#and there was a stray cat hovering for a snack

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 of kidnapper/kept pet series:

You’re trying again with Johnny.

Or, more accurately, Simon is going to bring Johnny over so that you can (hopefully) adjust to him. Desensitize, at least. Warm up, best case scenario. Simon knows better than to get his hopes up.

He tries to set up for success though. Tells you that he’s bringing Johnny over this time. You make an annoyed noise, scrunch up your face. But he can see a little bit of intrigue in your eyes. You really could use a little more socializing.

He preps Johnny this time too. Reminds him that your shy (standoffish) and cautious (feral). Not to make any sudden movements towards you, or try to grab at you. If you come near enough to touch (unlikely) it’s in his hand’s best interest to let you make first contact.

“Be patient, she’ll come ‘round,” he reminds as he lets Johnny in.

And you, in pure spiteful fashion, are no where to be found. Simon sets Johnny up with a beer and goes searching, finds you curled up on the sun porch angrily crocheting.

“Time to come inside, feral.”

“But he’s here.”

“He’s not so bad, I like him.”

“Exactly.”

You fuss and grumble, but ultimately there’s very little you can do when he scoops you up. He brings you inside, your crocheting things in one hand, you secure with the other. Johnny watches your little parade with arched eyebrows. But he doesn’t say anything.

You get deposited on the couch, a scritch to the back of the head that makes you scowl even as you lean in a bit. Johnny has taken up residence in an armchair a healthy distance from you. When you eye him distrustfully, he chuckles and pulls his shirt collar aside.

“No tags this time, stray.”

You scoff and turn back to your crafting. Simon takes the other end of the couch, knows you’re a bit keyed up today. There, but not imposing on your treasured personal space. You settle in, more or less, though your eyes keep flicking to Johnny while he and Simon talk.

He’s much different from Simon; it’s why he wants you two to at least tolerate each other. You need the enrichment. He louder, brasher, more energetic. Eventually, you slink off to the kitchen for a snack.

“Grab us another beer, eh?” He calls.

You stalk out with a scowl. “I’m not a dog, get it yourself.”

Simon huffs with amusement as you curl up on the couch again, nibbling on your snack. Johnny points at you, empty beer in hand.

“You’re ill-mannered.”

“Says the guy that doesn’t know ‘please’.” You hop off the couch and retreat to your room.

Simon shakes his head, though his eyes crease with amusement. “Keep fucking around and you’re gonna find out. Again.”

“You spoil her,” Johnny complains.

Simon sighs. He still doesn’t get it.

“She’s not a pet, yeah? I’m just keeping her.”

“What the difference?” Johnny groans, standing to get another beer.

“A cat is a pet. A panther is not.”

“Och, and she’s a panther, is that it?” Johnny rolls his eyes.

“I don’t want her domesticated, Johnny. I want her taken care of just the way she is. If you’d stop pissing her off, you’d see why.”

Johnny grumbles, but lets it go. Lets the thought sit. Considers all the things in this specially made house just for you. The tv, the overcrowded bookshelves. The plants for you to attend to and the craft supplies lying about. The room that is yours alone, off limits to johnny, even simon rarely enters.

When you emerge again, it’s because there’s food. You’re hungry and demand a plate from simon, hovering at his elbow while he makes it up for you.

Johnny makes more of an effort, keeping all the things Simon told him in mind. He knows your unlikely to speak to him unless antagonized, so he talks at you - a lot like how Simon did when you first started out.

Luckily for him, Simon’s paved most of the way for him here. At first you pretend to ignore him, but eventually you can’t help it, he is a very engaging story teller after all. So you end up watching him openly, eyes darting from his face to his waving hands to his shaking shoulders.

You’re so focused that he and Simon even manage to coordinate Johnny giving you dessert, him getting close enough to touch as you take the slice of cheesecake from his hand. He’s careful not to touch, doesn’t want to break this spell.

