#I woke up in the middle of the night after seeing Wicked with this meme crystal clear in my mind

[starlene]

I'm flying high defying gravity~

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

Witcher Of The Night (Chapter 7)

THIS IS MODERN ERA READER WHO WOKE UP IN THE DIMENSION OF THE WITCHER.

WITCHER OF THE NIGHT MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 6

Characters: Geralt of Rivia x small!Naive!Reader

Summary: Your life was on the edge again as you were close to being sold to men in their dimension. With a kind and selfless heart; you've tried saving Cirilla. Though, despite of the failure of a rescue, a certain witcher wouldn't let you stay in danger as he came to your aid and massacred whoever comes in his way. Thus, he'd recognized the person holding you and it made him curse deep beneath his breath as he remembered what he wanted from him after years of avoiding them for their regal favors.

Warnings: Gore. (I’ve added a gif that kinda..ugh. You get my point. Hehehe.) Death. Swords. Curse words. Modern references. Hehehe. Blood. Anger. More descriptions than dialogues. (I mean, who fights while talking? XD Also, it’s Geralt. You know how he is. XD) Assholes selling women/children.

Words: 6.3k+

A/N: Chapter 7 is out now! I've used Gifs of Geralt while the story goes on. Heehee! Just wanted to. IT’S GETTIN’ LIT IN HERE. AYEEEE!

TAGLIST IS STILL OPEN FOR THIS ONE! Heehee! Don’t forget to REBLOG, COMMENT OR GIVE FEEDBACK IF YOU DID LOVE THIS CHAPTER! IT’LL MAKE ME SMILE!

Disclaimer: PNG's used in edits are not mine even the GIF's too. However, the edits and oneshots are definitely from moi. Characters, places and said monsters aren't from moi as well. GIF’s INCLUDED ARE CREDITED TO THOSE WHO MADE THEM! I DO NOT OWN THEM!

MY WORKS ARE NOT NOT NOT NOT NOOOOOOT TO BE POSTED ON ANY OTHER WEBSITES. My official username in Wattpad is “TATATHEPOTATO” and that’s the only other site I have for writing aside from Tumblr. Thank you, Tater tots!

It took a narrow, derelict looking alleyway for Cirilla and her friend to be found. This was why you never trusted kids playing alone because they needed supervision at all times. There were black, grey and brown stone build houses designed for the outmoded era surrounding the alley.

You taciturnly stood in the middle of the dirt ground, scanning the whole place and finding a kid who wore a light blue kirtle. The sound of sand and gravel was apparent as you've taken conniving steps till you were about to enter another aisle that looked deserted. But, you were stopped as a silhouette of two men who wore dark brown furry sheep coats emerge from the gully.

The man holding Cirilla had a horrible beard looking like the man in the movie 300 with a sly smirk that could get you to know that he was part of the villains in a show while the other was a blonde chevalier that can pass as the prince's bodyguard.

They had sharp looking daggers across the children's necks and it made your heart cease because of the panic rising through your head. Yet, you try to calm down to make better decisions.

Not that it was a habit. You were bad a making decisions; look at how your life ended. Forgetting why you were drowning on a lake and suddenly emerging from another dimension like you had your next life in just a snap of Thanos' gauntlet.

"Nice, very nice." you mindlessly mumbled, avoiding their scowls and grins; giving the kids a once over as you've seen the fear straight out of their eyes.

There were no guns, anything to use for defense nor do you know any kung-fu that can make Jackie Chan watch you with popcorn on his hands.

You were currently a useless human especially that you were teleported with no supernatural powers or magic. What a nice way to be brought to a world you didn't know and had people who are experts in brutal fighting.

"Why, why, why," The man looking like King Leonidas mischievously announced as he tightened his hold around Cirilla and held the dagger close to her neck. The princess shrieked and growled before him, struggling against his hold as you winced at your mind who couldn't help but utter the most awkward sentences in panic.

"Delilah?" your nose scrunched so hard you were sure you looked constipated. It was a pun, and so it wasn't the best as you couldn't help but cringe for your stupidity.

"Ain't she a beaut," The blonde knight cackled as he strolled towards a wooden cage that can be used for lions or any feisty animal as Ethelia was dragged and locked in like a fauna being pulled around; never forgetting to give Cirilla's friend a pinch to her delicate cheeks as she flinched away from the asshole.

"Don't hurt Ethelia!" Cirilla struggled against her captor's arms, but he tightened his hold around her a lot more, "---Get her out of the cage!"

You've squinted your eyes at the large cage where Ethelia has been violently captured and saw not only one but a dozen of children taken to their account. Some were grubby and clean, though that one thing that made them all the same was that they were women.

They were freaking women and you definitely saw red because they all seemed innocent with all their wailing and bloodshot eyes.

The princess has managed to bite Tybalt on the arm; making the latter grab onto her roots brutally, igniting a frightened scream out of Cirilla, "You are next to this wench that shall be offered to the king!"

Thus, her screams made your palms sweat. You needed to do something and not just stand there like an idiot.

Tybalt's attention was suddenly turned to you; cocking his head to the side as smugly as he could, giving you a menacing grin that gave you the nervous shivers.

"---Or not?"

"Leave the child alone!" you suddenly had the courage to muster out loud; but it was no use as it didn't sound frightening for the party. Tybalt aimed the sharp edge of his dagger along Cirilla's neck as he moved them both forward, his appearance more discernable from the sudden cloudy day as he stepped outside his shadows. "---If it isn't another whore that I could sell to the duke,"

You could see how tall he was and utterly buff just like Geralt. His face was a complete epitome of a bandit as you noticed those sharp fangs and thinking he just had that type of teeth,  "---Your beauty...Only passes for a knight's whore,"

Well, that sounded mean.

Tybalt continued, keeping Cirilla steady in the width of his arms as the child went on to struggle against his hold, her movements accidentally giving her a short slice of a wound that you quickly saw. Crimson liquid dripping down her neck like a breeze; not much, yet it was enough to give a wince, "---not for a king," the latter continued as he gave a low baleful laugh.

He'd studied you from head to toe, his gaze utterly making you feel uncomfortable. It was obvious that it consists of obscene thoughts running inside his brain. You couldn't help but feel your sweat turn cold from the panic you were feeling, "You are one short fella'! But, also kind of adorable like a dirty mouse not even worth for a penny,"

"Don't--Don't touch her," you stammered, biting on the insides of your lips as you tried thinking quicker. His wicked plans and diabolic ideas inside his head were enough to make your knees tremble; like you were being hunted by an Alghoul for the second time. You always had the luck in being involved with such ill-fate circumstances and it was making you crazy. Tybalt loudly scoffed, brown eyes glowing with malevolence and his smile turning sinister, "What are ye' going to do, little one? Cry like a bairn?"

The princess breathed in deep breaths, her heart beat running as fast as a cheetah. She'd gave you a look and you could quite see that she was deep in thought. Was Jaskier lying about her abilities? Was she a mutated one as well? Were the men holding her the Elvens?

"Cirilla," you subtly shook your head to distract her from doing anything that could give you both more peril than it should have.

"I can bring your little friend and this woman," Tybalt gestured to you and it made you step back; nevertheless, more of his bandits marched into view and roughly grabbed onto your arms, leaving you no chance to escape as you've tried to battle from their hold. "---Ethelia has been sold to the king by her father who had killed one of his knights. You know how King Viduka loves his knights,"

You wrestled against their hold. Two men strenghtened their grasp on you; rooting you to the ground as they were pretty much stronger, lanky and muscly with their fur coats. They were laughing on either side of you because of how you were struggling, "What is your name?" Tybalt drawled his words like a snake teasing his prey.  

You loudly huffed and tried to wrench your arm away from both as you breathed hard; languidly feeling as if you were having a panic attack. It was there; again and it wasn't the right time, "You don't want me dropping down memes, I swear. I'm close to screaming John Cena," pause. "---You're gonna hate me, King Leonidas." A small guiltless smile was given to Cirilla's captor and it was enough to infuriate him because of how you didn't make sense.

Out of the blue, Tybalt unceremoniously pushed the princess off the ground; giving both his men that stood on either side of you a look as they roughly pushed you to him; passing you like a tennis ball as he caught you in his arms. You shrieked and have your heart flying off your chest as the chess piece suddenly moved and you were now their target.

Cirilla coughed her shock out of her chest; face scrubbing the ground which soiled her pretty face as she crawled and trembled away from you; sitting on her backside as she had her eyes focused on the the whole scene; thoroughly staggered at the sudden shift of victims.

Tybalt had his fingers grabbing onto your roots like a bitch; making you yelp as loud as you can to get anyone's attention from the other side of the city. But, no. There was no saviour. "Nobody owns ye', little scrubber! Come, to the palace!" he mercilessly yanked you with a handful of your hair, painfully dragging you to where the cages for humans stayed behind them; covered with a thick brown cloth for decency purposes if they even have dignity in their bloods.

"There's a place for little whores like ye'!" The other man who held you on the arm announced in a snobbish manner; ending his statement with a mirthful laugh that petrified you because of how presumptuous they were to find their actions fine for their world.

Your nerves were spiking up like a sparking electric circuit. The more closer you forcefully strided towards the cage, the more your emotions was flying up the sky. Adding the pain that Tybalt has been pouring on your roots was triggering your sensitive self to shed some tears from the fear of being sold by some dirty, old man who treats women like some kind of doll to relieve their sexual pleasures.

The lioness of Cintra dreaded the moment to see you walking towards a cage full of women going to be sold to different people. She couldn't do anything but think of ways that could get time ticking before Geralt could feel that there was something wrong. Accepting the fear of not saving you will never die down; if she would've not tried to help as she was saved by you.

Cirilla stood on her soles, feet shaking like a leaf as she had both hands in front; halting the forceful kidnap happening, "No! Stop! A man owns her with the name, Geralt! Geralt owns her! Geralt of Rivia! The Butcher of Blaviken!"

All men had their brows in a twist, tugging you back and making you face her. You were wincing and tears were falling from the hopeless feeling; it was much better to be living in their family rather than another man's home whom could have the power in owning you like a damn animal.

Tybalt jibed at the princess, poking fun at the lies she was saying. The name rang a bell; it was a name that they've been searching for so long but have been considered as a myth that isn't real. They've had their latest witcher be killed by a lethal beast. This known Witcher that they have been searching was no where to be found for years after years; or he just didn't want to be found was more of a logical reason at the same time.

"The Witcher?" he belittled with a grin, "---He's long gone, child. Hiding like a birdie! Cease your fantasy in having a witcher in the Kingdom of Kaedwen! We will all be killed by beasts! Just like them!"

Your captor tightened his hand on your head, giving it a sting that made you shriek. You didn't want to grow bald because of this. It was humiliating; you thought at the back of your mind as you sobbed from the fright. Tybalt inserted his dagger back in his pocket and swiftly opened the cloth to reveal ten children scared to death or even more, "This dirty maiden can be more useful than this lioness of a kid! It bites and roars too much!"

Thus, you never know how satisfying it was to hear a strum of a lute from afar. The echo resonated from the far end as you whipped around in zealous. Your heart beat coming to life as the hope flew back to where it should've been.

