#and the west paw is Okay and it’s lasted a long time

[fruitless-vain]

The fact that Yoshi gets a brand new frisbee every single year for Christmas sounds ludicrous when you consider that she is 10lbs and still has nearly every toy she’s ever been given right from the day she came home because she simply does not rip apart her toys. She needs us to cut the seams so she can unstuff toys, and barely bites hard enough to make half of them squeak

But believe me when I say, she needs a new disc every. Single. Year.

[lasatfat]

Hi hi!! Happy Friday <3 How about "do you ever wonder what our lives will be like in ten years?" from the platonic sentence starters, for Eireann and one of her friends (or several!!)

platonic sentence starters | @dadrunkwriting

This is kinda rough around the edges - I haven't written Jowan before, but there's a first time for everything. I hope it's okay.

Ten Years' Time

She was nine years old when she asked Jowan, “what do you think we’ll be like in ten years?”

They were sitting out in the little forecourt, where mages were allowed to exercise. Wintersend had just passed, and the air still carried a chill, but the mages had been locked inside since the end of Harvestmere. Everyone had poured out of the doors as soon as they were opened. Eireann and Jowan were perched with books on the boundary wall. The water of Lake Calenhad spread out to the east, and the tower rose high above them to the west. The weak afternoon sun hung behind it, casting its long shadow out into the deep.

Jowan looked up from his book. After months inside, his pale skin was close to white, and there were purplish circles under his eyes. “We’ll both be enchanters,” he said, with a shrug.

“But what will we be doing?” she persisted.

Jowan was silent for a long time. Eireann decided that he must be ignoring her, and her face curled into a scowl. It wasn’t like it was a difficult question. There were only so many things she could be. Even before she came to the tower, she was limited. Human children might dream of becoming knights or Templars, but elves cannot wield blades in Ferelden. They might play at being princesses or adventurers, but Eireann knew what the future held for her. She would help her mother work, and when she came of age, she would be sent away to marry. She’d work for her husband, and the children she’d bear.

Eventually, however, he gave her an answer.

“I think you’ll be teaching the apprentices,” he said.

She leaned in, her anger forgotten. “You think so?”

He nodded. “Yes. You’d be good at that.”

Would she? Eireann had been good at looking after her brother, sure, but she’d never taught him anything. They mostly played with the other alienage children – prisoner’s base and ninepin bowling and hoodman’s blind. Mamae taught them how to speak, how to read, and how to write. Meallán struggled, because his eyes were bad. Eireann healed him with a prayer, and now, she’s here.

She shook herself mentally, before she started crying. Jowan had seen her cry before, of course, but not out here in front of everyone else too. “What about you?”

He didn’t answer for a long time. Perhaps he was taking a long time to think today. “You could help me,” she offered.

“If I’m still around,” he agreed.

Eireann frowned to herself. Where else would he be?

*****

She is nineteen years old when she sees Jowan for the last time.

She comes upon him in the woods, along the River Dane. The deer have long since fled, and the blighted have come to take their place. Jowan has been many things – a blood mage, an apostate, a useful idiot for their traitor king – but right now, he’s the only thing standing between a group of refugees and a fucking bereskarn. The old Jowan may have frozen in fear, or run for his life. Now, he stands rooted to the spot. Magic crackles around a simple staff, wood carved into the shape of a serpent. The bereskarn rears, ready to cut him down with a great, warped paw.

Eireann is a Grey Warden now. It’s her duty to stand against the Blight. She raises her sword to the sky, blade glittering with magic, and a bolt of lightning flashes out of the blue. It strikes the tainted bear on the top of its head. It takes one step, groans, and topples onto its side. A few meek twitches, and it’s dead.

When Jowan looks at her, he’s far more frightened than he was looking at the bereskarn. After all, a bereskarn can only kill you.

“Are you alright?” she asks. He nods, and she looks over his shoulder to the refugees. Three of them, two teenagers and an old man, each one shivering in fear. “You?”

It’s a pitiful group. They look as if they’re carrying everything they have left on their backs. But they’re alive, and they’re still standing. That’s no small thing, these days. Jowan has done a good job of protecting them. Eireann vaguely wonders where he learned to defend himself so well.

“Please, Eire…” Jowan catches himself. “My lady, I was just trying to do the right thing,” he pleads.

The older man steps forward, his arm extended to shield the teenagers from further harm. “Yes, Master Levyn has saved us three times over. We’d be dead without him. Don’t go turning him in now.”

Eireann considers them all, these people and their unlikely saviour.

“Then turning him in would be condemning you to death,” she says, firmly. “I’d consider that a far greater crime than apostasy, wouldn’t you?”

She turns to her party. Leliana and Alistair understand. Zevran doesn’t appear to be interested at all, though she knows better than to believe that. Mabu will do just about anything if there’s a Mabari crunch in it for her. None of them will oppose her in this.

“It’s settled, then,” she says. She turns back to Jowan, and bows her head. “You’re free to go.”

That should be where it rests. Jowan should leave, and Eireann should continue on her way. Instead, she throws her arms around him, and holds him tight against her. He might be crying. She certainly is.

“Thank you.” He whispers the words against her ear.

Make it count, she almost says. But she knows she doesn’t need to. She knows that he will.

[corruptedplaylist]

the first time you go home after your childhood dog dies

you will immediately turn to the right of the front door, where the dog bed was. sorry. force of habit. there is a side table in its stead. it has a cherry finish. mom has moved the radio into your room.

you keep your old house as the primary shipping address “just in case.” your new sunglasses will have come in and are waiting on the front step. the old ones broke when you were pawing through your work bag trying to find that pack of gum.

the house will be silent. it’s never been this silent for this long. every few minutes over the last 13 years, your dog would snuffle and bite at that one spot on his stomach. the tap tap tap of his toenails against the floorboards heralded his arrival. in high school, you learned to shut your bedroom door at night. sometimes you’d forget and you would wake up to the jingle of his nametag. you don’t realize you’re looking for something until you find yourself surprised that the living room is empty. 

you will live out of your suitcase in your childhood bedroom and stub your toe against the new exercise bike in the corner. you forgot to put your laundry away before you left. the wrinkles that form on your favorite work blouse (the one you got for $8) will remind you of the river you learned to swim in. your cousin is going to grad school out west. you should reach out. you’ve been telling yourself this for over a year. 

you will think about bringing back the lamp by your bed to furnish the living room but ultimately decide to leave it here. just in case. you will find your dog’s harness buried in the second drawer of your grandmother’s dresser and sniff it cautiously. don’t worry— the smell will linger for months. you will make a to-do list for work tomorrow and watch the sunset. you used to keep a spare pen in the desk drawer. it’s run out of ink. you thought you were done grieving.

in the evening, you will bump into your youngest brother outside mom’s room. oops sorry. my bad. mom is quietly reading in her room. your brother will continue transporting boxes from the attic. he is moving out in two days. the last time you heard the cicadas sing was also here. you can’t hear them in your new apartment. mom declared how happy she was for everyone at dinner. you thought she might be holding back tears. you wanted to ask if she would be okay by herself. you will instead ask her what she did with the dog bed. 

the first time you go home after your childhood dog dies, you let the rest of the song play out before turning off the car. you text your roommate that you made it back safely and that traffic was horrible. you check your email and pin a message from your coworker. you wish mom was home already. you draft a text to your friend: i’m scared that my house won’t feel like home anymore. you add red onion to your grocery list. you should have stopped for a bathroom break an hour ago. you miss how things were last august. mr. rodney waves at you as he makes his way up the block. “how long are you here for?” he asks. you tell him just a few days. you delete the text. tonight you will sleep with the door open. 

[leviosally]

Play for me the Music of your Heart

Okay...so I’ve been working on a long fic. (Since December according to dear ol’ Google docs) and I am finally starting to share it. It’s a University Music School AU featuring our lovely ineffables. It’s my flimsy excuse to meander on about my own days as a music student, but, I hope y’all like it as well. Cheers!

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Fuck .

Crowley clicks the key of the Uhaul over to off, the engine sputtering out with a tired shudder. He can empathize with the poor creature, he’s been driving non-stop for the last seventeen hours, his body molded into what feels like a permanent Z and he’s really beginning to feel the effects of it in his hips and knees. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion that’s as much emotional as it is physical settles into him. A dull ache is starting up right behind his eyes, and he swipes his sunglasses off and scrubs at his eyelids, puffy and grainy feeling and wanting nothing more than to slam shut on him and take him off into a millenia-long sleep.

He turns to the passenger seat where a hard, shiny, vaguely instrument-shaped case in a deep burgundy color is buckled in like a small child. He pats it lovingly.

“You wait here. I’m going to have a look about.”

(It’s been a long trip, talking to inanimate objects is the least of his worries)

He paws at the door handle, shoving it open, and hauls his legs out, hoping very much they haven’t become permanently affixed at their current angle and half-crawls, half-stumbles his way out of the van.

He squints, blinking in the gray overcast light of early evening, before letting his glasses slide back into place. Even the soft pre-twilight glow is a bit much for his light-sensitive eyes. He looks up and down the street at the colorful row of vaguely Cape Cod style houses, each complete with a front garden bursting with overgrown perennials and late-season vegetables. It’s altogether almost too bright, too green, too quaint, too peaceful and…too… nice.

There’s a low bank of fog rolling in, making the air feel heavy, but it’s also refreshing; carrying with it scents of the surrounding pine forest, recent rain, and damp earth. The faint smell of salt and fish drifts in from the coast. That’s a more familiar scent—that of seawater and fishing piers, boats and seafood markets—but there’s something different about it here…it’s cool and crisp and he can fill his lungs, whereas in New York he felt like he was in a near constant state of gasping for breath.

In New York everything seemed magnified a thousand times if he’s being honest—the air often crushing and offensive, burning in his nose and settling about his shoulders like a too-heavy blanket…almost suffocating. (‘Course, he’d like to blame the feeling entirely on the air quality, but…he supposes that’d be a bit unfair given…well, everything)

And the noise…they call it the city that never sleeps and it really is. Sirens, car horns, the din of people shouting and clattering down in the streets ‘round the clock— a cacophony of complex sounds constantly assaulting his ears. He supposes he got used to it in his own way. Crowley would often lie awake picking them apart, his ceaseless brain reeling off the notes…Woman shouting: G# ...Taxi horn: E ...Trash can hitting the curb: A♭ …Mrs. Downstairs buzzing in her sister: C …Roommate’s message tone: F …Blinding Lights by The Weeknd (turned up loud enough for the other side of the world to hear): key of C# major ...on and on until sleep took him.

Anyway, they say the west coast’s the best coast right? Well, fresh air’s a good start anyway, and the only sound (a foghorn, marking the end of the jetty off in the distance, he thinks… B♭ …) resonates in the quiet of the evening before falling silent again.

Read more here.

[abundanceofnots]

a fic with a them and a kitten 🐈‍⬛❤

DANGER!

His instinct wakes him up, the familiar voice inside his head screaming at him to abandon the peaceful slumber and take cover.

Mickey’s eyes flip open to the sight of two beastly orange beams watching him from the darkness, and he scrambles back on the bed in a panic, elbowing Ian right in the back in the process.

“Not in the mood, Mick,” he murmurs sleepily from his side.

With a somewhat self-soothing litany of fuck fuck fuck fuck, Mickey leans over to flick on the table lamp on his nightstand. The creature isn’t on the bed anymore, so it’s probably not a complete idiot with suicidal tendencies (Creeping up on a guy like that, who fuckin’ does that? Only killers and morons, that’s who.), and when Mickey peeks over the edge of the mattress, he finds it sitting on the floor, staring at him with unblinking eyes.

Groaning, he rubs his face.

“What did I say about lettin’ that dirty clump of hair in the bedroom with us?”

To his annoyance, Ian just nuzzles deeper into his pillow, apparently not too preoccupied with the fact that his husband was virtually mauled in his sleep.

“S’not dirty anymore. Gave it a little bath.”

“Yeah? Bet it can still give me like uh—” Mickey blinks rapidly, the motors in his exhausted brain working overtime. “—like uh, rabies or—or AIDS!”

Ian gives a prolonged sigh. “It doesn’t have AIDS.”

“You don’t know that.”

And he really doesn’t, because the way this cat came to (temporarily!) stay with them was almost identical to how all shitty things happened to them.

The short version? They were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Ian was too much of a soft bitch to just walk away from the situation and forget it ever happened.

The long version is basically the same but in a bit more words. The vermin must’ve snuck into their apartment complex when they were coming back from the store, full arms of shopping bags obscuring Mickey’s view of his surroundings, and followed them all the way up onto the second floor, lured by the smell of their bullshit organic ham from Whole Foods—or the looks of Mickey’s juicy calves, who could really know for sure.

Mickey only noticed it when they stopped in front of their apartment door, and the thing curled itself around the toe cap of his right boot, hell-bent on digging into it with its sharp claws and kicking it with its hind legs.

And okay, back then, it was sorta funny. Mainly because this was the least predatory behavior Mickey’s ever seen in his life. There was just suddenly this thing—hardly a full-sized cat yet, covered from head to toe in mud that made her hair stick together in little hedgehog-y spikes—which already decided to take on a big scary shoe.

So obviously, Ian’s natural reaction was to start ovulating on the spot and claim they had to take it in.

Fuckin’ soft bitch.

“It’s starin’ at me,” Mickey remarks from the bed as he observes the cat-midget with a scowl. He really had to stop enabling Ian’s savior complex.

“Close your eyes.”

“What if it sneaks up on me again, slits my throat open?”

“You have a fat neck. It would have to dig real deep.”

Deciding the second-rate muff on the floor can wait, for now, Mickey turns to Ian. “Who’s side are you fuckin’ on?” he snips at the back of his head.

“My side,” Ian replies tiredly and then shuffles under his comforter to lie on his other side, facing Mickey. “Look, she was scratching at the door, meowing like crazy. You probably couldn’t hear it over your snores, but I did. What else was I supposed to do?”

Mickey watches him for a second. “I don’t snore.”

“Right.” Rolling his eyes, Ian hauls himself off the bed. “Must be my other husband, then. I always get you two confused.”

He takes out one of his older hoodies from the midsized wardrobe opposite the bed and lays it on top, fluffing it a little, so it forms an impromptu nest. Then, he gently grabs the cat and sits it on there, letting it sniff around the material for a couple of minutes before it finally settles down, leaning its head on its outstretched paws. Its eyes stay on alert.

“They like being high up,” Ian answers Mickey’s questioning looks when he comes back to bed. “So they can monitor us and the room at all times. Makes them feel safe.”

“The fuck did you learn that?”

“Google. Done some quick research last night.”

“Oh! So you become a fuckin’ cat lady in one night, but when I asked you to figure out how we could install a sex swing in the empty room—”

Reaching over him to switch the light off, Ian smacks a kiss on Mickey’s cheek.

“Goodnight, Mick.”

Reluctantly, Mickey closes his mouth, already feeling himself deflate.

Whatever. They’re getting rid of that thing later today.

---

“Hey! You’re early,” Ian greets him from the couch. His head propped up on the armrest is the only part of him that Mickey can see from the door, and it makes him chuckle. This way, Ian looks like a magician’s assistant.

“Yeah. The new guys aren’t so useless after all.” Having taken his jacket off, Mickey stalks closer to the couch, his lips already curling into a smirk. “Figured we could use the time better. Maybe take the new toy for a spin. Introduce it to my assho—WHAT THE FUCK is that thing still doing here?”

The surplus pair of eyes regard him from Ian’s chest, quite unperturbed by his outburst as it gets its chin and ears scratched.

“We kinda bonded,” Ian admits sheepishly.

“I can see that.”

In the daylight, and probably after another thorough scrub, the creature’s fur got a vivid, ginger color. Mickey would probably laugh at the resemblance if he wasn’t so set on hating this thing.

“I couldn’t just ditch her. Look at her!” Ian tries to argue, as if looking at it would solve the problem.

Nah, no way. He’s not falling for this dumb big sad eyes crap again. The last time he did, he ended up with a husband in a prissy apartment on the West Side. And now, on top of that, he’ll most likely have to share it with a tiny ass-licker—and not even the kind he likes.

“Bought some stuff,” Ian adds after a pause, motioning in the direction of the kitchen counter where a stack of cans stood next to a bag of dry cat food and cat litter. “She’ll stay with us for some time. Two weeks max, I swear. And we’ll try to find her a new home in the meantime.”

Mickey surveys the counter for another beat. “That’s for two weeks?”

“Mick’s a big eater.”

He swears his eyes grow three times their standard size at that.

“You named it ‘Mick’?” he asks reproachfully.

Ian grimaces. “Yeah? But not on purpose,” he explains apologetically. “I just started telling her about you, and she seemed to perk up every time I mentioned your name. I think she thought it was her name.”

“Great.”

“You said it yourself: Mickey can be a girl’s name, too. And it makes sense because she reminds me of you in so many ways.”

Mickey inspects the cat that’s supposed to be so much like him and finds that during their conversation, she fell asleep and was now letting out these low huffs against Ian’s T-shirt.

And sure, now, in her pacified state, just sprawled like that like a hairy-ass baby on Ian’s chest, Mickey could see himself calling her cute. Maybe. Whatever.

“Even if she looks like your long-lost sister?” he jokes.

“A ginger with Milkovich attitude. Kinda perfect, don’t you think?”

As Mickey watches his big softie of a husband tenderly stroke the cat’s fur, grinning at her as if he was already completely enamored with her, he realizes that he’s smiling, too.

Ah, shit. Mickey’s so fucked.

To be continued. Maybe.

[tarlos-spain]

Definitely, Thursday is my new Wednesday.

Here you have a little fragment of my story for the Fandom Trumps Hate.

At home Willie was waiting for them, dozing on the couch, almost upside down and with his head drooping off the couch. Sometimes they wondered how it was possible that he didn't fall down in those weird positions he liked so much.

As soon as he saw the door open, the little white dog came down from the couch and went to meet them. He started circling around them and stood on two paws on both of their legs to get their attention.

TK scooped him up in his arms, while Carlos put the ice cream away in the freezer. Willie, a west highland terrier mix with some other breed, started licking him in the face and TK had to pull away so he wouldn't end up giving him a shower.

