#He's mostly mute but growls and huffs a lot
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I was supposed to make clothes and toyz for him but I've been lazy about so I'll post him anyway. This is the petzy version I made of Verloren, just because I can :D I've had him since December and he's now one of my favorite petz to play with. It's so fun that I can take my evil blorbo and put him in the cute little pet game ahahah! He feels surprisingly in-character sometimes tbh Some of the pics above were slightly edited (for example, that outfit is entirely drawn on photoshop and not actual ingame clothing) because I was lazy about some of his markings and they clip a lot, so I patched up some things. I might fix some things about that because some of it would be really easy fixes but like I said, I've been lazy.
The following pics are completely unedited:
He's so fuckin cute
Also yeah I have a bloody knife toy in my game so of course I had to give it to him.
More pics of him on my Petz website! [link]
#Petz#Petz 4#oc.Verloren#stt.Houndsdagger#I love how his ears move ingame#he's just so pretty all the time#I have so so so so many pics of him#he's technically a cat because I felt like the cat animations fit him better#but I changed the sounds#He's mostly mute but growls and huffs a lot#Hates most other petz and chases them#Almost always looks angry#I love him
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Kinktober 2024 Day 2 - Denial
Kenma x reader
summary: Kenma was on a call with friends while playing some game on his PC, but you wanted his attention.
warnings: 18+, MDNI, implied chubby!reader, fem!reader, edging, denial, dirty talk, dom!kenma, blowjob m receiving, face fucking, toy use, and cuffs.
Word Count: 1,921
Hope you enjoy!!!
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Kenma was letting out small grunts and breaths of pleasure as you continued licking at the tip of his swollen cock. Huffs of air escaping him every time your lips would wrap around his head and give a soft 'suck'. His thighs were squeezing against your chest as you sat under his desk and in between his legs. You pull away from his angry pink cock with a small 'pop' and grin as you look up at him from your spot under his desk. You lazily stroked him as you stared at his pretty face. His yellow eyes darted across the screen of his monitor, mostly black hair pulled into a low bun under his black headphones, and tongue darting out to lick his dry lips. He had some fly aways sticking to his slightly sweaty forehead, adding to his beauty.
"They're on me! Kuroo, they're on me- Help!" He yelled into his mic. Usually he was a lot more calm when gaming because he always did so well, but with how much his sexual frustration was building along with the frustration of dying over and over, he was getting antsy. You grinned and started kitten licking his leaking cock, trying to get him to calm down a little bit as you tasted his salty precum on your tongue. "Damnit!" He yells, bucking into your mouth, causing a small gag in the back of your throat.
"Mute for a minute" He growled into the mic before clicking a few times with his mouse. As you tried pulling back from his member, his hands were in your hair, pushing your head up and down his throbbing and needy dick. Your eyes widened as he pushed in and out from your lips, saliva pooling in your mouth as he fucked into your throat. "Such a fucking tease." He growled as his hips started to thrust in time with your forcibly bobbing head.
His breathing was ragged and he was staring down at you as you took in every delicious inch of his lengthy cock. His dick was hitting the back of your throat as he thrusted into your mouth, his eyes narrowing from the pleasure. "That's it, take it. That's it, right there, baby~ Mmmph~" He groans out in pleasure, his head rolling back as his mouth falls open.
You stared up at him, eyes locked on his pleasure ridden face, knowing he'd be close to cumming soon. You hallowed your cheeks around him, adding more pressure to his member as he fucks himself into your throat. "Ahh~ Fuck-! Good girl, just l-like that!" His voice was breathier and his hips were desperately thrusting up into your mouth. He looked back down at you, watching as you eagerly sucked in every inch he was giving you.
His head rolled back once again as a whimpered moan drew from the back of his throat, hot thick ropes of his cum coating the back of your mouth and throat. Your eyes shut as you swallowed through every drop, gagging slightly as he stayed pushed inside you. He pulled back out of your mouth, his hands gently petting over your hair as you cough and wipe at your mouth.
"good girl." He whispers as his other hand caresses your cheek. He was staring into your eyes, watching as you slowly opened one eye to look at him. The sweet and salty taste of his semen still on your tastebuds. You open your mouth, tongue rolling out to show you swallowed all of what he gave you. His eyes lingered on your open mouth before he abruptly stood, pulling you by the hand up with him.
He shoved you down on the bed before opening the second drawer of the nightstand. You immediately felt more heat build between your legs, that drawer being where you and Kenma kept your different sex toys.
"Kenny?" You called sweetly, shifting to lay back against your elbows watching his every move. He turns to face you, his cheeks still flushed slightly pink as he locks eyes with you. "Hmm?" He hums out.
"What are you doing, baby?" You asked sweetly, already knowing a few possibilities of what was about to happen.
He stands straight once again and walks towards your laid down figure on the bed. "Hands." He says firmly. A grin tugs on your lips as you playfully hold your hands out together for him. He lifts his hand to reveal the black furry handcuffs he had gotten towards the start of your now two year relationship. He quickly secures them around your wrists, his eyes locked into yours. He places his hand under your chin, gently lifting it as his eyes trail over your face.
"Such a good girl for me. So perfect and pretty." He begins speaking, his voice soft and tired as his eyes connect with yours once again. "My pretty girl." He whispers as he leans down and begins placing soft kisses along your neck. His lips were soft against your skin, little clicky sounds coming after every kiss as he moved to a new spot. His tongue lightly trailed up from the base of your neck to the shell of your ear, pulling a soft whimper from your mouth.
You suddenly felt a cool and smooth object pressed against your panty covered vagina, the object pressed against your clit before it started to rapidly vibrate. Your eyes widened and your mouth dropped open as a loud moan pushed past your lips. Your body was tense as the vibrations sent pleasure jolting through you.
"That's it, good girl. Taking it so well." Kenma coos into your ear, gently kissing your earlobe. He pressed the object against you harder, causing another moan to drag past your lips. You were pawing at Kenma's back, pulling him closer as he brought you closer to release. "C'mon baby, let it out for me." He groveled in your ear, gently nipping at the skin of your neck.
You mewled and arched your back into him, eyes closing as your release was starting to rush through you. Kenma suddenly pulled back, stepping away from you completely with a small grin. The vibrator still going in his hand until he pressed the off button on the remote.
You let out a whine, back arching as your orgasm was ruined. You were breathing heavily and letting out small whimpers as you locked eyes with Kenma once again.
"What's wrong, baby?" He asked in a mocking tone, his head tilted slightly to the side. "You not finish?" He asked in the same tone looking down at you. He stepped forward again, gently stroking your bare thigh to help you come down from the ruined orgasm. "Such a teasing little thing. Wearing that big sweater I love and only having underwear on underneath." He spoke, his tone condescendingly sweet.
You let out a soft whimper and stared into his gold colored eyes. "Just wanted your attention, Kenny." You whined out. He hummed and leaned down, placing a kiss on your lips softly. "I know, sweet thing, but I promised I'd spend the night playing with old school friends." He says softly, hand caressing your cheek gently.
He softly moves your underwear to the side before pressing the vibrator against your clit, causing a moan to spill from your parted lips. He moves the fabric back over and kisses your neck softly as he coos to you. "Shhh, I know, baby, I know."
He then readjusts your body so you were laying parallel in the bed. He then raised your arms and lowered them so one of the decorative knobs on the headboard would keep you in place. He stands straight and tightly squeezes the inside of your thigh before walking back to his gaming setup. "Be a good girl and stay over there." He says- as if you'd have a choice.
He sits the remote down next to his keyboard before lowering himself back into his chair. He pulled himself closer to the desk as he picked up his headphones.
"Kenny!" You called out to him in a whine. "Come back." You pleaded with him as he stared back at you. His lips were tugged into a grin as he watched your helpless form.
"You'll be fine on your own for a while." Kenma said as he placed his headphones over his ear and looked at his monitors again. He presses his mouse a few more times, his eyes trained on his PC. "I'm back." He says into his mic, not once glancing at you as he goes back to playing with his friends. You let out a huff of air, staring at the ceiling before feeling the vibrator start against your sensitive bud.
A gasp erupts from you at the sensation between your legs. Having been so close to your orgasm only moments ago, your thighs started shaking, jiggling slightly as your eyes closed. "Kenny!~" You whined, trying to stay quiet enough your voice wouldn't be picked up over the mic. It was currently set to the pulse vibration, and it was pressed against your clit in such a way it was almost overwhelmingly pleasurable.
Kenma had gone back to playing his game, acting like nothing else was happening. "Lev, you suck." Kenma had continued bickering with his old school mates while he played, every once in a while changing the setting of the vibrator pressed against your clit.
You were whimpering in your spot on the bed, bucking your hips at the pressure- trying to get more friction from the toy, huffs of air and whines leaving your lips, and your hands tugging on the handcuffs keeping you trapped. A moan tugged from your throat, you hips bucked up further- this was it! Your orgasm so close you could almost taste it.
You back was arched, head pressing back into the soft pillows below you, your thighs squeezing shut to push the bullet harsher against your clit- every squeeze causing the toy to rub back and forth as it vibrates, your eyes wide and rolled back, and mouth hanging open as the satisfaction begins to ripple through you. Heavy breathes and soft moans fell from your lips as you squeezed your thighs again, a fog over your mind as you felt yourself on the tip of your desired orgasm.
Then there was nothing- but a pair of hands holding open your legs and an unsatisfied feeling swirling in your stomach. Your eyes shot open and you looked down between your legs, finding your wide eyed boyfriend grinning up at you as he held open your thighs.
"You're such a needy girl, baby." He said, his soft voice had a hint of amusement and lust in it. His hands started to squeeze and rub at your thighs, soothing them as his watchful eyes remained on you.
Your breathing was heavy as you looked at him. You didn't understand, you were so close to your release, why couldn't you cum? Why wasn't the vibrator helping you..? Why wasn't the vibrator moving? There was no normal buzzing sound coming from the little bullet.
"So needy." Kenma repeated his words, placing a soft kiss on your knee. "I turned the bullet off a few minutes ago but you started fucking yourself with it." He explains in his normal soft voice, squeezing your legs more. "Poor baby." He muttered with an underlying mock tone. "You can't cum just yet." He hums out before the soft buzzing starts again.
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I'm so sorry this took so long, I hit major writing block half wat through, but now that Kenma is out of the way (I haven't watched haikyuu in a while so it was tough to write) I should be able to grind out a bunch of these. Hope you enjoyed and let me know what you thought!
#kenma x reader#kinktober#fanfic#kinktober 2024#kozume kenma#hq timeskip#haikyuu timeskip#haikyu x reader#18+ mdni#haikyuu kenma#haikyuu x reader#kenma smut#kenma x you
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The Alef Part 4
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(Based on Kalego Gaiden a side story to the Mairimashita Iruma-kun series by Nishi Osamu.
Reader’s powers: Mute items, areas, and people, by sight and touch.)
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Opera wasn’t joking when he said he’d leave clean up to us. As demons it was natural to complain and whine about such menial work, but, maybe due to your life style or unhealthy coping mechanisms, you didn’t whine as much; rather, you were mostly concerned about how long it’d take.
And how Opera didn’t seem too keen on helping.
By now the sun was starting to set, and despite the safe zones surrounding your house, it didn’t always stop more arrogant (and therefore stronger) monsters that trespassed near your home, though they usually left by morning.
“Opera-senpai, I really need to get going now...”
“Hmm? Oh, alright, we’re almost done here so these two will stay behind with me.” Which is what he says, but there’s still a lot of trash to throw out.
“SAYS WHO?!”
“Good luck, Kalego-kun.”
“Hey. Wait. DON’T LEAVE US HERE WITH HI-”
The door shuts, cutting him off. ‘Sorryyyy’
You could only pray he forgives you later.
~~~
Shit, it’s really late... almost home almost home almost ho-
Just as you were about to deviate from the main road, a strong push from behind sends you skidding across the ground.
“That’s them big bro, that’s the creep that hangs around those freaks at school!”
You weren’t really expecting this… you highly doubted they were actually related, rather.. they probably knew each other at least.
You had to get up quickly quickly quickly but blow after blow after blow stopped you from recovering. Across the face, into your chin, right in your stomach, stun punch stun punch.
What the hell was it with the strong that liked to pick on the weak, what the hell was it with the arrogant assholes who expected you to keep your head down all the time, AND WHAT THE HELL WAS IT WITH YOUR FAMILY FOR LEAVING YOU TO DEAL WITH THIS ALONE!?
And before you knew it, before you could stop it
You entered your evil phase.
They pause when you suddenly go still… they take a step back when a feral growl passes through your teeth… and they scream when blank eyes meet theirs holding the promise of agony as you lunge.
~~~
Just as they were leaving, they saw two demons sprinting up to them seemingly screaming at the top of their lungs but no sound came out.
“Is this a trick?” Asked Kalego, and Balam might’ve agreed with him if it weren’t for the blur running after them, mutely snarling and absolutely feral.
Opera leans forward to try and identify it.
“Is… is that Y/n??”
Indeed it was, almost parallel to the ground as you shot forward to catch up to your prey, like a taut arrow finally being released.
The demons looked faint as they banged on the school doors, covered in bleeding wounds from bites to claw marks.
When it seemed like they wouldn’t open they hid behind the trio.
“I’ve never seen Y/n-Chan so… pissed.”
“Hmph, no doubt thanks to these idiots.”
Opera steps forward, and you slow in response, observing, going side to side as if circling for an opening.
“You’ve entered your evil phase haven’t you?”
A snarl is his only response. But you’re not entirely hostile to him, just agitated and eager to finish off the hunt.
“Hmm” he observes the bruises marring you and shoots a glare at the cowardly demons before he continues.
“You’ll get in a lot of trouble if you kill them.”
He starts to approach and while you’re in this feral state, you’re still you. You sit, as he gets into arms reach.
He reaches out…
He pats your head.
“Come now, we’ve finished our business so let’s walk back together.”
You huff petulantly, but concede, this was your senpai, your superior who looked out for and respected you.
“It looks like this team has a feral dog now.”
~~~
Kalego had his serious thinking face on as all of you went off road.
This was where you lived? The hell? He figured you were kind of weird but wasn’t expecting this level of strange.
What was even more perplexing at the lack of sound… from anywhere. Did you do this? Is that why your magic at school was weaker?
Is that a house? Out here in the middle of-
His thoughts are cut off as you suddenly run off before coming back with a hell hen in your jaws…
‘What the hell…’
And then you offer it to Opera!?
‘Alright, time to go, you’re home, you’re already inside-’
“Wha-”
He’s dragged inside by Opera and Balam.
“Ahem,”
You try to clear your throat but it doesn’t lose its throaty growl.
“Stay, too dark, safe here.”
And without another word you just curl into yourself and watch… your eyes seemed near predatory during your evil phase.
‘Ookay...’
When he turns to go for the door you laid right in front of it like a mutt that doesn’t want them to go anywhere.
sighs
“What the hell, Y/n.”
Opera looks at the chicken and at the kitchen connected to the living space they were in. “I guess I’ll take care of dinner...”
You huff affirmingly.
Balam, seemed genuinely unsure of what to do, what was even going on anymore, was this technically kidnapping? did you kidnap them?
He better call his parents to make sure they don’t freak out, and it looked like Kalego had similar ideas.
~~~
“They’re probably confused about why you brought us here, Evil Phase Y/n.”
A growl.
“They’re probably gonna snoop around, maybe disturb your parents.”
Silence.
“... Where are your parents, Y/n?”
...
“Gone... left...” (Me...)
...
In the background, Kalego and Balam waited quietly... mulling over this new information.
~~~
After you all dug into the dinner Opera made, you opted to show them the property in case another event like tonight happened again.
This made Balam pretty happy because once some creatures caught on to the idea that your home was a safe zone, they set up their dens and burrows under your porch and in nearby trees.
“Y/n.”
“Kalego.”
“You’re so damn strange.”
Chuffs.
“will... apologize... later.”
~~~
(Notes v)
~~~
(Hello! Today’s chapter is a little short because there’s a lot here that I want to say as an after note. I just wanted to say that reader’s character is meant to grow alongside Kalego’s, Opera’s, and Balam’s. If it looks a little underbaked right now, it is, it’s a work in progress but the gist is:
As a result of being left behind you developed this kind of insecurity of being seen as week, of getting into risky situations alone, of feeling maybe a little bored and lonely.
Then along came the trio, and life was fun, but despite your own self control over how you feel, your wicked side is more based on instinct and desires. Beastly ferocity and a need for closeness with people you care for.
You may grow beyond it you may not.
Some days you might be stronger than that past abandonment and remember all that you have (a future, and friends), some days you might react as that little child that was left behind, upset and destructive to other demons and the environment around you.
Coupled with this familial trait of being absolutely feral during your wicked/evil phase, spells out a lot trouble.
Also, while I considered adding more parts,
1) Harvest Festival so we could do that with Balam and Kalego and watch Balam win.
2) Music Festival so that we could do that with them and see Kalego’s first interpretation of Lilith’s red carpet.
3) So that MAYBE we could have a fun high school romance in Babyls
I also feel a little inadequate to write proper build up for them. I’m not quite sure if this means the fic ends here, but while I’m thinking of how to write for this one, I’ll be working on Return from Origins.
Thank you for your support thus far, and I hope you all have a good one!)
#mairimashita! iruma kun#balam shichirou#balam shichiro#naberius kalego#reader insert#fanfic#first fanfic#opera mairuma
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A different kind of prison
Tw for noms again, yeah, it’s honestly gunna be most my blog, with Grian again, this time it takes place in season 7 also thanks @random-tinies they helped with so many of the angsty ideas in this. Also, hard vore is brought up, nothing happens, and its mostly just panicked thoughts it is safe.
Grian the parrot laughed at it again. It was so strange yet, looking down at the shirt he had sewn, he was happy with it. The shirt was soft, made from some wool he had bought recently, and although Grian wasn’t much of a seamstress, someone had to repair his sweaters. The shirt dropped from his hand as he fell, flopping onto a hard cold floor, the bird sat there for a second dazed. He let out a groan before looking around him. Standing next to him was Doc who was growling at something. Turning his head, Grian locked eyes with False who smiled. “Scar was looking for you Mother spore.” The guard teased. Grian froze, scared of her words. Taking out some keys she opened the door, Grian jumped back as she reached for him. Impulse and Doc rushed in front of the avian who backed himself into the far wall. False let out a huff as she drew out her sword, the bald eagle's wings rose up in intimidation making herself look a lot bigger. Grian attempted to do the same, but False had that predatory look in her gaze making the smaller avian freeze on the spot. The mycelium leader's heart beat quickly, his body shivering, scared as the two that attempted to guard him were pushed away, Impulse after watching Doc get thrown back away. The creeper was fine, but wasn’t going to test the eagle more than he had and just gave a sad, defeated look to his leader. Grian closed his eyes waiting for the stabbing of a sword. Nothing happened, when he opened his eyes he saw the sword being placed back into its sheath and False taking one of his arms started her way out, turning around and locking the door. When out of view from the other resistance members she turned to the smaller avain. “Did I scare you that much?” She asked with genuine concern in her face and speech. “Y-you’re hurting my arm.” Grian says, causing the eagle to quickly drop it. “Sorry, sorry.” He rubs it and she gives an apologetic look. “I- that was a bit much, I’m sorry.” “I-it’s okay.” Grian says, rubbing his arm. “So uh I’m guessing you’re taking me to Scar? Is he going to?” He stopped looking at the sword on the eagle's far side. “Oh no- no no, I at least I don’t think he is, it doesn't seem like a Scar thing to do.” Grian nodded. “Well lead the way.” False nodded and the parrot followed behind. It didn’t take him long to realize they were underneath the resistance's second base, it explains how they got trapped as well. They hit a staircase, False turned to him. “Actually I forgot this earlier,” she slides out what seemed to be a potion. “I was told to give it to you if you showed up.” The parrot took it and looked at it, confused. “I promise it’s not poison if that's what you’re thinking.” Grian looked at her then back at it, slowly peeling off the cork. She was right about it not being poision, well at least it didn’t smell like it. His second guess was jump boost, and it made sense if they had placed something to keep the other hermits from getting out. What shut that idea down though was that False hadn't drank anything herself and was just looking at him. “Wh-what exactly does it do?” False’s expression softened as the parrots feathers began to rise on his back. She gently placed a hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Well, I know it’s a mix of fire resistance. As for the other thing, I’m not sure I can say, sorry.” Grian nods, he could smell the magma cube strongly now, and it made sense. It’s possible the burning slime smell muted the rabbit smell and it was just a jump boost. The idea of False not drinking anything though was fresh in his mind. Could be she already had, so the parrot just tilted his head back and barely swallowed. There was a sweet taste, most definitely not a jump boost. The flavors also didn’t mix that well, the bitter magma and the sweet, well whatever it was, made him nearly spit it back out. False seemed to notice his distress. “You good?” she asked. Grian nodded, finally gaining the courage to swallow, and chugged the rest down before deeply inhaling. He felt nauseous and his vision blurred, he was most definitely scared. “Grian?” False’s soft voice called from above him. “False? False? Where are you? I can’t see super well.” “It’s okay, I’m going to pick you up, is that okay?” Grian nodded. “Do you know when the blindness will wear off?” “Blindness?” She asked seemingly startled by that. Grian felt hands gently pluck him from the floor. “I don’t remember anything about that, have you tried wiping your eyes?” Grian took one of his sleeves and wiped across his face, blinking a few times. His vision came back and he looked up slowly. His body tensed when he saw how big False was. “I-I was shrunk wasn’t I?” He asked, voice quivering. “Y-yeah, you okay? Do you need some time to settle or-?” “No-no I’m okay, I’ll be alright.” “Okay, then I’m going to head up the stairs, would you rather me walk up? I don’t want to shake you up too much.” Grian nodded, keeping an eye on the stairs as she worked her way up, soon he could hear the chatter of the Hep above him, making him shiver some more. Soon they emerged and all the heads turned towards them. “Your turn Cub.” False said and the pharaoh made his way down the stairs taking the keys from False as he passed. All eyes were focused on the parrot, who swallowed nervously. “Hey, Grian.” Scar said, waving the two over. The smaller avian grabbed onto the eagle’s hand, glancing around very startled about the whole thing. The other hermits gave him friendly smiles but it didn’t help his nerves. False walked over placing her hands down on the table gently pushing Grian off, he just sat there taking it all in. His body shivered uncontrollably, Scar seemed to notice and wrapped his hands around the small avian startling him. “I- sorry I should have asked, I thought you were cold.” The Fae said slowly, pulling his hands away. He stopped when Grian grabbed onto one of the fingers hugging it. The larger blinked before gently curling his fingers around the parrot's back and wings. Grian just slid into it, his stress nearly vanishing at the soft touch. “O-oh oh my gosh.” Everyone turned to Tango who had his face in his hands watching Grian. “I want hand hugs, please.” He begged, his tail whipping back and forth excitedly. The little avian giggled slowly making his way over to Tango who lifted his head from his hands, his tail somehow wagging faster, as the small bird rubbed himself along his fingers, careful of his claws. “We should just keep him like this, it’s nice.” Keralis joked, most of the hermits laughed along with him. Grian rolled his eyes pushing himself away from Tango who whined. The parrot just looked around taking in the perspective of everyone around him and smiling. “This is so weird.” He commented, causing a snicker from the hermits around him. “No like seriously, how do you get anything done like this?” “Well, it’s nice if you ever need a hiding space,” B-dubs said shrugging, “though mobs are a pain when it comes to being that size.” “You’d be an expert on that wouldn’t you, B-dubs?” False teased. “Why yes- WAIT ARE YOU CALLING ME SHORT?!?!” The hermits around him burst into laughter. Grian chuckled but tried to hide it. He was shorter than b-bubs but honestly, no one ever said much about it. “HEY QUIT LAUGHING!!” The big-eyed man shouted, it made a couple laugh louder, but soon it quieted down with a couple coughs. The avian walked over to one of the edges checking out the distance between the table and the ground. The Hep leader panicked and placed hands under him causing the parrot to look at him annoyed. “I’m fine Scar. I won't fall.” “I- well mm I don’t know what you do?? You could get hurt.” “I have wings?” Grian said with a slightly annoyed tone. This made the vex stutter before sighing in defeat knowing the parrot was right. “Well shrinking him didn’t make him any less sarcastic.” False commented, the resistance leader just turned and stuck his tongue out at her, making the two sitting next to her laugh again. The eagle let out a playful growl, causing the smaller avian to fluff up in a challenging way. “OOOOOO.” Tango said understanding what Grian’s body language meant. “What are you going to do about that, False?” the demon teased. This caused the large avian to shoot up from her chair and lean over the table wings out wide like the parrot was doing, stopping when she sees the enemy leader flinch. She sat down after seeing Scar behind him looking a little angry. “Well anyways, let us begin.” Scar says, causing Grian to turn around and sit. “Well as you know, you and your group have been causing us a little bit of trouble.” Grian just smiles at that. “So I will offer you a way out-.” “What happens if I refuse?” Grian asked cutting the mayor off.
“I don’t think you want to know.” Scar says smiling, the shrunk leader felt a shiver run down his back. “I’m guessing it has to do something with me being small.” The vex looked a little shocked but nodded. “You are right about that, yes.” He responded slowly, only causing the avian to think. Not about giving up, oh no he wasn’t going along with that, he was just wondering what the Hep leader had in mind. “No. Sorry I don’t think I will.” Grian said confidently, causing the other hermits to look around at each other and then back at him. This also gave the avian second thoughts. Only when he looked back at Scar did he realize that the Hep leader ran his tongue across his lips with a big smile. The avian's feathers stuck up as he slowly started to push himself backwards. “C-can we talk it out?” “Well, the option of giving up is still on the table.” Scar responded. “I’m not doing that.” Grian hissed, his movements stalled by a hand pushed against his back. “Then I’m going to do what I had planned.” Scar said, mocking the parrot a little. "Come on i-it's not like I can do anything like this." Grian says trying his best not to stutter.
"That is true." Scar starts bringing up a hand to think. "But this is more fun." The fae said amused. He reached out, his body leaning on the table a little bit as the same hand, and grabbed the small avian. Grian flinched at the grip, eyes turning to the other hermits finally resting on X.