But the real victory of the evening comes when he’s actually stopped paying direct attention to you. He’s still got some cheesecake left, more focused on talking than eating, as usual. And unnoticed, you slip from your chair, circle him and…

“Oi, did you just-? Get back here!”

In a move of pure strategic genius, you tuck up behind Simon. First out of caution and a little genuine fear for his reaction, then when you see him floundering, out of safe smugness.

“Ah, yeah, should have warned you about that. She likes to ‘share’.”

Several times now, you’ve eaten directly off his plate, off his spoon, from his fingers, even. You especially like doing it when you think he’s not paying attention.

“Feral brat,” Simon chuckles, “I would have gotten you more.”

“Tastes better when it’s Johnny’s,” you reply.

[cybergracie]

*•.¸♡ 𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕥𝕖 ♡¸.•*

part two

part one is here!

pairing: college au, stoner!hyunjin x fem!reader

genre: fluff, slightly suggestive

warnings: use of marijuana, mentions of drinking

word count: 3.7k

a/n: ahhhhh! this is a continuation of this post. this idea has been rattling around in my brain for weeks and this morning with hyunjin's ab flash, the inspiration took hold and here is the result. barely proofread, and this is my first time writing after literally a decade! any feedback would be appreciated. should i turn this into a full fic?

playlist: headhigh by doja cat, lose my breath by stray kids, what are you doing new year's eve by nancy wilson, parachute by john k

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I met Hyunjin when I started working at the campus bookstore in the fall semester of my sophomore year. My first day was a whirlwind of introductions, awkward small talk, and learning the ropes of a job I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted but desperately needed. While the girl who was training me, Chloe, was showing me around, pointing out everything from the textbook aisles to the snack rack near the register, I spotted him upstairs, rearranging art supplies. He moved with a kind of relaxed focus, his long fingers carefully setting pastel boxes into neat rows, his brows furrowed slightly in concentration.

When Chloe and I made it to the second floor, he stopped what he was doing, brushing his hands on his jeans before turning to us. His lips quirked up in a crooked smile, and he gave a polite bow that felt so at odds with his casual vibe. “Hi, I’m Hyunjin,” he said simply, his voice soft but confident.

I offered a small wave, feeling caught off guard by the intensity of his gaze. “Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

That crooked smile deepened, and he nodded before turning back to his task, but I caught him glancing back once or twice as Chloe continued the tour.

During my first shift, he lingered. Not in a way that felt intrusive—just enough that I noticed him. While Chloe walked me through counting the till and another coworker, Jisung, cracked jokes in the background, Hyunjin hovered near a rotating stand of postcards, absently spinning it as if the tiny landscapes and cityscapes held all the secrets of the universe.

“So, new blood,” Jisung said, leaning casually against the counter once Chloe finished her demonstration. The store had just opened for the day, and the morning rush hadn’t hit yet. “What are you in for?”

I cocked an eyebrow, unsure if he was addressing me or the air in general. “Excuse me?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and smacked his arm. “He means, what’s your major?”

“Oh!” I said, laughing as the tension eased. “I’m studying environmental science. With a minor in art history.”

At that, Hyunjin’s hand froze mid-spin on the postcard rack. His eyes flicked to me, his plush lips pressing into a subtle smile as if he’d just found the punchline to a joke only he understood.

“Doomed to a low-income career, I fear,” Jisung said with a mock sigh, shaking his head like a disappointed father.

Chloe slapped his arm again, harder this time. “Jisung!”

I laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Yeah, well I tried to major in business administration but failed my first 3 classes. I have to study something I actually give a fuck about.”

Hyunjin stepped closer then, his movements measured but deliberate, and placed his palms flat on the counter between us. His gaze met mine, and there was something so disarming about the way he looked at me, like he wasn’t just listening but understanding. “I get that,” he said, nodding. “Something you’re passionate about.”

His voice was steady, a low timbre that made my heart stutter for reasons I couldn’t explain. “I’m in art history, too,” he added, his lips curling into a smile again.

I smiled back, a little unsure but undeniably intrigued. Chloe and Jisung exchanged a glance, but I barely noticed. All I could think about was the tiny mole under Hyunjin’s eye.