"That...is definitely not a good idea,"

Jaskier. There was Jaskier. Only Jaskier, but no Geralt. Still, it gave you a ton of hope to be saved.

"A bard," Tybalt rolled his eyes from all the pathetic interruption. Just getting you was thoroughly time consuming and he didn't know if he was already regretting it. He should be, when he's got his foot six feet on the ground already by touching Cirilla and you.

The bard stood where you could clearly see him. You eyed him with that agitated look. Nevertheless, he'd given you a cheeky wink as he continued to strum; his foot signalling Cirilla to take her flight and leave the hell hole before the men even had second thoughts of grabbing her again.

Hence, she hurriedly did; with a need to find the witcher.

You knew what Jaskier was doing. You've seen this in the movies for a lot of times. Some ended well while some didn't.

He was distracting Tybalt and his men. Hence, the bard was doing a damn great job at it because of how he was great at not showing his anxiety and trembles from being stabbed or beheaded like he was already...used to the thrill and danger.

"Get out of my way!" Tybalt frustratingly barked; giving him a nasty glare, "You are making the massive mistake ever---," Jaskier articulated, sounding like he was telling a story as he sounded informative and factual.

"---You are plotting your own demise, Berk."

The nickname was a wrong move for Jaskier. He'd wince after seeing Tybalt's nose flare like a dragon in heat. Now, it was the perfect time you've seen his fingers stop from strumming his lute and actually seeing the little tremble from his fingers.

He was doing good; so good, but he had to just insult the guy and let the mistakes flow.

You've sniffed and felt the tears have subsided. Eyes thoroughly bloodshot as well because of how you've felt the man holding you captive exhale a breath of vexation. Tybalt was mad.

Which gave you a reason to mouth at the bard that he had only one job, one job and he ruined it.

"What did you just call me?" Tybalt seethed like there was fire coming out of his mouth. Forehead creased to the extent that he was tempted for his horns to come out. "Ughm," Jaskier spluttered, eyes rolling elsewhere as he heard footsteps coming closer from behind.

"I'm--I'm--I'm just actually uttering out the most foolish things ever! Just wasting time until a witcher has your head in a platter or more so; cut in half!" Jaskier spun around and saw those two men who has held you was now treading near and his eyes wanted to come out of his eye sockets when he'd seen them scowling.

A tiny shriek came out of the bard as he swallowed his nervousness and swiftly spun and kept his lute behind him.

You've felt Tybalt shifting behind you; fishing for his dagger as you'd remember it from a while ago. "There are no more witchers in this kingdom," he harshly spat with spite, "---If so, Sorceress Ingrith and I would've found him and asked for help,"

The bard halted from backing away from the two men who wanted to corner him, peeking back at Tybalt as his back felt the stone walls and they were looming before him. "What?"

"---So, just let me take her, bard!"

Jaskier was swift enough to dodge out of being cornered, quickly jogging to where you were at arms reach from him as he had his hands on his hips; still having the time to be sassy after being threatened. "No, no! You cannot take her! I second the notion and refuse for you to take her!"

Those two bandits who had eyes on him unsheathed their swords from behind. He'd heard the metal slash out of its home as he felt the tip of the sword from one man on the edge of his neck; like a warning to shut his flowery mouth from even saying anything less.

"Impossible! You are close to being beheaded!" Tybalt scoffed, cackling as he saw the bard tap his foot in anxiety when he'd seen another pair of Tybalt's men emerge from behind you. Jaskier was thinking and also having an internal monologue of feeling the adrenaline rush. There were more; maybe a maximum of nine people who came with the kidnapping monster.

"Oh gods, where is Geralt when we need him," Jaskier mumbled to himself and calmly breathed out of his nose; languidly closing his eyes to keep him from panicking out loud.

Yet, the bard couldn't control it and began to yell for help.

"Fuck!---GERALT! This is no time for your bone aching moments because of how senile you are! You are certainly getting old when you want me bleeding after this just to rescue your darn midget!"

Jaskier was heaving deep breaths as he was having his panic attacks right now. He stared at you with hysteria and thinking if Geralt didn't come too early, he would already be beheaded. You swallowed the fear stuck in your throat for the third time around; patiently waiting for your demise that you had been wishing on the first day but was now dreading the idea of it when you had lived in for days in their dimension.

You thought it would take hours for the witcher to find you; or even days after being captured. But, seeing him make an appearance as he finally turned a corner was the best feeling you've ever felt.

Now, you know how it feels to be captured then saved by a man who lives in your fantasy. It felt utterly fulfilling and joyous. Specially, when he'd cautiously trudged along with that brooding facade he had.

You were elated to see him; huffing out a breath you were holding for far too long. Too happy as you were saved for the second time; having a chance to live for the second time.

"Geralt! Oh gods, great timing!" Jaskier yelped when a man roughly kept him still. The witcher came with nothing but his bag of sword strapped behind him and his brooding charm, his anger obvious on his face and a humorless expression.

"Fuck," thus, he deeply snarled beneath his chest; knowing what was bound to happen.

A look you have never seen before; ever. Hence, it was a facial expression you didn't want to encounter because it was as if you felt like he wouldn't bat an eyelid to everyone who would come his way and end up creating a massacre.

It technically resembles the look of destruction.

Geralt stood on the middle of the area, a few meters away from you; thoroughly calm and collected but with a stony-face you didn't want to poke on. Shoulders and chest puffed to an extent that screams strength and resilience. He'd given Jaskier a once over to check if he was okay and based on how talkative he still was; the bard was totally fine.

Then, he'd taken a look at you. Those golden eyes were blazing with indignation. His forehead slowly creasing together so tightly as he realized Tybalt's fingers grabbing onto your roots; a shiny dagger catching his eye that was hidden behind your clothing. Your attention right on the witcher as you didn't realize that it was painstakingly lifting Geralt's tunic in which you wore as the asshole grinned back at him with devilry.

"What took you so long?!" Jaskier still managed to hollered out loud. But, took no answer from the witcher as he squinted his eyes at you who was held captive.

You felt the cold, brisk wind hit your thighs; lately realizing that Tybalt was playing with your clothes like the debauched man that he is as he was slowly lifting the damn tunic and making people see your black underwear which made the man eyed it weirdly. Your heart was hammering out of your chest as you stared back at the witcher who was sending a grimace at the man behind you.

Your eyes was pleading for him to come and get you. Geralt knew and could see it in your eyes and it was making his blood boil for everyone.

"The infamous witcher," Tybalt announced in shock. The tip of his dagger probing at the side of your hip like a warning to never move. Geralt hoarsely gave a groan deep within his chest, languorously unsheathing his sword from behind him and never shifting his eyes away from you.

“---He’d finally shown himself to us! Perhaps, you really aren’t just an epic created by the blue-eyed dunce!” 

The men who held Jaskier was foolishly eyeing the witcher with their faces twisted like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. They've seen his face in the parchment paper that they had. Though, Geralt was considered as a myth that was never true. To Jaskier's luck, it was the right time to snatch the blade from one who has held it loosely; spinning on his heel and aiming the nib on his neck with an awkward stance. A triumphant grin given from the bard as his friend continued to gawk at the witcher like he'd seen the heavens.

"We've been finding yer' kind!" Tybalt grinned from ear to ear, feeling the tine of his whetted dagger pointed on top of your hip bone and you felt your blood rise from the adrenaline starting to take over. Your feet shuffled and it took one move for him to yank at your roots that was already throbbing from the soreness, "---Or a particular one! Long white hair, brooding and a stubborn arsehole who keeps on rejecting the king's favors like some notable man!"

You can feel Tybalt sniffing out loud, thus a loud shriek came out of you when he'd vulgarly dropped his head to inhale your scent in between the pillar of your neck which made your face twist in utter disgust because of how peculiar he was acting; like a vampire in the movies who couldn't get enough of your scent. "Oh, hell no! You're no Edward Cullen! I'm also no Bella! You don't glimmer against the sunlight and you're not as pale as I think you are!" you were terror-struck from his actions and tried to fight away from his face that was strapped on the edges of your neck and suddenly felt canines teasing that part of your neck where he wanted to bite, "---OH MY GOD, A VAMPIRE! PLEASE DON'T BITE MY NECK! NOBODY HAS DONE IT YET!"

All hell broke loose as Tybalt plunged his mouth on your neck like a deprived creature; but not giving a bite. Thus, his men rashly took charge from the moment Geralt lifted a foot as he fully drew his blade out from behind; including the man who'd tried threatening Jaskier; leaving the other weaponless man to the bard as they both looked at each other in wonder.

The witcher knew Tybalt was a vampire. A higher one. He sensed it and he knew him.

A knight from the palace was the first to pounce on the witcher with persistence, lunging after Geralt as he dodged his attack and stabbed him from the back with no penitence. His focal point on you and his senses were heightened a lot more than it ever does with a will to keep you from harm.

Without even batting an eyelid, the witcher was aware of the men ambushing him one by one. Second man who had an unlucky fate tried to strike a blow to his upper leg but the witcher was more skilled than the latter and shielded the attack by his sword; the loud metallic retorts when the blades collide with one another, it was ringing in your ears as you felt Tybalt licking a stripe from your nape to your jaw, making you shiver from disgust.

You shrieked out loud as you felt so gross from his ministrations; but never taking your eyes off Geralt who managed to skillfully dodge all blows from the fighters like a virtuoso as he stabbed them to anywhere they were vulnerable and fatal; giving them no chance to live. There was blood, lots of bloodshed happening as Tybalt cackled from behind you; watching his men be killed with one stab of the witcher's sword; amputating them with no pangs of conscience.

He was that dedicated that he'd assassinated five of his men without a blink of his eye.

You've felt the dagger poke at your sides, and you were too distracted on watching the witcher edge closer to where you were as he fought men. You didn't feel Tybalt stabbing you on the hip; not fully sheathing it inside you but it was enough to ignite a loud cry that made Geralt stop and snap his head away from the previous attacker as he fought him off, his Aurum eyes narrowing as he gruffly growled to himself and saw Crimson dripping from your hip to your thigh; tears dripping down the sides of your eyes when you've felt the excruciating pain sting like a damn train hitting you on the face.

Tybalt took a loud whiff as the pungy, metallic smell wafted through the air; from you and from his men that Geralt have slaughtered; his eyes burning you as it has been on you since the start of the fight. "She smells different," your captor mirthfully foretold to the witcher who was quick to cast a sign towards a charging man with a mere use of his palm and it was enough to make you breath hitch as it seemed to look like he just used a spell. It was magic. The man propelled backwards as his head hit the stone wall; knocking him out.  

So, magic really does happen in their world. You silently thought to yourself.

The dagger was slowly being dragged out and it even hurt more than it ever should. You sobbed and felt your knees weakening from the pain because of how low your pain tolerance was. Tybalt dragged the dagger to his mouth, his sharp, long tongue giving himself a little taste of your blood, "---Even tastes different," he grinned, inhaling deep as your focus was on the witcher who penetratingly stabbed a man's mouth; slashing him open in between his head without regret with blood splashing his face and on the ground he stood. His focus on exterminating who comes in his way. Your face was twisting in a cringe by the pain on your hip and by also seeing the gore happening around the area made by the witcher.