The admin blinked a couple of times, seemingly worried by the smaller's expression before turning his head away. Grian was about to call out to him but was lifted into the air and brought closer to the opposing leader's face. The avian pushed against the fingers holding him causing Scar to grab the smaller by the sweater and just hoist him higher. Grian’s feathers were ruffled by the slow calm breathing of the vex before him. “I’ll give you one last chance.” Scar said, smirking. The bird flinched at the words, not expecting them. This only made the smile on the Hep leader's face grow. The parrot’s face fell, and he swallowed nervously before answering weakly. “No.” Scar just let out a huff, opened his jaws, and let go. Grian attempted to fly but the second he got his wings out his chest hit a plush tongue. The parrot attempted to push himself up but the vex was quicker, closing his jaws gently around the bird’s wings and legs. The resistance leader froze, his breath speeding up. When he could feel Scar's jaws start to lift he pushed himself trying to get back out of the taller’s mouth. But the Hep leader realized as he tilted his head up making the bird slide down. He grabbed onto the fae's teeth, his legs dangling behind him. In doing so he pulled his wings out from underneath the teeth to avoid being cut. The tongue beneath him lapped at his hands trying to get him off. Grian held on as best as he could but his hands were getting sore. Instead, he stuck out his feet gripping the molars before letting the front tooth go. Scar pushed his tongue up in an attempt to unstick the avian’s legs, but Grian pushed off the bottom of Scar's mouth and shot his arms upwards pushing against the hard palate. The shocked voices of hermits sounded around him as they saw their leader’s jaws split open. Even False stared for a minute, surprised at the shrunken builder's strength. Scar was still pushing up at the resistance leader with the back of his tongue but changed tactics as soon as he realized it wasn't working. Instead, he curled the front part of his tongue backwards, shoving at the avian's chest, while also biting down a little harder. Grian let out a long pained groan, his body forced into a more crouching position, as he fought to keep the jaws open. The parrot lifted one leg in an attempt to move forwards, but the larger’s tongue shoved backwards hard pushing the avian off balance. He fell forwards begrudgingly wrapping his arms around the large wet muscle as he felt his toes trimming the edge of Scar’s throat. The large jaws shut around the smaller, who clung on for dear life. The fae curled his tongue down and around the resistance leader’s head trying to get him into his throat, while the avian fought for a place to put his feet on. The tongue sides pressed closer trying to form a taco around the bird, squishing his face, chest, and legs while also forcing the parrot down. Grain’s talons fought to grip on the walls making it seem like the bird was trying to run as his feet slipped down until finally, he tipped over one side slightly and a leg was pulled into the vex’s throat. The parrot attempted to pull it out but the muscle pulled it in. The smaller leader attempted to remove his leg by pushing up with his free one. Scar had other plans. The larger’s tongue pushed up, pulling some of the avian's leg out but the walls above and behind him pressed in and pulled down, sucking down the parrot. Grian barely kept his grip on the tongue, his hands pulling at the wet tongue effortlessly before the back of the tongue pressed against the bird's chest pinning him between it and the back wall. The tongue lifted, squishing itself against the resistance leader’s face before the swallow sounded, pulling him down. Light flooded the throat, causing Grian to look up. His face was right beneath the opening so he could barely see the outline of Scar’s teeth as his mouth hung slightly ajar taking in as much air as he could. A hand gently felt the avian from the outside as Scar laughed. “You’re really strong.” Scar complemented, gently massaging the bird trapped in his gullet. Grian panted a little before answering. “Thanks?” He replied, a little confused. The walls around him pushed back and forth as the larger one laughed. “Ready?” The Hep leader asked. “No, but whatever.” Grian responded, a chuckle was felt around him like before. The Hep leader’s head tilted and he swallowed once again. This time it was nicer, much more gentle, maybe this wouldn't be awful. ‘Wait, but Scar’s a fae, which means he doesn't have a-.’ The avian didn’t even finish that thought. He pushed his legs out hard, accidentally scratching the Hep leader's throat. A pained yell escaped Scar’s mouth, making the parrot's ears ring. A strong hand pushed against the bird's feet as the larger lurched forward. A bit of blood splashed against the resistance leader’s pants and sweater, while some made its way up and out. Loud coughing sounded from all around him, forcing the avian’s hands on his ears as he painfully moaned at the loud noise. The calls and cries of the Hep agents are muffled by the muscle between them. He could feel his feet start to slip again, he reached an arm out to stop himself but as soon as he tried the walls compressed in on him. The muscle squashed his body tight before a gulp forced him down. Grian attempted to struggle, but Scar kept up the swallows, making them stronger as well to keep the avian from attempting something like that again. The bird was halted when his feet slide through a slightly tighter spot into a more open area. All hell broke loose, Grain's wings pushed against the back wall while he pulled one leg back up and shoved at the far wall opening up the gullet. Scar was still sucking as much air as he could in so the parrot took his chance. He pulled his other leg up and positioned it above the other one before he slide his body up higher. He placed his lower leg above the other before he shimmied his way up again. This went on for what Grian assumed to be 5 minutes before the walls squashed the bird into a ball. A gulp sounded a little before he felt the compress and the push of the walls. Grian went to push his legs free but knew the best option was to stay curled up, it made swallowing less effective. After 4 swallows he could feel the opening of the stomach tickling his toes. But the wall was so tight and small Scar was struggling to get him farther. It went on for a while before Grian heard the sound of water from above him. A few small droplets were his only warning before the liquid surrounded him. His talons struggled to grasp the soaked surface forcing them down into the hole with all the water. The parrot fell, stopping as the opening to the stomach pressed around his midsection. Using his hands he attempted to pull himself out but the last gulp sounded, he could barely make out the gullet above him closing together before shoving him through the hole. The resistance leader tried and failed to stop the slide into the hip-high water. He panicked, throwing himself against the stomach walls, legs kicking and hands pushing out trying to escape the talkative organ. The walls only weakly pushed back seemingly unaffected by the avian's attempt at escaping. “SCAR!!” The parrot screamed out. “PLEASE, PLEASE…please.” He tried, his body falling limp onto the slimy walls. His hands gently pushed at the flesh as his body lay against the pulsing walls. There was no response, the silence broken by the mumbling of the stomach. Tears soon fell from the avian's face, the walls pressing against his cheeks as if comforting, his legs gave out forcing Grian to his knees. His shoulders and face remained above the pool as he cried. He was pushed over as Scar stood up most likely leaving. “S-scAr!” The resistance leader screamed, hurting his own throat. There was no response, Grian didn’t even think the taller could hear him. His fists loosened as he fell onto his side into the stomachs side, the walls gently massaging the bird as he lay there waiting for the burning feeling, tears still streamed down his face, but he made no sound. A hand gently pushed against the bird's side and at first, he had no reaction, but when it happened again he let out a growl and pushed back. The hand stopped pushing, and instead rubbed around in circles for a little. Grian let out whimpers, Scar felt satisfied, there was no doubt about it. The rubbing stopped after a while. Soon after the parrot could hear the muted sound of a firework launch and Scar’s body shifted, splashing the bird a little bit. He let out a groan, sputtering to make sure nothing got in his mouth. He gave an annoyed kick to the gut wall and heard a soft grunt sound from above meaning the Hep leader most likely felt it. A hand reached down, pressing against the bird as it did before. Grian gently punched before blinking a couple times. He could feel the adrenaline draining from his body. The parrot stood up to keep himself from falling asleep, and decided to walk around and feel the distance of his containment. As he stood up he was surprised to feel that he was still fine, besides how his legs were a little sore. The avian stretched an arm out, walking until he found what he assumed was the front of the belly. Almost all of the pool was tipped in that direction so Grian decided to turn around when he felt it so as to not get burned. He kept his arms out tracing the far wall, flinching when Scar let out a hiccup. The shrunken leader nearly screamed when the walls pushed back, he figured it was Scar again. “CAN YOU PLEASE STOP PUSHING ME?!?” Grian angrily shouted, and almost as soon as he did the hand disappeared. “Wait. S-SCAR CAN YOU HEAR ME!?!?” Grian asked, the hand returned and poked him. “I-, IS THAT A YES??!?” He was poked again giving him confirmation. Grian stood there confused, why wasn’t he answering if he could hear him? Was he going to let him die in here? Is he just keeping him here until he says he’d stop? Scar wasn’t dumb, well not as much as people might lead him on to believe. Surely he knew though-. “The fire resistance.” Grian said aloud. There was a gentle poke to his side. “You added the fire resistance so I don’t die, didn't you?” Once again the resistance leader got a tap placed on his side. Grian took a deep breath in and curled his talons into his foot before kicking the stomach walls as hard as possible. Scar let out a pained huff and pushed back. “What? You deserved it.” Grian said, looking up as if he was looking the taller in the eyes. The muscle around him shifted quickly, squishing the smaller. He tried to push back but the walls retreated back, not before soaking the avian. Grian attempted to shake himself dry, feeling a little sick from the experience. That didn’t last long as the world around him shifted. ‘Scar must be landing.’ he thought as he slipped backward, the stomach's contents heading in his direction. The bird shut his eyes, mouth, and nose as the liquid shoved him to the floor. The parrot shot up, wiping as much as he could off his face before taking a deep breath in. He looked down at the puddle he sat in a little disgusted. Well, at least he was safe, right? How long was the fire resistance though? Grian walked backwards pressing his back into the wall, just because he was safe, doesn't mean his mind could accept it. He still is and was in Scar’s stomach, the second the fire resistance wears off, it would most definitely be painful. ‘When would Scar let him out though?’ Grian panicked a little at that thought. ‘Scar wouldn't do that though right?’ The avian’s head swirled with questions, he barely knew the vex. Well, that was a lie, but he never really went against the Fae before. The closest to an enemy he’d been to the man is when he was a spectator. That was still much different then now, and Grian had no idea what the Hep leader could and would do. Honestly, by now he would have thought that the lack of air would have killed him. Somehow, he felt fine though, well, as fine as one could be in this situation. He places his hands beside his back, feeling the muscle rub itself against his hands as if checking them out. Wait, how long is the fire resistance? The resistance leader’s heart dropped, what if it wears off? He pressed his body more into the flesh. “S-scar?” He asked, his voice quivering, the wall behind him pressed into his back. After a little of the pressure not receding the avian began to panic. “SCAR?!?!?!?!?!” Once again there was no response and the avian slowly walked away from the walls, his feathers fluffing up as he walked in circles. “SCAR PLEASE ANSWER ME!!!” The bird yelled, cupping his hands. The bird felt around for a little before looking up trying to spot the throat, but he must be too far down so there was no light coming in the roof. This freaked the avian out even more. “SCAR!!” He tried one last time, still no response. Grian became desperate, tears falling from his eyes as he called out, his voice quivering, until he couldn’t speak. Loud sobs wracked his body and his mind in a loop on possible deaths. The bird's hands came up to his head, he let out a pained groan as he started to walk backwards. He nearly toppled over when he felt the wall touch his back. Grian turned around a bit too quickly, making the parrot fall onto his back splashing himself. Once in a semi-comfortable position he cried out again. “SCARR!” There was silence, no hand pressing, no words, nothing. The resistance leader curled in on himself sobbing once again. The ticking time of the fire resistance in his head, and he’d rather not burn to death. Eventually he stood up, stepping back before launching himself at the nearby wall. He heard a huff exit from above him, but besides that, nothing. It’s all the avian needed though. Grian Jumped feeling the roof of the stomach smiling a little as his fingers traced the opening to his current, uh well position. Once again he launched himself up making sure he had the position right. The parrot jumped again, flapping his wings while also clinging onto one of the nearby walls he pushed, fighting his way through the opening. He felt the pulse of the stomach walls speed up just as his head breached the tight spot. The sound of a weak swallow sounded from above him, and the avian only had a second to react before he was forced back in. Grian heaved looking up into the black even more panicked. Scar had gone back to ignoring the smaller so he decided to change tactics. The Resistance Leader’s back slammed into the close wall again, nearly making him fall. Catching himself, he once again backed up, before this time jumping on the slippery muscle. He met with a hand half way through the jump, flinging him to the other end of the Vex’s stomach. A loud grunt shook the walls around him. Grian felt the floor beneath him start to wiggle and his world shift before he slid. “NO NO NO NO!!!” The avian cried out in panic, but was muted as his face hit the front wall. The fae's hand pressing the other side in pain as he let out another groan before huffing and patting the small bird. The shrunken leader pushed back, getting his face out of the slime. The stomach’s pulse slowed down again and the hand started to rub in circles again. Soon after, the organ shifted, sending the avian down on his butt. Grian just took time to breathe, too tired to think about the outcomes much longer. He flopped onto the wall again leaning into the rubs more than he’d like to admit. When the hand stopped Grian shifted up but before he could say anything he heard a gulp from above him. He shot up running as fast as he could before a splash forced him down. Instinctively the avian's arms shot out in front of him stopping him from going under the puddle. Water rushed around his face but he stood himself up, the swallowing continuing. Did Scar swallow someone else? Oh god, oh no, is he going to do this to everyone? When Grian turned around though he saw a glow, a pink one, answering his question. No, it wasn’t another player, at least at the moment, it was a potion, Healing to be specific and the bird watched as it worked its magic. The liquid illuminated the flesh around him showing the dark green color that surrounded him, though he honestly wished it didn’t. The avian also watched as the pink surged into his body healing scratches he's had for weeks. Looking around him the glow fixated itself around the area the bird had been slamming himself into. Grian could also hear a relieved sigh from above him. It then hit him, so is this why Scar was ignoring me? False’s words rang through his head. ‘It doesn't seem like a Scar thing to do.’ His thoughts were cut short as the walls around him rumbled and pushed in. Grian struggled to his feet, but his back was pushed forwards by the wall behind him. He barely kept himself on his feet moving forwards just to feel the flick of another wall forcing him backwards. Is this how he died? The parrot shivered the walls soon closed around him forcing the puddle upwards. As the liquid reached his chest and the walls met his wings the bird froze. The light started to dim as the potion worked its magic flowing through the larger’s veins. The walls and puddle continued to shrink Grian’s breathing space, so when the liquid hit his lower chin he puffed out his cheeks. Scar’s stomach pressing into him nearly made him lose all his air. Next thing the avian closed his eyes before the muscles squished against his back forcing him up? The resistance leader's head was pushed through the gap he had come in, his mouth quivering, barely keeping shut. He was shoved up again, and could feel the liquid around him falling back down past his hairline. He still wiggled his arms up and covered his mouth before being pushed up again. Now the air was being squished out of his teeth, but his hands kept the juices from getting in. The next shove sent the grossness past his shoulders and he took a breath in,. coughing at the slightly dry air. He took another breath, before his cheeks were squished and he was moved up. His feet barely lingered at the lips of the stomach's entrance now. Grian opened his eyes a little and could see light, not strong, but much nicer than the dark prison he was forced in before. They were instinctively shut as the walls moved in again sending the avian up. A couple more hurks the bird opened his eyes again, looking over he saw a pink glow working its way into a small scratch. O-oh I did that didn’t I? Grian asked himself, reaching a hand and gently touching it. The throat walls around him wriggled uncomfortably, squishing the small leader’s chest a little. “S-sorry.” Grian gasped out quietly. What the bird assumed to be a finger pressed at his side. “Sorry for scratching you Scar.” “It’s okay.” The vex answered the walls shaking around the avian as he did such. “You okay?” the larger asked after a minute of silence. “I got so panicked when you started throwing yourself at me, I- has- did the potion wear off?” While talking the walls squashed the avain in them even more. Grian blinked for a couple seconds, before realizing what the taller meant. “I- I don’t think so? I’d rather not find out though.” The fae answered with a hum. “Are you ready to continue then?” “What?” “Out?” “OH, uh, y-yeah.” Not even a second after Grian answered the walls pushed him up. Scar’s breathing became very loud as he fought for air with the avian sharing the same tube. The vex didn’t waste a second before mustering up a strong push, shooting the top half of the parrot onto his tongue. Grian let out a gasp deeply breathing in as much air as he could, and Scar stopped to do the same. When they’d recovered enough, the smaller tucked his claws in and pulled his legs out of the Vex’s gullet. A small hurk sounded as the parrot’s tail slid out the largers throat. The resistance leader was too exhausted to move as the tongue beneath him pushed him out of the larger mouth and into the Fae's hand. Grian was drenched, his feathers thoroughly soaked. The smaller was angry, after being placed on a wooden table, he turned to face Scar. His anger drained as soon as he did. The vex looked beaten and sad, as if Grian had just kicked Jellie out the window in front of him. The avian turned his head away, forgetting his rage. Next to him sat milk, a small play tea cup full. “Is this for me?” the small leader asked, fighting the instinct to flinch as the drool drained from the other's mouth. “Y-yeah.” Scar said quietly, a hand rubbing his upper throat, presumably where the bird scratched him. Grian didn’t answer back and just drank his vision blurring as he grew back to normal size. He sat on the table till his head cleared and slid off slime still covering his body making him shiver in disgust. “Do you want to use my shower?” Scar asked his voice light, his throat most definitely still sore. Grian didn’t even turn around shaking his head. “Goodbye Scar.” The bird's tone hinted at the once existing anger before his wings shot out and he pushed off the landing, gliding away.
#Storm stories#g/t#mcyt g/t#v/ore#v.ore#soft vore#tw vore#extreme cuddles#mcyt vore#safe vore#giant scar#tiny Grian#hermitnoms#hermitcraft vore#hard vore mention
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For Asa, Michael (OG or RZ), Jason, and Eddie Gluskin (if you could): Cuddling (Do they cuddle? How and when?), Effort (How much effort do they put into a relationship?), Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)
This was a lot at once, anon xD nice to do something with Eddie, though <3
Cuddling
Asa – If you catch him feeling domestic, he’ll snuggle with you on the couch; he’s also content to cuddle in bed, but otherwise don’t expect much of it.
Michael – Cuddling? No, never. Possessive holding? Sure - mostly while he sleeps, but also sometimes at random points during the day, if he feels like he wants attention.
Jason – You want to cuddle with him? He’s honored. He’s delighted. Once you start, he’s never going to want to stop holding you.
Eddie – Go ahead, ask him to snuggle. He’ll go melty immediately, and happily drop what he’s doing to hold you. He might even decide never to let you go.
Effort
Asa – Decent amount. He won’t go out of his way, necessarily, but he is actually pretty considerate. Don’t expect any grand gestures, though.
Michael – Next to none. He will sort of try to please you, in his own way, but he’s kind of apathetic generally, and definitely doesn’t have any idea what a relationship is supposed to be like.
Jason – A lot! He wants to make you happy more than anything. He will go to any lengths to make you smile. Sweet gestures abound.
Eddie – Too much. He really overdoes it, and then gets upset when you ask him to tone it down. You know what they say, darling – happy wife, happy life! I’m just doing my best here, he pouts.
Volume
Asa – Mostly pretty quiet; he’s not even a noisy breather usually. He does growl a bit, and occasionally you might be able to pull a groan out of him.
Michael – LOUD BREATHER. Harsh panting right in your ear. Also growls and grunts a decent amount, but otherwise he’s quiet.
Jason – Our lake BF is mute (that’s where we stand on that, right?), so you won’t get any vocalizations, but you can easily get him to gasp, sigh, pant, and shudder. 😊
Eddie – So vocal. So loud and shameless. He’ll talk dirty and purr compliments and babble incoherently; he’ll huff, pant, grunt, gasp, sigh, and growl; he’ll moan and groan, whimper and whine. All of it.
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The Marriage of Fear (Josh Washington x Reader)
Description: The circumstances of your meeting are preposterous and sound like absolute lies. The trail of deceit and murder that follows you after is even more so.
Notes: woah, me writing a story that could possibly becoming a series that’s not about ahkmenrah? fucking unheard of Word Count: 3.5k
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Rain batters down on you, soaking through your jacket and to your skin. The scrapes and tears on your knuckles burn with the cold, bundled into a tight fist as you ran, looking over your shoulder every time you turn. With the puddles scattered across the pier wood, you fall into a slip that scrapes the skin off your knee. You hiss as you jump back to your feet, paying the biting sting no mind as you continue onwards, blinking away the rain that fall upon your eyes.
Your heart pounds as you catch sight of an unlocked stall. Shouts and the light of a flashlight still follow you––instinctively you bolt towards the red and white stall, vaulting over the counter and slipping right underneath it.
There's someone beside you.
Instantly the pocket knife hidden in your glove ends up in your hand, fingers expertly flicking it open till you hold the blade against a warm neck gasping in breath. He looks in the same state as you––tired, filthy, wet, and completely out of breath. The difference is the type of fear in your eyes. Yours is of a known fear; you've done this before, run from cops and hidden yourself away. His eyes display a new fear––a fear of death.
"Don't say anything," you hiss out, and he's shellshocked enough to follow your command.
Footsteps sound loud on the pier, the vibrations reaching you and tightening your fingers into your palm. You bite into your cheek, eyes never leaving the stranger's as the flashlight cast its' gaze elsewhere.
"(Y/N)," you whisper, holding out your other hand for him to shake, while still keeping one hand holding your knife against him. You won't move it––just need him to do what you say without question for a single, hot second.
"... Josh," he breathes out, taking your hand and shaking with a weak grip. "Did he try to kill you too?"
Your brain opts out for a second to try and decipher what it is he's saying. Cops are bastards but generally they don't immediately try to kill you.
"What?"
"The – the guy with the axe. You didn't..? The hell are you hiding from?"
"The cop, obviously," you say, but he just squints his eyes in confusion.
The both of you stare at each other for a moment––fortunately you both stay quiet, and if there are any footsteps around you, they're muted by the downpour.
"Okay, just to clarify, this isn't a cop with an ax?"
"No," you say.
"Okay," he says with a deep, shaky breath, breaking eye contact with you to stare at the ground. "I need – we both need to get the fuck out of here."
"Absolutely agree, questions later," you say immediately. He seems a decent enough person––a little scared, but you're happy to form a temporary alliance to get out of here. Besides, if what he says is true, you can't just leave him here.
It takes a second since both you and the floor are wet, but you manage to move onto your knees, allowing you to just barely peek your head over the counter. Your grip on your pocket knife loosens as you find nothing. Just the rain pounding and totally obstructing your field of view.
"Looks okay," you mumble to him, moving back beneath the counter.
"Do you know which way's the shore?"
"Yeah.. jus' came from there. This way," you say.
You motion him forward and he follows, adopting your posture of staying low to the ground. It's far easier to stay hidden in the rain––the fog alone eradicates your shadow, and the rain gives you silent footsteps if you sneak. As you move you look every which way, constantly scanning your surroundings for any sign of movement. Waves lap at the support beams of the pier, splashing sea water up to your feet, and instantly you're reminded this is a storm. Of course the waves are going to be massive. That's why the pier was locked off.
Tremors course through the wood beneath you, rocking your balance as Josh, still behind you, whimpers and slips. You take his hand and pull him to his feet.
"C'mon," you mutter, pushing him in front of you.
He leads the way now that you've pointed him in the right direction––that way you, the one with the knife, can make sure he's safe. Your breath comes out in pants as you try to keep up with his faster pace. Anxiousness fuels him, evident in his shaking fingers and wide, panicked eyes.
The black gates are visible now, and soon you're standing in front of them, pushing him up over the side before climbing it yourself. You land beside him with a huff, looking back for any sight of either of your aggressors.
"Let's get the hell out of here," he says to you, sure to keep his voice quiet. You nod before leading the way.
What comes first are lights––lights of the city, shining even in the fog so thick you can feel condensation on your tongue. Every one of your pants draws water into your mouth. Your shoes slosh with every step, but the sound of massive waves crashing beneath you drowns out everything. You've managed to keep these things to your advantage––a murderer would give you no such nicety.
Despite mostly being in the clear, both of you are rather safe than sorry in this situation. Both of you keep low to the ground, look over your shoulders every other second, and constantly check to make sure the other is still there. Your heart is pounding against your chest and his nerves are screaming.
The sound of a running chainsaw stops you dead in your tracks. Neither of you can see anyone, but your reaction is instant. He runs to you, cowers next to you with his hands wrapped around yours, but you can't really say anything––you're doing the exact same thing. No one is here but the grinding continues, louder and louder, and you're out in the open. This early on in the pier there's no buildings in which to hide––all that's left is to hope it's not coming from the direction of land.
It's coming from the land.
He steps out of the mist, movements laced with malice and cold eyes trained on you. The mask he wears is like someone duct-taped skin to his face––you're not sure this is even human. His steps are heavy, each one echoing even in the storm.
You look at the chainsaw. You look at Josh. You look at the ocean and a slab of thin wood from the construction site. All of these things––you look at them, and you make a calculated guess.
Grabbing his hand in yours you force him away, out of his petrification and towards the construction site.
"Take off your jacket!" You yell over the roaring growl of the chainsaw growing nearer. The man's footsteps pound behind you, marking every step closer to you.
Josh does as he's told and you copy him. Your beautiful, vintage leather jacket adorned in paint and patches, and you throw it into the building frame. As you run past the materials pile you grab a long plank of wood, diving headfirst over the edge of the pier.
"Are you fucking insane?!" You hear from above you. Before you can answer you crash against the waves, slave to their pull and the never-ceasing torment.
"CHAINSAW!!" You yell up, the only justification you can give.
Two seconds later a shadow is growing, ending in Josh splashing in right beside you. When he emerges from the deeper water he gasps for breath, wide eyes impossibly stressed, and teeth already chattering.
"Don't let go of this plank," you tell him, feeling the cold biting you through your ripped jeans and torn shirt.
Surfing isn't something you're particularly accustomed to nor fond of, but you know how it works, and you've done it before. Sometimes the waves are tall, and it looks impossible to get back to shore with the waves breaking so close to it. Fortunately, you learned how to surf at Waimea beach, home to some of the most relentless and merciless waves around.
You have to guide him, tell him when he needs to hold his breath, when you can go above a wave and when you have to dive under. Together you both kick the short way back to the shore, a distance you believed to be short enough to be most likely non-lethal. That was the only reason you'd done this, and soon you're proved right––the shore is right there, walls of water keeping you from it.
"We're gonna get tossed around a lot," you try to get out through the saltwater in your mouth, "and if you go under, protect your head and let the waves wash you ashore. Got it?"
"What?!"
"Perfect!"
You push forward and drag him with, forcing his head underwater every time a massive wave comes up behind you. The sight of it looming above you is terrifying––a force of nature you will never be able to contend with. The current does its' job well, sucking you under and keeping you there for what feels like minutes at a time. Pressure grows in your head till your ears bleed, tons worth of water force rushing your body through the crashing waves. When you both breach the surface, you're right beside the shore, and as exhaustion calls your muscles to stop the both of you are thrown onto the rocky earth.
This place used to be sandy. Now it's littered with large, round stones. All of them are pulled up from the deep ocean by these waves, battered onto a soft shore till it's nothing but rock for miles.
God, your body aches––fighting waves nonstop has exhausted you after a long run from that policeman, and being smashed up against hard rocks has done your body no favors. The cold alone has worn against your joints, making every movement sting and throb. Your fingers no longer belong to you.
Before waves can claim you again, you lug yourself and Josh up the shore, stopping only when sand surrounds you. Then you collapse, breaths leaving you in rapid, deep pants. It takes a bit of work for you to be able to lift your head, but when you do you turn to Josh. He's in a similar state––his lips are blue with the cold, drenched hair plastered to his face just as sand sticks to his wet cheek. What matters is that he's still breathing, up and down in great, heaving breaths.
"Not over yet," you say, half to yourself and half to him.
With great effort you bring yourself to your feet, offering Josh a hand. He takes it.
"How far's your place from here?" You ask softly, looking up to the seemingly quiet pier. If all's gone well, the cop has discovered the man with the chainsaw. Whether or not the cop is alive doesn't really matter––what matters is that he's bought you time to get the hell out of here.
"Up in the mountains," he says, gesturing to the mountains in the distance that tower over the city.
"Fuck. Mine's in the city but it's, like, five miles from here. No way we're making that." You're mumbling now, staring at the ground as you walk, trying to understand the way it swirls and spots from nothing to something.
"I've got.. two dollars for bus," he offers.
"I got jack."
"Who's jack?"
"... jack shit," you say under your breath. He belts out a loud, high pitched laugh that has you chuckling.
You simultaneously remember you should be staying quiet. Both of you fall silent, beginning to spare glances behind you to the pier stairs. So far you can't see anything. Your arm falls when Josh finally stands on his own, apparently over his sickness.
"Good?" You ask.
"Yeah."
The bus station isn't all that nearby, but when you arrive the bus is already there. Since you can't afford tickets, the only option left is to hitch a ride on the back, and pray neither of you fall off. This is something you've done often when in a pinch, but it's obvious Josh has never done this before. He's a bit shaky as he holds on, staring at the passing ground too intently for it to not be the first time. It doesn't help that the bus is wet with rainwater; it's not raining, or at least not as hard anymore, but both of you are still soaked to the bone.
Brakes screech to a halt in front of a red light. Here is your home––a house deep in the suburbs, with a garden crammed with statues of gnomes. Like most people you take home, he stops to stare at some of the larger statues, before quickly following you inside.
"Jesus fucking Christ," you breathe out when you finally lock the door behind you. All the tension in you breaks. It's not ensured safety, but it's a hell of a lot better than being out in the dark without anything to light the way.
"Holy shit, I am so fucking glad I found you," he says, clearly in the same state of elated relief. "Never would'a made it with two of those fuckers."
"There was two of them?"
"Oh yeah," he says with an ardent nod. "Chainsaw dude looked totally different from axe man."
"God... what time is it?" You mumble, mostly to yourself as you spin on your spot, searching for any clocks. Instinctively you stop your spinning once your eyes are on the microwave.
3.42 AM.
"Do you need to get home tonight?" You ask, turning back to Josh.
"Nah. Even if I did I... shit, I just don't wanna go back out there," he says, and you fully understand.
"Don't have to. You can stay the night, my mom's not home but, uh – she'll be cool with it," you say, pulling at your soaked shirt. It looks like you just stepped out of a pool fully clothed.
Part of the see-through fabric sticks to your skin, creating uncomfortable creases of moisture along your waist and arms. Shivering from the sensation you pull your shirt off, tossing it in the direction of your room down the hall, before promptly sending your pants in the same direction. Your underwear is just as wet, but you've still got some sense of preservation.
With wet feet you pad into the kitchen, an unpleasant slapping noise following your every step. It makes you laugh, just a little––giggling while naked in front of a man you barely even know.
"Do you, um... have some clothes I could borrow?" He asks, looking jealous of your no-wet-clothing body.
"Yeah, um – jus' choose anything from my room. First door on the left," you say, pointing him down the hallway. He leaves with a quick thank you, and you're left alone in your kitchen, wondering if there's anything to eat.
While you contemplate that, you grab two glasses of water, setting one on the counter and downing the other one in one, prolonged gulp. You gasp for breath as you slam the glass down, taking only a moment to breathe before going in for a refill. Josh comes out when you're about halfway through your third glass. Your cups are pretty small and you're still shooting them down.
His grey, long-sleeved shirt has been replaced with one of your bigger black hoodies––one with an Against Me! symbol printed on the back. Blue jeans have been exchanged for ripped sweatpants that once belonged to your mom, and honestly, it suits him quite a lot better than it does you.
Dark hair that was once plastered to his forehead is now spiky, his weak attempts at drying it doing a fine job of messing up the already-mussed curls. It's now, in the bright, flickering lights of your kitchen that you note the features of his face––the full brow and gentle lips, tanned skin dotted by tiny freckles that highlight the dark of his eyes. It's as though a shadow follows him, darkening his eyelids to make way for the cold grey of his actual eyes. He sniffs and you note his nose is a little red. Probably from the cold.
"Got you some water but now that I'm thinking about it, you might be wanting somethin' else," you say with a chuckle, pushing the glass towards him anyways. He laughs softly as he takes a seat at the counter, reaching for the cup and taking a small sip.
"What've you got?"
"Coffee, hot chocolate, tea... um, beer," you say, grinning when he looses a chuckle.
"Hot chocolate."
"Perfect."
While two cups of milk and water sit spinning in the microwave, you race back to your room to get dressed. Most of your clothes are strewn about the floor, but very separated from the wet pile of clothes in the corner that has to belong to Josh. There's about a minute on the microwave––gives you little time to consider fashion, so you pull on a nearby kilt and a massive Dead Kennedys shirt. You have a fancier kilt elsewhere, gifted to you by an uncle, but the red and black stripes is the nearest one.
He laughs when he spots you. Eyes bulge and gawk as he bursts out in giggles, apparently finding much amusement in your dress. You grin, happy to be humorous, and make a funny crab-like walk towards him.
"Do you like my fashion sense?" You ask, rushing over to the microwave when it beeps loudly.
"Fuckin' amazing," he chuckles lowly, shaking his head.
Once you're done mixing in the hot chocolate powder, you set one of the cups in front of him, taking a seat on the counter with your own mug in hand. Already the both of you have found intense comfort in each other––the bonding powers of shared fear are stronger than one would imagine.
"What were you doing out there?" You ask, tilting your head slightly when he looks up to meet your eye.
"What, you mean getting chased by a lunatic?"
"Yeah, that whole thing. We said we'd talk about this later and it's later, and I'm honestly very curious," you say. It's definitely not a lie––you've been thinking about this ever since you were too exhausted to speak, which was on the walk to the bus stop.
"I was, um, out with some friends, jus' getting drunk and all that," he says, looking down as he tries to recall the details. "Got separated from them at the bar when they left without me. Tried to find my phone, couldn't find it, and uh––you know that churro cart they have on the pier?"
"Oh, yeah. Really good."
"So good. I got hungry and tried to go there, but this guy started following me. When I got to the pier I looked and he had an axe, and I just... ran. He was literally at the entrance to the pier, so I couldn't go that way, and um – then I found you," he says.
"Sounds unpleasant," you say softly, to which he mutters a quiet agreement.
"What about you?" He asks, sipping through hot steam. "What was happening with that whole cop thing?"
"God. A minor offense. I was up on the church roof, the one in downtown. Must've been too loud or somethin' cause next thing I know, this dude is yelling at me from the sidewalk. I pull the fuck outta there cause I don't need another thing on my record, and uh, yeah. Ran to the pier and found you," you say, nudging his shoulder with your fist.
"Glad you found me," he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.
"So am I. I don't think that's the first time those two have done something like this. They seemed pretty experienced," you say.
"There haven't been any reported murders, though," he mentions, to which you nod.
"Yeah, but people go missing. It's not as hard as you think to hide a dead body."
"And you know this how? From experience?"
"No," you laugh, "television."
"Ohhh," he nods with a smile. "Makes sense."
You take the last sips of your hot chocolate with mild disappointment that it's gone so soon. Once finished you set the mug on the counter, hopping down and making your way back around the counter. Josh finishes shortly after and you take his mug, cleaning them up in the sink as he wanders, looking around your living room.
"Do you think we should tell the police?" He asks, turning back around to face you when the water shuts off. You reach for the towel, drying your hands as you meet his gaze.
"You can," you say, "but I am staying as far away as I can from those fuckers."
"I get that. Maybe I should do it anonymously," he says thoughtfully.
"You can do what you want. I'm going to get high and try to forget about everything that happened tonight," you say, making your way back to your room.
"May I join you?" He asks in a deep, rolling British accent that sounds too silly to be genuine.
"'Course, man," you say, and he runs on over to you, a bright smile on his face.
"Can't wait to forget absolutely everything."
#josh washington x reader#josh washington#until dawn#rami malek#rami malek character#josh washington x male reader#josh washington x female reader
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two, down!! (index/description)
☜ one, strike!!
☞ three, an all-out fight club!!
It was the middle of February. The month of perpetual grey and rain. It tapped against the small cubic window of your bedroom as you laid in bed reading the text.
Erik: "Meeting, you and me. Main building. Now! Wear something without any blood on it. 😘"
The phone falls out of your hands and smacks you in the middle of the nose.
"Ow."
***
You already see Erik in the distance. A bright red shirt flowing around him like a drape in the frequent bursts of wind. Across the river, he looks like a will-o'-the-wisp and you can't help but be increasingly apprehensive about what has he planned.
You get off the bus in the middle of the bridge, stop and glare at the circular high rise. Legally known as Bighit - an independent advisory firm for various claims, to the large variety of your clientele it was BH - vigilante made business. Briefly put a vast clockface with thousands of cogs spinning both on the own and tandem with others. It looked and sounded and you knew it to be an imposing organization. Nevertheless, you entertained the idea of how would this company would fall and could it be possible to burn down all the spider webs it has formed in the now 22 years of its existence.
"Good morning!" Erik beams widely, trembling in the wind. His pirate shirt not doing anything to help the situation. In his hands, there is a thick brown folder. The sight of it begins a gnawing motion in the stomach.
"What are you doing?" you ask suspiciously, studying his face for any giveaway. Which of course there were a lot. He was still young both in the field and age. The little runt was mostly brazen, often impolite and careless. But now, now, he was nervous. Maybe it wasn't even the weather that had him shaking like a leaf.
"Oh, I'm taking my enrollment review today. In 20 minutes to be precise."
What was gnawing had turned into a stone that travelled up, ignoring the gravity, and settled deep in your chest pressing down and creating a hole. A horrible numb feeling that you'd hoped you wouldn't feel again. And again. And again. And now once more.
"Oh."
You take a moment to force your voice to remain unfazed but even to your own ears, it sounds too hoarse and slow.
"Don't you need my referral?"
"I asked Olga." Yes. Olga. That's why you didn't know.
"So let's go up?" if Erik had a tail it would wag at lighting speed. He is not just nervous but positively jittery. You had seen him this happy...never. Yeah, this was the first time. When he would officially enrol in another department, at best giving you a clap on the back for all the trouble caused and moved on. In a week he would give you a distant wave, in a month maybe a nod if you passed by in a hallway, in half a year it'll be like you never even existed.
You nod quietly entering the glass doors. BH was a massive, subtly hidden maze, much like the overall organization. By the schematics and the layout, no one would give a second thought that it would be more than just an ordinary office firm. But of course, what they didn't know and what was a closely guarded secret were the literal hundreds of small alcoves and passes hidden within the walls. Meant for in case of a sudden police raid. Not to mention the literal escape tunnel that stretched underneath the river you just passed. No one knew exactly how it looked like or how it was even built. Some said it was an abandoned underground transit system from WW2, others said that it was built in the early years of the BH establishment having cost literal billions. But no one knew the truth. Even Namjoon had shrugged when you asked him, long ago already.
In silence, you both take the escalator upwards. To the 25th floor, a.k.a. the 7th department - the literal heads of the system. The building usually had hundreds of people running from one place to another but even so, this was a large commotion for an event this small.
In the doorways there stands a tall woman and you nearly bite your tongue off at the sight of her ramrod back.
"Petsch." You growl and Erik beside you throws a surprised glance.
She turns around almost immediately. As if hearing you or just sensing your presence like the ill-bred Cerberus that she was.
"Hello, .̴̭͙̪̻̈́.̸̮̟̳̐͆͘͠.̶͚̉͛.̸̺̞̉͐̈́̐͋.̶̟̻̺̽͛̒̚.̷̗̱̃.̶̮͚̼̾͜͜.̷͉̋̈́̐̔͝.̵͖͛̓͆.̷̼̲̥̙͆̊̊͝͝.̸̢͕̔.̸̜̜̲͈̅͜͠.̵̱̤̆̑͘.̸͖̰̣͈̾̊̈́́́ " Her glee is almost maniacal as she power walks towards your little group.
"Deputy Petsch. How wonderful to grace our Earthly realm with your presence. I did wonder why it looked like the skies were weeping."
"It's Chief of Staff now," she corrects getting even closer, "to no one's surprise I've been promoted while you've been demoted."