Two weeks later, I was crammed into the back of an Uber with the three of them, plus Minho, Jisung’s roommate. Minho had claimed the front seat, leaving Chloe, Jisung, Hyunjin, and me to squeeze together in the back. Chloe ended up on Jisung’s lap, groaning dramatically about how we should’ve walked. Jisung, of course, responded by waggling his eyebrows at her, earning an exasperated shove.

The car was a chaotic blend of giggles, snorts, and half-finished stories. Chloe and I had spent the last hour pregaming while getting ready, and the buzz from cheap vodka shots made everything feel light and a little blurry around the edges. I sat in the middle, squished between Hyunjin and Jisung, and despite the noise and movement, I was hyperaware of him.

At one point, Hyunjin leaned over, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he gestured toward Chloe, Jisung, and Minho. “They’re my favorite throuple,” he murmured, his breath warm against my skin.

I slapped my hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh, my shoulders shaking as I glanced between the three of them, then back at him. “You’re terrible,” I whispered, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

He shrugged, his eyes glinting with mischief. “You laughed.”

I couldn’t deny it. And as the car turned a corner, jolting us slightly closer, I swore I felt the heat radiating from him where our sides pressed together. I told myself it was the alcohol, the cramped space, but deep down, I knew better.

That night, in the dim glow of the bar’s neon lights, Hyunjin stuck close to me. Whether it was helping me navigate the crowd to get drinks or standing just a little too close during conversations, he was there, steady and warm. By the end of the night, I realized I didn’t mind one bit.

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By the middle of November, I had become a part of the group. The night was cool, the kind of autumn evening where you could see your breath if you exhaled just right. Chloe had insisted we all hang out at her off-campus apartment for the first “official” gathering of the semester. Jisung had commandeered the Bluetooth speaker, cycling through his usual chaotic playlist, while Minho lounged on the couch with a bowl of popcorn he claimed was only for him.

Chloe was flitting around, handing out drinks and snacks, her energy uncontainable as she teased Jisung about his music choices. “This is not party vibes, Ji,” she said, her voice dripping with mock disgust.

“It’s indie cool,” Jisung countered, holding his ground.

“It’s just noise,” Minho muttered, tossing a piece of popcorn at him.

I laughed from where I was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside Hyunjin. The dim lighting from the string lights gave the room a cozy glow, but my attention kept drifting to him. His knee bumped mine occasionally, a casual touch that sent little sparks down my spine every time.

Hyunjin’s roommate, Chan, arrived late, bursting through the door with a lopsided grin and a smell that betrayed his pregame activities. “I brought snacks,” he announced, holding up a box of gas station donuts like it was a treasure chest.

“Finally, someone with priorities,” Minho said, grabbing a donut before Chan even made it to the kitchen.

As the evening settled into its rhythm, Chan pulled a sleek, black grinder from his bag, along with a few pre-rolled joints. He held one up like an offering. “Who’s in?”

Chloe shook her head immediately. “Not tonight. I have a shift in the morning.”

“Same,” Jisung said, though the grin on his face suggested he’d stay up late anyway.

“I’m good,” Minho said, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth.

That left Hyunjin, me, and Chan. Hyunjin glanced at me, his lips curving into a playful smirk. “You down?”

I hesitated for a second, the familiar nervous buzz of trying something new hitting me. “I mean… yeah, why not?”

Chan chuckled as he held up the joint. “First time?”

“Yeah,” I admitted, glancing at Hyunjin, who was already reaching for a lighter.

“Don’t worry,” Chan said, leaning back into the couch and expertly lighting the joint. “You’re in good hands.”

Hyunjin shifted closer to me as Chan took the first hit, blowing out a smooth cloud of smoke before passing it to Hyunjin. He took it with practiced ease, the flickering flame of the lighter casting soft shadows across his face as he inhaled. The moment he exhaled, he handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine for just a second.

“You’ll cough,” he said, his tone light but teasing. “But it’s part of the fun.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sure you will.” His grin was infuriatingly charming.