"I know you want to go out and I already know you love me very much, but just give me a moment to change my clothes, can you be a little patient?"

Willie made a little noise that TK couldn't figure out if it meant that her words had only reassured him or that he'd better hurry up because he wasn't going to last much longer without going outside.

He set him down on the ground and watched him run over to Carlos to do the same, get down on two legs on top of his legs until he caught him in his arms so he could give him a few good slobbery licks on his face.

TK smiled, it was amazing what a great idea Carlos had had when he had decided to take Willie as a therapy dog for him. The recommendation had come from Paul and as soon as he looked around the internet, he realized that it was just what TK needed.Just out of the hospital after spending several days in a coma and near death from hypothermia, TK's body had been slow to recover and the after-effects, while not permanent, had been long, painful and sometimes terrifying.

But Willie seemed trained to control everything and not to be frightened by anything. He had helped him stay calm during the tremors, had become his shadow when he had started taking showers alone so he wouldn't lose control over the temperature, and when a couple of times he had gotten lost on a walk and didn't know how to get home, Willie had literally become a guide dog and had returned him to the safety of home.

Carlos, at times, was not so happy with the little animal, because although he was the best therapy dog he could find for TK, for someone who loved cleanliness and order like him, having as a new member of the family, someone who loved to jump into all the puddles he could find and who had decided that mud bath therapy was the best way to be completely happy during walks was also therapy for him. He was learning to look the other way when they came into the house and both Willie and TK left their footprints in their wake. He had also learned not to say anything when between his boyfriend and Willie they would get the bathroom lost after cleaning the animal, and he had learned to relax when Willie had and should approach him to start getting out of the bath water and get him lost.

In a way, Willie was a therapy dog, for both of them. So when it came time to get the idea that TK was okay, that his health was back on track and that they no longer needed to have a therapy dog with them, the shock because they had to let Willie go was unbelievable.

"Well, let's just say Willie is getting to an age where we don't usually keep animals as therapy animals," the volunteer at the center where they were raising therapy animals told them. "As it happens to us humans, after going through several homes, animals are not so easy to introduce to new environments and sometimes they have adapted so much to a family, that if those humans wish, we can hand them over to put the animal in their care, thus relieving them of their duties as a therapy dog."

As they listened to her speak, they both looked at each other, because they weren't sure they understood the same thing from her words. But the looks on both of their faces and their smiles made it clear to them that either they were both wrong or they had understood each other correctly.

"You mean we can keep Willie?"

The girl stared at the animal snoozing curled up on top of Carlos' legs and smiled with the gesture of one who had just said something very obvious.

"We brought in a new generation of therapy dogs this week. The older ones are already retiring and the ones in between, like Willie, well, it depends on the individual animal. Some are here with us, but some have been living with a family for a while now and have apparently taken a liking to it."

Overnight, they became one and the same, Willie stopped working with them and became the closest thing to a son that either of them could have imagined up to that point

[marshmallow-phd]

Healing Touch

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

Summary: Medical school abroad was the last line on your to-do list before starting the rest of your life. Everything was going according to plan. Everything, that is, until tragedy strikes your campus. In the wake of a professor’s untimely death, you’re partnered with the cute boy with a breathtaking smile in the newly combined labs. You find yourself unable to resist the dimples and shy glances, but his life is here with no plans of leaving. Will you continue on as planned or will you accept the hand that Fate had dealt you?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I Final

**

The door to the bathroom slammed behind Yixing as he plastered his back against the cinderblock wall. The bathroom was empty, thank goodness. His heart was pounding, beating in rhythm to the pawing of the wolf. It growled at him to go back, to find you and claim you. He fought against it. Barely. 

All this time you had been here, on this campus, and he never even knew it. How many times had he come close to almost running into you? Almost had a class with you? How many times had he walked into the student union or a lab or any other classroom and missed you by mere seconds? Having met you now, under these circumstances – it almost felt like Fate was taunting him.

Sliding down to the floor, Yixing let his head fall back against the paint-flaking stone. A small smirk tugged at his mouth. He’d found you. Like a flower blooming for the first time… you were beautiful. Your smiles had been small but stunning. When your hair fell like a waterfall hiding your face, his fingers twitched to push it behind your ear. Yixing had found girls pretty before, but you – you were fascinating. Like seeing a close up picture of a new planet a million lightyears away for the first time. As quiet as you were, he was determined to flip over the stones and discover what lied underneath.

Elation soon gave way to worry, though. Now that the first step was done, he had to proceed with caution. He didn’t want to scare you off or come on too strong. Knowing himself, he could get too excited and push you too far before you were ready. 

And then there were the headaches. And the lost time. He needed to find the cause of it. He needed to understand what was happening to him. Because the last thing he would want is to hurt you.

Pushing himself back up to his feet, he went over to the sink and turn the cold water on blast. He cupped some of the water in his palm and cooled off heat radiating from his neck. Icy droplets rolled down his back and over his shoulders. It helped, sparingly. He gave a single glance in the mirror before turning off the water and walking out of the bathroom.

He knew that going to his next class would be a useless action. Paying attention was out of the question. There were ways that he could catch up in his spare time. Right now, he needed to be in a place where he was both surrounded by people (to keep himself in check), and yet alone for his thoughts. So, he headed for the student union. The buzzing of a hundred conversations hit him as soon as he stepped through the doors. None of them were clear, too intermixed to be deciphered. Perfect. Now he just need to find an empty table in a corner and-

“Hey, Yixing!”

Yixing blinked, searching around for the one who had called his name.

Baekhyun was standing up in his seat, waving an arm back and forth to get Yixing’s attention. The latter sighed. Maybe this was better. Maybe being alone wasn’t a good idea after all.

Sitting with Baekyun was Chanyeol, Jongin, Sehun, and Kyungsoo. Jongdae, Yixing knew, was in class. However, Minseok was usually with them. He must have been somewhere off with his mate. A quick surge of jealous struck through Yixing’s veins, but he tampered it down quickly. Soon enough he would be there, too. Soon enough.

Careful to keep his face as neutral as his facial muscles would allow, Yixing headed over to the others, dragging a free chair over from a nearby table.

“Playing hooky?” Baekhyun teased.

“Just didn’t feel like going to class.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Nor the complete truth. The statement fell somewhere in the middle. Like most things he said these days. 

“Are you sweating, hyung?” Sehun asked from the other side of the table.

Chanyeol sniffed several times. “You still smell like your body wash. Is everything okay?”

Jongin pointed at him. “Your collar’s wet.”

Yixing shifted in his seat. Was it too early to tell them? Was it news that he should share with Junmyeon first? He knew he would end up going to Minseok at some point. Who better to go with for advice than the one person who’s lived through it already? Maybe even Ji Yeon might have a few words of wisdom for him. All five of his brothers were staring at him, waiting for an explanation, fictitious or otherwise, for this out-of-character behavior.

“She’s in my new class.”

“Who is?” Chanyeol asked.

Yixing didn’t reply right away. The words were sticking to the tip of his tongue like fly paper. Maybe he should just say “never mind” and go on with his day. This wasn’t the right setting to share this information. He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have waited until he got back to the farmhouse. He should have discussed this with Junmyeon and Minseok first. As much as he loved Baekhyun, he had a feeling this news would get back to the rest of the pack before he had a chance to tell them himself. Would Jongdae start to avoid him, too?

Before he had a chance to backtrack, Kyungsoo caught on. “Ah. You mean, her, don’t you?”

Yixing swallowed, the muscles in his throat contracting, making the motion difficult. Slowly, almost like a fishing bobber in the water, he nodded.

Letting out an exasperated scoff, Baekhyun hunched down in his seat. “This feels way too fast. I thought we would have time after Minseok until the next one.” He straightened up before leaning in close to Yixing. “Are you sure it’s your mate? Are you sure you just don’t think she’s really pretty?”

Yixing shook his head. “Minseok is right. The feeling is different. And immediate. It’s her.”

“Well, better you than me.”

“But think of the nice excuse it would give you to break up with Daisy?” Chanyeol teased.

“Who said I wanted to break up with her?”

“You did,” Kyungsoo deadpanned. “Last night.”

Baekhyun feigned being taken aback. “W-well, that was last night. I changed my mind. This morning.”

“I hope your mate gives you hell,”Jongin laughed. He turned to Yixing. “Is she pretty?”

Yixing didn’t dare fight the grin spreading across his face. He nodded eagerly. “Yes. Very. Very pretty.”

“So, you gonna tell Junmyeon?” Baekhyun asked.

“Of course. I will tonight. Back at the house.”

“At least we’ll get to see this play out more. I feel like we missed the good stuff with Minseok.”

“It’s not a movie for your entertainment,” Kyungsoo scolded.

Baekhyun simply shrugged, turning his attention back to the food in front of him. He’d gotten his teasing out of the way. Oddly enough, Yixing was feeling a little lighter. He hadn’t kept the secret long at all, but that was what a pack was for. They were there to keep you steady and to lean on when things grew tough. He could go to them for advice – well, some of them. Others were good for a laugh and help ease any weight that was baring him down. Each member had his strength, for which he was grateful. Three additional faces appeared, stopping him for a moment. But then Baekhyun started imitated one of his professors and Yixing was pulled away from the past and back to the present.

However, even as he smiled and laughed along with the others, one thing refused to leave him: Would you be safe? With his current… predicament, he worried about you. If anything were to happen to you – especially because of him – he would never be able to forgive himself.

Silently, he vowed that he would put an end to this rogue wolf – no matter who it was.  

**

Perhaps walking wasn’t the best idea at the moment. It was chillier today; a cold front having moved in from somewhere out west overnight. The jacket you wore was thin, the wind sliding through the threads with more ease than water through a drain. But it seemed silly to take the bus with such a short distance between your apartment and the university campus. Certainly not worth the anxiety it would create.

Yes. It was good to walk. Good to get the exercise. And by the time you make it to the courtyard, you would be used to the cold. For now, you zipped the closure up to your chin and tucked your arms in as close to your chest as possible.

The campus felt like a ghost town when you arrived. Most of the students were taking refuge in the buildings, hiding from the wind between the walls decorated with tutoring flyers and motivational posters. Part of you thought to maybe do the same, to cut through the buildings to get a relief from the depressing weather, but that would take you longer. None of the buildings were straight shots. You could endure it. Or else, you could end up as another frozen statue on the grounds that would occasionally get covered in toilet paper or streamers by pranking students. At least you would actually look like something if that were to happen. Most of the artwork was of the abstract kind.

Not that that was a bad thing. Most of it was quite interesting. But it gave you a headache, turning and twisting your head to look at the statue from a new angle, the picture changing each time. You preferred less complicated, more obvious art. Old portraits or watercolor landscapes were the sections of the art museum you spent the majority of your time in. It didn’t need to be complicated to be art, in your opinion. Every new artist was trying to “say something”, which was fine. It was their art and they were allowed to do with it as they saw fit. You were just the kind of boring person who liked a pretty picture, no added thinking required.

Yes. Boring, indeed.

“(y/n)!”

You stopped walking, confused as to who could be calling your name. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw the new boy from your human physiology class – Yixing. He was jogging up to you, cutting through the grass, not caring if the canvas fabric of his Converse ended up soaked. He was huffing only the slightest bit when he came to a stop beside you. The tiny corners of his lips were slightly turned upward. You’d only met him a few days ago. How could he be seemingly elated to see you? 

“Hi.”

He wasn’t the least bit discouraged by your steely reception. “Are you on your way to class?” He pointed in the direction of the science building. You nodded. Lying would make you have to take a weird, long way to the classroom and even then, you couldn’t guarantee that he wouldn’t see you in the hall. Besides, after your first class you would be seeing him again, at the same table. “Can I walk with you?”

Those five little words sent a surge through your brain, frying the motherboard and sending you into disfunction. Why did he want to walk with you? Pound, pound, pound your heart was going in your ears. He was smiling broader now as he waited for your answer. Surely, there were better available options in girls to walk to class.

“Why?”

Your hand nearly snapped up to your forehead. Where! ‘Where is your class’ was the question you were meaning to ask. But your brain was too focused on why he was asking you that the signals got crossed somewhere and the wrong thing came out.

The smile faded. “Oh, um… I just saw you and thought that maybe if we were headed in the same direction….” He cringed, his hand reaching behind his head to scratch nervously at his scalp.

“Sure,” you said without giving yourself a prior warning.

The smile snapped back into place. “Okay. Great.”

Neither of you moved. You were sure that part of the idea of “walking to class together” included actually moving your feet, but you didn’t start heading towards the building. Yixing didn’t budge either. He kept smiling at you.

A sudden burst of icy wind picked up. The gust bit right through your jacket, causing you to shiver somewhat violently. Your teeth were still chattering even as it died down again.

“Are you cold?” Yixing asked worriedly.

“No, I’m fi-”

He ignored you as he slipped his bag off his shoulders and removed his much heavier bomber jacket. He draped the jacket over your shoulders and replaced his bag. Now he was left in only a black T-shirt, but he seemed unaffected by the cold. Not even goosebumps gave away if he was uncomfortable or not. “I hope that’s better.”

You were hit with an overwhelming pine scent. Normally you hated the smell. It reminded you of those old car air fresheners that would hang from the rearview mirror. But this particular type… it was a struggle not to breathe in deeper. You didn’t want to come off as weird.

Or, weirder that you already were.

“Thanks,” you said shyly, unable to meet his eye. “We, um, we should probably start… walking.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re right.”

The two of you finally headed for the science building. You each stepped in rhythm with the other, falling into the pattern with such a natural ease that it made you curious. Your nerves were on high alert around him, but not in a way that made you scared of him. Not the “he’s going to kill me” kind of nervous. Just… on edge. You weren’t sure why he was interested in you – whether platonically or something else, you hadn’t figured out yet. You weren’t the typical college student in your experiences. Anxiety over social gatherings tended to limit your outings. Not that you minded. You needed to keep up the good grades to get into the university you wanted and the extra time spent studying helped. Your family was your main social outlet, but you didn’t see anything wrong with that.

The bad thing was, you knew how your family reacted and came to decisions in most cases. That sense of familiarity was lost when it came to other people, so you never were quite sure how to read them.

“What’s your first class?” Yixing asked as the building came into view.

“Organic chemistry,” you replied. Not your best subject, if you had to admit it. Biology was more your strong suit. “What about you?”

Yes. Good counter question. A natural one to ask. Right?

A dusty pink bloomed on his cheeks. “Psychology.”

You frowned. Those classes weren’t held in the science building. Those types of classes were the rest of the therapeutic college – several buildings away. Pointing to the doors that the two of you were now stopped in front of, you said, “Then why-”

“I saw you and wanted to say hi.”

Okay, like stated earlier, you weren’t the best at reading strangers. But you could almost feel your aunt nudging you with her shoulder in her cheeky fashion. And you would have to agree with her, it did feel like there was an air of flirtation underneath the innocent sentence.

“You wanted to say ‘hi’?” you repeated

He scrunched up his shoulders guilty. “Yeah. I thought that – since we’re going to be partners for the rest of the semester – that it wouldn’t hurt to get to know each other?” His eyes flickered down to the cement and then back up at you. “Is that alright?”

That simple movement made your heart flutter. “I guess so.”

Not the exact answer he was hoping for, judging by his reaction. He released his breath through his nose and nodded, his lips puckering a small amount. “Okay. I’ll see you in class.” You weren’t given a chance to respond before he stepped around you and headed off.

Now you were the one who felt guilty.

All through class, you struggled to absorb the material more than usual. You felt like a jerk to someone who was only trying to be nice.

No. Nice wasn’t the right word to use. Polite seemed too small a word as well. His interest in getting to know you seemed genuine, sincere. You were the one quick to pull away. You couldn’t help it. And you had immediately regretted it, wishing you could rewind and try a different response. Yixing made you more nervous that usual, which only overloaded your brain even more.

By the end of class, you’d settled on apologizing. You’d practice the speech over and over again in your mind to make sure that it made sense and conveyed what you were sorry for. And hopefully didn’t create a bigger mess.

Since you were right around the corner, you made it to human physiology early. You took your time taking out your supplies and lined them up on your side of the table. Every few seconds your eyes would flicker to the door in eager anticipation. The students who flowed in were never him. Oh. Goodness. Had you made him so upset that he’d decided to skip class altogether rather than sit next to you?

That fear subsided when you saw him walk into view of the open door. A shorter boy was with him. They were chatting in a friendly manner in the hallway, smiling and laughing occasionally. Yixing didn’t seem to still be upset from your earlier send off.

The shorter one, wearing a backwards cap and t-shirt despite the cold (were males really that immune to dropping temperatures?), glanced into the classroom and made eye contact with you. He whispered something to Yixing, who in turn snuck a peek of his own. He nodded to the shorter boy. The latter nodded as well. He patted Yixing on the shoulder and then left.

Oh, wonderful. Now what had you done?

Your entire speech went diving out the window as Yixing walked into classroom and sat down in his seat.

“Hey,” he greeted, throwing you off even more with a smile.

You lifted your hand and gave a rather pathetic wave. “Hi.”

“Did you have fun in chemistry?” he asked. Everything about his mannerisms reflected his earlier legitimate interest. It was almost as if the parting earlier had only been a bad dream in your head and instead had ended amicably, with no signs of awkwardness.

You were starting to relax. That was another odd thing about Yixing. Though your nervous system was on the fritz, you also felt at ease, almost. Already, you were finding appropriate and - dare you say - charming responses to his inquires and jests. “As much fun as one can with unstable molecules.”

“Better the molecules be unstable rather than the professor.”

You laughed, using your hand to cover the sound and wide mouthed expression that came along with it. Yixing dipped his head to hide a proud grin of his own. The professor walked in at that moment. You scolded yourself for not going through your speech before class had started. Yixing had distracted you. It might feel as needed now, but you still felt the urge to say the words. 

And that distraction was continuing on through the period.

He wasn’t doing anything in particular, besides simply existing. Occasionally while taking notes or flipping the pages of the textbook, his elbow would bump into yours. You would mouth “sorry” before dropping your eyes down to the paper. He never looked like he was annoyed or bothered by it. At one point, you wondered if he was doing it on purpose.