"Yes, I can see the stress of the new position. Or is that just your face?"
In the corner of your eye, you can see Erik standing completely still, his head darting from one speaker to another bemused.
"As the Chief of Staff, I'm here to evaluate your...pet." Erik gives a silent wave and Rosaline narrows her eyes, most likely not knowing what to make of him.
"What happened to Michael?" Petsch scoffs at your question.
"He retired to live with his family so much so for living a dignified life." You straighten stubbornly at the newly given information. Erik's hands are still lightly trembling, along with the file in his hand.
"Interesting. I will attempt corporation." You push out through gritted teeth but immediately get one of Rosaline's bony vulture fingers thrust in your face.
"Don't even try to sweet talk me!"
In return, you snap your fingers near her outstretched hand. A gesture you would normally never do but it was Rosaline. Anything but an abnormal reaction could ward off this lietonis off your neck. (a/n)
"I tried to be peaceful. Well then. Let's. Begin." She huffs and puffs and then stalks over to the lecture hall, her tight blonde ponytail swinging like the world's most obnoxious metronome.
Erik stands silently for a few short moments before -
"The fuck was that about?" You hide your face in the palm of your hand. If Rosaline was here for the panel review then this little fucker had no idea what was coming.
"Rosaline and I have what you would call an uncivil work relationship."
"A rivalry?"
"No, a rivalry with another woman would be inherently attractive. Rosaline just...sucks the lifeforce out of me like a goddamn Dementor." Erik chuckles at the sight of your displeasure but a quiet bell coming from within the lecture hall stills him again.
"Please all attendees take your seat! We're about to start soon!" A faceless voice calls over the crowd and the unpleasant feeling that Petsch managed to eradicate away for a moment returns worse than ever. Your own hands begin to mutely tremble. Erik looks close to passing out.
"You're going to be fine." You say gently bumping into him, "you're my trainee after all."
***
Oh, he's going to be not fine at all.
For some reason, the hall is literally stuffed with attendees.
The enrollment panel reviews despite the name, yes, was actually an open doors event. Much like an undergrad presenting a thesis it had a panel of judges and a crowd of listeners. Usually, it was limited to other potential interviewees who wanted to get a sneak peek in the twisted action to come but the number of people was 5 if not 10 times more audience than what you've ever been in.
Truth be told you never knew how friendly Erik was with other departments but even if he was a magnet surely this crowd was too massive.
With a rapidly rising anxiety, you start to pick out familiar faces. Some of them your trainees and previous teammates, some who gave you a stink eye, and then some with whom you didn't want to interact.
On the third row there sits Jungkook and sweet Jesus what were they feeding him in the footsoldier department. He was now almost twice as large as he had been when you last saw him. One tap of those arms and you'd be in an automatic knockout. Behind him sits Jimin, also looking confused as to why he's here. Which is somehow even more offputting considering he's the one who decided to be here. In the back rows, there is Jin, face hidden in his hands, large sunglasses pushed atop of his head. The only reason why you recognize him at all is that those very sunglasses had "JIN" in large letters above the rim. Naturally.
At this point, your insides are just a gaping screaming void of pure social terror as you start to suspect they were all here. While scanning the crowd you notice an orange fleck that is surrounded by a gaggle of students who eagerly listen to every falling word. That would be Hope. And far closer to the seat that you wanted to take sits V. For reasons unknown he was perched in the first row, fiddling with the strap of the camera. The last thing you want is to meet that vitriolic, judgmental stare of his but it would be unfair to Eric to sit anywhere else. The supervisor, even the one who had no idea that the review was taking place and did not actually write the referral, always sat in the front. The little scamp should have at least that.
You sit down stiffly with your hands bunched up in fists and shoulders tightened to the point where it was almost painful. V pretends he doesn't recognize you. You turn around once again to look over the crowd, almost meeting Jungkook's gaze but he suddenly finds his shoes to be the most captivating image in the world. Jin nearly takes off his jaw while ducking below the chair line and Hope is still surrounded by his devoted students. Jimin is persistent in looking disoriented.
In the faraway upper back, behind the fifteen rows of cascading seats, there is a second door. Slightly ajar and leading to complete darkness but you can swear there is a hand holding the doors open. For a moment you wonder who would hide away in a dark side room only to silently observe everyone but then you know exactly who. Yoongi. You whip around so fast the chair makes a loud squeak. In the peripheral vision, you make out a movement from V but he turns back to the camera without a second thought.
No, Erik was in deep trouble. The panel of judges or should you say evaluators was much too high standing for the first time enrolment. Rosaline Petsch's choice of coming here could be attributed to her being a harpy. Sure. Namjoon, although a CEO was known to just arrive at small scale events, to fully support his staff and also fully give them untreatable heart conditions. But the following had no place being here: Rhys Bethany, the key speaker of yesterday's anniversary and the head of Internal Affairs. Rahul Singh, chief of Communications. Tamira Johnson, head of International Affairs. Shen Qiongzi, head of Large Operations management. And two others whom you didn't even recognize. These were some of the biggest names of the entire organization and also the most bewildering. Strictly speaking, none of them had any input on the hiring or the enrolment process. The matters far, far below their usual duties.
Why were they here? Had Namjoon invited them? Why would he? Because he was still angry at you and was punishing Erik for it? He wouldn't do that but would he? Were you being narcissistic for thinking it had anything to do with you??
Whatever the answer was, hearing the last bell ring and seeing Erik, suddenly look very small and scared climbing up on the stage without even the protection of his notes folder... You felt a lot like seeing a crowd of shrikes encircle one mouse. You squeeze the handles of your chair, rocking back and forth with anxiety.
"As part of your legal right, what would be Your prefered choice of name for the course of this review?" You hear Ms Johnson speak. Erik picks up the microphone to speak...
....not a sound comes out of his mouth. You cringe.
"My real one, ma'am," he finally manages to croak after a moment of silence that was perhaps too long to be unnoticeable.
"Thank you. We will begin the first part of the enrolment request review for Erik Genyer."
You blanch at her words. The first part... meaning that what is about to happen was an actual full, point by point review and not the shortened version that came into popularity in recent years. The review would last three hours and it was three hours of ruthless questioning.
You grip the handles even tighter.
***
Erik fares surprisingly well. After the initial shock, he starts to melt into well-rounded answers. After the five minute pause in between the two parts, he even starts to subtly lean into humouring the panel, offering sarcastic, unhelpful comments. Truly one you could call your own.
Your heart is in continuing thunder as it beats harder with each given situation and particularly hard question. At this point, you have tossed and turned and quietly whined at every to the degree that it is noticeable to everyone in the room. And that in itself pushes to a worrying realization that Erik had somehow managed to slither his unholy way into your heart and become not just a trainee under your care but a friend. Like a proper friend. A friend that would leave you in literally the span of 10 minutes.
Namjoon who was eerily silent for most of the hearing, providing only two softball questions, had noticed your flighty twitching and leaned back to glance at you. You look at the ground knowing that you were perhaps not in the right mindset to put on a facade of your somewhat trademarked blasé attitude.
For God's sakes, you were not even this nervous in your own review but then again you had resigned yourself to the bottom of the barrel. Erik was not.
Finally, he passes the third part of the review. He had taken a few hits, all of which delivered by Petsch, but overall came out with impressive results. Two things were left to unfold. The panel would ask him what was his preferred choice of the department and then either allow it or politely indicate his skills would be more useful in another department and refer him there.
"Mr Genyer do you have a specific department choice?" Mr Singh asks politely. He'd been a tough but fair reviewer nevertheless it was always Namjoon who asked this question. Why was he so quiet? What was the point of showing up if he was going to be silent?
"I have." Erik answers and you see a smile form in his mouth. It was his bastard smile. Eerily similar to the picture of the cat surrounded by knives. You've seen that expression many times, mostly when he was breaths away from pissing off a lot of people.
"And what would that be, sir?"
"The cleaner department."
....
....
....
Not a single person breathes. Not a sound is made. The panel has gone speechless. You think your heart has stopped entirely.
"I'm sorry, do you mind repeating that?"
Erik couldn't look smugger as everyone stared at him.
"I'd like to work in the cleaner department."
The second time he says it causes an uproar. People actually stand up in the back. You hear a crunch to your side. Tae dropped his camera on the ground. There's so much noise you can't even decipher what is being said. Vaguely you maybe hear Jin's loud ass "what?" but that also could be literally anyone else.
The panel has to turn around and repeatedly shush the crowd. It is not an easy task. You just stare at Erik, mouth dropped open, eyes bugging out and he gives a self-satisfied smirk.
"I promise tomorrow you’ll have reparations."
These were the reparations. As the crowd finally eases back you let out a breath, lungs screaming for oxygen. Hadn't even noticed the lack of breathing process.
"Why would you choose a cleaner department?" It is finally Namjoon's turn to speak but he too sounds astounded all the way to outer space.
"It is a lowly position." So low in fact, they were not in the count of departments. Hence the status of 0 out of 7. You're hit with another realization. "Aspiring 0". The one Erik had placed in his Instagram bio. It was not zero aspirations that you thought he meant, no he was aspiring to be 0. And suddenly it makes sense. Him being such a little pain in the ass, always sneaking off, taking cases well above his position, taking yesterday's case in fact. All to rank up and enter the review faster. You don't even know how to function with this information.
"Why would you choose the cleaner department?" There was only one person who had chosen the cleaner department. A year ago. You. But even back then the choice was between quitting altogether or becoming part of the 0.
"The cleaner department is as hard-working and as essential as any other position in the organization." He shrugs.
"Yes, but why choose it?" Ms Shen pursues. You can hear it in her voice that she simply cannot comprehend why would anyone choose to work there. Honestly neither can you.
"I like it there. The cleaner department has the friendliest, most genuine and accepting people I've met among all departments. Also, I've had the most supportive, protective mentor anyone could wish for. I've never been more inspired to both be myself and improve forward as I have under their tutelage and I hope that by working in the cleaner department I can repay them for the faith they had and hopefully continue to have in me."
His request is approved and after a quiet "review ended" Erik is officially given the position of the evidence removal department.
***
The crowd is restless. There's not a soul that's not debating outside the room. Everyone huddled up together. What Erik did today would go down in the history of the company. Right next to your name.
Briefly, you encounter Petsch who throws something snide in your direction but you brush past her without a second thought. Finally, you find that stupid red shirt, snuggled against the window. You break out in a sprint and smack him in the middle of the chest.
"OW!"
"Why would you do that?" You yell. Why are you yelling? You don't know. You're happy. Literally so happy. Erik begins to laugh, kinda nerdily as he is snorting a bit like a pig.
"You should have seen your face! Oh, man, I wish I had my camera with me! Oh, a picture truly is worth more than a thousand words."
"You idiot! I trained you," you deliver a smack "so you could," a smack, "have a better life!" Erik's smile doesn't falter for a second.
"What's better? It's a shithole here anyways. So they pay me more in other departments. The money I'd spend on therapy for working there would still decimate my pay into non-existence."
You stop hitting him as something dangerous bubbles up your throat. The hole in the chest filled. No, not that, he will never let me live if I do, you think to yourself.
"Are you actually crying?" Erik giggles his expression turning somewhat strange.
"No."
You do end up crying. After taking you to Omelas where surprise, surprise, your inner circle of other cleaners and Irina were waiting. Diego was already rolling on the floor with Liz trying to pull him up in a somewhat vertically inclined position. J.D. giving a quiet, appreciative nod and S - Jo along with Byun screaming their lungs out in some kind of celebratory song. You can't even tell which language they are screaming in.
Olga looks at the scene with mild amusement. If you'd had become a little bit like an unwilling older sister to this little horde of gremlins then Olga was like everyone's collective mom. How many of your messes and mood swings had she endured? You couldn't even count but you remember how badly you were afraid of disappointing her. And if Erik felt even the half of that...
It was then and after two bottles of vodka that you started sobbing. But just a little bit. After all, you hadn't cried in a while and if there was a better place to cry it was among this little makeshift family.
***
(a/n: lietonis, more commonly known as lietuvēns is a spirit from my country's folklore that is rumoured to strangle people and animals in their sleep. Basically something like a sleep paralysis demon.)
#bts fanfic#bts x reader#namjoon x reader#jin x reader#yoongi x reader#hoseok x reader#seokjin x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader#bts poly au#namjoon x you#jin x you#yoongi x you#hoseok x you#seokjin x you#jimin x you#taehyung x you#jungkook x you#ot7 x reader#ot7 x you#bts sns au#reader x bts#bts angst#bts slow burn
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52 Project #26: Marc Snowfrolic and the Quest for Biscuits
Look at him. Isn’t he the most dumbass-looking wolf ever? I love him. He’s the perfect faceclaim for Marc Snowfrolic.
I published part of this about 3 years ago. Finally done!
***
Marc Snowfrolic wanted biscuits.
It was really odd for him to want biscuits at a time like this. Also, very inconvenient, because he was a wolf, and couldn’t bake his own biscuits like he could have if this had been last Thursday. Not that he actually knew how to bake biscuits, but on Thursday he could have read a recipe book, and used his bipedal stance to stand at a kitchen counter and opposable thumbs to use tools and pour ingredients and put cookware into the oven and take it out, with appropriate oven mitts on. Today, and for most of the rest of the month, he couldn’t do any of those things, because he was a wolf.
If anyone in the town of Rema had been able to bake biscuits right now, Marc could have gone to that person and made his desires clear. He could read the Bisquick logo even though he was a wolf. There wasn’t any in his own pantry, but he was sure someone in town had some, and had some guesses as to who. And if, say, Heather Digswell or old lady Janice Eyehowler had some Bisquick in their pantry, he could go to their houses, knock on the door, walk into their kitchen when they let him in, go grab the Bisquick out of the pantry with his teeth, bring it to them, and point to the picture of biscuits on the back, and they’d get the idea. They’d be happy to make him some biscuits. If only they weren’t wolves too, right now.
Normally, he didn’t want biscuits when he was a wolf. Bread products were not usually the favored cuisine of wolves. He liked steak, and venison, and chicken, and elk, and pork, and mutton, and swordfish, not that he got much swordfish because Rema wasn’t particularly near any oceans but when he and his pals pooled their money and special-ordered it with 2 day delivery so they’d get it while they were still human, it was still delicious a few days later when they were wolves. About the only kind of meat he didn’t like when he was a wolf were crustaceans, because it was just too damn hard for a wolf to get the good meat out of a crab, or peel a shrimp, and honestly if he wanted to eat bugs there were plenty in Rema just waiting to be hunted. But today, he was really jonesing for a biscuit.
He trotted over to Ken Mayor’s house. The wolves didn’t generally spend a lot of time indoors, but Ken was an exception. Inside, the older wolf had a large flat-screen television, and a gigantic keyboard that he was typing on. Marc could almost make out the words on the television, but trying made his head hurt. He could see well enough to tell that Ken was writing an email, though.
Originally, the town of Rema had been fully self-sufficient. Wolves didn’t need much in the way of shelter or clothing and were quite capable of finding their own food. What little they couldn’t supply for themselves, they traded for with the humans, offering meat and pelts in exchange for things like nails to make the houses they built for their human days sturdier. But once the humans invented the automobile, it had been only a matter of time before they brought a road to Rema. And with roads had come salesmen, and more exposure to the modern conveniences the humans loved, which the people of Rema found pleasant for themselves on human days as well. Freezers, for example. Freezers were great, but they needed electricity, and both the freezer itself and the electricity that ran it needed to be paid for. Then there was the government, demanding that everyone in Rema pay taxes. And so forth.
Pelts and meat weren’t going to pay for all of that. But the citizens of Rema could get to places in the mountains that the humans couldn’t, and never had been. They mined for gold in places the humans had never managed to mine out. Wolves could dig, and humans could put up structures that would keep wolves safe while they did it. Everyone in Rema did shifts at the gold mine, and of course, they supplemented their income with their sales of meat and pelts from their hunts. All of the funds that anyone in the town owned were pooled to make them easier to manage. Wolves were not good at math.
Ken Mayor was the mayor, and had been the mayor for twenty years, not because he was a big or powerful wolf – he was actually smallish, and rather quiet. But he had a remarkable talent. He could read, do math, and, on a sufficiently large keyboard, even type, in wolf form. Back in the old days he’d used a typewriter, carefully, and sent a lot of letters, but he’d taken to this new Internet thing like a duck to water. He managed the town’s funds, paid the electric bills and things like that, and kept in contact with government officials via email to make sure they left Rema alone, or that if they had to come here they only came on human days. He had a teletype phone, like deaf humans used, but he’d made some kind of arrangements with the company that provided the service to make it clear to them that he was mute rather than deaf, because the wolves could understand human speech just fine even though they couldn’t speak it. Lately he was all excited about some kind of new software that would give him a cartoon human avatar when he talked to humans on the phone that ran over his computer, with a voice program that actually sounded human when he typed sentences into it. Mostly.
In the language the people of Rema used when they were wolves, Marc whined at Ken. “I really want some biscuits. Can I have money to go to a bakery and buy biscuits?”
Ken looked at Marc disbelievingly. “First of all, town’s thirty miles away. It’ll take you over an hour to get there if you run all the way, longer if you walk. Secondly, you can’t walk into a bakery and ask them for biscuits. Thirdly, if you act too smart, humans might get suspicious.”
“But I really, really want biscuits. Come on, Mayor.”
Ken growled. “Snowfrolic, you’re being an idiot. Which isn’t unusual for you, but you usually manage to keep your idiocy within a reasonable range. This is a totally ridiculous request. You understand that, right?”
“Absolutely,” Marc assured him. “I am being a grade A idiot here. But you can’t imagine how badly I want those biscuits. I will get in a car and drive to town if I have to.”
“How?” Ken asked flatly.
Marc stood up on his hind legs. He was a large wolf, six and a half feet long, so on his hind legs he was easily taller than most humans. “Trust me, I can reach the pedals and still see over the dash. And if I put my paws through the holes in the steering wheel, it’s not hard to steer the thing.”
Ken facepawed. “You’ve tried it.”
“Why do you think I have a 4 by 4? The snow in the mountains sticks around a lot longer, but you can’t bring warm towels to dry off in and those little hand warmer things for your paws and a nice blanket for sleeping in if you just run up the mountain.” His wolf name might be Snowfrolic for good reason, but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate human conveniences for warming up after a good long day of playing in the snow.
“How have you never been pulled over?”
Marc shrugged. “I drive at night and I follow the speed limits. Not a lot of human cops around here anyway.”
“And if I don’t give you the money to go to town and buy biscuits, which you can’t do because no one will sell anything to a wolf, how does the fact that you’re willing to drive your car to town change matters?”
Marc grinned triumphantly. “Because no one will ever suspect a wolf of taking a getaway vehicle! So I’ll just steal the biscuits, and then drive off.”
Ken face-pawed again. It was a very human gesture; most of the people of Rema wouldn’t use it in wolf form. There were always rumors that Ken’s father was actually human, not one of the men of Rema. Marc wasn’t sure he bought it; half-human children were supposed to be human most of the time and wolf only on the change-days. But Ken making human gestures when no one else in Rema did while in wolf form was kind of hard to explain otherwise. Also, there was that whole reading and typing and doing math thing.
“Have you considered asking Jeff Leclair or Mandy Gruenwald or someone like them to bake you some biscuits?”
Marc had rather forgotten that there were, in fact, humans in Rema; human spouses were problematic in the sense that they produced kids who were wolf when Remans were human and vice versa, but they were very important for teaching Reman children how to talk like humans. Remans didn’t start being wolves most of the time until they hit puberty.
He whined a bit and pawed the floor, head down with embarrassment. “I don’t want to ask them for favors. Bob Pigeonchaser isn’t in town this week and everyone else with thumbs is someone’s wife or husband, and, well, you know…”
Remans were notoriously territorial. This often translated to jealousy. Saying hi to someone’s human spouse or inviting them over for barbeque on human days was one thing, but asking them to bake you biscuits was entirely too intimate a favor to ask. And right now, the only half-human in town, Bob Pigeonchaser, was out of town, because he was in human form when it wasn’t a full moon and he could drive wherever he wanted and buy his own biscuits.
“So you’re insisting that you have to go buy some?” Ken sighed. Wolves were not supposed to sigh; a huff, a snort, those were wolf expressions, but not a sigh. Marc didn’t mention this; Ken was oversensitive about his overly human behaviors. “I am going to have to go with you to keep you out of trouble, aren’t I?”
Marc growled slightly. “I’m not sharing my biscuits, dog. You can buy your own.”
“I’m a wolf. I don’t eat biscuits. Maybe you’d do well to remember that you are also a wolf. Wolves don’t eat biscuits. Or drive cars.”
“I’m a wolf and I drive a car, so why can’t I be a wolf who wants a biscuit? I mean, it’s not every day. I’m just really jonesing for one right now. One of those soft chewy ones with a ton of butter inside. Or maybe crisp and flaky. Man, I’m torn. No point in wasting honey butter on a wolf tongue but oh, man, can you imagine what a biscuit would taste like with bacon inside?”
“This is ridiculous but your mother would kill me if I let you run off in a car, and steal biscuits, and get your fool self thrown in a pound or shot by Animal Control or some overzealous human with a gun. So I guess I’m going with you.”
“As long as you don’t eat my biscuits, we’re cool.”
***
The thought occurred to Marc later that maybe, what worked really well in the dead of night when he was driving up a mountain nowhere near human habitation, just possibly, could have been expected to not work nearly so well in broad daylight as he drove toward a town full of people.
“Goddammit, Snowfrolic, that’s a cop! You just blew past a cop at 85 miles an hour!”
“Lots of people go 85 miles an hour around here,” Marc pointed out.
“Yes, but none of them are wolves. And I thought you said you drive the speed limit!”
“I really want that biscuit.” Marc kept his eyes on the road, not glancing back at the blue and dark yellow lights strobing on the car behind him. (He knew perfectly well that the dark yellow light was actually red, because when he was human he could see the color red, but to his wolf eyes it just looked kind of brownish.) “Anyway, he probably didn’t even see I was a wolf. He just wanted to make quota.”
“Yeah, well, he’s gonna see you’re a wolf now.”
“He’s gotta catch me first!” Marc sped up. He’d never tried to push the SUV past 100 mph. Maybe today was the day to do that.
“What? No! What the fuck are you doing? You can’t outrun cops!”
“How much do you wanna bet?”
“I don’t want to bet! They’ll call for backup and they’ll be out here with guns!”
“They won’t have silver bullets, though, I bet.”
“That doesn’t mean it won’t ruin your car and hurt like fuck!”
The cop was gaining on Marc. This was actually exciting. Like a hunt, although he was the one being hunted, which made it slightly less fun. It would be much more entertaining to be the one chasing the cop car.
Hmm. That was a thought.
“Marc, for gods’ sakes, slow the fuck down and pull over! We can both jump in the back seat and pretend the driver bailed on us.”
“Naah, I’ve got an idea that’s more fun.”
“I do not like the sound of that.”
Marc swerved around a rocky outcropping and brought the car to a screeching halt in the truck pull-off right on the other side. The cop car zoomed past, unable to stop or pull off in time.
“He’s gonna turn around and come back. You’ve pissed him off. Just watch.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m counting on it.”
Marc opened the car door, awkwardly – he always hated this part. Getting his paw under the lever to pull it and open the door was never fun; wolf forelegs just didn’t bend the right way. The door swung open and he half-tumbled out, rolled about in the dirt a bit, used his back legs to close the door, and then trotted around to the other side of the car, where he lay down in the dirt of the pull-off and watched from under the car.
The cop car, predictably, came back. Police shoes, attached to police uniform pants, approached the car. “Get out of the vehicle with your hands up!” the officer yelled.
This was Marc’s cue. He popped up on the other side of the hood and barked.
And then immediately ducked back under the car as the cop unloaded a weapon at him, human face dead white and smelling of terror. None of the bullets hit him, but a few hit the hood of the car. Dammit. Ken was right, as usual. The cop really had just fucked up Marc’s car by shooting at it.
This wasn’t fun anymore. Marc growled. He really liked this car.
Through the rolled down window, Ken barked at him. “Don’t do anything stupid!”
“Yeah, no, gotta take a hard pass on that,” Marc said, and leapt onto the hood. The cop screamed and backed up, trying to aim his gun, but in the time it took him to do that, Marc was already jumping onto him, knocking him to the ground and sending the gun flying. He shrieked.
Marc licked his face.
“No, no, get away from me, get – what the fuck?” The cop seemed to realize that this was not going the way he expected around the third slobbering lick. “What the – shit, are you licking me?”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Marc said, but since it was in wolf language, he knew all the cop would hear was whining and a bit of a growl.
“Marc. Stop torturing the poor guy. Knock it off.”
“He ruined my car! Shot a hole through the engine block! You see all that steam? There’s no way I’m driving this home!” Marc growled at the cop, who was trying to push him off, and then licked him a few more times for good measure. He strongly considered pissing on the cop, but Ken would have his head. “I can’t even get it fixed for most of a month – the full moon’s, like, three weeks off or something. And it’s gonna rain, and the rain will get in the bullet holes, and the whole damn engine will rust.”
“This is why I told you not to provoke the cops,” Ken said unhelpfully.
He got out of the car, tongue lolling, and trotted over to the cop’s gun. “Good doggie,” the cop whimpered. “Good doggies. Good, good doggies. Stay. Stay.”
Ken did not stay. He picked up the gun with his mouth, trotted over to where there was a scenic overlook down the side of the mountain, and dropped the gun over the cliff.
“Fuck!” The cop pushed Marc off, with difficulty, and struggled to his feet. “Goddamn it, dog, did you just – you did. You dropped my gun off the side of the mountain.”
Ken barked at him.
“Okay! Okay! Good doggies! I’m just… gonna take down this plate number—”
Marc growled and crouched, as if to leap. The cop hastily dropped his pad. “Okay, okay, I get it. I’m going. Someone trained you guys to hate the police. I’m just going to back away and get back in my car and call for backup and get Animal Control or something. A couple of officers with guns.”
Marc leapt and knocked him down again, growling and barking. The cop screamed. While Marc had him pinned, Ken trotted over to the cop car. “The things you make me do.” He pulled open the door to the cop car, which was unlocked, with his teeth, and climbed in. The cop struggled as Marc licked him some more.
Ken came back with a good portion of the cop’s radio in his teeth. He dropped it on the ground next to the officer. “Oh what the fuck,” the cop mumbled, head turned toward Ken, staring at the ruins of his radio. “Someone really went all out to train you guys.”
“We need to get out of here,” Ken said. “If he flags down another human who has a cell phone, he can still contact his backup. We’re gonna be doing the rest of this on paws.”
“Yeah. Shit. We only had like ten miles to go.”
“Well, if we run all out, we can get to town in about 20 minutes.” Wolves could run thirty miles an hour, and could keep it up for around 20 minutes, but Marc was impressed that Ken had been able to do the math to figure out that meant they could run the rest of the way to town. He couldn’t quite wrap his wolf head around the equations Ken must have done to calculate that.
“We’ll be wiped when we get there, though. Dammit. I loved that car.”
“This was why you shouldn’t have taunted the cop.”
“Yeah yeah. Rub it in, why don’t you.”
***
They were both panting hard by the time they reached town. Presumably it had been 20 minutes. Marc didn’t actually quite know what a minute was when he was a wolf. He knew it was a measure of time, but he couldn’t really keep track of how long it was.
“Damn, I’m tired. And my paws are killing me. I could use some water. Probably even more than the biscuit.”
Ken just whined, and folded his legs, flopping down on the side of the road. As rural mountain road turned into smalltown America, the road had acquired a sidewalk, but only on one side. Since humans tended to be intimidated by wolves, they were on the side that didn’t have one.
“Oh, come on, Mayor, you can’t be that wiped out.”
“I’m dead. Leave me. Save yourself,” Ken mumbled.
“Come on.” Marc nosed Ken in the ribs, and when that failed to produce a reaction, started licking him in the wrong direction, messing up his fur. “Let’s find some water. There’s a fountain in the middle of town.”
“Knock it off!” Ken growled, the discomfort of having his fur ruffled in the wrong direction finally seeming to overcome his exhaustion.
“I’ll stop when you get up.”
“I will bite you,” Ken said, demonstrating by snapping at Marc.
“No, you won’t. You’re Mr. Civilization and everything. Now let’s—”
“PUPPY!”
Marc and Ken both swiveled their heads to see what looked like a six year old girl running across the street toward them. This was a problem both because there was traffic on the road, and because appearing to be a dangerous animal anywhere near a human child was usually a bad idea. “Oh, crap,” Marc said.
He could hear a car vrooming toward the girl, around the bend. Marc leapt, grabbed the girl’s T-shirt with his teeth as she screamed, and pulled her over to the sidewalk where she’d come from just as the car zoomed past where they had just been.
Then he licked her, because that was what his wolf instincts told him to do with a child who’d had a scare.
“Oh – a car!” It seemed to be dawning on the girl that she could have been hit by that car. “Puppy! You saved me!” She threw her arms around Marc and hugged him.
“No problem, kid,” Marc mumbled, knowing she couldn’t understand him.
“Do you want to come home with me? Do you have people? Mom and Dad said that dogs who don’t have people are scary and I shouldn’t play with them but I don’t think so! You’re such a cute puppy and you saved me! I bet you’re nice!”
“I’m not a puppy,” Marc growled, hoping to intimidate the child into letting him go. It didn’t work.
“You’re so soft!”
Ken limped across the road, apparently having recovered from his temporary bout of death. “Snowfrolic, you need to lose that kid. If a human sees a six-year-old hugging a giant unleashed dog with no owner around – let alone if they recognize you as a wolf—”
“I know, I know! But I haven’t got thumbs, so how do I pry her loose?”
“Another puppy!” the girl yelled. “I wanna take you guys home with me! Do you have owners? Are you lost?”
Ken flopped down at the girl’s feet, behind her, and whined. “Oh, poor puppy!” The girl released Marc and knelt down to pet Ken, who looked absolutely miserable.
“Okay, Snowfrolic, I got her off you,” Ken said. “Let’s go.”
And then he exploded into motion, racing away from the girl, down the sidewalk. Marc followed.
“No! Puppies! Don’t run away! I want to play with you!”
The girl chased after them. The only reason they didn’t outdistance her instantly was that both of them had badly aching paws, both of them were in desperate need of water, and neither of them were city people. Rema was a small town, and very focused on integrating into nature; the few storefronts and public buildings that existed all had luxurious wild patches of green all around them, which the wolves kept trimmed with their teeth. This was a lot more like a small city, with sidewalk on this side of the road taking up all of what should have been green space, only occasional patches set aside to surround a random small tree. It was disorienting.
“We should cross the street again,” Ken panted. “There’s green over there, and trees we can lose her in.”
“Yeah, but that isn’t gonna be the direction of biscuits, now is it?” Marc replied, and put on a burst of speed, letting the cries of “Come back, puppies!” recede into the distance as he turned a corner and raced deeper into town.
“Slow down! I’m an old man, my heart’s gonna burst trying to keep up with you!”
“You’re not that old, and besides, you’re the one who said we had to lose the kid!”
“She’s six! We don’t have to run all the way to California to escape her!”
“Mayor, my biscuits aren’t gonna eat themselves! Gotta find a bakery!”
“Don’t you—” pant pant “—know where—” pant pant “—a bakery is?”
“No, why would I know that? I don’t live around here, I just come here to buy snow gear!”
“Did—” pant pant pant “—it—” pant pant pant “—not—” pant pant ‘’—occur to—” pant pant pant “—you—” pant pant pant pant “--to check—” many pants “—a map—” so many pants Marc thought that was the end of the sentence “—before we—” a somewhat smaller amount of pants than the last time “—left?”
“No, why would I do that? I can’t read maps, I’m a wolf. I figured I’d just get into town and then walk around until I smell biscuits.”
“I can—” a lot of pants “—read a map—” many pants “—you idiot!”
“Then how come you don’t know where a bakery is?”
If Ken wanted to make a reply to this, he didn’t seem to be able to, with how hard he was panting.
It occurred to Marc that maybe he was pushing the old man a little hard. Werewolves had normal human life spans, so Ken, in his mid-forties, wasn’t all that old, and their regenerative powers made them all healthier and stronger than an equivalent human or wolf at the same stage of life. But Ken’s job as the Mayor made him very sedentary, spending most of his life writing emails and doing math and other not-very-wolflike things instead of healthy and fun stuff like running around town or snow sports or hunting his own food. Marc wasn’t actually sure Ken knew how to hunt. Biologically he was a wolf, but he was so human he might as well be a dog. So he was probably really out of shape in comparison to Marc.
Marc started to slow down, and then a random human man pointed at the two of them and yelled, “Jesus Christ, those are wolves! Someone call Animal Control!”
Ken put on a burst of speed that impressed Marc – he hadn’t known the old man had it in him—and raced past Marc, turning down an alley. Marc followed as Ken weaved through a network of tiny alleys and parking lots and small streets barely wide enough for a car, figuring the older wolf knew where he was going, until finally Ken stopped, less panting than gasping. There was a garbage can lid full of rainwater, but Marc didn’t get a chance to drink any of it because Ken picked it up with his paws and poured the whole thing down his throat rather than lapping it like a sensible wolf.
