#He's such a hodgepodge of birds | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ms0milk · 2 years ago

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𝟔 | 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐨𝐛𝐚

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"You dread what would have happened if His Highness accompanied you here. You dread what you would have to do to this crowd to keep them from touching him."

cw bkg 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼 unethical rescue tactics, reader is a bit scantily clad (thin nightgown) and someone has big feelings abt it. temporary sense of claustrophobia, descriptions of a very crowded room. i love aizawa i love uraraka i love kirishima i love poor deku i hope you enjoy this protective fluff. 4.1k

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Uraraka Ochako is functioning on four hours of sleep and a few well timed snacks. She’s led morning stretches for the first-shift guards, floated smithing equipment to the forge, freed a bird from the clocktower, and worked Sero’s horrible tape off the back of a fireproof Alderan cloak.

Since midnight it’s been nothing but Alderans pilling up in the courtyard. Every time staff thought they’d collected the last of them, two more would tumble through the gates– one fell from the fucking sky. Captain Hawks deployed from the garrisons at the sight of a flare and dropped Kirishima on castle grounds, crispy, an hour later.

Uraraka has made her morning rounds four times over and polished her cuisses to thinning. She helped Miss Nemuri battle the Alderan Prince to bed and found furs for singed Kirishima. Even off-duty she’s still in her greaves and chausses because without weight on her legs she’d get so distracted she might simply float away. She couldn’t sleep. Not when there was one person missing all night. Until half an hour ago, everyone from the forest fire was accounted for except for Master Aizawa.

When she enters the throne room ahead of you, he’s standing beside the queen no worse for his usual wear. There are a menacing amount of people squeezed inside and the wall of open windows does nothing to make the crowd less oppressive. Off-shift guards, generals, military personnel, butlers, even the kitchen staff are sprinting to try and provide the unexpected guests with appropriate refreshments. You look pale when Uraraka checks behind her, and feel cold in her hand.

“Y/n?”

You nod, but don’t quite look at her. You’re busy peering out at the seagulls flying past and stumbling on your nightgown hem, like crossing the threshold of the throne room stripped you of all the coordination you displayed just minutes ago. The hodgepodge of royal advisors have squeezed into this modest room for an emergency meeting, but they’re shouting and squabbling like a group of children loud enough to deafen horses at the edge of town. They’re here because of the flame mage.

Uraraka stops trying to navigate through the crowd and turns to you, “Are you feeling sick?”

“I’m alright.”

Do you realize you’re whispering? Or that you answered too quickly?

She pulls your hand a bit and steps even closer, “Is it like last night– like the poison?”

One voice cannot be heard over another, one face cannot be seen for long before moving behind a chest or shoulder or otherwise being walked in front of. Uraraka realizes it was silly to take you from the hospital directly to the queen, even if you were requested. She should have objected. To be fair to herself, she didn’t anticipate the chaos.

A gentleman trips on the corner of a rug and causes enough of a fuss around the pair of you that you’re being bumped by guests from all angles. You look agitated.

“Do you need a chair?”

“Just tell me what your queen needs from me.”

The sound of your heartbeat shouldn’t be so loud in your ears considering the low hum of hundreds of voices around you. You realize you’re staring at the floor and when you look back up, Uraraka stands just inches away with a grounding hold on your hand. She's warm too, like Kirishima. Too warm, she’s too close to you and her hold is too tight.

There’s a bit of movement in the space beside your head and taking a second to focus, Uraraka spies a shock of green hair bumbling through the throng towards her. She knows this particular friend will not be a huge help in this particular moment but what she doesn’t anticipate is your light footwork the second he breaks through the crowd. Poor Deku. He would have been okay if he hadn’t steadied himself on your shoulder after wrestling free of the crowd.

“Hey Och–!”

With eyes still unfocused and balance still off, you kick a foot between his legs, take solid hold of his hand, and then he’s flying– fully airborne– over the back of your head and onto the marble floor. Uraraka barley pushes a pair of diplomats behind her fast enough to keep his red boot from knocking out any teeth. A hush ripples immediately through the crowd.

“Deku you can’t just grab people!”

The short young man gapes up at you from the spot where you have him pinned to the floor. Freckles and nervous eyes, a slight smile, he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper back immediately.

“That’s enough!” Another voice, a tired voice, breaks through the mortifying silence and kick-starts the chaos again. You release your hold on the boy who is quick to pick himself up and bow his head, but people are moving, generals or ordering, waitstaff are fussing, all around you again. You don’t have Uraraka’s hand to hold. The boy could be apologizing, his mouth is moving for sure, Uraraka is gone– you’re trying to excuse yourself to a young woman whose foot you’ve tread, but she’s replaced by an old man in blue cloaks, then he’s replaced by a spindly child with a silver horderve tray and it’s becoming terribly difficult to stay afloat.

“Y/n,” The tired voice becomes clear again. You raise your head and Aizawa is standing in front of you, borne from the crowd pushing past. He takes another step forward and it’s so much easier to concentrate on his dark coat in the colorful chaos.

He doesn’t seem to be burned, or maimed, or...ghostlike, and he is not phased by the swarms of expensively dressed men shouldering past the pair of you. You don’t know where the boy or Uraraka went and you haven’t introduced yourself to the queen who must be in here s–

“Y/n.”

“Yes, sir.” You snap back to attention.

Aizawa’s caught your eyes wandering to the windows again and when he says your name it’s low and clear, “May I?” You nod. He pinches the collar of your nightgown with his long fingers and clasps the silver neckline closed with a brooch. “You’re in the throne room. How do you feel?”

“Well, sir.”

“You were injured last night, do you feel any side effects?”

“I’m–my thoughts, are fuzzy.”

Panic subsides with nothing to focus on but the man in front of you. He stands close and works slowly. When your eyes are no longer pounding with your pulse you take a glimpse of his handiwork at your chest and melt a little at the shining dragontooth below your collarbone. White and unburnt, heavy and familiar. Aizawa rests his hand over your chest when he finishes his adjustments and your heartbeat slows considerably under the pressure. No one bumps into you anymore.

“You were very brave last night Y/n, thank you.”

You think you thank him in response but you’re having a difficult time taking your eyes off his hand where that pressure keeps your lungs from overflowing with panic. You close them instead.

“You’re in the throne room, are you meant to be here?”

“Yes sir.”

“You don’t like tight spaces do you?”

“I’m alright, sir.”

“It helps to focus on one thing in a situation like this.” He lifts from your dragontooth and replaces the warmth with two hands on either shoulder. Briefly, he glances over your head to the crowd undulating, not daring to crash into the black guard, before tipping his head back down, “What are your orders? You should be in bed.”

The presence of the crowd beyond their clicking howling and clinking is only in the absence of fresh air to breathe. The overwhelming chaos of the room is subdued now, dull save for seagull cries, and Master Aizawa watches on patiently like he knows that he’s the reason for your peace.

How many orders had you received this week? You blink a few times as you remember and become fully aware of the tragedy of your mission; Queen Mitsuki’s letter to Her Majesty Todoroki, one of the only two things you were tasked with protecting, is ash in a forest miles away.

“I– have no orders. I was requested for an audience.”

“Unhand me!”

Aizawa’s hand at your shoulders becomes a grip when new noise vibrates from a far corner of the room.

“– if you don’t–!”

A horrible tide overcomes the crowd, slowly at first, then the pull of a thousand eyes, heads and legs towards the sound of the commotion. Exactly what you always dread, the sea of people begins to churn and it is never the threat of the crowd that chills you but what a crowd can do to itself.

One voice becomes many, becomes shouting over the single note of chatter. They’re fighting, someone has started a fight in the throne room and you haven’t even managed to catch a glimpse of the queen or her mighty entourage yet so the room must be vast and the crowd must be plenty and there is a much higher chance than you’re comfortable with, of stampede.

The old guard doesn’t have time to be gentle with you when he pulls away, “Can you manage the crowd?”

“Yes sir.”

And you both understand that this is an order, not a question, not a concern. “Shinsou!” He calls over your head before diving into the thrawl, “Help our Alderan control this traffic.”

As Aizawa disappears into the swell, the relief of Shinsou’s name floods. Every member of your party had been recovered from last night’s fire. You swivel, hoping to catch sight of the young guard coming your way before you begin to help the Takoban staff herd these guests like Aizawa instructed, but instead of Shinsou there are a pair of wide redrimmed eyes standing much too close.

“You’re the Alderan guard?”

Heads turn.

When a great gaggle of creatures come together, it is the sheepdog’s job to gather them. When a dragon mistakes a castle for a jewel rich cave, it is an Alderan’s job to send them on their way.

“I heard him say it,” the person presses closer, “you’re a member of the Alderan party.”

Sometimes though it is a sheep’s job to wreak as much havoc as possible. The crowd, still generally flowing toward the tussle at the front of the room, has decided that you too are interesting.

“Have you spoken to the queen?” Is the first of many things spoken to you when a wall of well dressed backs becomes a ring of eager faces.

“Where is your–”

“–does Aldera have–”

As you attempt to find footing suitable for a military member of your standing, a stiff breeze reminds you that you’re not wearing anything more than a cotton nightgown. There’s no sword at your hip, no medals at your chest past Jeanist’s heirloom dragontooth, and only a flimsy ribbon holding back your braids.

“– can you– will this affect the��”

“–was quick!”

“How hot–”

The Takoban King must truly love war for his council to be so large, and for the people in it to be so joyous in their involvement. Flies on corpses.

More and more people break away from the forward flow of the crowd as they realize who you are and not one of them thinks to give you breathing space. You become the room’s second center of gravity. Where the hell is Shinsou?

“I will answer–” you attempt and then spin to apologize to a man you’ve bumped into, “– your questions– I will–” What is causing this fuss? One bandit in the woods? Alderan company? Are these the manners of Takoba?

Your breath sticks to your throat in the questioning swarm while they push you deeper through them– like you’ve been swallowed by a great snake. You can’t embarrass your country by using force on royal advisors but the constriction of your arms against your side makes it difficult not to raise your voice.

“Where is your party?”

“Who is– charge–”

“You’ve brought danger!”

“Where is your prince?”

Your prince. You dread what would have happened if His Highness and friends accompanied you here. You dread what you would have to do to this crowd to keep them from touching him.

“Excuse me,” you duck as you murmur lukewarm apologies in escape. You must find Shinsou.

A short woman in tails is at your eye level like this and she begins a barrage of questions about Alderan foreign policy when you error eye contact. One foot in front of the next only introduces you to a new polished nobel and either their disdain or their cross examination. Pushing forward isn’t working. What happened to the vast throne room? Why does it shrink when you move through it?

Your clothes are too tight– your skin is too tight and the hair brushing the back of your neck will surely kill you. You jerk an arm when a brave soul grabs hold of your bicep and force your shoulder stiff in its socket to stop yourself from striking. Their voices melt into itching static, you feel their mosquito bites in the goosebumps of your flesh.

“Where–”

How will you help to manage this crowd when you can’t even walk through it? You don’t want to be alone anymore, this– you, you won’t remember how to get back now.

“You’re a soldier?”

“– and how many–”

“Alderan! Were there weapons or onl–”

A firecracker pop screams in the open air above all of you and you’re gasping when your hearing comes back, long enough to focus on the whistle and crack of a shot in the chamber. One more keeps the static from filling your ears again, and steals the attention of the generals not yet bored by your silence.

“Move,” detonates as a voice off the walls.

Bodies roll past you, through you, to continue their questions without getting crushed by the parting crowds. They can’t yet see the person attached to the voice or the reason for the parting, but you know the owner of the sparks that splash across the blue-green ceiling, and you would follow them forever and a day.

Prince Bakugou, in all his milk golden glory steps through the swarm like a threat.

Generals that swallow you whole don’t approach him and you itch to be closer, but the questions don’t subside just because a new Alderan guest has appeared and in fact they seize on the opportunity to ask you for an introduction.

Your heartbeat is just the ringing of a dented bell, over, and over again and you feel its pulse in your jaw when you open your mouth to speak. No words come out now– now that your arms are trapped at your side and you’ll never be free of this–

“Oi!”

