolf Pero Tovar x Female!Reader

Word Count: 8000+

Summary: I posted an idea about werewolf Pero and this fic grew from there. Hope you like it 💖

Warnings: no beta all mistakes are my own, language, werewolf/shapeshifter AU with little red riding hood elements, pining, angst, Reader has a crush and is oblivious to the obvious, Pero’s got a secret so he’s a bit grumpy, injury description with blood, death of a rabbit, setting and time period? who knows lol it is what it is

Author Note: First time writing Pero and there’s been a lot of interest in this fic so I’m nervous posting cuz this is super self-indulgent. Originally I wanted to post the fic from start to end, but this week hasn’t been a good one and posting fics always makes me feel better so yeah. Here’s Part 1 and Part 2 is a few scenes away from being done.

Part 2

“The gaze of the wolf reaches into our soul.” – Barry Lopez

Twilight is fast approaching as you walk along the forest trail between your village and the neighboring one to the north, glimpses of a dark purple and red sky visible overhead through the branches of pine trees bracketing either side of you. There is a chill in the air, the last lingering side effect of the winter season, and you adjust your scarlet-colored cloak tighter around your body, fighting back a shiver. 

Being in the woods this late isn’t a wise choice and you’re sure to receive a lecture from your father when you get home about time management, but in your defense once Mrs. Tate starts talking, it is virtually impossible to make the widow stop until she talks herself into a state of unconsciousness. You were held hostage in her living room for hours listening to her prattle on about a variety of topics ranging from a drought that occurred forty years ago to a new recipe of cake she’s eager to try baking. 

Fortunately you’d had the forethought of completing your other deliveries before taking Mrs. Tate her new sewing kit, otherwise you would be making the walk home completely in the dark.

Although twilight isn’t much better, you think to yourself after tripping over a stick obscured in shadow, accidentally untying one of your shoelaces in the process. You bite back a curse, knowing that walking through the woods with untied shoes is a guarantee you’ll wind up with a sprained ankle. A lesson you’ve unfortunately learned the hard, painful way more than once over the years. 

Sighing, you bend down to retie the knot only to freeze when it occurs to you just how quiet the woods have become. The air has frozen still, not even the faintest of breezes ruffling the tree branches. You strain your ears to hear anything over the anxious thumping of your heartbeat, but it is as if the whole world has been turned on mute.

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and you become very uncomfortably aware of someone’s gaze watching you. You swallow thickly, dread forming a heavy stone in your stomach, regretting dismissing your father’s advice of carrying a knife with you for protection. 

“There’s nothing dangerous out there,” you had told him, pulling the hood of your cloak over your head while concealing an eye roll. “Just rabbits and squirrels and deer.”

What is that saying about hindsight? 

The logical part of your brain is screaming at you to take off running, to try and put as much distance between yourself and the threat as possible. But you’ve always been a slave to your own curiosity, that insistent pull in your chest telling you to investigate, and right now it wants you to turn around and find out who or what is about to potentially kill you.

Mentally counting to three, you slowly twist your shoulders to look behind you, trembling like a leaf about to be blown away from its branch, and scan the foliage for unfamiliar shapes or shifting shadows. 

Nothing immediately stands out as dangerous or suspicious looking. You start to think your imagination is playing tricks on you, only to gasp when a twig snaps, echoing like a gunshot. A bolt of fear strikes your chest, adrenaline surging through your veins, and every instinct you possess is on high alert.

The wind picks up again, nearly knocking you over with a strong gust, and as you struggle to maintain balance you think you hear a quiet huffing sound right before a clump of bushes shake in front of you. Like something brushed past them.

You wait a few more seconds before finishing tying your shoelace, no longer feeling eyes upon you. Whatever it was watching you had left, apparently deciding you weren’t worth killing. 

There is barely enough sunlight left to guide you home, but your curiosity has not been sated yet, pulling you in the direction of the bush. You crouch and push away the branches, squinting to make out the shape of pawprints in the dirt, a bit messy and overlapping like the animal had backed up quickly. 

“Oh my God,” you murmur, stunned to realize a wolf had been spying on you. No way a regular dog could leave behind tracks larger than the width of your hand.

But what is a wolf doing so close to the village? You can’t remember hearing about sightings of one in the area anytime recently. It’s probably just a rogue passing through, you think as you start walking again, but the sensation of its intense gaze upon you continues to linger the entire journey back, replaying on loop within your mind.

When she was still living, your mother taught you not to believe in coincidences. There are some encounters too strange and remarkable to have occurred by random chance. They are instead controlled by the strings of fate, as inevitable as the changing of seasons each year. 

When you reach your village at the end of the trail, you pause for a moment to look over your shoulder into the dark depths of the forest. Your heart weighs heavily in your chest, burdened by a sense of certainty you can’t ignore.

The wolf was intended to cross your path. 

And you can’t shake the feeling it will happen again.

“Wolves in shells are crueler than stray ones.” ― Gaston Bachelard

When you’re not out delivering orders, you can usually be found behind the counter as the cashier of your father’s trading depot. Years spent helping your father has made you a master at recognizing faces. Whether the person is a frequent visitor or they only swing around every few months, you take pride in recognizing each customer and trader that comes through the door, greeting them by name with a smile. 

You’re in the middle of reading a field guide on woodland animals you’d plucked from the shelf of mishmash genres in the corner when the bell over the door jingles, signaling a new arrival. You look up, a welcoming remark ready on your tongue, only to be caught off guard by the haggard appearance of a stranger.

The man is a couple of inches taller than you, broad-shouldered and thick with the sort of muscle mass that comes only from harsh work conditions. His dark brown hair is long and in desperate need of a thorough washing, and the bottom half of his face is concealed by a thick, bushy beard of the same coloring. 

He carries a bundle of pelts with him, slamming them down upon the counter in front of you with a heavy thud, confirming his employment as a hunter. Up close you notice a nasty looking scar dissecting his left eye, the mark slightly raised and pinkish red. A couple months old, maybe. You wonder what caused the injury, if it was an animal or another human.

“I didn’t come to be stared at,” he says bluntly, accented voice rough and scratchy with disuse, almost like a growl.

Embarrassed, you avert your eyes to the pile of furry pelts. “Sorry, sir. I didn’t mean any offense.”