I took the joint, holding it awkwardly between my fingers. I mimicked what I’d seen them do—bringing it to my lips, inhaling slowly. The burn hit immediately, and I couldn’t hold back the cough that tore through me.

“See?” Hyunjin said, laughing softly as he patted my back.

“Shut up,” I rasped, my eyes watering as I handed it back to Chan.

Chan gave me an approving nod. “You survived. That’s step one.”

The joint made its rounds again, and by the time it came back to me, the room felt softer, like the edges had been smudged with charcoal. I took another cautious hit, coughing less this time, and leaned back against the couch. Hyunjin sat beside me now, his arm draped over the back of the cushions, his head tilted as he watched me.

“How’re you feeling?” he asked, his voice warm and low.

“Good,” I said, the word coming out slower than I intended. “Really good.”

“You’re smiling a lot,” he pointed out, his own grin matching mine.

“Am I?” I asked, touching my cheeks self-consciously.

“Yeah,” he said softly, his eyes lingering on me. “It’s cute.”

Chan broke the moment by passing the joint back to Hyunjin. “You two are adorable,” he said with a knowing smirk. “Couple vibes for sure.”

I felt my face heat, but Hyunjin just laughed, a low, easy sound that made my chest feel light. “You’re too high to be making assumptions, Chan.”

“Am I?” Chan quipped, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Or am I just observant?”

Chloe and Jisung, who had been watching a ridiculous TikTok video on the other side of the room, suddenly burst into laughter. “What did we miss?” Jisung asked, looking between us.

“Nothing,” Hyunjin said quickly, shooting a glare at Chan.

The night dissolved into more laughter and teasing, the haze of smoke curling through the air as the playlist shifted to something softer, more melodic. At some point, Hyunjin leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against mine.

“Next time, we’ll smoke alone,” he whispered, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

I turned to him, my thoughts hazy but warm, and nodded. “Deal.”

For the rest of the night, his presence felt like a steady hum beside me, grounding me even as the world tilted and blurred in the best way possible.

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Getting high with Hyunjin quickly became the highlight of my weeks. Despite his promise that we’d smoke alone next time, Chan’s presence was a given—he was Hyunjin’s roommate and dealer, after all. But I didn’t mind. Chan had a calming presence, an older-brother vibe with just enough chaos to make him fun, and Jisung often tagged along, too. What started as casual hangouts became a routine, one I looked forward to as much as my favorite art history lectures.

It felt like a dream to be part of such a warm, welcoming group after the isolation of my freshman year. Back then, my days had been a blur of late-night cramming sessions and anxiety-filled mornings. Failing my first three business administration classes during my first semester had shaken me to my core, leaving me questioning everything about myself. By the time spring rolled around, I was barely scraping by, clutching onto passing grades as though they were my lifeline.

But that semester had also been the turning point. Art history—a class I had added on a whim to fill my schedule—lit a spark in me I didn’t know I had. I spent hours pouring over slides of Renaissance paintings and Impressionist masterpieces, getting lost in brushstrokes and color theory. Biology had been another unexpected success. When I saw my final grades—a surprising A in both classes—I knew something had to change.

By summer, I’d decided to leave business behind, switching my major to environmental science and tacking on a minor in art history. For the first time in a year, my schedule felt like a reflection of who I wanted to be, not who I thought I had to be. It was my mom who suggested I find a job on campus. “You’ll meet people,” she said, “and maybe it’ll make school feel a little less lonely.”

She was right. I could never have imagined, sitting in my room and filling out that online application for the campus bookstore, that months later I’d be celebrating the new year in a haze of smoke and laughter. A joint between my lips, red solo cups clinking against each other, Hyunjin’s arm draped casually over my shoulder as we drunkenly sang “Auld Lang Syne.”

That night, Chan had brought his date, Amanda, a bubbly pre-med student with an infectious laugh. They spent most of the evening sitting on the couch, passing a joint back and forth in between playful kisses. I couldn’t help but glance at them a few times—there was something intimate and mesmerizing about the way Chan leaned close to Amanda, blowing smoke into her mouth before sealing it with a kiss.