Like the last time, Professor Jiang assigned the review questions at the end of the chapter to be completed during the final fifteen minutes. It took you almost that entire time to figure out the answers. You had to keep flipping back through the chapter and skim the passages to find them. You were definitely going to have to make a note to review this later if any of it was going to stick.  

“Are you done?” Yixing asked once he saw that your pencil was down.

“Yeah.” Your confidence in your answers wasn’t as high as last time. To your surprise, though, your answers were more or less the same as Yixing’s. Maybe something did get absorbed during the lecture. 

Taking your paper, he shuffled it on top of his to show you that he would once again turn it in for you. A pattern was beginning to form, but you didn’t want to read into it too deeply. 

Okay. It was now or never. Although, you’d forgotten large chunks of your speech, you were going to go through with it.

“Yixing?” You barely made it above a whisper, but he heard you anyway.

“Hm?”

“I just wanted to say that I was sorry. About earlier. I didn’t mean to make it look like I was trying to be rude or that I wasn’t appreciative of your….” You lost the word you were going to say. The others that you grasped on to made you cringe. Niceness? Politeness? Pity? Thankfully, Yixing didn’t need you to finish.

“It’s alright. I’m not upset. I realize that I might have come on too strongly.”

“No, no, you didn’t.”

“No, I’m sure I did. Next time, if you like walking alone, you can tell me to go away.”

You didn’t like the idea of telling him to go away. You actually kind of liked him walking you to class, now that you’d had time to reflect back on it. The gesture gave you the same vibe that teen romances had given you in high school; a strange fluttering that usually only existed in daydreams.

You weren’t sure how to respond, so you gave a silent reply in the form of a small smile. Yixing took it as a good sign like you meant it to be. Then you remembered the piece of clothing you still had of his. You started to sleep out of the sleeves, but Yixing stopped you.

“Keep it. It’s not going to get any warmer today.”

You could feel your face exploding with heat. What did that mean, exactly? Obviously, you understood the direct context, but was there another meaning behind his kind intention? Whispers erupted behind you before you could really think it through. You peeked over your shoulder to see two girls staring at you as they spoke softly to each other. Their volume was too low for you to make out what they were saying, but their eyes said enough. A few flickers toward Yixing and it was easy to interpret: they were trying to figure out why someone like him was acting this way towards you.

Curious as to what had stolen your attention, Yixing looked back at the girls as well. At their continued whispering, he narrowed his eyes and then shifted his stool closer to you. It felt… protective, almost possessive. Not in a way that made you want to lean away. It was more like he was silently standing up for you. The girls immediately snapped their mouths closed and pulled out their phones. Yixing caught your eye one more time, making you smile. Professor Jiang called time on the period and you found yourself very unwilling to move from that spot. And, it seemed, neither was Yixing.

**

Yixing ran through the trees with pure giddiness and elation flowing through his fur.

Things couldn’t have gone better this past week and a half. You were opening up to him more, talking to him without long pauses in between and letting him walk you to classes, even if they were in the opposite direction of his own. You hadn’t given him his jacket back, but he took that as a wonderful thing. He wouldn’t have taken it back anyway. There were still things that you were holding onto, things that you hadn’t let slip in your conversations. That hardly deterred him. It would take time. These things didn’t just happen. Eventually you would let him in all the way and he would show you his true self. It was only a matter of-

Yixing stopped. Out of nowhere, his vision had blurred, blackspots covering bits of the forest. He wavered from side to side as he tried to regain his footing. The tree shifted back and forth like a teeter-totter. He pushed himself forward. He needed to get back to the house. But only a few steps and his head exploded with pain. He whimpered and, after a minute or so, he fell to the ground and the blackness took over.

[jadethest0ne]

In need of Refueling, Chapter 11 - Help

Summary:  “You?! Why would I trust you? You have brought me nothing but failure. Time and time again; nothing but disappointment!”

His father’s words might have been a result of his possession by the  White Bone Spirit, but whether or not they were his true thoughts, Red  Son vows to prove them wrong. To do so he seeks to attain a power strong enough to destroy his father’s immortal enemy. After all, he’d much rather throw fire at his problems.

Word Count: 2173

Ratings/Warnings:  Teen and up; injury, burns, angst and hurt/comfort, toxic thoughts caused by toxic parents, panic attacks, abuse

Notes: Time for Red Son and Sandy to have a talk

Credits: Big thanks to @painted-arachnid and @simplyfornardo  for helping me bounce ideas off of them. And also thanks to @lemonsqueazie for providing me with “Journey to the West” lore. I don’t know much about the original novel or other iterations, but I still tried to keep  some things compliant with the lore. You should check all of them out, since they’re really great content creators with neat ideas!  

Read on AO3

———-

He must have passed out at some point because Red Son wakes up, finding himself still on the floor, leaning up against the bed. Pillows and blankets have been stuffed around him and a heater has been placed in the small space. The shivers he was experiencing earlier have quieted down to a low rumble beneath his skin, and he feels much more cozy.

There is a tray in front of him as well, with some more tea and a couple of bean buns on it. From the steam coming from the tea, he can tell it is still warm. The steam reminds him of his sudden lack of powers, and he sinks his nose down into the blankets, hitching his shoulders up to his ears in remembered embarrassment and shame. Not only is he injured, but without his powers he is utterly defenseless.

A gurgle from his stomach alerts him to how empty it is, and he eyes the tray once more. He weighs having to leave his little cocoon of warmth to eat, but ultimately decides that having something warm to eat and drink will satisfy both his hunger and his need for heat. The thought that they might be poisoned did cross his mind, but he logics that if the Blue One was going to kill him, he wouldn’t have bothered healing him first. No, there had to be another reason he was going through all this trouble.

Red Son worms his arm out from the blankets and reaches down to the tray, picking up a bun and sinking his teeth into the plump bread. It has the perfect texture - soft and pliant, but firm enough that there isn’t a hint of sogginess where it touches the sweet beans inside. The bean paste has a nice creamy texture to it, with grains of surgery goodness. A contented mumble purrs out of his mouth as he chews on the sweet treat. He gets through half a bun before his dry throat reminds him to slow down and drink something. He takes a sip of the tea, which has a pleasant bitterness to it, with a mixture of ginger and flowery fragrance balancing it out. The tea and the buns compliment each other nicely. Red Son couldn’t remember eating or drinking something with so much apparent care and flavor put into it in a long time. If the big guy’s snacks taste this good, he wonders vaguely what any meals he makes taste like. Not like Red Son intends to stick around very long to find out though. A part of him that he doesn’t want to listen to quite yet, wonders where he’d even go.

Instead, he turns his thoughts to his present circumstances. Where is that big guy anyway? There are still a few cats in the room, but true to the man’s warnings they stay away, eyeing Red Son cautiously. Chewing through the first bean bun, he picks up the second one and notices another two items on the tray - a bell and a note. The note says ‘Red Son: I hope you enjoy the tea and bean buns. Please ring the bell if you need assistance.’

Red Son rolls his eyes at this. Like he wants anything to do with an enemy. Then again, he did seem to care for his injuries and give him some (extremely tasty) tea and snacks. But why? Red Son still can’t figure that out. He huffs out an anxious breath and puts down the last half of the second bean bun, stomach now having been filled despite the small amount of food. He slowly nurses the rest of his tea as he contemplates the situation. Where would he go? What happened to his parents? Would they even want a now powerless demon like him around?

After staring out at space for a bit, getting distracted at nothing but the same questions rolling around in his brain, he notices that his tea has gotten a bit cold. His body is also really achy from sleeping on the floor the whole time. He tentatively stretches out his sore limbs as best he can despite the bandages. He contemplates the distance from the floor to the bed, and decides that he can totally get up there by himself. He struggles onto his knees, careful of his sore ankle, and puts a hand on the bed.

A meow distracts his progress. He looks down to see that blue cat with the tuft of fur that matches the big guy’s mohawk. It’s pawing at his leg and giving him a meaningful look.

“What’s wrong with you? Go away! I’m trying to do something!” Red Son swats at the cat.

The cat responds with more meowing.

“Pft, dumb loud cats,” Red Son grumbles as he tries to ignore the yowling, and shifts his body upwards. He wobbles on one leg, but keeps steady with his hand on the bed. Unfortunately, the bedding is too fluffy to give him sturdy enough leverage to help him up to it. He lurches forward trying to use the momentum to get him up, but instead finds himself doubled over in pain, as his ribs protest the movement. His leg gives a final wobble, and he slips back to the floor with a grunt. He muffles a yell of pain and frustration in the soft mattress.

“Are you all right?”

The loud, but somehow still soft voice causes Red Son to flinch back. He swallows another grunt of pain, in the form of a growl he throws at the Blue One who had appeared in the room. “Of course I’m not all right! I-- I…” He looks to the side unhappily. “I can’t get into the bed.”

“You could have asked for help,” the man says matter-of-factly. “I left a bell.” He smiles genuinely and points to the bell still on the tray.

“I don’t need your help.” Red Son grumbles.

The blue man blinks, then squats down to Red Son’s level, and tilts his eyebrows upward, as if trying his best to appear as small and non-threatening as can be. “It’s okay to ask for help, you know?”

With an eye-roll, Red Son huffs, “Well, I didn’t ask for your help.”

“Technically, you did,” the man points up a finger.

“Listen,” Red Son says ignoring that obvious falsehood. “I’ve been completely fine on my own before. I’ve never had to ask for help! I don’t know what you’re doing here by bandaging me up and stuff, but I’m not playing your game! I don’t need your help! I can do this myself if I just try a bit more!”

“I’m sure you can!”

Red Son gives him a rueful look at his placating tone.

The man’s eyes soften. “But you don’t have to.”

Red Son’s instinct would be to argue further, but there’s something just so darn honest about the man’s tone and a gentleness in his eyes. He mulled over the man’s words. He hadn’t thought of it that way.

The man speaks up again, his gentle demeanor not changing in the slightest. “Would you like to get in the bed?”

“Yes.”

“Can you get in the bed by yourself?”

“...Not… easily,” Red Son decides.

“Would it be easier and less painful if I helped you?”

“Yes.”

“Would it be okay if I helped you get in the bed?” The man holds out an offering hand, palm up.

Red Son looks between it and the man. He nods slowly.

“Okay!” The Blue One beams like Red Son just made his day.

Red Son grimaces and squints as if he is looking directly at the sun.

It ends up being much easier getting into bed with the man’s help. Red Son gets the feeling that the Blue One could’ve just picked him up and put him in bed. But he took care to allow Red Son to go through the motions of pulling himself up and shifting into a sitting position on the bed, as if he had done it on his own, and not that his entire weight was being supported by the Blue One. Red Son decides to not dwell on that fact, and tries to hold onto the last dregs of dignity he had left. Once in bed, the man moved the pillows and blankets back in place once again creating a warm cocoon for the demon to be nestled in. He also moved the heater closer to the bed, and brought him a new cup of warm tea.

A big part of Red Son hates all of this unnecessary pampering, but he was beginning to get very tired and cold again and he didn’t have the energy to fight back.

“Why did you help me?” Red Son asks finally.

“Like I said before, you asked me to!” the man says jovially.

“No, not the bed thing - why did you rescue me?”

“You asked me to do that, too!” Upon seeing Red Son’s disbelieving expression he says, “Well, technically, I don’t think you knew it was me you were asking - you were kind of out of it -  and also maybe you don’t remember because of the whole shock, and cold, and being injured thing…” Red Son notes that the blue one really likes talking with his hands as they gesture about in his explanation. Either way, Red Son is not convinced.

“But why? This must be some sort of trick, or maybe a way to hold me hostage for-- you’re not going to try to use me as leverage for my parents, are you? Or-- what happened to my parents?! You haven’t captured them, too?!” Red Son’s voice starts pitching wildly, and he casts a highly suspicious gaze at the man.

“Woah, woah there! It’s not any of that!” The man holds up his hands in surrender. “MK was able to stop DBK. It’s… difficult to explain what happened, but you all were carried away by a, uh, flash flood…” Red Son quirks an incredulous eyebrow up at that. But the Blue One continues, “I happened to find you washed up on shore by my house boat. To be honest, I don’t know what happened to your parents. ” He shrugs apologetically, as Red Son’s eyebrows knit together at that revelation.

He mulls over the explanation. But something didn’t track right. “But I-- I attacked your friends. We’re… enemies! There’s… no way you would help me unless you had some sort of a plot.”

“Red Son,” the Blue One says, (again with that annoying, honest, gentle voice!). “I helped you because you asked, and I wanted to. No other reason than that. You are free to go and look for your parents whenever you want.”

Red Son sits there, confused. He considers himself very good at reading people. If this guy wanted to intimidate him and hold him hostage, he could easily do so through force, if his appearance is any indication of that. But instead he used everything in his power to appear not threatening. So either the Blue One was one of the best liars that Red Son had ever seen, or he was telling the truth. And he isn’t sure which explanation perplexed him more. Furthermore, if he was free to go and he did find his parents, would they even want him back? Maybe this was secretly a ruse to do so and find that they had actually disowned them. He would certainly deserve that after what he did…

Red Son shakes his head as if to rid himself of those thoughts. “How did you know my name?” he asks instead.

“I try to remember the names of everybody that I know.” The man gives a toothy smile, and points a thumb at himself. “My name’s Sandy, by the way!”

Red Son scrunches up his nose in what he hopes is convincing disgust and not embarrassment at not knowing an enemy’s name. “O-of course I knew that was your name, Blue One! I just don’t lower myself to using the names of peasants!” He tries to make a show of folding his arms, but it’s difficult when one is bandaged to his torso.

The Blue One laughs loud and heartily, which is not the reaction that Red Son wanted, but by now he supposes is the reaction he should expect from this impossibly happy man. “That’s fine! But please,” he places the tray with the bell on a table next to the bed. “Feel free to ask for assistance if you ever need it!”

Red Son grunts in response and buries his nose back under the covers, sinking into the cocoon of blankets. He realizes that he is still very tired and his eyes drift shut. He feels that he can maybe relax a little bit around the Blue On-- Sandy. Still, uncertainty about his parents and his powers bubble beneath the surface. Maybe it would be better if he stayed here. He couldn’t show his face to his parents. Not after all this.

start || <– previous // next –>

[themuseic]

Only Fools (Chapter  9)

(Art Credit: @clumsycopy)

Fic Summary: Sent to Boone County, West Virginia on an assignment, you find yourself engulfed your work. How could you possibly find time for anything else? Even if “anything else” includes the tall, kind, and handsome bartender from down the road?

Word Count: 4.2k

Read Chapter 8 here.

Read here on AO3.

Warnings: Smut, Vaginal Fingering, PIV Sex, Outdoor Sex, Swearing, Temperature Play. Zippy knows a lot about cougars now. 

Author’s Note: It took a long time, but I got this chapter ready eventually! Two things. One, I finished plotting! So some new tags are getting added to AO3, but I know I do warnings on here. Be advised that there is some angst upcoming, and those chapters will be tagged as such. Second! If you enjoy this chapter, you just might like Trail Cam, by @clydesfavoritegirl​! Even if you don’t, check out Kylie’s anyway!! It seems Clyde just exudes “outdoor sex” vibes. As always, thank you for reading <3 

After you had begun your freelance work, you quickly discovered that you worked best alone. You had been asked to take a partner on your first assignment, a greenhorn at the agency you were contracted by. Sure, the guy was nice enough, but once you had to shush him for just about the millionth time in the camouflaged blind while you tried to count the species of birds hopping and flitting through the lush meadow, you knew that your time would be best spent on your own. From that moment on, you made sure to write into all contracts that you would operate on your terms, and if you didn’t want to bring a partner on assignment there was nothing they could do about it. 

And that’s how you had worked for years since then. You had been to every corner of the country and seen it all by yourself. That was more than fine with you. You were happy to get your work done alone, you actually preferred it. 

It didn’t surprise you though. It didn’t surprise you that when Clyde started coming out to help you on the trail, your desire for solitude flew out the window faster than the birds had fled from your first work partner. It didn’t surprise you that you planned your trips out around his schedule at the bar. 

It didn’t surprise you. 

Joe Bang had tried to convince you the Logan brothers were stupid. Dim. You didn’t have to try to prove him wrong though, Clyde did that by himself.

He was more than curious, he was just one hair shy of ravenous. Ravenous for information, the usually quiet man was a rapid-fire list of questions. He would ask how to set things up, why you put them out. He would hover over your shoulder, watching your every move and lightly touching your arm before he would ask about the note you had just written down. And when you were sitting at the bar reviewing footage, flicking through data, or interviewing someone who just swore they knew where the den might be, Clyde was on the other side of your laptop, ready to ask a question, celebrate a breakthrough, or slide you a drink - whatever you might need. 

He would get a special glint in his eye when you told him it was time to go out and collect your data. Without fail, he would proclaim an early last call at the Duck Tape and be at the trailer, asleep and curled around you at a decent time, so that he wouldn’t be the one holding you up in the morning. Clyde had amassed a basket of trail snacks so the two of you were always fed, and he would, more often than not, be ready and parked on the porch, his tin of coffee in his hand, before you had even brushed your teeth.

Clyde observed how you would work with your equipment when you said that you were just fine handling them on your own, and in just a few times out, he was handing you tools before you even knew you had to ask for them.

It was an improvised dance, but you seemed to be in sync. Clyde anticipated your moves and your needs, making each venture out into the backwoods of West Virginia easier every time. 

By the time you moseyed out in mid-January to collect more data, more indications of the number of eastern cougars in the woods, you would put money down that Clyde could go out by himself and do absolutely everything right. 

With backpacks strapped to your bodies, packed full of equipment and snacks, the two of you trekked out. The trail was covered in a light dusting of snow, and the air around your noses condensed into wisps of mist that were quickly carried away by the slight breeze. The trail was easy, made just a bit more difficult by the icy snow, but it was peaceful. It didn’t take too long to reach the area you had staked with cameras, and the minute you arrived, you got to work. 

“So, the cougars should be in hibernation now right?” he asked as he popped an amber piece of dried apricot into his mouth, gazing at the winter landscape sprawled around you. That boy did love his snacks. 