"---Witcher got himself a bizarre woman!" Your captor announced out loud with a laugh when Geralt was finally close enough. Assassinating every bit of his men into lifeless dolls.

No exhaustion was written on his face except for the sweat. There were splutters of human blood soiling his dashing features. He'd relaxed his stance and had his hands on either side of him, palms on show but the other holding his sword, yielding it away from your captor, yet still showing sign that he wouldn't be doing any more violence.

Jaskier had managed to kick the unarmored man with his foot and hit the butt of the sword on the latter's head, knocking him unconscious as he scanned the whole area with a terrified look on his face.

It was a complete massacre.

The witcher had his eyes solely on you; your eyelashes batting languidly when you've taken a good look at your brawny savior and felt yourself turn jello from the blood pouring out of you. You didn't know if it was already hallucination but there was anger, dismay and fear pouring out of those blazing, golden peepers like he'd already seen the whole event, hoping it wouldn't end the way it was before.

"I take what's mine," Geralt rasped and firmly pressed with that low baritone of his. If one was aware of his change of emotions, you could hear how earnest he sounded as he took cautious steps closer; facial expressions still apathetic and non-readable for the people who sees him. The witcher kept his mouth closed as he breathed and looked away, before keeping a weather eye on you again. His half-tied hair disheveled, dirty and looking greasy from the sweat.

"---Release her," It was a demand from the witcher himself. An ultimatum sent as you've noticed Geralt's fingers tightly wrap around the handle of his silver sword; like he was trying hard not to stab Tybalt who stood behind you because he had you shackled.

Tybalt noticed Geralt who was stealthy prowling to reach you up close and so, he'd positioned his dagger across your neck as you heaved breaths; yanking your head back to show Geralt that he wouldn't think twice in slitting you dead. The witcher was quick to cease his steps when he was a meter away from you; tightly keeping his lips in a straight line as he exhaled a frustrated breath.

"The king will be delighted to see you," Tybalt deliberately observed the witcher from head to foot, shaking his head in disbelief that it only took one woman to kidnap for him to reveal himself from hiding. Your breathing was staggered as you blinked repeatedly back at the witcher as his nose was scrunched to his discontent for everything, "I don't have time for your royal shit," he seethed back at the man; giving him a tight scowl.

Tybalt frowned back at Geralt, feeling the tip of his dagger heavily pressing against the pulse on your neck;  making you whimper, "---But, you wasted your time on killing my men for this useless wench, Witcher."

"She's...She's a different case," The witcher trailed off as you felt his stare on your face, definitely pining than it ever intended to before he'd given the stink eye to the vampire holding you captive, "---I don't want anything to do with the castle,"

"The prince is slowly losing himself, reaching his demise," Tybalt stressed; worried about the royal family whom he was devoted to for already a decade. Geralt scoffed back with a rude remark, "I don't have anything to do with any of their horseshit, Tybalt. I wasn't the witch who have cursed prince Althalos,"

He said his name out loud, catching you off guard as you peered back at the witcher with an intrigued haze of your bloodshot eyes because he knew him.

"You witchers are fucking useless!" Tybalt groaned and loudly sneered before violently fishing out his dagger. Geralt knew what he was about to do and your life held no value for Tybalt as he had no second thoughts on ending you with a stab to the chest.

Yet, from the moment Tybalt held the dagger over your chest; the witcher was fast enough to cast a sign towards the both of you; dragging you from the force as you were pushed off in the air. Though, Geralt was immediate enough to catch you around your wrist, pulling you to him before you could even fall flat on the ground.

The witcher secured his musclebound arms around you, his sky scraping height thoroughly used as your support as you were holding him for dear life. You didn't know how comforting his warmth was when he carefully sat you down against the stone walls as your vision was starting to spin a horizon.

"Ge...Geralt," you whispered as you heave for long breaths, tightly closing your eyes as you tried to take a good look at the witcher who was crouched in front of you; examining your face for more injuries and too dizzy to realized that he'd tuck a disheveled strand of your hair away from your face to observe your status.

You were probably losing blood, having a panic attack and feeling weak from the stab wound.

Your eyes were just straightaway staring at the witcher; seeing his face contort into pure rancor and you tried to smile despite of the pain. It took a kidnapping for him to finally notice you or even care in giving you his attention and you wanted to laugh by how you needed to shed blood for the witcher to care like this.

It looked entirely pleasing and also satisfying to see him care.

"I'm okay! J-Just bleeding--??" it was a yelp as you tried to move your hips and felt your muscles spasm as it gave you another strike of excruciating pain; making you moan and whimper; looking away from Geralt to inspect the cages for the poor children still in the background.

Jaskier finally got off on his feet, running towards where you were and you've seen him crouch beside the witcher with a look of panic and worry. Never uttering a word as his mind was in a mess at all the blood that was flowing. You languidly blinked; trying to fight off from fainting because you didn't want to fall unconscious. The heat from Geralt's palm cupping your face forcefully made you take a look at him and his expressions were unreadable as per usual, "The...The children,"

Geralt couldn't help but sigh; his face frowning from your words. Despite of being wounded and on the verge of fainting, you were still selfless enough to ask to release the children from their cage. Jaskier blinked at the image in front of him. The witcher was cupping your cheek as he worriedly stared into your eyes and the bard needed to blink to stop himself from watching; lifting himself off his feet to answer your requests. "I-I'll free them!"

The Ivory haired man checked your wounds; seeing Carmine liquid dripping from the wound like a slightly open faucet with every breath you take; staining his dark Tunic till blood was dripping down your unclothed thighs. He'd stood on his feet as he was sure to leave you in a position that would lessen for the blood to spill, his angered; golden eyes scanning the area as to where Tybalt was. But, to his dismay...He was gone.

"Worry no more, children or...women! The witcher has saved the day! Come on now!" the bard hooted as he freed the children; noticing some were teenagers and actually close to being young adults. Some of the women gasped at his words because of the fact that they were saved by a monster slayer who was only capable of taking lives and continued to gawk at the witcher who stood in the middle of the area; seeming to be in a deep contemplation within himself.

Geralt closed his eyes to try and get a scent from the vampire. Though, none. It was never found as the metallic scent of your blood has heightened it all; including those he have exterminated. A low grumble vibrated out of his chest as he sheathed his sword and kept it strapped on his back again despite of all the blood it had.

He thought Tybalt wouldn't have lasted long in the castle; even having the luck on earning a spot in the military forces despite of doing all the dirty work for the royalties. His hatred for the vampire growing back in a bigger fire; adding more wrath because he'd butchered the witcher that worked for the king last time because of certain purposes.

It wasn't a little later that you were being carried in somebody's arms. Based on the long hair hitting your face and the strong scent of blood, you knew it was Geralt. Your arms were feebly encircling his neck as you closed your eyes, fighting off from being knocked out. "I...don't...want to sleep," you saplessly whispered to the witcher who was talking to Jaskier and asking if remembers the healer that was close from the city.

You didn't want to sleep because you were worried that when you wake up, he would be back in being distant again; that everything that has happened was all a dream, being carried and saved by Geralt for the second time as he even had the look that he cared and not actually feel as if you were a baggage to their family.

Your forehead leaned on the witcher's neck as you could feel yourself smile as he'd hummed to inform you that he was listening; putting his attention solely on you alone, "I...I...didn't do anything...mean, right?" you continued to question and whispered against his neck, the beat of your heart skipping a beat despite of how shallow it was sounding right now.

Geralt exhaled a deep breath, giving you the side eye as he tried to peer down at you but it was impossible as you hid on the corner of his neck. A weak smile lifting your lips as you continued and felt your head so light; the words coming out of your mouth completely like a whistle of the wind as you accepted the daydream of talking your thoughts out in the open, "I..I...don't want you hating me..and I don't want you avoiding me...at all costs," the vulnerability of your words can be heard. You were too weak to even feel Geralt swallow that uncomfortable but equitable feeling down his throat as he strode past people who were looking at you in bafflement.

It took one last sigh before Geralt felt your head fall in between his neck in unconsciousness and for the first time, ever again. The witcher was scared.

Thus, you were sure you were thoroughly fond of his presence. As if, you were surprisingly taking more than a liking to a witcher without your consent and unbeknownst to your conscience, it has always been from the start as destiny made it out to be.

SO, I WAS SCREAMING WHEN GERALT SAID ‘I TAKE WHAT’S MINE’ (GERALT, YOU CAN TAKE ME HOWEVER YOU WANT---OOPS) OTHER THAN THE WORD FUCK THAT HE ALWAYS SAYS. *sCREAMS* WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER, TATER TOTSSSS!!?!?!?

Taglist: @alyxkbrl​​ @himarisolace​​ @barkingbullfrog​​ @ayamenimthiriel​​ @hellodevilslittlesister​​ @vania-marie​​ @spookypeachx​​ @grungelovebug​​ @fangirl-inthe-us​​ @nympeth​​ @amirahiddleston​​ @gabethelobster​​ @dreaming-about-starfleet​​ @uncoolcloudyhead​​ @melaninstylezz​​ @psychosupernatural​​ @missjenniferb @dance-dreamer​​ @marvelousell​​ @kingniazx​​ @angelias134​​ 

[gaslightgallows]

First lines meme thingie

I got tagged by @teadrinkingwolfgirl! 

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

I haven’t read anyone else’s fics in ages (mea culpa) so I’m really doing this to remind myself of what WIPs I’m supposed to be working on. XD

Tagging! @firesign23, @rivendellrose, @cigaretteburnslikefairylights, @pendragyn, @kiwimeringue, @timetravelbypen and anyone else who’d like to play!

The Patience of Angels (Good Omens)

“Right,” shouted Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies and Prince of the First Circle of Hell, “shut up, you lot!”

The rabble quieted down, but not without trouble – Hastur had to set a few unruly demons on fire before Beelzebub could finally make themself heard without screaming. They settled into the chair at the head of the long, long table, with Hastur at one elbow and Dagon at the other, and surveyed the assembled with resigned disgust (which was the most neutral emotion Beelzebub could summon).

Every demon with any scrap of authority was there, every prince and duke and a bunch of other ranks besides, by Satan's own order. Except for Satan himself, of course. He hadn’t been to a board meeting in a year, which wasn’t like him – he usually at least came to the once-a-year all-staff meetings. But the boss was still sulking and licking his wounds after that business in Tadfield. Beelzebub supposed he had the right to sulk; after all, six thousand years of planning had been flushed straight down the toilet, all because of one disobedient brat.

There was something marvelously poetic in that, somewhere, but Lord Beelzebub did not possess a poet’s soul. (Though they had possessed a few poets, over the centuries, but they hadn’t picked up much in the way of insight.)

Sideways (MCU, Stoki)

Loki was not expecting to see Captain Rogers again – vastly preferred not to see him again, in fact, along with the rest of the Avengers – and when he did, the first thing he thought was that wasn’t sure about the new beard.

Thankfully, Captain Rogers couldn’t see him, so he didn’t have to concern himself with the captain’s feelings on the matter.

In theory, the less Loki had to see or hear or be aware of Earth, the better. In practice, he'd learned enough about humans to realize that it was at least prudent to keep tabs on Midgard and its infuriatingly stubborn inhabitants. Unlike Odin (not quite late, not quite lamented, safely and comfortably sequestered away in the most inconvenient corner of the palace dungeons), Loki did not have the ability to see and hear all things within the Nine Realms, so he’d had to take the Gatekeeper into his confidence.