Hyunjin noticed. Of course he noticed. He always seemed to pick up on the small things, like the way my gaze lingered a little too long or the blush that crept up my neck when he caught me staring.

As the countdown to midnight began, Hyunjin quietly took the joint from my lips, his movements smooth and deliberate. The lighter flickered in his hand, casting his face in a warm, golden glow as he lit it and took a deep inhale. He gestured for me to follow him, leading me to a quieter corner of the room. My back pressed gently against the wall as he stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell the faint citrus of his cologne beneath the haze of weed smoke.

“Did you want to try that?” he asked softly, nodding toward Chan and Amanda, who were sharing another smoky kiss on the couch.

I blinked up at him, my mouth suddenly dry. His voice was low, almost teasing, but there was a gentleness to it that made me feel safe, even as my heart thudded violently in my chest. I swallowed hard, the alcohol buzzing in my veins giving me the courage to nod. “Yeah,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper.

“10, 9, 8…”

The countdown swelled around us, but all I could hear was my pulse hammering in my ears. Hyunjin’s cheeks were flushed pink, whether from the warmth of the room or what he was about to do, I couldn’t tell. He held my gaze as he brought the joint to his lips, the end burning a bright orange as he inhaled deeply.

“7, 6, 5, 4…”

He moved the joint away, holding it loosely in one hand as he leaned closer, his other hand bracing against the wall beside my head. The air between us felt electric, every nerve in my body alive with anticipation. “Just inhale,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady, his dark eyes flickering to my parted lips.

“3, 2, 1…”

He exhaled slowly, a steady stream of smoke escaping his mouth. My instincts took over, and I leaned in, inhaling the smoke as it drifted between us. My eyes stayed locked on his, on the mole beneath his eye, the world around us fading into a blur of warmth and color. The smoke filled my lungs, and before I could think too hard about what was happening, his lips brushed against mine, soft and tentative.

“Happy New Year!”

The room erupted in cheers, but I barely registered the noise. His kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, his hand sliding from the wall to rest lightly on my hip. My head spun, a mix of weed, alcohol, and the sheer sensation of him.

Then reality hit—my lungs were still full of smoke. I pulled back suddenly, turning my head as a coughing fit overtook me. For a split second, he froze, his face a mix of confusion and concern, until I started laughing between coughs.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his lips quirking into a grin.

“Yeah,” I managed, wiping a tear from my cheek as the coughing subsided. “I’m fine. Sorry, I just—”

He cut me off with a laugh of his own, his hand brushing against mine. “First time for everything,” he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at me.

We stood there for a moment, grinning at each other like fools, before the noise of the room pulled us back. He grabbed my hand, tugging me toward the center of the room where our friends were exchanging hugs and shouting well-wishes for the new year.

As Jisung threw an arm around both of us, pulling us into a chaotic group hug, I glanced at Hyunjin, his cheeks still pink, his smile brighter than any firework. And in that moment, I knew—this was exactly where I was meant to be.

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The next weekend, I found myself back at Chan’s place, indulging in one last hurrah before classes started again. The cozy apartment was alive with music and laughter, the air thick with the familiar haze of weed. Chan had proudly brought out the bong that Hyunjin had gifted him for Christmas—a sleek, emerald-green piece that caught the light beautifully—and after my very first hit, I ended up in the kitchen with the pretty boy from the art section.

Our hands were intertwined, his larger one enveloping mine, resting on my lap as I perched on the counter. There was something so easy, so natural about the way he stood close, his free hand tapping absently against the counter’s edge, his soft gaze fixed on mine.

“Stay here for a while,” he murmured, his voice low and inviting. “Just you and me.”

He had to know by now there was no place I’d rather be, right?

“Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the muffled music and chatter from the living room.