“Hey! I wanted some of that!”
“Find your own,” Ken panted.
Marc poked his head out of the alley. They were now well into the city proper. “I don’t see anywhere I can get any water,” he complained. “Where are we?”
“Yeah. Good question.” Ken trotted over to the edge of the alleyway and took a look.
“You mean… you don’t know?”
“Why would I know? I don’t live here either, and I didn’t have time to check a map before you dragged me on this quest.”
“Hey, you insisted on coming with me! And I thought you had someplace in mind, you seemed to be running somewhere. What’s with all the twists and turns if you didn’t know where you were going?”
Ken facepawed. “I was trying to lose the kid, you idiot. And then I was trying to lose the humans who wanted to call Animal Control.”
“Uh, they weren’t gonna follow some strange wolves into an alley, and it’s not like Animal Control can teleport. We’d have had time if we’d just strolled, we didn’t have to run like that.” Marc sniffed the air. “I don’t smell biscuits. Or water, either. Dammit.”
“If there’s rainwater in a garbage can lid, there’s probably rainwater in something else as well,” Ken said. He went back into the alley, down one of the ones they came from, and found another garbage lid full of rainwater, and also a random storage bin. “If you like your water with some flavor…”
Werewolves didn’t worry about getting sick. Marc drank the water eagerly despite the presence of mosquito larvae in it. Extra protein!
“I’m guessing we’re more likely to find bakeries downtown, in the touristy areas,” Ken said. “There’s likely to be some in out-of-the-way places near residential neighborhoods, as well, but we’ll never find those. Whereas downtown there might be some bakeries for the day trippers. Huh. Does Panera Bread make biscuits? I can’t remember.”
The last time Marc had been in a Panera Bread, he had not been obsessed with biscuits, and so he had not bothered to observe if they had biscuits or not. “Dunno, but you know where does? Fried chicken places. So it doesn’t even have to be a bakery. We could go to a fried chicken place.”
“Well, they’re more likely to be downtown, too.”
Down at the end of the block, Marc could see the kind of enclosure that usually signified a bus stop. “My paws are killing me. I’m gonna go take the bus downtown.”
“…what? You can’t do that! Animals don’t ride buses! And do you even know if that bus goes downtown?”
“Eh, I’m guessing it probably does.” Marc hadn’t looked at a map, specifically, but he’d seen enough maps of the area in his lifetime to know that the direction the traffic on this side of the street was going in was the direction of downtown. Unless the bus veered off and did something weird, it pretty much had to go through downtown.
There was one person at the bus stop, a young woman wearing headphones. She turned as Marc approached, and whistled. “Wow. You are a big doggie. Got an owner around here?”
Marc wagged his tail and panted in a way he knew from experience looked to humans as if he was smiling. “Aw. Such a cutie. I’d pet you, but I don’t know if you’re friendly if I get up close or not.”
Still wagging and panting, Marc walked closer to the woman, who watched him warily, and then lay down right near her feet. He wasn’t going to miss out on getting some pets.
“Snowfrolic, what the hell are you doing?” Ken called from the alley.
Marc didn’t answer. His language sounded to humans like barking, and barking could startle or upset humans. Instead, he looked up at the human woman, still panting and wagging, with his eyes open as wide as he could get them.
“You’re very tame. I wonder if you were a service animal at some point,” the woman said, and reached down to his head, slowly and carefully. “You wanna sniff my hand?” Marc didn’t really, he wanted pets, but he obligingly sniffed her hand while still panting and wagging. Having gotten that introductory formality out of the way, the woman scritched his head, including behind his ears. Ah, bliss.
“Snowfrolic! What are you… no, never mind. I was going to ask what you were thinking, but it’s obvious that you weren’t,” Ken snarked.
“Wow. Another one of you. You guys look a lot alike; are you related?”
“Does she expect us to be able to answer her?” Marc asked quietly, which sounded to human ears more like a whine than a bark.
“You’re the one who decided it was a good idea to get petted by a human.”
The bus arrived. The young woman stood up. “Well, doggos, my bus is here, so I have to leave you now,” she said. The bus stopped, the door slid open, and the woman mounted the steps.
Marc followed right behind her.
“You can’t have your dogs on the bus unless they’re service animals,” the bus driver said.
“Uh… that’s not my dog. He was just waiting at the bus stop with me. I have no idea why he’s trying to get on the bus.”
“Lady, you’re not allowed to have a dog on the bus!”
“He’s not my dog!”
Marc squeezed under the woman, making her yelp as he slid between her legs and up the stairs, where he jumped onto an empty seat and started wagging and panting.
“Lady, if you don’t get the dog off the bus—”
“How am I supposed to do that? He has no collar and he’s not my dog. Do you really think he’s gonna – oof!” This was said as Ken squeezed past her, getting onto the bus as well. He sat down near Marc, looking downright morose. “Oh, shit, there’s two of them.”
“Just let the woman on the bus!” a person in the back yelled.
“Yeah, the dogs aren’t hurting anyone!”
“She said they weren’t her dogs!”
“They’re service dogs! I can tell!”
“Maybe someone called their service dogs on the phone and asked them to ride the bus to where they are!”
“That’s ridiculous, a dog can’t do that!”
“Sure it can! Dogs are amazing!”
“Uh, people, I think those are wolves…”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” the driver said. “All right. Fine. Pay your fare and get on. But if those dogs get off at the same stop as you, I’m having you banned from the bus system.”
“Whatever,” the woman said angrily, mounting the stairs. She ostentatiously went all the way to the back of the bus, head held high, not even looking at Marc and Ken. As she passed them, she muttered, “Stupid dogs.”
“Uh, I kinda think we just proved we’re really smart,” Marc whispered to Ken in a tiny, quiet whine.
“I think we just proved no such thing,” Ken responded, a little too loudly, and it came out as a bit of a bark.
“Oh, look at them! It’s like they’re talking to each other!” an old lady chortled.
Ken’s ears flattened back. Marc recognized the sign of a wolf who was scared that his secret identity as a werewolf might be endangered, and shut up.
The bus drove onward on its route. Sometimes, when the bus stopped, people who had to go past Marc and Ken to get to the door shrank away from them, being elaborately careful not to go too near the “dogs”. Some unwisely petted them or even scritched them, and one man rubbed Marc’s cheeks. Marc tolerated it. Snapping at any of these humans was a great way to turn all the humans against them and get thrown off the bus, or handed over to Animal Control.
As soon as the buildings around them looked tall enough, and the pedestrians thick enough, to be a downtown area, Marc pressed the button with his entire muzzle, when just his nose didn’t do the job. “Did you see that?” someone said. “He hit the stop button!”
“Wow, those dogs are well trained!”
“They’re wolves…” the man who’d originally pointed out that they were wolves sighed.
The bus stopped, the doors opened, and Marc trotted down the stairs and out onto the street, followed by Ken. “Do you have any idea where we are?” Ken asked.
“Gimme a moment,” Marc said, watching the bus. The young lady from the bus stop did not get off with them. Good. This wasn’t her stop, so she wasn’t going to be forbidden to ride the bus. As the bus drove off, he turned back to Ken. “No idea, but I bet there’s a bakery around here somewhere! Or at least a fried chicken place.”
He started strolling down the street, drawing numerous comments. “Marc. We need to hide in an alley. People on the street around here are figuring out that we’re wolves.”
“How’m I gonna sniff out biscuits if we spend all our time in alleys?”
“How’re we going to find your biscuits if we have to run from the cops?”
Marc loped forward, ignoring how humans all around him yelled with startlement, or shrank back against buildings, or stared. He was definitely smelling food. Not biscuits, but where there was the scent of food, there might be restaurants, and where there were restaurants, there might be biscuits. “I’ve got a scent. I’m gonna track it.”
“Oh shit,” Ken said. “I don’t think you’re gonna.”
Marc turned his head to where Ken was staring, and saw a large white cargo van stopping in the middle of the street, its hazards on. The side door slid open and the passenger door banged open, and two men in white with rifles in their hands jumped out.
“We need to run!”
“Why? You know getting shot won’t kill us. You think they’ve got silver bullets?”
“Snowfrolic! Just move!”
Ken ran for the alley. After a moment, Marc followed him – until a bright stinging pain exploded in his right rear haunch. “Motherfucker!” he howled. “They shot me!”
“I told you!” Ken glanced at the wound. “Shit, that’s a tranq. They’ve got tranq guns! Move it!”
“Do those work on us?” Marc asked uncertainly, feeling wobbly. His leg hurt, and it wasn’t regenerating, because the tranq dart wasn’t out of the leg yet, but he had to run after Ken or they’d shoot him again.
“If they hit us with enough of them, yeah.” Ken skidded around a corner. As soon as Marc followed, Ken yanked the dart out of him with his teeth. “They’re following us. Move it!”
This time Marc didn’t argue. He and Ken wove in and out of alleys, pursued by the men with tranq guns, until they finally came upon a dead end – an alley that ended in a tall wire fence with brown plastic slats inserted into it to prevent anyone from seeing through it.
“They’re cornered! Stay back, watch out for them to charge!”
Ken and Marc, whose leg had healed, looked at each other. They both nodded. And then they turned toward the fence and used their werewolf strength to leap over it… landing in a dumpster on the other side.
“Shit! They jumped the fence!”
“Do we climb it?”
“Too slow! Go around, go around! Cut them off!”
Something under him smelled good. Marc started to pull at one of the black garbage bags he was sprawled out on.
“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… Snowfrolic. Biscuits?”
Oh yeah! Marc had been so enticed by the smell of the garbage, he’d almost forgotten his mission for a moment. “Right! Let’s get out of here!”
They jumped out of the dumpster and ran straight out of the alley they were in – into one of the guys with the tranq guns. “Shit!” Ken spun around and ran the other way, Marc following. Two tranq darts sailed after them, but didn’t hit.
There was a parking lot full of small trucks, folding tables, and tents. The smell of a variety of produce, and also, some scented soaps and candles, struck Marc’s nose. “Is that a farmer’s market?” he howled at Ken, and didn’t wait for an answer – he split off and ran into the parking lot, heading straight for a couple of hipsters holding hands. They shrieked and let go of each other to let Marc go racing through.
“Okay, great! The Animal Control guys can’t shoot at us if they’re risking hitting humans!” Ken followed Marc. More screaming ensued. The piercing shrieks of children, the high-powered cries of women, the deep terrified howls of men filled the air. Also, barking. Quite a lot of barking. Apparently many people had brought their dogs to the farmer’s market.
One of the guys in white had a weighted net. Marc saw it, saw him coming around the side of a truck that sold hot food, and made a decision. He angled himself directly for one of the tables selling produce, ducked under it – and then came up, fast and hard, before he was out from under it. This tipped the entire table over in the direction of his pursuer. Zucchini and tomatoes and apples and he really didn’t have time to notice what else went rolling across the pavement of the parking lot.
Ken joined him as they broke out the other side of the farmer’s market. “That was clever, with the vegetable table. Maybe you’re not a complete idiot.”
“I know, right? Every movie where there’s a chase scene on foot, a fruit cart ends up getting knocked over!”
Ken huffed. “I take it back, you’re every bit as dumb as I think you are.”
They ran down the nearest street. Touristy shop. Touristy shop. Fancy sandwich shop that did not smell like biscuits. Movie theater. Bookstore – wait, movie theater?
Marc opened his mouth, but Ken beat him to it. “Into the movie theater! Quick!”
They went through the spinning door. The ticket taker called out to empty air. “Hey! Dogs aren’t allowed! You gotta get your… the fuck? There’s nobody there!”
Since he was looking at the spinning door and not at the two wolves, Ken and Marc were able to slip past him. Ken pulled open the first movie theater door with his teeth, and he and Marc slunk in, hiding in the darkness.
There was some kind of very loud action scene going on, with car chases and bullets. Ken whined directly in Marc’s ear. “We can’t talk at all unless the movie’s being loud, and we have to whisper. That usher’ll be able to put two and two together if someone tells him there are dogs barking in one of the theaters.”
“Okay,” Marc whisper-whined back.
Movies were not that interesting when you were a wolf. The sounds didn’t have the depth that real life did – wolves could hear in ranges humans couldn’t, and humans only bothered to replicate the sounds they could hear. Wolf vision wasn’t really very good. And there were no smells. It was about as engaging as a cartoon from the 70’s with a low frame rate and lousy acting. Marc quickly grew bored of sitting quietly at the end of one of the rows, and padded over to the trash can.
“What are you—” The scene abruptly changed to a woman in a kitchen, much quieter than the explosions from the last scene, and Ken had to shut up. Marc stood on his hind legs. Jackpot! There was a large popcorn in there, one of those huge jobs movie theaters were famous for, barely eaten. He grabbed it with his teeth and carefully lifted it, stepping back, and lowering himself to the floor with a small enough jolt that most of the popcorn stayed in the tub.
He set it down at Ken’s feet. “Want some?” he whisper-whined.
Ken just glared at him, plainly not interested in popcorn. More for Marc, then. He shoved his face into the popcorn and gobbled as many of the buttery exploded kernels as he could fit in his mouth. They didn’t taste quite as good in wolf form as they would if he was human, but on the other hand, the smell was incredible and wonderful and mostly made up for it.
Now he was thirsty. The water fountain was unfortunately in the hallway outside the theater; there was no way a wolf could stand up and work the water fountain control lever and drink from a stream in midair without someone observing and realizing that went way beyond what a dog could be trained to do without supervision. He strolled back over to the garbage can and found what he was looking for – an almost full Pepsi, one of those super large ones.
Obviously he couldn’t drink from the straw. Wolf mouths wouldn’t do that. Just as obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to get it out of the garbage can with his teeth; it would spill everywhere, and then he wasn’t going to get to drink it. So he leaned into the trash can, carefully pried at the lid with teeth and tongue until he’d successfully pulled it off, and began lapping at the Pepsi.
The usher chose that moment to come back inside. Startled, Marc looked up at the man – more of a boy, really, a gangly teenager – as the light from the lobby of the theater shone through the door behind the usher, directly onto Marc. Who was a huge wolf on his back paws leaning on a trash can.
“AAAAAAAAAAH!” The boy turned around and ran for the door. “Fuck! Fuck! There’s a fucking wolf in Theater 3 getting into the trash can! Get Animal Control!”
This was not exactly quiet. Even over the sound of the movie’s action scene, theatergoers obviously heard it, because they all looked at each other, murmuring. “Did someone say—” “He said a wolf—” “Oh my god there it is!” This had to be them noticing Ken, as no one was positioned to see into the walkway from the theater door to the seating area, where the trashcan and therefore Marc was.
“They’re going to stampede! We need to get out of here!” Ken yelled.
“But I never got to drink my Pepsi!” Marc barked back.
“Take your Pepsi and shove it—” Ken described an activity that was technically possible for a wolf, but vastly easier for someone with opposable thumbs.
The barking set off the rest of the humans in the theater, filling the air with shrieks as they ran for the exits. Ken grabbed the scruff of Marc’s neck and dragged him toward the door out into the theater lobby.
“I knew there were goddamn dogs!” the ticket taker yelled as they ran out through the lobby.
The usher shouted back from somewhere, perhaps a back office, “They’re fucking wolves, Julio!”
Marc didn’t hear anything else, because he and Ken had just gotten themselves into the revolving door again.
Outside, they ran pell-mell down the street, trying to outrun any Animal Control officers that might be showing up. “I’m smelling biscuits!” Marc howled.
“Great, wonderful! I’ve got a plan, follow me!”
Oddly, Ken’s plan did not seem to be “follow the scent of biscuits”, but “follow a well-dressed middle-aged lady who was walking into a hotel.” Marc was willing to give Ken the benefit of the doubt, though; the mayor was a lot smarter than he was, so if Ken had a plan, it would be better than one of Marc’s plans… as long as it ended in biscuits.
The doorman glared at the woman. “Ma’am, this hotel doesn’t allow dogs.”
“Dogs?” The woman sounded completely puzzled. “What dogs?”
“The dogs behind you. The ones following you. Your dogs.”
She turned. Marc opened his eyes wide, panted in a way that looked like he was smiling, and wagged his tail.
“Those aren’t my dogs,” the woman said. “Are those even dogs? They’re huge, are you sure they’re not wolves?”
“I—I don’t—”
Ken barked at Marc. “Come on! We need to hide!”
Marc looked around the wide, open hotel lobby. “Where?”
“Follow me!”
So Marc did, his claws skittering and sliding uncomfortably on the polished floor. Ken shot past the elevators, drawing stares from various humans waiting for it, went around a pillar, and dove into a dim, partially enclosed area with a lot of tables covered with tablecloths. Ken went under a table, and Marc followed.
“So what’re we doing?” Marc whisper-whined. “This is a restaurant, right? Are there biscuits here?”
“There are no goddamn biscuits at a fancy hotel restaurant.”
“How do you know?”
Ken sighed a very human-sounding sigh. “Do I need to get you a goddamn menu to prove there are no biscuits?” he asked quietly.
“What, you can read a menu?”
“Yeah, if you get my glasses out of the pouch on my back.”
Marc stared. Somehow, this whole time, he had never noticed that Ken had a pouch strapped to his back. “…how did you get that thing on in the first place?”
“With difficulty.” Ken lay down. “Don’t break my glasses getting them out.”
Carefully Marc nosed the flap of the pouch up. When he had enough of it up that he could get the flap into his mouth, he pulled it open. It was Velcro, so it came easily. He managed, with difficulty, to get his paw into the pouch, where he managed to snag the glasses and pull them out. “How’re you gonna get these on your face?”
“Give me a moment.”
Ken stuck his head out from under the tablecloth, just a little bit. “You stay here,” he said, and then he bolted. A moment later, he was back, with a menu in his mouth. He dropped it on the floor under the table. “There’s not enough light under here, hold the tablecloth up with your nose.”
“Uh, okay, is that all right? Are we not worrying about getting caught anymore?”
“There is no one in this restaurant but the bartender and he’s not paying any attention.”
Marc obligingly held the tablecloth up, and thus had enough light to see Ken pick up his glasses off the floor like he had thumbs, using both his front paws. Ken set the glasses on his snout as Marc goggled at him, because wolves really could not do that, generally speaking. Then Ken peered down at the menu. “Okay. We have breakfast here. Waffles. Eggs. Sausage. Bacon.”
“Can we get some bacon? I’d love some bacon.”
“Focus, Snowfrolic. Fruit cup. On to lunch. Cold sandwiches: roast beef, BLT, club sandwich, reuben, turkey, ham, Italian cold cuts. Hot sandwiches: hamburger, cheeseburger, cheeseburger with bacon, vegan patty, chicken patty. Entrees: not a biscuit, not a biscuit, this one’s not a biscuit either, can you just take my word for it there are no biscuits anywhere on this menu?”
“Then why are we here? You said you had a plan.”
“I do have a plan, I just needed people to stop yelling about the big dogs. The heat’s died down; I want you to walk, not run, behind me, calmly, and look as harmless and friendly as you can. Like we’re two dogs who are trained to run around and get stuff for our owner or something.”
“You’ve got a thing that looks like a harness with that pack on your back, but I don’t have one. I’m not gonna look like a service dog.”
“You’re not a service dog. You’re an emotional support dog.”
“I don’t need a harness for that?”
“Just stay calm. We’ll get you your biscuit.”
The two of them slunk out from under the table and started walking, calmly, down a hallway. “Mayor. Your glasses are still on!” Marc growled at Ken, low enough to make it hard for humans to hear.
“Shit. I don’t have time to take them off and put them away, and if I put them in my mouth I won’t be able to see through them,” Ken muttered. “All right, I’m just gonna brazen it out.”
They continued to walk calmly down the hallway. No one but a small child noticed the glasses. “Mommy, that dog is wearing glasses!”
Mommy, on her cell phone, said, “Oh really! Very interesting!” without looking at the wolves at all, and then continued her cell phone conversation.
Ken pulled a door open by the handle, with his teeth. “Good,” he said, his voice muffled by the handle in his mouth. “No people in here. C’mon.”
Marc followed him in. There was a computer on a table, next to a printer. “Block the door. We don’t want any humans coming in,” Ken said.
“What are we doing?”
“I’m writing you a note,” Ken said. He pulled the chair for the computer out, jumped into it, and sat in it wolf-style. With his right paw, he maneuvered a little thingy around – oh, right, they called that a mouse. Marc didn’t know why. It didn’t smell anything like a mouse.
“You’re what?”
“Writing. You. A. Note.” Ken started typing, supporting himself with his left paw while he delicately used the longest digit on his right paw to peck out a message on the keyboard. “Please. Give this dog. A bag. Of biscuits. In exchange for. This bill.”
“Is that what it says?”
“No, Marc, it says rubber baby buggy bumpers.”
“I feel like you’re being sarcastic.”
“What was your first clue?” Ken did something with the mouse again, and the printer whirred to life, a piece of paper slowly feeding out of it. “Now go back in my pack and get out my ten dollar bill.”
“You have money in there?”
“Just hurry up! While you’re away from the door getting the money out of my backpack, people could come in!”
Marc was pretty sure that if people shoved hard enough they could have gotten in even if he was leaning on the door; he was a big wolf, but a human had better leverage than he did. But there was no point in arguing with Ken about it. He stuck his paw in, felt around, and pulled a piece of paper out. “Is this your money?”
“Yeah. Okay, can you get the glasses back in?”
Marc considered the possibility of picking Ken’s glasses up with his mouth, and then tried to imagine how to get them into Ken’s backpack without breaking them, and came to the conclusion that it was not happening. “Nope.”
“Shit. Well, they’re readers, they’re cheap. I’ll get more from the drug store when I’m on two feet again.” Ken was for some reason sticking his tongue into a plastic dish full of little metal things, next to plastic dishes full of pens and plastic dishes full of rubber bands.
“What are you doing, Mayor?”
Ken glared at Marc, since with his tongue fully extended he could hardly talk. He withdrew his tongue. Oh, that was a paper clip! Marc recognized it now.
Using more dexterity in his paws than Marc could have imagined a wolf was capable of, Ken got the bill, the piece of paper that came out of the printer, and the paper clip together somehow, so that the bill and the paper were now clipped together. “Carry that in your mouth, but gently. Try not to slobber on it, we want humans to be able to read what it says.”
“I’m gonna have a hard time not getting slobber on something in my mouth, Mayor.”
“Yeah, but it’s not like you have hands to carry it with, so you’ll have to make do.”
***
Outside, Marc picked up the trail of the biscuit smell again, and followed it down the street, Ken trotting behind him. They had to switch who was carrying the note, because all of that biscuit smell was making Marc salivate.
Marc traced the delicious smell to a glass window, which he pressed his face up against before realizing that he couldn’t actually go through the window that way. Ken pulled the door open with his teeth, which caused the note to fall down. Marc picked it up with his mouth, figuring that in the ten seconds it took him to get it to the counter, it couldn’t get too much slobber on it.
No one was at the counter. He dropped the note there. One of the bakers came out of the back, saw him do it, and stared. “Wow. You are a well-trained dog. Is that a ten dollar bill?”
Marc almost nodded, and then remembered not to do that because humans would freak out at the sight of a wolf nodding “yes” to their statement. Instead he made his eyes big, panted in a smile-like shape, and wagged his tail.
The baker picked up the note. “’Please give this dog a bag of biscuits in exchange for this bill.’ Oh, wow, someone trained you to go fetch them food! I wish my dog would do that.” She peeled the note away from the bill. “Ugh, dog slobber. Well, I guess there isn’t any other way for you to carry it, is there. But how about I give you a bag with handles, that way you don’t slobber on your owner’s biscuits.” She looked over at Ken. “Do you want some biscuits too?”
Ken whined and pawed at the door. “I guess not. You want me to let you out? How about I do that after I get your buddy the biscuits he came for?” She went into the back briefly, and came back with a tray of biscuits. “Fresh out of the ovens just fifteen minutes ago.” Marc had to resist the temptation to just grab one and run when she set it down on the counter and the smell wafted over to him. So close. So, so close to biscuit time.
The baker put several biscuits – more than Marc could count, but that didn’t prove much since he couldn’t count higher than five – into a plain white paper bag, and then put the bag into another bag, a shopping bag with handles that was made of a better, tougher quality of paper. Marc grabbed the handles with his teeth as the baker rang up the transaction, and put the change into a jar full of coins on the counter. “Pleasure doing business with you, sir!” she said, laughing. Ken shoved the door open, and he and Marc both trotted out of the bakery.
Within less than a minute, Marc was in the closest alleyway, hidden from casual human view. He dropped the biscuit bag on the ground, nosed into it, and pulled one of the crispy, flaky, buttery wonders out with his teeth. Biscuit time!
“Well?” Ken asked. “Was it worth all this?”
Marc chewed the biscuit thoughtfully, and then lowered his head, his ears going back a bit. “That’s disappointing. It doesn’t even taste very good.”
Ken’s ears flattened, he growled, and he crouched back in an obvious attack position, preparing to pounce. The body language was clear as day. Before Ken could jump him, Marc ran down the alley, leaving the rest of his not-very-good biscuits behind, as Ken chased him barking insults, curses and general imprecations the whole way.
#52 project#rema#werewolves#swift of foot and dumb of ass#accidentally named a werewolf after my ex#who identified as a werewolf
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Little One Prompt 41 with Kacchako plz!
I knew what I wanted to do with this one almost immediately!!! Also, a bit more of a Bakugo-centric fic but I think it’s still a fun little read!
Also, mentioned of KiriMina in this because that ship is super cute and I wanted to.
It was all Shitty Hair and Raccoon Eyes’ fault, as far as he was concerned.
He’d come home from a hard day of patrolling to find the two settled in the living room with Ochako, the two women sipping on tea and chatting animatedly while Eijirou was stretched out on the ground playing with the kids, Yoichi and Tsubaki. He scowled as his wife’s attention remained on something the other woman was showing her, releasing these excitedly little coos, instead of at least acknowledging that he was home. Suddenly, a little blonde head snapped over and an excited shout of “Dada here!” filled the room. In a matter of seconds, his two-year-old daughter had darted to him, jumping from foot to foot in front of him with her little arms held up expectantly.
Despite being tired, he leaned down and picked her up. His kid was the cutest little shit in the world so who was he to deny her?
Ochako lifted her head and grinned at him brightly. “Oh, Katsuki! Come here, come here!” she said eagerly, motioning him over. He huffed slightly as he approached, carefully adjusting Tsubaki in his arms as the tot squirmed to snuggle up against him. Mina preened up at him as she turned her phone to face him, revealing what they’d been fawning over. He came face to face with a picture of little Yoichi, dressed to the nines, in a dark red shirt and little black vest. Paired with it, was a very loud and off-putting neon pink leopard printed tie and his black hair was slicked back with a headband to match it. He was all smiles, showing off his sharp teeth, and his little black and yellow eyes were gleaming excitedly.
“Doesn’t he look adorable?” Mina crooned giddily.
Katsuki had some opinions about the outfit, but opted to keep them to himself, because he had promised to try being nicer since Tsubaki was born. "Huh, it's… interesting," he trailed instead, adjusting his daughter so she was more comfortably perched in his arms.
"I can't wait to see what you two decide on putting like Baki-Boots in!" she cooed.
"Don't call my daughter by that nickname! It sounds stupid!" he barked out, eyes narrowing before he looked down at the sound of a little giggle. Big brown puppy dog eyes stared back up at him, so full of excitement and glee just over him being there. He forced himself to relax a bit, flashing her a small smile, before looking back up at his wife and friend. "And what's that mean?"
Ochako frowned slightly. "Katsuki, we talked about this in the group chat the other day! Don't you remember?" she asked. Oh, yeah, he forgot about that thing since he'd muted it. A couple weeks back, Dunce Face had spammed the chat with pictures of his kid while Tsubaki was trying to nap. The constant chime of his phone had woken her up and sent her into an absolute fit, so he’d muted the whole chat. Seeming to read his blank expression for what it was, she let out a small sigh and shook her head.
"Since the class reunion is going to be held at a fancy resort hotel in a few weeks, we all decided to go all out. And, since we're all bringing our kids and we already know the press is gonna be swarming the place, we're gonna dress them up in our colors!" Mina explained happily, bouncing a bit in his seat.
He stared for a moment, the conversation briefly popping back up in his head. He remembered Ochako telling him they'd be doing formal attire for the event - and remembered thinking that was really fucking stupid, since it wasn't like he had anything to prove to these nimrods - as well as her excitement at getting to find something for Tsubaki to wear. "Oh, that," he said simply before turning to head to the kitchen. On his way, he swiped a flowery purple sippy cup off the floor.
"You could put a little bit of enthusiasm into it, you know!" Mina called after him, sounding slightly offended.
He shrugged as he set Tsubaki down on the counter and opened the fridge door. "She had water in the sippy cup before, so you can keep using that one if you want to give her something else," Ochako called out to him. He called back a thanks while their daughter kicked her little feet happily as she waited. He pulled a water bottle out for himself, then poured some milk into her sippy cup.
Kirishima wandered in, Yoichi in his arms and a Crimson Riot themed sippy cup in one hand. "Mind if I get some of that for the little man here?" he asked with a huge grin.
"Knock yourself out," he said, setting the carton of milk down just out of Tsubaki's reach and screwing the lid back on to hers.
Her eyes lit up as she took it from him. "Tanks, Dada!" she squeaked before eagerly taking a huge swig.
Bakugo let out an amused snort as he opened his water bottle and took a sip of his own. He side-eyed the other man as he filled his own kid's cup and handed it over, both kids plopped on the counter and sipping their drinks happily. "So, whose bright idea was the matching outfit thing?" he asked.
The other grinned wide. "Yaomomo suggested it! Honestly, though, I'm kinda pumped for it!" he said excitedly. Katsuki didn't bother prompting what for since he knew the other well enough to know he'd say it anyway. "I mean, me and Yoi are going to be dressed identically, since I found a matching headband in my size. And Mina's gonna have a dress that matches the headbands, but also found some red ribbon and heels to go with her outfit! How awesome is that? We're all gonna be representing!" he beamed.
Katsuki's eyes hurt just thinking about what a loud amalgamation of mismatching colors and patterns their family was going to make for. "It'll certainly be something," he said mildly. That was a nice way to imply they'd look fucking ridiculous, right?
"Aw, thanks, dude!" Apparently he'd been too nice, or maybe Shitty Hair was just choosing to ignore the implication of his words. The other grinned at the two tots babbling at each other. "Any ideas what colors you two are gonna put Tsubaki in?"
He shrugged before reaching to pick her up, the other man following suit. "I really don't care. I mean, you can see her. She'll look adorable in whatever the heck we put her in," he scoffed. The two headed back to the front room, settling on the couch and watching the toddlers as they scooped some of their toys up to scamper around and play excitedly. They chatted mostly about workout sessions and on-the -job bullshit.
The visit, though, was the catalyst for the next three weeks of frustration.
Ochako decided to go with pink and orange for the colors on her outfit. On her days off - and even on a handful of his own - they started on the hunt to find a dress for Tsubaki. They'd found a few dresses that were close to what they were looking for, but they were never in her size. And the dresses that were in her size were never in the right colors. They’d tried going to department stores as well as actual boutiques. At the boutiques, they’d anticipated having to pay a bit more for customization, but the boutiques wouldn’t even consider taking the job in the first place. The Hero's Gala was slated for a few weeks after the class reunion, so all alteration appointments were booked solid.
Katsuki had seen how each rejection had hurt his wife. Even if he didn’t really get why it was such a big deal that they get a specific dress for Tsubaki, he could tell it meant a lot to her. “Maybe we can find something in just one of the colors, then?” she relented sadly, two weeks before the reunion. She had another store’s inventory pulled up on her phone, browsing through it while Tsubaki dozed off in her arms, little head slumped against her shoulder.
He scowled before walking over. “Was there any specific dress that you liked?” he asked while peering over the edge of her phone screen. She had another webpage pulled up, shifting though, before perking up. She scrolled down and selected one, holding it up to show him. He nodded. “Send me the link. I’ll get it figured out.”
“But this one’s out of stock in every color,” she said worriedly. Against her shoulder, their daughter whined and shifted, rubbing her little face against her before going slack again.
He settled down in the seat beside her on the couch before holding his hand out for her phone. “Like I said, I’ll figure it out. Just trust me,” he said evenly. He sent himself the link and then handed her phone back over to her. While she went and tucked Tsubaki into her crib, he sent out an email to see about setting up an appointment.
Which was how he ended up sitting in a lobby of a grand building a few days later, his daughter settled in his lap, with his phone pulled up to some animated video for babies to keep her calm. He hadn’t wanted to have to come when they did, as it cut close to her usual naptime, but it was the only time that he could get the favor applied to. She squirmed in his lap and let out a small huff, pressing one hand to his phone and pushing it away.