The stranger walks away wordlessly, perusing the stocked shelves with a scowling face like he’s dissatisfied with everything he sees. You keep a subtle eye on him as you start sorting through the pelts, identifying all the creatures in the collection. The majority are rabbits and squirrels, but your father will be happy when you show him the few badgers and foxes that have been skinned in perfect condition.

“I’ll need your name to complete the transaction,” you tell the bearded man when he returns to the counter and sets down a handful of items, including a new knife and pair of leather boots. 

“What are you reading?”

You blink at the non-sequitur, then follow his gaze down to the open book in front of you. “A field guide,” you say, moving to push it aside only for him to snatch it away with unexpected swiftness.

Impossibly, his scowl seems to intensify with every line of text he reads, lips twisting into what you can only label as a snarl. Coupled with his shaggy hair, he resembles more of a beast than a man at the moment.

“Careful,” you tell him mildly, the corners of your lips curling into a teasing smile. “You might get stuck with that face.”

The stranger’s eyebrows shoot up with surprise, dropping the book as if it burned him, before he lets out a dry, humorless chuckle. “If only you knew,” he mutters cryptically. Then he gathers up his selected goods and heads for the door, only pausing long enough in the entryway to say, “It’s Pero,” before he leaves as mysteriously as he came.

It takes you an embarrassingly long moment after he’s gone to realize he’s given you his name. 

“Nice meeting you Pero,” you say to the empty room, scribbling down the name. It’s as unique as the man himself, easy to commit to memory.

You reach to shut the field guide and then change course, instead pulling it back across the counter to look at the page Pero had been reading. The way he’d scowled and glowered made you think he wanted to set the whole thing on fire if he’d possessed the power.

The eyes of a gray wolf stare back at you, sending a shudder down your spine. You trace your finger along the outline of the triangular shape of its ears, its sleek and furry torso, all the way down to its bushy tail. 

How strange and remarkable, you think, closing the guidebook and putting it away. A thorn of disappointment digs into your chest when you wonder if this was the second encounter with the wolf you’d been anticipating. 

A paper wolf crumples in comparison to a real one. 

Literally. 

“Some girls are full of heartache and poetry and those are the kind of girls who try to save wolves instead of running away from them.” ― Nikita Gill

The ground beneath your boots is muddy and slick from the overnight rain. Every step threatens to send you tumbling to the earth, making you exceedingly cautious even though the consequence is your delivery trip is taking twice as long. A thin layer of fog has settled over the forest this morning, giving your surroundings an almost mystical appearance. Everything is a bit blurry, like looking through your father’s spectacles, forcing you to rely on the mental map of the trails etched into your brain to keep you from getting lost.

A low, rumbling growl has you stopping dead, heart lodging in your throat. 

There is no mistaking the wolf’s presence even if you can’t see it. No other living thing inhabiting the woods could produce such a fierce and throaty sound. Clutching the parcel tighter against your chest, you peer into the dense undergrowth, searching for signs of movement.

Another growl weaves through the trees, but this time there is an audible note of pain laced within it. The wolf is hurt, you realize, a wave of worry crashing into you. 

After a beat of hesitation, you set the parcel on the ground and step off the path, ignoring the warning bells in the back of your head, angry with you for disobeying your father’s strict instruction about never veering away from the trail. The trail meant safety and certainty, the quickest route from Point A to Point B. By entering the woods, especially with the present fog, you risk never being found again.

But it is not in your nature to abandon someone in need of help. Even if that someone is a wolf of all creatures.

You push through a tangle of thorny bushes, muttering a curse when they snag on the fabric of your cloak, and stumble into a small grassy clearing with all the clumsiness of the village drunk. 

Then you see the wolf.

Describing it as big would be offensive. It’s colossal, hackles raised and ears drawn back against its skull, all its teeth bared in a threatening snarl. The color of its fur is a shade of brown so dark it could pass for black, except for around its right hind leg which is coated in a sickening amount of crimson blood.

The metal spikes of a hunting trap embedded in its flesh keep it from lunging at you, slicing through muscle and sinew right into the bone. Blood seeps out of the wound, staining the blades of grass beneath the wolf’s leg, and it takes all your self-control not to gag at the disturbing sight.

“Damn it,” you breathe, unsure what to do, fingers clenching and unclenching restlessly. You have no medical expertise, especially not for helping massive predators who can tear off your hand with one bite of its sharp fangs.

You inch closer a step, only to immediately tense when the beast’s low growl intensifies in volume and it snaps at the air in your direction. Raising your hands in a pacifying gesture, you slowly crouch down low, trying to appear as non-threatening as physically possible. It isn’t a challenging feat considering you’re about as dangerous a threat to the wolf as a baby deer has the potential to be.

The wolf’s growling ceases, amber-gold eyes glinting with suspiciousness. You never knew animals could express human emotions so clearly, almost as if there is a human soul trapped beneath all that fur. You toss the ludicrous idea out of your mind instantly, shaking your head at your own foolishness. 

“So you stepped in a trap, huh,” you say, biting your lip as you study the ugly piece of metal, convinced whoever invented it is a sadistic monster. “That’s not good.”

The wolf huffs through its nose and tilts its head, looking at you like you’re the biggest idiot it has ever encountered. 

You stare back at it incredulously. “Wait. Do you...understand me?”

For a long moment, the wolf just stares at you, nose faintly twitching as it scents the air, then eventually dips its muzzle in a nod. 

Honestly, you don’t know whether to be amazed or frightened by the confirmation. Or perhaps even a mixture of both. You’ve read wolves are intelligent creatures, capable of learning new skills to help them survive, but learning human speech beyond simple commands is a talent you never could have guessed was possible.

“Well, alright then,” you say, wetting your lips and trying to find the right words. “If you really can understand everything I’m saying, then…” You look at it straight in the eye. “I want to help you get out of here. But to help you, I’ve got to move closer, okay?”

The wolf remains wary, hackles still raised with alarm, but it doesn’t try to lunge at you again when you creep forward and you think a tentative bridge of trust is starting to form.

There is an iron chain attached to the trap wrapped around a nearby tree trunk acting as an anchor, keeping the wolf from escaping with the hunter’s equipment. The wolf silently watches you unwind the chain, loosening the tension of the trap, then looks between its still-ensnared leg and you as if to ask, What’s next?