You shook your head as you fiddled with the memory card of the camera you held in your lap, seated in a bank of snow you had chosen as the day's office chair. “No actually,” you replied, wiping your nose as it ran in the cold. “Cougars don’t hibernate. They have an advantage in the winter, so they stay out and hunting.”

Clyde cocked his eyebrow at you. “Advantage? How so?”

You grunted as you stood up, the tension of the pearlescent fabric of your snow gear working against you as you lifted yourself from the ground. Dusting off the snow that had collected in the hem of your clothing, you began to scan the ground for what you were looking for. It wasn’t hard to find what you were looking for. 

“Oh Clyde, here! Come look.”

He sauntered over, tucking the small bag of apricots into the pocket of his jacket. He crouched down to peer at the spot you were pointing at and he wrapped his arm around your leg, hugging you close. “Alright baby. What am I lookin’ at?'' he looked up to you, one eye squeezed shut in question. 

You laughed and carded your hand through his hair, pushing the thick black waves into a puff on the crown of his head. “You didn’t even give me a chance to show you!,” you huffed, collapsing into a crouch next to him. He removed his arm from your leg just in time, and adjusted it to lay around your waist as you settled next to him. 

You reached your arm out to gesture at the print in front of you. “See this? It’s a cougar paw. Notice anything about it?”

Clyde’s head tilted into you. “Uhh,” he hummed, “it’s got pretty big claws.” He ghosted the outline of the deep punctures the claws had in fact left in the snow. 

Giggling, you turned to plant a kiss on Clyde’s jaw and pushed into it with your nose. “You’re right, they are. But look at the whole paw.” Clyde’s face screwed up. “Darlin’, it looks like just about every paw I’ve seen before.” He shrugged. “Got no clue.”

You splayed your hand over the imprint in the snow. “Look how big it is.” Clyde unwrapped his arm from your body, and eclipsed your hand with his. “Don’t look too big to me,” he teased as he closed his fingers around yours. Laughter pealed from your chest, and you smacked his shoulder with your free hand. “Okay, but look! It is pretty big,” you whined, a faux pout creeping on to your face. 

“Alright, I guess you’re not wrong. But what’s that got to do with hibernation?”

“Their paws help them in winter. They’re fast, agile. They have the advantage, really nothing can escape a cougar in the snow.” You shrugged. “They were made for it. They can get really any prey they want.” 

Clyde whistled. “Impressive. Nature really has a way of workin’ huh?” He reached forward with his metal fingers and laid them next to the print on the white powder. Your eyes softened. You could only guess at what was running through his mind. “Hey,” you whispered, hooking your finger underneath his jaw and pulling his face to look at you. “You know things happen for a reason.”

His soft eyes bored into your own, and you could feel your heart shatter in that instant. Curling your fingers into the skin of his jaw, you beckoned him close, planting a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered, necking back into you as he gave your side a light squeeze. You reached up to tap his cheek lightly. “C’mon. Let’s get the rest of this done.” The pair of you stood and meandered back to the work you had set out to complete. 

~~~

The last camera to pull down was suspended high on a birch tree.

You gazed up at it, hands firmly planted on your hips. Head cocked, you assessed the easiest way to get it, as you could hear Clyde rustling with his pack behind you. It would be easier for him to get it, you knew that, but you had done it before, so you figured you could do it now. 

The stretch ran down the outside of your arm as you strained to reach the camera, your tongue poking out of the side of your mouth in concentration. You wrapped your arm around the thin birch tree and pushed off of the nearby boulder with your boot. 

“I can just get that camera down for ya darlin’,” Clyde offered as he processed the sounds of your struggle. 

You turned to smile at him. “No thank you, Clyde. Part of the fun is seeing if I can do it.” Your grin split into a smile as you hoisted yourself a few inches higher, just enough for your fingers to snag the mounted camera. You ripped it off of the tree, the zip ties that held it in place snapping back over your knuckles sharply. “Ah hah!” you exclaimed, your hand punching the air to mark your success. You whipped your head around to wink at Clyde and flipped your body to sit right where your foot was planted on the boulder.

You perched on the edge of the boulder and tossed the camera between your hands triumphantly. Clyde sauntered over and pushed your legs apart in one swift movement. He settled his hips between your knees, his hands lifting to settle on the line of your hips. Tilting his head, Clyde looked to the piece of equipment in your hand. “Well look at that darlin’, you got that down real easy,” he mused as he pushed his head forward to nuzzle against your forehead. You grinned as your eyelids drifted shut and you pushed yourself up to reciprocate the caress. 

“Got to where I am somehow, right?” you laughed as your free hand reached up to cup the side of Clydes face. He jerked his eyebrows skyward as he chuckled. “Now, I never said you weren’t good at what you do,” he clarified, his pout becoming more pronounced as he backpedaled his statement. “Just want to help is all.” 

You grinned and slid your hand around to the backside of his neck, tugging him forward to plant a kiss on his plump lower lip, like you had yearned to do so many times before. 

“Don’t worry about me Clyde,” you muttered low against his hot breath. “I can take care of myself.”

He scoffed against your lips and caused a small cloud of air to waft over your skin as he nuzzled his nose into your cheekbone. “I’m always gonna worry about you,” he sighed as he slipped his ice cold fingers, both metal and flesh, under the hem of your tops and pressed them into your skin. You yelped at the sensation and jumped, finding yourself pressed closer to his chest. He chuckled as he pushed small circles into your skin. 

“Chilly?” he huffed as his lips curled into a smile on your own. 

You smacked him playfully, which only made him slide his hands further up your back. A laugh bubbled up your throat, and you threw your head back as you pushed your hands against his strong biceps and your feet kicked at nothing, trying to remove his icicle limbs from your skin. Clyde took the opportunity to dive forward and place kisses along the length of your exposed neck. 

Clyde’s mouth was hot against the skin of your neck. The feeling allowed you to relax, your mind distracted from the cold rivers he traced into your back. The trail of kisses he left was instantly cooled by the crisp mountain air as he trailed his affections down to the slice of skin he had exposed as he tugged down the collar of your sweater. You sighed with content, rolling your head back to provide him access to your pulse. 

He grunted as he was met with resistance from your woolen sweater. It would not budge a single millimeter further, barring him access to your nipple that had been peaked swollen and stiff by the sting of winter. You laughed as you felt the cool metal of his prosthetic tug at the neckline of your top and your hand shot up to capture his jaw and deepen your kiss. 

Clyde leaned into you, his hips splitting your legs further along the rough boulder edge. You leaned back on a deep exhale, and he collapsed on top of you, his pelvis settling in between your spread thighs. His hard erection tented even his padded snow pants and you could feel it against your clothed heat, pulling slick from you. You keened at the feeling and pushed your hips up into his.  “Needy today, baby?” Clyde cooed, peering down his nose to gaze at you, his eyes hooded with arousal. You bit at your lip and sighed. He smirked and straightened up, pulling away from you. He smacked the outside of your thigh and you pouted at how your fleece lined pants absorbed the impact. “C’mon, up,” he ordered. “Need you bent over this rock. Pants down.” 

You pushed yourself out of your prone position and hopped off of the lip of the boulder. Without a second thought, you undid the buttons of your pants and wriggled them down, just far enough to allow Clyde access to your dripping cunt. You shuddered at the sensation of the crisp air blowing across your heat. You inhaled once, twice. Preparing yourself for Clyde, for what he did to you every time, without fail. For when he would split you open effortlessly. 

You were lost in thought, mentally preparing yourself, but you cried out when Clyde split your folds with two fingers. He ran them from your clit to your entrance, collecting your arousal on his ice cold digits. The sensation was unlike anything you had felt before. You were used to soft, warm encounters, under covers or with heaters close by. But the icy bite of his hands made your thighs vibrate, your breath catch. You pushed your hips back into his hand, groaning at the sensation of his thick fingers splitting as they stroked the sides of your clit. 

Clyde tsk’ed and splayed his fingers, grabbing your cunt in his hand to stop the ministrations of your hips. “You know I’ll give you what you need.” He started to rock his hand. “You just gotta be patient for me.” The pressure he so expertly pushed into your wet pussy dragged a low moan from you and he smiled. He loved how you would come apart for him. 

He dragged his fingers over your heat, dancing around your entrance, teasing you. Each movement coaxed a breeze of the frigid air over your exposed heat, and you clenched at the feeling. He felt your skin flutter beneath him and he eased his middle finger into you, relishing in the warmth of your body, the pulse of your walls.

“Oh my god, Clyde,” you groaned as the sensation of his freezing finger filled you up. It made you that much more sensitive. You became aware of parts of yourself like you had never felt before, and your inner walls pulsed in response. “You tryna break my finger off, sweetheart?” Clyde growled into your ear. He rocked in and out of you, and just when his first finger had nearly warmed to your body temperature, he thrust a second in with it. 

You keened at the feeling and lurched forward. Clyde’s arm wrapped around you, his body folded over and draped across your back. He pulled your hips back into him in time with the thrusts of his arm, fingering your deeper, deeper. “Gotta stretch you out,” he crooned. You moaned in response, your head lolling to the side. Clyde rolled his head with you, and suckled at your neck. 

“Fuck, your fingers are so big Clyde,” you whimpered, and he curled his fingers deep inside you. The resulting squelch of your arousal pulled a groan from Clyde, and your walls pulsed on his fingers. 

God, he knew your body. He could make you cry, make you cum, make you worship a nameless god on just two of his fingers. But still, as much as you needed him, he needed you. And taking you in a forest swathed in white was more than a fantasy, it was a goddamn dream. 

You focused on the frigid surface of the rock, trying to avoid thrusting your hips back into Clyde’s hand, when he ripped his hand from you. A high whine fell from your lips in protest, even though you could already hear Clyde grappling with his pants. You knew what would follow and you yearned for it nonetheless. 

You dragged your fingers across the rough face of the rock until your focus was suddenly shattered by the sensation of Clyde’s thick girth splitting your lips open as he eased into you at a snail’s pace. Inch by inch he pushed into you, taking his time to feel your flesh give way to him, and your mouth fell open into a silent cry. 

It was blissful torture. 

Clyde was a behemoth. No matter how many times he speared you with his thick, veiny girth, each time felt like your first. It was a delicious burn, a delightful pressure. You could have sworn you felt the head of his cock drag over the ripples and ridges of your pussy, and you tilted your hips, allowing him access to the deepest parts of you. 

Your nipples strained with arousal, the stiff buds almost painful as they brushed against your sweater. “Clyde-e,” you panted, barely able to pull in breath with the sharp pressure of Clyde filling you completely. He knocked the breath out of you with each thrust forward, and when he heard your sigh he laughed. 

“Oh darlin’, you can’t even talk?” He taunted lovingly. “Damn shame, you got such a pretty voice.” He fell forward to whisper in your ear. “Love hearin’ you whine for me baby. Wonder if I can get you to anyway.” Clyde’s hips jerked forward and the spongy hot head of his cock rammed into you. Your mouth fell open into a voiceless gasp, and he blew out a breath of disapproval. 

“Now that just won't do.”

With his metal arm braced against the boulder in front of you, Clyde shoved his free hand into your pants. He found your clit in a second and circled it tightly with the rough pad of his middle finger. Your pussy squeezed his cock on each thrust into you, and you felt a familiar warmth begin to build within your stomach. 

Clyde felt the whispers of you beginning to tighten up on him and he smirked. “Feelin’ good?” he hummed. You nodded silently in response. He squeezed your waist. “What was that?”

“It feels good… ah!” you replied breathily, exclaiming as Clyde’s finger hit the underside of your clit just right, and made your knees turn to jelly. He grinned. “That’s right.”

Almost immediately, he let up. It was almost as if he wanted to drag this out, hold you right at the precipice of orgasm without letting you tip over for as long as he can. And if you had asked him? That was precisely what he wanted. 

The warm blanket of his body left your back and the rush of cool air sent a shiver through every end of every nerve. “Fuck, you take me so good.” Clyde groaned as he leaned back and stared down at where his thick length disappeared into you. “This pretty pussy takes me so deep.” 

You whined at his words. It was the only sound you could manage to push past your lips as he rocked in and out of you. 

Clyde couldn’t rip his eyes from your cunt as he watched you swallow him so easily. His jaw was slack, and he could have drooled had he not been snapped from his reverie by your whine. On his next thrust, he leaned forward, wrapped his arm around you, and yanked you up to his chest. “Fuck!” you gasped as the new arch in your back let Clyde pummel your cervix, knocking into you on each thrust. 

He groaned, deep and gravely. “Oh shit, you’re so sexy darlin’.” Clyde’s breath caught as he felt your walls begin to flutter and spasm. He shoved his face into the crook of your shoulder and blew his hot breath across your ear. “You about to cum pretty girl? You about to cum on my cock?” 

You keened. “Yes, Clyde, yes!” 

“Rub that little clit for me baby, cum for me right now.” 

You shoved your hand in your pants in an instant, finding your swollen clit and spreading your juices around the nub. You rubbed it furiously, your mind nearly numb with the overwhelming feeling of Clyde splitting you in two. The pressure mounted steadily in your stomach, the pressure of impending orgasm, and you could feel your thighs beginning to shake. You sighed his name. 

“Yeah baby?”

“Oh fuck, I’m cumming.”

You cried out as your orgasm crashed over you and you felt your walls pulsing, clenching on Clyde’s length. He groaned into your ear, and you felt the familiar warmth of his spend gush out of your pussy as he worked you both through your orgasms.

You pulsed together, his thrusts slowly, slowly, slowly coming to a stop, until he was still against you. Your thighs shook against him and he pulled up on your waist, easing the burden of your position off of your legs. Panting, Clyde turned his head to plant a kiss on your temple. His lips lingered on your skin, and you felt his hot breath puff against your forehead, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Fuck darlin’,” Clyde muttered into you. “You feel so good, I don’t want to move.” He ducked his head and nibbled at your earlobe. “I could just stay here. Wait ‘til I get hard again, and fuck you right here again, on your hands and knees,” he growled. 

You reached your palm up to cup his cheek. “As good as that sounds, I think we might freeze before we got the chance.” Clyde sighed and leaned into your palm.

“I guess.”

You stayed like that, connected, reveling in the feeling of the other, for a few beats longer. That was, until the chill of the air finally did settle over the parts you had exposed to the elements, and you started to feel that familiar bite of winter. Carefully, Clyde eased himself out of you, and you missed the comforting pressure deep in your stomach. 

You shimmied your pants over your ass and slotted the button into its hole, and you felt the stickiness of Clyde’s cum start to leak from you. You looked down to your pants, hoping the viscous liquid wouldn’t start to seep through. As you looked for any spots of wetness, you spied a curious item on the ground.

“Oh fuck Clyde,” you breathed, your eyes transfixed on a particular spot on the ground.

“What’s that darlin’?” he asked as he jumped slightly to yank his pants back up his body. You nodded your head towards the offending area. 

The camera you had just pulled down from the trees had found a new home on the floor, the lens pointed up to the sky. Just below where you and Clyde had just fucked.

“It’s motion activated.” You could feel your cheeks warming at the thought of it, and your eyes widened as you realized just what that meant.  

Clyde on the other hand found the humor in the situation. He chuckled and reached down to scoop up the piece of equipment and turned it over in his hands. “Hm. Well, sounds like we made a little surprise home video,” he teased with a wink. 

You threw your hands over your face and rubbed your eyes. “Oh god, I have to edit that right away,” you groaned. Your fingers split open over your eyes, and you stared Clyde down. “Promise to not let me forget, I can’t let that get to anyone.” 

“Of course darlin’,” Clyde wove his arm around your lower back and pulled you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “As long as you keep the footage you cut.” You rolled your eyes and landed a joking smack on his chest. “Hey!” he scoffed with a wink. “Least you can do, me helping you out on these missions like this and all. It can be my payment.”

“Oh, you know you like coming out here.” You wagged your tongue at him and turned to collect your bags. Almost immediately you were stopped by a sharp pinch to your ass, and you yelped. You shot a glare back at Clyde, trying to suppress the smile about to break across your face. He laughed, scooped his pack up from the ground, and wove his arm around your waist. Clyde didn’t let go of you the entire hike back to the trailer. 

~~~

Taglist: @mind-p0llution @thedivinemissm @clydesducktape @finn-ray-nal-beads @ladygrey03 @desiraypark @1800-fight-me @aloneandsleepless​ @hopeamarsu​ (Comment or message me to be added or removed!)

[starsfic]

The Ghosts of Fiery Cloud Manor- Chapter 2: The Scholar's Manor

Summary: Xiaotian meets Tang and his partner.

AO3

-_-

"QI XIAOTIAN!"

The moment he stepped foot in the village, Xiaotian found himself freezing. The yelling was too close. Too close to the bark of his father. He slapped himself out of those thoughts, turning.

A man in a white and brown robe was hurrying up, red scarf fluttering after him. He came to a stop, leaning on his knees to pant. "Xiaotian, correct?" he said as he straightened, brushing dirt off his robe.

Xiaotian nodded, holding out his hand. "You must be Mr. Tang, right?"

The scholar gave his hand a firm shake. "Indeed, I am!" Tang said, using his other hand to fix his glasses. They turned at footsteps, watching another man, dressed in a yellow sweater, hurry up. "And this is my partner Sun Wukong."

"Like the Monkey King?" He couldn't help it. He had been obsessed with the stories since he was a kid.

For some reason, panic flashed across Tang's face. "Yes! Like the Monkey King! Not exactly like the Monkey King but close..."

Wukong took over at the scholar nervously laughed. "He's a big fan." He stage-whispered. "Anyway, kid, he saw your text and freaked out, thinking someone was still there and you were hurt or something."

"Actually…"

He explained about the lack of footprints in the dust and the paintings. Tang visibly calmed when he heard that there hadn’t been an actual intruder. “You’re right, the paintings still being there are a good sign.” He rubbed his chin in thought, not seeming to notice as Wukong wrapped an arm around his shoulder and start leading him down to the village, gesturing for Xiaotian to follow. “It’s possible that the stories kept any wannabe thieves away…”

“The stories?”

Tang glanced at him with a smile, his next words bearing a sharp contrast.