He scrambled to keep a grip on it, nearly fumbling it to the floor, then glared down at her. She had her arms crossed over her chest, pout complete with closed eyes in place, and turned her head to the side. “‘Ey! Who do you think you are?” he growled lowly.
She said nothing in response. Instead, she merely released another little harrump and turned her head in the other direction, little blonde pigtails bouncing with the force she did it with. He snorted a bit at the sheer audacity of this small child. He wasn’t sure where she got this level of sass from or how she managed to keep it contained inside given how small she was.
“Oh, I see how it is. You’re just a lil’ brat, aren’t ya’?” he scoffed, turning off the video and stuffing his phone back into his pocket.
That seemed to set Tsubaki off as she whipped around to face him, standing with her little feet on his thighs and her hands gripping at the lapels of his jacket, hoisting herself upright so that she could look him right in the eye. “I no brat! I cute!” she declared.
He smirked at that. “Yeah, you are cute. A very cute little brat,” he drawled.
Her cheeks puffed out and flushed, looking so much like her mother whenever Katsuki teased her. “Oh, no way, Dada!” she declared back.
He threw his head back and laughed before reaching out to pull her close against him and start tickling her. “Oh, really? Do you know who you’re talking back to right now?”
She squealed and shrieked in delight. “No, Dada!” she giggled, little hands slapping at his wrists to try and make him stop.
“My, you really have grown up, haven’t you?” a new voice mused, causing him to stop and his head to snap up. He hadn’t even heard the damned door open, which was embarassing. He was supposed to be a fucking Pro Hero! He shouldn’t be getting distracted like that! "Sorry if I interrupted the conversation you two were having. I take it this is your child?"
He stood up, adjusting Tsubaki in his arms to face the older man standing a few feet from him. Even with the splotches of grey in the other's blonde hair, those green eyes were still hyper-focused on him with an acuteness that made him feel like he was being seen through. Even all these years later and settling comfortably into retired life, that same strict and authoritative aura seemed to roll off of him. If not for the weight of his daughter settled on his hip, he might mistake himself for being 15 years old and preparing for his first internship again. "Yeah, this is Tsubaki," he said, lightly bouncing her.
At being addressed, she looked from the old man to her father, before ducking her head into Katsuki’s shoulder shyly. That earned an amused smile from Jeanist. “Ah, she becomes so bashful all of a sudden,” he mused lightly.
“She’s a bit shy when it comes to new faces,” Katsuki said, flashing a small, reassuring smile at her. She peeked up at him briefly before nuzzling back down against him. He reached up and gently stroked her back before clearing his throat. “Anyway, let’s get this going. She’s got a nap to take and she gets really feisty if she gets kept up to late.”
Best Jeanist hummed and nodded, pushing open the door behind him and allowing them back. “Of course. My own children tended to get rather unruly if they were not allowed their rest at that age,” he commented. Once Bakugo was past him, he started leading him down a long corridor to a room at the end of it. “Now, this shouldn’t be a terribly long appointment. I had the chance to look over the dress in the link you sent. I will not recreate that dress perfectly, but will instead use it as a reference for what style you are looking to put your daughter in. Are there any specific other details or specifications you’ll be needing?” he asked as he opened the door and allowed Katsuki inside.
“As long as it’s the same style as the one I sent, and it’s got a pink and orange color scheme going, it should be fine. I trust you aren’t going to put my kid in something gaudy,” he scoffed. Inside the room was a small platform, a lounging couch, Jeanist’s desk, and shelves covered in various fabrics.
“Something gaudy?” he asked with a raised brow, heading over to his desk and rummaging through a drawer.
“Some morons I know are putting themselves and their kid in bright red and pink leopard print,” he said flatly.
Jeanist paused in his search to blink slowly. “That’s certainly… unique,” he trailed hesitantly as he finished pulling out the items he was looking for. He walked over with some measuring tape and a clipboard. “Now, if you can just get her to stand still long enough for me to get her measurements, this shouldn’t take too long.”
In the end, Tsubaki only ended up wandering away while trying to get her measurements taken three times. Once that was done, Jeanist drafted up a rough draft design of what he had in mind, they discussed accessories, finalized fabric and color choices, and Katsuki was out with a relatively composed toddler in his arms. Once they got home and she was settled down for her nap, he called Ochako to let her know he had gotten the dress situation figured out and it would be ready for pick up the afternoon of the event. Ochako had been stunned but tickled pink, excitedly gushing to him about how great he was.
And if that put an extra pep in his step leading up to the event? Well, that was his fucking business and no one else’s.
He had to be careful in how he proceeded that day, wanting to keep the whole ensemble a surprise from his wife. He’d taken an earlier shift so he could get off in time to pick the dress up himself and then pick Tsubaki up from the Uraraka’s. When he got home, he took a nap with her but made sure to get up in time to be alert and awake before Ochako got home. He was just finishing up in the bath when she got home.
“Oh! Look at you two, getting all nice and clean!” she giggled, reaching out to lightly pinch their daughter’s cheeks from where she sat on the counter as Katsuki toweled down her hair.
The little girl perked up and beamed at her mother. “Mama here!” she squeaked excitedly. She then looked at her father, bouncing in her seat. “Dada, Mama here!”
He snorted at her. “Yeah, Mama here. Now sit still,” he said lightly, setting aside the towel he’d been using on her hair to bundle her back up in her towel. “Can you hold her while I get dressed really fast? I’ll take her and get her ready so you can take the chance to get yourself put together.”
“Of course! But, I wouldn’t mind getting her dressed for you real fast,” she offered, scooping her up off the counter and leaning down to press kisses to her cheeks. Tsubaki squealed and giggled at the attention, little hands curling into her cotton t-shirt. He watched them from the corner of his eye as he moved past them to the bedroom, unable to resist a small smile. Ochako was just a few steps behind him as she started to get himself put together. “I’m dying to see what her dress looks like! I still can’t believe you managed to find it!” she said excitedly.
“I want you to see her once she’s all put together. Get the full effect,” he chuckled as he buttoned up his slacks. She pouted at him before he offered a small smirk, leaning over to gently rest his forehead against hers. “I can tell you that you’re going to love it, though.”
“Now you’re just making me want to see it more!” she whined, puffing up her cheeks at him. He laughed lightly as she fluttered her lashes at him. “Please, Katsuki? Just a little peek?”
“You can have all the peeks you want once she’s all decked out,” he hummed, stepping back to finish getting himself dressed. He made sure to be quick to keep her from sneaking a peek. As he finished getting his shirt and vest on, she headed to Tsubaki’s room to at least get her in a diaper for her. When he headed back out, she had their daughter in a diaper and was working on brushing her little teeth. This was no easy feat, since she had a bad tendency to try and lick the toothpaste off the brush. Once she was done, she handed her back over to him and headed off to take a shower of her own.
He set Tsubaki back on her changing table before heading over to her closet, pulling out the hanging garment bag and heading back over to the table. He got her in her little stockings first before opening the garment bag and pulling the items out. Getting her in the dress itself was easy enough, but then it was getting her to stand still so he could loop the decorative belt around her waist. The promise of Baby Shark was enough to get her to stand still and let him get that, as well as the gloves, on her. Next, he put her in the little mary janes he’d gotten her and settled her in his lap in the rocking chair. He put on the promised toddler video and set to combing through her hair, being mindful of combing through the little tangles and knots. Having her hair pulled too hard was one of the few things that could trigger her into an absolutely ferocious temper tantrum.
Just as he finished getting her hair all finished and her headband put into place, Ochako appeared in the doorway. “How are things going in-! Oh!” she gasped, eyes wide with delight as he set Tsubaki down.
The little tot immediately surged forward, giving a little twirl. “I cute Mama?” she asked happily. In the end, he and Jeanist had agreed that softer colors would be a good choice for Tsubaki. The dress itself was a peach color, as it would give the orange tint they were looking for without being too loud, with sleeves that only covered her shoulders and a skirt that reached to her knees. The skirt portion itself was poofy with several tiers of a transparent lace overlay with a flower embroidery along the very edges. Around her waist was a pastel pink belt that cinched into a bow at her left hip with four little pearl beads sewn along the edges of the little bow portion. The last two items to complete the look was a pair of opera gloves and a little headband with a camellia flower on it, both items in the same hue as the belt. He had settled the headband so that the flower would be on the right side of her head as a nice little compliment to the bow being on the left.
Ochako walked in and scooped her up, eyes glossy with happy tears. “Oh, you look absolutely adorable, sweetie!” she crooned, voice cracking a bit as she tried to keep the tears at bay. He blinked and tilted his head a bit, suddenly understanding why the dress had been so important to her, as he watched she and Tsubaki. His heart swelled at seeing the two of them in the light orange and pink hued dresses they were sporting, the colors popping on Tsubaki and seeming to highlight the parts of her that she had inherited. It wasn’t about the colors, he realized, but showing the world that they were family, that they all belonged to one another. She looked up at him, eyes still watery. “This is amazing, Katsuki.”
“Well, I called in a favor. Had to make sure we stepped out and showed up all those losers we went to school with,” he scoffed, walking over and adjusting the necklace she was wearing so the hook wasn’t visible. It was a simple heart made with pink diamonds that he’d gotten her for their first wedding anniversary. “And stiffen up that lower lip and keep the waterworks from starting. You’re gonna smear your make-up if you don’t.”
#crumbles grumbles#KacChako#my fics#Bakugo would be an incredibly Soft Dad#Still prickly to everyone else but that man will *melt* for his children and partner#You can pry this headcanon from my cold dead hands
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Even in Hawkins-The Front Seat
Part two of Even in Hawkins
Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader (kinda)
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: smut, omegaverse things (read: lots of smut), oral (male receiving), voyeurism, public masturbation (kinda), recreational drug use, underage drinking, talk of coerced consent, 18+
Smut below the cut! Be cautious young readers
The next time Billy saw the two omegas was in town at the record store. “Steve look at this one.” Steve’s laugh echoed through the store. She was holding up a europop album, the photo making it look like one of the band members was looking up her fellow band member’s ass. She put it back and flipped through the crate, gasping. “This one’s even better.” She pulled it up, laughing hard. Mike Crain-Karatist Preacher. Steve joined her in mocking it. “I’m buying it.” She declared, wiping under her eyes. She moved closer to where Billy was standing, looking at the tapes, this time seemingly actually looking for something. Billy pretended like he wasn’t watching her, curious about what made Steve like her. She scooted down farther, biting her lip. She picked up a Queen tape and smiled. Billy found the Metallica tape he was looking for, thankful she was closer to the register than he was. He went around the aisle and bumped into her, her taking a step forward. “Sorry.” He smiled at her when she turned her head, winking. He could tell it had some affect on her, her sheepishly stepping out of the way. “It’s okay.” The small smile he got was a victory in his books. “Hey Harrington.” He called from the register, the omega getting flustered at the call of his name and dropping the record he’d been looking at onto the bins of records. “Hi.” He said, turning away from the blond alpha, not wanting to interact with him right now. Billy paid for his tape and left, seeing Steve’s hand resting on her lower back through the store window.
Steve felt a little on edge ever since Billy had called him out at the record store, feeling like the alpha was gonna find him and beat him into submission again. It made him feel scared. Steve and Y/n were sitting along the road the Byers lived on, Steve sitting with a walkie talkie waiting for the kids to tell him they were ready to be picked up. “It’s like he’s always watching me. It freaks me out. I can’t wait for basketball to be over.” Steve shuddered, having caught Billy attempting to scent his shirt while he was showering yesterday. It was creepy. “I’m just...scared. That it’s gonna happen again.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” He got a sympathetic rub from Y/n, her leaning on his shoulder. “Can I help maybe distract you?” He shrugged. She popped his jeans open, shifting to lay across the seat, tossing the walkie talkie to the back. She mouthed at his boxers, Steve letting out a whine of anticipation. “Y/n, what if someone sees us?”
“We’ll hear them. It’ll be okay. Relax, Stevie.” She cooed, kissing his cheek, her hand pulling from his boxers. She laid back down, tentatively licking at the tip of his cock, Steve’s huff encouraging her. She licked from his base to the tip in a flat stripe, sucking on the tip once she reached it. Her tongue poked at the vein that ran up the side of his length, Steve already squirming. Steve’s panting started to fog the windows, her bobbing her head up and down his length. An engine was suddenly up on them, Steve gasping. She sat up, wiping spit off her chin. The car stopped, idling by them. Steve sat with his breath held. Then the window rolled down. “Shit.” Steve hissed, shoving himself back into his pants. Steve rolled his window down. “You want something?”
Billy had gone to pick up his sister from the Byers’s house, seeing a familiar red BMW sitting on the side of the road. He slowed down, seeing the windows slightly fogged. He parked and rolled down the window, a second later a pink faced Steve rolling his window down. That omega girl, Y/n was sitting in the passenger seat. Her lips were a little swollen. She coughed and sat back in her seat, not looking at him. “Hey pretty boy.” Steve rolled his eyes. “Hey sweetheart.” She flipped him off. “Don’t be like that-”
“I will be to people who call girls cows.” She said, not looking at him, lowering her arm. They sat there in silence for a moment, a weird game of chicken. Now Y/n had a bit of a problem. She was usually very docile, typical omega, but Steve made her be more dominant than she normally would be. She would not ever dream of being as aggressive as she was about to be towards an alpha but he was part of the reason Steve woke up crying so often, so her submitting went out the window. “You gonna beat Steve up or just sit there and stare?” The blond alpha didn’t say anything. “Well if you’re not gonna do anything, I’d appreciate you moving on because there’s a dick I’d like to get back to sucking.” Steve was bright pink. “Y/n!” He hissed, embarrassed. “I have no idea why I said that.” She whispered back, clearly embarrassed. “Unless it’s mine I think I’ll keep sitting here.” This alpha was just making her angry. She reached over and rolled up Steve’s window. Billy’s jaw fell open, watching her bend over, Steve’s reaction clearly telling him she was sucking Steve off when he was right there. “Y-Y/n. Oh god.” Steve whimpered. It felt even better than before, the excitement of an alpha being right there getting to him. She didn’t stop, Steve letting out a sigh of relief as the camaro pulled off, disappearing around the corner. She wrapped her tongue around his tip, the blowjob sloppy and wet, much different from the control she normally had. “Oh fuck...fuck.” He whined, her getting on her knees in the passenger seat for more control. Her skirt fell forward as her ass was tilted more in the air. Steve’s hand flew up to grab the roof handle, the other tangling in her hair. “Jesus.” Steve groaned, hips lifting as he came. She sat up, swallowing, Steve still gripping the roof handle. She laughed a little at his frozen position, wiping her face. She kissed Steve’s chin and sat back down, finding her purse. Steve finally lowered his arms, zipping back up. She was fixing her makeup, Steve hearing the walkie talkie click on in the back seat. “Steve? We’re ready. Max is already on her way there.”
Billy parked behind the arcade, as far away from other cars as he could get. He pulled his cock out, feeling like a stupid knotheaded alpha for masturbating in public yet again over the pair of omegas. They were cute. He found his mind wandering at practice the day before, having spent it wondering what Steve really smelled like (it was obvious he was on suppressants, the brunet mostly smelling like muted lavender). Apparently it was so all consuming that Billy had very nearly buried his face in the sweaty shirt Steve dumped into his open locker. A little embarrassing. Billy thought he probably had a pretty good chance of making the pair a threesome. Alphas with more than one omega weren’t unheard of, especially if it was a male and female pair. Same sex pairs were significantly harder to join, the bond they have more monogamous than other pairs. It was nice when it was a male alpha/male omega/female omega group (and lots of them existed) because all three were able to have the freedom to work if they wanted, not just one being the breadwinner (omegas and alphas are wildly protective of their children, practically refusing to let anyone else watch their children on a daily basis). Billy grunted, coming on the seat. “Shit.” He growled under his breath, searching for a napkin before he ruined his leather seats. He waited for Max to be done in the arcade, blasting ‘Kill ‘Em All’ and formulating a plan. It involved both omegas being drunk and horny.
This did not go as planned. He was gonna attempt to get them both in bed at the next party they all went to, but that happened to be the one Y/n decided to try weed for the first time. It made her so paranoid she was on the verge of a panic attack. And that’s how Billy found her. She was sitting on the floor whimpering for Steve, her breathing ragged. “Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. Hey, hey, you’re fine. It’s just making you paranoid, okay?” He sat next to her on the ground.
“It’s gonna get me. Oh my god. Oh my god. Like it got Will. Like Barb.” She choked out, grabbing Billy’s leather clad arm. Tears were welling in her eyes, her rocking slightly, having brought her knees to her chest. “C-can’t swim in Steve’s pool. It’s gonna get me.” She was full on crying, Billy grabbing her hand. He leaned in a little to scent her and instead was met with the scent of alcohol. Great, drunk and high. “Billy?”
“Yeah?”
“Please hold me.” She said in a whisper, her face close to his. He barely heard her over the music, but shifted. “Wanna sit in my lap?” She nodded numbly, sliding over. Her breath instantly evened out at the contact of his chest to her back, Billy wrapping his arms around her. “Okay. It’s okay. It’s gone. Can’t get me.” She said, soothing herself, gripping one of his hands. He nudged his nose against her scent gland, Y/n surprisingly letting him. Her head was tilted back on his shoulder, neck exposed. She was practically limp against him when he nuzzled against her, Y/n falling asleep in his lap. Steve was upset when he found her. “Get off of her.” He demanded, a little bit of a pout reaching his lips. “She asked me to, pretty boy.”
“We’re going home. Get off of her.” Billy wouldn’t have been surprised if Steve had stomped his foot next. He huffed and let go, Steve pulling her up. She blinked awake at all the movement, wrapping her arms around Steve’s middle. She clung to him, Steve squeezing her close before leading her out of the house party. Billy went home alone yet again.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Please send me an ask or dm if you would like to be tagged in Even in Hawkins/any other works
@harrysstyleseyes @fanficandartgal @theweirdirishone
@aprincess-orjustme @lettersshapes @not-so-quality-imagines
@mazarinqueen @delightfullyspeedyearthquake @darlingvagary @maggiemitchellclark
#billy hargrove x reader#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x reader smut#smut#omegaverse#alpha billy#omega steve#omega reader#lemon#female reader#even in hawkins#even in hawkins the front seat#mo writes#omegaverse smut
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A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 6
[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]
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It was hard to go into work the next morning.
Knowing that his nightmares were real, or as real as animatronic ghosts could be, was so much worse than seeing them in his dreams.
And the worst part was that NightBon was ecstatic to have finally been acknowledged. So much so, apparently, that it decided it was going to start going to work with Cane, which meant he was going to have a fucking monster that only he could see hovering over his shoulder all day.
He would have said something about it not possibly getting worse, but he knew better.
“Can you be quiet?” Cane hissed at his monster, before quickly glancing around to make sure no one heard. For the past twenty minutes NightBon had been going on and on about the kid they were last attached to (at least he knew he was right on the Christopher Afton trail) and it had been more than a little distracting.
He heard NightBon give a huff of annoyance, right before ignoring him and continuing on anyway. It was going to be a long day.
“You got better quick.” Canetheus perked up at the sound of Scrap’s voice, immediately turning to face him. He was thankful that NightBon chose that moment to get distracted by Spade and therefore move out of his way.
“Uh, I just needed some sleep,” Cane replied with a small shrug, gently putting down the tool in his hand. “A normal sleep schedule is still a bit of a stretch but I feel a lot better now.”
Scrap just looked at him for a moment, one of his eyebrows quirked in a way that showed he didn’t totally believe him. Thankfully though, he didn’t push it, instead just walking further into the room. “We’re finally opening next Friday,” he announced, almost smiling when he caught the grin now on Cane’s face.
“Really!?” he blurted out, standing up quickly and actually catching NightBon’s attention. He almost didn’t hear Scrap’s quiet chuckle, but the sound just made him more excited. “God, my baby sister’s been so excited to come, I can’t wait to tell her!”
“You have a sister?” Scrap suddenly asked, turning back to Canetheus, who suddenly seemed very shy under the scrutiny.
He never talked about his sister, preferring to keep her existence private. She didn’t live in the same town as him, instead living in the city a few miles away, so they mostly talked over video calls. His insistence on her privacy came from that overprotective brother instinct, and because he’d seen enough bad to know that he could never let it happen to her.
“Uh, yes sir, I do. She lives up in the city and she’s heard enough about this place from me that she asks every day when it’s opening.”
Much to his surprise, Scrap actually laughed at that. It was soft, and short, but shocking nonetheless. “How wonderful,” he replied with a small smile, his face suddenly looking much softer than it ever had. “Little siblings are just the best, aren’t they? Tell her she can be our first visitor if she shows up soon enough.”
With that, Scrap decided his little inspection was done and headed out of the little room that was made for Spade, Cane simply watching him go.
“You have a sister?” NightBon suddenly asked, making Canetheus flinch away from it before he calmed down with a groan. “Well?”
“Yes I have a sister, you literally just heard that,” Cane replied with a roll of his eyes, turning back to his project. With Spade done, all he had left to work on was the tweaking of the bat’s guitar. The guitar was based off of the original Bonnie’s when it came to shape, but the colours were the same shades of grey that coloured Spade’s eyes.
Due to Spade being a performer for adults, Scrap had decided that more muted colours would be easier for (usually tired) parents to enjoy. And if they preferred more colour, Sage’s room was for them.
“Yeah, but I feel like I should have known before now,” NightBon whined, crossing its arms to show how emotionally wounded it was about being left out like this.
Canetheus scoffed, rolling his eyes again. “We’re not friends. I don’t have to tell you shit about my life.”
NightBon winced at that one, placing a hand over its non-existent heart. “You wound me, Canetheus. I thought that after all these years of us psychologically torturing you that you would consider me a good friend.”
It was almost like this asshole was trying to make him laugh, because that statement alone was fucking hilarious.
“Yeah, you keep thinking that, I’m gonna actually do something productive,” he replied, ending the conversation there in order to focus on his work. After all, this guitar wasn’t going to tweak itself.
Thankfully, NightBon stayed mostly undisruptive and quiet for the rest of the day, outside of the occasional one-sided conversation with the inanimate Spade (the animatronic hadn't even been turned on yet).
However, by the time Cane was done cleaning up, he could tell NightBon was just itching to leave. He couldn’t understand why the monster was so desperate to get back to the house, having spent so much of its time in there, but he really couldn’t be bothered to ask.
The walk home was not quiet, despite his silent hopes that it would be. No, NightBon spent the entire fifteen to twenty minutes of it pointing out literally everything in sight, including things Cane almost accidentally ran into because of the lack of sleep.
“Do you ever shut up!?” Cane finally snapped once they were inside his house, actually succeeding in making NightBon fall silent in shock. “I’ve never even heard dogs yap as much as you!” he added, before letting out a frustrated groan.
“Don’t fucking say anything,” he growled when it opened its mouth again, flinging his bag onto the couch before storming off to his bedroom.
NightBon just stood there, watching Cane’s retreating form with a slightly tilted head. It definitely wasn’t used to being snapped at like that from anyone but Freddy, but it honestly wasn’t very bothered by it. It knew Cane was something of a pushover when it came to his nightmares, so it was sure that this was a very temporary thing.
It was going to wish it had been right.
#self ship fic#self shipping#scrap.writing#canetheus freeman#nightmare bonnie#scrap arrowood#maybe if you whack me in the head i'll pass out (nightmare bonnie self ship tag)
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The Ink Demonth 16
Today is swap, which gives me a chance to write about @dumb-batim-aus Fallen Angel AU. Which I am already working on writing in full. ^^”
Note: Tom is mute, but he knows sign language. So whenever he “Talks”, he’s signing.
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Allison had come to a crossroads. There were two doors before her with a sign pointing to the each. To the left was the one labeled Angel and to the right was the one labeled Demon. She shivered at the memory of the twisted version of Bendy she’d seen in the room behind her.
“Angel it is, then.” She sighed, heading through that door. She could hear something slam down to her right. It seemed she wouldn’t be able to through that door now, even if she wanted.
The room beyond the Angel doorway was filled with ink. It was flooded and ink dripped from the ceiling and stained the walls. There was a desk shoved against the wall and a chair in the corner. The chair had an audio log on it, which Allison probably wanted to hear.
“Great. Another flooded room.” She sighed, stepping into the ink. Well, her clothes were pretty much ruined already. She waded over to the chair and pressed play. She tensed as Susie’s voice filled the room. Her showman voice, not her real one.
“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Wishing for the impossible is just human nature. That’s how I got started. Just a pencil and a dream. We all want everything without even having to lift a finger. They say you just have to believe. Belief can make you succeed. Belief can make you rich. Belief can make you powerful. Why with enough belief, you can even cheat death itself. Now that…is a beautiful, and positively silly thought.”
As soon as the tape finished playing, Allison picked it up and hurled it at the wall as hard as she could. The tape recorder cracked and broke, the pieces falling into the abyss of the ink.
“WHOSE DREAM WAS IT, SUSIE?!” She screamed. “WHOSE PENCIL?! IT WAS MINE! MY DREAM! MY WORK! I WAS THE ONE WHO MADE ALL THIS! YOU STOLE IT!” Her breath quickened as 30 years’ worth of repressed anger came bubbling up.
“I TRUSTED YOU!” Allison kicked the wall, tugging at her hair and beginning to pace. “I GAVE YOU EVERYTHING I HAD BUT IT WAS NEVER ENOUGH!” Tears sprung up in her eyes, wiping away some of the ink as they trailed down her face.
“We were supposed to be partners!” Her voice faltered as she was choked by a sob.
“We were supposed to be partners.” She started to sob, collapsing to her knees in the ink. “We were supposed to be friends…” Allison had never had many friends. She’d always been the sort to keep to herself. She’d had…bad experiences with people in the past. She’d thought Susie would be different. But in the end, her ‘friend’ had been just like everyone else. Only interested in what Allison could do for her.
She stood there for a long time, outright wailing and screaming at the ceiling. It felt good to vent her frustrations. She’d kept it all bottled up for so long. Once she felt calmer, she wiped away her tears and continued out of the room. From there, it was down another hallway.
“If I’d known how much I’d be walking, I would have worn better shoes,” Allison muttered. She was glad she hadn’t worn heels, but her flats still weren’t doing much in terms of support. She paused, leaning against a wall for support as she took off her shoes and shook them out a bit. Once she was satisfied she’d gotten most of the ink out, she kept going.
She should have listened to Linda. She should never have come back here. She’d left for goodness sake. She’d gotten tired of being pushed around and she’d left. She had no reason to come back here. But...some part of her had hoped that maybe, maybe, if she came back Susie would the same woman she remembered. The one who had praised her ideas and supported her. The one who was her friend. She missed that Susie. She wanted to believe that Susie had been real. Susie couldn’t have been pretending the whole time, right?
Allison was so consumed in her thoughts, she didn’t notice the Alice cutout that had been set up in front of her until she ran right into it. She shrieked, stumbling back and drawing her sword. Tom poked his head out from around the corner, a smug smile on his face.
“Tom! Don’t do that!” She yelled, sheathing her sword. “You nearly scared me half to death!” Tom snickered quietly, putting the cutout back against the wall.
“You’re the worst.” Allison rolled her eyes, exhaling with a sharp huff.
“Sorry.” Tom signed. “Thought you could use a laugh.” Allison’s irritation ebbed a bit at this.
“Thank you.” She allowed herself a small smile. “I appreciate the effort.”
“No problem.” He returned the smile. He looked a bit awkward smiling, but she was glad he was trying.
“We should keep going.” She said, gently pushing past him.
Through the door was what might have once been a storage room. The room was occupied mostly with shelves filled with plushes of Alice, Bendy, and Boris. Most of the plushes were small and on the shelves, but there were a few massive ones on the floor. And, here too, there were Alice cutouts. Despite the puddles on the floor, the toys seemed mostly untouched. Tom passed through the room without a second thought, but Allison lingered. She stood in front of one of the shelves, letting her fingers graze an Alice plush.
“I should take you with me.” She said, smiling softly at the toy. She’d always dreamed of having merchandise of her characters. Alice was one of her proudest achievements as well. She’d always wanted to have a doll of Alice. The studio hadn’t been nearly successful enough for that when she’d left. Susie really had done a lot without her.
Tom once again drew her out of her thoughts by rapping on the doorframe with his metal hand. She stumbled away from the shelf, mumbling an apology. It was so easy to get lost in her memories in this place. She exited the room to join Tom. He pointed to the switch in front of him and then to the wire snaking down the hallway.
“I need to throw this switch. You need to throw the other one.” He said.
“We need to throw these switches at the same time,” Allison said. Tom nodded, pointing to the wires again.
“Alright.” Allison followed the wire toward where the switch likely was. She paused, though, as she saw a hallway to her right leading to a different part of the level. She could see an audio log on a table. She pursed her lips, glancing back at Tom. He was watching her expectantly, arms folded. She decided she’d get it on the way back. The wire, sure enough, led to a switch. It was right next to a poster of the Butcher Gang.
“I remember you.” Allison laughed to herself, approaching the poster. “You’re not nearly as scary as you look here.” She turned to flip the switch when something suddenly busted through the poster. She screamed, stumbling back. To her horror, a mangled version of the Butcher Gang leader, Charley, got its feet and shambled toward her with an unnatural rasping shriek. She took it down, of course, but it proved to be tougher than the Searchers she’d previously faced.
“Fuck this studio.” She growled, slamming the switch down. She stalked back out of the hallway and down the other one. She jabbed her finger down on the play button of the audio log.
“Alright, let’s go over this again,” Wally said. “If the pressure goes over 45, I screw the safety bolt in tighter, right?”
“No!” Thomas snapped. “For the last time, you do that, you’ll blow every pipe in this place! If it reaches 45, you unhook the safety switch.”
“You sure?” Wally asked. “You know, this sounds harder than comparing ear wax to bee’s wax!”
“Look, it’s not that difficult!” Thomas said. “Just keep an eye on the gauge!”
“Look, pal,” Wally said. “If you think I’m doing my job AND yours, I’m outta here!”
“Oh, Wally.” Allison couldn’t help but smile as the recorder clicked off. She loved Wally, but he could be such a doofus. She turned away from the tape recorder, walking back to join Tom by the door.
“I heard you scream. Are you alright?” He asked.
“I’m fine.” She assured him. “Just another fucked up ink creature. This place is crawling with them.”
Tom snorted. “What else is new?”
“Point taken.” Allison laughed wearily. “Let’s get going.” Together, they proceeded through the open door. They passed through a short corridor lined with gears before coming out in the area with the elevator. There were bathrooms to the right and a wraparound staircase leading down to the elevator. Tom and Allison descended the stairs, pressing the button and entering the elevator.
“You’re so interesting...So different.” Joey’s voice purred out from the speakers. “I have to say, I’m an instant fan. Looks like you’ve got a date with the devil, toots.”
“I was hoping he wouldn’t keep doing that.” Allison groaned quietly.
“Come to me now, Level 9.” Joey continued unhindered. “Just follow the screams.” Tom jabbed the button before shuffling back and folding his arms.
“Yeah, I know.” Allison patted his shoulder as the elevator began to descend. “He’s...Something.” She couldn’t think of the creature dictating them as Bendy. She just couldn’t.
It didn’t take long for them to reach level 9. Allison didn’t recognize this area, but then again, she didn’t recognize a lot of areas she was seeing.
“Come on, step out of your cage,” Joey said as the grating slid back. “There’s a whole twisted world out here.” Allison glanced at Tom, then back at the level before him. Then, taking a deep breath, she stepped out.
#bendy and the ink machine#fanfiction#the ink demonth#batim fallen angel au#allison pendle#thomas connor#tom boris#joey drew#bendy the dancing demon
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Crashing Down
[(Alternate Title: Dante Should Have Listened to Jojo's song, "Little Too Late")
Basically, an AU of what could happen between Dante and Lady because they're both dumb (especially Dante).
So...I fought with myself to even post it. It started out as me working through my emotions through Dante and Lady and kept going. Thus, this has a bit of personal flavor to it, and it took me a bit to even convince myself to finish it or make it anything postable in the first place. So, here's my emotional drivel as I try to cope with my own bad decisions and cowardice. :’3]
Lady’s tone when she called half an hour ago unsettled him. Normally, when she said, “we need to talk,” annoyance or anger burst forth in every syllable and several curses or name calling followed. He could perfectly picture the scowl settled on her features as she straddled her motorcycle or paced in her apartment. Occasionally, a sadness crept into her tone. But, this mostly happened if she had her mother or what happened in that tower that changed their lives forever on their mind. But, this time, little emotion accompanied her request to come over. Her statement a simple answer to his why.
Thus, when she entered the shop dressed in a form fitting black dress with heels and makeup on, fingers worrying the clutch in her hands, the demon hunter raised an eyebrow and clenched his jaw to keep it from dropping. She looked gorgeous. She always did, in all honesty, but he rarely saw her in clothing other than her hunting attire. She glowed in that moment, the only thing dampening her radiance was the obvious worry that creased her brow.