Heimdall was... he wasn’t entirely sure what Heimdall’s opinion on the matter of Loki pretending to be Odin was. He recalled the first time he took the throne—

‘Took.’ It was given to me, justly, by Asgard’s own laws of succession and by order of... the queen.

—when Heimdall obeyed his commands up until the moment Loki relieved him of his duties. He knew better than to make the same mistake twice; Heimdall had guarded the Bifrost for longer than Loki had been alive, and he’d learned a thing or two about the watcher’s loyalties. With the true king alive but incapacitated and Thor having abjured the title, who was there left to be king, save Loki?

And it clearly didn’t matter to Heimdall that Loki was technically supposed to be dead.

Upon the Mountains, Like a Flame: Chapter 10 (MCU)

"Are you truly going to prevent Loki from using his magic to defend himself?"

"I have said that I will. It is the only possible way of ensuring a fair fight, especially if Loki and Sigyn are to face Theoric together. Unless you wish to make it that easy for Loki to defeat him. His power has grown--"

"No," said Frigga, "he hasn't." She sounded tired. "He had help. From whom or who, I know not, but I do know the scope of our son's power."

Odin stopped his disgruntled pacing and turned to face her, and suddenly Frigga felt very cold. "Are you certain? We have never been entirely sure what manner of power to expect from one of his... lineage."

"If Loki had learned by nature how to shield his appearance and his identity from us both, he would have used it – and crowed about it – long before now. As it is, he can transform himself into any number of animals in order to bedevil his brother, but we always know it is him. And before you ask again," she continued, "no, Sigyn did not help him. This manner of magic does not belong to her."

Odin conceded that point, at least. "Sigyn's preference would have been to slip away from Asgard between dawn and morning and never look back. And you would not have been able to find her, I think, any more than I would have. And yet... she stayed."

"For Loki."

"For love of him," Odin sighed, feeling old, as he had when Loki had pleaded for Sigyn's hand in marriage. "They make a frightening pair, those two.

The Art of Weaving (Sequel to “The Art of Spinning”) (MCU)

“He lacks compassion.”

“Lacks...” Thor stopped dead in his tracks. “Father, he spent a month caring for Mother and wouldn’t leave her side even when I wanted him to come to Svartalfheim with me. He helped me free Jane from the Aether and find a way to defeat Malekith that saved the last of the Dark Elves from slaughter, when you and I would have gladly let them all die.”

“And what has been the result of those good deeds? A long-dead race returned to the Nine Realms, upsetting the balance of power even further, and my heir abandoning his birthright to waste the next century in the company of a woman who will be gone in a blink.”

Thor remembered his brother’s parting words, the tight, sorrowful embrace, and the lock of hair Loki had given him. “He gave up his chance for freedom. He accepted responsibility for his crimes, even though we know now that he was being manipulated. What more would you have from him?”

“Nothing. I am grateful to have my youngest son back. But I would have my eldest reclaim his place as well.”

But Thor shook his head, and stepped away from his father’s fond hand. “I can never be the king you want. Loki can. He is like you in ways that I am not.”

Odin went suddenly still. “What do you mean?”

“I lack your ruthlessness.”

L'éternité de la damnation, l'infinité de la jouissance (Crimson Peak)

It had been two years. Two years of independence and travel and writing and of seeing the world. Her life would never be normal again, but at least now it felt charmed instead of cursed. At least during the day.

At night, she still dreamed of red-soaked white nightdresses, and of Lucille Sharpe haunting the crumbling halls of Allerdale. She woke with the taste of blood in her mouth, and visions of Thomas screaming in hell.

She didn’t know if he deserved that. He had done terrible things, but how many had been of his own choosing? He had not been a good man, but he had so desperately wanted to be.

Demon in My View (Good Omens)

Normally, Aziraphale was loath to part with any of the books in his collection – though he was not above going against his own grain for people whom he knew would love and cherish the tomes almost as much as he himself did – but in this case, he was delighted to make an exception.

"No charge. No, I absolutely insist. After all, my dear boy, they were meant to be yours."

Adam thanked him politely, and then asked, "Do you still have that wicked flaming sword?"

Aziraphale winced a touch at the adjective but let it pass. "No, no, I'm afraid not. I was required to give it back."

"That's not fair. It was yours, Crowley said it was. And you did help save the world with it. They should give it back to you."

"Well, perhaps they will, one day."

And His Feet Were Made of Clay (Good Omens)

The bookshop of A.Z. Fell was closed. It was the middle of the day and every shop surrounding it was open for business, but most passersby didn't seem to notice the bookshop, and the ones who did weren't surprised that it was closed. In fact, if you examined the diaries of London citizens going back to eighteen hundred, you would find countless entries complaining about the fact that Mr. Fell and Co. (Aziraphale had added the 'Co.' in the eighteen-forties, when he realized he needed to start pretending to be his own son.) never seemed to be open, and that when they were, the very nice gentleman inside was always curiously reluctant to actually sell you anything.

The thing that Aziraphale had always liked most about his corporation was that it looked human. It lacked basic human needs and drives, but it could simulate and perform those functions with perfect adequacy, and really, that was beside the point, because it looked human. It looked unique, the way humans did. Looked like God the way humans did, and the way angels most emphatically did not. Angels had been created by the Almighty with a variety of ineffable functions in mind, and what they looked like when they weren't cramming all their eyes and wings and wheels into a chunky bipedal casing with odors and fluids reflected those functions.

Humans, as near as Aziraphale had been able to figure out in six thousand years of watching, had no preordained function. God had made them because they were fun and that was enough, and he rather liked that about them. Envied that about then, even. (Envy wasn't something he was supposed to admit to, but he lied to himself about so many other things that he simply couldn't have this one on his conscience.)

Although if they did have a function, he was convinced that they existed for the sole purpose of making more of themselves.

A Pause From Thinking (Star Trek: Deep Space Nine)

“Doctor, I appreciate the courtesy call, but it this is some sort of human mourning ritual, I’m really not interested.”

"I didn't think you'd be interested in mourning. I just thought you might want some company. A loss is a loss, after all." Julian poured out the whiskey and handed Garak a glass. "Here's to terrible fathers."

Lots of Rules and No Mercy (sequel to “I Say, Why Not?”) (Tron) 

It was about a month after Alan was first able to communicate with his security program that Tron made the request—not out of any doubt in his user's abilities, but out of respect for the human he looked to as both creator and guardian angel.

"His name was Ram," said Tron, the words appearing on the screen beneath his angularly-rendered face, his voice coming through the headphones like an echo of Alan's own voice. "We were in the MCP's holding cells together for a while. He was just an actuarial program, but he was good at the games and..." The blocky, pixelated face didn't convey one-tenth of the emotion Alan was sure he could hear in the program's tight, gruff voice. "He was a good friend."

"I'm sorry." Alan felt silly, even after a month, apologizing and offering sympathy for the erasure of a program. He was a software engineer after all—he'd been writing and rewriting and erasing programs since high school. It had never been that big of a deal before. "I'm sorry, Tron."

Tron seemed to gather himself together. "Alan. Can you resurrect him?"

Alan stared at the face on the screen, unsure of what to say. He knew Tron couldn't see him or his expression of dumbfounded shock, but the silence said enough. "Forgive me," Tron murmured, seeming to bow his head in the way that made Alan the most uncomfortable. "It was impertinent of me, I shouldn't have asked—"

"It's not that," Alan blurted out. "It's just—I wouldn't know where to start," he added, trying to ignore the uneasy thrill of his creation's simple faith in him.

The Goblin Emperor’s Garden (The Goblin Emperor)

It became Maia’s habit, following the drama of his first Winternight as emperor of the Elflands, and once his wife-to-be decided that he no longer needed quite so many dancing lessons, to hold small intimate suppers one evening a week in his private dining room in the Alcethmeret. Sometimes he entertained several people, sometimes only a few, but nearly every week, Csethiro Ceredin was at the table.

If it was only the two of them at supper, she sat opposite him, where he had the privilege of listening to her speak until the small hours of the morning on all manner of topics, while he forgot about his meal and tried not to drown in her brilliant blue eyes. If there were others at table, she sat at his right, and though she had other social obligations on such evenings, it was worth it to Maia, to be able to sometimes, quickly and surreptitiously and not always entirely secretly, squeeze her hand under the embroidered tablecloth.

His secretary and all of his nohecharei always noticed, and he suspected that they desperately wanted to tease him about it. His nephew Prince Idra also always seemed to notice, and as he and Maia grew closer, Idra did not hesitate to tease him.

“You should be careful,” Csethiro playfully warned the prince, one night after the rest of the guests had taken their leave and the three of them were alone at table, lingering over dessert. “For someday your uncle will find you a wife, and you will make just such a fool of yourself, and he will be as shameless in laughing at you.”

Idra and Maia both blushed, stamping their utterly dissimilar features with a moment of family resemblance. “If I am so fortunate as to someday have such a wife as to be worth making a fool of myself over,” said Idra, half-bold and half-shy, as only a fourteen-year-old boy could be, “I should thank my uncle profusely for his choice, and not mind the teasing.”

“Well spoken, cousin,” Maia said gratefully.

[fanon-anon-blog]

Whiskers and Magick

a.k.a. I Have No Idea How to Title

Summary: By some magic bullshit Jared gets to be what he always wanted to be: a cat. You, on the other hand are just about dONE WITH ALL OF THIS.

Warnings: 7.3 k of shit writing, swearing, most likely OOC Jared, lot’s of chaos and mayhem, magic and rituals (?)

“That’s complete bullshit and you know it.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t know the glory of cats.”

“… So I was thinking, maybe you and the jazz band could show and play a few songs?”

“I’d have to ask the other members, but I’m pretty sure they’ll all agree.”

“Oh noooooo…”

You look up from the potato salad you’ had been gorging yourself on for the past fifteen minutes, instantly reconnecting yourself to the moment. Lunchtime at the cafeteria was always loud and it never failed to make your ears hurt. So many students packed into one room- you were more surprised your eardrums hadn’t burst.

You were currently sitting on a table with your friends. Connor and Jared was the first ones on your left, arguing about how amazing cats were. Next to Jared was Alana, who was next to Zoe, and then Evan and you. Alana had been telling Zoe her ideas at a volunteer community event, and Zoe was nodding along, head perched on her palm and attention full on focus at Alana. Evan, in the meantime, was furiously re-reading his note cards for the speech his class was going to do later in the afternoon.

“Sorry, but I actually agree with Jared here, Con.“ He promptly grumbles something. “Cats are affectionate, cute, and quite hilarious. What’s not to like about them?”

“Have you ever even met a cat, [Name]? And no, cat memes and videos don’t count,” Connor retorts, and you resist the urge to stick out your tongue.

“If I was a cat, that would the most fucking coolest thing ever,” Jared declares. “I’d cause mayhem and chaos everywhere, and no one would be able to do anything to me because I’m a cat.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What would you specifically even do if you were a cat?”

“Psh, [Name], that’s too easy. I’d get someone rich and then have them buy me lots of food and games, maybe even a whole room for myself, the kind that suits someone as fucking awesome as me.”

