sarafangirlart

[breaking-thechains]

Don wanted us to be up at the studio early- and I drank like four cups of coffee!! but now George won't get up- and we're going to be late!! but he sleeps like a bear in hibernation!! and now I'm sure Mick's gonna eat all the donuts at the studio before I can get any!!

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — Twenty-two

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: violence

— WORDCOUNT: 2.6k

— TAGLIST: @esolean @localravenclaw @slytherins-heir

I

It was a trying day for Tom, but things were about to look up. Like a whirlwind breaking the clouds apart, he would force the sun to shine over his efforts at long last.

“Riddle!”

“Yes, Mr. Oso?”

“Get your scrawny carcass in here.”

“That’s rich coming from you…”

“What was that, maggot?!”

“I said I’ll be right with you!”

Tom put aside the text he was reviewing and picked up his jacket from the back of his seat. He checked its pockets then put it on in a leisurely smooth motion. He found Ambrogio in the larger side office diagonal to the one they usually shared. The desk held a pyramid of books. Oso was preparing for the coming auction and seemed livelier than ever in the worst possible way. Maybe it was because they were going to sell several tomes of genuine magic, like the coveted book of Torchia, or maybe it was all due to Donatien’s blood…

“What were you working on?” the vampire asked, just barely turning his skull-white head toward him.

“Colonna’s Nine Gates, the 1666 edition.”

“Drop it. Focus on the Nicolas Remy we brought in yesterday. We’ll present Colonna next time.”

“I’m sure I don’t have anything by Remy, sir.”

“Check in the back.”

“I just did this morning,” Tom sighed, checking his watch. It was two in the afternoon.

Oso turned his liquid eyes toward him, two shards of ice swimming in blood shadowed by a bushy frown.

“Then check again, you sac of festering bile!” he bellowed, then he picked up an hourglass from atop a pile of books and with preternatural speed chucked it toward him.

Tom ducked at the last second, a cloud of sand billowing behind him.

“You think you’re paid to talk back to me all day? I’ll rip your spine out through your insolent mouth!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I haven’t the time,” said Tom. “And I daresay neither do you.”

At this Oso put his Mont Blanc down and stood, his swivel chair screeching painfully. He levelled a bloodshot look at his recalcitrant assistant, head tilted down as if he were staring over the rim of invisible glasses. He must have thought it was intimidating but unfortunately for him, Tom had braved more scathing scowls from far more fearsome wizards. The vampire assessed in his dark mind how likely the Baron was to sack Tom if he just asked — or how likely he was to get away with it if he bit him. Tom meanwhile stood there without a care, hands shoved in his pockets as he leaned back against the doorframe.

“Out.”

“Yes, Mr. Oso.”

“I will come to sort out whatever mess your incompetence has wrought that you can no longer find out of the most important books in our collection.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Not one more word out of you.”

Tom smiled and bowed and left, closing the door behind him with a parting, “See you soon.”

II

Tom waited with an air of absolute calm. The wall opposite the door to his small office was cleared of all those pesky maps and pictures and he’d tucked his chair underneath the desk to clear a path across the room. He checked the time again: two thirty. Steps sounded down the corridor, just in time. They were clipped and hollow as befitted the walk of the dead. The door opened and as it did Tom turned around with his hand behind his back, his wand held tightly in it.

“Now, Riddle,” the vampire drawled in a tired old tone. “Let’s see the mess you’ve made of my books.”

“Oh, I’ll give you a mess.”

Oso’s grimace was so dry one could almost see his fangs. “What was that, whelp?”

“You should thank me. I’m about to show you something you haven’t seen in a long time, you putrid parasite.”

Tom turned on his heels and waved his hand with a flourish, wand extended from his grasp like a natural part of his body. From it, a clear geometric figure floated in a blink to the wall before him, just above his head. Oso didn’t have time to react if he even understood what he was seeing. He was still processing the information that Tom was a wizard too. The shape on the wall gained depth, expanding inward, and grew into a tunnel. Its edges softened into a frame of wood and out of its depths a bright light came that was both foreign and familiar. And then Ambrogio felt it. As Tom’s incantation finished he turned around and his thin smile portended nothing good. The vampire’s limbs began to issue smoke and when the young wizard stepped lightly to the side the searing took over his whole body. Tom’s shadow had merely been shielding him from his most ardent dream and nightmare — the full light of the sun.

Ambrogio screamed. It was a gurgling, animal sound, pulled out of his throat before he even realised. Distantly he was aware of it echoing through the empty corridors for nobody to hear, of his wand clanging to the floor beside him in his clumsy attempt to extract it, of his clothes starting to sag as his body turned to ash. He saw and couldn’t see all of a sudden. His eyes closed in pain but then the lids burnt off, forcing him to keep seeing that murderous, merciless light. He fell to his knees and his bones cracked beneath him, tendons vaporizing and turning into smoke, and his arms barely had the strength to stay aloft before his face in a last attempt to shield him. Before his eyes burnt away too he saw Tom’s smiling face approaching. His body by now was so hot it set his clothes on fire.

Tom stayed at a safe enough distance to gloat.

“Do you see?” he asked, bending slightly at the hip to look at the vampire more closely. The shadow of his smiling face kept the sun at bay a moment longer. “Do you see everything now, Ambrogio?”

The fiend wanted to curse him but only a gurgling of blood and ash spilt from his withering mouth. His hand wandered, flapping on the floor like a dead fish, the skin all but fallen off exposing his naked bones in search of his lost wand. Tom turned his eyes to where Oso was reaching. He spotted it a little to the right and swiftly kicked it further.

“Lasciate ogne speranza,” said Tom with a chuckle. He straightened his back as he stood before Oso, feeling taller than ever. “For someone who’s been dead for so long, I would’ve thought you’d made peace with the thought of it already. But I suppose a creature such as you — that is, a meddling prig — aspires to live forever. But you’ve failed at life, Oso, and now you’ve failed at death. Only the eternal void awaits you.”

Ambrogio’s poisonous eyes stabbed upward at Tom. He wanted to spit blood upon his shoes but managed only to dribble. The wizard stepped backwards and took his shadow with him, leaving the vampire to burn in the full light of day.

“Fallax,” Ambrogio’s crumbling lips managed to hiss, “spurcus!”

Tom walked back until he could rest against the desk, his lips curled in disgust at the scent of burning carcass. He resented Oso’s parting accusation although he could not deny it. But there was nothing left for him to say that the vampire would understand, or even hear. The sun shone brightly on his bones and it didn’t take a minute for his head to fall off his scrawny neck onto his lap. The skull took a bit longer to crumble but the soggy brain underneath went quickly. Tom covered his nose with his sleeve. The window he had transfigured through the stone to reach the surface acted more like a tunnel, a ventilation shaft that made the papers shuffle on his desk and carried the stench of death around. He turned and waved his wand once more. The window shrunk down to a point and disappeared as if it was never there at all.

He was quite pleased that his calculations were correct and he had measured the angle and position for the opening correctly, plus the optimal hour of the day to do so. Spending all those late-night hours with old maps and sketches finally bore fruit… But there was no time for self-congratulations. He waved his wand to cast away the smell of burning flesh and bent to pick up Oso’s wand — dragon heartstring, hah! He placed it in the top left drawer, meaning to keep it as a little souvenir. Then he sat down, plopped his feet up on the desk, and picked the phone up.

III

The shop had been quiet all day with nobody coming in after Sister Silvia’s visit in the morning.

“I baked you some of Hilda’s cookies, mia cara,” the old woman said as she placed a covered plate upon the desk. Beside it, she tucked in a stout bottle of pink glass and whispered, “Some violet wine too.”

Sister Silvia came in to check many works but her favourites were Hildegard von Bingen’s medicinal works, which often included recipes meant to balance the four humours. She was particularly fond of the cinnamon cookies and spiced wine that chased away melancholy.

“Oh my, you know you don’t have to bother!”

“Shush. It is the only way I can repay you. Take them, enjoy. You’ve been so sad lately.”

She’d briefly seen Tom when he came in and while he looked to be in a good mood his mind was clearly elsewhere. She didn’t want to seem needy and ask to spend more time with him, but if she was honest with herself she missed him… They had, in a sort of quiet truce, put that uncomfortable argument behind them. Neither she nor Tom had brought it up again but it left her feeling conscious of her fear. The fear of losing him. And although her day had been peaceful and no sounds came from downstairs, and the weather outside was cloudless with a bright cold sun above, there was a different sort of calm she yearned for, one still unmatched by anything — the kind she felt whenever she was with Tom.

He hadn’t left for England yet but when he wasn’t there she felt as if he was already gone and instantly became aware of how empty her life was. Between work, weekend calls with mother, and the occasional lunch with her colleagues, what did she really have? Her mornings were spent getting ready for work, her evenings unwinding from it, and all in all if she thought it through some twelve hours a day were spent on… anything but herself. With Tom, something had changed. She loved her work on good days, she loved the books she tended, she even loved her friends, but none of it made her heart flutter, her cheeks flush, her legs kick giddily beneath the table as one look from Tom did. Not even Hildegard von Bingen’s wine and cookies. The clever spark of his dark eyes, his elegantly arched eyebrows, his pretty pale pink lips, the slender length of his fingers… It made her understand the most unhinged heroines of all her favourite novels, it made her feel like a mad artist. It made her think Dostoevsky was right when he wrote that beauty would save the world. And so she had resolved quite secretly to follow him, in the end. To leave everything behind and start a new life in another country no matter what anyone — primarily her mother — had to say about it.

She nearly jumped out of her skin when the phone rang. She’d been sitting at her desk, head resting heavily in her palm when the sharp trilling began.

“Y-yes?” she muttered into the receiver.

“Darling,” he purred, “how are you?”

“Tom,” she smiled. “I’m alright… Just made a cup of tea. It’s been quiet here. How are you?”

“Well, I’ve made a bit of a mess,” he said in a Tom-esque version of an apology. “Would you mind bringing a broom and a dustpan? We haven’t got any down here.”

IV

It was a little trying to go down all those steps while carrying everything but once she was down it was a smooth stroll to Tom’s office. Her high heels were the only thing making a sound in the undershop. She hadn’t been there often but she could scarcely recall it being quieter. When she peeked her head through the doorway she found Tom sitting at his desk sifting through some papers as if in search of something. He must have heard her coming closer because he turned around quickly.

“There you are, darling,” Tom smiled.

“That’s twice you’ve called me that today,” she chuckled, walking in.

“Yes, well, I feel quite awkward not having anything around to clean this mess up. And what is that?”

She took a thermos out from under her arm and handed it to him.

“I told you I made tea. Thought I’d bring you some since I was coming anyway. It’s from that batch of Earl Grey you bought me last month.”

Tom hummed pleasantly as he uncapped it and maybe it was wishful thinking on her part but she saw a fond look in his eyes. She had to step carefully around the pile of dust in the middle of the room. It looked quite dense and more like cinders.

“How did you manage this?” she tutted as she started cleaning up. “You couldn’t have set something on fire…”

“What if I did?” he smirked.

“Oh, I know you didn’t,” she said with a fierce look in her eyes. The mere thought of what would happen to the books chilled her to the bone. “Oso would eat you alive.”

She hadn’t thought it was that funny but Tom burst into hysterical laughter and nearly spilt tea all over himself. Even after knowing him for several months, she’d never heard him laugh with such delectation.

It didn’t take more than a few swipes of the broom to gather all that dust together, but as she did so something clanged together. She bent and searched through the mess with a little finger until she found it: a key.

“What’s that?” asked Tom, finally wiping his tears of mirth away.

“Is this yours?”

“No,” said Tom, plucking it out from her palm. It was rather thin and tubular, more of a cylinder than a regular key. “But I’ll take it anyway.”

“Only other things in this pile are old buttons. What was this anyway?”

“Some rat-eaten clothes that were at the bottom of a mouldy crate I found in the back. Hence the smell.”

“Oh no, were the books alright?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling at her fondly. “The books are safe now.”

She finished gathering all the debris and went to throw it. The waste bin was filled with pages cut through with Tom’s fine calligraphy and Oso’s crimson notations, all angrily crumpled up. She threw the ash on top.

Tom put the strange key in his pocket and went back to sipping his tea. He smiled at her in a way she found uncharacteristically sweet, and she wasn’t complaining. His eyes shone, his lips seemed fuller, even his skin was glowing in the low citrine light. He seemed genuinely… happy.

“So, how’s your day been so far?” she asked, bracing herself against the desk.

He took another sip of tea and hummed approvingly. In one smooth motion, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

“Sweet,” said Tom.

[thegainingdesk]

Gain for Pay: Chapter 4

Find all of the chapters here.

"265 pounds?" Jamie barked. "That's not good enough, recruit! I need you fighting fit!"

"Sir yes sir!" Kyle tried to stop himself shivering. He looked down at his body, clad only in a jock strap that should have been retired 30 pounds ago, and his socks. All the recent weight had pushed him from "chubby" to "fat" in a way that Kyle didn't know how to feel about. On one hand, he'd lost his beautiful body that so many men had adored, on the other, he couldn't deny how much more attention the channel, and he, was receiving.

His gut had swollen up from a dome shape to a full blown globe of fat where his abs once lay perfectly flat, and recently his pecs had rounded out into pert little packages of fat - Kyle found himself grabbing them idly throughout the day, beginning to understand what straight men's obsession with tits was all about. At Jamie's suggestion, he'd started to let his previously perfectly manicured body hair grow out. The point of all that preening was to show off his toned, glistening muscles, and now they were hidden beneath slabs of chub, it seemed silly. Jamie had suggested he go for more of a bear look, which Kyle had initially balked at, but looking at himself now, he had to admit the label was becoming more fitting by the day.

Kyle was snapped out of his contemplation by Jamie slapping his butt. "Get off those scales you fat slob, and give me twenty sit-ups!"

Kyle stepped back and lie down on the floor, wincing at the feel of the cold floor on his ass. He bent his legs up, tensed his core, and did the first sit-up. Didn't these used to be easy? His old muscles were still there, he told himself, although he'd not been doing much to maintain them of late, and now he had to fight against so much fat and flab, which resisted each motion. Every single sit-up resulted in his gut bunching itself up uncomfortably, causing it to become even more pronounced and stopping Kyle from completing the motion.

"Twelve! Thirteen!" Jamie barked above him. By this point Kyle was shaking, great drops of sweat dripping down his forehead and his chest. "Fourteen! Fifteen!" Kyle collapsed down. They'd planned for him not to complete all twenty sit-ups, but Kyle legitimately wasn't sure how many more he could have done anyway. "I didn't tell you to stop, recruit!"

Kyle swallowed in great gulps of air. "I… I can't sir." He struggled out.

"What was that maggot!"

Kyle took a deep breath. He wondered if Jamie could tell this was real, or if he just thought Kyle's acting ability had improved recently. "Sir! I said I can't do anymore sir!" he said louder.

"And why not recruit!" Jamie barked.

"Sir! Because I'm too fat sir!" Kyle replied. He gathered enough strength to pull himself into a sitting position and began to stand shakily.

"You're pathetic recruit! Get back into your uniform!"

Kyle eyed the halloween soldier uniform weerily. More of a "sexy park ranger" outfit that had been repurposed and dyed a darker green, it would have been skimpy if it had fit, and the "one size fits all" label was certainly not intended to extend to men of Kyle's new stature. It had been a struggle to get it on and buttoned for the start of the scene, and no easier to peel off of his newly thickened thighs and back once they'd gotten going. "I'm not sure I can sir, I'm too fat for it," he told Jamie through gritted teeth, hoping he'd pick up on the hint and move on.

Jamie grinned devilishly, breaking character for a moment. "I told you to put it on, recruit," he purred. "Or am I going to have to write you up for disobeying your superior officer?"

Kyle sighed. "Sir, no sir." He picked up the shirt first, stretching it over his back and squeezing his thick arms through. He was proud of how his arms had expanded recently, but some part of him knew that it was pure fat. He didn't attempt to do the buttons up, and Jamie didn't push it, they both knew it would make the video far too long. The shorts were next. They slid past his calves easily enough, but got stuck around thighs like Thanksgiving turkeys. Slowly, he managed to slide them up, until the top of them hit his watermelon-like ass.

"You'll have to help me sir," Kyle told Jamie, avoiding his eyes, but with his dick hardening all the same. Jamie smirked, and came behind him, looping his fingers through the belt loops and tugging up. Between them, they managed to get the shorts up and over his butt, and Jamie buttoned the top button for Kyle as he sucked his gut in.

Kyle felt humiliated, fat, in pain, and horny. He caught a sight of himself on the monitor, squeezed into an outfit several sizes too small, fat pouring out everywhere, a round, hairy gut hanging out the front.

"Now recruit, to ensure you're fighting fit, I'm going to give you your nightly rations of this specially formulated super-soldier formula," Jamie said, pulling out a funnel and a jug of thick weight gain shake. "It's designed to turn even the laziest slob into the perfect soldier."

"I don't think it's working sir," Kyle said, rubbing his gut. "I've just been getting fatter and fatter ever since you started feeding me it." He sat down in the armchair angled towards the camera.

"It is not your job to think, maggot!" Jamie snapped. "It is your job to do what I tell you to, and I am telling you to chug this formula!"

"Sir, yes-" Kyle was cut off by Jamie placing the tube of the funnel deep into his mouth, making his eyes water. Jamie started pouring the mix straight away, and Kyle focussed on building up a rhythm. Breathe, swallow, breathe, swallow, breath, swallow. He'd become a seasoned pro at this, even coming to enjoy the feeling of an overly tight gut at the end of it all. He felt his cock growing - it had come to learn that food meant sex.

"What a good recruit," Jamie said once he'd poured the entire jug into the funnel. He let go, allowing Kyle to support it as he drained it. "Why don't you let sarge help you out there?"

Jamie sank to his knees, unbuttoning Kyle's shorts. Kyle's gut surged forward and he moaned in relief. The moan only increased in volume as Jamie took his entire dick into his mouth, sliding the full length in expertly. Kyle had to remind himself to keep up his rhythm of breathing and swallowing, chugging in time with the bobbing of Jamie's head, as his hands explored Kyle's belly.

Kyle hefted the funnel a couple of times, trying to judge how much shake was left, and how much longer he needed to hold out for. It was difficult - Jamie was skilled and eager to please, and Kyle had to distract himself to keep from climaxing.

Finally, Kyle sucked the last of the weight gain shake from the tube, and discarded it to one side. He tilted his head back and placed his hands on top of Jamie's on top of his gut, and joined in with his kneading. "Oh fuck, I'm gonna-"

He began to cum into Jamie's mouth, and felt the smaller man come away from his dick. Kyle came long and hard, and he could tell he was putting on quite the show.

Eventually, Jamie stood up, thick ropes of cum covering his face. "Right, umm, recruit, that was, uhh, well, that was very good. Thank you very, I mean, yes, that was as, as expected from the uhh, soldier serum, and you can, uhh, go, go back to your bunk now."

In response, Kyle let out a deep, slow burp. He smirked at the erection he could see trapped in Jamie's much more flattering soldier's outfit.

"Right," Jamie said, composing himself a little and stopping the recording. "I'm going to go and," he gestured at his face, dripping with Kyle's seed. "You know." He stood awkwardly for a moment. "That was really fucking hot by the way, you're getting great at waiting until you're full to cum, it'll be so good for the video."

Kyle shrugged. "Starting to come naturally I guess."

Jamie gave a short laugh. "I guess. Anyway." He moved to the bathroom, where Kyle could hear him turn the shower on.

While Jamie showered, Kyle tried to tug the uniform off. Without Jamie's help, and now full of gainer shake, he quickly gave up, and just tore through the flimsy fabric instead, collapsing down on the armchair once again in just his jock strap.

"You know," Jamie said once he was done with his shower. "I still don't really think the sergeant would have sucked off the recruit, it's not the right character dynamic."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Look, it's not fucking HBO, we're making porn for guys who love fatties, okay? They don't care about the characters, they want to see me eating and chugging and getting sucked off."

"Yeah, yeah, I know big guy," Jamie tried to soothe him. "You're the star, I know that, I was just saying-"

"And why do I keep on sucking you off, you know?" Kyle continued, clearly not listening. "This is supposed to be all about me getting worshiped, and I'm the one giving blowjobs? What's that about?"