“Oh, the ghost stories.”

-_-

Sunlight drew Xiaotian from slumber. He didn’t get out of bed immediately, mulling over dinner last night.

In the inn’s dining room, over a meal of vegetarian noodles, Tang had laid down the history of Fiery Cloud Manor. Yes, the manor was built right where Red Boy, one of the most famous villains of Journey to the West, was claimed to live, giving the manor its name. One of Tang’s ancestors had built the manor centuries ago after he came back from studying in Britain. A few weeks after his sudden death, the manor had suddenly been abandoned and locked up and none of Tang’s family allowed to go in.

Which led to the rumors of ghosts.

But what kept playing Xiaotian’s minds was what Wukong had said, clearly not intending to be heard.

“Hopefully, ghosts are the only thing that’s in there…”

He finally pulled himself out of bed, stretching. He got dressed and packed a bag, a plan outlining in his mind. Tang didn’t have any maps of the manor, so Xiaotian would figure out the layout of the manor and get a feel for what was there and what needed to be done. He needed cleaning product and a unit more specific than ‘a lot’ would be helpful.

When he opened his door, the monkey waiting outside wasted no time in clinging to his front. “Seriously?” Xiaotian voiced, staring at the monkey. It gave a happy chirp. “This has to stop, you can’t get attached.” He continued on this vein as he walked downstairs, not even noticing the innkeeper, Mr. Syntax, watching until he chuckled.

“Good company?”

“He’s persistent,” Xiaotian said, plopping the monkey back onto the counter. “I’ll give him that. Hey, do you know if there’s anywhere I can get a packed lunch?” The monkey reached for his loose hair and he batted its hands away. “I want to get a full day out in the manor.”

“Oh, I’ll whip something up while you’re eating breakfast.”

Xiaotian thanked him and headed into the pub, ordering some dumplings. He couldn’t resist snapping a picture and texting it to Pigsy. Pretty good, but not as good as yours! A few minutes later, there was a response of Good. Miss you. Xiaotian sent back a miss you! before the innkeeper handed him a brown paper bag. He headed out and soon found the trail again.

The soft mist of morning lingered around him as he started his hike. Now that Xiaotian was slightly more awake, he noticed more details on his walk. Bull and monkey statues, worn away by weather and time, lined the path. Scattered here and there were wild peach trees, soft breezes scattering pink and white petals. With the sunrise, it was beautiful.

By the time Fiery Cloud Manor came into view, he was smiling. His smile stopped when he saw the closed gate…

And no headband.

Some critter must've gotten curious. At least he had a spare...which he had forgotten. Xiaotian pushed that aside and headed through the gate and to the door, making sure to wedge two large rocks he found to prop open the doors. When that was done, he studied the floor.

The entrance hall floor was made of red marble, gold veins cracking through it. The wallpaper was a similar shade of red- clearly, Tang’s ancestor hadn’t cared about how red on red would look- and when he wiped some dust away, he found a pattern of bulls. Above, a crystal chandelier would’ve offered light, but it was more spiderweb than crystal. Xiaotian shivered at the thought of spiders. “You probably have a lot of them,” he said out loud. His voice bounced off the walls, echoing into the depths. “You probably hate that- believe me, I would.”

Weirdly, he felt less weird talking to the house than the monkey.

“Let’s get to know each other.”

He set down the hallway, pulling out his phone to start his playlist. He hummed along to the music as he found more paintings, as well as vases and decorative armor and weapons. Which was weird. Wouldn’t someone take something like that when the house was abandoned? Xiaotian found himself pushing those thoughts away when he came to a traditional paper push door, a pair of large flames decorating it.

He pushed them open, sending dust scattering. The marble floor in this room had been replaced with wood with a reddish tint to it. Xiaotian moved his gaze up and yelped when he looked back.

"Okay." He said when his heart stopped racing. His several reflections repeated the motions of his mouth. "Mirrors. Didn't expect mirrors." Xiaotian headed in. There had to be windows somewhere, right?

Nope. All Xiaotian found in what he was recognizing as a ballroom were mirrors, occasionally broken by the white wall underneath. This room probably looked less creepy when the golden chandeliers above were lit. But for now, Xiaotian was glad to get out.

The rest of the manor was less creepy, thankfully. Four floors and an attic were open for examination. He found a door that must've led to a basement, but the door held firm when Xiaotian had tried to open it. He brushed it off, happy to wait to deal with that, and continued his exploration. Most of all, he found Tang wasn't kidding when he had said that the manor had been abandoned suddenly.

None of the furniture looked missing. The decor was still decorating. Some of the rooms still had clothes in their closets. Then Xiaotian entered the library. "Are you kidding?!" he yelled to nobody. "Who just leaves their books?!"

There wasn't a single gap in the bookshelves that filled the room. There was a marble fireplace, any fire having long since died out, and dusty furniture. There was a desk that, under further examination, looked like whoever had been writing had simply gone up to get a snack and had never come back. A portrait of a familiar woman- the same woman from the painting downstairs, that horn hairstyle was hard to miss- looked down at the desk with a look of distaste.

"I feel you." he told her.

He continued his examination, humming along to the next song to come on. He froze when a kid screamed for more candy. "Mei!" Xiaotian grabbed his phone, turning it on to show it had gone to his Don't Even Think About It playlist. In retrospective, he probably shouldn't have a playlist titled this. Or use Xiaojiao's birthday as his passcode.

He switched it to a different playlist and then turned to texting his best friend. You're five hours away, how are you still driving me crazy?

A minute later, his phone lit up with a call from Xiaojiao. He answered it and her giggle filled the library. "Sounds like someone found the new song!"

"Yeah, that horrible Disney remix. Thank you for that."

Xiaojiao let out a snort, soon calming. "So, how is it? Epic disaster or nice fixer-upper?"

Xiaotian looked around. "More like epic fixer-upper. Mr. Tang was right- this is the perfect place for a museum."

"How bad is it?"

That was another weird thing. For a house that had been abandoned for at least a century, there was surprisingly no damage. "Just some dust, cobwebs, and grime here and there. But seriously, this place is amazing."

"I see you found your soulmate."

He couldn't help his own snort of laughter. "Yes, I predict a spring wedding. I wish you were here to see it-" Something hit his back and he screamed. For a moment, there was nothing but panic.

Finally, the creature hopped off…

And the inn monkey blinked innocently up at him.

"MK?! Is everything okay?!"

"Fine!" Xiaotian said, feeling his heart race from the scare. "It's just the monkey."

"...the monkey?"

Said monkey let out a chirp before hopping up onto his shirt, reaching for the paper bag. "No," he told it, holding the bag as far as he could. "I will not feed you! Sorry, Xiaojiao, this monkey apparently likes to hop from the local nature reserve."

There was a coo from the other end before someone else spoke. "Okay, I have to go!" Xiaojiao said. Xiaotian froze at her planning voice. "Love you, bye!" And just like that, she was gone.

He was broken out of his confusion by paws batting at his hair and he gave in. "Fine." Xiaotian said, sitting down on one of those comfy-looking armchairs. "Let's see what we have that won't make you sick."

The bag was opened and he pulled out some noodles, Peking duck, white rice, and some spring rolls. Finally, Xiaotian found a bag of dried peach slices, marketed as peach chips. He popped open the bag and handed it over to the monkey.

They ate in companionable music-filled silence. The monkey occasionally paused to cock it's head. Then, when Xiaotian had finished his lunch and was placing the trash in the bag, it let out a series of chirps and squeaks, mimicking the tune. "You're a talented little guy, aren't you?" Xiaotian asked, reaching over to give it a head scratch. Realization struck a moment later.

Oh boy. He had gotten attached, to both house and monkey.

He could deal with that later, he mused as he leaned back, feeling sleepy. His stomach was full, the armchair was comfy, and the library was surprisingly warm, which all pushed him deeper into the abyss of slumber. It wasn't an issue. He could take a quick nap...

He didn't notice a figure watching him as his eyes fell shut.

[themurphyzone]

PatB: If I Can’t Love Him Ch 3

AN: I'm going to take a break from Nova and finish this fic. It's been 2 months since I last updated this anyway. 

AO3 Link

Ch 3: No Lesson Could Teach Me

The Beast's head throbbed like someone was repeatedly bashing his skull in with a hammer. Something cold and wet was wrapped around his right arm, which throbbed even more than his head. His front was exposed to wind and cold, his back against soft leather. 

He swayed from side to side, and a gentle hand pushed his shoulders so he didn’t lean too much in one direction. 

It was a strange touch, gentle and strong and graceful and frightening all at once. He didn't want the mouse touching him. 

Only infants and young children required physical contact. Not someone of his royal station, and certainly not beasts. 

Why save him? The mouse...no, his name was Pinky. It was the only thing he remembered as he slipped in and out of consciousness. Pinky had every right to leave him in the snow to be devoured by wolves or perish from exposure. 

A fitting punishment for all his failures to lift the curse and reclaim his throne.

The muffled clops from Pinky's horse gave way to sharp clacks on stone, sending a fresh wave of pain through the Beast's skull with each harsh sound. 

Then the horse came to a stop. 

The Beast opened his eyes and slowly pushed himself up. They’d arrived at the front doors of the castle. 

“Hello?” Pinky called. The Beast nearly tumbled off the horse in surprise, not expecting his voice to be so close to his ear. “We’re back!” 

An opening widened slightly at the door’s base, and Dot poked her teacup handle outside. Upon seeing them, her eyes lit up. Then she sounded the alarm, and a frenzy quickly arose from the servants as they threw the doors open as wide as they could, uncaring of any snow or debris that would blow into the foyer. 

It wasn’t just the Warners, who huddled together in shock and relief. Among the crowd, he spotted Hello Nurse off to the side, her range of motion highly limited since her harp form was rather heavy. Mindy, a porcelain doll, squealed in delight. Her purple dress was ruffled, skin slightly cracked from her misadventures around the castle. Buttons, her loyal dog turned footstool, made sure she didn’t get too close to the sharp hooves. The Goodfeathers, former pigeons who’d been caught in the curse as they roosted on the castle spires, hovered above everyone as featherdusters. Another footstool with scruffier tassels, Runt, wagged his rear dumbly. Rita, an angelic Christmas ornament, sat on him and surveyed everyone from her perch. Despite having an angel’s halo, robe, and wings, she was flexing her paws like she wanted to claw the Beast herself. 

 There were far too many eyes on the Beast for his liking. They didn’t have to stare. Pinky and the horse were alive, weren’t they? Isn’t that all that mattered? “I’m going back to the West Wing,” the Beast announced. “Don’t disturb me unless the castle’s on fire.” 

“Your arm is wrapped,” Hello Nurse said, like it wasn’t obvious already. Her arms were folded neatly in front, though she matched his glare with her own. “If my area of expertise is needed-”

“It’s not,” the Beast snapped. Hello Nurse was skilled in her trade, but he didn’t require anything except to be left alone. 

He just wanted to barricade himself in the West Wing, and either sleep or ponder a new plan for breaking the curse while ignoring that scornful rose. Because the whole ‘fall in love’ solution obviously wasn’t working, not that he’d ever lend it serious consideration.

“Hello, Hello Nurse!” Pinky waved to her. “Do you know how to treat wolf scratches, by any chance? Beast got clawed pretty badly.” 

The servants went into an uproar at that information. Individual voices were quickly lost in the cacophony, though there was much confusion, worry, and annoyance coloring everyone’s tones.  

“Don’t tell them!” the Beast growled at Pinky. 

Pinky folded his arms. “Zort! Well, it’s not like you were gonna tell them!” 

Though it was a true statement, he didn’t want that reflected back on him by some impudent rodent. 

“I would’ve explained eventually. And next time...” the Beast trailed off as his mind caught up to what Pinky said. “...did you just call me Beast?” 

Beast got clawed pretty badly. 

Pinky had said it so normally. Like it was any other name. 

Was it possible...oh, this was foolish. He knew better than to entertain fantasies. 

He’d lost the ability to read in the third year of the curse. And the year after that, he found it was impossible to invent. He snapped writing utensils with ease, whether by accident or out of frustration. 

If he couldn’t perform those simple tasks, then he didn’t deserve his old name. 

“Sorry. It’s just...um, you told me to call you Beast,” Pinky said. He seemed unsure for some strange reason. “Is that okay?” 

“It’s fine,” the Beast grunted. He wasn’t taking it back now. He was a prince, and princes, even former ones, never went back on their word once spoken. 

In the back, he saw Hello Nurse tap Dot’s rim. Dot leaned over as Hello Nurse whispered something to her. Then Dot pulled back and nodded firmly. Hello Nurse covered her ears.  

“EVERYBODY, QUIET!” 

Dot’s shriek echoed throughout the castle, rivalling his own roars in volume and intensity. It stunned everyone into silence, even Yakko, which was an achievement unto itself. 

The arguing servants stared at her. The only one unaffected was Mindy, who kept trying to touch the ‘pretty horsey’, and was barely being held back by Buttons’ wooden leg. 

“All yours,” Dot said to Hello Nurse. 

“Thank you, Dot,” Hello Nurse said, her voice somewhat unsteady from being so close to the blast radius. "May I remind everyone that there are three beings who are still in the cold, one of whom requires urgent medical attention?" 

"It's not that urgent," the Beast protested, but Hello Nurse ignored him as she organized the servants. 

"Yakko, light the fireplace and warm the room." 

Yakko saluted, a golden cap pulled low over his waxy head like a soldier's helmet. "Ma'am, yes ma'am!" he shouted as he rushed away. 

"Wakko, fetch spare clothing and towels from the laundry room. Dot, run to the kitchen and ask Chef Flavio to heat some water, but not boil it." 

Wakko and Dot hurried out of sight, though Wakko quickly waddled back across the room once he realized the laundry room was in the opposite direction. 

“Goodfeathers, gather a cleaning crew and tidy up the entrance hall.” 

“Oi, do we look like maids to you?” Pesto shrieked as Squit and Bobby dragged him away by his dust-covered feathers. 

Before Hello Nurse could assign Rita, Runt, and Buttons to their tasks, a group of brushes and buckets skittered across the courtyard and came to a halt in front of Pinky’s horse, who stepped backwards with a nervous whinny at their sudden appearance. Pinky patted her side to calm her down, and the noises stopped. 

“We’ll take your horse to the stable, monsieur!” one of the brushes piped up. 

“We’ll take really good care of her!” a bucket added. 

Pinky shook his head, though he smiled gently at the disappointed stableboys. “Thanks for the offer, but I can do it myself. I don’t wanna trouble you or anything.” 

The Beast had seen Pinky frightened and defiant, but never smiling. It was strange. Somehow, the smile seemed like the most natural expression for Pinky to have. 

And now his thoughts were going off in a weird direction. The Beast quickly turned away, watching Buttons reluctantly hand off Mindy to a resigned Rita and a delighted Runt under Hello Nurse’s orders. 

“No trouble!” the brush said, and the brushes and buckets hopped in agreement. “None at all!” 

“It’s fine, really! Pharfignewton’s part of the family, so I’ve gotta take care of her,” Pinky said. 

Pharfignewton stomped her front hoof, her ears pinning back. She didn’t seem to agree at all. 

A blast of cold wind reminded the Beast that they were still exposed to the elements, and if they didn’t want to become icicles, they had to get inside now. 

“If I may,” Hello Nurse cut in before the Beast could say anything he’d probably regret later. “Pinky, I know you’re worried about your horse, but the stableboys are well-equipped to take over her care for now. I’d rather you warm up by the fireplace before doing anything else." 

"Well...if it's okay with you, Fig." Pinky carefully crawled up to Pharfignewton's head and down her long muzzle, quietly excusing himself as he passed the Beast. 

Pharfignewton nickered softly, and that seemed to satisfy Pinky. 

Buttons positioned himself on Pharfignewton’s left, digging his wooden legs into the ground as he waited for the Beast to dismount. 

“Move. I’ll walk there myself,” he said to Buttons, who adamantly shook his front end. Or what the Beast thought to be his head. It was hard to tell when the footstool had no visible face. 

And he wasn’t incapacitated. He’d recovered from his fainting spell just fine on the ride back. The offer was nothing more than an insult. 

A sudden bolt of pain traveled up his arm, and he clutched his injury with an agonized growl, almost falling off Pharfignewton in the process. 

“As for you, sir, you shouldn’t walk on your injured arm,” Hello Nurse said. “Unless you’d prefer to limp to your chair.” 

Limping on three limbs was even more humiliating than being carried, especially when Pinky was scrutinizing his every move. Slowly, the Beast slid from the saddle and onto Buttons, surprised that Pharfignewton was willing to bend down to make the transfer easier.

He tried not to think about accidentally cutting Buttons’ cloth with his claws. He didn’t understand how this accursed magic worked. Transforming living beings into inanimate objects made no sense from a scientific standpoint. 

Nor did having one’s insides become stuffing, brass, or wood or anything that didn’t normally belong in one’s body. 

It was somewhat nauseating if he pondered that concept too much. 

Pharfignewton gave Pinky a sloppy lick, and he hugged her nose in return. Then a spare coat rack took Pharfignewton’s reins and led her to the stables, surrounded by the entourage of stableboys. 

The Beast gripped a loose piece of golden trim to keep his balance as Buttons headed inside. The Goodfeathers arrived with the cleaning crew, who quickly set about cleaning all the dead twigs and snow that had accumulated at the entrance. 

Buttons pushed Hello Nurse across the stone floor while Rita and Runt herded Mindy in the direction of the servant’s quarters. Mindy was far too curious for her own good, too young to know her porcelain skin put her in greater danger if she strayed or touched something hot. It was a constant danger with Dot as well, who regularly insisted on keeping cushions laying around in strategic places so she could land safely. No amount of persuasion got through to her, not even from her own brothers. 

Pinky trailed behind Buttons. He still seemed to have trouble navigating the castle by himself. 

There was a loud crash behind them, and Buttons whipped around so fast that the Beast was nearly thrown off. 

“Gentle, Runt!” Rita scolded as Mindy recovered from being pushed too hard into a draconic gargoyle. But she popped up within seconds and giggled about silly puppies, so it wasn’t much of a cause for concern. There weren’t any new cracks on her porcelain. 