I turned his hand in mine, placing his warm palm against my thigh, just above my knee, and reached for his cheek with my other hand. He straightened up at the touch, his expression shifting as he stepped between my dangling legs, bringing us closer. His cheeks flushed a soft pink under the dim kitchen light, and I felt the warmth of his skin bloom under my fingertips.

He smiled—gentle as always—but his eyes turned deeper, darker, brimming with something unspoken. The weight of his gaze made my arms feel weak, and my hand dropped from his cheek to rest on his shoulder. Slowly, I let it trail down his arm until his other hand instinctively found the curve of my hip.

“I think about you all the time,” he said suddenly, the words spilling out like he’d been holding them back for too long. He nibbled on the inside of his lip, watching me closely. “Did you know that?”

My heart stuttered in my chest, my cheeks burning hotter than ever. Words felt useless, so instead, I scooted closer to the edge of the counter, pressing my heels against the cabinets below to close the distance between us. My eyes darted between his hazy, half-lidded gaze and his soft, parted lips.

“I dream about you every night,” I admitted, my voice trembling but sure. My hands twitched as they slid up and down his forearms, only to fall away and find their place on his waist, gripping the sides of his soft, long-sleeve shirt like it was the only thing grounding me.

Hyunjin shuddered, his breath hitching. He slid his hand from my knee up my thigh, gripping my other hip as he pulled me even closer. His lips found mine for the second time, the kiss cautious but firmer now, more certain. The faint taste of weed and the cool temperature from the water bottle lingered on his mouth, and I melted into him, clutching his shirt tighter. A tiny whimper escaped me before I could stop it, and I felt him respond immediately—his fingers dug deeper into my hips, his body leaning closer until I could feel the thud of his heart against mine.

But just as the kiss deepened, he pulled back, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on my hips. His face was flushed, his lips glistening, and his words tumbled out in a rush.

“Do you wanna go out with me?” he blurted, his voice quick and nervous, like he’d forgotten he’d been holding onto the thought all night. “I mean—like, I meant to ask you earlier. I just…” He laughed nervously, his thumbs hooking into the belt loops of my jeans, fidgeting as he rambled on. “I thought maybe we could go to the art museum. They’re doing this post-impressionism exhibit, and I know you said you were taking the class on Van Gogh, so I thought maybe it’d be cool, you know? If you wanted to—”

I cut him off with another kiss, laughing softly against his lips.

“Hyunnie,” I giggled, pulling back just enough to meet his wide, startled eyes. “Of course, I’ll go out with you.”

His expression softened immediately, his beautiful pink lips curling into the kind of smile that made my stomach flip. For a moment, he just looked at me like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice quieter now, his hands steadying themselves on my hips.

“Yeah,” I said, leaning forward to rest my forehead against his. “I’d love to.”

The corners of his mouth twitched, and he let out a soft, almost disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe his luck.

“Cool,” he whispered, and then, with a surge of confidence, he kissed me again—this time with no hesitation.

In the other room, Chan’s voice rang out, laughing over some joke Jisung had cracked. But in the kitchen, it was just us, Hyunjin’s arms wrapping securely around me as I held onto him like I’d finally found something—or someone—worth holding onto.

[overmorrowpine]

you made peace with the wasps? Do you have any tips for doing the same thing, I think they're some sort of paper wasp from my research, but do you have any tips, I really don't want to pay to get them removed

yes!!

okay so, the main thing to understand, is that venom tends to be expensive to make and they don't wanna sting you. even if you rile em up pretty bad, chances are they'll try to get you to Leave without stinging at first

second! wasps can smell/sense the pheromones released when a wasp is crushed, and it makes them upset and more likely to sting. so try not to crush them if possible

now, idk where your nest is, but we've had some only a couple feet from a gate that gets slammed open and shut for two years now, and the larvae have grown up used to that and the adult wasps don't really care. as long as you don't actively poke at their nest, chances are they'll be okay with Activity happening nearby

wasp threat posture is where they raise their wings and uh,, butt end. i forget what that's called. it looks kinda like \!/ (their wings are usually flatter than that, at rest pose is about half as raised as that), so if you see a wasp doin that, she's telling you to back off