Jamie came over and starting rubbing Kyle's gut. "You are getting worshiped, buddy okay? All these subscribers all the fans, all of them are here to come and worship this big, fat gut, yeah?"

Kyle started to smile a little. "Yeah, yeah, I guess. They're really starting to get into it, aren't they?" Jamie nodded. "I just, you know, I'm thinking about the fans, you know, they'll want to see me getting serviced and shit. Since I'm the fat guy."

Jamie nodded, rubbing Kyle's gut in large, slow circles. "Exactly! You're the big guy! The star!" he said. "This is on me, I'm sorry, I should have thought about the fans and the best way to present you to them in all your glory." He put the emphasis on the last word.

Kyle nodded, feeling his cock growing hard, despite only cumming quarter of an hour before. Jamie clearly noticed because he looked over at the camera. "There's a pizza in the fridge," Jamie said. "If you wanted to go again?"

Kyle smiled. "I think I've got room, yeah."

-

Kyle finished his fries, throwing the carton alongside the three burger wrappers. He wiped his greasy fingers on his sweatpants absentmindedly while he sucked on his milkshake, and opened up Grindr. He'd grown used to sex after stuffing himself, and was starting to find himself restless on the days when he and Jamie weren't filming.

He flicked through the usual slew of blank profiles and faceless torsos, ignoring the messages from men who were so beneath his league it was laughable - too old, too hairy, too fat. Didn't they know he was a sex god? That men paid a premium just to look at his body?

Finally, he found someone who took his fancy, and sent a few short messages, blunt, to the point and effective. I can be round in half an hour sexy. the reply came.

Kyle looked round his small apartment. Generally, filming with Jamie forced him to keep the space clean, but he'd gone on a binge these past couple of days, and now fast food wrappers littered the floor. He stood, straining a little, small burps escaping every so often, and picked up the various boxes, wrappers and styrofoam cups. The smell of grease and salt made him crave more, even as his stomach ached from all he'd already eaten. He opened some windows in an attempt to disperse some of the smell.

Apartment made somewhat more presentable, he looked down at himself. The sweatpants would have to do, as stained as they were, since they were all that fit anymore. He looked down at his bloated hairy gut. He probably needed to cover that at least. Once upon a time, he'd have answered the door to a hook-up practically naked, but now he wasn't so sure. He found a clean t-shirt that he'd bought just last month and pulled it on. It covered his gut, but barely, clinging to his pecs and gut, and riding up at the slightest movement to reveal a sliver of skin. He flexed his arms, pleased with how the sleeves hugged his biceps.

His intercom buzzed. "Hey, it's Matt."

"Hey Matt, come up, the doors open, it's number 8," Kyle replied, buzzing him in.

Kyle sat down and turned on his TV, keen to seem nonchalant. A minute later, he heard the door open and turned to see Matt stand with his mouth open. "What the fuck?"

"Hey," Kyle said, standing up. "Looking good man."

"I'm looking for Kyle?" Matt said, disbelief in his eyes. He was younger than Kyle, 21 or so, with thin, toned limbs and a non-existent waist.

"Yeah, that's me," Kyle said slowly.

Matt came closer, examining him. "Christ dude, how long ago did you take those pictures?"

Kyle picked up his phone, confused, and opened his profile to look. "Like six months ago," he replied.

"What happened to you?" Matt asked, taking a step back, as if it might be contagious.

Kyle felt his chest tighten and tried to pull down his t-shirt self-consciously. "Well I've got this OnlyFans, and people like to see me-"

"You've got an OnlyFans?" Matt interrupted. "As in, one that people pay for?" he looked Kyle up and down, disgusted.

"Hey, fuck you!" Kyle said, his voice rising along with his cock. "Lots of people fucking pay to see me actually. I get fucking worshipped okay? Fucking worshipped!" He didn't know why getting humiliated like this was such a turn on for him, or why he was getting so angry. If it had been the other way around, he knew he would have done exactly the same thing. "People love to see me stuff this tum- this gut, okay? Yeah, I don't look like every other twink in this city, but there's plenty of people who are fucking obsessed with me."

"God, okay, sure, your a sex machine, whatever," Matt said, failing to hide a mocking smile from his face. "But maybe you want to update your profile pictures? Or find another app? There must be one for fatties - Blubbr or something?" He slapped Kyle's gut.

"Fuck you," Kyle said, although he had to admit Matt had a point - he really didn't look like his photos anymore.

Matt made his way out. "Look, no hard feelings or whatever, but if you've got this humiliation kink thing going on, maybe figure out some way to get people's consent first?" he said at the door.

"I don't have a humiliation kink," Kyle said.

"Dude, your cock is rock hard. You're getting off on this." He eyed Kyle's dick appraisingly. "At least your photos weren't wrong about that at least." He pulled out his phone. "Whatever, I need to go find someone to rim me." And with that he was gone.

Kyle moved to the fridge, rubbing his gut and sliding a hand into his sweat pants. He began to pull out snacks that Jamie had filled his fridge with a couple of days before.

-

Kyle sat at the table in a white vest that was far too small for his expanding gut, tomato sauce smeared around his face, which was fixed in a pained expression. He belched, and grimaced at the greasy smell. The scene they were filming was more extreme in both believability and the quantity Jamie was making Kyle eat than they'd ever done before.

Jamie walked into shot, wearing only a short apron. His pert bubble butt stuck out the back, and his erection tented the front, removing what little modesty the dainty bit of fabric afforded him. A fake mustache was pinned under his nose. "Oh mama mia!" he cried. "My growing bambino! You've already eaten all your food, I'm such a terrible host! I should have known to make more meatballs!"

"I'm sorry," Kyle replied flatly, hands cradling the furthest extent of his gut. "It just all tasted so good, and I'm a growing Italian boy with a big appetite."

"Oh, dio santo!" Jamie's hands whirled around in a wild dance of expressions with each word. "I will make you my famous carbonara - no one ever leaves my ristorante hungry!"

Kyle sighed as Jamie brought out a heavy pan full of spaghetti in a rich, creamy sauce. "This isn't working," he told Jamie, breaking character.

Jamie stopped putting on the thick accent. "It's offensive, isn't it? I knew this was a bad idea."

"No, I mean- well, I mean, yeah, this is terrible, but no, I mean this," Kyle said, gesturing down at his new fleshy body. "The gaining thing. I'm huge, I'm gross, I'm…" He sighed. "I just think I need to lose it all and get hot again."

Jamie hurriedly put down the large pot of carbonara. "But you are hot," he insisted. "This" he reached out and squeezed the soft flab of Kyle's lovehandle, "is what all those people are paying the big bucks for! You don't want to be some generic twink like me, they barely even notice-"

"Some of them notice you," Kyle interrupted. "Some of them subscribe for you," he spat. He could feel the resentment bubbling up inside him. "Loads of the comments are about you. Your abs. Your tiny fucking ass." He squeezed his tits and let go, watching as they jiggled. "This was supposed to be about me, and I've given up looking like a Greek fucking god, all because you were jealous of how hot they all thought I was."

"What? Kyle, you know that's not true," Jamie pleaded. "All our followers, all of them, are from since you've started gaining. No one cared about us when we looked like everyone else, what we- what you've done has completely changed the channel- our lives!" He gestured around Kyle's apartment, with its assortment of recently bought furniture. "Okay, some of them comment about me, but if they want some skinny white guy, there's a thousand other channels. They only care about me because they want desperately to be the one feeding you."

Kyle huffed. He could understand the logic. Wanted to understand. And the way Jamie described how important Kyle was made his dick chub up in his skimpy shorts.

"Why did you suggest getting fat?" Kyle asked after some time.

"What? Kyle, we've talked about this, we needed to stand out, we nee-" Jamie began.

"No, we've talked about how we needed to find a niche," Kyle said bluntly. "We could have shown our feet off, or our armpits, or we could have wrestled, or tickled each other, or whatever."

"Do you know how many channels there are for foot fetishes? All of that stuff?" Jamie tried to plead.

"But you jumped straight to fat. Straight away. No umm-ing or ahh-ing or what-ifs. You decided immediately that I needed to chug weight gain shakes and eat pizzas and," he shook his gut, "do this to myself."

"I just did my research Kyle. I wanted to follow the best possible-"

"You get off on this, don't you?" Kyle asked. "It's not just the freaks that subscribe, is it? You're one of them. You love how big I've gotten. How skinny it makes you look. That's why you knew so much. You've been planning this for years."

"It's not like that!" Jamie pleaded. "Yes, I think you're hotter now, but I didn't plan it! And you've been enjoying it just as much, I know it. I've seen how you react everytime."

"Can you fuck off please?" Kyle said.

"Kyle, please, come on. Don't you love it? Think of the money. Think of the fans!"

"Just get your clothes and go, alright? I need to think."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," Jamie said. "But seriously, think about it, okay? We're onto a good thing. The money if nothing else. If we need to maybe pivot to something else, maybe more of a muscle bear-"

"I asked you to leave," Kyle said simply.

Jamie nodded, quickly put on his clothes and left. Kyle sighed, rubbed his gut, and pulled the pot of carbonara towards him, picking up the fork.

[thedevilsruby]

Soldier: Drop down and give me twenty, maggot!

Scout: Sir, I can't do twenty, sir!

Soldier: Then give me five!

*Scout and Soldier high five with happy grins*

[theworkshopmann]

Sergeant’s Sweatband

Drop and give me twenty, maggot!

Type: Cosmetic

Class: Soldier

Paintable: Yes

Accepted in game: No

This sporty cosmetic was made by steam users NeoDement and Feksil. Posted on Nov 8th, 2022 and you can still vote for it right here!

[stevemc37]

ROYAL PURPLE - Chapter Twenty-Three

"Like, are you ready to give up yet?" Shaggy taunted, revealing bloody teeth as he smirked at his opponent.

"You don't look so hot yourself, Shag," Jerma retorted, his equally bloody grin teetering on the edge of a grimace. With a snort, he spat crimson saliva onto the ground.

"Oh, so you admit that you're done fighting?"

Jerma dropped his head to his heaving chest, before sighing and lifting it once more. He didn't want to resort to this, but he would if it meant winning.

"Quite the opposite."

Raising his hand, he summoned just enough strength to conjure up a corked, tear-shaped bottle full of a red-ish liquid that glittered in the sun. With a grunt, he tossed it at the ground and it exploded into a swirling, magenta cloud that enveloped him before dispersing into the air. When the colorful smoke cleared, he was revealed fully healed and battle-ready.

"No," Shaggy groaned, dropping to a knee as he held his left arm that sported a large, bleeding gash. It didn't look like it was going to heal any time soon. "Where did you get that?"

"Oh, my splash potion of healing?" Jerma asked, his voice having returned to it's previous splendor. "Just from a friend."

Shaggy murmured something unintelligible.

"Speak up, maggot."

"Don't tell me... was it?"

"Was it...?" Jerma mockingly implored.

"...Him."

He beamed at Shaggy's words, lips splitting to reveal his dangerously shark-like grin.

"Ahh," he nodded his head sagely as he began slowly circling the kneeling man, arms neatly folded behind his back, "You must be referring to my good friend Herobrine."

"It can't be." Penguinz0 choked, palms scraped with concrete as he desperately held himself up on his hands and knees. "He was defeated in The Great Siphoning, the war that you started in order to gain more power from all of the poor souls in the universe who had no one to defend them." Charlie spat at the ground in disgust as he glared knives and daggers at the warlord. "I thought you weren't one for sparing, O' mighty Jerma985."

"Oh, you're right about one thing," Jerma regarded him without looking at the kneeling god of a man as he continued to circle the other, "I don't take prisoners. But this one happened to make a very interesting ally. So we struck up a deal."

"What deal?"

The warlord finally looked over at penguinz0 with a disinterested stare, then his eyes slowly slid over to Starscream, who now looked like a discarded hunk of metal as he lay on the cold ground. 

"He gave me his finest warrior in exchange for his life." He looked down at the defeated Transformer from over the top of his nose with a sour look on his face. "It seems that his end of the deal was not equal to mine. I'll have to terminate him, but that's a chore for another time."

* +.

A little chunk from my fanfic ROYAL PURPLE - Waluigi x Reader There's a link to my AO3 and Wattpad on my page if you're interested :D

[cuppakasha]

I wrote a collaborative short story with my friend about a homesteading half-dragon cowboy. It was pretty much paragraph-by-paragraph, so I'm pretty happy with the overall consistency!

--- The Korv's Gulch Incident

A black knife collected dark soot from under my cracked fingernail. Smoke hazed the warm-tinted lantern overheard.

"I ain't got nothing," Rho-Odi said, tossing his hand to the table.

"I'll check," said Eriat.

I glanced at my cards. A wyern triple and a couple of drakes.

"Raise ya ten," I said, and tossed my chips to the middle.

Eriat snorted, tapping his back hoof against some of the mess kit near their applebox table. The dingy copper pans rang out hollowly—they didn't have any advice to give the old mare on this game of blackbrand. He eyed the line of face up cards on the table, then back to his hand, then up to my face to meet my gaze.

"Get on, now. Ya gonna check again or drop?" I winked. Eriat was good, but could be easily riled.

"Check, ya liar. And damn yer mom too." He tossed in the ten coins.

Maurice flipped two and laid them faceup on the table. A kingfisher came first... another wyvern next. I glanced at my hand to confirm what I was seeing.

"Raise ya," I said. "Twenty."

It was a still a big bluff, but Eriat didn't know that. From the other side of the table Rho-Odi snorted and shook his head.

Eriat grumbled, increasingly agitated, and swished his tail back and forth. "Damn fool. You ain't got nothing," he said. But he hesitated, staring at his hand, readable as a book in my hand.

"Fine, I'll raise ya," he said finally. "But you know I ain't betting no twenty coppers."

"What else you got that's worth that much?" I asked.

"Oh, don't pretend like you don't know."

“Lighten up, you old ass, it’s just one shot of moonshine. You said it yourself, worth about twenty coppers. And that's if someone’s feelin’ generous.”

“Ride me, Ruvik. You know how damn well how much it’s worth,” Eriat glowered, then turned to fish something out of one of the woven satchels on his back. He started muttering again, as he usually did on the touchy subject of his magic-infused moonshine: about bad deals and bad blood, the streets of Ironrunnel lined with wolves and racist slickbacks, the accursed Sir Jack Nackard (“damn whoreson, maggots take that swindler!”), how his liquor should be worth at least three times as much…

“…everyone was fine with magic when they thought it was from humans,” he grumbled. “Now I’m haulin’ a wagon with a jackass,” he punctuated by slamming a shot glass onto the table, rattling the chips. “Maurice, deal the damn river already."

“Yessir, comin’ up,” he smirked, barely containing a toothy smile on his scruffy face. With a flick, he revealed the final card: seven thunderbirds, glowing red under the hazy lamplight. I hummed and crossed my foot— yes, I did have a good play and not an absolutely mediocre hand.

“Check,” I said calmly, throwing in another twenty coppers. I look across to Eriat, strongly resisting the urge to grin. He’s absolutely crestfallen, clearly having banked on that river after getting reckless. His eyes dart to me and back to his cards, again and again. I can see the calculations running through his head: Does he have a straight run? Two pair duchy? Badlands flush? No, he's a fool. But is this worth a second shot of shine just in case he's got that magic hand…

Maurice reached an avocado colored hand under the table and stoically pulled out a black crystal.

"The eye of onyx," he said.

"Aw, hell yes! Don't even matter if you were lying, Ruvik, you scaly bitch! Whoo!"

"No way," Rho-Odi said. "Lemme see."

Eriat flashed Rho-Odi a glance at his hand and they shared a laugh.

"A wrym of stix," said Maurice. I cursed quietly and took back out my knife to scrape dirt from a new fingernail.

But Maurice reached for something under the table again. "The talon of sapphire."

I shot a look at the cards, and then a look at Eriat who had lost some of his enthusiasm. I grinned and flipped my cards upright.

Rho-Odi lost himself to a fit of cackles, his grey beard shaking as he slapped the table.

I reached over the table and shoveled the pile toward me.

Eriat, dumbstruck, threw his hand on the table. Three wyrms and the onyx.

"Liar...damn liar! I knew it! I'm gonna hang and skin you by your draconkind taint!"

Eriat slammed his hands onto the table. I reeled and fell backwards, coins sliding off onto my prone body. The three of us erupted into laughter, guffawing as Eriat trotted away past the lamplight and into the darkness behind the wagon.

"I suppose we're calling it," Rho-Odi said, offering me his clawed hand. I take it, coppers clattering from my chest onto the dirt.

"I suppose we are, but the centaur still owes me a drink."

"You already robbed the old man, Ruvik," Maurice said. He started to gather his cards on the table. "Y'know, there's this scripture from the monastery that comes to mind. 'Leaveth boiled water to cool lest you get burned, and do not be-ith a cunt.'"

"Wise words," I chuckled, sorting out the cards left on the table into their suits before stacking them the way Maurice likes them: black wyrms, red thunderbirds, yellow kingfishers, blue wyverns, green drakes..."I'll help clean up the mess from supper, that ought to get me on Eriat's good side."

"Hope so," Rho-Odi said, untangling some of his beard from his chipped jaw scales. "We got a job to finish tomorrow, and still a fair amount of walking between here and Vorkstead. I'd prefer it be without added grumbling and curses."

----

I stuffed away the last of the cookware into its respective satchel when Eriat beckoned me from the corner of my eye towards the back of the wagon. He was still scowling when he lifted up a loose board in the bed, revealing several glowing glass bottles neatly tucked away and sealed with waxes and corks. "Now you get to choose one, and I mean one shot of liquor. Otherwise it could mix down your gullet all wrong and we get an accident like last time."

"You had to bring up Lubbarillo."

Eriat flicked his flaxen tail and looked away, pretending to be disinterested. "Just don't mix the H'siri cream with the salted crumberbean this time."

I tipped a couple bottles to read the labels. A bottles or two of fuegoshine, one with gold flecks, one without, and a bottle of Songs of Sirenity. The sunwash spilled golden light over four bottles of sludgy irredescent cream... probably distilled polar camels milk.

A sour taste in my mouth, I moved on to sifting through the 1oz bottles set aside in a crate.

"Gently, gently," Eriat said. "Those are in alphabetical order and if Diamanda sees one out of place she'll turn my feet cloven."

I spotted a bottle toward the back corner while he complained and reached for it, the 1 oz bottles forgotten. Unlike many of the shines in the collection, this one didn't glow, but it was reflective, catching the spill of warmth from the fuego and sunwash.

It was metallic blue and pink, like tempered steel turned liquid.

"Ah, I knew it," Eriat said. "I knew you were gonna go picking that up."

"Is this blood blend?" I asked.

"Yeah, it is. And you wanna know how much that goes for? Fifteen gold. Fifteen a shot."

"Done," I said.

"No, not done. I can't give that too you."

"We agreed to a shot."

"We agreed to a shot worth twenty coppers."

"Not specified."

Eriat stamped a hoof, and the nearby crickets silenced suddenly.

"I knew it. I knew you were gonna do this," he said, and he whipped a shot glass from a stack of clean ones.

"I want it to go, if'n ya don't mind."

Eriat nearly knocked off his hat when he slammed the shot glass back in it's place. "Oh, to go now. He wants it to go....gotta get a fuckin' bottle... not specified...."

With annoyance, but without a drop spilled, Eriat filled a 1 oz bottle with blood blend, stoppering it with a cork, and then dunked it in wax.

"'Preciate it," I said.

Eriat couldn't even bring himself to reply and he stomped off toward his tent.

I pulled out a rag from one of my belt pockets, wrapped it around the vial and stowed it away carefully. I returned to find Rho-Odi tending to the fire and Maurice retiring to his own tent.

"You still good for first watch?" Rho-Odi asked.

"'Course."

"Don't drink during your turn."

"No promises."

The older draconkind shook his head, throwing a branch onto the fire. "Just be sober until Maurice takes over. We're close to town but still in Korv's Gulch, hate for the job to get botched when we're so close to payday."

The vial suddenly felt heavier, and I remembered a fortuitous fifth of whiskey tucked away in my tent— we'll see. Perhaps a celebratory drink is in order for an uneventful job well done.