The bell rings louder.

“What–you! Off of her!”

And the person taking their turn to interrogate you is flung forcefully from frame, along with the waitstaff they grab in a panic and take to the ground. And he’s right there, the prince standing directly before you, a vast clearing behind him, growling and billowing smoke. His red eyes aren’t gentle but they pierce your soul with warm homesick.

Having tossed aside the only things between you, other advisors trip over themselves to escape the prince’s course, some hide like you might be a shield. Gold crackles in his palms as he watches you hurriedly catch your breath– why is he here? He’s close enough to touch again and he’s cleared a path to you like the room was empty.

“Highness,” you rush to dip your head and blink the last of the shock from your eyes.

The prince grits his teeth. The veins in his jaw splinter his sculpted cheeks, “You–” he growls. The crowds swell behind him in both size and volume and then flinch when he jerks back around, “– you dare treat an Alderan like your entertainment! Filthy fucking searats–” an explosion from each hand punctuates his rage.

You flinch. Your eyes flood at the sudden noise and your proximity to it, though something more exhausted than tears, and you realize you may be the one in need of a doctor out of the pair of you.

“C’mere,” the prince locks eyes with an unfortunately close diplomat and snatches their furred collar to many cries and general protest from the fleeing crowd, “You think it’s funny, eh? To pull a member of my party from the hospital and ambush her in her bedclothes?” The man sheds a few tears of his own as the prince shakes him.

On the first day of winter the queen and her son dance peruro with their citizens. Paint their faces with pomegranate wine and strip off their furs to the waist, and then open the caste gates to let townsfolk pour in for feasts and holiday songs. You are always terribly anxious on the sidelines with Jeanist while trying to follow the crowd’s skipping and yowling to make sure that the queen is safe. The king watches his family from the sidelines too, but much less anxiously and mostly with hands full of food.

In the dance, wild limbs fly like fist fight and there is always, always shouting. Screaming thanks to the heavens while leaping round a great bonfire to singsong horns and strings. The Dance Peruro is destructive and it’s beautiful to watch two pairs of red eyes full of joy, dance together in the crowd that loves them.

Bakugou swells, elated in the scene, red eyes slits and filled with excitement. Gold twinkles in his ears. He finally gets to flex his magic even if it is inside another kingdom’s throne room and practiced on another kingdom’s citizens, but how on Earth you’re going to apologize to the Takoban queen– to master Aizawa– you have no idea.

The prince raises his captive off their feet and hurls them into the crowd hard enough to knock a few sturdy generals to the ground. His arms threaten to tear from the confines of his silky white shirt in his passion. With his back turned you still know exactly the expression he’s making and you’re just relieved that he’s safe. It doesn’t cross your mind to detain him.

“Gimme those pretty coats or I’ll skin them off you.”

Those frozen within earshot either scramble backwards or start to strip their outer layers in confusion. An old man in fine blue robes flees through the clearing at the exact time that the masses start to shuffle and thrum against one another, but Bakugou snatches him by the back of the neck and releases a hellstorm of orange and pink strong enough to eject the man from his capes and clear across the room.

“Classic Takoba hospitality, huh? You parade all your guests around in their underwear?”

With the space created by your prince’s rage, the full glory of the throne room becomes clear. In the empty circle around the pair of you the fine white rugs shine like spotlights. They’re stitched with blue emblems– blue flames– that climb across the floor, from stone to window, elven door to throne. The throne.

Most of the crowd has rushed to the entrance in escape, no doubt trapping Aizawa with their terrible fuss, and so the crystalline space all the way at the back of the room is open. And it is where the queen sits in her sea glass throne. Dozens of silver suited guards surround the base of her raised platform to protect her from your prince’s squalor, Shinsou and Uraraka among them– the freckled boy too.

It’s a struggle not to shout for help. Or rush to her side, for the queen’s fragility lights up every protective instinct, every resuscitative urge in your body; surely she is drowning and you are appalled momentarily, that no one feels it important to save her life.

Icy white skin reflects the light of the afternoon sun and her eyes are dark and sallow. They might even be closed but you’re not close enough to see. You should be closer, she needs someone to keep her from tumbling to the floor like a limply sewn doll. Long light hair trickles over her shoulders to the point where her skirts meet her bodice like a shoreline. She is made of lace. Lace instead of flesh and seems too cold and stiff to survive another moment without proximity to a fireplace. Her Majesty sits with her hands in her lap and does not react to the chaos.

Behind you, your prince is a shark in a pond. Royal advisors at the back of the line to flee, panic earnestly now and guards at the edge of the room rim the onlookers, unsure of whether they’re permitted– or able– to subdue this royal guest. But the prince doesn’t snatch anymore lords and instead turns to you as candy sweet smoke rises to the ceiling now that no one is as interested in bothering Alderans as they are in finding something else, deep inside the castle, to busy themself with.

He’s still grinning when he swings around, but you’re not fooled, not even by his concern. You anticipate the scowl before his grin falls because you know that hates to look at you.

“Cover yourself,” he grumbles and thrusts the old man’s blue robes into your chest but he doesn’t let go quite fast enough. He holds both you and the stolen clothes there like someone who has something more to say, so you blink up to him.

Prince Bakugou is poured of molten gold. He doesn’t look at you but he doesn’t storm away, he doesn’t leave the clearing that he’s made for the two of you and you think he’s trying to say something when his gaze finally flickers from the space above your head to your dragontooth. You can tell he’s holding back something calloused and loud by the way he bites hard at his lip. Instead he growls in the space between you, “Return to your room at once.” And then barks for Kirishima.

“Coming!” The kind voice replies, echoing somehow in every direction. From your spot in the center of the room you can just barely make out red hair and a raised arm milling through the last fifty or so people trying to squeeze through the silver doors and out into the safety of the castle entryway. The champion is much more polite than His Highness and winds his hulking body through the throng before finally stumbling into the clearing. The prince doesn’t have any trouble looking at Kirishima.

“Take her back– get back upstairs, the lot of you. I don’t wanna hear a single Alderan peep for the rest of the day.”

This feels hypocritical, but Kirishima just smiles like a bowl of bread dough and takes up the open space by your side when the prince begins marching to the back of the room.

Anticipating your concern the champion leans down to explain, “He'll take your audience with the queen.”

It’s too far to see clearly, but the Queen of Takoba hasn’t seemed to move a single inch in the past few minutes. How is Bakugou going to speak with a ghost?

Kirishima gestures to the piles of rumpled clothes at your feet that the prince threatened off of people in the crowd, “And it looks like you have your pick of fine coats, Y/n.” The smile of his voice keeps you from speculating for too long. You know it’s time to go.

The sweet giant takes the cloak from your arms as he guides you back into the depths of the castle, and you note the gentle way he secures it around your shoulders without touching you at all, “Where is Aizawa?” you ask while nodding your thanks.

“Oh he's taking a long drink in the kitchens.”

With the champion at your side, you give the throne one more glance over your shoulder before stepping through the silver doors, but at this distance you can only distinguish Shinsou and his blue windswept tunic from the crowd of guards and your prince. You raise your hand beside your head in parting and the apprentice slips his own out from where he’s standing formal and so, so far away, with hands behind his back. You smile.

While you and Kirishima puzzle your way back through the castle, off in the distances beyond great columns and disgruntled chilly diplomats, through the windy, salty, seashell castle, a blue light quivers in the dark.

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#i love protective violence #and robbery #a hymn to black water #bakugou x reader #can you tell how sick of editing i was by the end #bakugo x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou #fantasy bakugo

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pccyouthleader · 1 year ago

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Hedgehog Hodgepodge: A Story of Espionage, Confusion, and an Evil Plan Gone Haywire

Chapter 17: Stricken

“Have you seen the news this evening?” Amy asked Sonic as he returned from a long run on the beach. She was sitting in bed with a multitude of fluffy pillows behind her back. “I’m beginning to get worried.”

It hadn’t even been a whole day since Aurora left with Shadow, and the whole village was coming apart.

Sonic sat on the edge of the bed unlacing his shoes. “You know I hate watching the news.” The main reason for that was Soar the Eagle. That bird-brained reporter was years past his prime, and needed to hang up his press badge.

“This is serious, though,” Amy chided. “People all over the village have become ill, and nobody knows why! Just this afternoon, the receptionist at the museum had to leave early.”

“What are the symptoms?” Sonic asked, becoming only mildly interested.

“Feeling drained, loss of appetite, pale appearance,” Amy read from a news crawler on the TV screen. “Some people are complaining of a strange rash.”

“Well, I feel fine,” he said, doing a turn for her benefit. “How about you?”

Amy shrugged. “I’m feeling the drained part, but I think that has more to do with the baby than this mysterious sickness that’s going around. Apparently it started a couple of weeks ago, but now it’s spread all across the village!”

Sonic stared at her in disbelief. How were they just now getting this news? “I’d better check in with Tails,” he said, pressing a few buttons on his wrist communicator. “Hey, Tails!” he said aloud into the receiver. “You doing okay?” There was some garbled noise over the tiny speaker, then the staticky voice of his best friend came through.

“Sonic! I…” *kkkrrrrrrrtttt* “…trying to reach y…” *kkkkrrrrzzzzz* “…not what…”

“Tails! You’re breaking up! Are you okay?” Sonic yelled.

“…fine!…” *kkzzzzzzrrtt* “…weird that it’s not…” *kkkkrrrttt* Then the signal went out.

“He sounded okay, didn’t he?” Sonic asked, his brows knit together in concern. “He’s fine,” he finally determined.

As he stared at his silent communicator, Amy had another idea. “Why don’t you try Knuckles and Rouge?”

“Good thinking!” Sonic pressed a few more buttons, then started calling for Knuckles. “Hey Knux! Can you hear me?” But he was greeted with nothing but silence.

After a few minutes of waiting, Amy spoke up. “Well, they did go on a cruise. Maybe they aren’t within a signal range or something.”

“Yeah…,” was all Sonic could say. He didn’t particularly have a terrible feeling concerning his friends; it just would have been nice to know something for sure. But his hands were tied - he didn’t know their exact locations, and he couldn’t risk leaving Amy alone to go track them down. He finally resolved that they must be doing fine and could take good care of themselves.

After washing up, Sonic joined Amy in the bed to watch the coverage. He had a nagging feeling that everything was connected, but couldn’t begin to determine how.

Suddenly Amy sat up, another look of concern washing over her face. “Has anyone checked on Sticks?”

—

Sonic yawned and stretched as he prepared to trek over to Sticks’ burrow. At least Amy had acquiesced the night before when he explained that it was too late to barge in on someone. But she was anxious for him to check on their friend, and had nearly shoved him out of the bed at daybreak.

“We really should have checked on Sticks before now,” Amy fretted as she readied herself for the day.

“You know, if she’d wear her communicator, we could have checked on her before now,” Sonic grumbled.

Amy gave Sonic a withering look before continuing. “I can’t even remember the last time we laid eyes on her! What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!”

“It’ll be okay, Ames,” Sonic reassured her. “Sticks is a loner anyway. I can’t imagine her even getting close enough to someone to catch something.”

Amy nodded. “I guess you’re right. I’ll just feel better when you’ve had a chance to talk to her.”

Sonic knew that was his cue, so he brushed Amy’s cheek with a kiss and gently patted her tummy. Then he took off at top speed, going over the placement of Sticks’ booby traps in his mind. The absolute last thing he wanted on this journey was to become a hedgehog kabob.

Upon arrival, Sonic thought Sticks’ burrow had been deserted. Leaves had blown against the door, and weeds had grown up around the various trinkets she had collected and placed in her front yard. There were no birds chirping or insects buzzing.

This is weird, Sonic thought as he moved quickly towards the door. He just missed being impaled by a wooden pole covered in slime.

“Sticks!” he called, rapping loudly at the round wooden door. For a long time, all Sonic heard was silence. Then something fell and clattered within the burrow.