Runt whimpered and pawed the ground. “Sorry, Mindy. Bad dog. Definitely a bad dog.” 

Buttons growled a warning to Runt, who pressed himself to the ground in submission. Rita hissed right back as she patted the messy tassels on Runt’s head.  

“Aw, you’re not a bad dog!” Pinky ran over to Runt and embraced his leg. “It was just an accident.” 

“Eh, you ain’t bad. You’re just a klutz,” Rita said, which perked Runt up again. She flicked her paw dismissively. “Kiddo’s fine, Buttons. Take the boss to his brooding chair or something.” 

“It’s a pondering chair,” the Beast corrected. Everyone called it the brooding chair for some insane reason. He didn’t brood. He just used the chair to ponder ideas for breaking the curse. 

Really? You just stare into the flickering embers these days. Where are all your brilliant ideas now?

He really wanted to throw his internal monologue off the West Wing balcony. 

“Whatever you say, boss,” Rita shrugged. She flicked the tassels on Runt’s head, and they corralled Mindy to the servant’s quarters. 

Pinky waved goodbye to them, and Hello Nurse called for him to catch up to Buttons before he was left behind. Pinky barely looked as though his life had been in danger at all. 

Buttons crossed the threshold into the parlor, pushing Hello Nurse into a position between the fireplace and the stuffed armchair where she could easily supervise. 

The fireplace crackled with warm, orange flames. The heat alone was soothing to the Beast’s exhausted mind. Pinky stretched and basked in the warmth. Yakko preened in the attention his hard work received. 

Wakko and Dot stood on a side table next to the armchair. A bowl of warm, steaming water and a stack of towels was next to them. 

And most comforting of all, a wine-red cloak was neatly folded on the armchair’s cushion. Next to it was a pair of black trousers, one of the less ragged pairs he owned. For Pinky, a small, slender dress of fine pink silk laid a few inches away.  

"Change out of those wet clothes first," Hello Nurse advised. 

The armchair was made for humans, not rodents, though Buttons was thankfully the same height as the cushion, so it wasn’t difficult to transfer to an actual inanimate object. 

The Beast gripped the side of the armchair, placing his claws within the clawmarks he’d scored on the object when he became frustrated. 

Ripping away the destroyed remains of the cloak he’d worn during his fight with the wolf, he quickly donned the replacement and secured the collar’s golden clasp below his neck. But he didn’t bother with the pants. 

Maintaining some level of decorum, even with trousers that were too torn for even the best seamstress to repair, was absolutely necessary. 

Hello Nurse gave him a disapproving look, but he ignored it and sank in the back corner of the armchair instead. With his cloak surrounding him and his back pressed against into the corner, he felt more secure.

“Awww, this is a very pretty dress!” Pinky exclaimed, admiring the fine material that was ten times more expensive than whatever house he lived in as a commoner. “Thanks so much, Wakko!” 

Wakko grinned, his pendulum swinging faster at Pinky’s praise. Dot ribbed him playfully with her teacup handle. “Who knew you had an eye for fashion?” she teased. 

“Is it really okay for me to wear this?” Pinky asked. 

“Sure is! That color matches more with your name anyway,” Yakko said. “Unless you want us to start calling you Bluey. Color coordination’s a thing in fashion, right?”

“There’s hope for you after all, Yakko,” Dot said. Yakko held a candle to his chest in mock offense. 

Suddenly, Pinky shimmied out of the waterlogged commoner dress he’d worn since his arrival at the castle. 

And the Beast received a view of gleaming white fur on an exposed body. 

Lean, but with a fair bit of muscle. Slender. Beautiful. 

Desperate for something to do so he didn’t have to watch Pinky put on the dress, the Beast unwrapped the purple cloth around his lower arm, revealing four long scratches. Though the fur was stripped away and left the skin wide open, they weren’t deep. A trickle of blood leaked from one of the scratches, and without thinking, the Beast lapped it away with his tongue. 

It was neither sanitary nor dignified, but the Beast found himself tapping into instincts he usually fought to repress. To his horror, it was becoming more natural to lick his wounds like a creature of the wilderness. He was a prince in name only, no real power or respect behind the title. 

He lost himself in the rhythm for a while, only stopping when he felt something foreign on his arm. 

Pinky’s hand rested on his upper arm, just above his wound. 

Was he crazy? Why would any sane being touch royalty, or a monster, or him? 

Pinky wore the pink dress now, his long sleeves rolled up to the elbows. “You shouldn’t do that,” he said, bringing a wet cloth closer to the Beast’s arm. 

The Beast growled and stubbornly turned away from Pinky. Couldn’t this idiotic mouse just let him hang onto even an ounce of his pride? He held his arm out of reach, just so Pinky couldn’t have the satisfaction of getting it. 

It was Pinky’s fault he was injured in the first place. 

But Pinky wasn’t deterred, nearly falling onto the Beast as he reached up and tried to touch the cloth to the scratches. 

“Just hold still!” Pinky said, still not giving up even when the Beast moved his arm to avoid the cloth.

He could deal with this himself! What part of that did Pinky not understand? 

The brief tussle ended when Pinky finally managed to slap the cloth onto the Beast’s arm. Pain instantly shot through him, and he roared out of instinct and fury. 

“THAT HURTS!” he snarled in Pinky’s face.

“If you’d hold still, it wouldn’t hurt as much!” Pinky retorted, his blue eyes piercing and intense with anger. 

It was strange. Pinky had cowered before him when they’d met face to face in the tower, and again when he’d been caught in the West Wing. 

But then, Pinky yelled back when he refused to dine with him. So it wasn’t completely out of the question. 

Regardless of what happened in the past, the Beast still needed to come out on top. After all, he was the Master around here. 

“If you hadn’t run away, this wouldn’t have happened.” The Beast allowed himself a smirk. 

A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. 

“If you hadn’t frightened me, I wouldn’t have run away!” Though Pinky’s face was just inches away from the Beast’s fangs, he didn’t flinch. 

And just whose decision was it to break into the one area he’d forbidden? It was a generous rule when the rest of the grounds were open for exploration!

However, he couldn’t completely dismiss that while Pinky broke the rule, he didn’t deserve to be nearly killed twice over it. 

Regardless, he refused to let Pinky win this round. 

“You shouldn’t have been in the West Wing!” the Beast couldn’t resist leaning into Pinky’s space. Point made. It was over. 

“Well, you should learn to control your temper!” Pinky snapped. 

It was one thing to have living inanimate objects say it, many of whom had tempers themselves, but had never caused the destruction he’d dealt over the years.  

Never in his life had he heard an outsider say it. A peasant scolding royalty. A prisoner fighting their captor. A mouse challenging a beast. 

Impressive, but infuriating that he couldn’t refute how his temper caused this entire mess to begin with. 

The Warners tried and failed to stifle their laughter, and it was completely unfair that they were on Pinky’s side. The Beast huffed, placing a paw on his cheek as Pinky grabbed his injured arm again. Maybe it was childish, but he didn’t care. 

“Now hold still,” Pinky said. His voice was firm, but also gentle. “This might sting a little.” 

As promised, the wet cloth stung on his arm as Pinky gently ran it over the scratches. The Beast grimaced at the sting of the fabric, and though he succeeded in containing the roar that threatened to build, he couldn’t stop himself from growling at the pain. 

He had a brief moment of respite when Pinky changed the cloth he was using now that he was finished sponging the remaining blood away. The scratches were pink, raw, and painful, but they weren’t bleeding. 

Maybe he should be more cautious this time. Just so Hello Nurse wouldn’t give him grief over his carelessness causing an infection. Or Pinky for that matter. 

Pinky returned with a new cloth. The Beast tensed as Pinky reached for his arm again, not wanting to be touched even though he reminded himself that it was necessary in this situation. After being isolated with nobody but household objects for company, and even before then, when his so-called family shunted him off to a minor province because they didn’t want the evidence of an affair in their palace, physical contact was a concept that was foreign to him entirely. 

“By the way, thank you,” Pinky said, smiling gently at the Beast. “For saving my life.” 

A warmth blossomed in the Beast’s chest, a sensation he couldn’t identify. It was new, but pleasant. 

“You’re welcome,” the Beast replied. That was the proper response to gratitude, right? 

He wasn’t sure. 

But he tried to cooperate as Pinky carefully wrapped the wound with bandages, following Hello Nurse’s instructions to the letter. Pinky deserved that much, at least. 

Pinky didn’t try to cause any unnecessary pain. But worry clearly showed in his eyes when the Beast involuntarily growled and tensed up with each touch. 

“It’s not you,” the Beast grunted, and Pinky's shoulders relaxed. He didn’t want to put up with that strange look much longer. 

“That looks fine, Pinky,” Hello Nurse called as Pinky finished wrapping the bandage around the Beast’s arm. “You did a great job.”

Pinky stepped back and wiped his forehead in relief. 

“His arm looks like a mummy’s,” Wakko not-so-subtly whispered.  

Ignoring the comparison to dead Egyptian royalty, the Beast carefully lifted his arm. It didn’t hurt as much as before. 

Next to him, Pinky carefully picked up the scrap of purple cloth that once served as a crude bandage. The Beast had forgotten about it. But Pinky neatly folded the scrap, tucking the bloodied side inward. He held it close to his body, like it was a precious item. 

He felt an odd twinge of guilt for tossing it aside, though he wasn’t why Pinky was treating it like a valuable painting or fragile heirloom. Maybe peasants just saved every piece of fabric they could. 

Then Pinky yawned, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

The Warners were oddly subdued as well. 

It had been a long and eventful night for everyone, and despite the Beast's exhaustion, his mind was brimming with questions. 

Terrifying questions he didn't want to know the answers to. 

"Children, why don't you escort our guest to his room and go to bed?" Hello Nurse suggested. 

Yakko balked, crossing his candlesticks over his brass chest. "I'm a height-challenged candelabra, not a—Dot! Don't jump from there!" 

Wakko and Dot jumped from the table at the same time, both landing safely on a cushion. Dot pouted. “Oh, but it’s okay for Wakko to jump?” she muttered. 

“He’s not porcelain,” Yakko said as he joined his siblings on the floor. Buttons whined in sympathy.  

“For the last time, I’m not helpless!” Dot hopped out of the parlor, not bothering to wait for her brothers or Pinky.  

“I didn’t say you were! You’re just more prone to chipping easily!” Yakko shouted. He chased after her, only stopping at the doorway when he remembered he was supposed to be an escort. He glanced at Pinky and Wakko. “You coming?” 

“Narf. Okay, I’m coming,” Pinky said, gathering his waterlogged dress and fabric scrap. Carefully, he climbed down the armchair and joined Yakko. Then he turned to everyone in the room. “Thanks, Beast. Thanks, Buttons and Hello Nurse. Good night. Can’t wait to turn in myself.”  

“Good night, Pinky,” Hello Nurse replied. 

Buttons barked. 

Beast nodded awkwardly. He didn’t think Pinky would be wishing him a good night after all he’d done to him. 

Wakko said nothing and happily batted at Buttons’ tassels. 

“Eh, he’ll catch up,” Yakko said, leading Pinky away from the parlor. “We can drop your clothes into the laundry along the way, and we never finished your tour before the boss ran you out, did we? Now if you direct your attention to the flying buttresses over yonder…” 

His usual chatter faded away. 

Maybe someone else should’ve escorted them, just to make sure Yakko didn’t treat Pinky to a whole song and dance routine on Baroque architecture. 

“What do you think he’s gonna turn into?” Wakko asked. 

Poor choice of words, but the Beast reminded himself that it was just an innocent question and not curse related. 

“Hopefully, nothing,” the Beast sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” 

“Go catch up with the others, Wakko,” Hello Nurse said. She opened her arms, and Wakko happily accepted the invitation to hug. They broke apart after a minute, then Wakko turned back to the Beast. 

“It’s okay,” Wakko said. “You’ll break the curse. I know you will.” 

And he scuttled out of the parlor, leaving the Beast before he could explain all the reasons why such innocent faith shouldn’t be placed on him. 

It was just the Beast, Hello Nurse, and Buttons now. And Buttons wasn’t much of a conversationalist. 

“He shouldn’t say those things,” the Beast quietly said, his claws digging into the cushion. 

It was nigh-impossible to break Wakko’s hope, even though plan after plan of breaking the curse failed. Hope was such a terrible burden to bear. 

Hello Nurse met his gaze coolly. “Hope does exist, whether you deny it or not. Pinky gave you a second chance. Maybe it’s time to use the original condition that was laid out for you from the beginning.”  

Love someone and make them love a monster in return. Yes, that made complete sense. 

“You caused a lot of pain, and not just to Pinky,” Hello Nurse said. The Beast wanted to argue that Pinky was recklessly defiant, but at the same time, he couldn’t deny that Pinky only wanted to save his father. That Pinky only broke his promise because he feared for his life. That his servants shouldn’t have to suffer for his mistakes. “But he saved you. And we’re grateful that he did.”

Right. Because he was the only one who could break the curse. 

He didn’t deserve a second chance. Hello Nurse wasn’t forthcoming with a satisfactory answer as to why he was given one. 

“I haven’t learned my lesson. That’s not possible. I can’t just...change,” the Beast said. 

He’d been stuck in the same routine of planning and failing for too long. It wasn’t an option. 

“You’d be surprised.” 

With that final statement, Hello Nurse signaled for Buttons to help her out of the parlor and push her to Dr. Scratchy’s room. He was always woefully behind on any developments, mostly because the Warners couldn’t leave him alone long enough for anyone to deliver news. 

But more importantly, if it was possible for someone like him to change, then all he had to do was...try? 

Try to break the curse. Try to reclaim the throne. Always trying, never succeeding. 

Pinky had given him another chance though. Another opportunity. 

And Hello Nurse made sure he knew it. 

“Buttons, stop!” the Beast shouted. It came out harsher than he intended. 

Startled, Buttons stopped pushing Hello Nurse, who simply turned her metallic body as best she could with a harp stuck on her back. 

“I...wanted to thank you both. That’s all. Now leave,” the Beast hastily said. 

Buttons and Hello Nurse just stared at him, and the Beast growled. They didn’t have to act that bewildered about it. 

“Good night,” Hello Nurse smiled once she finally recovered. 

Then they were gone. 

Alone in the parlor, the Beast settled into a comfortable position that wouldn’t aggravate his injury. He touched the bandages on his arm, remembering Pinky’s gentle touch. 

The fireplace burned as he pondered an endless amount of questions, searching for answers that would never come. 

End AN: I'm sorry for excluding everyone's favorite squirrels from the castle staff. Personally, I can't picture Slappy living in a castle. She's perfectly content in her tree with her nephew. I did have an early idea for her and Skippy being transformed into nutcrackers though. They might show up elsewhere though.

Hello Nurse (or a lookalike of her) as a harp was taken from the OG Animaniacs segment The Warners and the Beanstalk, so that's where I pulled her transformed state from. Originally, Rita was going to be a harp, but I decided to change her to a Christmas ornament as a reference to her VA, Bernadette Peters, voicing the Christmas ornament Angelique in BatB Enchanted Christmas.

I imagine the Goodfeathers to look similar to Plumette’s birdlike design in the 2017 live-action, but less graceful and more pigeon-y.

Brain logic: Oh no Pinky is beautiful what’s a logical course of action? Lick my arm? Yes, licking my arm is a good distraction.

[lyricalimerence]

No Matter The Season - JJ Maybank

a/n: so this is based off the song no matter the season by sara kays, it's an incredible song you should listen to it. this is my first time writing on tumblr so i hope it's okay and y'all like it!

word count: 1879

warnings: little angsty, some fluff, lots of hating on yourself, lack of body confidence

summary: you're insecure and jj lectures you because YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. all of you are beautiful and i know that it's just my word against what you think about yourself, but know that i think you're beautiful so don't beat yourself up or give up on yourself bbys. you're perfect.

i got my long sleeves on. baggy and way too long

The world was spinning on its axis, the sun rose in the east and set in the west, the tides pushed against the shores before being pulled out again. Everything was normal. It was just another day on the boat with the Pogues. Swimming, fishing, drinking cheap beers left over at The Wreck that Kiara’s dad so graciously donated to his daughter’s friend group. It was just another day. But as you stood in the mirror in the bikini Kie coerced you into buying when you two went to the mall as a girls’ weekend, you couldn’t help but notice everything you deemed was a flaw. Every little mark and every curve that was on you but not on Kie or Sarah.

Practically hearing the Pogues start to get antsy for you to hurry up, you reach into your closet and pull out your only warm clothes that were normally preserved for December and January. You let out a shaky breath and held up the hoodie to your torso, itching to just cover up all the insecurities that you have. Throwing the sweatshirt back onto your bedspread, you hold the pair of JJ’s sweatpants that he let you borrow but you’ve never returned, to your waist, remembering how safe you feel when they cinch in your waist and fall down past your ankles.

Dropping the pants to the laminate flooring underneath you, you hug your waist, as you suck in your stomach, feeling a manipulative dosage of serotonin surge through your brain when your arms follow your stomach into your ribcage and your stomach looks thinner in the mirror.

nobody has questions in december, but five months later, all i hear is:

Before you can pull the hoodie and sweatpants on to erase how you truly feel, a quick knock followed by the squeak of your bedroom door hinges rings out, revealing your blond haired boyfriend in your doorway.

A smile etched its way across JJ’s face as he looked you up and down. Scanning every inch of your body, he soaked in your features and how perfect you looked in that bikini, “Damn, Y/N! You ready?”

You clear your throat and retreat into the skin you hate so much, “Yeah, gimme a minute?” JJ nods and respects your request, walking out of your room and closing the door, but leaving it open ajar. You grab the hoodie and sweatpants, turning to see the connecting bathroom, it looks so tempting to just try to make yourself throw up, but you know JJ will hear, and you can’t bear to disappoint him. He just likes you so much.

You pull the sweats on, covering every bit of skin besides the sandals that cover your feet, your fingers that barely stick out of the oversized hoodie, and your face that is on full display as your ponytail pulls your hair back. You slip out of the bedroom quietly, hoping that JJ was already back in the boat, but there he was, his goofy, fun-loving smile playing at his lips while he hears the door creak.

aren’t you warm?