Rho-Odi and I sat in companionable silence for a while before he turned in with Anveria. I stood, stretched, and double checked my holsters.

Everything in place, I took first watch by walking a short distance up the gulch, stopping at my tent to grab the remainder of my whiskey.

Just above the campsite, and out of the glare of the dampening campfire, the stars shone, glittering like a smattering of fairy dust against black velvet. The dry, sweet smell of a distant alfalfa field drifted on a still-warm summer breeze. I sat on the grass, and tried to write in my pocket journal, but it was too dark, and eventually I gave it up in favor of sipping my whiskey.

After an hour or so I spotted a dark, wobbly shadow trot back to his tent. Eriat returning from an extra drink or two no doubt.

For a time, it was quiet.

I don't know why they didn't see me. Maybe I was too cloaked in shadow from my position, or maybe my scales reflected too little light.

Either way, a wrymling slithered directly by me, holding a curved blade in each hand. A bipedal companion followed further away, and since I was now looking for them, I spotted a snaking movement coming from a different direction, left of the tents.

I ducked low, hastily scrawling a rune in the dirt at my feet.

They slithered through the grass towards camp, curving around tumbleweeds and cacti like flowing bends of a dark river. They were close enough that I could hear various buckles tap against scaled hide, its breathing like the hiss of a silent steam machine. Quickly, carefully, I traced another curved line in the dust, then darted my eyes up to find the other intruders. The biped approached quickly, and I lost sight of the wyrm by the tents.

Fuck. I needed to fire a warning shot real soon, but I'll be wide open as soon as I do. I kept drawing, almost done. Just connect the horseshoe and clover, when you feel where you started drive a line straight down...

"Hmm?" said a husky humanoid voice, close. Unwilling shivers crawled up my spine. Weighty, spurred steps clacked closer. The brush crunched underneath. Closer, closer...

A final dash, and the earth grew warm under my gloved fingertip. A dark smoke poured forth from the completed rune, an inky and impossible darkness. It wrapped up my boots, my legs and arms, until my entire body was covered in starless void.

I unholstered my pistols and fired into the sky.

All at once my pistol produced an earsplitting crack, the rune on the ground flashed brilliantly dispersing the cloud of inky smoke, and the smoldering campfire burst back to life in a fountain of angry red sparks.

I confirmed that the spell had taken it's full effect, and then the whole camp was swallowed in impossibly thick smoke, clouding my vision.

The voice that I'd heard just before the spell started shouted behind me."What the- Radigan! Can you hear me?"

Radigan, whoever that was, may have answered, but other voices were responding now. Didn't matter. I was busy.

I knelt in the dirt at my feet and dipped my fingers in ash in the smoking trail where the rune had once been. I hastily marked a rune on my bare forearm, my sleeve pushed back.

I grit my teeth and muttered an ancient word.

Pink flames ate my flesh in the shape of the rune, searing my arm, and turning my muscles icily numb.

I blinked to adjust to my new vision. Around me, heat signatures lit up in the smoke. Red, orange, and blue shadows in the haze. The sparks of the campfire were like a beacon now.

I spun, locked onto a humanoid heat signature, and drew my guns. With a flick of my finger I fired once from the left hand and the figure dropped like a stone.

I saw a dozen heat signatures below me on the hill milling around like moths around the campfire.

"Eriat!" I shouted. He was easy to pick out. His horse chest was lit up like a beacon. I picked up my feet and sprinted down the hill, a snake-like form was boarding one of the wagons, though it was still unharnessed.

"Eriat, the wagon!" I shouted. He moved toward the cart with equine speed while I ran as fast as my booted legs would allow me over the clumps of grama grass.

In camp, I could make out several heat signatures, but faces were almost impossible to place in my vision, but I heard Anveria's voice ushering the children behind one of the carts for safety.

"Stay down!" I yelled at them, sprinting for Eriat and the wyrmling on the wagon.

"Maurice and I have 'em here," wheezed out Rho-Odi from somewhere. "Go, secure the cargo!"

The signatures around the cart were beginning to fizzle. Soon, the smoke charm would dissipate too. I sprinted towards the cart, searching again for Eriat. Shots rang out from the direction of the cart, and I saw a short red flash of Eriat duck behind something as he loaded what I assumed to be his shotgun. There was panicked yelling, coughing, clacking of spurs on dry grass, wyrmling swearing and hissing, and whinnying as a couple bandits managed to wrangle a couple loose horses to the cart. Another crack, and my left arm stung something fierce. I yelled out and saw a sickly green hole in my forearm, puncturing through my leather sleeve and even through my few arm scales.

"Ruvik!" Eriat called out, now rushing towards me from his cover. The smoke was a bit thinner now but so were the heat signatures. There was another crack, and I winced. But it wasn't gunfire, it sounded like horse reins. Damn it, if only the heatseek spell would last a bit longer.

"You alright, dumbass?" Eriat halted in front of me, then immediately saw my injury, now glowing a dark emerald color. He grabbed my arm with a hasty grip that caused me to yelp, then ripped off the bandana around my neck. The rest of the smoke dissipated as I had to watch the bandits ride further away on our cart, horses, and the job cargo while Eriat finished my ragtag tourniquet.

My wound burned, and I seethed. They won't get away on my watch.

"Let me go," I growled. "We gotta catch them.

The man on the ground that Eriat had managed to gun down groaned.

I grit my teeth and used my good arm to flip the man over.

"Will you ride with me?"

"'Course," Eriat said. "I'll grab a shot of sunwash. You want one?"

"No, not this time," I said.

"I'll grab mine," Eriat said. "Don't let that guy die, Ruvik."

"Oh, he ain't dying just yet."

I ripped the guy's shirt open down to his breastbone. His stomach bled profusely from a nasty peppering of buckshot.

I dipped two fingers in his ample blood, and then dipped them in my own wound.

I scrawled a marking just above the guy's heart, and then tossed some dirt across it.

With a hiss maroon flames seared his grimy skin.

Cartilage stretched, and bone crumpled, reshaped, unbound, reformed. The man's sin darkened to the color of charcoal, and his face bones ground together with a squeaking groan.

The blood wyvern wobbled on it's new legs and blinked unseeing red eyes.

I mounted up, and commanded it into the sky.

My wyvern, Xedras, shook out his sinewy wings, flinging fresh droplets of blood onto the thirsting earth. Eriat paled at my summon, but took no time to grumble as he downed the sunwash in the time I hauled into the air. Xedras took to his new form quickly as we soared through the night sky. The moon gave enough light to illuminate the stolen caravan and the four bandits - two wyrmlings, a human and a bison minotaur. But they noticed us too, and started shouting to one another as they cursed and fired into the sky. I reigned in Xedras and he pulled back into the air to get some distance. I felt myself slip against the still damp blood wyvern. He could still hear the gunshots, thankfully, but with so many shots focused on us it was difficult to do more than just hold on and pray. We needed something to get in close-

Then a glowing light, cutting across the prairie gulch like golden sunbeams carried forth from a break in a storm. It was Eriat, galloping about two feet above the ground at the speed of a storm wind. I could see that each time a hoof stepped, a puddle of light appeared beneath it like a drop of water breaking a still lake. The old stallion fired his gun at the bandits.

"Go for the flank!" Eriat yelled, ducking out of the way of a wyrmling rifle shot.

I dipped my fingers in my gunshot wound again, searing pain lighting up the wound. With grit teeth, I painted a symbol on Xedras's neck with my fingers.

Then with a nudge from my knees, Xedras tucked his wings and dropped like an arrow from the sky, his blind trust in my guidance complete as he snapped his wings open with a gentle tug on the reins. Just a handful of feet above the ground, I tapped my heels on the wyvern's sides and he surged underneath me until we were on the right flank of the cart.

Two of the men noticed that we had caught up, and one of the wrymlings raised a rifle. Eriat fired from somewhere on my left and the second one ducked behind a crate.

I hissed an ancient word and the symbol on Xedras's neck lit up, flaring with glowing, green smoke. Xedras roared, maw gaping, and a spray of lime colored acid coated the back of the cart. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but it splattered the wyrmling with green slime. He grit his teeth, but then opened them when he deemed himself safe. He took a shot.

Xedras, blind as a mole, took the slug head-on. Blood misted my face, and Xedras screeched as buckshot disintegrated half of his skull.

"Fuck," I said. I tapped his side and he surged ahead, screeching in confusion. I leapt from the back of the wyvern to the canvas cover on top of the cart just as Xedras dissolved into a cloud of dark mist, red droplets illuminated only by the lantern swinging wildly on the back on the cart.

I reached for the my bag and drew out the bottle of blood blend. At the same moment, the wrymling Xedras had sprayed with acid started screaming.

I began to break the wax seal of the bottle when the human driver looked back and saw me. As I lined up a pistol shot at him he veered the caravan left. I stumbled, gripping the blood blend tightly but dropping a pistol in the process. Just when I got my footing the caravan went right, this time sending me reeling off the other edge. I braced myself for hitting the ground, but instead I landed on Eriat’s back. My arm seared in pain but I managed to shift and hang on tightly to his neck. The wyrmling had collapsed, his screams turning to gurgling, but the minotaur cocked his shotgun at us. Eriat ducked and slowed down to get behind the wagon, dodging the minotaur’s fire.

Eriat picked up speed, and I could tell that he couldn’t handle my additional weight for long. I took the moment to finish breaking the seal of my vial and drank its contents. It tasted metallic, but I couldn’t tell if it was the blood blend or the spattered blood mist from Xedras. It went down warm and spread out from my chest down to my injured arm.

Eriat fired at the wagon, making the minotaur duck for cover as he sped up towards the back.

“Get yer fat ass back up there!” he said, offering his arm as support. I gladly took it as I dismounted and vaulted onto the wagon, almost slipping on the disintegrated wyrmling acid goo. In my periphery I saw Eriat speed off towards the front of the caravan in a flash of light. The bull peeked out from his hiding spot. I quickly drew my gun with a flick of my wrist and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Kukulkan, fuck me sideways.

The minotoar lifted his shotgun, put it to his eye.

I used empty gun and laid it flat against the opening of the barrel in the same fluid motion.

He fired.

My gun exploded in my hand leaving mangled metal embedded in my palm. White lightning pain flashed behind my corneas, and shock set in. Violently trembling, I dipped my gloved left hand in the acid puddle on the floor of the rattling wagon left by the man who'd been dissolved. The minotaur scrambled to his weighted cloven feet, dazed. My ears rang like cowbells while I scrawled a messy symbol in the acid, then on the sandalwood grip of the remains of my gun.

The minotaur lunged for me, swinging the butt of his shotgun like a club. I rolled behind a barrel tucked in a corner, and hissed a word at the same time. I blew on my gun as if to light kindling, and an ethereal ghost-like version formed in my hand, repairing the broken pieces. I reached for my gun belt and slotted the revolver with two rounds before I heard gunshots outside and a man screamed. The wagon lurched to the right and the standing minotaur tumbled, rocked the wagon as if it were made of a matchbox.

The blood blend had already started repairing my hand, and the wound in my left arm was almost sealed. I fumbled with the last of the bullets with slippery fingers.

Then I stood, aimed at the minotaur, and fired twice into his thick skull.

He lay still.

"Eriat!" I shouted. "Eriat! Stop the damn horses!"

"I'm tryin'!" the centaur shouted, and the wagon lurched again before it finally stopped.

I stumbled drunkenly from the wagon, covered in blood and slime. My clothes were smoking where I'd touched Xedras's acid and I stripped off my ruined gloves. All the while, the blood bend filled me with a deep sense of steely calm.

Eriat's hooves still glowed like the noonday sun.

"Well, howdy do," he said, considerably less soaked in grime.

I couldn't even bring myself to reply. Grim exhaustion bled into my lagging vision.

We stood side by side for a moment, watching the acid eat away the canvas and wood before we decided to unhitch the horses and extract the undamaged remains of the wagon.

----

Dawn crept up on the plains after the wild night. Took a while to haul back the wagon and clean up the contents from the bandits' joyride. Some merchandise was broken or shattered to shit but most was still in tact.

We pulled out the applebox table again, me and Rho-Odi lounging back in our chairs. I stretched out my arm, still sore as hell even after the blood blend worked its magic. A gentle breeze wafted the smell of the pyre Maurice built- he was no monk anymore, but still felt an obligation to tend to the dead. Even if to me they should've been left to feed the mangy crow griffins.

"Final round?" Maurice raised a brow as his bandaged hands held his deck of worn cards. I nodded, and Rho-Odi gave a sleepy, affirmative hum.

"I'm in," Eriat said, walking towards the table with a round bottle of vigormouth in hand. The other three of us pushed forward our chipped glasses and Eriat poured into them. The clear liquid smelled like daisies and some kind of berry.

"Absolute godsend, Erry," Maurice downed the drink immediately, straight with no chaser.

"Yeah, yeah," he harumphed and took a seat next to us, right by the mess kit as usual.

I swirled the spirit in my hand. I stared into it. "Thanks, Eriat. I'll pay off my tab when we get paid. And I'll pay everything, proper."

"M'hmmm," he said gruffly, corking the bottle of vigormouth.

Maurice dealt the river. We had a long day ahead of us.

[angelicamerlinbarnes]

Okay but like I feel like Diego is the kind of person to flirt with really bad pick-up lines and Klaus is just Not Having It

featuring: Diego being a flustered Mama's boy and Klaus being a disaster dumbass and the two of them being completely in love with each other anyway

DISCLAIMER: None of the pick-up lines are mine, but the responses and ensuing shenanigans are :)

(there's fifty of these so buckle up kids :) sorry not sorry <3)

seriously though some of these are really bad

#1: He A Snack

Diego: Baby, you belong in the vending machine because you’re a snack.

Klaus: Diego you know I’m claustrophobic.

Diego: Don’t you mean Klaus-trophobic??? *finger guns*

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: I want a divorce.

#2: I’m From Hell

Diego: Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?

Klaus: I’m a veteran addict and abuse victim who can see ghosts, Diego.

Klaus: Everything hurts.

#3: Animal Puns

Diego: *points to TV screen playing the Discovery Channel* Hey Klaus.

Diego: You’re my otter half.

Klaus: Diego those are meerkats.

#4: Stars

Diego: The stars are beautiful tonight.

Klaus: Yup.

Diego: You know who else is beautiful?

Klaus: Ben.

#5: Get Out Your Handcuffs Mister

Diego: You’re under arrest… for stealing my heart.

Klaus: Diego you got kicked out of the police academy like five years ago, just give up.

#6: Bad Boys

Diego: *leaning against the doorframe like a moron* So. I hear you like bad boys.

Klaus: Diego you cried because you accidentally stepped on a bee last week.

Diego: Well yeah but -

Klaus: You held a funeral for it. You made us all speak. You had Allison fly in from California. It was a fucking bee, Diego.

Diego: … I wear leather?

Klaus: So does every other kid who shops at Hot Topic. You’re not special.

#7: Prince Charming

Diego: Your knight in shining armor is here -

Klaus: One, that’s a turtleneck, not armor.

Klaus: Two, you’re covered in blood. That’s the opposite of shiny.

Klaus: Three, you smell like dead fish. Go take a shower.

#8: Chemistry

Diego: Did we have a class together? Because I could’ve sworn we had -

Klaus: Chemistry? Yup. Also English and math and foreign languages and history and like every other fucking thing because we grew up in the same sadistic boarding school, Diego.

#9: The Store Can’t Just Give Away Things For Free. That’s A Terrible Way To Run A Business.

Diego: I like your pants.

Klaus: Thanks. I got them out of a dumpster. And yes, you can have them 100% off.

Diego: *voice cracks* Really?

Klaus: No.

#10: Boyfriend Material

Diego: My jeans are made of -

Klaus: You’re wearing leather pants Diego.

Diego: Okay but -

Klaus: So they’re made of leather and they’re not fucking jeans.

#11: Digits

Diego: I lost my phone number. Can I have -

Klaus: None of us have phones, Diego.

Diego: I can… buy us some?

Klaus: Fine. I want my number to be 1-420-420-4201.

Diego: Baby no.

Klaus: *pulling out the puppy dog eyes* Pwetty pwease?

Diego: Fine, but mine’s gonna be 1-696-969-6969.

Klaus: I love you so much. Marry me. Have my babies.

#12: Love At First Sight

Diego: Do you believe in love at first sight or -

Klaus: If I did I’d have already fallen in love with a lot of hot ghosts.

Diego: - should I walk by again?

Klaus: You’ve been pacing for the past ten minutes, Gogo. I think if it was gonna happen it would’ve by now.

#13: You Have Fine Written All Over You

Diego: Are you a parking ticket? Cause -

Klaus: Diego I can’t drive.

#14: His Eyes Are Green Not Blue You Dipshit

Diego: Your eyes are an ocean, and I’m lost at sea.

Klaus: ... can’t you, like, hold your breath forever?

Diego: *blinks* Baby, I love you, but you’re ruining this with our childhood trauma.

Klaus: Well since you’ve refused therapy I just thought this was the next best option.

Diego: I take back what I said about loving you.

#15: Math Is Dumb And I Wish School Would Stop Teaching It

Diego: Are you a forty-five degree angle?

Klaus: Actually, because humans have non-linear body shapes, it’s impossible for their specific angles to be measured -

Diego: Are you high or have you been defiling Five’s books again?

Klaus: *blinks* Why can’t it be both?

Diego: *rethinking life decisions*

#16: Baby I’m All Yours

Diego: Do you have a name?

Klaus: Klaus.

Diego: Or can I call you mine?

Klaus: I mean I prefer “baby”, but sure.

Diego: *super wide eyes* Really?

Klaus: *melts into a puddle of glitter* Yeah, Gogo.

#17: (Not) Bookworms

Diego: Thank god I brought my library card. Cause I’m here to check you out.

Klaus: *through a mouthful of waffles* God isn’t real. We all die and rot beneath the earth to be eaten by maggots. There is no such thing as a higher power.

Klaus: *swallows waffles and takes a really loud slurp of an orange juice and chocolate milk combo*

Klaus: Oh, and the library’s closed for renovations til, like, Christmas so you’re outta luck, sorry.

Diego: I thought you met god? Little girl on a bicycle?

Klaus: Her? Nah, only Satan’s got that much sass. Plus, that wasn’t heaven.

Diego: And you know this how?

Klaus: *squishes Diego’s face with both hands* Think about it. Do you really think dear ol’ dad’s in heaven?

Diego: Can you let of my face please?

#18: Bad Move, Buddy

Diego: Are you a pre-historic fossil? Cause you’re my missing link.

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus: Did you just call me old?

Diego, backing out of the room slowly: What? No! No of course not! No, obviously no, absolutely not -

Klaus: *releases savage war cry*

Diego: *runs for his goddamn life*

#19: I Rate This 0/10

Diego: Are you from Tennessee? Cause you’re the only -

Klaus: I don’t know where I’m from. I’m an orphan.

Diego: Oh… I know, baby -

Klaus: And the piece of shit that adopted me lived in New York anyway. We’re in New York right now actually. Do you need a geography lesson? I think Pogo’s got a map -

Diego: Klaus.

#20: Oh Shit

Diego: If nothing lasts forever, will you be my nothing?

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus: *tears up* I’m nothing?

Diego: Oh no. No no no. No, baby, you’re not nothing, don’t cry, I’m so sorry, that’s not what I meant, baby - oh my god please don’t cry -

#21: You’ve Got Everything I’m Searching For

Diego: Is your name Google? Because -

Klaus: Diego. For the last time…

Klaus: My name is Kimberly Linda Aerealia Ulysses Saffron Hargreeves the Twenty-Fourth. I don’t know why I need to keep explaining this to you -

Diego, kissing him quiet: You’re my favorite person in the world, you know that?

#22: Don’t Make Bets You’ll Lose, Luther.

Diego: Luther bet me a hundred bucks I couldn’t talk to the prettiest person here. How do you wanna spend his money?

Klaus: Drugs.

Diego: Baby -

Klaus: *beams* Nah, I’m just kidding. Stuffed giraffes.

Diego: *grins* For Five?

Klaus: *nods* For Five.

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego: He’ll hate them.

Klaus: Exactly. Let’s go.

#23: Deja Vu

Diego: Have we met before?

Klaus: Yes. Obviously. Are you also high?