Sonic immediately spin-dashed and exploded through the door, surveying the mess within. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he searched the rooms of the small home. There in the kitchen lay Sticks, crumpled on the floor by the table.

Sonic wasted no time. He sped over to Sticks, scooping her up in his arms and gently placing her on the sofa. He zipped back to the kitchen to grab a rag and wet it with some cold water to lightly sponge over her forehead. After what seemed like ages, Sticks’ eyes finally fluttered open.

“Sonic?” she croaked, barely above a whisper. Her face was pale and thin, and her hair hung limply on her shoulders.

“Sticks, what happened to you?” he asked, bewildered.

Sticks lay silent for a long time, just laboring to breathe. Then she spoke in a raspy voice. “It’s the black smudge.”

“What?” Sonic asked. “You’re going to have to be more clear.” He was well-versed in Sticks’ strange ideas and conspiracy theories.

Sticks mumbled something incoherent. After taking another ragged breath, she clearly said, “Shadow,” before passing out again.

Fear crept over Sonic. Could Shadow have done something to hurt Sticks? He thought of Aurora, alone with him and with no way to contact her family. As his mind began to run wild with the memories he had of Shadow’s early attempts to destroy him and his friends, panic surged through his veins.

Sticks began to stir once again. She tried to speak, but her words dissolved into a coughing fit. Sonic ran to the kitchen for water, then helped her sit up to sip out of a mug.

“If Shadow’s done something terrible to you, I’ll-” Sonic began, but his words were cut off when Sticks shook her head. After several more body-wracking coughs, she was finally able to explain in a scratchy voice.

“Not Shadow… the black smudge… the trees…” *cough* “Shadow saw it.”

She then lifted her arm to show Sonic a bubbling black rash. It appeared as if the skin there was in a state of necrosis. He stared in horror at the breakout, then slowly lifted his hand.

“Don’t touch it!” she screeched, pulling her arm away.

“Sticks…” Sonic began, lost for words. “How long have you been like this?”

Sticks attempted to shrug her shoulders, but it took too much effort. “A month?” she responded, barely above a whisper. Her energy completely spent, Sticks lay back down and fell asleep.

Guilt ripped through Sonic as he remembered Amy’s words: “What kind of friend ignores another when the outside world is in utter chaos?!” If only she could see Sticks now.

“I’m sorry,” Sonic said with a catch in his voice. Tears began to flood his vision. “I’m going to figure out what’s going on and get you some help.”

Pushing up from the side of the couch, he took one long, last look at Sticks’ sleeping form before walking out the door. As he headed away from the burrow, his brain was awash with different scenarios, and he breathed a sigh of relief that Shadow wasn’t the miscreant he feared.

Picking his way through the wooded jungle, Sonic went over in his head what Sticks had said. How he wished he could contact Shadow to find out more! What had she even meant by “the trees”?

Suddenly he stopped. He didn’t want to, but Sonic lifted his face to look at the jungle around him. There, smeared on every tree in sight, was a black substance that looked like liquid metal. The dread that had floated just out of reach since he had found Sticks began to surface. Looking up, Sonic was able to move just before a big blob of the sticky goo dripped onto his head. With great haste, Sonic darted out of the jungle, anxious to tell Amy what he had discovered.

Bolting through the door, he ran into the house shouting for her, but there was no answer. Sonic sat heavily in a chair at the dining room table and rested his head in his hands. It was just too much to absorb all at once.

An hour later, Sonic barely heard Amy come in the front door. She approached him to give him a big hug from behind, but stopped, a curious look on her face.

“Sonic?” she asked.

“Yeah, Ames,” he answered flatly.

“What’s that black stuff on your shoulder?”

#Y’all!!!!!!! The brain juices are definitely flowing!!#It’s goin’ down #I’m yellin’ timberrrrrrr!!!#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonamy #amy rose #shadora #sonic fanfiction #hedgehog hodgepodge #aurora belongs to e-vay #sticks the jungle badger #sticks the badger #miles tails prower #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #knuckles x rouge #rouge the bat

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guroseinsei · 16 days ago

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writing patterns + six sentences.

@rinn-e thanks for the taggg :333 💕!

1st rule: share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns!

▪︎

1. Bucky's whole panorama on thankfulness is something like a hodgepodge of what his mother had taught him—slivers that he remembers, really; ones that he holds abreast to a point of near suffocation—and what Steve had tried and lived his years doing his best to be. [ "what is in a swollen heart?" - TFATWS.]

2. Embarrassing doesn't even begin to cover it. [ "little admirer" - vinsaga]

3. Essays are nothing he's not used to. [ "at last, in conclusion" - BNHA]

4. When all is said and done, Zemo finds himself thinking of the tall, curved domes of the churches in Sokovia. [ "vermillion claims" - TFATWS]

5. Bucky's nowhere near the blast radius when the gas leaking from the canister goes off and the pressurized white fog covers the whole warehouse in an instant. [ "the sky is black" - TFATWS]

6. Askeladd laughs because there is nothing else to do but laugh. [ "sweet, ripe" - vinsaga]

7. Ylva's voice over the phone is quiet. Devoid of the usual boisterousness Askeladd has seen her carry effortlessly—with her, within her and around her. [ "there's a bird crying outside" - vinsaga]

8. The telephone is still ringing when Adrian finally manages to open his eyes. [ "there are cogs still, in a broken machine" - monk 2002]

9. The boy's social skills are pathetic, that much is obvious. [ "fox games" - vinsaga]

10. The goldfish at the bar he frequents has been changed out for an angelfish. [ "whiskey neat" - monk 2002]

-> pattern: a mix of present tense, atmosphere and observation i guess :0?

2nd rule: Write the last six sentences you wrote and tag your mutuals to do the same!

[it's kinda spoilery for a series im gonna publish soon but oh well.]

Izuku makes the mistake of looking away all too soon. He catches Shouta's gaze. Like a pick to already cracking ice, “Then why do you keep pushing.”

Katsuki gets up then. He's taller than Izuku but not by much. From this angle he can see the hesitant flare that plays in Katsuki's eyes.

Don't say it, Izuku thinks, pleadingly, not ready to hear it, please don't say it—

▪︎

tagging: @squerunit @thebeingofeverything @itshomobirb @ladysawblay @queen-of-the-nerdlords @alfys-pigeon-house

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agentnico · 11 months ago

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Top 10 WORST Movies of 2023

For every good movie there’s always a dozen stinkers, and 2023 brought out a lot of turkeys, and I’m not referring to all the poor birds that ended up in our bellies this Christmas season. It’s become a tradition for me every year to do a top 10 best and worst movies of the year list, and I tend to leave the top 10 best list till later as I catch up will the awards potentials, however with the bad list I get right on into it. There are of course many bad movies this year I didn’t see, as I don’t actively seek out to watch the bad ones, but I have heard that these following haven’t been the best: Aquaman and the Lost Kingdom, The Marvels, Indiana Jones 5, Shazam: Fury of the Gods, Expend4bles, Children of the Corn, Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey…… damn, a lot of films got a bad rep this year. Yet I have 10 other ones that I’ve seen that I thought were crap. Don’t worry if a film you loved ends up on this list, it will simply mean your opinion is wrong and your have to live with that. With that in mind, here’s my humble list of the shit-fest Hollywood had to offer in 2023…

10) ANT-MAN & THE WASP: QUANTUMANIA - Everything that is wrong with the current state of Marvel is exhibited on full display here. Lacking a sense of direction and exploiting the idea of the multiverse just for the sake of it, the movie is a dud. It feels like whilst trying to focus on going bigger and bolder, the movie lost the sense of fun that elevated the earlier instalments in the tiny hero’s franchise. Paul Rudd is still as charming and likeable as ever, however the introduction of Kang as the next MCU Big Bad is pointless seeing as this big baddie can be defeated by a bunch of ants. Don’t make no difference now anyway with Jonathan Majors losing the court case, but who in the first place thought “oh yeah, Kang is a badass who killed many Avengers, but a giant head of Corey Stoll should weaken him no problem”. Look, there’s no sugarcoating it - this movie is bad. Also, Bill Murray appears in this because…?

9) THE BEANIE BUBBLE - Zack Galifianakis without any facial hair is truly a sight to behold, but that’s not enough to make this fluffy yet bland behind-the-scenes look at the famous Beanie Babies toys even remotely interesting. It’s as if this film can’t bear (thank you) to show the creepier side of these toys, as this should have been a more darker and messed up tale, especially with the lightly implied institutional sexism. Oh well, that’s that then.

8) WE HAVE A GHOST - If ever there was a movie that fit more to the phrase “Netflix & Chill” then this is it, as you will be too busy banging your partner or your sock than caring about a silent speechless David Harbour creeping about Casper-like and being all quiet and mysterious. To be fair he’s the only redeemable quality as the rest of the movie is a mishmash hodgepodge of genres that is neither funny, nor effective in its family drama dynamic. At least seeing Jennifer Coolidge jump out a window was mildly amusing. Mildly. Anyway, where’s that sock?

7) THE OLD WAY - It is truly fascinating that after starring in over 100 films, this is Nicolas Cage’s first ever western. Aside from that mind boggling revelation, this movie comes out with less than a bang. I don’t know, I was hoping for something a bit more mad, especially with Cage’s involvement. Heck, in the movie’s opening sequence Nicolas Cage is introduced with a sprawling Poirot-like moustache, and immediately I assumed that I am in for something ridiculous. However following that scene the movie cuts to 20 years later, and with that both the moustache and the hope for something exciting or weird is diminished to singular unseen atoms.

6) FOOL’S PARADISE - The directorial debut from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia star Charlie Day (who also writes and stars), misfiring Hollywood satire Fool’s Paradise wastes a strong ensemble cast that also includes Adrien Brody, Jason Sudeikis, Jason Bateman, Kate Beckinsale, Ken Jeong, Common, John Malkovich and the late Ray Liotta. Look, in a way I feel bad about including this film on this list, as you can tell this is a true passion project for Day and one that has good intentions by attempting to go back to the old-school slapstick Charlie Chaplin-era of comedy, with a lighthearted satire on the way the film industry works. In this case the result is neither sweet nor funny enough, and as such it’s an unfortunate misfire, but easily the most disappointing inclusion on this list.

5) GHOSTED - Adrien Brody’s crappy French accent in this movie I could have forgiven, if only I have not seen John Wick: Chapter 4 a couple of weeks prior where I experienced the most delightful Parisian mouthing of Bill Skarsgard’s villain, so now Brody’s French-ish slur sticks out like a sore thumb. What else sticks out is that Ghosted feels like a film from the early 2000s, featuring every cliche of the genre and with a romantic pairing of Chris Evans and Ana de Armas whom share zero chemistry. Their kissing scenes reminded me of that Andrew Garfield/Emma Stone SNL sketch where they don’t know how to kiss on camera, only in this case it’s unintentional. Also featuring a slew of pointless cameos, and I do mean pointless, this is a throwaway campy spy-action flick that is destined to be forgotten.

4) THE EXORCIST: BELIEVER - Billed as the true sequel to William Friedkin’s original horror masterpiece, it really shouldn’t have strived for that. Ellen Burstyn’s return is a waste. For those excited to see her, she’s only in 3 or 4 scenes total, and the creative choices made with her character are such a disservice to the original movie. Without spoiling, it’s a choice that seems to be inspired by the modern woke culture, with Burstyn’s Chris having being studying the art of exorcism ever since the events that transpired with her daughter, and then when questioned about why she herself did not partake in her daughter’s exorcism she blames the patriarchy. The choice of bringing her into this narrative and then what happens to her…it’s basically taking a classic character and making them dumb. I must say though that the only actual shocking moment in the movie comes in a scene involving her character, and though that moment itself is memorable, the build up towards it is so stupid. Also, with the return of Burstyn it comes as no surprise within the movie when a certain other character pops in for a cameo. Does it add anything to the movie’s story? No, it’s just there for cheap fan service. As for the movie itself, the horror hardly works. It’s not scary at all and you really shouldn’t believe in this one.