“… I’m not even going to respond to that,” Connor deadpans.

“Why do you not like cats anyway, Con?” Connor shrugs, face suddenly flushing red. Before you can call him out on it, you hear Zoe stop her conversation with Alana. She leans into your side, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Oh, that’s because he once mistook catnip for weed,” Zoe tells you, a wicked grin on her face as she recalls it. “Last summer, he went out to buy more weed while high- he didn’t come home until late into the night, followed by a large crowd of cats. No doubt he was still high, but his whole body reeked of catnip.The cats were more than affectionate with him and they came in with him, stayed, and then fell asleep together in a pile. When morning came, he woke up to a gaggle of yowling and screeching and a whole load of cats running out. Looking back on it, it was one of the most hilarious thing ever.”

“Zoe!” Connor hisses, actually hisses, and Jared bursts out laughing, hard enough to fall out of his seat. You yourself are not far from it, giggling and laughing nonstop. Evan restrains from even letting out a chuckle at the sight of Connor’s red, red face, but even Alana giggles.

“Dude, you got high with cats!” Jared cackles out the words in between his laughs. Behind you, you hear the bell ring, signifying the end of lunch break, and saving Connor from further embarrassment.

The metal trays are stacked neatly on the table and all food are quickly eaten or drunk, your left-unattended-smoothie one of those.

“C’mon, let’s just head to class already,” you propose to the two. Connor glares at Jared and if looks could kill, you have no doubt he’d be six foot under already. Jared returns it with a shit-eating grin, and you just sigh.

The group splits up to go attend their respective classes, but you can tell by the light in Jared’s eyes, that even with the mention of Connor’s incident with cats that turning into one is going to be something he’ll be thinking of for a very long time

“Are you still thinking about that?”

Roaming the streets after classes on a Thursday afternoon is a ritual for the two of you, a way of prepping yourselves up for Friday. The two of you would usually head to the arcade first, before eating ice cream at A la Mode. Today, however, the two of you were walking around the marketplace. Jared, in response to your question just shrugged.

“[Name], everybody wants to be a cat,” he chides you, a mock-disappointed look on his face.. You, on the other hand groan. “Do you really have to bring up that song?”

You hastily cover his mouth with yours when you hear him begin to hum it, before going still and licking your hand. You squeak, dropping your hand and wiping off the drool with your handkerchief, but still. You shoot a glare at him. Jared just snickers.

A brief look to the right, and you think you just found something that can help redirect his attention. “Oh look, someone finally set up a new shop there,” you point out, trying to change the subject. Jared sends a dubious look your way, but you soldier on. “You wanna check it out?”

“Alright, but only because you look like you’ll have a fit if we don’t go in there.” The amused look on his face makes you want to rip it off of him, but you hold yourself back.

The moment the two take a foot inside the shop, the two of you are amazed.

The inside of the shop has the feel of something old and powerful in the atmosphere, as though the very air is constantly buzzing. The walls are painted a nice shade of dark brown, and the floor is covered by a thick, red carpet. All kinds of items decorate the shelves, ranging from what seems to be herbs and potions enclosed in a bottle, to even necklaces and rings with jewels embedded in them. One item in particular, you notice, is a hand holding a candle. When you come closer to examine it, you can see the small, detailed item summary of it below.

Written on the summary, you read that the hand is called the Hand of Glory. That if the candle is lit up, with someone holding the wrist, the hand will only provide light for the holder. It amazes a part of you. But on the other hand, the larger, more rational part tells you that that can’t be scientifically true.

“Woah, [Name], look at this!” Jared’s voice is a bit high-pitched, as it always does when he’s found something exciting and/or interesting, and you can only guess what it is. Nevertheless, you go over to his side, to see…

… Jared holding a dusty old book (tome?) in his hands, a giddy look on his face. Gods, was he serious? You sidle up next to him, reading the words written on the book. The page he’s reading tells you of a ritual to give life to inanimate objects, and you feel a chill settle on your spine as you read the ingredients and material needed. If someone actually took the ritual as real, then they would have just lost a ton of blood, money and hair there.

“Jared, what the hell is this?” Your grumble doesn’t go past him unnoticed, but he ignores the disbelief in your voice.

“It’s a book for rituals,” he tells you, grinning. There’s a hint of madness and mischief in that grin, you know it.

“And you want to show it to me, because…” You drawl, a part of you hoping it’s not because-

Jared flips the book to a page and this time, you really can’t help but groan.

There, written on the page is a ritual to understanding cat language.

“Jared, no.”

“Jared yes!”

“I’m not going to help you do that,” you hiss at him with a glare.

“It wouldn’t take much to do the ritual, c’mon [Name]. I’ll pay for the book and everything we need too, all you have to do is help me set it up,” he argues back, giving you a pleading look. You wince when you make the mistake of looking at him.

Damn it.

Jared all but pouts now, and you feel your eye twitch.

“Alright then. Let’s do this ritual.” Your agreement makes him grin widely at you, but you cross your arms and then explain. “The ritual may just be a sham, but if you really wanna do it, then I won’t be the one to crush your dreams of being a cat. I’ll let the ritual do that for me.”

“But you’ll help me,” he says, grinning.

“I’ll help you,” you say with a sigh, already regretting your decision.

“Are you sure that this is how it’s supposed to look like?”

The heavy rain and thunderstorm outside makes you glad you’re not alone at home for tonight. The two of you, after buying the book proceeded to go hunting for the materials needed. While the two of you were still looking around for what you needed, the sky was already dark and covered with rain clouds. And the moment you stepped out of the last store, the rain had come pelting down in droves. The two of you were utterly soaked, but Jared insisted that it was better than getting the materials wet.

As your house was closer, in a fit of exasperation you proposed that the two of you just do it at your house, and now here you were.

“Yeah. Now we just have to turn off the lights, light up the candles, get inside the circle and wait for the light to come on again,” he half-says, half-instructs. You move to do as told, turning off the lights. In the meanwhile, Jared starts lighting the candles. Soon, the room is blanketed in darkness, save for the circle of candles in the middle, and Jared and you in the middle of that.

“What I want to know is why I need to be inside the circle too,” you grumble.

“I need someone to be a witness,” Jared explains. It doesn’t really help you feel better about the situation, but you humor him and get into the circle of candles.

Another thunder and lightning flashes in the sky, and you almost jump a foot into the air. Is it just you, or are is the time interval between the lightning and thunder getting shorter? The dark, gloomy atmosphere of the room doesn’t help quell your nerves… You turn to your companion.

“Jared, are you really sure that this will wo-!”

You squeak in surprise at the sudden thunder, falling over. Fuck, that sounded as it was just outside your house! Jared, in his attempt to catch you, ends up falling on you, his face landing straight on your neck. All the lights in the house go off- even outside. There’s a beat of silence, and of nothing but the rain thundering outside. You can’t see anything, and you hope that that goes the same for Jared too, because if anything else your face is as red as ever right now.

Jared's head fits in the crook of your neck, his nose lightly nuzzling your shoulder and his hair brushing your cheek. When the situation actually registers in your mind, you almost push him off of you, if he himself didn't push himself up on unstable arms. As he moves away, you catch a brief scent of chips and soda,with a lingering smell of chamomile. He lets out a small, shaky exhale.

"You okay there, Jared?"

"That's what I should be asking you, you know. Then again, you do have one hell of a clumsy ass," he immediately snarks, face still flushed red. He does get up, though, and offers a hand to you

But then-

A flash of white light. Lightning strikes again, and the lights in the house come back on. You let out a relieved exhale, before remembering that the ritual would have been over by now, since the lights were back on.

When you get back on your feet and turn to Jared, you’re prepared to laugh at him for even thinking this ritual would work. Maybe even take a picture of his face after.

What you weren’t expecting to see were the whiskers and the twitching ears, a clump of fluff meowing near your feet.

You twitched.

“Oh no.”

“You turned into a cat,” you state. You say the sentence as though it’s a normal, everyday thing to do. Turning into a cat, that is.

Staring at your bestfriend, who was now turned into a cat (sweet gods above, what the hell what the hell what thehell-) you can barely believe the situation that is in front of you.

Jared (Cat? Jared-the-cat?) gives you a giddy meow back, and you… you really aren’t sure what you’re supposed to be feeling right now. There was a Jared in your living room. And now there is a cat in the place of your best friend, gleefully running around on all fours. Granted, their running involves a lot of crashing and tripping, but they’re still running around the living room, rubbing themselves on the couch even. You… You can’t even.

A crash near the windows kicks your mind back into gear and you twitch at the sight of the broken vase. The pieces are scattered all over the floor, water dripping down into a puddle and the flowers partially ruined.

Jared stands by the side, wide-eyed.

“… why,” you moan.

“Shhh, you’ll get us in trouble!” You furiously hiss at Jared-the-cat, who had now gone from lazily shredding holes in your couch (and boy were you going to get back at him for doing that) to trying to climb your curtains.  Sharp claws rip your poor curtains into shreds, and you hold back a wave of fury at him. At this point, you still weren’t sure if he retained human thinking or was actually thinking as a cat, but damn if your stuff wasn’t precious to you! Considering the fact that you were going to get in so much trouble if your parents found the state of your room…

You could only groan at the thought of it.

By now, the lights in the hallway were turned off, save for the one by the stairs (and dear lord did that creep you out still). An hour after the disaster, your parents had come home. Thankfully by then, you had already cleaned up the mess left in the living room. Still, when dinner rolled around you hadn’t been able to get food. There was still the terrifying possibility that someone would go into your room before you and see Jared-the-cat, so you pretty much holed yourself in your room. At the current time, though, it was already late enough that everyone would be asleep in their rooms. And you, would have freedom for the time.

“Now, what do cats eat…” You mumble to yourself, sneaking downstairs. Jared-the-cat follows you from behind, jumping around from time to time. You hiss a warning to him to stay quiet.

Heading straight to the refrigerator, you look around for anything to eat. What do cats eat? The only thing that comes to your mind is fish and milk, the only thing that television shows as cat food (other than legitimate cat food as in pellets). You search the internet for any answer, and eventually decide on some chicken strips and rice.

“Hey Jared, would you be okay with eating- JarED YOU FUCK, GET THE FUCK DOWN!” You furiously hiss at him, who’s climbed the cabinet holding the junk food halfway up. Damn it, damn it, damnit why did you even ever let him out of your sight. You have half a mind to grab him by the tail and drop him on the floor, and you really want to do that, but that would just give him more brain damage. Jared Kleinman couldn’t afford to lose anymore brain cells with how much of a moron he was already.

Instead, you take in a deep breath, go over and gently detach him from the cabinet handle, but as if by fate, when you get him, he swipes a claw at you and you accidentally let him go. To fall. On the pots and pans on the counter. Which, of course, proceeds to fall on the floor and noisily.

You really wonder if this was karma for turning Jared into a cat.

When you hear someone open a door upstairs, you just grab a packet of sardines and immediately dart into the living room, hiding behind the couch. You don’t forget to grab Jared, of course, who looks just as shaken as you by the sudden loud noise.