Diego: No -

Diego: Wait, you’re high?

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus: No?

#24: Such An Optimist

Diego: Are you a time traveller?

Klaus: No, that’s Five.

Diego: Cause I think you’re my future!

Klaus: *stares blankly*

Diego: No? Nothing? Nada?

Klaus: In the future we’re all dead dipshit.

Klaus: Because. Ya know.

Klaus: THERE’S A FUCKING APOCALYPSE COMING.

Diego:

Diego: Okay then.

#25: Please Go To The Hospital.

Diego: Are you my appendix? Cause my stomach’s fluttering and I think I should take you out.

Klaus:

Klaus: Did you drink water from the fish tank again?

Diego: *turning green* Luther dared me to okay???!!!!

#26: Suicidal Tendencies

Diego: Hey gorgeous -

Klaus: Let me guess. I should drop dead?

Diego: What?! No! Baby -

#27: Infinitely On The Naughty List (And Not The Good Kind Of Naughty List (If There Is One I’m Asexual I Don’t Know))

Diego: Are you Santa Klaus? Cause you make all my wishes come true.

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus: You have five seconds to run.

Diego: *already two streets away* Fucking shit -

#28: You Can’t Use That Every Time We Have An Argument, Tony.

Diego: Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist right?

Klaus: I mean, there’s one in the corner of our living room right now, so I guess?

Diego:

Diego:

Diego:

Diego: *squeaks* You - you can see dinosaur ghosts?

Klaus: I mean, there’s a chance that thing Ben’s petting is just a super deformed ostrich, but yeah, I think so.

Diego:

Diego:

Diego:

Diego: *tearing up* That’s so cool.

#29: A Whole New Kind Of Thirst Trap

Diego: I’m thirsty. But guess whose body is 75% water?

Diego: *smirks*

Klaus: *frowns*

Klaus: Hold on, I know this one…

Diego: Klaus -

Klaus: *snaps fingers* Oh, I know! Luther!

Diego: *horrified* What the fuck Klaus why the fuck would you say that -

#30: What A Tragedy

Diego: You must be a campfire. Because you’re super hot and I want s’more.

Klaus:

Klaus: Diego sweetheart, you’re allergic to marshmallows.

Diego: *tearing up* I know.

Klaus: You wanna hug, baby?

Diego: *crying* Yes please.

#31: That Can’t Be Allowed

Diego: Don’t tell me if you want me to take you out to dinner. Just smile for yes, or do a backflip/somersault/counter-spin gymnastics combination for no.

Klaus: *smirks*

Klaus: *does a triple flip and lands perfectly on the top of the bar counter*

Diego: *turns bright red* That was h-h-hot.

Klaus: *beams and jumps down into Diego’s arms bridal-style*

Klaus: *kisses his cheek* I know, baby.

#32: Merry Christmas

Diego: You’re the reason Santa started the Naughty List.

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: *pouts*

Klaus: No fair! He told me last week I was on the Nice List!

Diego: What? Klaus? What does that -

Diego: OH MY GOD KLAUS IS SANTA DEAD???!!!!

#33: I’ll Keep You Safe, Honey.

Diego: I lost my teddy bear. Will you sleep with me instead?

Klaus: *pulls out a stuffed tiger*

Klaus: He got lost in the kitchen. Don’t worry, I rescued him for you.

Diego: *takes soft tiger*

Diego: *voice cracks* Oh. Thanks.

Klaus: *kisses his forehead* You’re welcome, baby.

#34: Excuse Me?

Diego: The only thing your eyes haven’t told me is your name.

Klaus, internally: Shit. What if he finds out I stole like five of his knives and all of the cookies last week?

Klaus, externally: *blinks*

Klaus: Um… Stefonopolis?

#35: I Am Not Apologizing For This One

Diego: If you were a steak, you’d be well done.

Klaus: But I’m so unique…

Klaus: I talk to the dead, Diego.

Diego: Okay…?

Klaus: *smirks*

Klaus: So wouldn’t I be medium rare?

Ben: Ooooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

#36: Leonardo Da Vinci Was Arrested Multiple Times For Homosexual Activity.

Diego: Is this a museum? Cause you’re a work of art.

Klaus: *dancing to the soundtrack of High School Musical 3* Actually Five took me back to Italy once. Leonardo da Vinci and I had some fun.

Diego:

Diego: Oh my god. Seriously?

Diego: *looks up picture of Mona Lisa, now titled Mona Klausa*

Diego: How the fuck -

#37: Why Would You Say That Though

Diego: Am I sleepwalking? Cause I’ve only seen you in my dreams.

Klaus: *sitting on the counter and eating a donut in one bite* Are they dirty?

Luther: *chokes on a pickle*

Diego: Oh my god no -

Diego: Well sometimes -

Diego: I mean no of course not -

Luther: *praying to whoever’s up there to just kill him already*

#38: Be Safe Kids!

Diego: Can you hold this for me?

Klaus: Sweetie, you need to wash your hands.

#39: Apocalypse Averted!

Diego: If looks could kill, you’d be a weapon of mass destruction.

Klaus: *blinks*

Klaus: I thought that was Vanya.

Diego:

Diego, panicking: Holy shit Klaus you can’t just say things like that -

Vanya: *crying from laughter*

#40: Attractive

Diego: Do you swallow magnets? Because you’re -

Klaus: *shoves him up against the wall*

Klaus: How did you find out? Who told you? Was it Ben? I swear to god I’ll kill him -

Diego: *squeaks* What?

#41: First You’ve Gotta Propose Diego

Diego: Wouldn’t we look cute on a wedding cake together?

Klaus: Diego. Did you buy me a cake?

Diego:

Klaus:

Diego:

Klaus: I’m waiting.

Diego: Right sir yes sir right away sir -

#42: He May Not Be A Kitten But He Is As Soft As One

Diego: If I followed you home, would you keep me?

Klaus: I’m homeless, Diego.

Diego: What? You are? Oh no, baby - you can come stay with me?

Klaus: *looks up from Disney Princess coloring book and raises an eyebrow* Is your bed available?

Diego, blushing: Ye-yeah, b-ba-baby. Whe-whenever you-u w-want.

Klaus: *smiles*

Klaus: *takes Diego’s hand*

Klaus: Okay.

Diego: *dies a little bit inside (in a good way)*

#43: It’s Just You.

Diego: Is it hot in here or is it just you?

Klaus, blushing: I -

Five: DIEGO. THE HOUSE IS ON FIRE. NOW IS NOT THE TIME.

#44: ‘Scuse Me, Mate?

Diego: You know, penguins mate for life. Wanna be my penguin?

Klaus: Eh. I’ve always been more of an iguana man.

Diego:

Diego:

Diego:

Diego: What?

#45: You Look Like… Antonio Banderas With The Long Hair.

Diego: How’s the most beautiful person in the world doing today?

Klaus: *buried in a Vogue magazine* I don’t know I’m not Antonio Banderas.

#46: What The Fuck Klaus

Diego: Do you have a map? I keep getting lost in your eyes.

Klaus: *hands him a Candyland board* Here. I stole it from Pogo.

#47: You Dumbass

Diego: I hate my last name. Can I borrow yours?

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus:

Klaus: We have the same last name, Diego.

Diego: *blinks*

Diego: Fuck you’re right -

#48: Okay But Diego Would Make A Great Aladdin Though

Diego: I’m not a genie, but I can still make your dreams come true.

Klaus: *wrinkles his nose*

Klaus: You can get me a pink elephant with jaundice?

Diego: *blinks*

Diego: What the fuck Klaus -

#49: HELLO

Diego: Is that a knife or are you just happy to see me?

Klaus: I don’t just have random knives on me Diego, I’m not you.

Diego: So you are happy to see me?

Klaus: I mean you just interrupted a very riveting episode of Sesame Street, so… we’ll see.

#50: It’s Always Best To Start With The Truth.

Diego: I love you.

Klaus: *beams* That’s all you had to say, darling.

[thespamman24]

I’m usual an easy going guy. However, I have limits, and when they are broken I can get very, very mad. Thankfully, these limits very rarely get broken. However, I start to lose my cool when I decide to order a nice, box of pizza for dinner and then twenty minutes later the pizza man shows up with a copy of Shakespeares unpublished masterpiece; it follows a young Vinetian  prince named Selvitico and Mardico, the son of an aristocrat of a neighboring kingdom. The play is notable not just in that it is neither comedy nor tragedy, but in the way that he strays from all other Shakespearean comedies in it’s craft and story telling. 

                            Act One. Scene One, a Crowded City Street.

Watchman: Hark! What stranger from the night goes here!

Levidico: No need to beware, for even though thy am a stranger to the night, I am a friend to the day.

Watchman: Hark! I said stranger from the night, not to the night.

Levidico: Well, it’s very hard to come up with these witty wordings on the spot!

Watchman: Hark! Excuses are for tired old men, and tired old dogs, and people that make excuses.

Levidico: Why you barnacle bouting son of a breaking borfins! 

{He stabs him}

Watchman: Now it is time to reveal my true form!

{He turns into a watch}

Watchman: I am the watchman!!!!

Levidico: Aah, beans.

Watchman: It is time for you to catch these hands!

Levidico: Oh god, my worst weakness, clock puns!

{he dies}

Watchman: Yes! I am the watchman!!!!

Watchwoman: Honey, please come home!

Watchman: No!

Watchboy: Daddy! My bush has been stolen!

Watchman: I care not!

Ibradigigiooo: Shut up!

[he punches the watchman]

Watchman: Oh, I am slain! Oh tempora! Oh moores! Thou hast been punched, punched like a thief in the night, or a crook in the night, or a day in the night, or a night in the day! Oh! Thou shall breathe thy last breath and then thy shall breathe no more breaths! Though has used up all thy breaths! Though went to the breath bank for a loan but they said I was overdue on my payments from my last loan and now I’m in breathe debt! 

[He dies]

Ibradigigiooo: Well, my work here is done.

[He dies]

[Levidico re-appears]

Levidico: Thee has becometh a zombie! Thee crave thy sweetnees of thous brains!!!! Thou brains!!!!

[Everyone screams, and then dies]

[Selvitico walks on stage with Astrastia, Rosylin, Haryambodius, two attendents, and Tim]

Selvitico: Why are there so many dead bodies here?

Haryambodius: Idk man, probably the plauque or something.

Selvitico: My god the white stuff on teeth?

Haryambodius: No. The disease

Selvitico: Aw. My god the disease?

Selviticos god: You called?

Selivitco: Yes, give me the disease!

Selviticos god: Whatever you say, boss.

[selviticos god gives him the disease]

Selivitco: Behold! The disease!

Astrastia: Isn’t that dangerous?

Selivitco: Silence, wench!

Astrastia: Why ist thou like this?

Selivitco: Thy sun is dumb and ugly, and thy is but a drop of ice! 

Astrasia: Surely though jest!

Rosylin: [to astrasia] Oh sister, can you not see that Selivitco is in a fowl wind, to fowl to jest? He jests not.

Selivitco: Shut up! I jest! I jest so hard, thou wouldn’t believe it!

Rosylin: See? Thou has caught win of some fowl manner as of late,  and for no other reason except maybe that your father turned into ten thousand rats!

Astrasia: Ah! But the sun!

Haryambodius: The sun! Dost it not peek through the blinds of the clouds?

Selivitco: Tis be true, but thou has not seen the last of storms and other such diseases wrought upon the skin of the sky. Boils and parasites, of which no leeches can conquer wrought even the highest of heavens, so that even the stars themselves are ill with fevers and maggots!

Astrasia: Ah! Why what blasphemy dost thou speak of!

Selivitco: Blasphemy? Thy hath no blasphemy but thy undergarments! Thy bones are paved with purity, it is the road that it paved with sin! However, your feet can not smell, and so you can not detect the stench of the street! But, thy can because thy dost have noses on thy feet.

[Everyone looks down to see that Selivitco indeed, has noses on his feet]

Haryambodius: It is a fool of a man who doth wear his noses like bracelets.

Selivitco: Why, but if noses were golden then we would all wear them bracelets!

[maretriarch]

drop and give me twenty posts maggot

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-ire, “Deputy.”

Hope you are all having a good day, and I hope you enjoy the story :)

Sparks leapt into the air vanishing to blend in with the wide expanse of the night sky overhead. Spoons clattered and rattled against cans, as the small group of men sat under the stars eating their meager rations. Adam shifted feeling the weight of his new gun on the opposite hip from his old: McBride’s gun.

The Sheriff spooned another mouthful of ration under his mustache before grunting as if he had remembered something and reached behind him, pulling out a sheathed knife and tossing it over to Adam, “Believe that belongs to you.”

He caught it with one hand, and set the can he was eating from down beside his boot, pulling the knife from its sheath, only to see the familiar decorative glint. He felt his face flush a bit, and when he looked up at the sheriff, seeing the look on the man’s face he knew that he knew.

He opened his mouth to speak, “I am so sorry sheriff, I really had no idea what came over me, I-” The man’s booming laugh cut him off mid apology, “No need to apologize to me boy. That man was nothing better than a crawly little maggot in my book, and deserved a lot more than losing a knife.” He snorted and leaned back in his seat, “Why take it, though, you being such an upstanding citizen and all. Doesn’t seem to fit your profile.”

Adam, still a bit flushed, rubbed the back of his neck, “I…. well.”

That’s when Ramirez butted in, leaning over the fire and announcing in a very loud voice, “To impress a girl.”

Adam turned a sharp glare down on Ramirez who was grinnin fit to burst.

“A girl!” The sheriff exclaimed, “Now that is something, isn’t it. Why don’t you go ahead and tell us about this girl.”

Ramires rolled his eyes,”How about that time he dumped that girl, and decided to pine after her later.”

Adam glowered so hard at Ramirez he hoped he would explode, but when no spontaneous combustion occurred, he simply sighed and slouched down in his seat, “Look, not to get into too many details or seem sorry for myself, but I’m not exactly in a great mental headspace to…. To be dating right now. It isn’t fair to her, and I refuse to drag her into my mess, especially one she didn’t sign up for.”

Around the fire, he could see the other men rolling their eyes largely.

“If she’s any kind of woman, it wouldn’t matter..” One of them said, “A real woman’s always got your back, covers you blind spots, and she’s shooting when you reload. A real woman makes you a better man at the same time you make her a better woman…. Course that is assuming that you are any kind of man.’ Adam blew out through his cheeks long and drawn out, “Very poetic, deputy, but let's assume I’m not any kind of man…. At least not right now, and she doesn’t deserve that.” “And so what, did you hope to find your manhood out here with the roughians and the hooligans.” one of them asked motioning around at the planet behind him.

Adam sighed again, “Actually, no.” he motioned to Ramirez, “that one dragged me out here to cheer me up, but since we’ve been here, I’ve been threatened, had a horrible hangover, been kicked in the face, kidnapped, threatened, fallen off a horse, and been kicked in the face a second time.”

The group of men laughed, “Sounds like a good time!”

They laughed, and he laughed with them.

“Anyway, she likes weapons, loves them actually, any kind, so it made me think of her, and I thought that when I get back, maybe my apology would go better if I soften her up first.”

The men eyed each other, “Or give her a weapon to carve you up with in her rage.”

He snorted and smiled slightly, “I guess you’re right about that. Anyway, I don’t expect to get her back, not really, but I at least want to say sorry, man up and explain to her why I did what I did. I was so messed up at the time, that I didn’t really provide a good explanation, and I think she deserved to know the truth. I am hoping this is a case of better late than never, and not a case of too little too late.”

Ramirez sighed and shook his head but let it go.

The sheriff watched him with some interest, head tilted this way and that, scrutinizing him as if he was some strange looking crustation the man had found under a rock.

He stared down at the knife he now twisted between his two fingers before strapping it to his belt,

He expected the sheriff or one of the other deputies to keep going on about it, but they dropped the subject, and instead the sheriff leaned forward over the fire, “You boys did a pretty good job with those men back there. That was some good shooting, and back at the bar was some pretty good teamwork.” he looked sidelong at Adam, “Now, I can’t vouch for the intelligence of a man who would flying tackle a bandit off a horse at twenty miles an hour, but that remains to be seen I suppose.”

Ramirez and Adam lifted their head in interest.

Adam raised an eyebrow, “You trying to say something sheriff.”

The man paused scrutinizing them still, “Well McBride and his men have been bothering this community for a while now, and it needs to stop. Now we captured a few of them back there, but McBride is the one we are really after, without him his whole group falls apart and vanishes back into whatever cesspit they came from.” he paused tapping his boot thoughtfully against the dirt, “We need good fighting men to help us take them down and you two….”

Ramirez and Adam both leaned forward in some measure of excitement eyes wide.”

“And well, the two of you have more than proven your metal when it comes to the fighting aspect so….. I am more than willing to deputize you boys until we catch McBride, the help would be most appreciated.”

“HELL YEAH!”

The sheriff almost fell off his log as the two of them jumped to their feet in vehement and unbridled excitement.

A few of the deputies just shook their heads.

“City folk.” one of them whispered but the smile on his face made it clear enough that he didn’t really mean anything by it.

“Calm down! Lest I rethink my offer,” the sheriff muttered, clearly trying to appear more annoyed than he actually was. He stood, “Both raise your right hands or some shit, I don’t know.”

The two of them did as asked, grinning from ear to ear.

“Now in the power vested in me by the Bramble county justice system bla bla, I hereby deputize you that you may bring justice and all that stuff or whatever. Do you swear to protect this county and all the citizens in it.”

“We swear.”

He grunted, “Good.”

The two men stared at him, grinning expectantly, “What?”

“You know what.”

He sighed, grumbled, and walked over to his saddle, reaching into the bag and pulling out two shiny golden badges both in the shape of a star. He tossed them across the topen fire at the two men, “Here, and try not to wet yourselves.”

They didn’t wet themselves of course

But there was certainly a moment of girlish screaming and jumping up and down around the fire that probably shouldn't have been done in front of a group of other men whose respect they were trying to gain.

When they sat back down finally clearing their throats and awkwardly adjusting their hats, the other men stared at them with some measure of both amusement and concern, though no one said anything.

Of course neither of them really cared.

Ramirez was still admiring his badge when a sudden frown came over his face, and he reached down to his shirt, “Damn it.”

Adam tilted his head,”What.”

“Hole in my shirt.”

He turned to see that there was, indeed, a hole in his shirt.

“Shit, I liked this shirt.” “Oh stop bitching and hand it over.”

“What.”

“Just give me the damn shirt.”

Ramirez did as told, though as he handed it over, the suspenders of his pants now hanging down at his sides he looked up grinning, “If you wanted to see me shirtless, you could have just asked.” 

Adam, not looking up from the hole replied, “I’ll be interested in your sweaty man boobs when hell freezes over.”

There was some light chuckling form around the fire as Adam reached into his bag and pulled out a small sewing kit. The group of men watched as he deftly threaded a needle, wetting the end of the thread with saliva before threading it through the small hole. Within the next few seconds he was pulling the hole in the shirt closed until it was neatly stitched back up and he handed it back to Ramirez .

He stared looking between Adam and the repaired shirt, “dude…. This… this is clean… since when have you known how to sew.”

Adam looked almost offended, “Seriously ramirez, think about who my mother is for five secons.”

“I mean yeah, but you didn’t exactly strike me as the sitting in the living room sewing with mom type.”

Adam crossed his arms, “I had a life once. Before I joined the UNSC I used to make my own costumes for conventions. My mother taught me everything she knows, and since I didn’t have a lot of friends at school I got pretty good at it.”

“Next you’ll be telling me you can knit.”

“Dude I will Knit or crochet you the best damn scarf you’ve ever worn and maybe a nice pair of mittens to go along with it.”

They stared at each other neither breaking eye contact.

“I make a mean beanie.”

Ramirez began to laugh, “You never cease to amaze me. What else can you do. I mean, you can Knit and crochet, and sew.”

“I am also pretty handy at cross-stitching, embroidery, and needlepoint.”

The other men around the fire began to laugh, though it was good natured enough.

Adam shrugged, “Laugh all you want, but I never had to worry about holes in my pants.”

“That it”

He paused and shook his head, “Well, no. I used to be able to do makeup ok, just for the costumes I did, could practically change the structure of my face. I was pretty good at it, I would say.” he frowned, rubbing his chin a bit, “I mean there were a lot of the things my mother and father taught me how to do…”

“Why…. why did you stop. That all seems fun.”