3) THE SUPER MARIO BROS. MOVIE - Yeah, I know, my inclusion of this film on the list will rattle some feathers, but I don’t care, as for any of you pricks out there thinking that stupid “Peaches” song deserves an Academy Award nomination, you guys are stupid and must be high on some very powerful shrooms. If so, I hope you’re having a great trip, but the fact stands that this movie is bad. Simply doing fan service for the sake of fan service don’t make for a good narrative. Me and my friend were bored throughout, as this movie is 100% for kids. There are nostalgic elements to it all, but I do believe that Illumination and Nintendo should have followed more in The Lego Movie’s footsteps and targeted the film for audiences of all ages, due to the fact that many who grew up with Mario are now adults themselves.

2) LEAVE THE WORLD BEHIND - So much wasted potential. A long drawn-out slow shuffle to Nowheresville. A movie that offers so many ideas, plot points, and thread lines that are never answered or go anywhere. In Leave the World Behind things are truly happening under the motto “just because” and “why the hell not” and it makes the viewing experience immensely frustrating. Especially when the movie is nearly 2 and a half hours long and the anticlimactic abrupt ending is a slap to your face for wasting your time. Oh, and if I weren’t a fan of the Friends show before, now more so than ever.

1) 65 - Right ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to ask you all so kindly to rise up from your seats and give a humongous round of applause to 65 - the 2023 film to exhibit qualities of a top contender of the worst movie of this year. Look, I’m disappointed as you are. Adam Driver fighting dino-dinos’?! You’d be a madman to not want to see that! However here’s 65′s first mistake: there actually aren’t that many dinosaurs, let alone fights with them. I know right, I can sense the resounding aura of you, my kind audience, in unison thinking “what the f***?”. Exactly, what the fudge indeed. No, instead what we get is a couple of somewhat thrilling dinosaurs interactions, but overall the movie is just Adam Driver and this little girl walking. Just walking. Walking and whistling. Bunch of jackasses.

That’s it - we did it! Now I can happily forget I ever watched any of these and mentally prepare for what wonders of stupidity 2024 will bring to the big screen. As for my Best Movies of 2023 list, don’t worry, it’s a-coming. Still need to watch The Boy and the Heron and Poor Things and then all will be revealed…

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moonkanex · 2 years ago

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Heya! As promised! How shapeshifters work in my head!

Most shapeshifters have a sort of ritual they do to shift into the person or thing they want. This isn't required to shift or needed in order to shift its up to the person!

This is Ethos ritual! Plus a sneak peek as my bdubs design! :Dc

okay so being a shapeshifter isn't a separate species by itself, it's just a thing some species can do

however there are different types of shapeshifting, both work using the same principle

the entity can shift into anyone or any living thing based on memory, how good their memory/much they see the thing they want to shift to the harder to tell they are even shifted

shifters either have a base form (like grian) or does not and just hodgepodge their main form from someone they have see before (like Etho)

grain was originally human, when evo started he was just a guy hanging out with his friends, but when he was taken by the watchers they gifted him a gift, that being part harpy. The watchers fused grians code with a birds, and eventually he grew traits that made him a harpy. Shapeshifting was just a oopsie trait the watchers didnt expect grian to develop

but with shifters like Etho, he is a Mocking fox spirit, (inspired buy a arctic fox/Kristine) so he doesn't have a base human form. He basically when he first appeared to humans, he was fascinated with them, following around a certain white haired ninja. He soon fled that land and took on the appearance of the ninja he admired, and over the years he changed certain aspects of his form to better suit him! And now he has a base form he prefers.

So let's say Grain wanted to shift into Xisuma, but without his helmet present. Grian doesnt know what X looks like under there besides a vague look through the semi transparent visor so grain would replace traits he doesn't know with his base ones

If Etho where to do this he wouldn’t be able to take the helmet off his head/would mix up a bunch of features to make a face, no way of knowing if he is even close

so they would have the x scar and X’s eyes but nothing else of x’s face

Most shapeshifters have a sort of ritual they do to shift into the person or thing they want. This isn't required to shift or needed in order to shift its up to the person!

#ethoslab #etho #hc etho #hermitblr #hermitcraft etho #hermitcraft ethoslab #etho and bdubs #ethoslab fanart #etho my beloved #bdubs fanart #bdubs hermitcraft #bdouble100 fanart #bdouble0 #cybers-art-train

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m0ssycobblestone · 7 months ago

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Thinking about a Trigun au I made a while back that is super self indulgent with a side of projection /pos

I called it the Stale Donuts AU after the donuts I would sometimes get from H-E-B as a kid that, as far as I can remember, were always vaguely stale.

It is at its core, a modern AU–Cryptid Vash–Vashwood story hybrid hodgepodge thing that was also!!! Very much inspired by multiple fics I had either read or was reading at the time!!! And of course full of yummy delicious self indulgence and self projection with bits of me spread throughout like the stale donuts thing!!! Yippee!!!!!!

On to the bits and bops of the au itself in a very rambling way (I'm sorry):

Wolfwood is Mexican American and the main pov of the thing. He lives in an apartment with Livio, who's going to the local college (go girl go, get that higher education ✨). Wolfwood drives a motorcycle because why wouldn't he BUT he ALSO owns a motorcycle place where you can get shit repaired and customized an shit like that (I don't know vehicle things ITS A COOL IDEA I DONT KNOW IF ITS ACCURATE). Meryl also probably works there with him, because in my mind I can't for the life of me separate the thought of Meryl and driving things probably because I watched Stampede first but that's besides the point—we're ignoring that. Livio, Wolfwood, Meryl, and Milly were all friends in highschool (maybe they were in a shitty band?? That's a thought for a different day) and stayed friends into their adult lives (they all care about each other so much guys). ALSO this whole thing takes place in Texas, so AT SOME POINT one of them worked at Whataburger and one of them worked at a DQ I don't know WHO WAS WHERE but at LEAST ONE OF THEM I SWEAR.

Anyways

On his way to the motorcycle shop, Wolfwood passes the H-E-B and has to drive over a short bridge. Guess where he finds Vash.

One day he's coming home from work, and as he's crossing over the bridge he suddenly stops because JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT THING. Illuminated by the motorcycle headlights, a large, feathered...something startles and crawls over the edge with a sound of pain, leaving behind a trail of blood. Yippee!! Vash makes an appearance!! Of course Wolfwood's freaked the fuck out by the bleeding thing under the bridge, yet for some reason he follows it anyway (I haven't really thought of anything except hey that thing looked kinda hurt and Melanie raised him with compassion ig so)(and I love stupid men). He sees that this giant bird is 100% actually kinda injured (imagine getting hit by a car) and manages to calm it down enough to help it out at least a little, but he's also kinda on his way home and can only see with a flashlight, so there's not much he can do. He does toss it a snack he found hidden in his jacket tho. After that whole cryptid nonsense, Wolfwood stops at H-E-B! (YIPPEEE!!) Livio sends him a text. "You should totally get me a donut from the bakery"

"Still can't believe you actually like those" he sends back, still getting a plain glazed for himself. He offhandedly wonders if the bird thing would like donuts.

The next morning, now armed with a first aid kit, he buys a donut and stops at the bridge, hoping the creature from before is still there. Oh hey look, the creature from before! Now that it's daytime, Wolfwood can clearly see that yeah, that thing is definitely hurt. He says hi, and the creature seems to recognize him from the night before, but still won't let him get close enough to fully see anything other than feathers and old scars. Donut time!! The perfect distraction!!! I don't know what kind of injuries Vash has, but whatever it is Wolfwood manages to patch it up at least a little bit while he's munching on the donut. I like to imagine he's at least a little bit good at caring for animals (specifically birds) because Tristamp Wolfwood taking care of Thoma chicks makes me ill (/pos) so uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhh chickens. And maybe like, a cockatiel for fun. Miss Melanie had chickens and a cockatiel that the kids would help take care of. It ends up becoming a routine where Wolfwood stops at the bridge to chill with the bird cryptid every morning and evening. Eventually he ends up telling Livio, Meryl and Milly about Vash. He also very quickly figures out that Vash has human level intelligence and isn't just a giant freaky animal and Vash manages to communicate what his name is!!! Yippee!!!

In this Vash has the Big Bird™ cryptid form and a normal human one, but can't switch between them when he's injured (like being hit by a car) so it's really great that this random human guy is helping him out.

The first time Wolfwood sees Vash de-birdified is hilarious because he goes to the bridge like normal and sees feathers everywhere, no giant bird in sight, and a vaguely familiar naked blond man chilling in the middle of it all. As soon as he sees Wolfwood, his face lights up and he starts excitedly waving.

"Wolfwood!"

"Needle Noggin?!"

"Look I'm all better!!"

Plot wise, no fuckin clue where it goes from here, vibe wise fuck it we ball. All I know is hijinx ensues and it's great fun all around YIPPEEEEEEE!!!

I think that's all I got for now, might post more if I think of anything✨✨✨

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #trigun au #mossycobb has an au idea #hhggghhgaghgsasaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA #listen #LISTEN #this au has me in a chokehold #just a lil bit #its been knocking around in my head for the past few days ngl #irls if you remember me yelling about this and the thalassaphobia au idea YES YES #please please PLEASE it you sillies think of anything i said about this that i dont remember hand it over please 🙏#anyways #i love making silly little aus and throwing ideas at the wall like spaghetti to see what sticks #yippee!!!!!#Stale Donuts AU

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hmshermitcraft · 1 year ago

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Pirates are swag but what about space pirates!!

The hermit's ship is massive, larger than most pirating ships. The hermits don't need the stealth of speed that other crews have, even though they still have both thanks to doc and tango being absolutely insane with upgrades.

The name changes depending on who you ask. to xisuma, the captain and navigator, the ship is called hermitcraft. To grian, the resident pesky bird and main thief, it's called the barge and doc insists on calling it the hermatrix. One thing everyone on crew can call the ship is Home.

Etho is a mechanic who generally minds his business and seemingly lives in the vents and his partner Cleo is in charge of distraction tactics whenever they go in for a pillage. She has the ability to string up people like mannequins, which is as terrifying as it sounds. Their partner Bdubs is a gardener and makes sure that food and o2 levels are doing good.

Jevin is a stowaway that they didn't notice arriving but can't remember not having, and being made of goop allows for incredible stealth at high speeds. Wels comes and goes, on and off the ship usually whenever he feels like it but when he is around, jevin will goop on over to "annoy" him. Wels secretly loves it.

Etho found doc when he was a kid and they stuck together until beef and Bdubs found them both and rounded them up to join the crew. Nobody knows what doc is exactly, just that he's physically unstable and keeps changing from in times of stress or excitement. The only thing that stays consistent is the prosthetics and the Crocs.

Xisuma couldn't be more proud of his crew. Theyre a big hodgepodge of love, some romantic, some platonic, some familial, but that's why they're so strong against adversaries. They aren't coworkers or business partners, they're family.

Even as he takes a step back from being the captain to play music through the intercoms, he knows he'll never leave them behind.

Technology exists on their ship that doesn't anywhere else. A side effect of Doc and Tango's tinkering, Impulse and Mumbo's focus on efficiency and Zed and Etho's completely bizarre ideas that somehow work. They're undefeated in a fight (well, besides that one time they lost on purpose as a trap but that doesn't count.)

They also work hard to make sure nobody is left behind. Hermits come and go, but they never lose the protection of the family.

Jevin occasionally joins Wels on his jobs. And despite how he lives to annoy Wels, Wels never complains. When it comes down to it, Jev knows how to get a job done fast. And it's no way related to how that gets Wels home faster.

Etho often uses the vents as a way to reach Bdubs' gardens. It's the quickest way there, plus Etho is probably already in one! Then it's just a quick tuck and roll and the sound of Bdubs screaming. No matter how many times, Bdubs still jumps. And Cleo still laughs at him for it.

Nowadays, they don't feel the need to pillage as much. They're pretty much self-sufficient. But, they are known to take down the occasional corrupt corporation or government - just to keep things exciting.