“You come all this way dressed up to ask me on a date or something?” He grinned as the legs of his chair scraped at the wood floor below him. “Well, you’ll have to give me a bit to get ready. I haven’t even showered today.”
She rolled her eyes, and he swore he saw her lips quiver as she tried not to smile. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m going on a date but not with your sorry ass. And quit staring. I have something I want to tell you, to get your opinion.”
Dante stopped midstep, hand resting over his heart. “Wha-what? The brilliant, know-it-all Lady needs my advice?”
“Dante!” Lady stamped her foot, her heel clicking on the wood floor instead of the normal thud her boot would make. “I’m serious! For once, can you cut the crap?”
“Alright, alright.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as he raised his hand in surrender. “What’s got your probably sexy lace panties in a bunch?”
The woman remained silent for at least a full minute, bi color eyes staring anywhere except at her hunting partner. “Let me just preface this by saying I know it’s going to seem a little soon...”
Dante clapped his hand to his mouth. “You’re asking me to marry you?”
“Dante!”
“Okay, okay. Go on.”
She huffed and squeezed her clutch. He figured she was trying her hardest not to chuck it at his head. “You’re on the right topic, at least.” She sucked in a breath and finally met his gaze. “You remember that guy I started seeing, Nick? I brought him over for Christmas to meet all of you?”
Just hearing his name made him want to roll his eyes. His demon growled in jealousy, possessiveness, but he couldn’t fully blame his devil. He remembered that night clearly. How his mood had tanked all night, that loud, fake laughter he had to perform at the guy’s lame jokes to avoid Lady’s glares. Holding back every nasty comment about his clothes, his stature, his physique, his bland personality, how he didn’t treat Lady exactly how he felt she should be treated. The seventh bottle of whiskey he went through before pretending to be too drunk to function and escaping to his room to lick his wounds and fume.
“Sure. The dude who forbid you from talking to me when you first started...dating or whatever you want to call it.” His mind was so clouded by his jealousy, he didn’t put two and two together. “Figured you’d dump him for trying to pull that shit.”
“Dante, I talked to him. He backed off on that. He knows you’re my partner and that we’re close friends.” Another roll of her eyes. “But I didn’t come here to argue with you about this again. The thing is...I think he’s going to propose to me.”
Though he should have seen it coming, the news sank his heart to the pit of his stomach. It felt like his ribcage was closing around his lungs and trying to puncture them. “Would you say yes?” he croaked before he could stop himself. No, she couldn’t get married. Not to some bland idiot like this Nick guy. And Lady settling down? Starting a family? He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. She had always been the badass demon hunter to him. The beautiful, amazing, compassionate, irresistible demon hunter.
The question obviously caught her off guard as she blinked and stuttered over how to respond. “Well, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”
Dante could list a million reasons. “I dunno...guess it just seems...sudden.”
“You think it’s too soon?” Her eyes shone as they pleaded with him for guidance. He was the last person she should have this conversation with, knowing his track record. Not to mention he suddenly felt like he needed to vomit on top of the dagger she had metaphorically shoved into him.
“I’m scared. Really. Me...married.” She laughed, a nervous sound he had never heard come from her. She almost always radiated confidence, and when she didn’t, he helped her build it back up. “But, I really want this. I love him. I’m comfortable with him, and you know that doesn’t ever happen. He accepts me, shitty past and all.”
A twist of the dagger. She loved him. She loved Nick. She didn’t love him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Panic settled in and pumped his heart a million beats per second. Fight or flight instincts told him to bolt and bolt quick. But he stood rooted to the spot, eyes darting every which way as his mind processed some kind of response.
“Cool.” The aggravation in her expression told him that was the wrong response. “I mean...I’m uh, glad you found someone like that. If he makes you happy, I’m happy for you.”
A lie. A lie that tasted like the bitterest toxin. It wouldn’t kill him. That would be too merciful in that moment.
Lady’s expression softened, a smile lighting up her features. She threw her arms around him. “Thanks, Dante. It means a lot. Really.” She pulled away. “I need to get going. I’ll tell you how it goes if it happens.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah,” he muttered as he back moved toward the door. “Later.”
--------------------------------
Dante slammed his glass back down on the wooden surface of the bar, signaling to the bartender that he needed his whiskey topped off. Bullseye was fairly empty, especially for a Friday night. The jukebox in the corner crooned out Motley Crue’s “Don’t Go Away Mad (Just Go Away)” over the occasional laughter and muted conversations of the few others around him. While on a normal night he would hardly pay the other patrons much attention, his mind was so entrenched in his memory of his meeting with Lady a few hours before that his general aloofness became complete distraction.
He brushed his fingers through his snowy locks. If someone asked what he felt in that moment, he wouldn’t know what to tell them because he couldn’t begin to pin his emotions for himself. He was angry, at her, at himself, at Nick. Crushed and broken hearted. He felt stupid. Jealous. Guilty because he knew he should be happy for her. Happy that she would be getting the life she secretly longed for—marriage, a family, stability—but he just couldn’t bring himself to even pretend to be happy. The more he tried, the more it hurt.
“Yo, Dante. Did you even hear me?”
Ice blue eyes snapped up to the bartender, an old friend named Frank. A shorter guy with cropped gray-peppered brown hair and a knowledge of liquor to impress even the most refined conisseurs. He claimed that Dante was the reason he was able to keep the place open. That and the fact that it was connected to a seedy strip club. “Sorry. Got a lot on my mind is all.” He swiped up his glass and took a long swig. The burn hardly bothered him anymore. He set the near empty glass back down and watched as Frank refilled the amber liquid.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you had woman problems. And not just the usual ‘they took my money again’ woman problems.”
“Well, ya ain’t far off the mark,” he sighed, spinning a coaster in his hands before tossing it back on the bar. “Lady might be getting hitched.”
“Well, good for her,” Frank said, ducking under the bar to grab another few beers for the two guys sitting at the end. “It’s about time she found someone. A few years ago, I would have bet all I have that the two of you would end up together.”
Though he tried to keep it from his face, he could tell by how Frank balked that he wasn’t successful. He drained the rest of his whiskey. “I don’t know. It’s just...weird. And he’s not right for her. He’s so...plain and normal.”
Frank shrugged. “Maybe that’s what she wants. You two don’t exactly lead the most normal lives.” He picked up a bottle whose rose-tinted glass twisted like a cyclone all the way up the neck. Some fancy, overpriced vodka by the look of it. He twisted the bottle around to examine the label. “Though it sounds to me like you do wish she was marrying you.”
Dante didn’t answer right away, and he avoided Frank’s accusing stare in favor of peering into his glass as if it had all the answers. “It’s just...” He breathed out a breath between a sigh and a huff, searching for the right words. “I’ve...been in love with her for a long time. I know I have. But, I know she could never see me that way, and it could never work out between us. I’ve known that for a long time but I still feel shitty about all this. Like I want to be happy for her, I should be happy for her, but I’m not and it feels selfish.”
He knew he was speaking a mile a minute, jumping from one thought to the next. But, since Frank had given him a chance, every thought he had over the past few hours spewed from his mouth faster than he could shoot his prized pistols. Had it not been for his chuckling, Dante would assume he hadn’t caught a lick of it.
“What’s so funny?” he barked, swigging the rest of his drink. “I’m a mess over here and all you can do is laugh at my dumb ass?”
“Well, you got that right: you’re definitely dumb.” Dante flipped the bartender off as he refilled his whiskey. “If you loved her, why the hell didn’t you just tell her?”
“It’s complicated.” He thought she hated him. He knew she could never truly love someone who was half the creature she sought to rid the world of. He assumed she wanted to keep their relationship as professional as possible. He was basically a manifestation of trash who thrived on sex, pizza, strawberry sundaes, booze, and killing demons. While she could defend herself, he had a glowing target on his back with incandescent arrows pointing at him and screaming, “SON OF THE TRAITOR, SPARDA.” Anyone he brought into his life would be put in danger, and he could never live with himself if something happened to her because he wasn’t there. He couldn’t let that happen again. He had been too weak, too young the first time. He wouldn’t let someone else be killed because of him or his heritage if he could help it.
“I doubt she feels the same,” he finally settled on. He stared down into the amber liquid in the glass. “I doubt she could feel the same. I’m a mess. She deserves better than me, anyway.”
But even I’m better than Nick.
Frank’s sigh raised his gaze again. “Well, if that’s how you feel. Never took you to be the type with confidence issues considering how often I see you leaving with a woman on your arm.” He topped Dante’s glass off one last time. “Give yourself time. You’ll sort out your shit and be back to normal before you know it.”
Dante nodded and finished off his drink. His chest still weighed a thousand pounds. “Thanks, Frank.” He tossed money on the bar with a generous tip. “I’ll see you around.”
He pushed open the door of the bar and headed out into the balmy evening air. He considered going next door to Love Planet. Watch some girls take their clothes off while slinging back shots that wouldn’t really affect him for at least another hour. Flirt with scantily clad waitresses and take one home. Drown his sorrow and self-pity the way she had for the last few decades. Pretend he had never spoken to Lady or that the conversation didn’t leave him feeling utterly idiotic and empty. But his feet had a different idea and lead him back to his door, the neon sign above bathing the area in a pink glow.
Inside, he flipped on the light and dragged his arms out of his coat. He tossed it on the hook and trudged over to the couch. He splayed out, feet jutting out over the edge and his arm dangling over the side. The fan spinning above him didn’t do much to ward off the night’s heat, but he hardly cared. His mind was too busy replaying Lady’s visit to fathom any discomfort.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he drew it out. A text from Trish about a job for him tomorrow. One she no doubt felt was beneath her, so she pawned it off on him. His eye was drawn to the time. 2:17 in the morning. He hadn’t realized he had been out so long. Lady would be home by now, probably sharing her bed with Nick. He could see her wrapped in his arms as he fucked her, hear her moaning his name as her nails dug into his acne-covered back, a rock the size of her fist on her left hand.
He should tell her how he felt. Let it all out there. He could call her now and confess his love for her. Tell her it’s always been her he wanted. Her he wanted more than anything else in the world but he didn’t have the balls to tell her. He feared for her and feared that she couldn’t love him but he didn’t care about that anymore. He loved her, and no one could keep her safe better than him.
Before he knew what he was doing, he had scrolled through his few contacts and hit the green “call” button beneath Lady’s name. It rang twice. What was he doing? He wasn’t even drunk and he was acting like some idiot who got wasted and called his ex. He moved the phone from his ear and started to tap the “end” button when the ringing buzz ended, replaced but a soft but somehow beautiful sigh.
“Dante?” He hadn’t even placed the speaker back to his ear, frozen in place. Her voice was heavy with sleep; she had been out for a few hours. Maybe Nick wasn’t there after all. Maybe she told him no and sent him packing. His heart soared in a renewed hope for a second, unfreezing his stone limbs.
“Dante, if this is a joke, it isn’t funny. I’m trying to sleep.”
He placed the device back to his ear. “No, no. Don’t hang up.” He sucked in a breath as he heard the grumble of a male voice, jaw clenching as he made out something along the lines of, “are you kidding me? Hang up on him. It’s almost three in the morning, babe.”
Lady ignored him. For now. “Then, what do you want? Not all of us can survive on a few hours of sleep and naps throughout the day.”
“I...” He paused. He couldn’t tell her. Not with that fucker so close to her. Probably listening like the creep he was. “Can you come over?”
“Now? Seriously, Dante?” Her voice had softened, though, the sound soothing him. She could sense his distress. His voice lacked the bravado it normally possessed no matter how hard he tried to sound normal. “Can it wait until tomorrow?”
No, he had to do it now. If he waited, he would lose his nerve. “It’s urgent, Lady. I wouldn’t ask this of ya if it wasn’t important.”
Another sigh, the shift of springs. A protest from her bed mate. “Promise me it will be quick. I’ll be there soon.”
He clicked the phone off and returned it to his pocket. Common sense told him this whole thing was stupid. Ridiculous and juvenile. But he just...had to tell her. Get it off his chest. Maybe she felt the same after all. Maybe she had been waiting for him to tell her this after all these years because she didn’t know how to say it herself. Maybe he would ditch Nick and he his. Maybe...
He was getting ahead of himself. One step at a time. He needed to control his hopes, but, as the sound of a car parking up front and boots climbing the stairs reached his ears, he knew he was failing miserably at it. His heart beat picked up a hundred-fold as he stood up and watched her walk in the door.
“So, what’s so important that you had to drag me out of bed at two in the morning?” Her short, raven locks were disheveled from sleep, and she hadn’t bothered to change out of the shorts and tank top she wore to bed (though she did take the time to put on a bra, much to his dismay). She wore her usual boots, which to some would look horrendous, but to Dante, she looked like a goddess standing there. He was only snapped back to his mission when she yawned and raised her left hand to cover her mouth. The light glinted off the diamond and he swallowed a lump in his throat.
"There's something I gotta tell you. I needed to a long time ago but I was too chicken.” He studied her face as she quirked a brow in question. He rememorized every detail from the shape of her crimson and blue eyes, the pearlescent scar across her nose, the rosy tint of the full lips he longed to plant his on. He rested his hands on her shoulders.
“Lady...I...I love you.”
He couldn’t read her face in that moment. It flashed from surprise to confusion to annoyance and cycled through each emotion in rapid succession. Her lips parted and closed several times as she searched for the right words to say.
“W-what?”
“I love you.” He spoke more firmly this time. The words felt so natural. Tasted better than anything on his tongue. He felt drunk on the emotion in that moment, high on the decades old weight lifted from his shoulders.
“Dante...how? Why?” Before he could tighten his grip on her, she slipped away from him and took a few steps backward. His high crashed and burned as he saw unshed tears shine in her eyes. His heart felt heavy again, and his throat closed off. He felt as though his muscles would fail him at any second.
“Lady, I had to tell you. Finally get it off my chest. I’ve felt this way forever and--”
“No.” She held up her hand and shook her head. Her tears escaped her eyes and trailed down her cheeks. Her voice trembled. “No. No no. You can't do this to me, Dante. Not now.”
Lady stepped back to the door and his body lurched forward of its own accord. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and held fast. “Please, Lady. Just hear me out. You mean the world to me and I wish I had told you sooner but-”
“But you had to wait until someone else showed up? Until I gave up on you and tried to start my life? A halfway normal life?”
He could feel his heart ripping itself to shreds as a mocking voice chanted, “You’re too late” over and over in his head. His grip slackened, and she took full advantage of it, ripping her hand from his grip. He swallowed and fought his own tears. Whoever would have thought a woman would ever make him feel so low or make him cry?
“Lady...”
“Save it, Dante.” She scoffed and swiped her hand beneath her eyes, over her cheeks, clearing them of tears. She coughed out a short laugh, the sound bitter and too high. “What did you expect to happen when I got here? That I would just give up everything and get with you?” Her hands balled into fists at her sides.
“I waited too long for you, Dante...I’m getting old. I couldn’t, wouldn’t wait forever.”
He was paralyzed. She was right. Had he really expected that? That this would end like a fairy tale? He knew better; his life was the exact opposite. How could he possibly expect a happy ending?
His emotions went into damage control mode. He went numb. He shut off his anger. His sadness. His regret. He was a monster, he reminded himself. Monsters didn’t love, and they certainly didn’t deserve love.
“You’re right.” He finally managed. He brushed his fingers through his hair and turned his back on her, ignoring her sniffle and choked sob. “I’m sorry for bringing you over here. Go get some sleep.”
Dante lowered himself on the couch and closed his eyes. “I gotta get to bed myself, anyway. Early job.” He fought the urge to open his eyes when he didn’t hear her move immediately. To run over and scoop her into his arms. To kiss her and beg her to be with him. Or at least not to hate him for being so stupid all these years and only just now getting the nerve to tell her. His fingers curled around the bottom of the couch to keep him latched to the leather cushions.
He heard her sigh, a shuddering sound. “Goodnight, Dante.”
Finally, boots cleared the rest of the wood floor to the door. He winced as it creaked open and clicked shut. Blue eyes opened to stare at the ceiling, filled with bitter tears. He felt as though everything in him had been sucked out of him, a mere shell lying abandoned on his couch. But the pain...he could still feel that. And it hurt worse than any sword thrust through his guts.
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I know this trailer trash AU is dead, but maybe if I beat it with a stick, I can inspire it lmao. (P heavy CW for domestic violence/abuse.)
Goran'Agar is settled in the old ratty recliner outside his trailer, Keevan in his lap. Keevan's got a cigarette between his lips, not-so-subtley grinding against the Jem'Hadar in thanks. "I miss something special?" Kelas asks, standing in the shade. "You're just in time!" Keevan's grinning like a very pleased cat. "So what's the news?" Kelas asks, crossing his arms over his chest. "Weyoun and Isogot," Goran says, adjusting Keevan in his lap, the Vorta too content with his cigarette to be any help. "Founders, they do this shit every week," Keevan says, nodding toward Weyoun's trailer. Weyoun's moving out boxes of stuff, all properly packed and all labelled in the Vorta's neat handwriting. It's the sort of packing that shows dedication and a lot of anger.
"Well fuck," Kelas mutters. "He packs that junkie's shit every other week while Isogot's out fucking half Dukat's hoes," Keevan informs the Cardassian, the Vorta pausing to take another drag. "And always swears it's he last time. But then Isogot just comes crawling back and Weyoun takes him back." "For the kids," Goran adds. "Oh sure," Keevan says, ashing his cigarette. "He says it's for the kids and I know Weyoun's not a total slut—" "Unlike you," Goran says, grinding against Keevan. Keevan rolls his eyes, taking a final drag off his cigarette and putting it out on the cigarette-scorched arm of the recliner. "Anyway. Weyoun's been so goddamn loyal to that junkie fucker and Isogot treats him like shit every time." "And he smokes that shit around the kids," Goran adds. "You cook it out back," Keevan says. "Not the same. I lock all my shit up," Goran growls. "So Weyoun's throwing him out for good then?" Kelas says. "I guess we're going to be paying rent in grams and peepshows again." Keevan scoffs, shrugging so the over-sized shirt sleeve slides down to expose his shoulder. "Weyoun's such a hoe, if Goran went over there and knocked him up again, he'd be thrilled." "Don't want the junkie's bitch," Goran growls, nipping at Keevan's shoulder. Kelas watches as Weyoun sets the last box outside. There's not a whole lot, but Kelas can guess one must be for all Isogot's guns and knives he's collected. The door slams behind Weyoun, making Kelas cringe. "Now watch," Keevan purrs, "In, like, two hours, Isogot's gonna be here begging for Weyoun to take him back." "In two hours, you gotta be at work," Goran mumbles. "So?" Keevan asks. And with that, Goran scoops Keevan up, carrying him inside.
It takes some doing, but Isogot breaks in through the backdoor, grinning from the tail end of his high. Those Bajoran women tire him out after those benders of ketacel and sex. He closes the door quietly, not wanting to piss Weyoun off this . . . late? Early? Isogot shrugs to himself, stripping out of his shirt in the kitchen, leaving it on the floor. Weyoun’ll just get it later when he does laundry like a good little housewife. He steps into the living room, the place as clean as ever. Isogot makes up his mind to reward Weyoun later. "Daddy!" Isogot turns, raising a finger to his lips. "Shh, Nileth. Don't wanna wake mama up." "Okay," Nileth whispers. Isogot grins at his son, the little Jem'Hadar already hip-high to Isogot himself. "Go get back in bed, kiddo." "Can't sleep." "Why not?" Isogot reaches down, scooping the little Jem'Hadar up, holding him on his hip. Nileth shrugs, fingers touching Isogot's tattooed bicep. Nileth's always been fascinated by the tattoo, a messy leftover from Isogot's first stint in prison, the faded ink outline of the Dominion. "You gotta go to bed," Isogot tells his son. "You got school, kiddo." "Don't wanna," Nileth complains. "And you're not in bed." "I'm gonna shower and then go to bed," Isogot says. "Okay." Isogot sets his son down, the little Jem'Hadar scurrying back to his bedroom. Shaking his head, Isogot stalks off to the bathroom. He strips down and, under the hot spray, washes off the stench of sex and cheap perfume. "Isogot?" It's Weyoun, of course. "Yeah, babe." "I left your stuff outside." The ketacel mutes the irritation that wells up in the Jem'Hadar. "Bring it back in." "No." "What?" "No." Isogot can imagine Weyoun biting his lip nervously. "I don't want you here anymore." "Why, so you can go fuck Keevan?" Isogot asks, mostly to make the Vorta mad. "You know Vela's your daughter." Isogot rinses himself off. "You're sure? Or maybe you went off and screwed Goran while I was gone." He thinks he hears Weyoun's voice crack with anger while the Vorta insists, "I've done nothing but been faithful to you. And you . . . you're worse than Dukat." Isogot turns the knobs, shutting off the water. He snatches up a towel, drying himself off. "Just go get my shit," Isogot growls. "No!" "Fine," Isogot says, wrapping the towel around his waist. He shoves the Vorta out of the way. He stalks off, opening the front door and bringing in the box of his clothes. Tossing it down on the couch, Isogot tears into it, pulling an outfit out of the box. He gets dressed in the living room. "Isogot," Weyoun says, stepping into the living room. "Weyoun." Isogot's tone is cold. He tosses the towel at Weyoun. Idly, the Vorta folds it. "We can't keep doing this." "What is it you want?" Isogot yells. "A ring?" Weyoun looks the Jem'Hadar in the eye. "I want you to pack your shit and leave." "And leave you with the kids?" Isogot laughs. "I don't think so, slut." "I can raise them just fine," Weyoun snaps. "Not that you're around to see it." Isogot crosses the room, grabbbing Weyoun by the wrist, the Vorta dropping the towel. "You're hurting me," Weyoun says calmly. "I do everything for you and the kids," Isogot snarls. Weyoun twists out of the Jem'Hadar's grip. He's going to bruise anyway. "You spend all out money on ketacel, you're always shoving me around. I'm sick of it." "Listen, bitch," Isogot growls. "I'll treat you the way you deserve to be treated." "Do you want to know why Nileth can't sleep?" Weyoun hisses, failing to keep his voice down. Isogot shoves Weyoun away from him, the Vorta tripping over himself and falling on his ass. "You're killing my buzz, slut." "Get the fuck out then!" Weyoun cries, getting up. "I'm calling the sheriff." "I haven't even really hurt you," Isogot says. "You want that? You want a real reason to call that oatmeal lookin' fuck?" The Jem'Hadar grabs the Vorta by the wrist, dragging him along while Weyoun tries twisting out of Isogot's grasp, clawing at Isogot's arm. With his free hand, Isogot pulls one of his belts from the box—sturdy leather with a wicked metal buckle.
Kelas runs the dermal regenerator over the welts, taking care with the Vorta. "He broke in?" Odo asks, averting his eyes from the Vorta's injuries. Weyoun nods. "He did." "And you want a restraining order against him?" Another nod from the Vorta. Kelas cups Weyoun's chin, the Vorta flinching at first before letting Kelas touch him. "Easy," Kelas says, as if talking to a spooked animal. He runs the dermal regenerator over the Vorta's bruised face. "See? Nice and gentle." Vela starts wailing and Weyoun blinks. "I've got to . . ." "Go ahead," Kelas says, gently patting Weyoun's knee. The Vorta gets up to soothe his daughter, disappearing into the bedroom. "We'll have to press charges," Odo says, arms folded over his chest. "Which means we'll need to investigate the home situation." "Which means you'll probably want to put the kids in foster care," Kelas finishes. "I don't think so. I've got all the files on every time Weyoun's 'tripped' or 'walked into something.'" "You want a subpoena for those." "Of course," Kelas says. "And I want you to promise those kids aren't being taken from Weyoun." Odo huffs. "Listen," Kelas says, "I delivered those two kids. I'd know every bruise and bump and scratch on them." "And you think they don't have any." "Nileth's probably got some scraped knees, but that's a normal kid thing." "You think so?" Odo asks. Kelas laughs. "I've had to untangle our oldest from barbed wire, set a couple broken bones from falling out of trees, fix more bumps and bruises and scrapes than you've ever seen in your life, Sheriff." Weyoun comes back into the living room, the baby Vorta in is arms sleeping soundly. "Sorry, she won't let me tuck her back into bed." "It's alright," Kelas says, patting the space by him, Weyoun settling on the couch. "Odo and I were talking about pressing charges." Weyoun looks down at his daughter. "How long would he be going away for?" "Minimum? Five years," Odo answers. "First offense. But if he violates parole or his restraining order, he could go away for longer." Weyoun nods. "But," Kelas says, "Odo might have to get the Department of Child Welfare involved." "You'd take them?" Weyoun asks, panic rising in his voice. "No, I . . . They need me." "I know," Kelas says. "Maybe Odo and I can work something out."
"Didn't know you were considering adopting," Jack teases, watching Kelas nursing the baby Vorta. "Doing a favour," Kelas answers. "Weyoun's promised to go easier on our rent." "What a bargain, hmm," Jack replies. He watches Kelas for a moment. "You gonna have enough milk for our baby too?" "Of course," Kelas assures the Terran. "I make more milk than a cow." When Vela's done nursing, she pulls away from Kelas, fussing. Kelas adjusts his hold, patting her back until the baby Vorta burps. "Got an appetite, hmm?" "She's growing pretty fast," Kelas notes. "Faster than our kids." "When do you give her back?" "Odo's going to take her back over to Weyoun once the investigation's finished." Vela whines, fighting sleepiness. Kelas simply holds her, rubbing her back before she falls asleep. "God she's cute," Jack notes. "And those ears!" "Go knock Keevan up if you want one of your own," Kelas teases. "Nah," Jack says firmly. "Love you too much." "If you wanted one, maybe Goran would be willing to share." "I know how much Keevan goes for and I don't want to spend any cash on that, mhm," Jack says. "Well, maybe we can have a sort of swap," Kelas muses. Jack hums. "You're serious." "Mhm." Kelas gets up, tucking Vela into her crib. The baby Vorta whimpers, but Kelas rubs her back, soothing her back to sleep.
#More of the same#Also Isogot goes to Fucking Jail Forever#For Crimes against his Vorta baby momma#Please help me keep this fucker in jail ):<#I made him but I dont gotta like him
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Maalraas Pt3 (Knol and Savage)
I’m not sure how much I like this part and it’s entirely unedited, but I figure I’ll come back an edit it later. (Beware of autocorrect and typos.)
Getting Savage onto the Maalraas was an adventure. The selcath were able to help her get him onto a hover stretcher in the wider spaces of the observation room, but the more cramped corridors of a starship weren't exactly planned with two meters of prone Zabrak in mind. It took some creative force usage, but Knol was finally able to get him into the bunk room on the end of the hall, where she'd be between him and the rest of the ship if necessary. There'd already been an oversized bunk inside, fortunately, and a few more careful force lifts got the kid settled in without too much jostling. Then she disassembled the stretcher and packed it away in their new portable med pack. As a final touch she tucks him in with the duvet from the sailer.
"You good there for a bit, Savage? Anything I should do or anything you'd like me to get before I go? Not sure how long it's going to take to get out of the atmosphere and into hyperspace once we get going."
"No, I will be fine," the Zabrak insists, voice steady in spite of the wrinkle of pain on his forehead. Knol considers him for a moment before deciding she should take him at his word. A final force-prod to reassure herself he wasn't hiding an injury before she nods and heads for the cockpit.
Orbital Control clears them for liftoff without a wait. Half an hour to the hyperlane then they were away, course set for the Phelleem Sector. The report had indicated Republic forces were gathering in the interference field surrounding the shadowy Orixon Nebula and Tae was with them.
What their ultimate goal was and even their numbers was unknown, too sensitive for even encrypted communication without due cause. And Knol didn't really need to know, she just appreciated knowing all the angles beforehand. Picking up Tae was going to be unfortunately similar to flying a mission blind.
Not to mention trying to hide a force sensitive on her ship undiscovered while tracking Tae down. Knol have herself a moment to lament just how cruel the universe was to get her stuck in this position. Then she stood up with a shrug and headed back for the cabins, it was her own fault really, not worth angsting over.
"Still doing alright, kid?" She asks as she stepped into Savage's room, only to wince as he startles awake. "Sorry, hey, Sunshine, it's fine, go back to sleep."
The Zabrak blinks suspiciously up at her, his brow deeply furrowed, and Knol can't help the amused ruffle that causes her.
"It's fine, kid, really. Was just coming to tell you we made it to the hyperlane. We'll be in hyperspace for a while now, barring any technical malfunctions. You need anything else before I let you sleep?"
Savage frowns at her for a long moment, then abruptly looks away. "No."
Knol shrugs. "I'm going to try to get some sleep then. I'll be right next door if you change your mind, just give me a poke or something. Can you do that?"
"I cannot," the Zabrak replies, looking frustrated. "I can barely move on my own, let alone reach your chamber to 'poke' you."
Knol blinks, then shakes her head quickly. "Not a physical poke, in the Force. Something like this."
She reaches out to tap at the edge of his Force presence with her own and he startles, looking up at her with wide eyes. At her smile his eyes narrow, and he tries poking her back. On his third try Knol nods, smile widening.
"That's it exactly, just like that. You poke me like that and I'll know you want my attention. If it's an emergency you can always give me a pull too."
She demonstrates and his eyes narrow even further. His answering pull is hesitant, but still obvious, and the bothan nods happily.
"Yeah, like that. Give me a yank rather than just poking me and I'll know to come running. Got it?"
"I understand," Savage agrees. His brow is still furrowed but he's back to staring at the ceiling, so Knol figures he's done with their talk.
"Alright then, sleep well, kid, and call me if you need anything."
An affirmative grunt as she leaves.
The bunk in the cabin Knol picked for herself is a more reasonable size, though she appreciates the little bit of extra room than she'd get on a Bothan sized bed. It doesn't matter much, though, she's asleep the instant she's under the covers and doesn't wake for the next six hours.
When she wakes it's to the annoying chirp of her chrono alarm. Knol almost snoozes it again when she remembers the Sith, his injuries, and the dietary supplements. Instead she forces herself out of bed and wanders into the cooking area to see if they have anything she can make into a meal.
Fortunately the Station Commander seems to have preempted her, leaving factory sealed boxes of foodstuffs stashed in the cooling unit, as well as several different kinds of drinks. They won't be reduced to surviving off rations and her newly acquired liquor collection anytime soon.
Knol rolls her eyes and makes a mental reminder to send the guy a nice thank you gift once they're safely away. Then she sets about reading all the labels, eventually grabbing a couple boxes of protien loaf. While that's heating she debates the different drinks, comparing them with the nutrition chart newly affixed to the cooler door, and snags some of the processed fruit juice cans to go with it. Laying out the supplements takes almost another 15 minutes of cross checking diagrams and pill boxes, but she's pretty sure she's got it by the time the timer goes off.
Knol grabs the tiny tablecloth on her way out, balancing the tray full of food with the Force when she has to adjust it to knock on the door.
"You awake Sunshine? I brought food."
A pause and a low sound that might have been an attempt at a reply before Savage growls. Then, gingerly, he pokes at her. Knol's fur ruffles cheerfully at that, and she lets herself in.
Savage has somehow managed to wedge himself sideways up against the wall of his bunk, his eyes catching her as soon as the door opens. He makes no move to unwind, however, and Knol can sense the undercurrent of pain even through her shields. She sets the tray down on the table and gestures at him.
"I was thinking you'd rather be sitting up for this. So I can try to help you upright or we can work on moving you to the chair. Depends on if you think you could stay upright on your own or if having the corner to lean on would be better. What do you think?"
Savage grumbles under his breath for a moment, considering his choices, then huffs. "The bunk," he growls, voice dry and raspy, and Knol winces in sympathy.
"Sounds good, then we'll get you something to drink straight away, you sound terrible." She pulls some spare pillows from the closet and does her best to arrange them into a pile with the kid's head still in the way. It's not perfect, but stays up well enough for her to awkwardly slide and force lift Savage into place. Most Zabrak at least had the decency not to be over half a meter taller than her…
Once Savage was in place she draped the tablecloth over his lap and opened one of the juices.
"I wasn't sure what you liked, but this is the healthiest drink we have at the moment, so I figured you could try it, and if it's terrible I'll get you something else. If it comes to that we also have just filtered water. Here, see if you can turn it while I hold. Once you've wet your throat we can see if you're up for holding it by yourself.
Savage only barely refrained from rolling his eyes before he nodded, so Knol chose not to mention it as she held the juice up so he could drink. After a few swallows he tilted the juice back upright and looked at her expectantly.
With a shrug Knol moved her grip to the top of the bottle, letting Savage wrap his hand around the base. Then she slowly relaxed her grip a fragment at a time. There's a muted stab of pain when she finally let's go fully, but Savage manages to keep it upright without outwardly revealing the effort it must be taking. He even manages a shaky drink by himself before Knol gently moves the tray to his lap so he can set it down.
Savage eyes the lumpy meal in front of him and wrinkles his nose. "What is this?"
"Protein Loaf," Knol admits with a shrug, taking a bite of her own and making a face. "Basically they grind up the meat really small, into something like a paste, then compact it back together before freezing it."