Adam paused, and then shrugged, “I…. well, I joined the UNSC and then didn’t really have time to do those things anymore. They just sort of… fell away until I kind of forgot I could even do them…. It was the same with riding horses and woodworking.”

“You used to draw too, didn’t you.”

Adam shrugged, “A little, probably could have been pretty good if I had practiced, but there wasn’t really time to do that either.”

One of the deputies prodded the fire with a stick, “Let your job kind of take over your life, didn’t you.”

He paused and shrugged, “I guess.”

“Not something that's good for a man.” The sheriff gestured around the circle, “The boys here all have things they like doing outside work. I mean I own a little farm. I like getting my hands in the dirt, and watching things grow. Clayton over there makes his own booze, and is pretty good at if I don’t say so myself. Tom there and his girl like to go dancing, won a few competitions, haven’t you Tom.”

Adam rubbed the back of his head, “Well I do have things outside my work I like to do, like flying or, watching vintage movies.”

“You're a fighter pilot, Adam, so that doesn’t count, and sci-fi movies are too close to home.”

He sighed, “Fine, fine, maybe I let the life take me over a little too much.”

Ramirez snorted, “Maybe…. Maybe?”

“Ok yeah, I DID for sure.”

“Don’t lose yourself kid. The moment you allow your job to define you, there is always the chance it could be taken away, and then you’d lose your identity all together.”

Adam grimaced at the thought, but realized they were…. Right.

What was he?

And there walsall the possibility in the world that he could lose his job. He wasn’t sure how it could be done, but he was sure it could happen. There was always the possibility of politics chasing him out of his role if he got too important. Or perhap, he would just get to old, and they wouldn’t trust him anymore.

Either way, one day he was going to be out of a job, and when that happened, he needed to make sure he was stable enough to handle it. And if he couldn’t handle his real life, right now, then he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to handle himself if he lost it.

“Get some sleep, all of you, we ride out tomorrow…. To catch a train.”

The men grumbled and maneuvered their saddles into more comfortable positions leaving one man on watch for that night.

Adam leaned back against his saddle to stare up at the stars.

There was…. An overwhelming sense of vertigo that came with looking up, a familiar sensation he had had since childhood. The stars overhead were comforting and familiar, but tonight they also seemed distant. They had been distant for a while, he supposed, and the thought left him with a deep well of sadness.

When had it been, when had he lost it….. The wide eyed childish love for what he did.

When had he become so…. So lost.

Was there a moment he could pinpoint, was there an instance he could look back on and see?

Or had it come on slowly pernicious and insidious creeping up on him slowly from behind to tackle him and bind him with such doubts and indecision.

He closed his eyes, and in his dreams he flew through the sky trailing his fingers through he stars.

[tcookies777]

Here is a sneak peek at a side story I've written for The Anatomy of Love (a KakaSaku modern college au - AO3 hyperlink included)! You don't need to have read the fic to read this side story since this is a flashback to Kakashi's past when he was a teen, but it does help to understand since it's in the context of the fic itself!

The Anatomy of Love: Side Story - The Angel from Hell

About 14 years ago….

Summer in Sound country was utter shit.

Fire country had its droughts for sure during this season, and more often than not the trees would catch fire just from the mere glare of the sun on a dried leaf. But at least the trees also offered plenty of protection from the heat so long as the Firewatch was making sure those trees weren’t burning first.

Sound country, on the other hand, had nothing but empty golden plains that seemed to stretch on for eternity. If it didn’t look like a sort of heaven, Kakashi would’ve thought he was in hell what with the sun burning through his clothes and the scorched patches of earth peppered throughout the fields—a telltale sign of the bombs that had rained down on the area not too long ago.

A summer thunderstorm last week had given them a brief reprieve from the intense heat wave, but it had still left them uncomfortably soaked in their own clothes. A week later, the sun was back with a fiery vengeance, and they were back to soaking through their tactical gear in their own stink and sweat again, but this time with the muck of the marshlands clinging to their boots.

It had taken almost the whole day to sludge through the marshes and find shelter at a farmhouse that seemed to have been completely abandoned days ago. They’d cleared the house and finished in disappointment upon finding that all of the livestock were either gone or already getting feasted on by the maggots. Most of the food in the pantry had also long been raided save for a single jar of strawberry jam and a cracked egg left to spoil on a shelf. It wasn’t that everyone was starving—although they were certainly hungry after a day out trudging through a war zone—but a jar of sweet strawberry jelly was practically bliss compared to their MRE rations. Even Kakashi himself was getting wearier and wearier over every pound of rice he had to eat with the bland curry packed in his ration meal.

So the moment Anzu had spotted the bright red jar, there had immediately been a scuffle over who got to eat it. Being the fifth in command (and with the first four already dead), Kakashi had asserted the order that each person would get their fair share of strawberry jelly: one scoop and only after they’d finished their MREs for tonight. Everyone except Obito had glanced warily at each other, reluctant to follow the command of a 17-year-old boy despite him outranking them all. But, not wanting to throw a tantrum over strawberry fucking jelly of all things, they’d each grunted in answer.

And now that last bit of the jelly was getting scraped out of its jar by Obito after Kakashi had passed his share over to him. Sweets weren’t his thing anyway even if he would kill for something homemade rather than a meal full of preservatives.

The leftover spicy powder clung to the base of Kakashi’s back teeth no matter how many times he swigged down some water from his canteen. It was like chewing on sediment, and judging by the faces of everyone else, he was willing to bet none of them were intent on eating curry anytime soon after the end of this tour. He didn’t blame them.

“Piece of shit!” Tsutomu suddenly snarled, unsheathing his kukri to swipe at the fly that had been assaulting his face for the last half hour. The fat insect buzzed around him before disappearing into the man’s beard that was still coated with the blood from when a Sound soldier had tried to bash his face in back at the marshes. With a growl, Tsutomu swatted at his beard, prompting two flies to crawl out and give him double the work.

Sitting closest to him, Yori ducked when his blade nearly chopped her ear off. “Watch it!” she barked at him, flicking her chocolate brown braid aside to pick up some of the cards she’d dropped. She was the only woman among the twelve of them here, and she was also the only one besides Kakashi who had the guts to speak up against Tsutomu whenever his bitching got too loud or too obnoxious. Usually both.

The rest of the unit was in the middle of a very intense game of Spoons, using a beat up pair of playing cards someone had the smarts to bring. Considering it was his first tour though, Kakashi initially could not fathom who would want to play a card game in the middle of a war zone, and especially deep in the trenches of enemy territory. But he’d soon discovered that a card game was the best way to pass the time when there wasn’t much else to do but scout, kill, and sit on their asses to do it all over again. As it was now, they were on their thirty-fourth round of Spoons, and he just needed an Ace of Hearts to complete the set in his hand.

Passing another card to Obito, Kakashi wiped away a bead of sweat from his brow. Tucked beneath his shirt, the hot metal of his dog tags rubbed uncomfortably against his slick chest. Summer nights in Sound country were almost as bad as during the day. The good thing about it was that the humidity dropped, leaving the air so dry that his tongue felt like paper every time he opened his mouth. The bad thing was that, with the place so arid, they couldn’t risk lighting a fire lest they burn down their only shelter for the night (or attract the wrong kind of attention). So they’d turned on their flashlights, thankful that the equipment had somehow survived the trip through the marshes but not so happy that they couldn’t even light a cigarette.

Even without a fire, the summer heat had become far more unbearable than the mosquitoes that assaulted them every hour of the day. By midnight, everyone had resorted to stripping their tops off and leaving only their tactical vests on, filling the small space with their stinky sweat. It went against protocol, but nobody—not even Obito—listened to him when he offhandedly commented that they were sooner to die from a mosquito bite than a bullet wound if they dawdled around half-naked like that. Even Yori had given up, leaving Kakashi as the only one fully clothed in his combat fatigues.

“Bet you we could cook an egg on the ground with this heat,” Obito rasped out, pressing the cool, flat edge of his kukri against his cheek. Not the smartest move unless he wanted to risk stabbing his eye out, but he was far too desperate to care at this point. “Fuck, man, what I wouldn’t give for a sunnyside egg.”

“There’s one on the pantry shelf downstairs if the flies haven’t got to it yet,” Kakashi replied dismissively, passing a Queen of Hearts card to him and then picking up—ah-ha!

Holding his fourth and final Ace, Kakashi surreptitiously slid a hand out to grab one of the eight bullets that sat on the stool they were all sitting around. It took twenty seconds for anyone to notice that there were now only seven bullets remaining, and then chaos ensued as the rest of the unit members wrestled for the last bullets.

Once the dust had cleared and the knocked-over flashlights were propped back up, they each opened their hands to show who had a bullet and who didn’t. Tsutomu didn’t, and he did not look pleased about it.

“All right, who won it this time?” Midori sighed even as everyone looked expectantly to Kakashi who’d already flipped his deck around to show them his complete set of Aces.

“Fuck this!” Tsutomu threw his cards down and jabbed his kukri in Kakashi’s direction. “He’s always winning!”

“And you’re always too slow,” Yori said with a roll of her eyes. “You don’t hear me bitchin’ about it.”

“Maybe because I would’ve made you shut the fuck up!”

Before the two could begin snapping at each other's throats again, Midori was already nudging his glasses up as he said aloud, “He’s a Hatake. They don’t call him the prodigal White Fang for nothing, so of course he'd win. He's one of those freakin' geniuses who excel at everything.”

One of the Aces in Kakashi’s hand folded slightly under his grip, but he said nothing as Obito glanced his way.

“Sounds like a freak to me,” someone mumbled.

With Anzu collecting all the playing cards to reshuffle, everyone had time to listen in on the conversation now.

“Ah, yeah, your old man was one of the hotshots in the military, right?” Genki sneered at him. His face looked like a weasel’s what with his long, sharp nose, narrow jaw, and beady eyes that twinkled as if he was constantly thinking of an insulting joke for anyone who caught his attention. But he was also the kind of weasel that shrunk back when a predator stared him down, and he did just that when Kakashi calmly turned his sights onto him. “B-Bet he has plenty of medals to show for it.”

Kakashi quickly looked away in disinterest. Fuck if he cared about his father’s medals. They were probably collecting dust and cobwebs somewhere in the back of a closet.

“Heard his Pops always carried a lil’ sword around in battle,” Tsutomu nodded to the hilt jutting out from behind Kakashi’s lower back. “Just like that one.”

“Who the fuck brings a sword to a gunfight?” Genki sniggered but just as soon stopped when he saw nobody else was laughing.

“It’s a tantō, you nitwit,” Obito said, slamming down the empty jar of jam with more force than necessary. Genki jolted in his seat from the harsh sound. “And it’s really no different from the standard-issued kukris we all carry.”

Tsutomu frowned at the knife in his hand that was almost double the length of Kakashi’s shortsword. He met Kakashi’s gaze over the curved blade, tawny eyes squinting at him for a second as if they were having a dick-measuring contest. Pleased with the extra inches he had over the younger man, Tsutomu lowered the knife to give Kakashi a smug grin. His shit-eating grin instantly flipped into a scowl, however, when the two flies from earlier suddenly appeared to attack his lips.

His breath must be that rancid, Kakashi thought with faint bemusement. While he could stand the pompous ass and his snide remarks, he couldn’t stand to watch Yori have to consistently dodge Tsutomu’s knife as he returned to stabbing at the flies with a vengeance.

Kakashi nodded towards the staircase that led to the bedrooms upstairs. “Tsutomu, Genki, switch off with Haya and Jun. It’s your turn to be on lookout.”

They clicked their tongues in unison but obeyed without question, grabbing their flashlights to head upstairs and keep watch for the next hour. As soon as they left the cramped room, the stink seemed to follow after them (although that wasn’t much of a surprise). Haya and Jun came in, propping their sniper rifles against a cabinet that held nothing but smashed plates within. As they searched for a decent seat where they could put their feet up and relax as well as they could in a warzone, Kakashi pulled out a map from his pack and spread it out on the floor. With the beckon of his hand, he urged everyone to pay attention.

“Amegakure is fifty miles from here,” he explained, tapping a finger on the northeast quadrant of the map. “The package is reported to be held within an underground bunker disguised on the topside as a water tower. At 0600, we’ll be leaving to cut through the Dead Marshes to reach Ame by 1800.”

“Why is it called the Dead Marshes again?” Anzu asked before slapping a fly off his sweaty face.

“Because a hundred of our men died there just last month. Cut down in an ambush after the enemy got ahold of our intel. Everyone’s been calling it the Dead Marshes since then.”

“So why the fuck are we going there?” Yori demanded. “I'm betting those corpses are still floating around for all the fishies to nibble on.”

“Then that just means we have even more cover,” Kakashi said.

Jun snorted and leaned over to snatch the map off the ground. Like most of the other survivors here, Jun liked to question Kakashi’s leadership at every chance. In fact, he was the kind of guy whom teachers would rip their hair out over had he chosen to stay in high school rather than head straight into the military academy. Running a hand through his greasy blonde hair, he snorted at the map before tossing it back to Kakashi. “There’s a river that we can follow for a few miles. It’ll lead us straight to Amegakure much faster than the marshes.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Because it's too tiresome to explain to a numbskull like you. “Because I said so.”

“A fucking kid said so.”

“At least I have a high school diploma.”

“And a Bachelor's and a Master’s,” Midori coughed out. When Jun glared at him, he took off his glasses and pretended to get busy cleaning them.

With a sneer, Jun pointed his flashlight directly into Kakashi's face. “I don’t care if you're a Hatake. I don't care if you're some genius with a dozen degrees. And I definitely don’t give a flying fuck if our superiors kiss your ass and call you the White Flash—”

‘Fang’, Kakashi almost corrected him, but even he found the nickname distasteful.

“—I'm not going to put my life in the hands of some kid who cares more about the mission than his own comrades,” Jun spat out.

“Look,” Obito sat forward, prying the map from Kakashi’s grip and smoothing it back down on the floor. “The obvious choice is the river, right?”

Jun nodded and then stepped on the foot of Haya who’d been too busy staring at Yori’s cleavage. “Y-Yeah, duh!” Haya nodded vigorously until the heel digging onto his toes relented.

Obito spread open his palms in gesture. “Then you would think they’d have an ambush set up for us there too since it’s the ‘obvious choice’. The river will be guarded, but Sound won’t expect more Fire soldiers to try the marshes after the first group failed.”

“Ah, so reverse psychology?” Yori still didn’t look so convinced, but she was already eyeing the marshes on the map again with renewed interest. She frowned and then looked to Kakashi. “You said you want to use the dead bodies for cover?”

“The marshes are our best bet if we want to get to the package on time. And without getting butchered,” Kakashi added firmly. “We’re the only ones left of our unit, so we need to play it safe but right. But I also wouldn’t expect Sound to turn a blind eye, so we need to move with stealth.”

Yori rolled her eyes. “Tsutomu is the opposite of stealth, but I guess we could always use his bitch ass for cover if needed. I just fucking hate the marshes,” she said with a sigh, sagging in her rickety chair, still exhausted from slugging through the marshes all day. “But Hatake’s idea makes more sense.”

“The fuck it does not!” Jun snapped at her. “I say we take the river—”

“And I say we’re taking the marshes,” Kakashi said, his voice low but harsh enough to make the fresh graduate stiffen. When Jun fell silent, Kakashi swept his gaze around all the others sitting and staring at him. He took turns challenging each and every one of them silently for a moment, daring them to question his orders anymore. “I don’t care what you think of me. I don’t care if you don’t like swimming with the fishes and corpses. I don’t care if any of you live or die. I care about completing the mission—and that is securing the package. That is our duty as a soldier and if you disagree then you are free to take off your vests and dog tags, put down your guns, and walk out that door and all the way back home.”

Everyone shut up at that, and for the first time in six months, Kakashi was finally afforded the peace of silence without someone bitching about the insects, the commercial taste of their rations, or a stone that had found its way inside their boot. Satisfied with the room’s consensus, Kakashi leaned back in his chair, unsheathing his tantō to wipe off today’s coat of blood and mud that stained the edges.

It was Yori who broke the begrudging silence first when she suddenly withdrew her pistol from its holster. “You keep staring at my tits, Haya, and I'll blow you a new eye. Right in the center of your fucking forehead.”

“Chill, darlin'!” Haya raised his hands placatingly. “I was just checking out your tags.” As if to prove his point, he leaned closer to her, training his eyes on the cleavage that could be seen just above the collar of her vest. Still under the pretense of reading her tags, he hummed and stroked his chin. “Impressive.”

Yori cocked her gun in warning.

“Hey, I got a place where you can blow me,” Jun snickered at her, prompting Haya to do the same.

“That’s it—”

“Enough,” Kakashi leaned across to grab Yori’s hand that was reaching for the kukri at her hip. Something then slipped out of his front pocket, fluttering down until it landed atop of the map to reveal little Rin shyly hugging onto a scrawny boy with silver hair and a dead gaze.

Jun swooped down in the blink of an eye, snatching up the photo with his blood-stained fingers. He whistled low, angling the photo for Haya to see. “Damn, Hatake! You like your girls really young, huh? But I didn't take you as a guy who likes four-year-old pussy! Or is she three?”

Over the men’s cackles, Kakashi resisted the urge to skewer the Private 1st Class with the tip of his tantō. Especially not when he had just finished wiping the blade clean of today’s muck. “The only pussy here is the one in front of me,” he replied coolly.

Midori choked on the water he’d been sipping from his canteen, letting it splash all over the glasses he’d just finished cleaning.

While Jun was still sputtering from the retort, Obito stole the photo away from him. He peeked at it for just a split second before handing the picture back to Kakashi who immediately tucked it back into the safety of his pocket. He wiped his sword down one last time and then sheathed it loudly enough for both Jun and Haya to flinch.

A grim silence fell over the group as everyone else seemed to recall all the beloved people they themselves carried in their pockets. Mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, and lovers. They were all waiting for their soldiers to return home—even if it meant in body bags or as dog tags.

“Is she your girlfriend?” Obito quietly asked as Anzu started to deal cards for the others to play a round of Thirteen with.

It was a sincere question, but it was still a personal one that had Kakashi scrubbing a hand over his jaw. His hand came away tinged with the thin film of blood that had yet to finish congealing on his mask. He could smell the sharp notes of copper with every intake of breath, so he made a mental note to retreat to the bathroom later and wash off the grime. It was pointless, he knew that. By tomorrow noon, his mask would be dyed in splotches of red again, but tonight he wanted to sleep without inhaling the stench of a dead man.

Sensing Obito still waiting for an answer, Kakashi wiped his hand on his trousers and then sighed.

“She's a girl. And she's my friend….” And he had kissed Rin before, but that was more out of curiosity than desire. Besides, he didn't count it as an actual kiss since he'd just been seven years old at the time. “She's… special to me,” was all Kakashi gave in answer. “What about you? You got anyone back home?”

This time, it was Obito’s turn to shift in discomfort. He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. “Nah, I was... disowned by my family. I was always the black sheep, but one day, I fucked up and...” He paused to scratch his cheek for a moment. “And it cost my twin brother’s life. I mean, he’s not dead,” he added quickly. “But he got fucked up pretty badly from the accident to the point that... he’s like a shadow of himself. So I got kicked out of the family after that, got put in a group home, then joined the academy as soon as I could. I haven’t talked to my family or my twin brother ever since, so if I die... guess that’s it for me.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s the end for you. I mean, you’re free to haunt me if you’d like.”

Obito's mouth quirked into a grin. “You don’t mind me pulling all that poltergeist shit on you?”

Kakashi snorted. “With your butterfingers, you’d be dropping shit rather than throwing it.”

“Oh, fuck you!” Obito shoved at his shoulder with a laugh.

His laughter was cut short, however, when the heavy tread of boots stampeding down the staircase followed by the most unholy screeching interrupted everyone. Genki and Tsutomu appeared at the threshold, faces flushed with angry scratched lines marking their cheeks as if a cat had gotten the jump on them. But it wasn’t a cat that was making that screeching noise; it was a girl. Slung between them with her wrists bound in ripped sheets, she thrashed around wildly in search of an opportunity to—not escape but to bite at the men holding her captive.