#hermitshipping #ask #etho tag #zombiecleo tag #bdoubleo tag #ijevin tag #welsknight tag #xisuma tag #clethubs #clethodubs #ijels #poly nho4 #polyhermits #mod 🎀#weekly theme: pirates!

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foundtherightwords · 9 months ago

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The Firebird - Chapter 8

Pairing: Prince Paul (Catherine the Great) x OFC, Fairytale AU

Summary: When Paul, a spoiled young prince, spots a strange bird in the forest near his palace, he impulsively chases after it, hoping to both escape from and prove himself to his disapproving mother. Thus he is plunged into an exhilarating adventure across a magical realm populated by enchanted princesses, dangerous monsters, and powerful wizards, an adventure that may change him more than he can ever imagine.

Chapter warning: brief mention of blood and violence

Chapter word count: 5k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - The Kidnapping of Elena the Fair

They came down the mountains the next day, and, after crossing a small meadow, entered a taiga full of pines. The forest here was wilder than those of Smorodina on the other side of the mountains, the pines growing close together, throwing dark shadows across their path, forming a near-impassable wall around a castle in the distance. Though also made of wood, this castle was almost free of embellishments and gilding, and as austere as Afron's castle was flamboyant. The trees were so thick that Paul had to leave the saddle and take the donkey by the reins, while Zhara flew ahead, her feathers gleaming like a beacon, leading toward the castle. The gloom of the forest made Paul anxious, and he tried to keep an eye out for wild animals, especially those with medallions around their necks, but so far, the place seemed to be quiet.

Finally, the trees thinned, and they heard voices in the distance. Zhara returned to her hiding place under Paul's cloak just as they came to a large clearing, where a lake lay rippling in the twilight, reflecting the pines and the castle. Women, old and young, were gathering flowers and herbs and ferns, singing all the while, their melodious voices undulating like the waves of the lake, like the soft breeze around the clearing. The song brought memories of childhood flooding back in Paul's mind, of songs his old nurses and the Palace servants used to sing while they worked, before they were reprimanded by the grand chamberlain for singing peasant music.

At the edge of the clearing, close to the castle, men were building a large bonfire and setting up tables for a banquet. A young birch tree was placed near the bonfire, and more women were busy decorating it with flowers and fluttering ribbons.

"Is there some fete going on?" Paul asked a woman sitting on the edge of the clearing, expertly weaving wildflowers and grass and herbs into wreaths.

She looked him up and down, eyeing his hodgepodge clothes with mistrust, before answering shortly, "'tis Kupala Night tonight."

This meant nothing to Paul, and he was about to ask what exactly Kupala Night was when he felt a tug from Zhara in his pocket. Not wanting to repeat the mistake of ignoring her warning, he thanked the woman and retreated into the forest. Here, he tied the donkey near a juniper bush full of ripening berries, and Zhara gestured that they should wait. When torches started to light up around the clearing, she emerged from behind the bush in her sarafan and approached Paul.

"This is perfect," she said, as a procession of torches moved from the castle down into the clearing like a column of fireflies.

"Why? What is Kupala Night?"

"It's the Summer Solstice. Don't you celebrate it in your world?"

Paul shook his head. Summer was the time for hunting and country parties; the Solstice, which sounded pagan, must have been forbidden. He had never heard of Kupala at any rate.

"Well, everybody is coming here to celebrate, and then the young people go into the forest in search of the Fern Flower to divine their future," Zhara explained. "Elena will certainly be there. We'll join the fete. She knows me, so I shall find an opportune moment to lure her away on her own. You'll lie here and wait for my signal, perhaps something like this"—she pulled at her earlobe—"and then you'll snatch her—"

"How?!"

Zhara's calm façade cracked. "I don't know!" she said in a furious whisper. "I've never kidnapped anyone before!"

Paul clutched at his head in frustration. "But her mother is protective," he said. "Won't she have guards?" The more he thought about this kidnapping scheme, the more harebrained it seemed to him. After the trouble they'd had with Afron, he was terrified of putting another foot wrong. In the tale, Prince Ivan manages to take Elena the Fair away, only to be murdered by his jealous brothers. Paul didn't have to worry about that at least, but what about Zhara?

"Not on Kupala Night. Kostroma will expect the people to protect their tsarevna." Seeing that Paul was still hesitating, she turned back and took his hands. "It'll work," she said. He nodded, feeling slightly more at ease, less because of her words and more because her hands felt reassuring in his. She tilted her head, regarding him for a moment or two, and added, "You may want to lose that wig though, if we are to blend in."

"What is wrong with my wig?" Paul grumbled, though by the glint of mischief in Zhara's eyes, he knew she was teasing him.

"Nothing. Only... why do you wear it all the time? Don't you have your own hair?"

"Of course I have hair!" Paul cried indignantly, snatching the wig off and throwing it to the ground to prove his point.

Zhara grinned, satisfied. "That looks much better," she said. "Now you look like a man and not a bolonka."

"What's a bolonka?" Paul asked suspiciously.

"You don't have bolonki in your world? It's an animal, a type of pet, I suppose. About the size of a hedgehog, with lots and lots of curly hair. I never like them because they have sharp teeth and love to bite, but they're very popular with the ladies in court." She looked at him again with appreciative eyes. "I like you much better this way." Without thinking, she reached up to brush Paul's short brown curls away from his forehead. As her fingers touched his hair, however, she seemed to remember herself and jerked her hand back, blushing scarlet. "Shall we?" she said and walked into the clearing, leaving Paul standing there in wonder.

A moment later, he recovered his wits and followed.

Most of the older people were standing around the bonfire, which remained unlit, looking up at the castle expectantly. By and by, a procession of young men and women came into the clearing, carrying tapers, singing the same song the women had sung. At the head of the column, riding on the back of a white horse, was a young lady that Paul immediately knew to be Elena the Fair—with her hair worn loose down her back like a sheet of gold, her skin gleaming like porcelain in the torchlight, and her perfectly proportioned features, no one else could have borne that name. With a wreath of daisies and ferns on her head, in a simple white frock, she approached the center of the clearing like a goddess, not looking at any of them but smiling upon all, as though graciously allowing them the privilege of admiring her.

All the men had their eyes fixed on her. Paul, too, found himself staring open-mouthed at this vision of beauty, thinking, Yes, I could fall in love with her. Easily. Then, as though she could read his mind, he heard Zhara's voice right by his ears, "Well, now that you've seen her, what do you think?"

He turned to find her standing next to him. As soon as he saw that freckled, elfin face, those twinkling amber eyes, and that wide mouth twisted into a playful grin, the spell was broken. He looked back at Elena and saw that her eyes were bored, her radiant smile was forced, and her perfectly symmetrical face was lifeless. He couldn't imagine that a mere moment ago, he'd thought he could fall in love with her.

"I—I don't know what to think," he replied. "She's very beautiful, but—"

He cut himself off, for a hush had fallen over the clearing. Even the music had stopped. Coming up from behind Elena, on another horse, was an older, regal-looking woman, with the same golden hair, though slightly faded, and the same features, though a little heavier and more severe.

"Tsarina Kostroma," Zhara whispered to him, but Paul didn't need an introduction. He could have guessed the lady's identity from her air of imperial dignity and her harsh, fierce eyes, which reminded him so much of his mother's. As she swept those eyes over the crowd, he almost shrank back out of habit, and got angry with himself for it.

The tsarina raised her arms. "Good people of Bryansk," she said, her deep, sonorous voice echoing all around the clearing. "Tonight, on the eve of the Summer Solstice, we are gathered once again to give thanks to the gods and goddesses of the forest and the field, of the river and the mountains, and pray that they continue to grace us with their blessings for another year. Let the festivities commence!"

Someone handed her a torch, which she put to the bonfire. A cheer went up along with the flames. The wreaths were handed out to all the girls. Thus adorned, they joined the boys and ran, giggling, to the lake, where they all plunged in, some in their chemises, others, more daring or practical, wearing nothing at all, shrieking in alarm and delight at the cold water, and started swimming around, boys and girls together.

Zhara had gone ahead and was already in the water by the time Paul arrived. "Come on in!" she urged, with only her head poking out of the water, duckweed scattered over her long red braid like tiny emeralds.

He wavered at the edge of the crowd, unsure. "But what about the—the rusalkas and the vodyanoys?"

"They dare not attack on Kupala Night. Come on, the water's delicious!"

And indeed, Paul could spy, in the distance, a group of those pale-skinned, sharp-teeth, green-haired young ladies, huddled together amongst the reeds on the lakeshore, watching the bathing humans with envy. He suddenly felt sorry for them.

"Poor things," he said, mostly to himself.

Zhara tipped her head to the side. "Why?"

Paul took off his boots and sat down by the water's edge, trying not to notice how her curves kept appearing and disappearing between the folds of her chemise, under the water. "They remind me of when I was a child, looking in at the balls and parties of my mother's court." Even as he said so, those memories were fading, their painful grip on him loosening.

Zhara waded closer and rested her arms on the grassy bank, peering up at him with those inquisitive eyes, searching for something only she knew. Then, without warning, she tugged at his wrist and pulled him into the water.

Paul surfaced, spluttering, to find her laughing at him. He was prepared to be annoyed, but the sound of her laugh, warm, infectious, playful, made him splash at her instead. He grinned at the look of shock on her face.

"Wait 'til I catch you, you rascal—" she yelled. A splash of water hit him square in the face.

"Not if I catch you first!"

Laughing, they chased each other around the lake, weaving in and out between the other swimmers, who were also racing each other like a flock of excited swans or a school of fish. Amongst all that laughter and all those bodies, so exuberant, so alive, Paul forgot about Elena the Fair, about Tsar Afron and the horse with the golden man, about elusive witches and murderous brothers. All he cared about was to find Zhara and feel her warmth against him. He managed to catch her once and hold her, before she wriggled away, slippery as a minnow.

Then, still laughing, dripping wet, the young people climbed out of the lake, pulled their clothes back on—Paul turned away so he didn't see how Zhara's chemise was molded to her body—and returned to the feast. Famished after their swim, they got stuck into the pies and cakes and porridge and the sweet, heady wines. Music started up from somewhere, perhaps from the very trees and field surrounding them, and they danced around the bonfire, all together in a circle and in pairs, to the wildly joyful sound of drums, flutes, and the lilting voice of the gusli, until their clothes were dry and they were breathless with singing and laughter. Paul felt as though he was in a dream, a vivid, wondrous dream, and yet, for all the vibrant music, the glowing fire, and the joyous laughs, it was the feel of Zhara's hand in his and the sight of her face beaming up at him that stayed with him forever afterward, more real than real.

When the bonfire began to dwindle, the decorated tree was taken down and fed into it. As the flames roared once again, the young people paired off and, hand in hand, started leaping over the fire.

"Anyone that fails or refuses to jump will suffer misfortune for an entire year," Zhara told him.

"Best not risk it then," Paul said, grabbing her hand. "Shall we?"

She smiled at him, half taken aback, half excited, and squeezed his hand to show her readiness. There was no hesitation. They ran at the fire and jumped over it in one single bound. Paul felt as though he, too, had been transformed and sprouted wings.

But wings he had not, for he stumbled as he landed and went sprawling on the ground, pulling Zhara down with him. They rolled over the grass to the edge of the clearing, giggling like two children caught at some mischief. Zhara's wreath fell onto Paul's face, which set off another fit of giggling. Paul picked it up and set it back on her head, tucking a strand of loose hair under it.

"I didn't realize your eyelashes were so long," Zhara said, hot breath ruffling those very lashes. "I quite envy them."

He realized they were in the same position they had been the morning after the avalanche, with her lying half atop him, her face mere inches from his. Only this time he didn't push her away. Something seemed to hang in the air between them like a strand of cobweb, fragile and almost imperceptible but unbreakable, while he let his hand linger on her cheek and she moved closer, closer still, whether because he was drawing her to him or because she was leaning down willingly, he couldn't tell. He only knew that she was now so close he could see her darkened irises surrounded by a ring of gold, so close he could count the freckles—all seven of them—that curved around the corner of her lips, could almost feel those lips brushing his...