“Y/N?” JJ asks when he sees your oversized clothes, his smiling dropping into a look of concern, “You know it’s August, right? It’s, like, hotter than Hell.”

“Yeah, I just got a chill or something. Might not swim today.” JJ cast one last glance of uncertainty before throwing his arm over your shoulder and walking out of the back door towards the boat with you, bumping your hips together as you walked.

aren’t you sweating up a storm?

Kie jumped up when she saw your and JJ’s shadow from behind the back screen door, excited to see you in your new suit because she’s wearing hers too. Her expression drops when she sees your sweater paws and your sweatpants. “Y/N? Aren’t you warm?”

“I’m freezing, guess I’m comin’ down with something,” you say, your voice becoming raspy as you look at the ground, feeling too self conscious at the idea of just being there, in a bikini, when Kiara and Sarah look that effortlessly good in theirs. You and JJ hop onto the HMS Pogue, settling into a comfortable position at the stern of the boat as John B pulls the boat away from the dock and across the marsh.

JJ leans his head slightly to rest his face in the crook of your neck as he starts to whisper sweet words to you about how gorgeous you look, whether you’re in a skimpy bikini or a fully covered in his sweats or in the dresses Kie lets you borrow when she drags you to the Midsummers parties so she isn’t alone.

are you aware that it’s hotter than hell out here?

You smile slightly as you prop your elbow up against your knee and rest your head in the palm of your hand. Sarah had veged out across one of the seats in the boat and is now fanning herself as sweat starts to collect at her hairline. “Phew, Y/N, aren’t you sweating up a storm?”

“I’m doing okay, actually,” you say, the drops of sweat forming a patch on the back of your hoodie. However, you can’t help but revel in how good it feels to cover up and not to worry about how you look.

Pope drops the anchor into the marsh as Kie, Sarah, John B, and JJ pull off their shirts to get to their swimsuits. They dive into the marsh as you lean over and rest your head on the edge of the boat. JJ stops just before he could follow Pope into the water. “You’re really not coming?”

maybe i would dress for the weather if i would feel better, but i have to tell them all i’m freezing

The sweat forming around your hairline and underneath your arms and on your back starts to accelerate as you become overwhelmed with another lie. You mumble under your breath as the fragment of your friend group swims farther away from the boat, “I would dress for the weather if I felt better, but I don’t.”

“What?” JJ asks, following your eyes with his, managing to secure eye contact with you despite your fidgeting glances. Fixing your gaze on the floor of the boat, you swallow and shake your head, refusing to repeat what you said, not wanting to have said it in the first place. “Feel better about what, Y/N?”

You look up at your boyfriend. Your boyfriend who would flirt with Kie before you two got together, calling her hot and gorgeous. Sure, JJ says the same about you, but he called her hot first and she made it clear that her door was closed. Crossing your arms over your chest defensively, you stand up, digging your toe into the rough vinyl you stood on out of nervous habit. As you straighten up, you suck in your stomach, almost involuntarily. “Look at me, J!”

“I’m looking!” JJ yells, his exasperation rolling off his tongue in the same way as sweat rolls down your back. “And I think you look beautiful, you’re perfect, so if this is about how you look, I don’t understand!”

“I don’t understand either!” You shout back, immediately biting your lower lip as you analyze what you just said. JJ’s expression contorts, his look of concern and confusion falling into one of realization and anger. He reaches out to you, grabbing the cuff of your hoodie and drawing you into him. He shifts his arms once or twice around your body, trying to avoid the places where you sweated through the fabric, but in the end he didn’t care about it.

“You don’t think you’re beautiful?” JJ asks softly, the volume showing an air of compassion and love, but his tone showing his anger at you for thinking of yourself that way. “You are.”

“You can’t just tell me I’m beautiful and expect me to believe it.” You retort, your eyebrows furrowing as you grasp your bottom lip with your teeth even harder, drawing blood in an attempt to halt your lips from quivering.

“Why don’t you believe it?” JJ inquires, his tone softening to concern instead of anger as he pulls you into a seat next to him.

“You have eyes--”

“Yes, I do.”

“I don’t look like Kiara and Sarah do, and they’re actually beautiful.” You say, your voice dropping to a whisper as JJ watches your every move, overanalyzing every little twitch your lip makes to avoid your eyes from spilling over and every time you subconsciously tug at the hem of your sweatshirt, making sure your tummy stays completely covered.

“Obviously you don’t look like them. They have different DNA, silly.” JJ says, attempting to get a laugh or even a giggle out of you, but you don’t budge. Your arms crossing over you tighter, whatever you can do to encase yourself in armor. “Y/N, just because you don’t look like someone who is beautiful doesn’t mean it takes away from your own beauty.”

“I know that.” You mumble as JJ reaches out to push the cuffs of your sleeves up to your elbows.

“You need to believe it. It’s like evolution. It is factual.” JJ insists, tracing images onto your wrists and twisting the bracelets that wrap around your wrist into different shapes. “Your hands help so many people when they’ve fallen and your arms have pulled up the anchor so many times.”

JJ motions for you to take your hoodie off, to which you begrudgingly oblige, immediately wrapping your arms around your torso in a hug as you do so. “Your stomach has eaten so many of my molding PB&J’s without complaint, and your abs have beaten Pope in a push-up contest.”

“My stomach complained, you just weren’t there for that part.” You say with a smile as you tease JJ, his hand coming to clutch his heart in fake pain. You laugh at his antics, only for him to pump his fist into the air in triumph for your laugh.

You shimmy off your sweatpants, showing your tanned legs. You curl into an upright fetal position, trying to hide your thighs and your stomach in one fell swoop. JJ lifts his hands to bring your knees in to lean against his stomach so he can draw circles around your kneecaps. “Your legs have taken you on so many fun adventures.”

Intertwining his fingers with yours, JJ pulls you up to a standing position, holding you an arms length away by your shoulders as you squirm, very aware a passing fisherman could see you. “And your body has danced at so many parties with me and swam to find great treasures in sunken boats.”

“Y/N, you are perfect. You’ve always been perfect.”

“You can’t expect me to--”

“You’re right, I can’t expect you to believe anything I’m saying because the only opinion that matters is your own. But, you are perfect to me and to the rest of the Pogues, and it is okay for you to be insecure about things. But, never, never ever, put yourself down because that shit hurts me too.”

no matter the season.

[pxmun]

Belo Betty had enough of sitting around and doing nothing. It had been a week or so after the Levely incident and the Revolutionaries still had not heard from Sabo and the others. Everyone was in a rut trying to find out what had happened to their comrades, investigations were in place but so far nothing had come up. Bunny Joe had just returned from the West Blue after trying to gather information from a few kingdoms on what had happened at Reverie. He spotted Betty on the docks. “Any news”? Betty asked. “Hardly, the best I got was a speculation that the others were last seen at an island called Radio.” Bunny Joe replied. “Radio? I’ve never heard of that island before.” Betty said. “I haven’t either, but the West Blue inhabitants said it has been closed off from the rest of the world after an incident that left them without a ruler.” Bunny Joe said. Bunny Joe looked over Betty and watched as Koala walked by. “How’s she holding up”? Bunny Joe asked. “Koala’s been a real trooper, but I can tell this has been greatly affecting her.” Betty sadly admitted. “Her and Sabo are really close, I’m sure the news hit her hard.” Bunny Joe responded. With a possible lead Belo Betty headed out for Radio Island later that night. As her ship neared the island, Betty brought the vessel to a stop as she noticed the large metal towers surrounding the island. Betty didn’t know why but her instincts were telling her that she shouldn’t continue on the large ship. Instead Betty boarded a smaller lifeboat and rowed toward the island. With the help of the lights on the radio towers Betty was able to safely row closer towards Radio. Suddenly a shadow in the water rocketed towards Betty. In a split second Betty was able to come to the horrifying conclusion that the shadow was a torpedo. Betty had no choice but to jump into the sea, the water immediately paralyzed the devil fruit user. By this point the torpedo had made contact with the little boat and engulfed it in a massive fiery explosion. Betty tried to move but the sea water had left her weak, somehow she was able to manage to lift her hand out of the water. Betty knew there probably wouldn’t be anyone there to save her, but she had to try. As Betty felt herself begin to sink further under the waves she suddenly felt herself being yanked upwards. Betty breached the surface of the sea and began spitting up water, gasping for air not long after. Betty looked up at her rescuer. “Lind”? Betty asked. Sure enough Betty saw the wide grin of the Southern commander. The two were currently hovering over the water thanks to Lindbergh’s jetpack. “Hey, Betty! Looks like I made it just in time.” Lindbergh said. The Mink quickly flew his companion and him to land where Lindbergh gently placed Betty on the soft sand of the beach. The Eastern commander was drenched in cold sea water and shaking like an earthquake. Lindbergh took off his orange overcoat and placed it over Betty to help warm her up for the time being until the Mink was able to get a fire going. Lindbergh rushed to gather the materials needed for the fire. He quickly set a fire pit up and got it lit. Once the flames were going Lindbergh helped move Betty next to the fire.  After being warmed up for a bit Betty spoke up. “What the heck is going on”? Betty asked weakly. “We were fighting against the Admirals when an incident happened between Cipher Pol and one of the attending royal families. Sabo had us go and investigate, when we got there we discovered the body of the Alabasta king Cobra and princess Vivi, who was about to be assassinated by Cipher Pol. We managed to stop the assassination and decided to bring Vivi back to Sabo for further instructions.” Lindbergh explained as he prepared a pot of tea. He placed the pot over the fire before continuing. “However when we returned, we were shocked to find Kuma had joined the battle. He hadn’t joined as an alley though, nor an enemy. Instead Kuma had gone off on a full blown rampage. He was charging at everyone, friend and foe alike. Sabo was worried about Kuma hurting himself more then he already was from his enslavement to the Celestial Dragons, so Sabo used himself as bait to distract Kuma until we returned. We had made it back in time to see Kuma use his paw paw powers to send Sabo flying. Kuma then set his sights on us. Karasu managed to distract Kuma long enough for Morley to sneak up and grab Kuma from behind.” Lindbergh said.

“So how did you end up here then and what happened to Sabo”? Betty asked.

“Well it turned out Kuma wasn’t as secure as we had thought. Karasu and I were trying to remove the slave collar around Kuma’s when Vivi approached us. Apparently the key had fallen off of Saint Charlos during the confrontation in Pangea’s court yard. She helped me with removing the device, but once we got it off Kuma was able to move his hand just enough to send Morley flying. With Morley now gone it was easy for Kuma to toss the rest of us off. Karasu quickly gathered Vivi and I up right as Kuma tagged him, so we all got teleported together.” Lindbergh continued. “And Kuma sent you guys here”? Betty asked. “Yeah, I have no idea why but he sent all of us here. When we landed Sabo and Morley were waiting for us.” Lindbergh said. Betty looked around her surroundings. “So, where is everyone then”? Betty asked. “That’s the bad news, apparently the locals don’t take to kindly to the Revolutionary Army. We walked to a nearby town and the residents immediately recognized us as Revolutionaries. The whole town began chasing after us and these towns folk are on a whole different level compared to those we have interacted in the past.” Lindbergh explained. “Different how”? Betty asked puzzled. “For one they aren’t as fragile and scared as other town folk, they knew where we stood on the Revolution ladder, yet they still confronted us. The next, well I don’t know how to describe it except for vocal haki.” Lindbergh said. “Wait, they know about us? How? And what is Vocal..Haki”? Betty questioned. “I don’t know, my best guess is that they somehow found out by word of mouth or worse...We have a spy in our ranks. As for the Vocal Haki, they appear to build up energy through humming, then they either release it physically or vocally. Unfortunately for Sabo he got exposed to this vocalization. If it was anyone lower than Sabo’s level this haki would have knocked them out. Sabo was left very disoriented after exposure. Morley tried to provide back up but by this time the island’s law enforcement arrived.” Lindbergh said. “They call themselves Radio Rangers. They wear cowboy hats and tan dusters, if you see them avoid them at all cost.” Lindbergh warned. “Just the citizens alone sound tough enough, how much worse are these Rangers”? Betty asked in morbid curiosity. “Way worse, best I can scale them at is Marine captain level.” Lindbergh said. “We found out the hard way as four of them went after Morley. You remember how I said vocal haki can also be released physically? Well that’s what happened. The crazy thing is that these Rangers didn’t even use their fist, all they did was touch Morley with an open palm and they fell right over.” Lindbergh said. “Sounds like the vocal haki did damage to Morley internally. What about Karasu”? Betty asked worried. “ He was putting up a good fight, Karasu was giving those Rangers a run for their money. His devil fruit was making it really difficult for the enemy to target him. Karasu had managed to knock two Rangers into the mud before more Rangers showed up with better equipment.” Lindbergh recalled. Betty continued to listen, her heart beat increasing from the anxiety and worry about what happened to Karasu. Betty nearly jumped when the tea kettle began to whistle. Lindbergh removed the kettle from the fire and poured tea into two cups. He handed one of the cups to Betty. She took a sip, eager to warm up. “Thank you.” Betty told Lindbergh. Lindbergh acknowledged Betty’s gratitude with a nod before focusing his attention toward a large glowing radio tower within the island. His tone changing to that of dire concern. “These guys must have a spy infiltrating our group, when their science unit arrived they brought with them a special gun. Karasu was in the air when they fired it. This thing was specifically designed to work against Karasu’s devil fruit. It launched a gum like substance and it stuck to Karasu and all of his crows. Luckily Karasu wasn’t that far up in the air when he came crashing down.” Lindbergh said, his back facing Betty. There was no response.

“ I warned Sabo to try not to get caught. Don’t get me wrong the kid has a good heart, its just.... its just that he needs to look before he leaps, he’s not a pirate, he’s a Revolutionary, the second in command. He doesn’t have the luxury to be reckless. If Sabo had just paid more attention, then he would’ve known this place didn’t like Revolutionaries. If he had just looked into it....Sabo would’ve been weary of me.” Lindbergh finished. There came a soft “thud”. Lindbergh turned around to find Betty collapsed on the sand. Lindbergh walked up to Betty and knelt down, observing Betty’s breathing. “Good, it looks like the sleeping drug did its job.” Lindbergh said to himself. Lindbergh stood back up. “Clear”! Lindbergh shouted. From behind the trees and rocks Rangers came running out, surrounding Lindbergh and Betty. The group drew their rifles and pointed them at Betty. “ Its okay, she’s out cold.” Lindbergh stated. “Sorry sir, but we don’t want to take any chances.” One Ranger replied. “ Stand down, that’s an order.” Lindbergh said. The Rangers seemed caught off guard by the cat Mink’s response. After some hesitation the group lowered their weapons. Lindbergh gave a sincere smile. “I appreciate everyone’s concern. If it’ll make the group feel any better, I’ll place Betty in sea stone leg and handcuffs to restrain her and prevent her from using her devil fruit.” Lindbergh said. The Rangers looked at each other before giving a nod to Lindbergh. Lindbergh then gently scooped up Betty into his arms, removing her sunglasses and hat. “Its still dark out so there shouldn’t be anyone out, but I don’t want to take any chances of one of he residents seeing another Revolutionary, so lets take the backroads.” Lindbergh said. “Do we have an update on the ship Betty came on” ? Lindbergh asked. “Omega squad is chasing the Revolutionary ship away from our borders as we speak sir.” A Ranger spoke up. “Alright, let’s head back to the palace then.” Lindbergh said. And with that the group headed off onto the dark road.

[moviemunchies]

How the FUDGE do we even begin talking about Dances with Wolves?

It’s become shorthand for ‘White Savior’ film, and I don’t think that’s entirely fair to this movie. But it’s also not baseless--it’s entirely from the point of view of a white guy and the Native characters’ lives all more or less revolve around him and his relationship with their group. And while I’m told (and I want to emphasize that I don’t know this for sure, feel free to correct me) that at the time this is one of the first depictions of Native Americans in mainstream film that gives them depth, personality, and you know, doesn’t have them as a group of mooks for good guys to mow down in Westerns.

Not being an indigenous person, it’s not for me to make a definitive judgment on whether or not the movie’s good in that regard.

Though for what it’s worth, the Lakota officially adopted Kevin Costner as an honorary member of their nation.

So the movie goeth a bit like this: John Dunbar is a soldier in the Union army during the Civil War, and due to helping his unit win a battle he’s given a promotion and told he can pick a post. He decides to go out West because he wants to see the frontier before it’s gone. His outpost turns out to be abandoned, and since there’s no word about reinforcements coming. So he sits and writes as he goes about his business, befriending a local wolf he calls ‘Two Socks’ (because the paws of its feet are white, and look like socks). He starts interacting with the local Lakota, and because of his willingness to help them out whenever he can, he gets adopted by the tribe and is dubbed with the name ‘Dances with Wolves’--after him they witness him playing with Two Socks. He marries Stands with a Fist, a white woman adopted into the Lakota from a young age, and finds happiness and peace of mind he hadn’t before.

But of course, 

Also it’s way too long of a movie.

Okay, I get that this isn’t an action movie--there are action scenes in it, but it’s not a war movie in the sense that there are massive battles (though there are skirmishes) and that’s fine. But I was expecting more of that? I was expecting to see more conflict between the Lakota and the US army. And there is conflict, but in the sense that they have opposing views. After Dunbar gets posted, he doesn’t actually encounter the Army again until the last forty minutes or so of the movie.

This movie is three hours.

So for something that was meant to be the focus of the story, Dunbar’s relationship between these two groups, it felt a bit off that he didn’t have any interactions with the Army until the end of the movie. It’s also a bit odd that he’s not giving up anything, really--he doesn’t fit with the world of white men because they kind of suck? He doesn’t have any friends among them. They’re all rude or crude or bastards.

The Native Americans, or rather, the Lakota of this movie are just better than everyone else. They’re not technically magical Native Americans, but they’re clearly better than the white civilization in this film. That sounds like praise, but in a sense it’s almost fetishization? It’s putting a group of people on an unrealistic pedestal of poetic naming conventions and a peaceful, nature-loving lifestyle. Sure they’re more humanized than in most Western films, but it goes hard in the other direction.