White teeth flashed between long tresses of ebony hair as she tried to snap her jaws at Tsutomu’s thick neck. The man responded with a harsh slap that sent her face whipping towards Genki who was forced to reel back to avoid her bites.

“Lookie what I caught!” Tsutomu announced, grinning proudly as he grabbed the girl by the base of her head and yanked it back. She winced but made no sound that she was in pain. Even though her whole face was streaked with filth, it was obvious that she couldn’t be any older than fifteen years old. Only two years younger than Kakashi himself, but already looking as if she’d lived through an entire war. “Caught this lil’ bitch skulking around in one of the bedrooms. Probably was finding a spot to hide in so that she could slit our throats while we slept.”

There was no way she could’ve taken on twelve armed soldiers even with the element of surprise, but Kakashi didn’t doubt that she would’ve tried it anyway.

“I would’ve shat on your corpses too afterward!” she sneered at Tsutomu, earning a second slap to the cheek and making Genki flinch when specks of blood from her mouth landed all over his face.

“How the hell did we miss her?” Jun asked, stopping Tsutomu from slapping the girl again. “I thought we cleared this house from top to bottom.”

Apparently, you guys were sloppy about it, Kakashi was half-tempted to say. Instead, he stood up and yanked the girl out of Genki and Tsutomu's clutches by her bound hands. She struggled against him but just as soon froze when she felt the sharp tip of his tantō dig into the small of her back. Don’t move, Kakashi told her with a mere prod of his sword.

“Hey! Finders keepers,” Tsutomu growled, displeased that his catch was being taken away from him. His grubby hands reached for the girl, but Kakashi pulled her away from him and towards the staircase.

“We’re guests of this house,” Kakashi said aloud despite knowing that there wasn’t much of this house or its occupants left anymore. “This girl will be locked up in the master bedroom where no one is to touch her. Is that understood?”

Tsutomu took a heavy step forward to protest but stopped when the young Hatake turned his steely gaze onto him.

“Is that understood?” Kakashi spoke low, the lethal edge in his voice cutting through the tension like the blade in his hand. When Tsutomu bowed his head in answer, Kakashi glanced over at Obito who was looking at him strangely. “Relay to Tsutomu and Genki the plan for tomorrow.”

With a sharp nudge of the sword against the girl’s back, Kakashi prompted her to continue up the stairs. She remained silent on the way to the bedroom, but she didn’t stop trying to squirm out of the sheets roped tightly around her wrists. Kakashi took the moment to observe her calloused hands, deducing that she was a surviving member of this household. Probably the daughter of the farmer who’d lived here.

He didn’t ask where her parents were or why she was still here. Even though there hadn’t been any bloodstains found while clearing the house, he guessed that the rest of the girl’s family was already dead in a ditch somewhere.

“If you’re going to kill me then just do it already,” she finally said the moment she stumbled into the bedroom.

Kakashi closed the door first, watching her flinch at the sound of the latch clicking in place. “Turn around.”

She hesitated for a moment before obeying with a slow, reluctant pivot. Under the sharp beam of his flashlight, Kakashi could see the tear tracks that left a clean streak through the cake of dirt and dried blood on her cheeks. He raised his sword and she bunched her shoulders up despite the defiant tilt of her chin. The tantō flashed under the moonlight for a split second as he swung it down upon the girl.

She squeezed her eyes shut but then opened them when she found herself still alive... and with her hands free now.

Kakashi jut his chin towards the bed. Its sheets were still made as if nobody had ever slept in them at all. “Lay down there.”

She stiffened at this order, her body locking up more notably than the last time she’d hesitated. She took one step forward, and Kakashi caught the way her whole frame seemed to tremble before she hurriedly crossed the room and laid down on the bed, stiff as a board. The springs of the mattress creaked harshly, and her eyes widened as if the sound was a threat itself.

Grabbing a chair by the vanity mirror, Kakashi dragged it to the side of the bed before plopping down. His sudden close proximity to her had her sitting up rigidly, slim hands squeezing into fists on her lap. He would've preferred for her to remain lying down, but it seemed she was more comfortable sitting up, so he let her.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he took the moment to study the girl. She had a split lip, a small cut above her brow, the red mark of a building bruise on her cheek (no doubt courtesy of Tsutomu and Genki), and dark bags of exhaustion weighed heavy beneath her eyes—eyes so black that they seemed to pierce right into Kakashi’s soul the longer he held her sharp gaze.

He looked away to reach for something in his pocket, pausing only when he sensed the girl stiffen again. Slowly, he withdrew the white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to the girl. “Wipe your face.”

She scowled at the implication but snatched the cloth from him. Glimpsing the little sunflower design Rin had sewn into the corner of the cloth, the girl stared at it first before remembering to wipe the dirt off her face.

“My name is Hatake Kakashi,” he said as she cleaned herself. “What’s yours?”

When she refused to answer, he reached into another pocket, slowly again like last time. He watched as her wary eyes flicked down from his to the orange thing in his hand.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, peeling the fruit for her. “It’s a mandarin orange.”

A rare delicacy among their rations, but he was never one for sweets anyway.

The girl watched him peel the skin of the orange off like a hawk would with its prey. As soon as he offered her a slice, she seized the small piece from his fingers and stuffed it into her mouth. Her lashes fluttered slightly as she took that first bite of tangy sweetness.

“Good?”

She froze at the question as if she was a thief who’d been caught stealing the mandarin he’d offered her. Without warning, she spat the mashed bits of orange to his face, her frown deepening when she saw Kakashi didn’t even flinch from the attack.

“You’re a bastard!” she said as he casually brushed off the pieces of orange clinging to his mask. In an effort to add insult to the non-existent injury, she flung the now dirty handkerchief back at him. Kakashi merely plucked it off his chest, folded it two times into a small square, and then tucked it into one of his pockets before placing the rest of the orange in front of her.

He stood up and she shrunk back from him after clutching the orange to her chest.

“We’ll be gone in the morning,” Kakashi said as he scanned the room for any dangerous objects she might try to use in retaliation. “You can rest easy tonight. I’ll make sure no one touches you.”

Although he was kind of late for that.

“But if you try anything, we will have to use force.”

The warning was vague, but it left her shivering and glaring at him with enough spite to make any man give pause. He gave her one final look of caution before leaving the room to make his way to the bathroom. The farmhouse was old, and every floorboard creaked under his boots, but he preferred it that way. It kept him on edge—kept him alert for any signs of danger that may be lurking around the corner.

Even upon entering the bathroom, he swept aside the shower curtain just to make sure no other stray kid was waiting in the tub to ambush him with a butterknife or whatever these civilians resorted to.

Seeing the coast was clear, he stripped off his tactical vest and then the black sleeveless shirt underneath. The water ran lukewarm as he turned the knob of the faucet, and he splashed a handful down his chest for a brief respite from the blistering heat. Taking his shirt, he detached his mask and held it beneath the stream. Black, brown, and red tainted the pool of water along with loose sediment of dried mud. He grabbed the soap bar from the corner and scrubbed his mask inside and out, letting the bubbles froth.

After rinsing his mask, he wrung out the excess water before hanging the cloth on the edge of the sink to let it finish dripping.

A shout could be heard from downstairs—either Tsutomu or Jun since those two loved to butt heads with everyone—but Kakashi didn’t care so long as heads weren’t rolling. Scrubbing a hand down his face, he shrugged on his shirt and vest but paused upon hearing a sharp creak just outside his door.

Creak...

There it was again, but further this time.

Kakashi heaved a sigh and then yanked his mask back on, unsurprised to find it already dry. Tugging the door open, he stepped out of the hallway and was met with the hulking figure of Tsutomu. His burly back was hunched over as if the guy was in the middle of sneaking... towards the girl’s room.

The rest of this side story chapter will be published soon on AO3 and Fanfiction.Net! Thank you for reading!

[abalonetea]

Just Keep Breathing: Chapter Two

I was partnered with @the-dot for the @originalfictionbigbang​! Thank you for working with me, Dot!

Here is the first chapter! I’ve split the first 10k words between four chapters, and will be posting them all in a masterpost in just a moment!

Summary: It’s the height of storm season and everyone in Hi-Banks, Florida is getting ready for the bad weather. It should be a year like any other - but on the tails of a national pandemic, a new disaster strikes. More than one new disasters. So many disasters that Eddie Carver would like to put some of them back, thanks. He’s just a down on his luck guy living in the local trailer park with his boyfriend. He’s not interested in dealing with the revival of an old murder case - which he knows nothing about, thanks -, the storm season of the century, or…zombies?

Yeah. Absolutely not interested in the zombies.

This black-comedy follows the inner workings of a small town as they band together to survive, and the young man - reckless, mean, angry, written off b the big city folk come to look into a cold case - that might hold all of societies survival in his hands.

Forget about society.Eddie’s only interested in keeping his friends alive.

Chapter Two – The Hunt Shop

The Mason family has owned a bait and tackle shop out on the north edge of Hi Banks for almost a solid four generations. It’s a good twenty minute walk from the trailer park, which isn’t that bad when it’s not also pouring down rain. As it stands, they’re both soaked by the time they hit the long dirt road that winds towards it. The sides are pitted out from constant tire tracks, turned into thick puddles of standing water and mud.

The rain lets up to a light drizzle, but it’s too late for that to be helpful. Eddie makes a point of splashing his feet in as many of the puddles as he can.

Carson’s the one who calls out, “truck,” when twin headlights appear in the distance. It’s got a massive dent on the passenger side and the fender looks like it’s held on with duck tape.

Lincoln Wiltshire, the deputy, pulls over. He’s a tall, skinny man with a hooked nose and a scar on the side of his neck. Every time he’s asked, Lincoln tells a different story about how he got that scar. Eddie’s pretty sure it’s something mundane and stupid, like a fishing accident.

“You boys having trouble?” Lincoln asks, rolling down his window and half leaning out it.

“Truck still won’t run,” says Carson. “We’re stuck hoofing it everywhere.”

“And the power’s out at the trailer park,” adds Eddie.

“Shit, already? I was hoping it might stay on a while longer.” Lincoln scratches at his side burns. “Wonder if it’s out where I live, too.”

“Store had power last time I was there,” says Eddie. There’s no need to specify. Everyone just calls it The Store.

Carson asks, “you coming from Red’s?”

“Was getting some more shells.” Lincoln gestures at the brown paper bag in his passenger seat. “I wouldn’t hold my breath on anything with him today, boys. He’s in a rotten mood.”

“Eh, we’ll take the risk. I want something hot to eat tonight, you know?” Eddie says “Shit. You think he might have some of that soup still?”

“Maybe,” says Carson. And then, to Lincoln, “can you do me a favor? I was only at the docks for like an hour earlier, but Clancy didn’t show up.”

Lincoln frowns. “Now that ain’t like him.”

“No, it’s not. He’s always there, doesn’t matter the weather,” says Carson. “Figure maybe you could swing by his place, see if he’s...I dunno. Gotten into something.”

“Sure, sure, I’ll do that before I go home. Thanks for the heads up, Carson. You two stay out of trouble now, you hear me? I don’t want to get any calls out there.”

“That wasn’t our fault!”

“I don’t care who starts the fight, I’m the one that has to pull pants on to come finish it. I’m looking to not leave the house again tonight, so. Behave.” Lincoln jabs a bony finger at them.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Eddie parrots, “yeah, man, whatever.”

“Maggots, the both of you,” huffs Lincoln, but he makes sure to pull away slowly so as not to splash them in muck.

They get about ten steps before Eddie asks, “so, uh, you worried about him?”

“I mean, yeah. Sort of.”

“Ain’t he a jerk?”

“Sure. But like, not all the time. And it’s weird. He’s always at the docks. Like, I’ve NEVER not seen him at the docks, Eddie. I dunno. I’ve just got a bad feeling about this.” Carson shrugs.

Maybe it makes Eddie a worse person, but he’s not too concerned about Clancy one way or the other.  The guy has a mean streak the size of the Grand Canyon, and a habit for acting like he’s the boss down at the docks. He’s not, clearly, but the guy has been working there forever at this point, so everyone mostly just ignores it.

Silence falls over them. The sloshing of Eddie’s boots is the only thing between them, until the shoddy looking wood building of The Hunt Shop comes into view. There’s a massive concrete raccoon statue out front. It gets decorated every time a holiday comes around. Right now, it’s got a massive yellow tarp wrapped around it in lieu of a rain coat.

The front door is propped open, the heavy twanging bass of the radio thudding out. Eddie ducks in first, glancing around.

For the most part, the hunt shop hasn’t really changed in...well, ever. There’s an old singing bass above the gun rack, and a mounted deer head on the wall just behind the front counter. Red is stretched out on a chair behind it, booted foot flung up onto the counter next to the register and an open can of beer.

“Lincoln was right,” says Eddie. “You look pissy.”

“Ey, if it ain’t my favorite scarecrow.” Red thunks his boot back down onto the floor. “Lemme guess, the power’s out.”

Eddie finger snaps at him. “Bingo!”

Carson stomps in just behind him. “Cat broke our damn window.”

“A cat?” Red snorts. “You know, I think you might have worse luck than I do.”

Eddie hops up onto the counter, next to the register. He helps himself to the open, half-warm beer. “Lincoln says you’re in a pissy mood. What’s up?”

“Ugh. This damned weather,” says Red. He uses his foot to push the wheeled chair away from the counter, and then spin around so he can slap a hand against the calendar hanging up behind him. “Look at this. I’ve got two days, and then I’m supposed to be going on my hunting trip.”

“Damn, is it that time already?” Eddie passes the mostly empty can to Carson.

Carson rolls his eyes. “Thanks.” And then, “isn’t that storm supposed to hit this weekend?”

“I’m thinking about just hunkering down out there,” says Red.

“That’s stupid,” says Eddie.

Red slaps the calendar again. “I’ve never missed a trip. I’m not gonna let it get passed over because of some rain. It’s, what, a cat two? I’ve spent worse storms out on the swamp. I figure there’s no power out there anyway, so what would I be missing?”

“The sun,” says Eddie.

At the same time, Carson says, “the hunting.”

Red scowls at them both. “Neither of you know the meaning of the word fun, you know that? I swear, I don’t know when you guys got so boring.”

“Around the same time we started dying from hunger,” quips Eddie.

“Fine, fine, we’ll go get something to eat. C’mon. I was gonna close up anyway.” Red hauls himself out of the chair and around the counter. He leads the way out of the shop – Carson closing the door behind them when he brings up the tail – and around to the back of the building where his camper’s parked.

The radio is already on inside, a woman’s voice, “and as if the predicted overly active storm season isn’t enough, we’re having more and more cases of this unknown virus showing up. We actually have managed to get an interview with Charlie Santero, the governor of Florida, where we get his personal thoughts on the situation.”

“Ugh, shut that off. I hate that guy,” says Red.

Eddie slaps the radio off. “So, food?”

“Chili,” answers Red. He grabs a bowl out of the fridge and shoves it into the microwave.

“Gross,” says Carson.

Red flips him off. “You’re the ones that came over.”

The microwave beeps. Red pulls it out and tosses it onto the little table on the other side of the kitchenette. He grabs three spoons and drops them down, too.

“Alright. Dinner’s served.”

* * *

It’s dark by the time they leave Red’s, all three of them loading up into Red’s old wood backed pickup. They roll the windows down, letting the stiff Florida air into cab.

Eddie sits on the far end, arm flung out so the mosquitoes slap into it as they rush past. “So, think we’re gonna get hit bad this summer?”

Red groans. “Do we have to talk about the storms? I’m trying to think happy thoughts about this week.”

Carson says, “I’ll check up on the shop for you.”

The tires catch in one of the ruts, splashing mud up onto Eddie’s hand. “Gross.” He pulls it in, wiping his palm off on his shorts. “I’m thinking it’s gonna be a small one. Just because it’s always small when the people on the radio talk about it. They’re always wrong and stuff.”

Red whacks the back of one hand against Carson’s shoulder. “Smack him for me, will ya? You’re gonna jinx my trip if you keep talking like that, scarecrow.”

Carson shoves at the back of Eddie’s head, pushing hair into his face. “Don’t jinx him.”

“Ow!” Eddie rubs over dramatically at the back of his head. “Fine, fine, I won’t – hey, knock it off already!”

They pull all the way through town towards the trailer park and are almost at the chain link fence around the place when the flash of red and blue lights come into view. Red cuts the engine. “Alright, nope. I’m checking out. Whatever you two did - “

“We didn’t do nothing,” says Eddie, the words a low sort of whine. “I’m telling you!”

“Looks like you did something,” says Red. “And I’m not interested in being involved. Sorry.”

Carson grunts, giving Eddie the stink eye.

Eddie shakes his head. “I didn’t. I’ve stayed outta trouble and you know it, man. I’ve got – fuck, nothing on me right now.”

“Whatever,” says Carson, slinging open the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Red doesn’t have a record, per say, but he likes to steer clear of the local officers all the same. The moment that Eddie and Carson are out of the truck, it peels into reverse and vanishes, a squeal of tires on the pitted pavement and a spray of muddy water up onto the other side of the road.

Carson says, “you’d tell me if I’m about to walk into something, right?”

“Yeah, man, I’d tell you,” says Eddie. “But I swear, this has nothing to do with me.”

“Ugh,” says Carson, and Eddie totally agrees with that. They head up into the trailer park and true to their luck, the sheriff’s car is parked right outside of their little hovel, along with a little shiny black car that doesn’t seem to fit in with the rest of Hi Banks.

Sheriff Bianca is sitting on the hood of her car smoking a hand rolled cigarette, short black hair pushed away from her face, the thick scar over her cheek visible even in the wane light of the street lamp. “There you are. We were waiting for you. This is - “

“Agent Smith,” says another woman, long blonde hair pulled back away from her face and an ashy pallor to her skin. “and my partner, Agent Russo.”

“We didn’t do shit,” says Eddie, lower lip jutting out.

Carson shoves him. “Idiot. Stop running your mouth.”

The corners of Bianca’s mouth twist up at the edges, just a little bit, and then instantly take on that hard slant again. She slides off the car, putting the cigarette out on the bottom of one mud caked boot and then tucking it into the front pocket of her uniform shirt. “Boys, they’re here about the Mulborne Case.”

There’s a beat of silence.

One.

Two.

Three.

Eddie lets out a bark of laughter, just can’t help himself. “What, really?”

Smith asks, “does that mean you know the man?”

“Of course I do. Everyone knows Benny,” says Eddie, with a shrug of his sharp, bony shoulders. “Ain’t this thing solved?”

“Yes,” says Bianca, a little tersely.

“On a local level,” answers Russo. “But we’ve recently been informed of something that’s brought the case into a larger light.”

Carson squints. “You two aren’t cops.”

“We’re with the FBI,” says Smith.

Eddie snorts. “Bullshit.”

That takes Smith off guard. “Excuse me?”

“The FBI out in Hi Banks? Yeah, I don’t buy it,” says Eddie. “This town’s barely on the map. What the Hell would send you people out here, huh?”

“We’re not allowed to discuss that information while the case is still under investigation,” says Russo. “You’re - “

“Eddie, yeah, and he’s Carson, and I’m sure the sheriff’s gone over all’a this with you. You realize how late it is? Some of us actually have to work,” says Eddie.

Smith gives him a tight lipped smile. “I’m sorry about the time. We got a little turned around on the way out here.”

“Not my problem,” says Eddie.

Russo says, “it might be. It’s been brought to our attention that you had contact with the men who were murdered.”

“They went missing,” corrects Bianca. “There was no proof of foul play.”

Eddie juts out his lower lip. “Yeah, sure. I fixed up their van when they came through, big fucking whoop. How about I just make this real easy and tell you exactly what I told her?” He jerks a thumb at Bianca, who rolls her eyes. “Their van was trashed. I fixed it. That’s my job, okay? That’s it. They paid in cash, big bills, and then they left and I never saw them again. End of story.”

Carson says, “you should try and find someone smarter to ask about it.” He slings an arm around Eddie’s shoulders and hauls the other man up against his side. “Eddie’s got a brick for brains. Even if something weird was going on, there’s no way he would’ve noticed it.”

“Bitch,” mutters Eddie, but he doesn’t protest. Easy out’s, right?