“My father used to take me hunting when I was a kid,” you explain, moving in close enough you feel the heat emanating from the wolf’s body. The stench of blood floods your nostrils and your stomach clenches with nausea. “I know how to get you out, but it’s going to hurt. Please don’t rip my face off.”

One of the wolf’s ears twitches in acknowledgement, but the gesture doesn’t inspire much confidence. What the hell do you know about wolf communication though? Maybe an ear twitch is a promise of good behavior.

Mentally bracing yourself, you drop onto your knees next to the trap, the pool of blood seeping into the fabric of your pants. You swallow a noise of disgust, closing your eyes briefly to focus and bring to mind the details of your father’s explanations about the mechanics of a foothold trap. There are two coiled springs exerting force onto two levers which hold the trap’s serrated jaws closed. To free the wolf you’ll need to depress the levers and release the pressure on its leg. 

Simple.

The metal is slick and warm with the wolf’s blood, and your fingers struggle to keep a tight grip. You curse under your breath when you accidentally jostle its leg, a stream of scarlet oozing out of the shredded wound. The wolf’s breath hitches, muscles shuddering along its flank, but it doesn’t snap at you.

You try again, carefully grasping the levers on each side of the trap, and pull with all your strength, arms burning with strain. Slowly, groaning with reluctance, the jaws open little by little until there is enough space for the wolf to slip its leg free. You turn away, not wanting to see the mess of torn flesh, and toss the trap aside with a grimace. 

A wet nose touches the side of your neck, just under your ear, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You stare straight ahead, lips pursed to hold back the whimper in your throat, as it scents you, snuffling softly. And then that nose becomes a warm, rough tongue licking a long line from the base of your neck up to your jawline.

You’re unable to keep from gasping. “You—you’re welcome,” you stammer, all the thoughts in your head dissolving into static. What do you do? Should you turn around and face the wolf? Or push away its snout first? You don’t think it will hurt you, but the risk of losing a finger or two makes you hesitant.

Before you can make up your mind, the wolf moves away and goosebumps rise on your arms as it takes its warmth away with it. You tilt your head towards your shoulder, wiping away the spit with your cloak. 

“Look,” you start to say, turning around, “I—”

The wolf is gone. No sign it was ever there except for a trail of blood drops disappearing into the foliage. 

“The wolf changes his coat, but not his disposition.” — Proverb

The blacksmith’s workshop is distanced from the other buildings in the village due to the risk of causing a fire from its blazing forge. Its owner, William, is the type of friendly man who has never met a stranger in his life, eager to help anyone who asks him to create weapons or horseshoes or even cooking utensils. And as long as he’s lived here—almost five years now—he’s always worked alone.

Which is why, when you arrive at the shop early in the morning to pick up supplies for the depot and come face to face with a different dark-headed man wearing a leather apron and gloves while hammering away at a horseshoe, you raise an eyebrow of suspicion and confusion.

For all your pride when it comes to your talent for recognizing faces, it’s not until the man’s lips twist into a scowl at being stared at that you realize he’s not a stranger at all.

“Pero,” you say blankly. He’s cut his overgrown hair since the last time you saw him a few days prior, and also sports a neatly trimmed mustache and a faint dusting of scruff along his chin instead of an unkempt beard. 

Oh, good Lord, you think, taking in the sight of his sharp jawline and the flexing of his biceps as he adjusts his grip on the hammer. He’s gorgeous.

Did the temperature suddenly rise a thousand degrees? 

His brown eyes glow golden, reflecting the firelight. “You remembered,” he says, mocking your bland tone. His brow furrows when he looks at your cloak, a flicker of an emotion you can’t identify crossing his face. “What are you wearing? You look like the stupid little girl in the fairytale.”

“Does that make you the big bad wolf?” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest and simultaneously fighting back a wince when you realize how sweaty your underarms have become in the mere minutes since your arrival. 

Pero smirks then, mean and teasing, making you feel like prey about to be consumed. When he speaks, the rough edges of his voice send a chill down your spine despite the intense heat pressing down on you from all sides. “It just might.”

You roll your eyes, unamused. “What are you doing here anyways?”

“Mr. Tovar needed a place to stay and I needed a second pair of hands. It’s funny how life is sometimes, isn’t it?” William shuffles in from the doorway connecting to his house at the back of the shop. He slaps Pero companionably on the shoulder as he passes by, eliciting a grunt from the Spaniard.

“Hilarious,” you agree, looking between the two men, different as night and day from each other. You estimate the arrangement lasting three days. A week, at most.

“His skills are almost better than mine,” William admits. He pinches his index finger and thumb together. “Almost.”

Pero shakes his head, mock reproachful. “Careful pissing someone off who's holding a hammer, amigo.”

“I thought you were just a hunter,” you say, an accusation laced within your tone. 

He turns back to you, a shadow of that same teasing smirk making a reappearance. “Can’t a man be two things at once, little red?” 

You tell yourself the sudden burst of warmth inside your stomach is a side effect of possible heat stroke and not because of how the nickname rolls velvety smooth off his tongue. “Anything’s possible, I suppose.”

He grunts, as if he expected that response, and returns to his abandoned task without another word.

You’re starting to think the man actually likes coming across as odd and mysterious.

William attempts to reclaim your attention by gesturing towards the corner of the room. “I have your father’s order ready, if you’d like to take a look?”

You nod, but instead of listening to the blacksmith’s excited rambling about the tools he had crafted, your gaze keeps being pulled over your shoulder to look at Pero as he moves to grab tongs to handle the horseshoe.

He’s limping, you realize, immediately noticing the odd way his right foot drags along the ground and how he barely leans any weight upon it. His injury reminds you uncomfortably of your wolf, alone and hurt, somewhere out there beyond the pine trees. You hope it's alright.

Against your own better judgement, you find yourself mouthing a quiet prayer of healing for both of them.

And then immediately wonder when the hell did you start thinking of the wolf as yours?

“The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it’s the wolf inside who will tear you apart.” — Jennifer Donnelly

A month passes and you do not see your wolf again—it’s officially your wolf now, if only to properly distinguish it from any other wolf in existence—but not for lack of looking though. With every delivery that takes you through the forest, you keep your eyes peeled for the slightest of movements and examine every animal track you come across. Except you’re only met with consistent disappointment when every rustling bush is caused by the wind and the marks in the dirt belong to the local creature inhabitants. The hunters passing by the depot haven’t reported any news or rumors of a wolf in the area either, living or dead.