Footsteps echo from the staircase and you huddle even further into the space behind the couch. From your position, you can see your father squinting into the darkness. Oh gods. You can see the moment he registers the mess in the kitchen, and you shiver. Hopefully, he doesn’t set off his allergies with the cat fur. You turn to Jared-the-cat to tell him to hide in your sweater, but then you gape.

Jared’s eyes, the shade somewhere in between blue and green, stare back at you in panic.

“Shit, did you really just change back now!?” You hiss at him in disbelief, even more so when he sheepishly shrugs his shoulders. You hear your dad begin to sneeze loudly in the kitchen, eventually cursing out loud about cats and their damned fur.

“This has got to be one of the worst times for you change back!” You groan at him, then blanche when you realize what it might look like if the two of you would be found by your father.

Chancing a quick look again at the kitchen, you see your father head outside to check for any cats, and let out a sigh of relief. “C’mon, let’s go Jared, while my dad’s outside,” you hurriedly tell him, tugging on his hand. Jared’s hands are cold and clammy, and the moment you hold them his face goes bright red.

In the darkness, with you holding his hand and your bodies close to each other, close enough that you can feel his breath on your shoulder, you would be an idiot to not be aware of the situation. His hands are softer than you imagine it to be, though it’s not free of scars or calluses. It’s also big enough to fit perfectly with yours, his fingers brushing over your knuckles curiously. You’re very, very happy that he doesn’t have his glasses right then and there, because if he did you’re your blush would have been way more noticeable. And as it is, you choose to focus more on your mission. There’s no way he can sneak out of the house now, what with your dad circling around it, but he could hide in your room until your dad went back to sleep.

Thankfully Jared catches on eventually and the two of you tiptoe back to your room. Along the way, he still doesn’t let go of your hand, at one point even squeezing it to reassure you.

The moment you two step back into your room, though, when you turn back to him you find out that he’s turned back into a cat. Again.

… Well. At least you have food.

“No,” you firmly say. “You’re not sleeping on my bed after that. Get off, Jared.”

You stare him down, pushing a soft, cotton plush of yours into the corner afterwards. You point it to him and gesture for him to lay down there. Jared-the-cat gives you a sad, sad look, but you stand firm and unswayable in your decision.

“You’re sleeping there. Now go.” The last part is accompanied by a sharp poke in the ribs, and he meows at you pitifully before doing as told.

The next morning, you’re awakened to sharp, prickling sensations on your stomach. You hiss in pain, a hand automatically reaching out to push off whatever it is that’s prickling you. When you don’t feel anymore pain on your stomach, you try to go back to sleep. Keyword: try.

Someone loudly meows in your ears, before licking your cheek.

When you look up, it’s to Jared’s big, blue-green eyes, and the memories of last night floods back into you.

“Damn it, I hoped it was a dream.”

“[Name], do you know where Jared is?” You really weren’t prepared when Jared’s mom suddenly called you while you were changing. It was only now that the two of you realized that with everything that had happened last night, Jared slept over in your room. His mom and dad usually just about trusted Jared with himself on most things, but he didn’t come home at all last night so the call was only expected.

“That- he slept over at my house. Sorry, Mrs. Kleinman. There’s this project we have in APUSH class, and we fell asleep working on it together last night,” you hastily lie, urging her to accept it in your head.  Jared always lied to his mom and dad and it always worked, so hopefully this one would too. Right?

“He- My parents also said it’d be okay with them if he stayed over at our house until we completed the project, so please don’t worry about him.”

“Did he now?” Mrs. Kleinman’s voice echoes through the phone, a small giggle slipping out from her. “Thanks for having him over, [Name]. Well, if it’s you, then I’m not surprised if it took you a lot of time to complete your project.”

“If it’s me?” You repeat, confused.

“Yes, well, Jared likes you,” she says. “Jared doesn’t talk too much about school, let alone his friends… but he mentions your name a lot. Sometimes I’ll come home to him asleep in the living room and he’ll say your name in his sleep!”

“O-Oh,” is all you can say, cheeks flushed red now. Does that mean-? You shake the thought of your head immediately.

“When you can, please tell him to call sometime before he goes home, please?” She asks, and you hastily nod your head even though you know she can’t see you. “I- I will, Mrs. Kleinman. Thank you.”

“No, thank you, dear.”

And if possible, you feel your face get even redder.

An hour later, your face is red again, just not for the same reason.

“Jared, c’mon, just get in-!” You hiss in pain when Jared’s claws come in contact with your arm, leaving a trail of red, angry scratches on them. He hisses back at you, frantically trying to get away from you. Still, you know better than to let him do that. Who knows what mischief he’s going to get himself into if left by himself? You cannot explain to anyone why you even have a cat, nevermind how you got him.

For a moment, you consider it. The next moment, you grab a carton of milk, pour some in a glass and offer it to him. He squints at you, before raising his head high and turning away from it.

… The little shit.

“Jared, what the fuck do you want,” you bite out. Your patience running a bit thin by the fact that class is going start in a few minutes, you still haven’t done your assignment (and it just has to be the one for the class where you have a strict teacher!), you still have scratches untreated on your arm, and Jared just won’t get into your bag already.

His eyes turn pitiful at your tone and he paws at you softly. You take in a deep breath- and repeatedly remind yourself that leaving him by himself is not an option you can take at any cost if you still want freedom from your parents. If they ever got a hint that you brought any animal into the house, you would be grounded for months.

You take one look at Jared’s defiant spite towards the small space in your bag, to the baggy, spacey inside of your sweater, and come to a decision that you know you’ll regret but will do so anyway.

“You can hide in my sweater,” you say, ignoring his sudden stunned look. His face erupts in a blush and you have no doubt that were Jared a human right now, he’d be stammering out insults and jokes at your expense. You soldier on. “Jared, get in my sweater right now. I have the uniform underneath it, so it’s not like you’re going to be in between me and my bra,” you say exasperatedly, willing him to just get it done and over with already.

After several moments of silence, Jared putters over to the underside of your sweater, his face still flushed red. You lift it up and after a moment’s hesitance, he climbs in, high enough until he can rest his head on the top of the collar. You adjust the sweater the best you can to cover up the lump visible that is his body, and hope no one notices.

“And for the love of all that is holy, stay quiet and behave. Please,” you beg him as you head off to school.

If only you could predict the chaos and mayhem ahead of you.

“[Name], g-good morning,” Evan greets you as soon as you walk in. You send him a smile, internally freaking out over the fact that there were so many people shit please let no one notice.

“Morning Ev,” you greet back. “How was the speech report in English?”

He smiles, a bashfully happy sort of air around him when you mention it, and a part of you hopes that that means it went well for him.

“C-Connor helped me practice speaking out loud before the class, and I actually g-got through it with less s-stuttering than before,” he admits. You grin at him, hoping that it conveys all the encouragement you want to give him.

“Ev, that’s amazing! Soon enough, you’ll get through your speeches with no stuttering at all,” you tell him.

Evan flushes red, but he also smiles back, before frowning faintly. You wonder what it is that’s wrong, and then he asks you one of the worst questions you could be asked right now.

“[Name], i-isn’t- uhm- d-did you-“ Evan’s stuttering comes back full force, and you can see the question he’s all but dying to ask in his throat. You swallow back the instinct to run, acutely feeling Jared squirm inside your sweater before holy shit did he just lay back in between your breasts this boy you swear you’re going to kill- “-Jared’s usually walks with you to school, so I was just wondering what happened since you’ve never gone to school without Jared beside you when you walk in and-“

“Relax, Evan,” you advise him, even as your head is spinning. “Besides, we’re not that close, are we? Half the time I’m not even sure if Jared likes me.”

“He really does!” Evan’s sudden exclamation makes you jump about a foot into the air. Jared, who you know has been listening from the comfort of your sweater, actually digs his claws into your shoulder. You hiss a little in pain, and he relaxes enough to pull them off. “Well, I mean, I- I think so? It’s just, I’ve never seen any of you without the other, and, and Jared always smiles more when he’s with you and he laughs more, a-and he looks at you a lot. And, I-I mean, um, that- that is-“

“Jared’s just… hungover at my house,” you hurriedly cut in. Holy shit, you can feel your face burning up. At the same time, you cringe at yourself for using such an unrealistic excuse, but it was the first thing that came to your mind. “He got drunk last night and I had to haul his ass to bed. Come morning, he was sick with a fever from the rain last night, so he’s resting right now. Most likely sleeping the whole thing off.” You hastily add the ‘sick’ part at the end, hoping that it would dissuade Evan from contacting Jared, or at least providing an excuse if he wouldn’t be able to answer.

“Oh…” Evan mumbles, and there’s an air of silence. Evan fidgets with the straps of his bag before looking up again. “Can you- uh, can you tell him that I hope he gets better soon?”

Dear gods, what a sweet boy. You nod. “I will.”

He gives you another look, before he steels himself and asks again.

“A-And, uhm, I- I think you have a k-kitten? In your sweater?”

You gulp audibly.

“This… uh, this is just nothing, Evan. A cousin of mine came by and, well, he, he left his kitten to me for the meanwhile, asked if I could look after him,” you make up a lie on the spot and hope he doesn’t notice. Because the universe loves fucking you over, of course he notices the fallacies in your sentence.

“But… w-weren’t your parents opposed to animals, e-especially cats?” He asks, and you shrug again. “They gave me a whole lot of rules and responsibilities in looking after him, but it’s all good,” you placate him. You then glance at the clock, and hope fervently that the class hasn’t started yet. Evan of course notices your glance, and, flushing a little, he apologizes.

“Sorry… you should probably go t-to class already, huh…”

“No- well I mean yeah, but- later, lunch?”

“O-Okay. See you later, [Name]!”

You set off to attend your first class, or, as you glance at the clock, what little time’s left for it. It’s already been past the usual for about ten minutes and you desperately hope that the teacher lets you off easy.

“Miss [Name]. How nice of you to finally show up,” your teacher drawls with poorly-covered annoyance, and you shrink back a little. The resulting shift has Jared unintentionally letting out a meow and you swear to the gods above.

“Did anyone hear a cat meowing just now?” One of your classmates looks around with a bemused look on their face, and you will yourself to not just grab Jared and squeeze him tight in your annoyance.

Your teacher, on the other hand, stares you down, the intense scrutiny making you nervous, but damn if you back down. If you do, Jared might fall out of your sweater and-

That just sets you up for a worse problem.

“Head to your seat, Miss [Name],” your teacher eventually sighs, before pinning you with a glare. “And remember to come to class earlier next time.”

“Yes ma’am,” you meekly respond.

Class is as boring as ever, and you re-think your decision in attending. The teacher drones on and on, and you really just feel sleepy. Jared paws at you from under your sweater, so after taking a quick look at your teacher (who was still going on and on and on), you let him out and onto your skirt.

“What’s the matter?” You whisper the question to him. He shakes his head, before looking around with a panicked sort of bravado, as if pretending that nothing was wrong while knowing that something major was about to happen.

You yourself look around, unsure of what you’re supposed to be looking for, when you hear it.

You hear a very, very soft bark. One that is followed a squeaking meow.

“Oh no…”

The boy to your left halts and turns to you, as do you to him.

And his puppy. Hidden in his bag.