adult wasps drink nectar (and sugar water), so if you wanna leave a snack out for them, that's a good place to start. paper wasps, in my experience, don't take our food, so even if you leave out meat for their babies to eat it's likely that they'll ignore it to hunt bugs for the babies while yellowjackets go :0 and grab all the meat you leave

generally, if a wasp shows up and kinda,, hovers a few inches away and zigzags back and forth, what she's doing is foraging. she hasn't clocked that you're a living thing yet and if you sway back and forth or step back she'll go "oh! that's a creature!" and back off

if she shows up and zooms at you or bonks into you and then backs off to do it again, she's telling you to back up bc you're too close to the nest

wasps can recognize individual people, so you can befriend a hive with not too much effort in the same way you'd befriend a stray cat

good luck! hope this helps!

[searidings]

the idea of kara just like picking up lena and moving her in domestic scenes is making me feral. like they're having words™ and lena's explaining™ in front of her and kara's like munching on snacks in her low slung joggers and like "un huh" and just lifts up lena from her way and places her gently to the side OR lena trying to reach something from the upper shelf and kara comes from behind her to lift her from underneath her arms like lion king so her wife can reach whatever she's reaching and then goes back to doing whatever she's doing OR in the morning searching for something lifting the bed while lena's still sleeping in the bed. kara casually showing off her powers in domestic setting. yes please.

to get the full lena luthor cat-carry experience, check out this amazing illustration by @axolotllumberjack

“kara, so help me god if you don’t put me down—”

this is something kara apparently does, now. a couple of months into their relationship her girlfriend had started to just lift lena from time to time, without a single word of warning, and marriage had only made things worse.

kara lifts lena to reach the top shelves of their kitchen cupboards unprompted, hooks two hands under lena’s armpits when she’s dusting and thrusts her up towards the highest corners of their apartment so she can get to the light fittings. 

she lifts furniture with lena still on it, picking up their couch one-handed while lena’s napping to find her discarded glasses or lifting lena’s chair clean off the ground during dinner to snatch up her dropped dumpling.

she lifts lena onto the kitchen counter in the evenings without asking, kneeling by her dangling legs to slip her heels gently from her feet. she lifts lena to slide her out of the way when she’s blocking the particular snacks kara has her tunnel vision set on; lifts her out of her desk chair and whisks her off to bed when she’s had enough of her overworking. 

“you know you could just ask me to move,” lena had huffed once. but kara, damn her, had only smiled that megawatt smile that still manages to make lena weak in the knees, lifting her clean off the ground to pepper feather-light kisses across her cheekbones and jaw, lips curving against lena’s skin.

“but where’s the fun in that?”

so, it keeps happening.

kara lifts lena over grates in the sidewalk and out of the paths of speedwalking strangers and into gravity-defying hugs whenever they’ve been apart for longer than a few hours. she lifts her out of bed when lena really just wants five more minutes, lifts her slick and slippery back into their shared shower when lena really needs to go and run her company.

and now, apparently, she’s started lifting her without even the barest pretence of a reason.

lena had just been minding her own business in the middle of the bathroom, debating between showering now or after the yoga class she had scheduled in during her lunch break, when all of a sudden her feet had once again lost contact with the ground.

“this is getting ridiculous,” lena huffs, the severity of her stern gaze lessened somewhat by the way her shoulders are pushed up around her ears, arms propped straight out in front of her by the way her wife has scooped her up under the armpits like she would a stray cat. kara just blinks at her, angelic and unrepentant, unperturbed by lena’s feet knocking into her shins where they hover a few inches above the floor.

“i’m a capable, independent, fully grown woman. just because i don’t have superpowers, that doesn’t mean you can just pick me up whenever you feel like it. it’s— it’s demeaning,” she manages, trying very hard to focus on the salient point she’s trying to make rather than the warmth of kara’s skin against her own, the whisper of her wife’s steady breaths across her lips or the delicious press of all of kara’s curves and planes in all the right places. 

lena swallows hard against her suddenly dry throat, determined to make this point if it kills her. “put me down,” she says firmly, “and don’t pick me up again unless i ask.”