In a way, you’re glad your wolf has seemingly vanished. It probably means the beast has moved on to find somewhere devoid of cruel hunting traps. You try to keep a positive attitude, although you’d be lying if you said you didn’t stay up late worrying. Is it eating enough? Is its leg bothering it? Is it safe? 

The only thing interesting enough to distract you from these questions swirling round and round in your head is Pero. 

You catch glimpses of him throughout the village, buying groceries and delivering orders for William and handling other day-to-day tasks. He’s quiet and more than a little intimidating, but he’s also polite to the village elders and doesn’t bother anyone by causing unnecessary trouble. His injured foot seems to no longer be an issue, but when you try asking him about how he hurt it he brushes off your concern, says he wasn’t watching where he was going and he won’t make the same mistake again.

Whenever you stop by the blacksmith workshop to pick up orders and supplies, you’re continuously surprised to find William actually seems to enjoy Pero’s sarcastic quips and gruff countenance. Listening to their banter quickly becomes something to look forward to and sometimes you even find the courage to toss in a witty remark of your own, enraptured by the dimpled smile appearing on Pero’s face as a result.

There is something magnetic about Pero that makes you want to be near him. You’re curious about Pero in a way you’ve never felt about anyone else before—certainly not the other village boys. And you hope, more than anything, this crush you’re developing isn’t totally one-sided.

William isn’t at his shop today when you arrive to collect a box of hardware pieces needed to make some repairs around the trading depot. Without his presence, there is fortunately nobody around to witness your horrible attempt at flirting.

“So,” you drawl, rubbing your palms on your pants. “You’re not from around here.”

Oh God. You grimace, wishing the ground would open up and swallow you.

“Was it the accent that gave me away?” Pero asks sardonically from across the room, back facing you as he double-checks the contents of your package are all packed. “Or my roguish looks?”

“You know, when we first met I pegged you as the silent and brooding type,” you say, aiming for coyness while looking him over from head to toe as he approaches the counter. “But surprise, surprise you’ve got quite the sharp tongue too. What else is there to learn about you, Pero? You seem like a man who conceals many secrets.” 

You mean to peer at him seductively through your eyelashes, only instead you’re caught off guard by the way Pero suddenly appears...young. Expression raw and open, lips slightly parted. A tuft of his dark hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. Then he blinks and shakes his head hard enough you fear his neck snapping.

When he finally looks back at you, his searing gaze burns through your clothes, setting your skin ablaze, and you nearly choke on your spit as he says, “If you want to see me naked you’ll have to do better than that, little red.”

Did he...really just say that?

“I…You...” Your mouth opens, then falls shut with an audible noise, incredibly flustered.

And then he lets out a low, raspy breath of laughter, shoulders shaking and crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, amused by your naivety. Hurt slices through your body as if he’s stabbed you with one of the weapons lying about. You can’t believe you thought for even one second that maybe he could be different from the rest of the village assholes. God, you feel like such an idiot.

“Fuck you, Pero,” you spit at him, grabbing your package and spinning on heel towards the exit.

You don’t look back. Not when he pleads for you to wait, not when he calls your name, and not even when you hear an angry curse followed by the deafening clang of metal striking metal.

“Even a wolf knows how to be polite when animalistic humans have no clue about politeness.” — Munia Khan

You hum quietly a few notes of a song your mother used to sing, weaving together wildflowers you’d collected on your walk into a crown. The forest is quiet around you, leaving you to work peacefully in the same grassy clearing you’d encountered the wolf over a month ago. 

Still angry with Pero, you’ve started spending longer hours within the sanctitude of the woods, the only place you feel you can hide from him. Not that he’s even tried to seek you out at the depot or your home to apologize which is just further salt in the imaginary wound leftover from the incident. 

Sunlight filters through the overhead branches and your red cloak lays discarded at your side, too hot to wear the extra layer. If Pero were with you and saw it, he’d say some stupid line like About time you used what little common sense you possess because he always scolded you for risking heatstroke by wearing it in the forge.

But Pero isn’t here with you. 

“And ain’t that a good fucking thing,” you mutter under your breath, ignoring the tightness in your chest.

A twig snapping to the right of you has you freezing as you’re reaching for another flower. Out of the corner of your eye you catch a shadow of movement and you slowly turn your head to look just as a familiar, gigantic wolf steps into the clearing just a few feet away from where you’re sitting.

Your breath stills in your lungs. That’s your wolf.

It stares back at you, silent and unmoving with its head slightly ducked, almost like...it’s nervous? Your gaze roams over its body, noticing the wound on its hind leg has mostly healed since your last encounter, just the faintest bit of scarring the only evidence there was ever an injury at all.

“You’re back,” you say, needlessly pointing out the obvious. Its ears twitch at the sound of your voice. “It’s good to see you’ve been staying out of trouble. I’ve been worried about you.”

Your wolf perks up, tongue lolling out of its mouth and tail wagging as if it’s a puppy and not a two-hundred pound behemoth. 

You are unable to resist cooing at it, finding the attempt at smiling adorable despite the sharpness of its teeth. And then that coo shifts into a gasp when the wolf closes the distance, a few feet becoming a few inches until it’s close enough to nuzzle the side of your face, cold nose rubbing against your cheek.

You hesitate to move or breathe, thinking of all the violent stories you’d heard growing up from hunters and trappers who said wild animals couldn’t be trusted. It’s a dog eat dog world and predators will always choose to go down fighting to the bloody end. 

But then, almost like an unseen force is controlling your limbs, you lift a shaky hand to brush against the thick, dense fur of its neck. Your wolf practically melts at your touch, a pleased growl rumbling from deep within its chest, and all but collapses across your lap, burying its face against your middle.

Laughing, you start scratching along its shoulder and flank, and the smile on your face grows wider when your wolf tilts its head to lick at your chin, as eager to return affection as it is to receive some. “You’re pretty adorable for a ferocious beast,” you say, awe and wonder slipping into your tone. “How did I get picked to be so lucky to meet you?”