"By Alkonost and Sirin," she muttered, and her weight on him lifted. "Elena. We must go."

Sitting up with more than just a little disappointment, Paul discovered that the fete had broken up. Some girls were floating their wreaths over the lake for the boys to catch on the other side, while others, in pairs or groups of three and four, were walking into the forest together, laughing excitedly about finding the Fern Flower. Elena was among these, more or less being dragged by the hand by several other girls.

He got to his feet and followed Zhara toward the pines. It was much darker here, with only the fitful flames of the torches carried by some of the boys shining through the dense trees, but that didn't slow Zhara down. She led Paul straight back to where the donkey was standing. "Wait here and stay hidden. Be ready to seize her when I give the signal," she said, before running off and melting into the dancing flames in the distance.

Oh, how he wished he could have seized her and held her close and pressed his lips to hers, to see if that sarcastic mouth could kiss as well as it taunted and teased. But this was no time for such thoughts. Paul glanced guiltily at the donkey, who was patiently foraging for grass around the juniper bush, as if it could read his mind. He tried to concentrate on the matter at hand. How does one kidnap someone? How can they subdue her? Afron would probably not thank them if they delivered his bride to him all black and blue. Paul looked at their supplies—they had some ropes. He could perhaps throw his cloak over her head, as he had done to the wolf, to disorient her, and then gag her and tie her up...

For the love of all the Saints, was he really considering doing such things to a young woman? If only things were simple as in the stories! But if things were like the stories, then he must certainly fall in love with Elena, and he wasn't sure he would want that, not when Zhara's eyes and lips and smiles were all he—

Voices rose near, startling Paul out of his contemplation. He peeked through the juniper and saw Zhara and Elena coming toward him, clutching each other's arms, both speaking urgently. They stopped a few steps away from where Paul was hiding.

"—you shouldn't be here," Elena was saying. This close, she looked less perfect but more approachable. "There are those who believe you are an evil sorceress and a murderer—"

"But not you, Lena? Not your mother?"

"My mother has never liked Illarion. But if he comes searching for you, she will give you up to keep me safe. You must go, Zharissa." The two girls must be good friends indeed, for them to call each other by these pet names.

"I'm going, but I need your help..." Zhara gave a furtive look at the juniper bush and tugged at her ear. In the bush, Paul stretched the length of rope between his sweaty hands, trying to gauge the right moment to spring out. His movement caused the bush to rustle, and Elena glanced at it, frowning. "Please, Lena!" Zhara said quickly, pulling at Elena's arm to turn her back toward the bush. Paul's hands shook.

"Of course. What can I do?" Elena asked.

It was clear that Zhara hadn't thought this far. She mumbled, while still furiously tugging at her ear, "I—I need food and—and—some clothes—and—"

"Where do you plan to go?" Before Zhara could answer, Elena glanced at the donkey. "Is that yours? Be careful about tying him next to that hemlock, he may eat it and become sick."

Her comment about the donkey, incongruous as it was, made Paul realize that Elena was far too kind, far too trusting. He couldn't hurt her.

"You can come with us to see Tsar Afron," he said, standing up from the juniper bush.

At the sound of Paul's voice, Elena whirled around.

"Who in Veles' name are you?!" she cried.

Zhara glared at him. "He is with me," she said through gritted teeth. "He's—he's not from here."

"I'm Pavel Petro—" he started to introduce himself, paused, and corrected himself. "I'm Paul," he said with a bow, because old habits die hard.

Zhara continued to glare at him, her eyes wide, mouth working furiously in a way he'd started to recognize, so he turned to her, pleading, "We need not do this. She's your friend! If you betray her, you'll regret it for the rest of your life!" At this, Zhara's murderous look softened. Encourage, Paul went on, "We can try to convince her—"

"Convince me to do what?" Elena chimed in. "And what is this about Tsar Afron?"

Zhara let out a deep, wearied sigh. Turning to Elena, she quickly explained about their need for the Golden Horse and Afron's demand. Elena listened carefully, while her eyes, of a green so dark they appeared almost black, like the pine trees around them, glinted with a light that Paul found familiar. He recognized in it the impatience and eagerness he himself had felt, the impatience that had prompted him to chase after the firebird through the forest of Tsarskoye Selo.

"I shall go with you," eventually Elena said.

"You—you'll marry Afron?" Zhara asked.

"I said, I shall go with you," Elena repeated, "and talk to Afron. Perhaps I can persuade him into lending you the horse."

Zhara turned to Paul, and he saw his hope reflected on her face. Could it work? Could they appeal to Afron's courteous nature? Could it be that simple?

"What about your mother?" Zhara asked.

A look of worry marred Elena's perfect face for a brief moment. Then she pressed her lips together. "She is going to let me make my own way in the world, sooner or later," she said, removing the wreath from her head and tossing it aside in one swift, resolute movement. "Let's go."

"What, now?" Paul said, astonished. "Without supplies or preparations? It will take us a week to reach Afron's at least!" This was the one thing the tales never mentioned—what the hero ate along the way, where he slept, how he managed to survive months of traveling—but Paul had had first-hand experiences with it and did not wish to repeat the days of wandering the fields and villages like a beggar, not knowing where his next meal was coming from.

"If I go back, my mother will never let me leave again," Elena said. "We must go now."

Paul turned to Zhara, who only shrugged and untied the donkey. It appeared he was outnumbered. So he shrugged as well and followed the girls out of the forest. Well, perhaps they could live off the land again. He didn't relish it, but it hadn't killed him yet.

The fete was drawing to a close now. The voices from the clearing had faded, with only the occasional giggle coming toward them from some corner of the forest, and some moans as well, as they came across a blending of two shadows. All three turned crimson, and then the girls caught each other's eyes, burst into laughter, and went ahead, leaving Paul to struggle with the donkey, who was reluctant to leave the safety of the juniper bush to stumble through the forest at midnight. Paul couldn't really blame the animal, for he felt the same.

At last, they saw the familiar shards of Perun's Crown rising above the tree tops. Paul pulled the stubborn donkey forward, eager to be free of the oppressive forest. Zhara and Elena were a few steps ahead of him, Zhara holding up a small flame on her finger like a taper. They ducked under some low-hanging boughs and stepped out from the last line of trees separating the forest from the meadow.

Suddenly, Elena fell back with a scream, thrown by an invisible force, and landed on the forest floor. Letting go of the reins, Paul rushed over to help her up, just as Zhara ran back.

"What happened?" Zhara asked.

"I don't know," Elena replied, brushing the pine needles from her hair. "Something slammed into me..."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, I'm all right. Let's go."

The three of them went together. Again, Elena staggered back just as she reached the trees, while Zhara and Paul moved past them with no trouble.

"Something is stopping her from leaving," Zhara said, as they helped Elena to her feet.

Out of the corner of his eye, Paul spied some movement amongst the trees. A pair of glowing spots appeared on the pines, and the boughs lifted like arms. A leshy. No, not just one. Paul's stomach dropped when several more pairs of eyes blinked into life all along the rank of trees. A whole column of leshies, rising together.

"Tsarevna Elena," one of them spoke. "You are not to leave Bryansk."

Elena's nostrils flare. "What?! Move aside at once!"

The line of leshies took one step forward, bearing down on the three of them. "You are not to leave," the head leshy repeated.

"On whose order?"

"The Tsarina's," the leshy replied, and Elena went pale.

Zhara made a frustrated sound. "We don't have time for this," she said. "Paul, give me your sword."

"What are you going to do?" Paul asked, fumbling for the broken sword he still wore on his belt, for Afron had neglected to provide them with weapons.

Without a word, Zhara rolled up her sleeve, took the sword from him, and, before Paul could stop her, made a cut on her palm. "No!" Paul shouted, but she only calmly returned the sword to him and smeared the blood over both of her hands. Elena looked on, horrified.

Fire erupted from Zhara's hands, but it wasn't the usual flame she used to light their fire or illuminate their way at night. This was a furnace, hot enough to scorch Paul's cheek even when he stood far back. Zhara advanced towards the leshies, the two fireballs blazing in her palms.

"Move aside," she ordered.

"We have no quarrel with you, Lady Zhara of Arthania," the head leshy said. "You and your mortal can leave."

"Not without Elena."

The leshy didn't reply, only took another step forward. Its comrades followed suit. Zhara threw a fireball at them. Fire roared, spreading quickly across the rank, swallowing the leshies in flaming red tongues. The creatures howled and beat at the flames with their boughs, sending up a spray of sparks and suffocating smoke. The donkey shrank away from the conflagration, braying in terror. Paul ducked his head, tightened his grip on the reins, and tried to pull Zhara back, but she shook him off.

"Go, go, go!" she shouted, throwing the other fireball.

Grabbing Elena's arm in one hand and the donkey's reins in the other, Paul ran for an opening between the trees. Behind him, the fire raged on.

"Stop!" a voice rang out.

Something caught at Paul's arms and legs, throwing him to the ground. Then, to his horror, he found himself rising, wrenched into the air on thick vines that snaked around his body, his throat, choking him. Next to him, Zhara was similarly shackled. More vines grew over the leshies, putting out the flames. Fire burst from Zhara's hands once more, only to be immediately quenched by the vines.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Tsarina Kostroma as she approached them from the forest with a retinue behind her, her green eyes cold with anger.

Elena seemed to shrink in front of her mother. She clasped her hands in front of her and stood with her head hung low, like a child waiting for her punishment. Kostroma strode past her and came to stand in front of Zhara. "How dare you, Zhara Artyomovna?" she said. "You came here uninvited and received our hospitality, and this is how you thanked me? By taking away my Elena?"

"Tsarina Kostroma, please," Zhara began, struggling to speak while the vines encircled her throat. "I would never dream of disrespecting you, but I need help—"

"Help! And you thought Elena could help you? If you need help, why not come to me?" Paul noticed that Elena was wincing at her mother's derisive tone, and felt indignant in her stead.

"But Mother, they need my help, not yours—" she said.

"Silence!" Kostroma whipped her head around, and Elena almost visibly recoiled. "How are you of help to anybody? You know nothing! Do you even know where she is taking you, what dangers you may come across? I'm only trying to protect you—"

"You're smothering her, that's what you're doing," Paul blurted out. Kostroma's words reminded him so much of his mother's reprimands. They raised his hackles. He hadn't been able to stand up to his mother, but he was not going to watch Elena getting berated by her mother without saying something.

Kostroma turned to him with a look of utter disdain, like he was some sort of vermin, not worth her attention. "And who do you think you are, mortal, to speak to me with such insolence?" she said.

Paul felt the vines squeezing his neck, and swallowed hard. "Never mind who I am," he said with more bravado than he felt. "Perhaps you really believe you're protecting Elena, but you're only hurting her. If she knows nothing, then that's your fault—"

Kostroma's face contorted with rage. She flicked her hand, and the vines tightened even more, cutting him off. Zhara thrashed at her own bindings, her eyes fixed on Paul in a panic.

Elena, however, seemed to have found her strength. She raised her head, stiffened her back, and faced Kostroma. "He is right, Mother," she said. "How am I to be your heir, how am I to take the throne, when you teach me nothing and let me do nothing? Every year on my name day, I ask you to let me leave Bryansk, to let me see something of the world, and every year you find an excuse to say no." She was becoming more and more animated, her eyes brightening to emerald green in the torchlight. "I am going with Zhara to help her. You can't stop me. And if you don't let us go, I shall renounce the throne and never speak to you again!"

Kostroma flinched, as though Elena's words were barbs flung at her. She clenched her fingers, and vines curled up around Elena's feet, rooting the girl to the spot.

Elena remained composed. "Mother, please," she said, her voice softening.

Kostroma's lips quivered. "But—you're all that I have—Zhara Artymovna is being hunted—" Now she was looking less like an enraged tsarina and more like an anxious mother.

"I promise you, Tsarina Kostroma, I'm not going to let anything befall Elena," Zhara said. "I shall protect her with my life."