Jared and the puppy lock gazes, and there is complete silence for a second. And then…

The puppy jumps from the boy’s arms, to his desk, and then to yours. Jared, on the other hand, jumps down to the floor and runs away from him. The girl in front of you then screams loudly, jumping out of her chair and tripping over to the ground. “Something just touched my leg!”

… it all descends to pandemonium.

Jared runs all over the classroom, darting in and out and under your classmates’ legs, freaking them all out. The puppy that’s chasing him doesn’t relent in its pursue of him, and there is a mixture of yowling and barking all over the place. The tables and chairs get knocked over, notebooks and pencils and pens flying all over the place. Even the bags aren’t spared, and you cast a glance at the mess of food in the back, where one of your classmates must have been secretly eating food. There’s a whole lot of screaming and shouting, and just about everyone starts climbing up the tables. If not the tables, then sprinting to the door just to get out.

Your teacher, though, looks as if she’s going to have a screaming fit at any moment.

You pray to the gods above that she doesn’t ever find out that you brought the cat.

The two of them eventually run out of the classroom, and with it the chaos eventually stops. Still, the class is still a mess, and you doubt that the class is going to continue now, so…

You mutter dark curses under your and sneak out of the room, trying to find out where Jared had gone. Along the way you hastily mumble a ‘sorry’ to your teacher and to your classmates, before darting out.

How many more times must you endure this? This is hell. Everything about this is hell, and if you have to look for Jared-the-cat under the tables of another classroom, you’re going to have a melt down.

Where did he go, anyway? The school is big, but it shouldn’t be big enough that it’s too hard to look for someone like Jared, who-

Who is a cat right now, which means he might get taken by the teachers. Where he is, at least, there must be chaos, right? You check the hallways for any unnatural noise- it should still be time for classes. Most of the hallways are quiet, so you pass them over, but at the last one…

Shouts and yells emanate from the sewing club and you don’t know what you’re going to see, but you hope that Jared isn’t causing too much chaos…

The moment you come in, you’re not sure what to expect, but a room full of girls cooing and playing with Jared-the-cat is not one of them. Regardless, there they are in front of your eyes. Sewing machine and mannequins are set to the side, fabrics left neatly folded on the tables. Sewing tools are neatly placed in their container. The room is currently somewhat clean, if not for the trails of yarn all over the place, but other than that there isn’t any other mess. And in the middle of it all, is Jared-the-cat lying on a large, human-sized Totoro doll, lazily batting three balls of yarn. A crowd of girls surround him, yarn balls and plush dolls set out like an offering to him, the girls squealing over how cute he is. Some are even taking pictures!

You stand awkwardly by the doorway, internally debating on whether or not you should go and get him or just leave, but then one of the girls notice you and come over.

“Is he yours?” She asks you. There’s a smile on her face as she waves a piece of grass in Jared-the-cat’s face, giggling when he bats at them. He doesn’t quite get them in his paws, but the grass tickles his nose and makes him sneeze.

You try not to fall for that cute face, remembering the torture you’ve been through today, but still. “Kind of,” you just say instead. “He’s a friend of mine.”

“A… friend of yours? You must really like cats!” “Not anymore,” you mumble under your breath. “Still, if he’s yours, then you can take him if you want. You know, we were kind of surprised when he first appeared, and he caused quite a mess… but he just wants to play, doesn’t he?”

“He’s a very playful cat,” you agree.

She softly giggles again, before stepping back. “There, you can pick him up if you want,” she says, smiling at you.

“Thank you,” you mumble before crouching down. Jared’s still laid out on the Totoro doll, dozing off in the sunlight and after all those food… you gently pick him up and cradle him to your chest. Some of the girls whine, but they let you leave with him for the most part.

Before you leave, though, the girl you were talking to before speaks up again, giving you a small smile. “Yup, you’re his owner alright. He didn’t let anyone touch him, and he still won’t let anyone close…” She lets out a little laugh.

“I… I guess.” You place Jared into your sweater again, the movement somewhat jostling him awake. You then leave the room.

Have you pissed off the gods recently? Done anything bad? Or is it because of the whole ritual-to-turn-into-a-cat thing? Whatever it is, the moment you step outside, you hear a teacher’s voice echo around the corner, and blanche in fear.

“Oh no,” you squeak, before you feel Jared slipping from your sweater and falling out. The next moment, there’s a puff of smoke and Jared-the-human in all his glory stands before you, eyes wide and surprised as well. His glasses are, once again, missing, and the two of you are suddenly acutely aware that if the two of you are caught outside classes and given detention, there’s a very good chance that Jared might get into more trouble when he changes back into a cat.

This time, it’s his turn to grab your hand and tug you into the nearest janitor’s closet, immediately closing it as soon as possible. The door clicks shut just as the teacher turns around the corner, audibly talking to someone.

The two of you, though, are stuck inside the closet for the meantime.

Jared’s face is inches from your own, his nose close enough to brush gently against yours. The closet must have been primarily used for storage, because there’s not much space to fit in inside, and considering there’s two of you it’s not a surprise that it’s a tight fit. The two of you are chest to chest, close enough that if you lean in just a bit more, you would already be kissing him. It’s also dark inside the closet, but that is more of a blessing than a curse.

“You know, I imagined the first time I’d be going into a janitor’s closet with you to be different,” he shakily says, a low chuckle slipping out from him. You’re not sure if the flirty undertone of his voice is a result of the fact that the two of you are pressed together in a janitor closet, that both Evan and his mother told you that he likes you, or that he’s been pressed close to your chest the whole morning. Damn if it wasn’t working, though.

“What, with you professing your love for me?” You snipe back, fully aware of the heavy blush on your face.

“Maybe, but I was thinking instead of that, we’d-“

You clamp your hand over his, breath stilling when you hear the teacher’s voice get louder. You’re not sure if they heard something or not, but you’re not taking any chances.

Eventually, you hear their voice grow fainter again in the distance and you release your hold on Jared’s mouth.

“You really need to learn how to shut up,” you huff.

“You could make me shut up,” he suggests.

“Good idea. It’d be harder to talk with a broken jaw.”

“I’m thinking of another way.”

“What, cut out your tongue?”

“Well, you were certainly on the spot with the tongue part.” Jared winks at you at the last part, your face immediately going redder even more. A beat of silence passes.

“What’s with the sudden confidence anyway?” You eventually huff, finally opening the door, if only to get out of the situation. Jared’s hand encloses around your wrist, though, and when you look back, he blurts out, “Da-“

-and you swear to god, the very next second, the very next second, he turns back into a cat.

You can’t even. You bury your face into your hands, giggles and chuckles slipping out of you, before you’re outright laughing at him, who just about sinks his claws into your leg.

“No. Nope. You’re not sleeping on the bed.” You glare at him, one hand clutching your thick, fluffy comforter. Jared-the-cat only blinks sleepily at you, before walking over to the other side of the bed and laying down on top of everything. You poke him. One eye cracks open, and you push him off of the bed. Slowly. He climbs back up again and lays down on the exact same spot. Your eye twitches- you push him off again. He climbs back up again. Again, you push him off, and he just climbs back up.

You groan. “Alright, alright, whatever. You want to sleep on the bed, fine. Just don’t go over to my side,” you warn him. He meows back in agreement, and you finally drift off to sleep, feeling someone lick you on the cheek.

The sunshine burns hot on the bed and doubly so for you, who’s wrapped up in the blankets. You let out a miserable groan, not wanting to get out of the bed yet, but also finding it way too hot to do anything.  It’s hard, but somehow you manage to go over to the other side of the bed, seeking asylum in the shade, when you bump into something hard.

You mumble a curse into the bed, before looking up and-

Jared’s face peers down at you. There’s a good amount of unholy glee on his face, his smile wide enough to split his face in half.

“Holy shit!” You curse loudly as you sit upright on the bed, frazzled. Jared full out laughs at you, a hand on his stomach as he does. “Jared, you fucking dick-“ the sudden realization hits you. “-you’re human again!”

“Jared-the-human, at your service,” he gasps out, the laughter finally dying down, and you hold back the urge to punch him in the face. He did just turn back after all. Instead, you settle for throwing a pillow at him. It smacks him on the face, knocking his glasses off with it and it’s your turn to laugh at him.

When the two of you sober up, you notice that he’s already dressed in his clothes, along with his glasses on his face. “This time, it’s permanent, right?”

“I think so,” he answers. “Not that I wouldn’t want to go through that again. Being a cat was as amazing as I thought it was, of course, but there’s a limit to how much awesome I can contain. A lot of fun, though.”

You glare at him, pointing at him. “You mean for you, considering it was me cleaning up all your messes! And I hope that that teaches you to not just follow rituals blindly!”

He snickers at you. “No need to be so cranky, geez. If you want, you can have have your turn next time. Wanna turn into a kitty cat? I’ll take good care of you, I promise,” he says in between his fucking giggling.

“I hate you.”

“That’s not what you said last night when we slept together,” he says, a smug, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Just get dressed already, Kleinman,” you grumpily mutter, preparing to go get breakfast, when you feel him grab your wrist. When you turn around to snark on him, you suddenly feel soft, chapped lips cover your own.

The kiss itself lasts only for a short time, a few seconds even, but the stunned reaction on your face lasts a lot longer than that. In return is Jared’s face, as red as yours, and you honestly feel like just about fainting right now. Still, after a moment or two, he buries his face into his hands and mumbles something out loud.

“… just date me already, you nerd.”

“Gladly,” you say, reveling in the deeply flushed look you get in response, before cupping his face and kissing him.

And this time, he stays human. If there’s anything good that came out of the whole fiasco, you guess, it’s this.

(Also, casually tagging @yikesjaredkleinman for giving me encouragement to finish this. Thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy it lmao)

[bellakitse]

evak + 132. “We’re not playing strip poker. I don’t care what I said when I was drunk.”? :) i absolutely love your writing btw, your fics are some of my favorites!

cards and drunken propositions 

Isak Valtersen wakes up on the floor of his apartment with his shirt around his neck like a cape, pants half undone and only one shoe. He also wakes up with a splitting headache and with a taste in his mouth that tells him he probably ate dirt or something worse.

“Dear God, why?” he groans as he slowly starts to sit up, his stomach turning in such a way that says to tread lightly because if moves too much he’s going to make a bigger mess than he already is. Isak slowly tries to open his eyes and instantly wants to close them again. Forever. The light is harsh and horrible, but it’s not nearly as awful as the state of his living room. There are beer cans and wine bottles everywhere littering his home, Noora is going to kill him.

He slowly stands, grabbing the arm of the sofa as his world spins for a moment.

“I hate everything,” he mutters as he makes his way into the kitchen, leaning against the sink he picks up a cup in shaky hands and fills it with water. There are footsteps behind him, but he ignores them already knowing who it is by the silent judgment.

“Morning sunshine, quite the party last night, didn’t know kose groups got down like that,” Eskild says brightly, smiling widely at him as he turns around. Isak remembers Eskild dancing the night away, drink in hand all night and yet he looks absolutely fine, Isak hates him for that. “You look like shit by the way.”

“Yeah well I make bad life choices, Eskild,” he says dryly.

“True,” Eskild agrees, smirking at him when he rolls his eyes only to groan at the pain it causes. “But it can’t be all that bad, last I saw you last night, you were getting very close to that hottie from your kose group.”