A phone goes off, some lame shrill tone. Russo excuses himself and steps away from the group and Bianca asks, “did you figure out where the machinery went?”

Carson grunts. “Probably Milo hawked it. Pretty sure his ma’s rent was due this month. We didn’t really look that hard.”

Smith questions, “machinery?”

“Carson works at the docks,” says Bianca. “A few parts went missing earlier this week.”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” says Carson, gruffly. “Look, no offense but we’ve already done this once. We don’t know anything else about it, and I’ve got work tomorrow. Can we wrap this up?”

A car door clicks open behind them. Russo, still on the phone, waves Smith over. Smith nods and then excuses herself, all polite, “thank you for your time. I’m sure we’ll be in touch,” before heading over. They climb in their little black car and leave.

Carson scowls at Bianca. “Seriously?”

“Trust me,” says Bianca, dryly. “It’s not my idea of a good time, either. I thought that we were done with this.”

Eddie snorts, already heading towards their trailer. “Yeah, fuck off about that. I am done with it.”

He’s pretty pleased when Carson just goes on and follows him, not so much as a goodbye tossed Bianca’s way.

[gauntie-o-dimm]

Vernon Roche | Fights, Fangs And Fucking

Requested by Kayrash via Discord

Vernon Roche joins Geralt on a contract concerning vampires. When the fight proves more difficult than expected, Roche runs into a cave system to hide. Enter a powerful higher vampire, who hasn't seen such a handsome mortal in a long time...

Word count: 3900+ Relationship: Strangers

Vernon Roche was not one to pass a challenge soon. If anyone wished to test his skill, his worth of being a commander, his dedication, he’d never bat an eye. Tonight was no different.

Roche was seated at the Temerian Partisan Hideout, leaning on a makeshift bar a few of his men had come up with. In the haphazardly created camp, it was not bad. He was enjoying a bottle of ale, though it was stale and had lost most of its flavour. Around here, there wasn’t a lot to expect from luxuries like alcohol.

Lo and behold, Geralt of Rivia had dropped by. Vernon, he wasn’t half bad to offer said witcher a drink for the road. And thus, he found himself tipsily leaning on the wooden crates that sufficed for bar, and took a large swig.

“Tell you what I think, Geralt.” he said, “Slaying monsters can’t be that difficult, now can it? It’s like hunting Squirrels but less… Intelligent ones.” Though Roche had given up chasing the damn elves some time ago, mentioning them being intelligent still made him slightly cringe, even though said words came from his own mouth. Geralt smiled a little behind his ale, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. Imagine a person of any race, but venomous and way quicker. Sharper teeth, too. And claws, not to forget.”

“You only have to slay a monster a handful of times before you learn its weaknesses, no? Besides, you’ve got bestiaries. Non-humans and other vermin prove to be quite unpredictable. No book can actually describe their next move, or their intentions.”

Geralt scoffed, humming in discontent. He reached for his pocket, taking out a messily folded piece of paper. “Then I believe you’d see no problem in joining me on my next contract, hm?”

Vernon Roche unfolded it, reading over the details of the job. He thickly swallowed, but held his unfazed posture. A flock of lesser vampires terrorized the outskirts of Velen. Strange, since when did these beasts move up north? “Of course not. We can leave whenever you want.”

The witcher smirked, finishing off his drink before slamming it down onto the bar firmly. Vernon slightly jumped at the loud sound. “Okay. Let’s leave right now, then.”

Roche was slightly taken aback by the sudden need for departure, but he couldn’t back away now. “Sure.” he hummed, taking a small sip from the bottle. “I need to get some supplies, but then we can go.”

Geralt was patient enough to let Roche gather some equipment before patting onto his trusty steed’s back, coaxing her to wait a little longer. “I have no horse available.” Vernon said, hoisting a bag over his shoulder. Estimating by the darkness outside and the faint glimmer of a star here and there, it must be far past midnight. Geralt held out his hand for him to take.

“Come on, then. Ride with me, it’s quicker that way. You can hold that lantern, too.” Vernon looked at the lantern he had strapped to his hip, a candle flickering inside of it. Geralt didn’t need the light, but he figured Vernon would enjoy the idea of being able to see in this dark night.

The commander held onto his friend, who brought Roach into a steady gallop soon enough. Even though Velen wasn’t too close to the hideout, it should only take them a few hours to get to the location mentioned in the contract. It was close to Crow’s Perch, but Vernon did not know who the current head of town was. He had caught wind of Phillip Strenger hanging himself, leaving him wondering how the disease-ridden the no-mans-land was doing.

“Lesser vampires,” Geralt mumbled, “should not prove too difficult if you carry the right amount of bombs and blade oil with you. Here,” he handed Roche a vial of a dark red liquid, “Grease your sword with this as soon as we arrive.”

“I spoke with the contract-giver, and there should be around five lesser vampires roaming about. Two-hundred gold I bargained, of which a hundred upfront. I will pay you twenty percent after this.”

The ride was long and pesky, but Geralt’s horse was fast and left Vernon Roche with just a dull ache in his thighs. He’d certainly feel that tomorrow, the commander thought, but what was that compared to the fight he was about to get into? He had to learn to not run his mouth so often. Lucky for him, the daze of the ale had already worn off.

Per Geralt’s instruction, Vernon coated his blade with the substance, handing the remainder back to the witcher. The White Wolf threw back a few potions Vernon did not know the name of – after all, Black Blood was not a commoner’s liquid – and chased away Roach. Geralt looked around with dark eyes, as if he had already sensed something in the air that any other could not hear nor smell.

“Get ready.” he growled lowly, the silver of his blade shimmering in the moonlight. “They’re creeping closer.”

The first one showed up quicker than expected and shortly left Vernon frozen in his spot, but he managed to deflect the lash aimed at him. Geralt soon intervened, slashing the head of the katakan clean off.

“Holy fuck!” The commander had to prevent himself from covering his mouth because of the stench – this was different up close. Sure, he had smelled corpses feasted on by ghouls on abandoned battlefields, maggot-filled men that had been dead for weeks, but being actually covered in blood and whatnot from a monster like this; it had him startled.

A loud cry from one of the creatures pulled him to his senses again, and he parried, managing to strike the beast across its snout. It certainly showed agony from the pain the oil caused, but it did not falter for long. Roche slashed off one of the katakan’s front paws before finishing it off by stabbing it in the skull.

Geralt on the other side had already killed a few of the agitated creatures, though confusion visible in the knitting of his brow. Hardly breaking a sweat, he turned to Roche, who was having a difficult time killing a weaker one than the one before.

“It’s way more than the contract stated!” “How many are there?!” Roche quizzed over the sound of screams and cries. “At least thirty! They spread faster than-“ Geralt momentarily paused to strike a fatal blow across one of the lesser vampires.

“They’ve spread faster than I expected.” From the distance, a new wave was already approaching, seemingly furious about their slain kin. “Will we manage?” “Not a chance. Not with this amount of blades and oil.”

Before Roche could ask on, he was already attacked once again. He dodged the blow, but stumbled back because of it. “Geralt!” he shouted, “What will we do now?!”

“Run and hide, Roche! Into these caves! I need to make some potions and oil!” was the witcher’s answer. Vernon had no time to respond to his friend – the White Wolf had already bolted. He cursed silently between gritted teeth, cutting the lesser vampire provoking him fatally across the chest.

He ran after Geralt, finding the cave-system easily enough, but navigating them proved way more difficult. “Geralt?” he called out, his voice echoing against the walls. Soon enough, he lost all vision.

“Geralt!” he spoke up again, but there was no response from the witcher in question. Vernon padded his sides for the lantern he had brought. In his pocket were a few matches. When blinded by darkness, lighting one was no easy task, but he succeeded after breaking a couple.

The small flame illuminated the cave, revealing its size. Vernon nearly forgot that he had to hold the match against the oil-drenched wick to prevent it from disappearing. The space was way larger than he had expected and a shiver ran down his spine. “Geralt?” he called once more. Loneliness crept up on him…

…Just like something else did… A pair of dark eyes peered at him from the ceiling, shimmering in the light of the flickering flame. Roche reached for his sword, but he froze when six other pairs of eyes seemed to aim at him. That same sound he had heard moments ago while fighting vampires rang in his ears.

So, this is it, then? Vernon thought as he saw the beasts approach, appearing way larger in the ominous space. The commander grabbed his blade nevertheless, taking on a fighting stance. It would be of no use.

Three of the beasts came at him simultaneously and Vernon slashed his sword through the air, haphazardly swinging it from side to side. He hit the vampires, but only hard enough to make them stagger momentarily.

The other four katakans took their chance and lurched forward, aiming for Roche’s neck. However, when they were about to give him the fatal blow, they halted in their actions, as if thoroughly distracted from their task and unknowing of his presence.

All seven katakans shied away like a scolded dog with its tail between its legs. They scurried off as if afraid of what was lurking in the shadows. Or better said… whom.

“What mortal goes there, dares to intrude?” A feminine voice pierced the air, clear as day. The hairs of his neck stood on end at the sound of it, fear immediately tugging at his conscience. He regained his cool posture soon enough, but the creature seemed to have already smelt it.

You approached from the shadows, eyes as dark and shimmering as the ones of the katakans had been. Your pupils were wide blown and showed no colour around them. “Who are you?” Roche asked, tone shivering and giving away his emotions.

“I could ask you the same, soldier.” As you spoke, Vernon could see the sharp fangs you momentarily bared. A vampire, but different. Roche frowned – a higher vampire?

“Who are you to enter my cave without any kind of invitation?” you hissed, inhaling his scent deeply. Slowly, you started to walk around him as if sizing him up, attempting to intimidate him. He was a rather delicious-looking piece of meat. It had been a while since you’ve had your fill of lust and blood.

To Vernon, it seemed as if you were floating around him, the padding of your bare feet inaudible, absent. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword, wrapping his fingers around it so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Of course, as a vampire, you took quick notice of his actions.

You halted in front of him, eyes resting on his face before falling to the heavy pendant around his neck. “Ah, the Blue Stripes… Tell me, how badly do you want to return to your Temeria?”

You were toying with him, and it was working. Roche swallowed thickly whilst your gaze pierced through him. “I… I can just head out if you show me the way.”

A dissatisfied tut left your heavily painted lips. “Oh, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, no mortal should disturb a higher’s rest. Didn’t they teach you that at army school?” For a moment, you took the metal pendant in your hand, tugging at it firmly. It came dangerously close to snapping.

“I’m the fucking commander. Of course I know about the danger surrounding monsters.”

Putting a hand on your heart, you feigned hurt. In the dim light of the lantern, you made sure that he was seeing you pull down your gown a little more, revealing more of your cleavage.

“You think me a monster? Oh, I’m thoroughly offended, sir.”

Once again, you walked around him, but now halting behind his back. You stood on your tiptoes, breathing heavily in his neck. “Good thing I’m parched.” Vernon visibly cringed at the feel of your fangs scraping against the nape of his neck. “A handsome commander’s blood should just suffice.”

Before Roche could attack, you were already gone. He stood rather awkwardly and confused with his sword in hand, looking around frantically around him. A shiver of mist soon approached, accompanied by a giggle. “Oh, commander.” you basically purred, “You’re not getting it, do you?”

Suddenly, the sword was flung from his grip as if it was nothing. It clattered against the wall somewhere nearby. Roche was defenceless, now…

“Stop lurking in the shadows like a coward! Show yourself if you’re going to rob me of my belongings!”

“Oh, there is no shadow for me, sir.” you replied, circling around him in a misty cloud. He nearly dropped his lantern onto the ground from fear, shivering on his feet. Vernon Roche was never afraid – except now.

“I can see all. I can smell how scared you are of me. How endearing.” “What do you want to do with me?!” Roche spat, “There is a witcher nearby! He will find us and kill you!”

Soon, you turned into your corporeal shell again, your (h/c) flowing over your shoulders as you stopped in front of the commander. He slightly parted his lips at the sight, not able to talk for a moment. He wanted to shake the thought off but failed: You were absolutely gorgeous. It must be a trick, he fooled himself.

“Not only do you show disrespect by trespassing, you threaten to kill me and to top it all off you throw a witcher into the mix? Very interesting, commander.” You leaned in closer, bringing your face to his.

Vernon closed his eyes at the feel of your breath on his lips, entranced at your approach. “You know nothing about higher vampires, do you?” Your lips ghosted over his chin, softly brushing his stubble. “You’re lucky that it’s been awhile since I’ve… Been this intimate with a mortal. How about I don’t kill you… For now.”

His eyes snapped open at the suggestion but he was soon surprised by the feel of your fangs against his neck, scratching the skin slightly yet not to the point of breaking. Breath hitching in his throat, Roche braced himself against you, gripping your waist out of pure instinct.

You lightly giggled, dragging your tongue over the spot you’d damaged. “Tell me, commander. Ever done it with a monster before?”

“Stop playing your games, vampire. You should be impaled with a stake through the heart.” “You believe I have one?” he could practically feel your smirk. “A heart, I mean.”

“Don’t think I will tolerate this behaviour!” “Says the man who’s got his hands on my hips.”

Vernon realized where his hands had been resting and you pulled your face from his neck, giving him an endearing smile. He gazed down at you, biting his bottom lip while deliberating. A gentle reminder about what you wanted; you pressed your hands against his chest and ground your hips forward against his groin.

The commander groaned lowly and allowed you to press your lips to his. Yours were surprisingly cold but showed passion nevertheless. He was hungry for more and let you know by pushing his tongue forward, attempting to roll it into your mouth.

Interesting and needy, you thought to yourself, smirking at the swell of his erection in his underpants. Mortals can be so easily coaxed into anything.

Vernon Roche tasted unlike any other you’d ever tasted. It caused a pool of heat to course through your abdomen and the numbing spot between your legs. His hands carded themselves through your hair, feeling each strand carefully as if it was the softest material he had ever felt. It had been so long ago since he’d touched someone like this that he couldn’t help himself.

An experienced kisser like you must’ve been with many men before, Roche shortly speculated. Your nimble fingers showed no sign of struggle with undoing the belt around his waist, letting it fall to the floor with an echoing thud. Vernon slightly jumped at the sudden noise, but you showed no such reaction.

Instead, you dragged your fangs across his throat, enough to leave marks that did not bleed, as if a cat had scratched him. They stung a little, spurred on by cold air. “Is this what you want, commander?” you purred, voice not louder than a whisper. Roche opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly you evaporated into mist right in his hands.

You circled him, starting around his ankles, all the way to his face. “Tell me…” you whispered in his ear from behind, causing him to confusedly look around. “Oh, your body tells me enough. And your heartbeat…”

As if there was magic involved, Roche’s trousers became undone. Invisible hands tugged it down to his ankles and he was unable to respond properly. Ashamed, he closed his eyes when his erection popped from his underwear, throbbing and swollen with need.

“What a sight.” you sincerely murmured, sneaking your hands around his armour to push it off his shoulders. Roche was entranced by the feel of you so effortlessly unclothing him, clouding him completely. He shivered from the cold hitting his skin, and when you reappeared in your tangible shell, it only intensified. You were stark naked, your body unlike any he had ever seen.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen a man so handsome.” you mused, sinking to your knees. Experienced, quick and nimble fingers wrapped around the hilt of his cock, testing the waters. Roche groaned, almost too overwhelmed to be able to stand on his legs. He kept his ground and simply watched when your dark red lips wrapped around his tip.

You always enjoyed the flavour of human sperm on your tongue, giving it an extra swirl around his foreskin before pulling it back around the sensitive circle around his shaft. An extra treat; not better than blood, but just as enticing.

He slipped further into your mouth until he hit the back of your throat. You didn’t gag, looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, his face a blur through your lashes. He was thoroughly liking this, you noticed in his composure.

Vernon bit his lip, deliberating whether it would be appropriate to put a hand in your hair. He decided against it, putting it to his side instead, figuring you a creature that liked to be in charge. Never before had he felt a mouth so soft and refined, yet so demanding.

He gritted his teeth, hissing when you mouthed the sensitive spot under his head, making it tremble against your bottom lip. A small laugh left your lips, but Roche couldn’t figure out if it was meant as playful or mocking.

“You… You’re pretty.” he said within grunts. Momentarily, you paused your lapping at his cock to laugh. “A man gets blown by a total stranger and all he can say is that she’s pretty.”

You stood up, releasing the weight of his erection to put your hand against his chest instead. A hungry kiss, animalistic, needy. Vernon dared to put a hand behind your neck to pull you closer. When your teeth clashed together, you pulled back, frowning with a smirk forming at the corner of your mouth. “You’re amusing, commander.”

“Roche.” “Huh?” “Roche. My name.” “Oh. Roche. As in…  Cockroach?”

Vernon scoffed humourlessly. “My friend has a horse named Roach. Same pronunciation. Different spelling though.”

Long fingers rested at the nape of his neck where you put your hand. For a second, you scraped your nails against the scruff where his stubble began.

“Enough trivial talk.” you whispered. “Roche.”

You looked as if you were hovering over the cold floor when you slipped past him, leaning against the wall with your hands. You bent forward slightly, looking over your shoulder at him. “Down to business, no?”

You allowed him to rest his hand on your hip, his fingers soon exploring the (s/c) skin of your flesh. His gaze halted at your core, dripping with need. “You haven’t told me your name.” he replied, moving to stand behind you. In a complete state of trance, he guided himself inside of you, slipping past your folds without a lot of effort.

Biting your bottom lip, you breathed out a moan. “Oh, that doesn’t matter. Just feel nice inside me, alright?” You didn’t have to repeat yourself, your simple request spurring the commander on to start fucking you. Though his thrusts were slow, testing out your depths, you enjoyed the girth of his cock moving in and out of you.

When he found a steady rhythm of his hips, Vernon Roche tried maintaining the pace, earning a few moans from you. You braced yourself against the wall, throwing back your head in enjoyment. Judging by his movements and the way he twitched inside of you, it was clear that he hadn’t gotten action in a long time.

It was wrong to blame him for it – you were just as touch-starved. It had been ages since an attractive human had dared set foot near your hideout, let alone cross paths with you. And thus, you found yourself joining in his movements, rolling against him to the point his skin slapped yours with every thrust.

“Make sure your witcher friend won’t notice us!” you teased. “What would he think of walking into us like this? Seeing you balls deep in a higher vampire.” You had to prevent yourself from bursting out into laughter. “Oh, you’re twitching… Are you close, commander?”

His cock once again throbbed inside of you and you moved your hand between your thighs to stimulate your clitoris. “What a man you’d be if you wouldn’t let me cum first, huh?’ you taunted, soon chasing after your high. Roche’s grip on your ass tightened whilst he quickened the speed of his stuttering hips. Your cunt clenched around him, drawing him closer, closer, closer…

And then he burst inside of you, stilling in his movements, eyes snapped shut. A groan escaped his throat, one that had been building deep inside his lungs ever since the build of his release. Your orgasm was quieter. Why would you give him the satisfaction? You’d seen what such pride could do to mortal men… It was a nice pulsating of your clit accompanied by the heat of his cock still buried deep inside of you.

Roche sighed, sweat trickling down his brow. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, removing himself from your heat. Seed trickled down your thighs. The air was immediately colder again. Perhaps it was the sweat on his body cooling off, Roche thought.

And as to where your clothes had so quickly disappeared, so quickly they had returned to your form. You moved over to the commander, who was still standing with everything out for all to see. You leaned in and kissed him chastely on the lips, smiling while pulling back.

“Thank you, commander Roche. Tell your witcher friend I said hi.”

Before he could ask what you meant, he heard footsteps around the corner. “Roche? I've slayed the remaining vampires! Roche?!” Geralt’s raspy voice sounded, out of breath though concerned.

With a giggle, you moved away from the commander, your final question to him a whisper. “Will you come to visit me again one day?”

You blew him a kiss, and he didn’t get the chance to reply, because you had disappeared before he knew it.

“There you… What the fuck?”

Geralt shielded his face from the naked commander, who was hastily looking for his undergarments. Getting lost in a cave system and then being found in the nude like that, smelling of sex? Vernon Roche definitely had some explaining to do, over a cup of cheap wine on their way back to receive the contract’s pay.