Paul, too, tried to put on an expression of confidence and trustworthiness, though he wasn't sure how much he succeeded. Kostroma looked from one face to another. Finally, she lowered her head and gave another flick of her hand. The vines retreated, throwing Paul unceremoniously to the ground next to Zhara, leaving them both wheezing and gasping for breath.

"Go, then," Kostroma said. "But don't come crying to me when you find life on the outside less than agreeable."

Tentatively, not quite believing it, Elena took a step toward the line of trees with Zhara and Paul, then another, and another. This time, the leshies stood aside to let her pass, before closing ranks and becoming a dark, impenetrable wall yet again.

Chapter 9

A/N: I had to make fun of Paul's wig somehow :)) A bolonka (plural "bolonki") is actually a type of Russian lap dog with curly hair. Kupala Night is a real Slavic festival. It was banned in medieval Russia for its association with paganism, but has regained popularity in Belarus and Ukraine in recent years.

Taglist: @ali-r3n

#prince paul #tsarevich paul #catherine the great #prince paul fic #prince paul x ofc #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic

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komahinayaoii · 2 days ago

Text

Reverse Bunny

Vampire!Matthew Patel x gen!neutral reader

cw: mention of blood during sex, neck biting, stripper matthew, eventual smut

a/n: Hi! This was made on the 18th of October, but I never published it here. There are actually a few I haven't posted on here, its all on ao3~ I hope you guys like this! I should also add that this fic is based on Matthew Patel fanart made by Existenc3_ on Twitter. Just click on his name! (Warning though, their profile has NSFW and the fanart this fic is based off of is suggestive! So be careful opening it if you're in public :P)

Matthew has been staying with you for a few months now. Having him around has been relatively smooth, but it would be even better if he contributed to the bills. You might assume that since he doesn’t munch on your groceries, your expenses would be low. However, that’s not the case. Occasionally, he’ll whip up a meal for you when you come home late, which is a nice gesture, but the flavors are always a bit off. He tends to mix a hodgepodge of ingredients and label it dinner. So wasteful!

He has absolutely no clue when it comes to cooking. This one time he attempted to impress you with a bird he had caught the night before, feathers and all. He only tossed it in the microwave for a few minutes and sprinkled some salt and pepper on top. You nearly lost your appetite that day. The moment you walked in, he eagerly thrust the plate at you, beaming with the biggest smile, complete with a haphazard heart made of ketchup on the side. He was so proud of his culinary "creation."

You wanted to pass away that day.

Sometimes, you can't help but see him as a bit of a leech. He drains your electricity while binge-watching countless shows, taking marathon-length showers, and tinkering with your gadgets just for fun. Seriously, how many shows can one person possibly watch in a single day? When that electricity bill arrived, your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. That's when you figured it was time to help him find a job.

When you share your idea with him, he starts to complain, expressing how much he hates being apart from you while he clings to your side. You roll your eyes and tease him, promising a “reward” if he can actually find and maintain a job. Instantly, his attitude shifts, and he becomes determined to secure employment.

Initially, he landed a position as a cashier. Sounds straightforward, right? For most people, it would be, but for Matthew, this was merely the starting point. After securing the job, he was doing well for a few hours… until he was ultimately let go.

What happened? He managed to swipe $200 from the cash register he was responsible for and even tried to drink the blood of one of his coworkers. Understandably, his manager and colleagues were not pleased. His justification? “It’s reckless to leave all this money here; someone could easily take it. Like me.” As for the blood… he didn’t actually have any; he just felt like it.

Okay…alright! He was probably going to get fired at some point anyways, maybe a cashier wasn’t the best job for him. So, he switched gears and took on a role as a waiter. This seemed like a more straightforward gig—just serve food with that winning smile of his. And of course, he wouldn’t be tempted to eat any of it because, well, you know the reason. Surely, this job would suit him perfectly, right?

Looks like things didn’t change much. This gig lasted him a few days longer than the last, but he still ended up getting fired. The funny part? It wasn’t entirely his fault this time… or was it? The constant aroma of fancy dishes made him nauseous, and he ended up throwing up on a customer. It’s kind of hilarious that gourmet food made him sick, but he could handle the weird spice combos he throws together in his “cooking.” Oh and, you should add that he also tried to drink the blood of another co-worker of his. Thanks Matthew, very cool! His excuse this time was “ ..what? Have you smelt their foods? So…revolting!” It was in fact NOT revolting. As for the blood sucking…again, he just felt like it.

Right..well…he wasn’t the WORST waiter but he sure as hell wasn’t the best one. Maybe he just needs a job that requires less interaction with strangers…ah, that’s it! A food delivery driver! That’s perfect for him! He rarely needs to talk to people in this one, all he needs to do is drop of their food and let the customers know on the app that its there. Finally, he has a good job!

Is what you thought.

Right after, and you’re talking literal minutes after he was accepted for the job he was fired. Why? Well, he casually mentioned to his boss that he didn’t have a driver’s license. He can’t drive…that’s right..how the hell did you forget he can’t drive? His manager, not knowing that he was a vampire, fired him. To him, he didn’t need a license. He can literally fly AND turn into a bat, the hell does he need that for? Matthew was not amused by this oversight, so he took matters into his own hands… and let’s just say his manager ended up as a snack. Guess he finally took care of that craving.

When you two got home after the third job you plopped onto the couch, you collapsed onto the couch, burying your face in your hands with a groan. Three jobs, and not a single paycheck to show for it. He trailed in after you, shutting the door with a curious glance. “Dude…how are you so bad at every job you do?”

He lets out a theatrical gasp, clutching his chest. “What? Bad!? It’s more like you humans have the most complicated jobs.” He chuckles derisively. “Honestly…how do you manage to get by without the power to soar through the skies or transform into a bat? You really have it rough.” You couldn't help but roll your eyes at his remark.

“Complicated? Those were complicated to you?” you pressed further. He started to stammer, his face flushing with embarrassment as he grasped the implications of his words. “Did…did I really say complicated? I meant r-ridiculous! Stupid!...that’s what I meant.” You let out a frustrated sigh, rising to your feet and dismissing him with a wave. “Ugh…just forget it. Can you please go easy on the TV and the food, alright?” He fell silent, nodding obediently.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Matthew POV

With that, Matthew watched you as you left the living room and headed off into your bedroom. You looked so exhausted, so disappointed…in him, specifically. And he hated it. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint you! He felt so bad…he’ll make it up to you, he swears. At first, he considered going down on you as an apology for going through three jobs but getting a job by himself would probably make you happier.

He'll definitely still go down on you later.

He lingered in the dim light of the room, watching as your breathing deepened and your eyelids fluttered shut. Once he was certain you were sound asleep, he slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb you. The night air greeted him as he stepped outside, the quiet streets of the town stretching before him like a blank canvas.

As he wandered through the shadows, his gaze fell upon a series of ‘Help Wanted!’ signs plastered haphazardly on the lampposts. Each one caught his attention, and he paused to read them, his mind racing with possibilities. A fast food cook? He chuckled softly to himself, recalling your playful critiques of his culinary skills. No, that wouldn’t do.

Next, he spotted a listing for a medical assistant. It sounded intriguing, but the thought of dealing with blood made his stomach growl. He could already envision the chaos that would ensue if he were faced with a needle. And then there was the blood donor sign—definitely not a job he was willing to consider. If anyone was going to be giving blood tonight, it certainly wouldn’t be him.

Ugh!..why was this so difficult? None of these jobs were good. Why can’t a fitting job opportunity just hit him in the fa— “Ah-!” he exclaimed, pulling the paper away with an exasperated sigh. Speak of the devil. “Huh?..what is this..?”

“ 𝓡𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓲𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓮!~ 🐇🥕

🍒𝓒 𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓳𝓸𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓷! 💋

*𝓛𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓜𝓐𝓛𝓔 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴𝓮𝓻𝓼*

ᐢ. ₓ .ᐢ ”

Matthew rolled his eyes, a deep crimson creeping across his cheeks. “What is this nonsense? A gig for creeps? Do I look like some kind of cheap floozy?” he exclaimed, though his curiosity got the better of him as he continued to scan the flyer. His gaze landed on the address—wait, it was just around the corner. “But… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to take a look… hmm.” With a mix of trepidation and intrigue, he set off toward the adult job’s location, a thrill of anticipation coursing through him.

This will be interesting.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

*BACK TO YOUR POV*

Weeks had slipped by since the chaotic job debacle, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of relief. Your electricity bills had taken a nosedive, and to your surprise, Matthew had stopped his usual antics of messing with your food. In fact, he seemed to be contributing to the household expenses, which raised a few eyebrows. How was he managing that? After all, he had been fired from three different jobs in quick succession. What kind of work could he possibly be doing now? And every time he handed you a share of the money, it was always in cash—sometimes even sticky. Gross..

The absence of Matthew during the late hours has not gone unnoticed. Each night, as the clock strikes midnight, he just seems to vanish into thin air. You’ve caught glimpses of him slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb your sleep, before he quietly makes his way to the front door. It’s unusual for him to leave without a word or an attempt to coax you along. This behavior raises a red flag in your mind. What could he possibly be up to? Is he involved in some sort of criminal activity? The thought of him robbing people or breaking into banks feels far-fetched, especially considering how he struggled to handle you when you two first met.

You attempted to bring it up with him, but he just twisted the truth, insisting you were imagining things. He’s such a terrible liar. If he’s not gonna tell you, you’ll have to figure it out yourself.

The following night, you feigned sleep, biding your time for Matthew to quietly leave the bed and head off to his unknown destination. The moment he was gone, you sprang out of bed, threw on a random jacket from your closet, and snatched your keys from the counter. Stepping outside cautiously, you scanned the area for any sign of him and caught a glimpse of him darting to your left. Without hesitation, you hopped into your car and started to trail him. Where could he possibly be headed?

As you trailed him for what felt like an eternity, about 10 to 15 minutes, he finally came to a halt, standing before a building that made your head tilt in confusion….is that a strip club? The neon lights flickered enticingly, casting a colorful glow on the pavement. Before you could even gather your thoughts and step out of the car, Matthew slipped inside, leaving you to grapple with your curiosity.

You glanced at the sign above the entrance: “𝓡𝓪𝓫𝓫𝓲𝓽 𝓗𝓸𝓵𝓮.” Your mind raced with possibilities. Surely, he must be working as a waiter or maybe a bartender. But then again, he did so badly as a waiter the first time, what’s so different here? Well, time to find out now.

You hesitantly walk inside, and as soon as you did your eyes were immediately blinded by the bright neon lights that shinned through the window of the closed two doors. They were so bright you didn’t even notice the body guard standing beside it.

“Identification?” His voice cut through the air, causing you to startle slightly. “Oh? Right, my bad.” You fumble in your pocket, retrieving your ID with a sense of relief that you always carry it. He takes a moment to examine it before returning it to you, then he pushes the doors open with a smooth motion.

Here we go.

As you stepped inside, your eyes gradually acclimated to the dazzling brightness that enveloped the room. You had anticipated a scene filled with female strippers, waitresses bustling about, and male bartenders mixing drinks. However, what awaited you was a shock—

“Hello gorgeous!~”

You glance to your left, and your heart skips a beat.…is that Lucas Lee? Oh my. What on earth is he wearing? It looks like a bunny suit, but it’s all turned around. Instead of the usual design that leaves the midsection covered, this one covers everything but his chest down to his lower stomach, complete with a collar and a tie that gives off a bizarrely formal vibe. To add to the absurdity, he’s sporting a pair of fluffy bunny ears perched atop his head. And those… well, boobs of his, were massive.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Um… hi there… Lucas, isn’t it?” Your voice trembled slightly, your gaze fixated on his chest, were you even talking to him or his boobs at this point. Lucas let out a soft laugh. “That’s me! Come on, I’ll show you to a table. We’ve got loads of them available. You won’t want to miss our top dancer’s performance.” You nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness as he led you deeper into the vibrant club.