Your wolf lets out a low half-whine, half-grunt in response and licks at the veins along your wrist.

An hour passes with your wolf lying pressed against your leg, massive head resting atop your thigh, watching you craft a few more flower crowns you hope to sell at the next Market Day for some extra pocket money. For your own entertainment, you gently set one of the crowns upon your wolf’s head. Its ears swivel a bit, grazing the petals, and a heavy sigh passes through its nose like it’s exasperated with you, but otherwise the animal doesn’t seem to mind the accessory.

If you could, you'd spend another five hours in the woods with your furry companion, but the sun is starting to descend in the sky and your father will be expecting you soon.

“I’ve got to start heading back home.” You stand up and stretch your legs to get blood flowing again after such a long time spent sitting. Your wolf’s golden eyes follow your every movement as you pack away the flower crowns and slip your arm through the basket’s handle to rest it in the crook of your elbow. You pet its head one last time. “Hopefully we meet again soon.”

Not even twenty steps away from the clearing, you spin around when you hear movement behind you and find your wolf sitting in the middle of the trail, obviously following you.

“Are you going to be my shadow all the way home?” you ask incredulously. 

A nod.

“Do I have a choice in the matter?”

A grunt.

You shake your head at its antics, but a smile tugs at your lips, betraying your inner amusement. You could never really be upset with someone so adorable. “Well, come on then, Shadow. Let’s at least walk side by side as equals, okay?”

Your wolf trots forward, snout grazing against your elbow as softly as a kiss, and doesn’t leave your side until the trail’s end.

A new routine develops over the next two weeks between you and your wolf. Shadow becomes your new delivery escort, greeting you when you enter the forest with a toothy grin and then spends the next few minutes nuzzling and rubbing against every inch of your body. You realize after the third time that he is scent marking you, claiming you as his own by making sure you smell like him. You don’t mind the aggressive cuddling session, thinking it is a much better experience than being peed on everyday.

The more time you spend with Shadow, the more you start opening up and sharing your thoughts and secrets with him. You’ve always been a lonely soul, feeling like nobody truly understood you, especially after your mother passed away, but with your wolf at your side you don’t feel quite so alone. He listens to everything you have to say, responding in his own quirky way with growls and whines, so eerily humanlike with his expressions.

You want to know more about him, where he came from before entering your life and how long he’s been on his own. According to your books, there isn’t a single good reason or explanation for a wolf to be traveling without a pack. But whenever you try to ask him about his past he gives you the silent treatment, pointedly turning his gaze away from you until you change the topic.

Whatever happened, clearly the pain is still fresh for him.

“I don’t like to talk about the past either,” you tell him, your mother’s face flashing through your mind.

Shadow makes no noise, but licks at your hand in acknowledgement, coating your fingers with saliva.

“Aw, wolf spit!” You wipe your hand on your pants, face scrunched up in exaggerated disgust. “Gross!”

He circles around you, quicker than your eyes can follow, and catches hold of the hem of your shirt.

Your eyes widen. “Hey, no, Shadow don’t you dare—”

One strong tug and your balance is lost, falling backwards onto your rear at the same time the fabric rips. Shadow wastes no time pushing his face against yours, noses briefly smooshing against each other, wagging his tail when you start giggling. His lips pull back into a grin, tongue lolling out, and it’s your only forewarning before he starts licking you in earnest. Unthinkingly, you bare your throat when he dips his head to lap at the tender patch of skin right above your collarbone. 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, you sensitive and giant furball,” you say in-between bouts of laughter, shoving at his chest to push him away. The effort is pointless, like trying to physically push against a brick house, but Shadow takes pity on you, rumbling a noise not unlike a raspy chuckle. 

A sense of familiarity pricks the back of your mind, but the feeling doesn’t linger long, dismissed as easily as a thrown away splinter.

You look down at your torn shirt with a sigh. This will be the fifth piece of clothing you’ll have to mend with your sewing kit. Your father’s been suspicious lately of your extra spending on thread and your list of plausible excuses is dwindling alarmingly quick. 

“I could probably blame Pero somehow,” you mutter to yourself, but there is no real heat in your tone. Instead there is just a faint pang of hollowness beneath your ribcage. “Can you believe I actually miss talking to that asshole? I thought maybe he liked me, but I found out the hard way I was wrong.”

Shadow whines, sensing your change in mood.

“Love is easy for wolves. You find your perfect match and then you’re bonded for life,” you say quietly, running a hand over his head. “But it’s different for humans. It can be so beautiful and sweet, but it’s also messy and difficult and confusing...” Your voice trails off as a connection is made, two puzzle pieces clicking together in the back of your mind.

“Maybe humans are meant to experience both. The dark and the light. Love isn’t skin deep, after all. If you fall in love with someone, you’ve got to be willing to love their inner monster too.”

"Have you seen what wolves do to their prey? But they do mate for life." — Donna Lynn Hope

Spring always seems to bring out the best in nature and people. Flowers start to blossom, as if eager to greet the humans who have been tucked away within their warm homes for so long, and your neighbors in the village wear friendly smiles upon their faces, reveling in the sunshine. 

During Market Day, the village square becomes a hive of activity with people coming from dozens of nearby towns to check out the rows of vendor stalls. You’ve been shopping less than an hour and already your basket is full to the brim of a plethora of unique goods.

The crowds are always thick once the last stubborn traces of winter have finally disappeared and you’re having to nudge people aside with your elbows in your quest to reach a seller known for their honey buns. Your goal is within sight, closer with every step, and you can practically taste the sweetness on your tongue only to instead collide face first into a broad chest appearing out of nowhere.

You let out a quiet oof of surprise, stumbling backwards on your heels. Large hands reach out and hold onto your upper arms to steady you.

“Careful, little red.”

You straighten up in an instant, eyes wide, and choke out a hoarse, “Pero.”

It’s been weeks since you last spoke to him in the blacksmith workshop, but he’s still just as unfairly attractive as you remember. He wears a red flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, baring his toned forearms to the world, and dark trousers. On his feet are the leather boots he traded his collection of pelts for when he first arrived. 

He looks nervous, you think, watching the way his tongue swipes at his bottom lip and how he seems reluctant to maintain steady eye contact.

“I haven’t seen you in awhile,” he says at last. “You stopped coming by the forge.”