[subarublue]

Sparda Family Bonding Time Series - Part 3

Series Description: It’s family bonding time! Sparda family style! A series of short stories revolving around platonic familial relationships between the members of the DMC crew. Warning: Lots of fluff and bonding ahead.

One Shot

Title: A Place at Our Table

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Timeline: Post DMC5

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2655

Read on Ao3

Summary: She’d had a rough day. At least that’s what Nico told herself when her vision started getting blurry. She was just stressed and nearly dying tended to have that kind of an effect on people. She wasn’t about to cry over Nero calling her family, no of course not. It was just stress. Yeah, just stress.

Notes: At first I thought I would hate Nico’s character, but she grew on me really fast and now I just love her.

Nico grunted as the stubborn bolt refused to come off. The van was in dire need of an oil change and instead of spending the money to take it to a shop, Nero had asked if she would do it. She should have said no.

Scratch that. She should have said, Fuck you.

Was this all she was good for? Being everyone’s pet mechanic? That’s all anybody asked of her; do this, fix that, why isn’t this working?

Would it kill any of ‘em to show a little appreciation now and then?

The bolt gave way so suddenly that she dropped her wrench right on her face knocking her glasses off. She almost screamed, but just barely managed to let out a loud, closed-mouth groan instead.

Well, that hurt like a bitch.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. She inspected her glasses after picking them up, relieved they were unbroken, then set about finding the renegade bolt. She finally located it after what felt like a long-ass fifteen minutes, as it had been hidden under her toolbox where it had rolled way farther than it should have. With all the bolts holding it in place now off, she pulled the bottom panel off the van, and began the process of removing the filter and draining the old oil out when she heard the garage door open suddenly, startling her. She jerked, spilling oil on her shirt and she held her tongue from cursing, not knowing who was at the door since she couldn’t see them from her spot under the van. Nero would give her hell if she swore in front of one of the boys.

Fuck, now what?

“Hey, Nico! We gotta job! When’s the van gonna be ready?”

She gritted her teeth. Five minutes...he couldn’t have come five minutes earlier before she actually started draining the oil out? She wouldn’t have been pissed if she’d just had to slap the bottom panel back on. Well, okay maybe that was a lie. She still would have been pissed, mostly because of that stupid bolt.

It was probably a good thing he was too late, though. She didn’t want to be driving it down the road to who knows where and have it run out of oil. She was not in the mood to fix the problems that would cause.

“You’re too late! Already got the oil drainin’ so this piece of shit ain’t going anywhere for another half hour!” She couldn’t hide the irritation in her tone, but Nero seemed to be ignoring it.

“Make it twenty minutes. We got an emergency situation.” His tone was serious and demanding and that was the last straw for her. She wheeled herself out from under the van and looked up to glare at him.

“You want this done fast then come do it yourself! I’m gonna do it right, so that when we’re driving down the road, the damn engine don’t seize up, stall the van, and force us to build a fucking new one!” She was yelling now, but Nero had dealt with her so long now he wasn’t fazed much.

“Geez, who pissed in your cereal this morning?” All he got in response was more glaring. “Whatever. Just do what you can so we can get going.”

He turned to go back into the house to get ready when he barely heard her mutter something about ‘ungrateful, demanding people’ over the sound of her wheeling herself back under the van. He frowned at that. He’d known her long enough now to realize what was bothering her, but they didn’t have time. He’d have to deal with it later.

Nico felt she deserved a pat on the back, but she figured the only one who’d give her that was her own self. She’d got the oil change finished in just under twenty minutes; a record for her with this hunk of junk. It was a good thing she’d gotten it done, too. There was no way the van would have made it this far out to the middle of nowhere with what little was left in it. It was burning oil off like there was no tomorrow and she groaned at the thought of having to figure out why.

“Yet another shitty-ass problem I’m gonna get stuck fixing,” she said aloud to no one in particular. Nero was around somewhere; off dealing with whatever demons were running amok in the area they’d driven out to while she waited for him leaning against the side of the van, having a smoke.

“Would it kill someone to say please or thank you once in a while,” she said to herself angrily. She took a long drag from her cigarette, completely wrapped up in her horrible mood. So much so, that she failed to notice that her talking aloud to herself had attracted the attention of a red empusa, which was now approaching her from the side.

She’d barely had time to register that Nero was suddenly yelling something at her before she turned and saw the demon too little, too late. Time seemed to slow as she felt her adrenaline rise. It felt almost like one of those moments that people talk about where you see your life flash before your eyes, but the only thing Nico could see in that moment was her death at the hands (or was it claws?) of this demon. The empusa was bearing down on her and she was unarmed; not that there would have been much she could do even with a weapon, but still, there was definitely no way she was getting out of this alive unarmed without a miracle.

Luckily, one in the form of Nero happened to reach her in time. He jumped in between her and the demon and took the hit that was meant for her, suffering a fairly serious injury to his side. He was far from incapacitated though, and he managed to kill the empusa before it tried to run away from him after it realized a greater threat had just interrupted its attempt at killing its prey.

Nico was stunned for only a moment before her brain caught up with what happened. She registered the sight of Nero clutching his side, which was bleeding profusely and immediately sprang into action.

“Shit, Nero! If you wanna kill yourself there are better ways to go out than getting killed by an overgrown maggot!” She grabbed him by the hand on his uninjured side, still running on adrenaline, looping his arm over her own shoulders to help him into the van. Remembering there may have been other demons around, she took a cursory glance of the area finding it clear.

“Last one. Shouldn’t be any more.” Nero gritted out when he saw her scanning the area. She let out a huff of relief. Thank goodness there weren’t any more so she could focus on his injury without worry. He grunted in pain when she hefted him up to his feet and began helping him into the van.

Once inside, she got him to the couch before pulling out the first aid kit, then helped him out of his shirt so she could assess the damage. She grimaced when she saw the wound. Something like that would have surely killed her. Her momentary lapse of attention in her anger had nearly ended her life. Maybe she didn’t fight demons herself, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be on her toes when out in the field. Nero was lucky he was part demon himself, otherwise she’d have a lot more to feel guilty about than just an injury.

“You didn’t have to do that, ya know?” She told him as she wiped the wound clean and set about patching him up. It was mostly unnecessary; the wound would likely be completely gone in a few hours, but it was the thought that counts, right? Plus, it gave her something to focus on. The adrenaline from that tense life or death moment was starting to wear off and she realized she was starting to tremble.

“So…what? I was just supposed to let the thing skewer you? I can take a hit like this, you can’t.” He shrugged it off like it was no big deal, but she didn’t miss the wince he made while she wrapped his injured side.

“Still, ya didn’t have to jump in the way. If you were that close, you shoulda just killed the thing without takin’ the hit.” She finished wrapping his wound as he stood up to find his torn shirt.

“Couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t have still been hurt, so I made the best decision given the situation.” He stated matter-of-factly.

Nico just scoffed. “I may be human, but I can recover from injuries too...just not as fast as your clumsy ass.”

“Yeah? But then you’d be out of commission for a while. Can’t let anything happen to my ‘pet mechanic’ now, can I?” He made air quotes around the nickname she’d effectively dubbed herself with. “Besides, that’s the kind of thing you do for family.”

Nico’s head shot up at that to look him in disbelief. “F-family?!” she half-squeaked, half-yelled out. She was flabbergasted at his remark. Did he just call me family?

“Yeah? You’ve hung around this long, put up with all the crazy shit that goes along with being a part of this, and you haven’t turned tail and ran. What else would you be?” He located his shirt and started putting it back on once he finished speaking.

She’d had a rough day. At least that’s what Nico told herself when her vision started getting blurry. She was just stressed and nearly dying tended to have that kind of an effect on people. She wasn’t about to cry over Nero calling her family, no of course not. It was just stress. Yeah, just stress.

Nico took her glasses off to rub at her eyes in an effort to keep the tears from falling. Unfortunately for her, Nero had finished getting his shirt back on and caught what she was doing and he was grinning when she put her glasses back on.

“It’s okay to cry, you know? It doesn’t make you a crybaby.” She cringed as soon as those words left his mouth. She knew exactly where this was going. “Does make you a little bitch though.”

She punched him in the arm, though Nero noticed that not only was she careful to avoid his injured side, she also didn’t punch as hard as he knew she could. “Shut the hell up! If anyone’s a little bitch here, it’s you.”

“Hey! Is that how you thank someone for saving your life?”

“Is that how you say thanks for me patchin’ you up?” They were just taunting each other; fighting almost like siblings, Nico noted; trying to get under each other’s skin, but not really meaning any of it. Just like a brother and sister…

“Hey, for real though, you okay?” Nero’s worried tone brought her out of her thoughts.

“Y-yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” She didn’t understand why Nero was suddenly so worried. She hadn’t been hurt because he’d protected her; jumped in front of a demon for her, in fact. Though it was unlikely since it was just an empusa, he still could have been killed. And it would have been her fault. What if it hadn’t turned out alright? What would she have done? How would she have told everyone? How would she have broken it to Kyrie?

It wasn’t until he grabbed her hand to hold it steady that she realized she was still trembling…and Nero had noticed, of course. “I’m totally fine. It’s just the adrenaline wearin’ off. I’m fine…t-totally fine.” She couldn’t keep her voice steady as finished talking, the stress from her whole day, nearly dying, and the thoughts and worries that brought out making her voice break.

It wasn’t until Nero was pulling her into a hug that she realized she was actually crying now. When his arms closed around her back, the dam broke loose. She couldn’t stop the sob that tore through her throat and she clutched the back of his shirt as if it were a lifeline.

“Hey, relax,” he shushed her as he comforted her. “You’re okay. I’m okay. We’re both okay, got it? We’ve been through a helluva lot worse. Beside you’ve been around long enough you know me better than that. If I’m gonna die, it ain’t gonna be to some ‘overgrown maggot’ as you so eloquently put it.” Nero’s joke brought a bit of a laugh out of her and helped to calm her nerves a bit. She pulled away and stepped back, drying her eyes as best she could. He was right; they were both okay, even if one of them was slightly injured.

Nico grimaced at that. They were sure to catch a scolding from Kyrie for being careless. Nero seemed to be on the same wavelength as her and made a similar face. “Maybe she won’t notice?” He offered. Nico only gave him a deadpan stare and he shrugged in response. “She’s probably busy fixing dinner right now, so if I don’t hang around when we get back, I doubt she’ll even see it.”

“And if she catches on, I had nothin’ to do with hiding it.” Nico held her hands up as if to absolve herself of any part of the crime of concealing injuries from Nero’s girlfriend.

“Whatever you say. Guess it’s a guy’s job to look out for someone who’s like a sister to him anyway, right?” When he said that, Nico knew he was talking about more than just the scolding they’d get. After all, you don’t jump in front of a demon for just anyone.

“Hey! A girl’s gotta look out for her clumsy-ass brother too, ya know?” They were both laughing now and Nico, having realized she’d calmed down enough to drive, took her place in the driver’s seat. She started the engine, but waited for Nero to sit down before setting off back down the road.

They didn’t get far before he spoke up again. “Thanks.” She turned to look at him briefly before setting her eyes back on the road. “For the patch up, the van…and everything else you do around here.”

She could feel the emotions welling up inside her making her eyes water again and blinked back the sudden tears. It wouldn’t do to start crying while driving. “Yeah? Well you’re welcome. And...thanks for savin’ my ass back there, too.”

“Like I said, it’s what you do for family.” He said it so casually, like she should have already known this. In hindsight, maybe she should have. They’d been through a lot together already. And not just her and Nero, but everyone else, too. Incidents like what happened in Redgrave tended to make a big impact on people’s lives and their relationships with each other.

Neither spoke the rest of the way home, which left Nico to her own thoughts as she drove.

Family, huh? That doesn’t sound too bad.

It didn’t really hit home for her though, until they got back. They came in the back door, through the kitchen and dining room. Nero only stopped to give Kyrie a kiss as she finished up dinner, taking care that she didn’t see the bloody tear in his shirt. Then he went on to put his stuff away, change, and probably throw his shirt away so his girlfriend didn’t find it in the laundry.

Nico, however, stopped as she passed through the dining area and looked at the dinner table. They were six places set, not five like there used to be for just Nero, Kyrie, and the three orphan boys they looked after.

There was one more: for her. She smiled.

← Part 2 • Part 3 of this series • Part 4 →

[kbstories]

Hegemony

he·ge·mo·ny (n.) A dominant influence or authority over others.

One cell, two captains and an uncertain future.

(Or: Kidd and Luffy in prison. Let’s talk about it.)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Captivity, Blood and Injury, Enemies to Friends

Set in Wano. Spoiler warning for Act Two of Wano. Content warning for... Kidd (= bad language). Read Chapter 2 here.

***

It so happens that, one day, Eustass ‘Captain’ Kidd finds himself in a prison cell.

It’s not terribly big, perhaps ten by twenty steps and bland as all hell to boot. Stone floors, metal bars, a corner to sleep in and a bucket to shit in, nothing fancy about it. Standard fare, not that Kidd would have much experience with that.

There’s no brig on the Victoria Punk. The Kidd Pirates don’t take prisoners.

Of course, the reasons why Kidd’s in the cell aren’t that simple. None of it has been, this whole sordid tale of alliances and betrayal and a war botched before it could even begin. It’s too late for regret, far too late yet Kidd can’t quite rid himself of it, this cloying sensation that writhes just under the surface. Like peeling back his skin is all it would take to expose the maggots and rotting flesh beneath–

Don’t be dramatic, Killer would tell him right about now and he would be right.

And yeah, perhaps Kidd is throwing himself a fucking pity party. It’s not like there’s anything else to do in this shithole, every night spent with his thumb up his ass or dreaming about things he can’t change. His wounds sting as they heal; Kidd scratches at the newly-formed scabs out of sheer boredom, watches blood well up and dry in interesting patterns.

The ones he can reach that is, chained to the wall like a mutt by his remaining hand.

Ain’t anybody here to stop him, anyways – certainly not Killer, wherever he ended up, nor Heat nor Wire or any other member of his crew. They’re lucky if they even have a ship to return to, as things stand.

Kidd laughs, loud and a little unhinged. They couldn’t have fucked themselves over any worse if they tried.

Night turns to day, the morning sun a bright smudge beyond the bars of his cell as it struggles against the smoke gathering above like hazy storm clouds. The guards return for another day of work, same as the last and the one before that.

Kidd gets to his feet. His stomach growls.

He’s long stopped laughing.

*

By the end of that day, things change.

It’s black as pitch outside, the movements of Kaido’s goons vague in the shadows. There’s no mistaking the sound of a body hitting the floor, though. The clinking of shackles dragging across stone, forceful steps – Kidd closes his eyes and thinks, too slow, as the door slams shut and the bars rattle with the weight of something, someone crashing against them.

Panted breaths, wet. The scent of blood, heavy in the air. Finally:

“Bastards! Come back and fight me!”

Kidd’s eyes snap open.

Ah, fuck.

*

“Hey.”

Twenty steps up, twenty steps down.

“Shithead. I’m talking to you.”

The silhouette moves, up and down, in constant motion. A beast, caged, heaving with rage.

“Strawhat.”

A growl, “What?”, the word cut short by gnashing teeth. Unflinching, Kidd meets the glare glinting amidst swathes of bandages. They’re spotted black with blood.

“Sit the fuck down. They’re not coming back.”

A minute ticks by, then two. Monkey D. Luffy relents, the dejected frown on his lips perhaps real, perhaps something Kidd imagines. It’s hard to see shit in the dead of night, especially long-lost rivals who by some unholy coincidence decided to show up in the most unlikely of places.

“Screw them.” Strawhat throws himself against the wall with all the grace of a soggy towel, close enough that Kidd hears the strained hiss he exhales under his breath. Chains rattle with every motion.

“Screw this. I would’ve sent them all flying without the Sea Stone.”

Looks like they fucked him up good – sounds like it too, Strawhat’s voice raspy like he screamed his vocal cords to shreds. Kidd watches him settle down, knees pulled up and cuffed hands hanging in-between, limp.

A pretty tragic sight, all in all, not that Kidd particularly cares.

“Think I’m sitting here for shits and giggles?” He scoffs. “Get in line, brat. I’m killing them first”, and it’s not as satisfying a thing to say without Strawhat rising to the challenge.

In fact, the guy doesn’t reply at all. Back against the wall, Strawhat’s eyes search the bit of sky they can glimpse from their spot. There’s nothing to see, Kidd knows: Udon’s nights are devoid of stars, even the moon’s gaze turned elsewhere.

Kidd doesn’t care but it’s been just himself and his thoughts down here for a week now.

Killer would probably shrug it off, if their places were reversed: All this extra time would go into thinking up a plan to get out of here – perhaps get in that nap he’s been complaining about not-getting for weeks now – and… Kidd’s not one for scheming, never had to be. Brawling and killing and fucking, that’s what he’s good at and he’s always done it with Killer by his side.

The thought makes Kidd shift in place. The chains pull taut, the raw skin of his wrist burning with it. How pathetic.

“The hell are you doing here, anyways?”

Smooth is another thing Kidd is not, and it’s good Strawhat is as dumb as the day is long. Which is very, locked in a box made of bare, uncaring rock.

“I’m not supposed to tell”, says the brat, quietly, like he’s trying to contradict every single thing Kidd remembers about him. (Which isn’t much but it’s enough. No one who has the nerve to deck a World Noble and rail against the powers that be at every turn sounds like that.)

Kidd spits, “Fuck that”, and Strawhat just… shrugs. “So you’re still sailing with Law. Didn’t think the prissy bastard would stick around that long. You aiming for Kaido or what?”

Blinking at him, Strawhat’s surprise is apparent despite the bandages. “You know?”

“Are you stupid?” (Kidd doesn’t pause, the question more than rhetorical.) “Some people read the damn paper.”

Some people being Killer, so: Yes, Kidd knows.

“Ah. Traffy won’t like that.” Strawhat rubs his chin, realizes he can’t, pulls with some measure of frustration at the gauze around his jaw. It comes loose, badly done in the first place. Unraveling in the matter of seconds. “He didn’t get caught, though. That’s good.”

There’s genuine relief there, and Kidd laughs. “You mean he turned tail and left you behind. There’s a difference, dipshit.”

Bloody bandages are thrown aside. Strawhat gives him a look, ticked off.

“Traffy’s not like that.”

“Everyone’s like that”, Kidd bites back, a little faster than he means to, and the grin drops off his painted lips. “Whatever. See if I care.”

Silence falls, then, more than tense in this limited space, and while the previous monotony was bad having Strawhat here is worse: Somehow this Strawhat is even more annoying than the bubbly fool with the devil-may-care smile he met that day at Sabaody, all sulky and seething anger yet too drained to do anything about it.

A wildly familiar feeling and isn’t that a shitty realization to have, an hour into their captivity?

It grinds Kidd’s gears enough that he turns his back to him, tugging his fur coat tighter around the bare stump of his left arm. Sleep is going to be a challenge with Strawhat’s gaze etching a sense of danger across his neck; the drag of Sea Stone will get Kidd there eventually and so he focuses on that instead.

Of course, Strawhat pipes up before he can even get close to testing that theory.

“You fought him, too. Right, Spikey? You fought Kaido.”

Spikey? Kidd’s lips press together, a tight red line Strawhat can’t see. What am I, a dog?

“Spikey.”

“I have a fucking name, Strawhat.”

Kidd might as well have said jack shit with how little Strawhat is listening. “I did. Traffy said it's a bad idea and he tried to stop me but–”

Strawhat isn’t known to hesitate like this and really, it doesn’t matter. The haunted edge to his voice tells Kidd the gist of how that hopeless endeavor went, and his memories fill out the rest.

He stares into the dark and waits all the same.

“Spikey.” A strained breath, shivering on the exhale. “Did he get your crew, too?”

The tears are silent yet Kidd knows they’re there. Knows because that was him, a week ago, beaten bloody and furious and suddenly, shockingly alone.

It shouldn’t matter, none of it should.

Crying about it won’t change the fact they’re in here and their crews are out there, dead or alive – and even after a week in this hell Kidd still hopes it’s the latter. That, wherever they are, they’re laying low and still breathing when he finds his way back to them.

Luffy sniffs, loud and disgusting. Kidd closes his eyes and sighs.

“… Go to sleep, Strawhat. You’ll need it.”

>>Chapter 2.