"Why?" The Zabrak demands, giving the loaf on his plate an extremely dubious look. "What is wrong with just smoking actual meat"
"The taste mostly," Knol guesses, "Most folks these days don't even realize meat has to come from dead animals, and they don't like having the burnt taste of smoked meat when they're trying to make dinner. While protein loaf can theoretically be any flavor you want if you have the right ingredients. You can also make it into a lot of different shapes and cook it into lots of different recipes that way. Plus it stacks better in the hold and if you have to you can eat it through a straw." She makes a face after her next bite and shrugs. "The texture is still a bit off-putting though."
Savage manages to get his fork up to his mouth without spilling and grimaces, nodding his agreement as he swallows. Then he goes for another bite. "The taste is not terrible at least."
"True, it's a mix of a lot of things but they tend to try to keep the flavor consistent," Knol explains. "I'll make you a few recipes I picked up sometime when we know your stomach can handle the oil. Need to keep your protein intake up and this should be a decent way to do that, though you'll still need the supplements for a while." She gestures to the pills on the tray and Savage frowns at them in turn, scooping them into a hand.
"Do I chew them, or…?" He glanced at her, honestly unsure. Knol shakes her head quickly.
"Just swallow them whole, they're made to release nutrients over a period of time as they dissolve."
The face he made at the taste was certainly memorable, and Knol gestured back to his loaf.
"Try some more meat to clean your tongue, then juice to while away the taste. The other way around and sometimes the Juice manages to taste worse than the meds did. There you go. Better?"
"Yes," Savage mutters struggling through another mouthful of juice before he returns to the meat.
They both eat in silence after that, and Knol paces herself to avoid it looking like Savage was falling behind. He's careful though, and manages to avoid getting almost anything on the tray. The tablecloth he manages to keep clean all together.
But he's exhausted when he's done. Knol collects the trays and the tablecloth back up, then gestures to the bed.
"Let's get you settled again before I go clean the dishes. Would you rather be on your side again? Or on your back?"
Savage's face hardens at that, and Knol can see him considering both whatever made him home into that hunched position and the pain it was putting him in to sustain it.
"I would rather see the door," he ground out finally, and Knol knew better than to ask for an explanation with that tone. She had a pretty good guess anyway.
Instead the bothan considered her pile of pillows for a moment before nodding and stepping forward. With a little maneuvering she had Savage laying down on his side again, mostly supported by the force, while she rearranged most of the pillows behind him. That done she leaned him back and gave him the last pillow to hold onto.
"Should help support your shoulder somewhat," Knol points out when he frowned at her. The kid rolls his eyes but tucks it under his arms anyway, so she's taking it as a win.
She picks up the tray and the tablecloth before turning back. "Pike me if you need anything," she reminds him, poking him for good measure.
Savage pokes her back with a grumble, "Yes."
Knol grins at him. "Good. If I don't hear from you I'll be back in an hour with something to drink. See you then."
She returns to the kitchen to clean their plates and check what she has the supplies to make once Savage is feeling better. Then she doubles back to check the estimated weekly diet tables for his recovery, just to be sure.
An hour passes quickly in the depths of research, and soon her chonomiter is going off again. She grabs a pitcher of water and a cup this time then goes to check on her guest again.
If the whole fight goes by this fast, three days won't feel like anything.
- - - - - - - - - -
Savage is both the easiest first time patient she could ask for and a terrible patient, all in one. Anything Knol asks him to do directly he obeys, but anything she's careful not to directly order him to do is up for negotiation apparently. By which she means he's struggling to sit up without help on the second day in spite of all of her suggestions, but at least he keeps taking his pills and meals when she hands them to him.
He also fails to mention any pain he is experiencing unless she asks him very specific questions, and even then he's extremely hesitant to verify anything. It makes Knol want to shake him until he understands her sometimes, though she'd never act on it. And it makes her want to track down Dooku and beat some reason into him. Maybe the Nightsisters for good measure.
But she can do none of these things. Instead she's stuck trying to figure out when Savage is going to be the most obedient prisoner ever and when he's going to use every loophole she's given him to insist on injuring himself.
Really, that selkath doctor's dig about jedi and hospitals makes a lot more sense now. She knows she's been far worse than this, and the healers all deserve medals for putting up with her.
By the third day Savage is forcing himself to stay awake after his hourly check-ins and attempting to pull himself out of bed. Knol's worried he'll eventually succeed and then end up stuck on the floor. At least there's a system in place for him to get her if he needs it, she's just still not sure he'll actually do it if she isn't tracing out to him first.
"I'm not sure what you're accomplishing, exactly." She tells him the next time she catches him leaning heavily on the bunk wall between attempts. "I mean, I understand not wanting to be on bedrest any longer than you have to, I've been there. But you and I both know that if you actually manage to push yourself out of bed you'll just end up on the floor with no way to get back up."
The kid snarls at that, gaze focused determinedly off to her left. But his grimace says he agrees with her. And all she gets when she tries to read him is the same mix of frustration and self-recrimination he's had since yesterday.
That and the undercurrent of fear that's been with him since he woke up poisoned days ago, that spikes whenever she presses him for answers. And yet she has to try.
"Come on, Sunshine, what's this about?"
Savage grits his teeth, refusing to meet her eye, before finally sighing and focusing on something near her elbow.
"I cannot simply remain unmoving and expect my body to recover functionality. If I cannot move now then I will not be able to move tomorrow. In less than a day we…" He shakes his head and starts again. "I cannot continue to rely entirely on your assistance. I must regain limited mobility, or remain a burden for you to carry or cast aside."
"That's not…," Knol cuts herself off, forces her fur flat, and sighs. "No, you're right. I can't exactly give you a reason I won't just leave you behind somewhere. Nothing I'd believe in your place, anyhow. And your body is healing, not returning to the way it was. It's true you'll need to exercise to get back into your best form. But you aren't there yet. I know it isn't comfortable, but you're going to have to wait before your body can actually take the damage a fall might cause."
In all honesty she was probably not helping. It hadn't escaped her that she was a Jedi and Savage at least currently a Sith. But in his weakened state he wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight, let alone attempt to escape, so it had been much simpler to give him the benefit of the doubt than it would be if he'd been at the top of his game.
If he'd been healthy she doubted he'd have been willing to come along with her at all, even just to break his mind control. He might not even have been able to follow her in this state if Dooku hadn't abandoned him to die on Dxun.
And tomorrow they would be rendezvousing with the task force so she could look for Tae. Would she have trusted him this close to the other Jedi if he weren't as weak as a yearling cub right now?
Weak as a yearling cub, and he knew it. A Sith under a Jedi's command and completely at her mercy if she decided to turn on him.
"Look at me," Knol demanded, tapping Savage on the chin when he didn't obey. "Come on, Sunshine, look me in the eyes and listen."
He growls, hands clenched in the duvet across his lap, but yellow eyes meet hers and she nods.
"Good. Now listen, I will have to depart when we arrive, to find my contact. You are not leaving the ship. I have no intention of telling anyone you're even on-board unless things go completely sideways, but even then you are remaining here while they will be remaining outside. Do you understand?"
"I understand," he growls, his jaw tight. "And after you meet your contact?"
"With any luck we'll be taking him with us," Knol admits. "He's a padawan," She reassures Savage when he tenses. "I'm looking for his master, but they're on different missions at the moment. In the meantime I'll vouch for his conduct. If you don't do anything to harm him or me he won't do anything to hurt you."
He doesn't believe her, Knol knows. There's disbelief and fear in his eyes as he studies her face, but he nods nonetheless, choosing, at least for now, to take her at her word.
Not like he has much of a choice. And the feel of that leaves a sour taste in her mouth long after the conversation is over.
But there are no easy answers, no reassurances she can give that will be believed without proof. And proof can only come from promises kept. On both their parts.
Knol finds herself once again belatedly hoping that bringing Tae into the middle of this won't turn out to be a terrible mistake.
- - - - - - - - - -
Savage is radiating a constant background static of fear and the resulting defensive anger by the time they're breast to drop out of hyperspace the next morning, and Knol is honestly pretty concerned about him accidentally tipping off the other Jedi to his presence just with that. Not that she'd ever tell him that, it would only push him further into the depths of frustrated paranoia. At least with her promise to lock him in the ship and leave him there he's been willing to behave, no matter how grudging his belief is.
Coming out of hyperspace in the Phelleem Sector is a bit anticlimactic for all the stress it's been causing them both. There's another encrypted data file waiting for her, and Knol takes a moment to decrypt it before she continues.
Turns out since she last checked in the Republic has officially moved its staging ground to Handooine. The Jedi Commanders have moved to a listening post there to supervise the final preparations for an assault on Jabiim, bringing Tae with them.
Knol reads the report twice just to be certain of the details, then tosses the datapad into the copilot's seat and sets a course for Handooine.
With the fleet now orbiting the planet rather than hiding in the nearby nebula they pick up the Maalrass's signature long before she reaches them, sending out an identification request that's much closer to a friendly request than the bothan was expecting.
Maybe she's been out in the Outer Rim too long. Or maybe the Republic's army just hadn't been out here long enough.
There's no complications with her Council provided codes this time, the paperwork on Manaan having fully returned her to active status. A few brief questions later and they're able to give her clearance and a landing area on the outskirts of the militarization zone. Traffic control makes quick work of guiding her down and then Knol is left to finalize last-minute plans as she preps the ship for lockdown.
She hesitates by the cabins, knowing Savage is probably tracking her force signature. Even if the witches or Dooku didn't teach him that's pretty instinctive, right? Either way, leaving the ship without saying anything probably isn't the right call. Wouldn't be with any of the agents she's run ops with at least.
A thought occurs to her and she ducks into her room for a spare canteen to use as a peace offering, filling it up in the kitchen before heading back to Savage's room.
At the door she pauses, then reaches out to poke him. After a moment's hesitation he pokes her back, and she lets herself in. Inside he's already sitting upright but not trying to pull himself out of bed just yet. Knol rolls her eyes at his defensive glare and holds out the canteen.
"There should be enough water in here to last you a few hours, and the cap seals when you're not using it so you shouldn't have to worry about it leaking everywhere." The bothan demonstrates how to open the cap and how it goes back on before handing it over. "I'm about to lock up and head out to find my contact. Anything else you need before I go?"
There's silence and Savage still won't meet her eyes, so Knol sighs and turns to go. Just as she reaches the door, he finally responds.
"Keep your word, Jedi," he growls, his fear peaking as she turns to face him again before he gets it back under control. He's looking her in the eye, though, in spite of it. Knol nods firmly back.
"You will be leaving Handooine with me. For now, hold here and wait for me to get back."
That earns her a nod in return, the yellow eyes burning into her back long after the door closes behind her. She activates the defensive systems in the loading bay then departs, sealing the ramp closed behind her.
Surprisingly there's actually a trooper waiting for her at the edge of the landing zone. He salutes as soon as she gets close and informs her Air Traffic Control sent him to bring her to Central command as soon as she was ready.
It's almost exactly what she would expect from a mission briefing on a large op. But the trooper's stiff and standing out against the background where any of her agents would have spent the time trading jokes with one eye on their surroundings.
Knol knows she isn't suited to be a military commander, far more skilled in espionage and infiltration. But a part of her doubts anyone could be suited for this, ordering kids who never had a chance to live into battle and calling it the greater good. Maybe she's being too hard on the council, they might not have had much of a choice in this, but neither did the clones, and they deserve better.
Still not their fault they exist. She smiles at the trooper, "Thanks, I guess it'd be a ways to walk."
He relaxes fractionally, and nods, gesturing her towards the speeder. "Around 3 kilometers, sir. Long enough it's better not to walk it if you don't have to."
"I agree, though sometimes needs must. What's your name, kid?"
"Foray, sir."
"I'll remember it, Foray, thanks for the lift."
She can feel his embarrassed gratitude even if she can't see behind his helmet. But the last of the nervous tension leaves his spine.
"Thank you, sir. Let's get back to base."
- - - - - - - - - -
There's a fog in his mind that Tae's been having trouble working past. It's a lingering cloud of thoughts and emotions that press against his skin from the inside out, making it hard to think and harder to breathe. He knows how he’s supposed to sort the feelings out, all the little tricks his master was able to teach him to get his mind clear and back to being his again. But his uncle is missing, and Tae is trapped in what seems like an endless whirlwind of stress that lingers until he can't tell where his thoughts end and the others' begin.
Normally he'd reach out as soon as he started to feel overwhelmed, but his uncle was supposed to be dead and hadn't gotten back in touch since the coded message he'd sent Tae to say he wasn't dead but would be going undercover for a while. So he couldn't risk accidentally broadcasting to anyone that his uncle was alive, let alone explaining to any of the Jedi in charge of the newly renamed 'Padawan Pack' exactly why he was so stressed.
Instead he had to let the others assume his erratic shielding was due to grief and having never been on an active battleground before. While his master was missing and he couldn't do anything about it.
The battle preparations weren't helping either, though. He'd assumed a battlefield wouldn't be much different than being in the middle of a bar brawl, all those minds, most of them with drugs lowering their filter level, and each one in some way upset about what was happening.
So far battle was nothing like that. On the starcruiser it had been cold with a flurry of suppressed panic as years of experience and training took hold for every trooper onboard. Keeping his sense of self in the middle of that had been hard, especially when he'd badly wanted that reassurance that if everyone did their part they probably wouldn't all die.
Now he's realizing that feeling wasn't the sense of certainty he took it for. It was adrenalin, and training kicking in in something like muscle memory. Here on the ground the troopers readying for deployment said goodbye with a sort of grim finality that echoed their certainty that many of them were going to die. They knew their generals were worried, had heard gossip of the somber expressions in the war tent, and responded by making extra certain they took this one last chance to say goodbye.
Their low morale was affecting all the Jedi, he knew, but Tae kept catching snatches of thoughts that made him crave his master's reassurance. A rare few of the troops kept their spirits up, some wanting to lift the others' spirits, and yet more with the hope that the Jedi would somehow produce a miracle.
It was these thoughts that prevented Tae from sleeping, because he was one of the Jedi they were laying their hopes on, and he was every bit as uncertain and afraid.
The others had cornered him finally, Elora taking the lead but even Xule had followed. He wasn't sleeping, his shields were failing, and they could all feel his distress. Tae could hear their concern, feel it around the edges of his cracking shields, so he'd agreed to spend the day meditating rather than training for the upcoming fight.
He's halfway through carefully reinforcing his dwindling shields when Master Norcuna comes looking for him, his mind a carefully collected spiral that doesn't leak any of the concern visible on his face.
"Padawan," He starts, then pauses before beginning again. "Tae, a Jedi Master arrived this morning, asking for you by name. There are some difficulties in verifying her identity however, more importantly, we cannot verify her connection to you. Have you ever met a Knol Ven'nari?"
It takes a moment for the concern to make sense. A moment where all Tae can remember is a tiny bothan with a fiery mind laughing at his master in a bar fight, before she hands him her drink and wades in to help. Then reality comes crashing back and he remembers a remembrance ceremony, with her name following his uncle's.
He's rising almost before he realizes it.
"She's here?" He asks desperately. "She's alive?"
Master Norcuna frowns faintly. "As far as we can tell, yes. Knight Leska informed me of her arrival and has been destracting her while I sought you out. Would you know her well enough to spot an imposter?"
It's a chilling thought, that someone might want him badly enough to impersonate a deceased Jedi to get to him. But Tae breathes through the chill before nodding.
"Master Ven'nari let me practice reading her mind once, on a mission where we ended up working together. I think I'd be able to recognise her mental signature anywhere now."
The Twi'lek nods slowly, "And would you wish to see her to try?"
Tae doesn't even have to consider it before nodding. If Master Ven'nari is alive she might have news of his Uncle. And even if not he wants to see her again, to have the chance to see her alive after mourning her.
Master Norcuna accepts his decision without stopping to make sure he's certain a second time. They make their way through the training grounds and past the war tent, heading for the medical tent. Halfway there Tae realizes he can sense her. It's muted by the fog following him, but only just. There's a swirling heat that accompanies her thoughts Tae is pretty sure no one could fake that even if they managed to fake everything else.
Knight Leska gives Master Norcuna a sharp look as they arrive but doesn't comment. Beside her the bothan catches sight of Tae and steps around the other master to meet him.
Though the first words out of Master Ven'nari's mouth are, "Shit kid, you look awful."
Knight Leska tisks at her, but Tae finds himself smiling. "And you look like you've been well, Master Ven'nari."
"I look like I've only just rediscovered hygiene, you mean. But you're too polite to say it." The shorter Jedi shakes her head, "A holdover from your Master, he always did speak like a politician."
It's not a hint or code, but it's also the first time anyone's brought up his Uncle in months without Tae mentioning him first, and suddenly he feels like crying.
"Ah shit, Little Diath, come here. I'm too short to do this without your help."
There's a hand on his arm and Tae leans into the offered hug, hiding his face in the bothan's neck for a long moment as he pulls himself back together. This close he catches flickers of her thoughts in spite of the shield. He thinks he must be projecting a bit too because a hand comes up to rub at his temple.
"We really weren't considering you at all, were we kid? Sorry, I should have come back sooner."
Flashes of a conversation overlooking a lava field, a plan to fake their deaths and go underground. Traces of guilt for not discussing Tae's future there at the same time. And under it all are a thousand different plans she's prepared since, and flashes of a yellow and black striped figure she's left on the ship.
Tae pulls back, blinking down at her as the impressions settle into order in his mind. She's going to look for his uncle. "You need my help."
Master Ven'nari nods, "We do."
He looks to the other Jedi next, "May I go?"
"It will be dangerous," Knight Leska informs him. "Master Ven'nari had a run-in with Dooku on Onderon. He may be pursuing her still."
"The Council assigned Tae to our supervision," Master Norcuna interjects. "It would be a grave misstep to entrust his care to another."
"You want Master Ven'nari to claim him as her Padawan learner," Knight Leska accuses, and Tae blinks, glancing down at the bothan Master. She meets his gaze steadily.
"I have no intention of replacing Master Diath. That said, as long as it's alright with you I'm willing to give it a try."
"I accept," Tae replies quickly, glancing up at the other Masters. "This is something I need to do."
"Very well then," Master Ven'nari cuts in before the others can respond. "Padawan Tae Diath I take you as my Padawan learner." She turns to Knight Leska, "Any objections?"
"Keep him safe and I'll have none," the Knight replies. "We can get the paperwork filed right now and get you both out of the system before Count Dooku has a chance to track you down."
"You should take this time to say goodbye to your friends," Master Norcuna suggests gently before Tae can follow them. "Whatever papers you need to sign will wait until you're ready to leave."
Master Ven'nari nods at the suggestion, giving Tae a shooing motion when he turns to her for permission. It's an echo of his first day as a padawan, but this time the feeling in Tae's gut is regret, not excitement, as he hurries away to find the others one last time.
- - - - - - - - - -
Knol watches the kid, her new Padawan learner, leave to say his last goodbyes and has to bite back a scathing criticism of the war effort. But her company already knows everything she could say, and they don't need to hear it from her.
Diath might tho, when she finally manages to track him down. How did they let it come to this? Where he could have lost his Padawan on the battlefield and not even known until it was too late? Tae might be the most well adjusted psychic she's ever met, but the separation had left him battered.
No matter what good had come of their ruse, Tae had suffered for it. And they owed him for that.
"Sorry for leading the Count this way," she offers finally, following Knight Leska into a small logistics tent. "I know him showing up on my tail could make things messy for you."
"Maybe if he shows we'll be able to get the forces we actually need to pull this off," the human replies tiredly. "I'll be honest, Master, the Senate is pinning their hopes on Master Kenobi somehow finding a diplomatic solution. If that fails we're fighting a civil war I don't think we can win."
"And the Council's response is to sent you more Padawan's," Knol puts the pieces together. "They can't allocate more Knights without consulting the Senate, but the kids are an available resource."
"We shouldn't be asking a handful of Padawans to stand in for an army of soldiers, but there you have it," the Knight sighs, handing over a datapad with the correct paperwork. "At least you're getting Tae out of the line of fire. All we're waiting for now is Master Kenobi and we'll be deploying."
Knol's ruff flattens slightly at the thought. She quickly finishes the paperwork and hands it back. "Anything else?"
"That should be everything," Leska agrees with a faint smile. "We don't have much but if you need food or fuel…"
"Save what you have for the troops, we'll be fine for a while," the bothan cuts her off. That earns her a faint smile.
"Then that's all. May the Force be with you, Master Ven'nari."
"And with you all, Knight Leska."
- - - - - - - - - -
The ship is larger than Tae expected. Admittedly about half the size is down to the folded wings, but the other half is still larger than a few scattered snipits lead him to expect.
The trooper who dropped them off saluted sharply then turned back the way they'd come. He'd been cautiously interested in them, departing this close to a major mission, and had let Master Ven'nari draw him into a light back-and-forth that left the trooper feeling better than he had when they arrived. Tae still isn't sure exactly what it was about the conversation that helped, but maybe it was simply being acknowledged rather than ignored.
There's another Force presence on the ship, a quiet sort of darkness that feels like sickness. Underneath it is an abrasive sense of fear, and a determination dedicated to surviving in spite of it.
Tae's never met a Sith, isn't entirely certain he'd know what the Darkside feels like in a friend who's lost their way. But he knows there's something wrong with that signature. He doesn't realize he's stopped, staring up the loading ramp dubiously, until Master Ven'nari is abruptly in front of him.
"You sense him, don't you? And you're wondering if I'm out of my mind."
Tae sputters at the accusation. "I-! No! Of course I don't think that Master Ven'nari! I'm certain I just don't know the whole picture. There's probably a perfectly good reason to keep such a dangerous secret this close to so many other Jedi."
The bothan's brow twitched skeptically.
"For some reason, kid, I get the feeling you're trying to scold me. But I'll just take you at your word instead." She glances up the ramp herself, then turns back to him with a frown. "I won't be able to talk about it until we're gone, so if you want to take a look at my reasons consider this permission. Go ahead."
Tae hesitated at that. Telepathy was an uncommon skill, and a powerful one, but those who knew about it could diminish its effectiveness with deflecting techniques, or even traps. And while using his abilities to enter another's mind gave him a lot of power, it also left him uniquely vulnerable to counterattacks. If Master Ven'nari had fallen and intended to overpower him in some way this was likely a trap. But if she hadn't it was still possible her thoughts could be misleading.
Or they could be the simplest way to verify her intent. There was no way to be sure.
Tae closes his eyes, taking a deep breath, and reaches for the Force. There's no warning, just a twinge of anticipation, and he decides to trust his newest Master isn't lying.
Years before his Master had introduced the Bothan after they were thrown out of a bar. Master Ven'nari had chuckled when Tae handed her back her drink and agreed easily when his uncle asked if Tae could practice reading her mind.
"We all have secrets, kid," She told him when Tae had been surprised. "And it's not like a normal Jedi can't rummage around enough to find some of them anyway. The secret's not thinking of things you don't want other people to find out. Just focus on my thoughts rather than digging through my mind and I promise you won't find out anything you'd end up in danger for knowing."
He's not sure that's true anymore. Whatever secret she's keeping is certain to bring with it a whole mess of trouble. Enough that she's seeking out his master for help sorting it out. But Tae needs to know what he's walking into.
He closes his eyes and leans into the fire that burns in Master Ven'nari's mind. This time there are no mirages, no misdirection layered on top of thoughts meant to redirect the eye. He falls straight into a memory, a sickbed confession played back slow as it was deliberately recalled. There are fragments of thought tacked on in places, connections her mind makes automatically but there and gone before they can become complete images on their own. It's enough for him to guess at the bigger picture, and doesn't feel like she's leading him on.
When it gets to the end the memory shifts back to normal though patterns. Flickers of plans underneath the more direct feeling of awaiting his response, though Master Ven'nari already suspects what it will be.
Tae opens his eyes, glancing past the other Jedi into the shadows of the ship. Then he meets her gaze again.
"You're right. He deserves the chance to make his own choices before being condemned."
It's a reflection of his own skill, twisted into a tool for slavery. Even a simple Force Suggestion doesn't feel that innocent now.
Master Ven'nari gives him a sympathetic glance. Then she sighs and gestures up the ramp.
"We need to get back into space sooner than later. But I promise we can talk about all this more once we're in the air."
Tae nods quickly, hurrying up the ramp into the ship proper.
Master Ven'nari follows him in, sealing the ramp behind them before starting off down the hall.
"Get yourself settled into either room on that side," she says with a wave. "Afterwards you can come meet me up front. Don't wander around until I can give you the tour and introduce you properly, got it?"
He nods quickly, earning him a smile before she vanishes down the opposite hall.
Tae turns away before he can give into his curiosity and try to figure out which door she went through. He's been given a choice of rooms after all, and clearly that decision should be given the utmost care and attention.
- - - - - - - - - -
Savage hadn't been planning on sleeping, hadn't been expecting to be able to with all his senses on high alert. But his body betrayed him once again and sent him spiraling into unconsciousness anyway.
When he wakes the Jedi has returned, and there is a second presence following behind. Even in his exhausted state Savage hasn't forgotten their discussion the night before, so he must assume the presence is the Jedi's contact.
He hopes the Jedi will keep her word, but cannot be certain. Knows only that she will not defend him against her own kind if they choose to fight him. And in this state he knows whatever conflict arises will not be much of a fight at all.
The only weapon he has is the waterskin, the hard head of which might be able to do some damage if he had the strength to back it up. He's too weak to run, too weak to win in a fight, but not to fight at all.
There's a small part of him that insists it won't be necessary, but he's lived too long to take anything on faith under another's rule.
By the time they make it into the vessel he's pulled himself upright, wedged into the corner of the wall, with the waterskin half hidden under a corner of the blanket.
But the new presence doesn't come to his room. Instead the Jedi stops at the door once again and prods him with the force, only entering after he prods her in return.
The Jedi takes in his defensive attempts with one glance, and Savage fights down the illogical impulse to try and hide what his plans were. She doesn't order him to stand down, though, and he can't decide if she doesn't think he's a threat or if she truly believes her companion won't start anything. He forces himself to meet her eyes either way, and after a moment she nods.
"My contact agreed to come with us. I'll introduce you as soon as we get a destination and are back in hyperspace. For now we need to be on our way as quickly as we can afford. That said, do you need anything before we set out? It might get a little bumpy, but I'm assuming you want to stay upright. Anything else? It might be another half hour to an hour before I can come back."
For a second there's an impulse to ask for a weapon so strong it's dizzying. Even for the most stringent tests the Elder Nightbrothers would grant you a dagger if you asked. But he was an enemy here not a child prepping for his coming of age. She'd be a fool to humor him.
Savage shakes his head instead.
"You ok on water?" The Jedi presses, pointing to the waterskin in his hand. "There still any in there?"
He has rationed it, uncertain when she would be returning. There's a little less, and while more would be acceptable he's not about to hand over his only weapon like that.
"I will be fine," he tells her firmly.
The Jedi studies him for a long moment, then reaches for her own belt, disconnecting an identical water skin and holding it out.
"Just in case," she tells him, stepping forward to rest the waterskin on the bed within reach before turning and leaving the room.
Savage takes the second skin gingerly, suspicious of a trap and yet finding none. He considers the new presence but they seem to be ignoring him, moving instead to join the Jedi in the front of the vessel.
He settles more firmly into the corner, anticipating the lightning shocks of pain liftoff will drive through him. And reluctantly reassures himself that the Jedi kept her word.
It's the upcoming introduction and what may follow that must concern him now.
- - - - - - - - - -
"Have a seat over there," is the greeting Tae gets as soon as he makes his way up to the cockpit.
Master Ven'nari is in the middle of a complicated series of inputs, but has the time to indicate the chair to her left. It's massive compared to the one she's piloting from. Tae eyes it dubiously for a moment before sitting down, but it's not as uncomfortable as he expected.
"Your permissions just came through, Maalraas," a voice speaks up from the communications array in the console in between their two seats. "You are cleared for departure, stand by for exit flight plan."
Master Ven'nari nods as she flicks the return signal button. "Understood, Maalraas standing by."
There's a data transmission of some sort and flicking a few switches somehow sends it on to a small green console in the corner that wakes up with an irritated clatter before beginning its job. An overlay appears in the far right of the viewport but the older Jedi doesn't seem phased, tuning instead to press the return signal button again.
"Flight path received, Air Control, the Maalraas is ready to proceed."
"You are clear Maalraas, depart when ready. We'll inform you immediately if anything changes."
"Departing now."
There's a flurry of switches and a jolt as the ship starts rising. Then they're sliding forward and up as the ground falls away from view. Moments later the sky shifts through an array of shades until it settles on a dark blue-gray and they level out.
"This is Air Traffic Control, Maalraas you are clear. Fly safe out there."
"Keep up the good work, Air Traffic Control. This was the least painful departure has been in a while."
There's a startled laugh. "Thank you, sir. We'll do our best.". And then the line goes dead.
Tae stares at the buttons lining the console in front of him and wonders if the sequence somehow makes sense with practice or if the bothan simply had years of experience in him with which to guess.
When he glances up they're still flying generally away from Handooine and Master Ven'nari is watching him.
"Well kid, any idea where your Master might have been headed?"
Tae shrugs apologetically. "I haven't heard from him since his last message to tell me he wasn't actually dead. But I know it was sent from the Lannik System."
"He's headed straight for Hutt Space," Master Ven'nari muses, tapping the edge of a console idly. Then she smiles.
"That close to Bothan space there's no way he made it through undetected. Don't worry, Little Diath, we'll find him."
There’s more toggles and buttons, and a deep hum somewhere in the hold, then they’re changing course again.
“Fifteen minutes to the hyperspace lane,” the older Jedi spoke up as she leaned over the controls. “Then I can finally answer any questions and get you that introduction.”
Tae nods and settles back into the chair to wait. He just hopes the whole explanation doesn’t make him wish he was back on Handooine.
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The Number I
Chapter 14: Tifa Sits In A Chair And Talks For A While
[FLASHBACKS INTENSIFY]
Thanks to @fury-brand, @auncyen, @cateringisalie, @limbostratus, and @cloud-and-tifa. Sorry for pushing this one on you pretty hard.
There are holes in the world, and spaces between numbers. Neither should exist. Cloud starts noticing them, and he isn’t the only one who has. And unfortunately for him, he’s both. (Contains graphic depictions of violence.)
Tifa couldn't feel her hand anymore. She hadn't said anything for fifteen minutes, but she'd have to soon, given tissue damage was probably right around the corner. Cloud had clamped onto her arm when they'd said they had to draw blood, and he hadn't let go long after they'd already taken the needle out.
"They'll burn those, right?" he asked. They'd been sitting in the waiting room for a while as the staff ran blood tests. Thus far Cloud had threatened six people and a nearby fax machine with immolation, and Tifa was about ready to tear her hair out.
This place wasn't a true hospital, not the way Cloud was treating it. There were hospital like places in it, certainly, back when it had been. In the early days after Meteorfall, it was a hastily-constructed relief centre, built to house the homeless, provide medical care, and organise what little infrastructure anyone had left into something resembling a coordinated plan.
These days, the building was a massive complex with several wings -- a medical wing, left over from Meteorfall and the stigma, dedicated to studying "medical anomalies"; a business wing, which was most of the building these days, coordinating trade agreements and political restructuring; and the federal wing, which would probably wind up taking over the entire place in a few months now that there wasn't any mysterious space diseases or unmanageable monster populations or mass famines ravaging the population. Right now they were in the medical wing, which was in the centre of the entire complex as the other wings were added on around it.
"I don't know, Cloud," said Tifa, who sounded as exasperated as she felt. "Probably not for a while, until they sort this out."
"It was an awful lot of blood," he growled.
"It was one bag," said Tifa. "They'll probably do another tomorrow. Eat your sandwich," she added, hoping he'd unclench his hand from her arm to do it. To her relief, he let go and took several large, angry mouthfuls of the peanut butter sandwich they'd given him.
"Where's Reeve?" asked Tifa.
"Talking to some clown with a clipboard," said Cloud, picking some peanut butter out of his teeth. "Seemed mad about something."
"He's sure been gone a while," said Tifa, peering down the hallway, as though he might come back at any minute.
"Does it usually take this long?" asked Cloud. "To get results, I mean. You've been here before, right?"
Tifa shrugged. "I donate eggs. It's not the same thing." Various organisations all over the world had begun paying couples to "repopulate", as it were, but Cloud was sterile, and Tifa had no plans to raise any babies anytime soon anyway, so this was as good of a compromise as she could manage. "It'll probably be a couple hours, at least."
"Better be," muttered Cloud, then looked guiltily at Tifa's arm, where a bruise was already beginning to form. "Shit, did I -- ?"
"It's fine," she said tiredly. She covered it with her own hand and healed it away, leaving the area a bit sore but otherwise unmarked. She stared at the reddened skin for a while, then glanced at Cloud, who was staring morosely into his water cup.