Isak frowns as he opens a cupboard for a pain reliever, with four people living in the apartment all under the age of 21 and a like for parties and alcohol, they’ve learned to have pain pills in every room of the apartment. He sighs with relief as he spots the bottle of ibuprofen. “What hottie?”

“Tall, lanky, looks like a model with blue eyes and pouty lips,” Eskild describes, and Isak swallows two pills dry feeling a ball of dread in his stomach because he knows exactly who Eskild is describing. Even Bech Næsheim, a 3rd-year transfer from Bakka, kose group member and object of Isak’s current obsessive crush. He could say Even, and he were friends of sorts. They talked at school -sometimes Isak wasn’t a tongue-tied idiot and managed to contribute to the conversations-, they texted each other silly memes and exchanged music. Every time they were around each other there was is underlining tension that seemed to build with every passing day, this awareness that they were headed for something.

“Eskild, please tell me I didn’t make a fool of myself in front of Even,” Isak begs, groaning when Eskild winces theatrically. “Oh, god, what did I do?”

“You mean besides rubbing yourself against him like a cat and started taking your clothes off?” Eskild asks tentatively, giving him a pitying look when Isak lets out a noise of death and mortification. “If it helps he seemed to be enjoying your…attention?”

Isak lets out a sigh, his cheeks feel hot, and he’s sure he’s going to be blushing for the rest of his life. “I’m going to shower and then I’m going to bed and never come out of my room again.”

“It’s no big deal, Isak.”

“I made an idiot of myself in front of the coolest, hottest guy at school, Eskild,” Isak answers, his voice goes quiet as he thinks about it, it’s awkward and horrible. “I like him so much and now…”

Eskild comes closer to him, placing his hand on Isak’s head he gives it a small rub, pulling Isak into a hug. Isak allows it, grateful for it and for the fact that Eskild doesn’t make a big deal of the fact that he has essentially come out to him. “It’s going to be okay, and you know why because you are an adorable drunk and if that pretty boy has any sense he was utterly charmed by your drunken nudity last night, after all, who doesn’t want a hottie like you taking his shirt off for them?”

Isak scoffs at that but allows a small smile to come through. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am, but you love me anyway.”

Isak sighs. “I do,” he says, rolling his eyes when Eskild gasps dramatically, clutching his heart. “I’m going to shower and sleep, I’ll clean up later.”

Eskild brushes him off, running his hand through Isak’s fringe again “I got it baby Isak, go rest.”

Isak smiles at his friend, grateful for him. “Thanks, Eskild.”

Eskild smiles back brightly. “It’s going to be fine, you’ll see.”

Isak nods again and heads for the bathroom. After he showers and brushes his teeth, he lays on his bed in his comfiest sweatpants and a plain gray tee that has seen better days. He holds his phone in his hand, his thumb hovering over Even’s contact info, he stares at it for a long time before he bites that bullet and opens his messages.

After he sends the message, he turns the sound off his phone and sinks under his comforter and closes his eyes willing himself to sleep. It’s a struggle on a regular day, but it seems liquor and humiliation are the cure for his insomnia because he falls asleep despite the sun shining through his window.

*

There is a soft but persistent knock at his door that wakes him, he squints and knows it’s late in the afternoon from the shadows in his room. He considers for a moment to ignore the knock at his door, pretend he’s still sleeping, but Isak knows Eskild and knows he’s not going to go away.

He stands, happy that the room doesn’t spin like it did earlier in the morning, his nap apparently helping with his hangover.

“Eskild, when I said I wasn’t leaving this room ever again, I meant it,” he calls out as he goes to open his door, the sooner he gets rid of his well-intentioned roommate, the better. “I’m all right, I’ve just decided hermit life is the life for me,” he continues as he opens his door.

“That would be a shame.”

Isak looks up, his eyes not believing what he sees, Even standing at his bedroom door looking perfect like always while Isak has bed head and ratty clothes on. Of course.

“Hey,”

“Hey,” Isak croaks out, his cheeks going warm when Even smiles at that.

“Um, I hope you don’t mind, your roommate let me in,” Even says to the obvious question on Isak’s mind. “He also gave me this, told me you haven’t eaten all day.”

Isak looks down at the sandwich in Even’s hand, he takes it, and as he does, he takes a step back to let Even in, closing the door behind him. The room is quiet as Even stands in the middle of it looking at him and Isak leans against his door looking at his sandwich. “I woke up hungover like hell, so I went back to sleep,” Isak explains as he takes a bite. “Eskild worries.”

“Yeah,” Even says with a sheepish smile. “He gave me the sandwich and a lecture to be kind to you or else.”

Isak lets out a groan at that. “Well, that’s awesome like I haven’t embarrassed myself enough in front of you.”

Even smiles again. “You haven’t checked your messages have you?”

Isak frowns at the sudden change of subject. “No, like I said I went to sleep.”

“I texted you back,” Even explains, biting down on his bottom lip almost nervously. “When you didn’t answer I decided to come over, I hope that’s okay.”

Isak doesn’t answer him. Instead, he does over to his night table, putting down his food he picks up his phone.

He looks down at the message, his heart pounding hard and hopeful. “What did you think you were reading wrong?”

Even looks at him for a moment before walking towards him, taking his hands Even pulls him down to sit on the bed with him. Isak is hyper aware that Even doesn’t let go. “I was starting to think I was the only one interested in something more than friendship between us.”

Isak lets out a snort at that, earning him a grin from Even.

“What?” Even questions with a broad smile. “You’re cool and hard to read, and I have been shamelessly throwing myself at you without success, last night was the first time you’ve expressed interest.”

“That is a blatant lie,” Isak answers with a goofy smile of his own. Even likes him, Even likes him. “I stare at you like an idiot all the time, I stammer when you look at me, you had to know.”

Even smiles as he looks down, he gives Isak’s fingers a squeeze. “I guess I was too busy feeling like a lovesick idiot to realize.”

Isak bites down on his lip, but it doesn’t stop the happy grin on his face. “Lovesick idiot, huh.”

Even shrugs. “Yep.”

“Looks like we were in the same boat then,” Isak answers leaning in closer to Even.

“Seems so,” Even murmurs as he closes the gap and presses his lips gently against Isak’s. Isak sighs happily into the kiss, sinking into it as Even pulls him closer. They lay on his bed, exchanging kisses, smiling into each others mouth.

“I should get drunk more often if this is going to be the end result,” Isak says caressing Even’s face.

Even turns his head and presses a kiss into Isak’s palm while Isak tries not to swoon from the gesture.

“That reminds me,” Even starts, there is a teasing glint in his eyes as he pulls a pack of cards from his back pocket.

Isak frowns as he takes it from his hand. “You want to play cards?”

Even chuckles, that glint turning wicked. “How much do you remember from last night?”

“Not much,” Isak hesitates, grimacing at the amused grin on Even’s face. “Though from the look on your face, something tells me I should be more embarrassed than I already was.”

“We were dancing,” Even starts, letting out a laugh as he recounts the previous night. “When you decided we should play a game.”

Isak groans as Even points at the cards, starting to get where it and his state of undress in the morning come into play. “Please tell me I didn’t.”

Even laughs outright and Isak would die from shame if it weren’t for how nice it sounded.

“You decided we should play strip poker, because and I quote ‘you needed me out of my many layers stat’ end quote.”

“Kill me.”

“That when you sent a shoe flying and started to take your shirt off,” Even finishes, pulling him close when he lets out a pained noise. “It was hot and cute, but I had to stop you before you gave the others a show, I mean by then the few people left were pretty drunk, but still, if anyone is going to see you naked, it’s going to be me and me alone.”

Isak stares at Even, his face hot and red but he can’t bring himself to care too much, not when Even is smiling at him the way he is or when he pulls him closer, trying to hug the embarrassment out of him.

“I would burst into flames if I wasn’t so happy with the end result of me acting like an idiot.”

Even shakes his head as he looks at him fondly. “It was cute, everything about you is cute.”

“Thanks,” Isak says dryly, but still smiles and lets Even kiss him. He deepens the kiss, letting his mouth part, smirking when he hears Even’s breath hitch. “So why did you bring cards now?”

Even gives him a look that is both amused and suggestive. “Figured I’d take you up on your offer now.”

Isak tries to level Even with a serious expression. “We’re not playing strip poker, I don’t care what I said when I was drunk, Even.”

Even pouts at that and Isak can’t help but laugh. “Besides something tells me that neither of us is going to need a game to get the other out of our clothes,” he says teasingly, letting out a happy shout when Even pounces on him. As they lay on his bed making out, he’s proven right.

send me another prompt, list of prompts here! :)

[tanoraqui]

Alphabet meme            

Rules: Copy this post into a new text post, remove my answers, and put in yours. When you’re done, tag 10 people plus the person who tagged you. Most importantly, HAVE FUN!

I was tagged by took this from @ceescedasticity

A- Age: 21 B- Biggest fear: being helpless (related: going blind, people I love dying) C- Current time: 6:16pm D- Drink you last had: water E- Every day starts with: hitting Snooze at least once, then  checking Tumblr and other apps until I’m either really hungry or absolutely must get up for class F- Favorite song: “Defying Gravity” from Wicked springs to mind, so let’s go with that. G- Ghosts, are they real: Probably not? But I like to imagine they are. J- Jealous of: okay so you know that...Dove, I think, commercial that critiques beauty standards by showing a bunch of people, mostly women, saying all the things they hate about their bodies, all the things like their nose or their hair type or the width of their hips that they wish they could change? I hate those people. God. Imagine being able to say, “I hate my body” and mean something that fucking petty. Listen woman, I will take your lopsided nose if you take my aorta that will probably need surgery someday, okay? Shut the fuck up, I can’t even see anything wrong with you. Hey, want to trade eyes? I’m told mine look just fine. K- Killed someone: I KNEW THIS SURVEY WAS WRITTEN BY THE FEDS! YOU CAN’T PIN ANYTHING ON ME, COPPERS! L- Last time you cried: ...I was going to admit to, like, thinking about deceased family, but I actually shed a tear while listening to this kimallura song? Which is unusual for me, but idk, I was emotionally vulnerable at the moment, and the “Please tell me, Kima, what you would dare to say / As dragons rage and cities burn around us“ really got me. M- Middle name(s): after my great-grandmother. N- Number of siblings: 2 O- One wish: ...spontaneous appearance of a pint of raspberry sorbet and a spoon in front of me, right now. P- Person you last called/texted: telling someone I was, in fact, coming to Shadowrun, just late. Q- Questions you’re always asked: I like “Read any good books lately?” as a conversation opener at parties. R- Reasons to smile: dogs. my dog. she’s not here but I love her. S- Song last sung: I think I was singing along to the Moana soundtrack last night...again... T- Time you woke up: a bit after 1pm U- Underwear color: varied V- Vacation destination: Rome W- Worst habit: procrastination X- X-rays you’ve had: A Lot. Y- Your favorite food: chocolate-covered raisins Z- Zodiac sign: Taurus

Tagging @rattyjol, @@ensanguinedbirdy, @theroyalzookeeper​, @dimir-charmer, @silentrevelry, @penmeetspage, and anyone who sees it and is interested.