Sure, Dunbar’s not a White Savior, per se--and he’s definitely not the Mighty Whitey archetype. He helps the Lakota out, but he’s not better at what they do than they are. And in the end, they save him. But their lives revolve around his in this movie. And I THINK I get that they were going for: introducing a different culture through a character from a culture that is more identifiable to most of the moviegoing audience. But it doesn’t change that it’s still all about him. Unlike other examples of this kind of story, like The Last Samurai or Marco Polo, we don’t actually get that much about the Lakota culture. Everyday lives and language I guess, and that’s not nothing, but religion? History? And how does Dunbar react to them? It’s a big question mark. And those are kind of big questions, considering he drops everything to go with them at the end of the movie! 

The alternate examples I gave above (which have the benefit of having come out years later, and hence the conversation around these things were much more developed, but they still have their own baggage) can use the excuse, effectively or not depending who you ask, that they’re using a white character as an audience surrogate to introduce the viewer to cultures and peoples they’re less familiar with. But while _Dances with Wolves_ does introduce the viewers to Lakota culture, it’s not in a particularly in depth way. Again, it’s good that they’re shown as people, that’s a good step, and I don’t know enough about the atmosphere at the time to know how revolutionary or big of a step that was. But watching it today, it doesn’t feel like that large of a step.

Dunbar’s also a guy who already admires Native Americans--he asks about them when he’s on his way to the posting, and he comes up with every excuse to talk to them when he gets stationed there. He’s already a fanboy, mostly because he seems to see them as a part of the Western Frontier that hasn’t been yet eliminated, so his joining the nation doesn’t feel like so much like a massive character change as a fanboy living out his dream.

I’m sorry, I sound like I hate this movie. I don’t. I don’t think it’s a bad movie, but I can’t help but think critically about it given the subject matter. Especially because it’s a long and thoughtful movie, it sort of invites one to think about it. I’d like to think this movie was a step in the right direction, and that shouldn’t be understated. But it’s still a step. You can’t watch this movie, especially nowadays, and say you’ve got a good grasp of Native American culture and history and struggles. It’s worthwhile to watch, but I can’t say my life has been changed that much in the viewing.

I can say though that watching this, James Cameron’s Avatar was this movie but IN SPACE.

Also, you know what? I should watch Smoke Signals.

[xxpadfootxx]

🐾Since When Do Heroes Have Paws? Part 1/6 (A Little Unexpected)🐾

Summary: Things get even more complicated at UA when five students get changed into dogs unexpectedly.

~~~

Aizawa placed his thumb and forefinger on the bridge of his nose, closed his eyes, and let out a long, frustrated sigh.

“What the hell happened here?”

It was around eleven o’clock at night and five students, Izuku Midoriya, Katsuki Bakugo, Shouto Todoroki, Kyoka Jirou, and Fumikage Tokoyami, were standing in the dorm main living space. All of them were tired, all of them were sweaty, and all of them had dogs of various breeds sitting beside them.

“I don’t think it was a villain,” Todoroki said. “But I do believe that it was some sort of low-level thug that thought it would be a fun prank to pull.”

“He came out of nowhere!” Izuku said. “He just showed up when we were walking on a less busy street and used his quirk to cause this.” Izuku gestured to the dogs sitting around the living room. None of the other students were out at the moment as it was past curfew at this point so the dogs had spread out, looking around the room with wide, confused eyes.

“How did he use his quirk?” Aizawa asked. “Was it long distance or close combat?”

“Close combat,” Jirou said. “I tried to get their mask off but they caught us off guard and they must have enhanced abilities from the animal aspects of their quirk as even my earphone jacks couldn’t keep up with him.”

“Did anyone see his or her face?”

“No.”

Aizawa moved his hands to his temples and rubbed them in slow circles, trying to diffuse the headache that was building there.

“Alright then, who is who?”

Todoroki stepped forward a little bit and gestured towards a sleek black Doberman Pinscher with bright orange highlights on its paws, chest, ears, and muzzle.

“This is Momo Yaoyorozu.”

Aizawa nodded and turned to Bakugo who was stroking the head of a frightened Australian Cattle Dog with black and grey mottled fur that was only separated by a few pale patches of orange on his chest, paws, and face, who was leaning into the hot-tempered boy’s leg and panting. Bakugo had a small sneer plastered on his face but he didn’t seem all that upset at the fact that he had the dog pressed up against him.

“This is Shitty Hair.”

Aizawa looked at him with a look mixed with annoyance and a slight recognition of humor.

“Alright fine, its Kirishima,” Bakugo said, rolling his eyes and moving his hand to scratch behind his friend’s ears.

Aizawa nodded again and looked at Jirou who had a golden-colored Shiba Inu with a fluffy white chest sitting beside her. Because of the fact that the dog was sitting with a large goofy smile on its face with its eyes closed in a relaxed way and its tongue sticking out, Aizawa pretty much knew who this dog was but he let Jirou speak anyway.

“This is Kaminari,” Jirou said with an irritated sigh.

Next was Tokoyami who was holding a small, bright white West Highland Terrier in his arms, the little dog peering over his forearm to get a good look at the other dogs.

“This is Tsuyu Asui.”

Finally, after acknowledging Tokoyami, Aizawa turned his attention to Deku and the dog beside him. Leaning ever so slightly into Deku’s leg was a gorgeous full-size collie with long flowing fur that went from one color to the next. Her face was a bright golden color that melted into the white of her chest, and then back into a mixed brown and white. Her ears were the only things to break that color pattern which were more of a charcoal mixed brown. Her eyes were liquid brown and her fur was as soft as silk.

“This is Ochako Uraraka,” Izuku said.

“What happened to her?” Aizawa asked, catching sight of her raised paw and her slight lean into Deku.

“She tried to defend our classmates, that’s how she got turned, but she got injured when he got a little physical with her when administering his quirk. The injury doesn’t seem too bad but she definitely sprained something.” Izuku said.

“I would have her go to Recovery Girl except that it is late and she will have gone home for the night,” Aizawa said, leaning down to examine the paw.

“Can any of them remember who they are or recognize any of you?”

“Yes,” All of the students responded at once.

“How do you know?”

“The quirk seems to just have altered their physical states and not their minds. We know this because after the ‘attack’ all of the dogs started looking at their new bodies with confusion and tried to stand up to walk on two legs. You can imagine how that went. They can’t speak, but they can understand what we are saying. They were able to answer yes or no questions by nodding or shaking their heads,” Tokoyami said.

“I see…” Aizawa kneeled down in front of Uraraka and tilted his head as he examined her. She fidgeted under his steely glare but did not move as he ran a hand over her paw. The only indication she gave of pain when her teacher ran his hand over the sprained part of her paw was a little sharp intake of breath. Aizawa looked up at her.

“Uraraka, can you walk?”

The collie nodded her head.

“Can you put weight on it?”

Another nod but more hesitant this time.

“Midoriya.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Please take Uraraka to your room for tonight, I would like for you to keep an eye on her for me until tomorrow morning when Recovery Girl can come back. You two are good friends, correct? You should be able to handle something like this.”

“O-oh okay, sure!” Izuku turned and smiled at the collie who looked up at him with a small doggy smile and a faint wag of her tail.

“As for the rest of you,” Aizawa said, standing up and facing the other assembled students. “Take the dog of your choice to your respective bedrooms and keep watch over them for the night just I have instructed young Midoriya. I trust you will make the right decision but if you stay up until three o’clock in the morning playing with a dog and can hardly stay awake for lessons tomorrow that is on you. Yes, we will still be having lessons tomorrow despite the fact that it is the last day before your little two-week break and five of your friends are dogs. They will just have to participate in other ways. In the meantime, I will be keeping up with the updates from the police on the situation so that we can get your friends back to normal as soon as possible. After tomorrow, I will call in both the families of these students and all ten of you for a little conference before the break so don’t be late. I will give you more details tomorrow. Goodnight.”

Aizawa then turned and walked down the hall opposite of the student dorms and slipped into the darkness towards his own room with a small wave of his hand to dismiss the students.

“Alright, come on Shitty Hair,” Bakugo said with a slight grumble, tugging on the Cattle Dog’s fur and walking in the direction of his bedroom.

Jirou didn’t even have to say anything. She just sighed with half annoyance, half happiness as the Shiba Inu stood up and bounded along behind her towards her bedroom.

Tokoyami also said nothing as he stood up and carried the little West Highland Terrier in his arms in the direction of his room, his dark shadow swirling around him as he walked.

Todoroki stood up and then stretched before leaning down to look at the beautiful Doberman, who had been awfully shy and reserved the entire time. “Come with me, Momo,” She hesitated but eventually she stood up on her long legs and trotted up to Todoroki’s side.

Izuku yawned. “Okay Uraraka, let’s go get some sleep.”

Uraraka nodded and stood up, her left front paw raised slightly. She leaned against Deku and felt his gentle yet firm hand rest on her shoulders, helping to support her as they walked slowly together to his bedroom. He used his key to open the door and let Uraraka in first before shutting the door behind him.

“I’m sorry about the All Might stuff, I know it is a lot but I didn’t expect a friend to be staying over.”

The collie just smiled at him with a wide doggy smile and wagged her tail. She looked around, her ears constantly rotating and her nose constantly twitching as her senses became overwhelmed with new things to smell, hear, see and taste. She was actually glad at the moment for the partial color blindness which helped dim down the effect of the All Might memorabilia on her senses.

“Here,” Izuku said, rushing into the closet and coming back out with a blanket that had All Might’s costume pattern on it and placing it on the bed. He ruffled it a little bit so that it resembled a nest of sorts and then patted it with his hand.

“I’m going to get ready for bed but you feel free to make yourself at home.”

Ochako wagged her tail and nodded at him before leaping up onto the bed. Although she had never done this in her life, she had the sudden urge to spin in a circle. Standing up with one paw still raised, she slowly pivoted a few times until she felt satisfied and then collapsed onto the blanket with a soft poof. When Izuku returned, Ochako was fast asleep at the end of his bed. Izuku smiled and padded over to her side, holding a roll of wrap in one hand. Careful not to wake her, Izuku firmly wrapped the bandage around the injured part of Ochako’s paw. When he was finished he sat back to inspect his work, then gave a slight nod of satisfaction and crawled into his spot on the bed before reaching over to turn off the light.

“I guess we will see what kind of crazy tomorrow will bring,” Deku whispered to himself with a glance at Ochako before he too collapsed onto his pillow and fell right asleep.

[sharksandothernonsense]

The Sound of a Bell

Written for @melly1 as part of the Redwall Midwinter Gift Exchange. I ended up combining all three of your requests - I hope you like the results!

(I’m also autobotscoutriella - just posting this on my fic blog instead of the Transformers RP one.)

AO3 Link

The bells mark out important moments in the lives of Matthias and Cornflower, across the seasons.

Listen and my voice you’ll hear, throughout the changing seasons

While Matthias knew he hadn’t been born at the Abbey – he had occasionally been told the story of his arrival at the Abbey as a tiny orphan – he had no memory of a time when he had not been surrounded by dusty red sandstone, jewel-toned orchards and gardens, and woodland-green habits. For as long as he could remember, the gentle tolling of the Joseph Bell had marked out the events of his life, from mornings and mealtimes to seasons-day celebrations and the appointments of new Brothers and Sisters to the order.

That bell had also marked what would, in hindsight, become the most important meeting of his life – though Matthias didn’t know it at the time.

The Joseph Bell chimed out the dinner hour, and Matthias scrambled to cross Great Hall and reach Cavern Hole before someone noticed he was late. His sandals, far too big for tiny paws, flopped about and threatened to trip him, and he kept stumbling on the hem of his habit, even after Sister Rose had specially cut it down. He was so focused on trying not to trip that he didn’t see the other little figure in the middle of Great Hall until it was too late, and the two collided with near-simultaneous startled yelps.

Matthias was up first, scrambling to help the stranger up and apologizing so quickly he stumbled over the words. “Sorry, sorry – so sorry - tripped on my, er, sandals, and I didn’t see…”

He looked up mid-sentence, holding a sandal in one paw and the other young one’s paw in the other, and found himself staring into a pair of warm brown eyes. His voice suddenly stuck in his throat, and though he tried to say I thought I was the only one late for tea, it came out as “thoughtwaslatefor…uh, tea?”

The little mousemaid giggled shyly, and Matthias promptly lost his entire heart.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I was lookin’ at the pictures.” She pointed up at the tapestry, where Martin the Warrior smiled down at them. “I’m Cornflower Fieldmouse. What’s your name?”

Matthias had to clear his throat before he could tell her. “I’m – I’m Matthias. And that’s Martin the Warrior.” It felt important, somehow, to make sure she knew that as well. “He founded our Abbey.”

The Joseph Bell tolled again before either of them could speak, and Cornflower’s eyes widened. “Oh, that’s right, tea! My mum’n’dad’ll be wondering where -”

Matthias tugged at her paw. “C’mon! It’s just down in Cavern Hole.”

The two little ones ran off, paw in paw. Matthias would not remember that he’d forgotten his sandal in Great Hall until almost nightfall, when Brother Dan asked him why he only had one.

I will ring for wedding times, when two hearts unite

On a crisp, late-fall dawn, the sun rose slowly over Mossflower Wood, gradually tinting the crisp shadows of night with the soft reds and golds of sunlit autumn leaves. The light had barely begun to touch the walls of Redwall Abbey, but it promised to be a cool, cloudless day.

Cornflower, wife of Matthias the Warrior, stood on the walltop over the Abbey threshold, watching Mossflower and the Abbey slowly come to life. She drew her shawl closer around her shoulders and gazed down at the silent, shadowed gardens, thinking back over that summer. Something about early mornings sent her mind back to times before – the Summer of the Late Rose really hadn’t been that long ago, but somehow it already felt like a lifetime.

Cornflower regretted very little when she looked back at her wedding day. The ceremony had been simple and solemn, a joyous moment that still acknowledged the tragedy that had come immediately before. It had been the most beautiful moment of her life, and two seasons on, she looked back on it with fondness.

But if she could have changed one thing, it would have been the bells.

The Joseph Bell had always rung for weddings, singing out the joy of the ceremony across the woodlands until Mossflower itself echoed with it. Even as a tiny mouselet with no idea what a wedding was or why anyone would want one, Cornflower had loved to listen to the sound of the bell, and when she had finally understood what it meant, she had sometimes daydreamed of the day the bell would ring for her own wedding.

It was no one’s fault that there hadn’t been a bell to ring for her wedding, of course, except maybe Cluny’s. The Methuselah and Matthias bells – and it still made her smile to think of how shy and flustered her husband had been when Abbot Mordalfus announced that one of the bells would be named for him – had not been completed until almost a full season after the war had ended. Redwall’s bellringers would happily have rung the bells for them, given the opportunity.

Now, Cornflower thought with a touch of wonder as she ran a paw gently over her apron, they would have another happy reason to ring the bells.

A shadow fell over the battlement next to Cornflower, and she looked up to see Matthias approaching. “You always come up here when you need to think,” he said, answering her question before she even asked it. He placed a paw around her shoulders as soon as he reached her side. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, yes.” Cornflower leaned into Matthias’s side, watching the sun’s rays gradually turn the Abbey building from deep red to dusty pink. “Everything is more than all right.” She folded her paw over his and tilted her face up until she could look at him. “When spring arrives, our little family will be three.”

It took him a moment to understand, but when he did, his face lit up even brighter than the rising sun. “You mean we’re – you’re – ”

“Going to have a child,” Cornflower confirmed. Matthias fumbled over his words visibly for a moment before sweeping her up in a hug, struck speechless with happiness.

As the two of them held each other close, the sun rose fully into the sky, and Redwall’s twin bells tolled out a new day. Leaning against Matthias’s chest, Cornflower thought that the bells sounded just that much more joyful this morning, as if the bells themselves knew that there was a reason to celebrate.

I will boom a sad farewell, when they must leave this life

The evening bells tolled out slowly, solemnly, over the quiet Abbey grounds. Matthias gazed up at a deep blue-purple sky through eyes that no longer saw as clearly as they once did, watching the sun begin to set over the west wall of the Abbey. Midsummer’s Day was almost over, but there was one more celebration to hold before the day ended.

Cornflower, I wish you were here to see this, Matthias thought. You would have been so proud.

He had hoped that she would see it. Planning had begun in spring, and even though Cornflower had been quite frail then, she had taken part in the early preparations. But to his sorrow, at the  beginning of summer, Cornflower had quietly passed on. It had been peaceful, surrounded by friends and family, and she had gently told him that she was ready, but ever since, Matthias had felt that most of the light had gone out of the world.

The last note of the bells hung on the still air, sweet and melancholy. Even on this joyous occasion, there was a touch of sadness to their sound, as if the bells themselves knew that the celebration was marked by the absence of long-gone loved ones. Constance and Orlando, old Abbot Mordalfus, the Churchmice, Cornflower…Each season, the Abbey felt just a bit older, and the bells a bit more mournful.

Or perhaps, Matthias thought wryly, those were just the thoughts of an old mouse, drifting off into nostalgia as he watched the sun set and thought about his beloved wife.

“Grandfather? Are you all right?”

Matthias looked up to see his grandson, Martin, standing beside him. Martin was still a young mouse, but he had grown up tall and strong, much as his father had. Smiling, Matthias patted the broad paw that rested on his shoulder. “Yes, I’m all right. I was thinking of your grandmother, and how much she would have loved to be here today.”

Martin nodded, a hint of sadness creeping into his expression. “I miss her too.”

“She was proud of you, you know.” Matthias accepted the support of his grandson’s arm as they made their way back toward the Abbey. “Just as proud as I am. And even though she didn’t live to see this day, she knew that it would come, and she was so happy for you.”

Martin held his grandfather’s paw carefully. “Do you think she’s watching us?”

“I’m sure that she is.” Matthias patted Martin’s paw gently. “Her grandson is becoming the Warrior of Redwall today. This is a joyous moment for us all, and I am sure that her spirit is here today to watch over us.”

As Matthias the Warrior and his grandson entered Great Hall together, Matthias thought that he could still hear the echo of the bells, marking out the seasons and celebrations of Redwall Abbey for many seasons past, and for many more to come.