"Mr. Strife?" came a voice from down the hall. Reeve had returned with a woman, the latter of whom was holding a small sample cup. Tifa didn't recognise what it was for, but Cloud seemed to and let out his breath in a huff of annoyance.
"Gotta do this one by myself. I'll be a couple minutes. If it's longer than that or if anyone goes in after me, get Reeve," said Cloud, before standing, snatching the cup out of the nurse's hand with a hostile glare, and storming off to the bathroom a few doors down.
Reeve sat down next to Tifa on the couch looking tired. He didn't say anything for several moments.
"You need to talk to him," he said quietly. Cloud was several metres away and behind a few walls, but it never hurt to be safe.
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Screw you. It's complicated."
"Someone's going to have to do it. He'll listen to you. I can't keep fending off assault charges like this. Do you know how many mobs we haven't had? The ones I've headed off before now?"
"He doesn't understand --"
"He's a grown adult, Tifa. You run his life enough as it is. You know it, I know it, he knows it. So he either does understand and refuses to accept it, or he needs to."
Tifa shook her head. "You were around before Soldier was Shinra's response to everything. I got to grow up in a house with an education for a while. Cloud's... we're the first people he's ever really talked to besides his mother, and he doesn't even remember her. He's spent his whole life fighting, as kids, in the military, in Nibelheim, for us; he doesn't know how to stop. He's never had to or been told to before."
"He's going to have to learn. I think he can, he's clever enough." Reeve was eyeing her carefully. "That's an excuse. That's not why you haven't said anything."
Tifa said nothing. Reeve sighed heavily.
"I don't know why you're putting this off. He'll listen to you, he always does."
"That's the problem," said Tifa without thinking. Reeve gave her a questioning look.
"...He puts a lot of stock in what I think about him. I don't know how he'd react if he got it into his head we didn't like him, or if he saw himself as a liability. Look at what happened the last time," she said pointedly.
"It'll have to be soon, then," said Reeve. "This isn't sustainable. Actually, that's part of why --"
The door opened down the hall, and they both stopped muttering amongst themselves as Cloud returned and handed the cup back to the nurse and sat on the other side of Tifa.
"If they ask for semen next, we're leaving," he said flatly. "I'll take my chances with the semi again."
"I don't think that's likely," said Reeve. "Though it's more likely they'll want bone marrow --"
The light fixture above them shattered. Tifa flinched and covered her face to avoid the shower of glass raining down on her as she felt a wave of cold air wash around her. Cloud barely reacted.
"They can knock you out for it," said Tifa quickly. "You won't feel anything. We'll watch to make sure."
Cloud nodded stiffly. No one came to clean up the glass for some time, and by then they'd herded Cloud off to another room -- this one with a PET scanner in it. All of the nurses were keeping their distance by this point, so Tifa was taken aside briefly by another nurse and given instructions for walking Cloud through the process.
"We'll be doing three scans," said the nurse. "The first to be used as a control. The next one, we'll need him displaying elevated Jenova-related brain activity. And we may have to wait for the third, depending on if he has another one of the episodes you've mentioned or not. You said they're a daily occurrence, right?"
"That's all this is? Comparisons?" she asked.
"We don't have much to go off right now," he replied. "Not until the blood tests come back, and personally I don't think they'll tell us much. Even if he would submit to a kirliograph, that probably wouldn't do much good either, given..." the nurse gestured delicately. "So we're monitoring brain activity. See if that gets us anywhere."
“You think that’ll work?”
The nurse shrugged. “It’s hard to say. We won’t know until we try. You're gonna have to give him this, though," he said, and gestured to a small bottle full of reddish-brown liquid and a syringe.
"It's not happening," she replied immediately. "He's not gonna like that one bit."
"It's just tracer fluid. We'll need it to see properly," said the nurse, glancing tensely back at Cloud, who was giving a nearby nurse a rather venomous look. "He'll be more likely to accept it from you than me. I can tell you how to set it up, but someone's going to have to do it."
Cloud hadn't particularly wanted to subject himself to a PET scan either, which didn't make much sense -- as far as she knew, the entire benefit of doing one was that it was non-invasive. He'd been staring at the machine with something akin to muted terror since entering the room. Seeing her approach him with a tray containing a pouch of saline and the bottle of tracer fluid certainly didn't do anything to change his opinion.
"No," said Cloud immediately as she approached him, looking betrayed. Tifa sighed.
"It's just sugar, mostly," she said. "You're gonna need it for this. They can't help you if we don't know anything."
"Tifa --"
"None of us have anything to go off of right now," she said, losing her patience. "Not even that woman. You don't trust me to do this?"
"That's not it, it's --"
"I'm sorry, alright? I'm sorry for what they did, and I know there's -- that there's nothing I can do to help you get through any of it, and --" She stopped, hoping she hadn't sounded too angry. Well, she was angry. She wasn't even sure at whom anymore. "...But don't you go shoving that off on me when I'm trying to help you now," she snapped.
Cloud stood there for a moment, then sat on the PET machine's table and wordlessly offered her his arm. The left one. Tifa sighed.
"They say you'll need to take the earrings out, too," she said, after she'd flushed his vein with saline and rigged the machine to inject him with the contrast as best she could. "You can put them back on when it's done."
Cloud seemed almost as hesitant to actually do this as he had to allow her to inject him with contrast. Eventually, he reached up and removed his earrings and set them on the tray. Tifa noted that there was a significant amount of dead skin built up in the crevices of each one, and wondered when the last time he'd actually taken them out was. Months, at least. She'd wash them before giving them back for sure.
The first scan went uneventfully enough. Between Tifa's vague knowledge of first aid and the nurse's instructions on how to properly use a needle, they managed to get everything set up without any damage to either Cloud or the unfortunate staff that happened to be at work today. After they'd finished with the first one, she'd pulled him aside to go over the plan for the second one.
There was a sense of familiarity to this, but not in a comforting way at all. The last time Cloud has genuinely been at risk of any Jenova-related episodes had been four years ago, either when Sephiroth felt the need for an extra pair of hands, or when they'd realised that the connection went both ways and Cloud had to consciously tap into it himself. It had saved a lot of lives in the end, but it took its toll on Cloud in more ways than one.
Tifa had hated it. She knew it was for the greater good, but she still hated it. For her, it was ten or more agonising minutes of sitting there, watching Cloud attentively, unable to help him in any way except to knock him out to keep him from doing anything he'd regret, watching him grow strange and distant when it worked, watching him twitch and convulse when it didn't. It was another thing from that period of her life she thought she'd earned the right to never deal with ever again.
Eventually, he'd learned to control it, and she'd learned to accept that it was something she had no control over herself. And he'd grown less distant, had fewer seizures, had learned to live with it constantly; and she'd begun to believe they could move on with their lives.
Maybe she was just angry at everyone and everything.
"Just a quick one this time, right?" she asked. "Don't go too deep."
"I'll be fine," he said, though he sounded drained and unhappy and kept glancing back over at the PET machine.
"I know it's the last thing you want to hear right now, but you've gotta calm down or you're gonna be knocked out for hours," said Tifa. "If you need help, just tap your finger on the --"
"I'm fine," he interrupted. "I know. I'll be fine."
Tifa nodded and went back to "keeping watch" for any nurses as he lay back down on the table and began to calm himself. They didn't have to wait long -- seconds later, she heard him gasp sharply, his back arching and his hands clawing at the table. That didn't seem right -- he hadn't been that reactive in this state in for years. She didn't have time to dwell on it as he relaxed back into the table and she got the machine started again. She made the mistake of looking at his face briefly while she was doing it, and was met with his eerily serene expression, and the vivid green catlike eyes peering back at her. She resisted the urge to snap his neck and run, and quickly took a step back. She'd held his hand enough this last week. Hopefully he'd understand her absence for this one.
She asked Reeve to talk him down from this one and excused herself for a moment under the guise of wanting to look at the PET scans.
The staff present seemed like they were... not necessarily enjoying themselves, given the prospect of being badly maimed by the end of the day was still a very real one thanks to the patient sulking one room over. But they were talking amongst themselves curiously. Tifa hoped that mean they'd be able to help.
"...Find anything yet?" she said hesitantly.
The nurse she'd spoken to earlier shook his head. "It's hard to say. It's a good thing we did these two scans first to act as a control -- there's a lot wrong here. It would be hard to know if it was an effect of the episodes you've mentioned, or something he could have sued Hojo for medical malpractice over. There's a lot of damage here, you know. Medically speaking, he should still be a vegetable."
"Damage from Jenova?"
"Maybe," said the nurse, gesturing to the second set of pictures they'd pinned up. "We're seeing a lot of activity that's in line with temporal lobe epilepsy but... again, the damage makes it difficult to know if that's really what it is, or, if it is that, if Jenova's even the cause of some of it. It could be mako poisoning, it could have been head injury, it could be mako that's crystallising into deposits his bloodstream -- rare, but it's happened. It could even be genetic. Hopefully we'll know for sure soon."
"How much do you know about Jenova?" asked Tifa.
"More than most, not as much as we'd like," said the nurse. "This clinic was started to deal with the stigma before it was... dealt with, and we discovered a link there. All of us have a basic knowledge of it because it's our job to. Unfortunately, a lot of information about Jenova went down with Shinra's servers."
They had to wait quite some time for the third scan. Cloud sat in the waiting room and stared at her throughout most of it. She knew he didn't mean it badly, but it was unsettling nevertheless, especially with those eyes. Tifa had gotten better about guessing what his various stares and grunts actually meant, because of course he would never actually ask for anything, not directly. One would think he didn't have a tongue, the way he acted half the time. Nanaki was still the best at it out of all of the, though Tifa considered it cheating to just sniff him and check if he was feeling anxious.
Cloud suddenly got to his feet and looked around, walking right past Tifa. He'd suddenly taken a great deal of interest in the television, as though he'd never seen one before. Tifa wasn't sure how much it mattered that it was playing the same rerun of The Planet's Most Dangerous that it had been playing for the last four years since the studio that made these was destroyed in an explosion of magic the likes of which the world had never seen, but Cloud was utterly enraptured as he watched a brood of seaworms skeletonise a cow in two minutes.
He turned back around suddenly. "Where are we, anyway?"
"...The clinic at the WRO," said Tifa cautiously. "You're Aeris?"
Cloud nodded. "We didn't really get a chance to speak to one another properly. There was a complication on my end, but I'm back now."
"A 'complication'?"
"Yes. A brief power outage. You haven't noticed anything strange yourself, have you?"
"No more than usual," said Tifa, still watching Cloud very closely. Aeris cleared her throat nervously.
"I'm sorry for lying to you the first time around. I could have handled that better. I panicked and thought you might as well."
Tifa continued watching them. Aeris only seemed somewhat focused on her, and kept stealing glances at the television, which was now advertising a restaurant much fancier than Tifa's.
"...Is he alright?" she asked. Aeris paused, apparently listening to something.
"He can't move again," said Aeris. "I'm trying to figure out why. He said to tell you, 'Don't tell them yet.' Does that mean anything to you?"
Tifa groaned. "Tell him that the faster we do this, the faster we can leave, and the faster you can get back to fixing this whole mess on your end. Which you are doing," she added sharply, "aren't you?"
Aeris nodded curtly. "I can't say much for the progress we expect to have, but yes. I don't need to tell him, though. He can hear you." She paused again. "He really does insist on ten more minutes, though."
"Five," said Tifa. "Final offer."
"Five is fine," replied Aeris after a moment. She sat back down. "Would you mind me asking a few questions?"
"About what?" said Tifa warily.
"About... well, a lot of things, I suppose," said Aeris. "Truth be told, I'm not really sure where to start..."
"What are you gonna do with the information?" asked Tifa. "What's the point of all this? The semi, the wandering off in the night..."
"Well..." began Aeris, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "A great deal of it's prep work. Finding out what this place is, how strong the gravity is, if the laws of physics apply in the same way, what the people there are like..."
"Prep work for what?"
"If everything goes well, for a visit in person," said Aeris. "We have the equipment, but no way of looking at the place we'd send anyone. Even if we just chucked in a robot, it could be incinerated the minute it got here because we could be throwing it into a star, and that would be the end of billions of pounds and years of hard work."
"You. Coming here?"
"Eventually, yes. I hope."
"Why? What could you possibly have to gain from all this?"
"Knowledge and exploration for its own sake," said Aeris simply, as though this were obvious. "We didn't expect anything to be here apart from a bunch of rocks and perhaps a few microbes. Now that we know we're wrong, it's more important than ever." She gestured to the television, which had gone back to showing The Planet's Most Dangerous, where the host was excitedly feeding another cow carcass to yet another predator. "All of this -- this culture, this world -- don't you think it's worth it to learn about for its own sake? Wouldn't it be terrible if all of this was here, and no one ever got to know about it?"
Tifa glanced back at the television. It didn't really seem all that exciting to her to watch a carnivorous plant from Gongaga eat half a dead cow, but Aeris was gesturing to the television as though it were airing a grand symphony.
"And of course, there's the political side of it," she continued. "The first partnership between two universes. It would give people a lot of hope, to know they weren't alone. We could learn a lot from one another. Of course... I don't really know how most of that will go now. I've made a mess of the whole thing, now that we know Cloud is involved. If enough fingers get pointed, someone might start a war over this whole mess. Maybe on your side of things, or perhaps even on mine. My country has its own enemies, and this technology was never supposed to be capable of this..." She slouched in her chair. "So, there's really no way to go but forward. If all of this was for nothing, at least I tried, even knowing it was pointless to."
"...I guess so," said Tifa after several moments. Aeris cleared her throat again in embarrassment, as though someone besides the three of them had been listening.
"So, er -- what's your atmosphere made of?"
Tifa blinked. She hadn't needed this information in years. "Nitrogen, oxygen, some other stuff..."
Aeris nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, but what concentrations?"
"just off the top of my head? 70-30 to the nitrogen, I think. I don't know. Reeve might." Tifa frowned. "He's been gone an awfully long time..."
"Reeve was the older gentleman, yes?"
Tifa nodded. "He arranged the drive here. Cloud agreed to it, I don't know why he's being so difficult about it now..."
She stood up. "That had to have been five minutes. Let's get this over with."
"Cloud says that was only four minutes. He says he was counting."
Tifa gave him a look. Aeris looked away, and Tifa got back up to fetch the nurse.
The staff still refused to go near Cloud, and found it just as unnerving that he was suddenly making the procedure so easy on everyone. A muscle in his face kept twitching, and at one point she thought she saw his lips mouth something along the lines of "shut up".
Half an hour later, Cloud was herded into a private room in preparation for another sample, where she distinctly heard Aeris mutter, "I'm not asking that. It's probably not a semen sample," and Tifa stepped back out to speak with the nurse about the results. She still hadn't seen Reeve.
Instead of curious chatter, she was met with a roomful of grim faces. They still had the pictures up from the previous scan, too, which was strange.
"...Good news?" asked Tifa, a pit of dread settling in her stomach. The nurses exchanged a glance with one another.
"That depends on your perspective," said one of the nurses. "We've determined he isn't having a psychotic or dissociative lapse of any sort."
Tifa had already figured that much out by now, but there was still a tiny voice in the back of her mind that still wondered. "Good. That's good, right? If -- if he's not crazy, then this is something we can deal with on our own, right?"
A hush went across the room. One of the nurses took out another set of images and put them up next to the ones on the wall.
"These are the ones from the previous scan," said the first nurse. "And these are the ones we just took." He gestured to the images on the wall when she'd walked in.
Tifa looked between them in confusion. "I don't get what I'm supposed to be seeing. They both look --"
"-- the same," said the nurse. "They are. The same brain activity in the same amounts in the same areas, the same changes in vitals..."
Tifa faltered. "I don't..."
"The entity Cloud is in contact with is Jenova. Undeniably. He's been speaking with Her, and has already shown to have a great deal of influence over him. With everything that implies."
She felt numb. None of it made sense -- Jenova didn't speak. Cloud had said so, again and again. And it certainly didn't speak to anyone that wasn't Her host. Had She adapted? Did Cloud know? He had seemed so sure...
"So what does this mean?" she said. Her throat suddenly felt dry.
"It means Cloud can't leave. I'm sorry."
"No."
"Ma'am, I understand this has to be upsetting, but --"
"No! Where the hell is he? We're leaving, right now." She shoved past the nurse into the hall.
Cloud was lying unconscious on some sort of stretcher, which was being wheeled down the hall away from them.
"What did you do to him?!" she screamed, shoving her way past the first three nurses before someone grabbed her from behind and pinned her to a wall. A trained grip, with gloved hands. They'd brought guards in. On loan from the police, judging by the uniforms. When had they had time to do that?
"He's just been sedated to avoid a confrontation," explained another nurse as two more guards piled onto her after she incapacitated the first one with the back of her skull. "This is for his safety too. If Jenova is influencing him the way She was with Sephiroth, we'd have no choice but to execute him to avoid massive loss of human life. None of us want to do that. If we just --"
"Fuck you," she spat. She clenched her fist, and the two guards holding her were violently slammed against the ceiling by a gravity spell. She brought them back down and hurtled over them, but a wall of ice suddenly sprang up in front of her. She slashed her hand through the air as a localised windstorm whipped up indoors, threatening to fling the guards into another wall, but one of them closed the distance and tackled her to the ground. She quickly flipped them both over, delivering a series of blows to his head, then whipped up to face the other guard.
She never got the chance. One thousand volts coursed through her body, and she caught a glimpse of a drawn taser. She struggled to get back up, but her limbs wouldn't stop twitching long enough to obey before she was cuffed and carried down the hall in the other direction, away from Cloud.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," said one of the nurses, as she was carried out of the building. "This is all we can do."
Cloud had been sitting in the waiting room by himself for a while. They'd been amusing themselves trying to figure out how he'd been able to move before, and making very slow progress. If Aeris distracted herself to to the point where she was half asleep and Cloud focused everything he had into it, he could twitch his fingers. It wasn't much, but it was a start.
Do you think it's bone marrow? Aeris asked. That seems like the sort of thing, doesn't it?
Tifa said she'd be there if it was. We've been here a while. Do you think they forgot? he asked. And if they have, do you think we could just go home? They got their scans and their blood and their cheek swabs and their piss. I don't know what else they'd need.
Perhaps they want to perform a biopsy.
They better the fuck not. You better not let them.
I won't. As interesting as your medicines are, I don't think I want to experience them firsthand just yet.
The door opened, and a nervous-looking nurse came in with a cup of tea and another sandwich, and fled the moment he set the tray down. That probably meant more blood. He was just about fed up with getting stuck with needles
Threaten to break his neck for me, said Cloud.
No. He's already afraid. He smells quite strongly of it -- this is strange, the scent thing, how do you deal with this?
I didn't, at first, said Cloud. Aeris started on the sandwich enthusiastically.
What kind of meat is this? she asked. It tastes like turkey.
Probably turkey then, said Cloud, watching as she took careful, fascinated sips of the tea.
What about this, then?
...Don't know. Chamomile, maybe. It smells kind of funny. I'm not a tea expert.
Ah, we have that too. A shame we don't have any milk.
Butter would be nice, said Cloud absently. A lot of milk and honey and butter.
Cloud felt himself make a face. Butter?
Yeah. They make it that way in Knowlespole. Way up north, even more north than Nibelheim. I kinda got attached. It's actually not bad... A strange sense of calm washed over him, and he had a vivid memory of resting in that cafe away from the blizzard outside, Cid taking notes -- actual real paper notes -- about how the tea was prepared here, and talking to Cloud about flavours and aftertastes, and Cloud was just happy to sit and listen to him.
Sounds nice... said Aeris. I make fancy teas sometimes. Just for me and Shithead.
Shithead?
I mean, Cassiopeia. My cat. Do you have cats here?
Of course we have cats here. What kind of place wouldn't have cats?
Cassie and I, we'll watch the rain and drink it out of fancy cups. Sometimes it's nice to do something like that for yourself...
Yeah, thought Cloud to himself. Yeah, it is.
Aeris was saying something else to him. Or maybe he was saying something else to Aeris. But it was warm in the office, and he was full, and he was full of a sort of peace he couldn't remember experiencing in years...
Cloud opened his eyes and was puzzled to find himself in a bed, and realised he hadn't left for the WRO at all. He hoped he hadn't overslept. Yuffie should have woken him up.
Yuffie wasn't with him, though. Neither was Nanaki. They'd gone to get Tifa and the others... no. They'd already done that. Aeris had come, and he'd woken from one of his lapses, and the WRO had shown up early... they'd gone there, hadn't they? And they'd done a battery of tests, and it seemed like only five minutes ago he'd dozed off in the office after he drank --
Cloud bolted upright and looked around the room he was in. A cell, about the size of his room in the hospital. No windows. No doors -- no, there was a door, at the front of the room, but there wasn't any handle on this side, and the gaps between it were too small for him to slip a finger into. The walls were covered in padding, and while there were vents, they too were flush with the walls and ceiling. Aeris seemed to be gone. The room was eerily quiet with no other noise but his breathing. They had taken his sword, and at some point his clothes had been removed and replaced with clean hospital scrubs with no pockets.
Cloud leapt out of bed and threw his shoulder into the door. It held firm -- it must have been incredibly thick: Cloud had thrown himself (and been thrown) through solid cement before. If only he had a sword…
He began looking around his cell for something to use as a weapon -- the sink, maybe, if he could rip it off the wall. It wouldn’t do him much good if they had guns, though. Deflecting bullets was significantly easier than dodging them. Maybe the blanket? It didn’t seem very sturdy, probably specifically to keep him from using it to strangle anyone.
So that left him with the much more risky option of blasting his way out of the cell. The quarters were too close to summon anything that wouldn’t kill him too… Ultima might do it, but he could easily get caught in the explosion himself, and he wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him on the other side. If there was a way to see what --
“It’s good to see you’re awake, Mr. Strife,” came a voice from the ceiling. An intercom. “Would you prefer Mr. Strife, or Cloud?”
“I’d prefer if you let me the hell out of here,” he growled. “You’ve got ten seconds before I burn this whole complex to the ground.”
He heard some noise in the background briefly -- someone said something about “violent outbursts” and “signs of influence”. The voice turned its attention back to him.
“I’m sorry. It’s better for your own safety if you remain in your room.”
“Like hell it is!” Cloud delivered another fist into the wall. Sturdy. Way sturdier than what would be expected of any normal prison cell. They had planned for this -- for him. “I wanna talk to your supervisor. Where’s Reeve?”
“Former-director Tuesti is no longer employed in the WRO.” said the voice. Cloud froze.
“...What?”
“His contract was terminated six hours ago. He’s been frequently abusing the privilege his position offers to grant political pardons to certain individuals he’s acquainted with.”
Cloud felt his stomach twist up uncomfortably with guilt. “He’s…”
“The actions he took have endangered both the general public and you,” the voice continued. “It’s been decided that --”
“So, what? I’m being… arrested?”
“You aren’t in any legal trouble. We don’t believe you to be accountable for your behaviour at this particular time. We’re here to help you.”
“You can help me by letting me out before I kill you.”
“Mr. Strife, your judgement is severely impaired. Jenova has been influencing you for nearly a decade. We have no way of knowing whether your actions and words are your own. Therefore, it would be safer for you to remain --”
“Asshole.”
“Mr. Strife --”
“Asshole!” His fist became wreathed in flames. “Open the door.”
“Cloud, you’re very sick --”
“Open the fucking door, or I burn this whole place down with me in it!” he bellowed. “How long do you plan on keeping me here?””
“As I’ve said, we’re here to help you. We understand the circumstances you’re in are not your fault.”
“Good. So let me --”
“As such, we’d like to find a way to cure you, if you’re willing to cooperate.”
The flame sputtered out. “...What?”
“Jenova appears to have a significant amount of influence over you. What happened with Sephiroth was tragic and unavoidable. This time, we have the opportunity to prevent that. We’d like to find a way to reverse, or at least mitigate, Jenova’s integration into your own genome.”
“...You can cure me?” It had been so long since he’d fantasised about not hearing Her voice in his head, he was having a difficult time imagining it. It had been better, he knew. Felt better. Maybe his eyes would look normal. Maybe he wouldn’t need glasses. Maybe he could just go outside.
“We’d like to try. Much of the data we had on Jenova was lost during Meteorfall, of course. We’d have to gather more. We’d need to run several tests to determine --”
“How long would it take to cure me?”
“That’s difficult to say for certain. If everything goes well, we could begin making progress towards one within a year.”
The fireball came back. “Ten.”
“...Excuse me?”
“Nine.” He fed more magic into it. An alarm somewhere tripped, either in the distance, or directly outside his cell, depending on how thick the walls were. “Eight.”
“Mr. Strife, please understand that while we realise it may be difficult to control your impulses, we can’t allow you to harm the staff here during your stay.”
“Fuck you. Seven…”
Something was happening to his vision. It was suddenly much harder to maintain the fire, and it died out again as he stumbled and the world tilted and bucked around him. “What…?”
He looked up. There was air flowing through the vents now. It smelled faintly chemical, like the tea had. Maybe some sort of opiate, he realised, as the general feeling of wellbeing washed over him again. Whatever it was, it was strong. He struggled to stay on his feet, but he was very tired, and it was safe here… he’d missed feeling safe…
“Six…” he mumbled, though he couldn’t remember why he’d been counting. He fell bonelessly to the ground, glaring halfheartedly at the wall. He needed to stay awake. He needed to stay angry. This was wrong…
Sixty-seven two, he thought instead. The number comforted him. Sixty-seven two three. The voice was saying something else over the intercom in a soothing voice. This was wrong. He shouldn’t be here. He knew that, didn’t he? Sixty-seven two three. It had taken him so long to recognise it, to get rid of that stupid Buster Sword… he still wanted it back... Sixty-seven two…
"Did I do something wrong?"
The fear bled into his voice against his will as he was escorted onto the table and clamped in place to keep him from thrashing around. He was almost certain the sessions with the one test that he was still afraid of were over, so was almost certainly for punishment purposes. But he didn't understand why. He thought he had been good, just like they wanted. It had been so long since they'd punished him that he'd thought maybe he had finally figured out how to be good, but now he wasn't sure.
He quickly realised that he obviously hadn't learned a thing, because here he was asking questions he hadn't been told to ask, speaking when he hadn't been given permission to speak, and referring to himself when he definitely hadn't been given permission to do that.
He was still shaking terribly by the time they stopped the machines. He didn't say a word for days afterwards, even when prompted. He desperately wanted to know what he had done wrong, but he hadn't been given permission to ask, so perhaps he'd never know. That thought scared him almost as much as being taken back to that room again.
He did try to figure out what he'd done. There was another test -- they'd had him listen to Mother, and She had drawn him into the deep place full of Herself, and the world seemed to fall away around him. He had done well, he'd thought. The Professor had called it a stunning success, and he'd looked at him, glowing with pride. And he'd smiled, and reached out to the Professor, and the Professor had looked at him with... he didn't know.
Maybe that had been bad. He hadn't been attacking him, though. He thought that was obvious. He thought maybe, since he had done so well, and the Professor had been smiling... the way he'd recoiled from his hand, though, had looked at him coldly as he pleaded not to be taken back again -- it hurt the way the machines did. Worse, maybe.
The Professor didn't reach back. He never had. So maybe that was the bad part -- he'd asked for something without realising it.
He knew what he'd done wrong the next time, though. He was being made to run, testing how long he could go before his body gave out. A day and a half into it, he had been told to stop so they could fix one of the electrodes. He didn't stop. He felt violently ill, and it was as if someone had taken their words and scraped the meaning from his brain. For a moment, he wasn't even sure where he was, or how he'd gotten there, or how long it had been since words started falling apart.
The Professor thought maybe it was residual stubbornness, and began treating it as such, but the lapses got worse and worse, and it got hard to tell what was him and what the others were saying, until it all ran together. He could feel them all over the inside of his skin, scraping away what used to be written there.
He sat inert in his cell these days. His arms felt strangely flimsy, like paper, and he couldn't bring himself to move much in between the blank periods. He ran a constant fever, and he swung wildly back and forth between shivering intensely and lying on his side on the cool floor of his cell, trying to keep himself from melting into the walls. Sometimes he would stroke the spot on his left wrist for comfort. It was still covered in a bandage so he couldn't pick it off, but it was good to know it was there. That he had earned it. Then his thoughts would go blank again as all the words ran out of them. He'd been poked too full of holes, and now a bluish green fog was rushing in and out of him, blowing it all away.
He could have sworn there was a word that had been erased that shouldn't have been. It was important he made it to Soldier, wasn't it? It was for something. He wasn't sure sometimes, until the Professor or the Director would come by and remind him, and he'd remember: His designation was Series 3. And that this place was his home. And he was special, he knew -- the Professor would say that a lot too. Shinra wanted him to be a weapon, but the Director knew he could be more. Mother would help him be more.
The old parts of him sloughed off more and more, and eventually Mother stopped writing new ones. He asked Her once. What did I do wrong? But if She replied, the fog swallowed it.
Sometimes he could move, but couldn't think, and he would find himself ripping up his cell, knocking holes in the walls, smashing his cot, tearing at his own skin, trying to get out of the cell, of his own flesh, of his own poisoned blood, of his ruined mind. He didn't know how to get out of any of these things, so Mother would rescind what will She had given him, and he'd be left at the mercy of the fog again.
Once a week, if he was lucky, there were periods when his mind was working but the lab was empty and everyone had gone home, so he was left in the mako tank with all the lights off for a day or two. He used those times to think. He thought about how he was in Soldier, and he had gotten here by being very brave and better than the other test subjects that weren't good enough for Soldier. He thought about the Director smiling at him during the tests, and telling him how wonderfully he'd done with her nice voice that crawled around the inside of his head. He thought about the Professor looking at him proudly, telling him how he'd always known he was special, that he would do a good job. He thought a secret thought, too, one he was almost sure wasn't allowed, but he snuck back to it anyway, because it was his secret; a fake person that didn't exist, that was Mother and the Director and the Professor all in one, would embrace him, and tell him what a good subject he was, and her arms were warm, and she called him her child. He thought it so often that it started leaking out of him, and the Professor would speak to him in the Director's voice and tell him to try harder, and the Director would look at him and he would feel Mother's cold fury burning through her.
He wanted so badly to do well for them. It was all the good he could do for the people that had looked at him and decided he was worthy. He wanted to be worthy. He tried his best to think of more ways to prove he was useful, all through the trip to the mako tank, and the hours he'd been soaking in it. Let me be good, he thought. Let me be good enough. He pleaded and begged for an answer, over and over again, his heart clenching painfully with how badly he wanted it, even though no one could hear him.
But someone did hear him.
It was roaring and vast and old, like Mother. Unlike Mother, its voices seared and cut and dragged like the fog did, and they were agony to the touch. His chest burned, and he screamed, the sound gagged by the mako in his lungs. They carved their way through him, exploring him, and something burned a single question into him: what do you want?
Help, he thought. Help me. It hurts. I'm alone. Help me.
The voices twisted around his question, but did not seem to understand it. He asked again.
Please help me. I want to be good enough. It hurts.
They continued to twist around indifferently. He saw for a split second what they were, and he knew it wasn't the fog -- it was steam. It was fire. It was almost as old and deep as Mother, and it was like trying to pour the ocean into a thimble, but continue to pour it did, burning in its wake. Too much. It was too much, and he pleaded for it to stop, but the fire, the light, the rushing green and blue that twisted around the fog like water through oil, did not understand or did not care, or both. He couldn't look away, because there was nowhere to look that was safe -- it was inside and around him. It was him, the way Mother was, but Mother had pulled away and was nowhere to be found.
They burrowed in deeper now, and then there was another sharp jab in his chest as a white light filled him up, and he could feel himself being ripped apart more and more as another word came to him: false.
Then they vanished as quickly as they had come.
Series 3 spasmed in the mako tank and then floated there, motionless.
Aeris didn’t realise when she’d fallen asleep. It hadn’t been the first time, though. It felt like the first time. She didn’t realise when she’d fallen asleep until after her dream was over. She was sure she’d had one like it before, but she couldn’t quite remember. She wished she had written it down before going into the showers. There was something about it that was strangely familiar.
The sky was burning, the ugly red colour of an open wound. It whispered to her things she couldn't understand, and behind all of it she heard music -- the most beautiful, terrible sound she'd ever heard. She covered her ears and looked out at the city, and then at the low roar coming from above them, and gasped. It was big. Too big. Aeris didn't think she'd ever seen anything that big before in person. She was pretty sure it was looking at her, and the whispering in her head intensified into an almost painful shriek. She ignored it.
Her hand was curled around another, belonging to the woman next to her. Another hand was draped over her shoulders, as though to steady her. It was funny, staring out across the imminent ruin of all that was -- it hadn't really mattered much who she was or what she'd done. The world would go on without her. The hand holding hers tightened, and she amended the thought, because didn't it matter now? It mattered to these people, here. She mattered to them. Perhaps that was enough.
They had done all they could.
She woke up, and for some reason felt horribly lonely.
#the number i#forfdorfsorf#spitegarbage#that's it though just flashbacks#everything is fine and the story ends in this chapter
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