“I’ve been busy making deliveries elsewhere,” you reply stiffly, clasping your basket in front of you with both hands. Pero’s expression spasms, as if he restrained himself from wincing.

You don’t like it—this whole kicked puppy look he’s conveying. Pero’s the one who hurt you by behaving so mean before, laughing at you like you were the last person on earth to have a chance with him, and yet you can’t help feeling guilty for being cold towards him. 

He clears his throat. “You’re mad at me.”

“Yes.”

“Because I was an insensitive ass.”

“Two for two, do you want a gold star?”

Pero’s eyes flash, either with anger or hurt, you can’t tell. He crosses his arms, glancing around the square like he’s wary of anyone overhearing your conversation. You keep staring at him, knowing everyone is too caught up in their own shopping to pay either of you any attention longer than a passing glance.

He clears his throat and says with all the bluntness as a punch to the sternum, “You’re too good for someone like me.”

You blink once, twice, then arch an eyebrow at him. “What does that even mean?”

“It means,” he says slowly, like he can’t believe you’re dumb enough to ask him, “I’m not someone you should waste your time on. You deserve better.”

Realization clicks in your brain, followed shortly by a burst of anger, red hot and boiling.

“I’m a grown woman, Pero,” you say despite fighting the childish urge to stomp your foot. “I can handle rejection. If you don’t have feelings for me then just tell me so.”

Pero runs a hand through his hair, mouth twisting with frustration. He probably had hoped you’d just take his excuse and carry on with your life, but you refuse to let him get off easy. He’s not wrong: you do deserve better.

“I didn’t say that.”

Your whole body goes still, because if that means what you think it means then—

Pero won’t meet your eyes, his discomfort clear. “I just...can’t be with you, little red.”

So it hasn’t been a one-sided attraction all this time. He has feelings for you, but he made the preemptive choice to crush them rather than let them keep growing and evolving into something potentially serious. 

And he also made that choice for you.

“Hell no,” you blurt out, startling him. “I’m not letting you give up on future us with that piss poor reason. I deserve better than you can’t.”

“Future us?” Pero echoes, head tilting. “You really think…?”

You wait a beat for him to finish the trailed off sentence, but he seems incapable, staring at you like he’s having trouble believing you truly exist. 

“Yes.” You take pity on him, nodding your head. “Yes, I think you’re different from anybody else I’ve ever met. Yes, I think you are grumpy and sarcastic to prevent people from getting to know you. And yes, Pero, I think you and I could have a future if you’d quit making bad decisions trying to push me away.”

Pero’s lips purse into a thin, angry line. His brown eyes have turned hard, frigid cold. “You think I’m different from everyone else? That’s because you don’t know shit about me. I’m a liar and a thief. There is blood on my hands, little red. More than you could possibly fathom. I have become something no one—not even my own mamá—could ever love.”

He’s looming over you now, breathing hotly against your face, and you can only stare straight ahead over his shoulder, unable to think of something to say. 

“You don’t belong in my world. Is that a fucking good enough reason for you?”

You swallow, carefully arranging your thoughts before answering. “It’s better,” you admit, because it’s true. For the first time you’re aware of the possibility he could be dangerous. That he’s someone you should run away from instead of chase after.

Unwittingly, Shadow comes to mind. You think about how he’d snarled at you when you first approached him, when he’d been trapped and cornered, lashing out instead of accepting the help he needed. You think about how you’ve developed a bond with him now, the way he smiles instead of growls, protecting you against nonexistent threats on your walks. You’d never have that bond if you’d chosen to run away from him. 

“My choice hasn’t changed though.” You tilt your head up and he’s close enough your noses lightly graze each other. It takes all your self-control not to smirk at his sharp inhale of air. “I still want to take the risk, even if it’s true I’m not fit for your world. Just, tell me one thing, Pero. Are you going to break my heart on purpose?”

Pero’s already shaking his head before you finish, looking lost and pained. “What? I—That’s not—” He cuts himself off, looking away to gather his composure. When he looks at you again, he’s not quite as panicked, but the pain persists in the lines of his expression, “No, never purposefully. But—”

You press a finger over his lips, silencing him. “I’ll see you tonight at the tavern. You better not keep me waiting for our first date or I’ll tie you to a tree and let the wild beasts eat you.”

Pero stares at you, expressionless and frozen still, and just when your anxiety is about to consume you, he smiles, a soft, precious little curl of his lips. He takes your hand and presses a featherlight kiss upon each of your knuckles, maintaining steady eye contact the whole time. Your heart starts beating so fast you feel it in your throat, the sweetness of the gesture sending a pulse of warmth throughout your whole body.

“I’d prefer your company over any wild beast’s, little red.”

"There is no greater love than the love the wolf feels for the lamb-it-doesn’t-eat." — Hélène Cixous

You’re grinning like an idiot as you enter the forest, eagerly looking forward to your date with Pero later that evening. You can’t remember ever feeling so giddy before, like your blood has become electric, and you swear there are literal sparks shooting off your bare arms. 

You expect to see Shadow waiting for you at your usual meetup spot by the grassy clearing, but there is no sight of him as you approach. Your steps slow to a stop, telling yourself not to worry just yet about his absence. He’s a wild animal, not a pet, and there are dozens of justifiable reasons for him to be missing. 

But still...This change in routine is more than a little unsettling. Shadow has always been the one patiently waiting for you to arrive.

You hesitate for a moment, torn between waiting a few minutes longer for Shadow or carrying on with your task, when you hear a noise behind you. Thinking it’s your wolf, you spin around with his name on your tongue, except your heart nearly leaps out of your chest instead.

Shadow lopes up to you with a bloodstained muzzle and a dead rabbit hanging from his mouth. He looks as smug as a wolf can be as he drops the prey at your feet and puffs his chest out, clearly expecting praise.

Gross, you think, biting your lip to refrain from grimacing. The kill is fresh, blood still oozing out of the gaping wound on the rabbit’s neck where Shadow’s teeth tore into it. 

“Is that your lunch? It looks, um, tasty,” you say before the silence stretches too long. “My mother used to make rabbit stew, but when I try to copy her recipe it never tastes the same, you know?”

Shadow tips his head with a low whine, like he does understand your nostalgia for the past, and then nudges the carcass closer towards your feet with his nose.