As you strolled through the bustling venue, your eyes began to wander, taking in the vibrant atmosphere around you. It struck you how every waiter you encountered was male, while the females were bartenders, funnily enough they were wearing regular suits, a curious detail that lingered in your mind. One pretty bartender in particular had short pink and blue hair while another had short red hair. Not bad.

Then, amidst the crowd, familiar faces emerged, sending a jolt of surprise through you There was Todd Ingram, the bassist from ‘The Clash at Demonhead,’ serving tables with an air of nonchalance., Wallace Wells flirting with a dancer, some…twins..? and….was that fucking Gideon Graves?

Lucas guided you to a table positioned perfectly next to the stage, the vibrant energy of the room swirling around you. To your left, a lively group of women filled the air with laughter and cheers, clearly in the midst of a bachelorette celebration; one of them, adorned in a white sash, was the center of attention. On your right, however, sat a solitary boy, his presence almost a stark contrast to the festivities. With tousled light brown hair and dressed in a simple t-shirt and jeans, he seemed lost in his own world, as if he had wandered into the wrong scene entirely.

“Hey.” He speaks, drawing your attention. “Yeah?”

“Does your friend work here too?” …. Huh?...how the fuck? You stare at him for a moment. “I… um, yes? I think? I’m just now finding out about this.” He gives a knowing nod. “I thought so. You seemed a bit lost. And honestly, it looks like you just rolled out of bed.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you realize your disheveled appearance. “Oh, right… that’s because I actually did.” He lets out a soft laugh, a warm glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t worry, me too.” Extending his hand, he introduces himself. “I’m Neil..or…well my friends call me Young Neil.” You nod, then proceeded to give him your name too.

“(your name) huh? I like that.” A soft smile graced your lips as you caught his eye, but your attention quickly shifted to the lights beginning to fade, the stage’s illumination growing more pronounced. Ah, the show was about to begin. You would leave to find Matthew, assuming he’s working somewhere around here but you’re curious to see who was coming to dance. Probably Scott, yeah?

The moment your thoughts began to swirl with possibilities, the sound of footsteps echoed from the stage ahead. Straining your eyes through the thick fog, you caught sight of a shape that stirred a sense of recognition within you. But the haze obscured the details, leaving you puzzled. The figure advanced, step by step, until—! Hold on…is that fucking—…?!

Holy fucking shit, it was Matthew.

He donned the same uniform as his fellow workers, a quirky reverse bunny suit that hugged his form, complete with a crisp collar, a neatly tied bow, and those playful bunny ears perched atop his head. But what truly set him apart was the way he approached, balancing a bottle of what appeared to be exquisite wine on a gleaming silver platter, a sleek black napkin draped elegantly over his other arm. You found yourself captivated, speechless as your gaze wandered from his striking features down to his chest, and then to the enticing line of his well-groomed happy trail.

Fuck.

The women gathered nearby erupted in cheers, their laughter ringing out as they waved their empty wine glasses in the air. One particularly bold voice shouted for him to strip down, her words slurring slightly from the effects of too much wine. It was evident that most of them were quite tipsy. Matthew scanned the crowd with a playful glint in his eye, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Looks like you’re all eager~ Shall we start?” With a casual motion, he lowered the silver platter toward the floor, giving Todd the grab the wine while Matthew nonchalantly tossed the silver platter over his shoulder. Then with a swift motion, he tossed the napkin that had been resting on his arm into the sea of eager faces in the crowd.

A few women fought for it, but only one was victorious. You make a mental note to steal that from her.

As the music pulsed through the air, he moved with a sultry grace, his body entwined with the pole like a vine. With each rhythmic sway, the crowd erupted in cheers, their excitement fueling his performance. His hands roamed over his skin, teasingly exploring every curve and contour. Slowly, he sank to his knees, the heat of the moment igniting the atmosphere. A few eager girls reached out, their fingers brushing against him, and he couldn't help but laugh softly. With a playful glint in his eye, he crawled to the edge of the stage, inviting their touch as they eagerly grasped at his toned stomach and chest.

The urge to take a life had never coursed through your veins like it did in this moment. Yet, as you gazed at him, a strange thrill ignited within you. He looked so captivating, so alive, as if he were the only beacon in a darkened universe. You had never imagined encountering him in such a setting, nor had you anticipated this side of him. You just got a new idea for tonight.

You kept your gaze fixed on his playful antics, completely absorbed until your eyes met his. The moment was electric; he squeaked in shock, swiftly swatting the girl’s hands away from him. Ah, shit…he saw you. To the girl’s evident annoyance, Matthew sprang off the stage, his cheeks flushed as he made a beeline for you. “Wha—? What are you doing here?!...h-how’d you find me?” He stammers.

You raise an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “You’re not very good at keeping secrets, are you?” you quip, your tone light. “I had no idea you were working as a ‘dancer’ here.”

“I… I didn’t mean to keep it from you! I just thought it would help…” he stammers, his voice tinged with regret. “I feel useless all day, and I wanted to do something to make you happy … Do you hate me?”

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. “Hate you? Not even close… Seriously, you’re such a drama queen.” Your teasing tone catches him off guard, and he blinks at you, wide-eyed. “Really? You don’t hate me?”

“No, actually… you probably didn’t need to take this job, but if it’s beneficial for you, then by all means, keep going.”

“Wait… I didn’t?!”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Yeeeah… I was only half-joking when I called you a parasite. I do enjoy your company when I get home from work.” Matthew strikes a dramatic pose. “When did you ever call me a parasite… wait, PARTLY?!”

You choose to overlook his comment and press on. “Oh, and before you spend that money… make sure to wash it first.” He chuckles in response. “Ahah… right, of course.”

“Hey… if there are any more openings at this job, I could—”

“NO.” He interrupts firmly. “Oh? And why not?”

“….You already have a job! And… I won’t allow anyone else to gawk at you with their lecherous eyes.” You can’t help but laugh at his blatant hypocrisy. “Alright, alright, I get it.”

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

Hours pass, and you two are finally at home. You ended up staying late while he finished up his shift, it was so late that he didn’t bother changing his ‘dancer’ outfit. While taking him home, he catches you glancing at him a couple of times. “Do you like what you see?” He teases.

“I do.” You tease back. “Yknow, I gotta ask…how do you dance with that on? Like without getting.. hard?” He shrugs. “Eh..my co-workers are cool and so are the patrons but…I really only like you.”

“Oh~? Would you wear it during sex?” He looks at you in surprise, then his face proceeds to flush. “..y-yes…if you want me to..”

Things are about to get 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂.

₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎

As you both stepped through the door, Matthew wasted no time, pulling you toward the bed with an unexpected urgency. He gently pushed you onto your back, a spark of surprise flickering in your eyes at his sudden boldness. “Since when did you get so daring?” you teased, a playful smile dancing on your lips.

“Hey, I can be assertive too~” he replied, his grin widening as he leaned in, planting soft kisses along your jaw and down your neck. Each kiss sent shivers through you, coaxing soft moans from your lips.

His hands roamed eagerly over your clothed chest and hip, the outline of his growing excitement becoming more pronounced beneath his suit. You glanced down, a smirk playing on your face. “Already fired up, huh? Want me to take care of that?~” you quipped, wiggling your eyebrows mischievously.

Matthew let out an exasperated breath. “Hey! Who’s in charge here?” You shot him a teasing glance, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Clearly not you…”

“Oh really?” With a swift motion, he lifted your shirt and jacket, exposing your bare skin. “Let’s find out, shall we?” His hand slipped beneath your pants and undergarments, teasingly exploring your core, making you gasp in surprise. “Ah…wow…you’re serious huh—oh!”

As he unexpectedly slipped a finger inside, a shiver ran through you, igniting a spark deep within. “Ahhm…ahh…Matthew…” you gasped, your breath hitching in your throat. With a playful grin, he leaned in, his tongue brushing against your hardened nipple, teasingly sucking as he added another finger, his movements expertly scissoring. “Do you like that?..haha..~” he taunted, his voice dripping with mischief

The tension in the air was palpable, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. “Please… don’t stop,” you gasped, your breath hitching as he continued his tantalizing ministrations. He chuckled softly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh, you want more, do you?~” Just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, he suddenly withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping in frustration. “What are you doing? Why did you stop?” you whined, your voice laced with desperation. His laughter echoed in the room, playful and infuriating. “Patience, my dear…”

He slowly removes your undergarments and pants, exposing your bare skin to his gaze. “I can see you’re eager for me~” With a teasing grin, he reaches into his pants, pulling out his dick, which springs forth with anticipation. His tip grazed with precum. “J..just shut up and fuck me, Matthew..!”

He didn’t need to be asked again. With a swift motion, he lifted your legs, securing them around his waist as he settled himself between them. His own legs slid beneath yours, and he positioned himself above you, his hands framing your face, creating an intimate space just for the two of you. A soft gasp escaped your lips as the realization of your new position washed over you, and you gazed up at him, your eyes heavy with anticipation. “Are you ready?” he inquired gently, his voice laced with concern. You responded with an eager nod, excitement bubbling within you.

In a moment of pure connection, he enveloped you completely, a shared raspy moan escaping both of your lips as the intensity of the moment washed over you both. “H-haaah~!...damn..!” Matthew gasped, the sound a mix of pleasure and disbelief, as he began to withdraw, only to plunge back in with a slow, deliberate rhythm. As your fingers dug into his shoulders, you felt the intensity of his movements quicken. With every thrust, a slick sound filled the air, echoing off the walls, igniting a fire within you that you couldn't ignore.

A shiver ran down your spine as you gasped, “Sh..shit..ah…! Holy fuck..!” You quickly covered your lips with your hands, trying to stifle the sounds of your pleasure. But before you could fully contain yourself, he seized your wrists, pinning them above your head with a firm grip. “Don’t you dare silence those sweet sounds,” he urged, his voice low and teasing. “I want to hear every bit of you.”

“Wha—?...f..fucking..!..ohh…” The words barely escaped your lips before he sank his teeth into your neck, sending a jolt of unexpected ecstasy through you. You gasped, a moan slipping out as his tongue traced the warm blood that trickled from the bite. “You belong to me, don’t you?” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Say it.”

The words tumbled from your lips, a breathless confession that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. “I…I belong to you…completely…” It was hard to fathom that Matthew had drawn such vulnerability from you, but in this moment, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the heat between you, the desperate need to have him fill every part of you. Your fingers clawed at his back, urging him on as he quickened his pace, lost in the rhythm of his own desire. “M-Matthew…oh, Matthew!” you cried out, the sound echoing in the charged air around you.

The air was thick with tension as he breathed heavily, his voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. “Y-yes! You’re mine… completely mine!” Each word dripped with possessiveness, his breath quickening against your tender neck. Your name slipped from his lips, a plea that made you lift your gaze, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Kiss me,” he urged, and without hesitation, you wriggled your hand free from his grip, drawing his face closer until your lips met in a fervent collision, igniting a fire between you.

The waves of pleasure crashed over you, pulling you into a blissful tide. He was lost in the moment too, his breath hitching as he neared his peak. “Nghhnn!..c..cumingg!..~” he gasped, pressing his hips firmly against yours, surrendering himself completely. Time seemed to stretch as he released himself deep within you, a shuddering sigh escaping his lips. After a heartbeat, he pulled back, his body still trembling as he withdrew, leaving a lingering warmth in his wake.

You catch your breath, glancing down between your legs at the chaotic scene before you. “Hah…haha…look at the mess you’ve made, Matthew,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips. He lets out a low, raspy chuckle, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Should I clean it up for you?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks as you place a hand gently on his chest. “N-no…not right now. I’m a bit sore, thanks to you,” you reply, your voice laced with playful sarcasm.

With a soft sigh, he rolls over to snuggle against you, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace. “Alright then, let’s just sleep.” You nod, resting your cheek against his tousled hair, savoring the tranquility of the moment. Today had been unusual, you admit, but seeing this side of Matthew was a delightful surprise. You can’t help but think that you might just have to ask him to take charge again sometime soon.

#scott pilgram takes off #matthew patel #matthew patel x reader #eventual smut #fluff #crack #lucas lee #todd ingram

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