You look from Shadow to the rabbit, then back again. “Are you...giving this to me?”

His happy bark of confirmation has your stomach feeling queasy. Not just because the offering is disgusting, but also because of what it represents.

This is step one of a wolf’s courting ritual. You’ve read about it in field guides where a male wolf will present a fresh kill to a female in order to prove himself as a strong and suitable mate. 

But a male wolf presenting a courting gift to a human girl? You doubt there’s any book out there that will guide you through this scenario.

“Shadow,” you begin, nervously holding the package in your arms tighter against your chest. 

Your wolf’s happiness fades, tail drooping and going still. His eyes narrow with wariness as he senses the impending bad news. Your heart crumples at the sight.

“I know what this gesture means. And it’s sweet, really.” You reach out your hand slowly, threading your fingers through the soft fur on top of his head. To your relief, he leans into your touch rather than ducks to avoid it. “I can’t accept it though.”

He whines, a heartbreaking sound that cuts right through you, and his ears fall flat against his head, as if to quit listening to the rejection. 

“I love you,” you say, your voice shaking, the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. “But what you want, it won’t work.”

Shadow’s entire body seizes up as a ripple of some unseen force washes over him from nose to tail, and his eyes close shut. He pulls away from your hand, shaking his head hard enough you worry about him hurting himself.

“Shadow?”

With his head hung low, he peeks up at you, eyes flickering in the sunlight from amber to a soft shade of brown. What the hell, you think, wondering if you’re imagining the change.

Then he’s gone, sprinting off into the trees, leaving behind the dead rabbit and you feeling far more lost and confused than you’ve ever felt before.

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[monikafilefan]

Pre-IWTB at the unremarkable house, Mulder accidentally hurts himself to the point that he *has* to go to the hospital, so he goes to Scully’s work incognito and she has to doctor him

-

The summer sun begins to dip beneath the horizon as Mulder adjusts the pile of blankets and picnic basket to his liking. The air is warm and the view of the seafoam colored sky is absolutely amazing from this height. He smiles down at the romantic alcove made of pillows and a single strand of Christmas lights he’d found in the attic.

Scully hates surprises, but she needs this, he knows. Almost as badly as he does.

Mulder stands and sways his weight from foot to foot, giving the surface beneath his boots an experimental bounce. It’s solid, sturdy. For as old as this unremarkable house is, the roof is relatively new. Mulder runs a hand through his wind-blown hair and smirks. If their date night under the spray of fireworks goes as well as he hopes, this overhang will be the last place left on their property to cross off the to-be-christened list.

The traditional string of muted booms and soft pops echo across the open field. It’s familiar now, a comfort to feel consistency in far-off sounds of society, and he knows their celebration will last all through the night.

Three years they’ve called this house home. Four years since Scully has worked her precious body to the bone to regain her presence in the medical community. Five years since he’s been labeled a fugitive and sentenced to live life in the shadows.

Turns out, that’s the least of his punishment. Watching his Scully - his partner in all things - walk out the door every day without him makes his chest ache more than any death sentence ever could.

He wipes his sweaty brow with the flannel shirt protecting him from another skin-peeling sunburn and spins around to climb down the ladder. He wants to shower and run a bath for Scully before she gets home from the hospital.

He sinks down onto the first rung as his mind replays their last bout of lovemaking: Scully’s soft little bottom rising and falling in his lap, his fingers tangled in the long tendrils of her hair, her swollen lips trailing across his skin while she whispers how much she loves-

His boot slips and the ladder jerks to the side.

Mulder gasps as his body plummets, his feet floating above his face, his eyes widening…

He lands on his side in a bone-jarring thud. “Ahh, fuuu…”

He writhes, his long fingers digging deep into the dirt. His eyes water and his vision blurs. He coughs, rocketing a gut rolling explosion of pain through his ribcage that steals the breath from his chest.

Scully. Scully will kill him for doing this without her here if the ache in his skull doesn’t do it first.

Mulder stiffens, waits for the pinpricks of agony to taper off, and assumes he’s cracked a rib - maybe two this time. Not great, yet not life-threatening, either. But when he rolls onto his knees, his back muscles seize up like a rusted screw, sending him face first into the mossy earth.

Dirt clings to his pout. “Sonofabitch.”

The strand of lights twinkle atop the roof and he can see the same annoying squirrel that always steals Mulder’s birdseed romp boldly across the blanket nook. He rolls his eyes, feeling mocked by the expensive bottle of Cabernet nestled in the picnic basket twelve feet above him. He slowly succumbs to the realization that he can’t hide his injury and would rather embrace the incredulous concern of his doctor instead of the love of his life’s worrisome scrutiny. He groans, his resolve wilting.

Dammit, he has to take a trip to the hospital.

Scully’s hospital.

Mulder reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his cell phone, the action sparking pain through his spine like the firecrackers popping off in the distance.

He presses SEND on the contact for his usual cab company, panting into the mouthpiece as the phone rings. “Yeah, I need a ride.”

-

It takes Mulder several minutes to scoot his way out of the cab, toss the nosy man a forty, and limp his way to the Emergency Room’s front desk. He’d texted Scully on the way here and her response was a string of frantic questions he had no answers to.

“Doctor Dana Scully?” he asks, head bowed. “I’m here to see Dr. Scully.”

He knows Scully’s shift ends in twenty minutes so they can leave together after she pokes and prods him to her liking, but the waiting room is packed full with injured people. A man with a rag covering a bloody hand sits by a woman with a red welt on the side of her face where half her hair is singed off. Fireworks are as dangerous as lovesick men on ladders.

The intake nurse arches a bleached brow. “And you are?”

Mulder tugs the brim of his Knicks hat lower on his forehead, a niggle of paranoia creeping up his neck.

A familiar voice interrupts, “I’ll take it from here, Margo, thanks.”

He doesn’t have to look up to know it’s her. Scully’s warm presence engulfs him like a blanket. Her cross necklace glints welcomely in the fluorescent light and the fruity scent of the shampoo he’d helped massage into her scalp this morning relaxes him. Even as jolts of pain singe his nerve endings, Scully’s touch is a salve that dulls the senses.

She helps him to a stretcher in the corner and slides the privacy curtain closed in a flurry. Her fingertips flutter across his face again and again, caressing his jaw, his neck. A splash of mussed hair that’s spilled from her ponytail and onto her name tag looks like liquid cinnamon.

Goddamn, he loves her.

“Sorry, Scully.”

She unbuttons his shirt as swiftly as she does at home and tosses his hat, raking her fingers through his hair. Her shoulders slump and she finally exhales a chest full of breath, “What the hell happened?”

Mulder grimaces as he melts into the rock hard bed.

He tells her everything.

-

One emergency x-ray, a shot in the ass, and an amusing cognitive assessment later, Mulder stares up at Scully in doctor-mode buzzing like a bee above him.

“Two cracked ribs and severe muscle strain,” she diagnoses. A sweet sigh of relief puffs past her lips, but the crease of concern he‘s come to know better than the back of his hand contorts her brow. “I thought we talked about not dying enough over the years.”

All he wanted was to get out of the house with her and melt the stress from her muscles with his own under the rainbow-colored sky. Was that too much to ask?

“Romance has died, apparently,” he mutters. “I should’ve known.”

She scoffs, fighting the upturned curl of her mouth. “Yes well, a lot of good that would’ve done.”

He chuckles and instantly regrets it. His ribs throb and now his butt cheek burns with whatever was in that shot.

“Shh, the muscle relaxer will kick in any second now.”

Loud voices and beeping machines fill their comfortable silence as Scully fiddles with his blankets. He can even hear clusters of cherry bomb explosions and whizzing Roman candles through Our Lady’s brick walls. Mulder can see it now: bright colors bursting above their roof at home. The amber glow of twinkling lights wound around the empty nest of pillows and snacks, just waiting for them to enjoy it.

“I had wine and cheese and everything,” he chuffs bitterly. “Guess that pesky family of squirrels will have the time of their lives.”

“You don’t have to risk your life on a ladder to romance me, Mulder,” she tells him affectionately. “You do it quite well standing on your own.”

“You know me, Scully, I’ll never give up.”

“Fortunately, I do.”

“Hey,” he adds, seriousness taking hold. “I am sorry for… for coming here.”

“I’m not mad, Mulder,” she says softly. “I worry about you.”

His eyes fall shut. He knows she isn’t angry for risking exposure. For fuck’s sake, he’s done a lot worse and she still fell in love with him. But now that he’s here…

Dana Scully’s intelligence is overwhelmingly attractive. She’s stunningly sexy, and he’s damned certain there’s not one person walking the halls of this hospital who hasn’t appreciated it. But he also knows she can’t last a single shift without calling him.

So he wonders.

Not about her looking twice at another man or second-guessing her choice to hold him at night, but about the little things. The personal things. What is he now if he isn’t her partner, some stranger’s name scrawled on an intake paper? They’ve belonged together since the day they met. He just doesn’t think it’s too much to ask for the world to know they belong to each other, too.

“So there’s really no one here that knows, huh?”

“Knows about… us?” Scully whispers, and he nods. “Of course not. You know that’s not possible.”

Mulder knows that, of course he does, but it hurts to hear her say it. Maybe in some sick way he wants her to feel the same loss he does when she’s thriving in the real world without him.

“It’s just… I miss you.”

“Oh, Mulder. You just saw me this morning.” She’s blushing about exactly what he saw in the shower this morning, but he can tell it’s painful for her to admit their impossibility aloud. “Kissed me, too.”

“It’s never enough.”

It’s a truth they both know.

She stops fidgeting with a file containing his faux name, grabs his large dirt-stained hand and cups it between her smaller ones. “I miss you too, always.”

“Yeah?”

Chewing her lip, she tucks her chin to chest and squeezes his fingers. “You know… Mulder, you know I hate keeping us a secret, right?”

“I know, Scully.” He squeezes back. “Maybe one day…”

“Yes,” she says thickly. “One day.”

-

Scully swoops back into the room after leaving him to officially end her shift, eying him critically as he awkwardly tries putting his shirt back on.

“Busted.” She grabs his sleeve and tugs, undoing all his hard work.

“You just wanna take my shirt off again,” he says with a waggled brow.

She leans back. Her eyes are narrowed, but her mouth is soft with a special kind of amusement meant only for him.

“An added bonus.” She cups her hand over his stubbled jaw. “But I’ll admit you do look especially sexy in flannel.”

“Mm…” Whatever pain meds she’s pushing has him warm and fuzzy. He nuzzles into her soft little palm. “Tryin’ to tell me you have a lumberjack fantasy I can fulfill for ya?”

Scully scoffs, and his cheek suddenly feels bereft without her thumb arcing across it. “You’re high, Mulder.”

“High on my love for you,” he coos, sliding one hand up the back of her pant leg, curving possessively around the rounded cheek of her ass.

She stiffens, his name hissing through her teeth. He pouts and lets his arm fall limp on the gurney.

Scully needlessly fusses with his IV, then rips off his blood pressure cuff in a show of irritation. But the corner of her mouth lifts, and she’s flushed. To anyone else she’d simply be ignoring an obstinate patient, but to a man who’s spent nearly every day with her over fifteen years, he knows she’s flattered. He also knows she finds his flirting equally thrilling as inappropriate while wearing her spotless white coat and stethoscope.

Maybe they should roleplay more often.

She prods his belly once again, her tiny hand pausing just above his pelvis. “I know what you’re thinking.”

“C’mon, Scully, be honest. You’re tired of playing doctor.”

Her eyes flick to the closed curtain before whispering, “That’s what the cuffs are for, sir.”

“Jesus Christ,” he husks. Even through the ample surge of muscle relaxers he feels himself harden. “You tryin’ to torture me, doc?”

“First do no harm,” she says primly.

He grins dopely. “Promises, promises.”

“Promise me no more flirting and we’ll get out of here soon.”

He catches her lab coat when she tries to turn away, dipping in his fingers in the pocket, giving it a playful tug. “Not even a little?”

“You’ll survive, Mulder.” She twines her fingers through his and pulls them to her cheek, just for a second, before pressing the gentlest of kisses to the pulse fluttering in his wrist. “I’ll personally see to it.”

Mulder smiles so hard his mouth hurts.

Maybe they’ll see fireworks tonight after all.

-

@today-in-fic and any other reblogs are much appreciated since I rarely post fic on here anymore. Enjoy!