“okay, baby,” kara says amiably, pretzel crumbs shaking free from her loose hair and cascading very distractingly over the sheer material of her sports bra and a no-less-devastating-than-the-first-time-lena-laid-eyes-on-them set of abs as she sets lena carefully back on her own two feet. “i’ll put you down. i just thought you might...”

she wafts a finger carelessly, indicating the floor behind them.

“what are you talking abo—” lena manages, utilising every last iota of her willpower as a strong independent woman with a brain that contains anything other than a raging sex drive to tear her eyes away from her wife’s flexing bicep, turning to follow her pointing hand.

there, on the tiles mere inches from lena’s bare feet, is the largest, hairiest spider she has ever seen.

“mother of god,” lena yelps, all but throwing herself backwards with enough force that hitting kara’s body feels a little akin to hitting a slab of concrete. “pick me up pick me up pick me up—”

“but weren’t you just telling me how important it is for a grown woman to stand on her own two feet?” kara asks smugly, arms remaining irritatingly glued to her sides as lena tries her level best to climb her wife’s body like a tree. “demeaning, is the word i think you used. i never want to demean you, baby.”

“oh my fucking god, demean me,” lena snaps, shrieking as the hairy monstrosity skitters a half-inch closer to her bare toes. “demean me already! kara, please.”

annoyingly enough, those seem to be the magic words. kara chuckles, strong arms snapping out in an instant to curl warm and close around her body, floating the two of them a safe distance off the ground. 

lena’s heart is pounding, arms looped around kara’s neck and thighs in a vice-grip around her slim waist as she glances back over her shoulder in horror. below them, the bastard arachnid atrocity ambles cheerfully across the tiles.

“look at you, baby. so independent. so capable,” kara hums, nuzzling her face against lena’s neck as her chuckles leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “i’m so proud.”

“shut up,” lena pouts, eyes fixed unblinking on the spider lest it try to escape back to its lair. “i’ll divorce you.” 

and if she tightens her arms around her wife’s neck as she says the words, hooking her ankles tight around her lower back, so what.

“oh,” kara sighs, utterly unperturbed. “well then. i suppose i’ll have to put you down. you know, so i can pack my bags.”

and she begins floating them slowly but surely back toward the ground. back toward the spider. 

lena shrieks, slapping a hand against kara’s shoulder with all the efficacy of butterfly wings fluttering against stone. “i swear to god, kara, if my feet touch this floor while that spider remains in our apartment, even your sister won’t be able to find your body.”

kara grins, putting a precious few inches between them and the horror once again. “you know, i’m getting a lot of mixed messages here,” she hums, nosing into lena’s hair as she continues to crane her neck behind her, eyes locked on the offending insect. “put me down, pick me up again. how’s a girl to know what’s expected of her? what’s acceptable?”

lena sucks in a deep breath, releases it in a noisy sigh. for the sake of her safety and a spider-free apartment, she thinks, and steels herself. “you may pick me up once per day. that’s it. just once.”

kara whoops happily, setting lena carefully on the counter beside the sink before she’s gone in a blur of superspeed. when she returns a second later, the bathroom is mercifully spider-free. she positions herself between lena’s thighs, nudging close and grinning. “deal. once per day.” she quirks an eyebrow, cocky smirk screwed firmly into place. “and any time there’s a spider around, presumably.”

lena rolls her eyes. “sure. and then.”

kara’s lips tug upwards into a coy smile even as she wiggles her eyebrows comically, the overall effect landing somewhere around ridiculously endearing. “and how about when you feel like being demeaned?” she whispers playfully, lower lip caught suggestively between her teeth.

lena lets out an exasperated laugh, one that morphs into a breathy sigh as kara presses closer, crowding into her firm and insistent. “oh my god,” lena groans at what may objectively be the worst come-on she’s ever had the misfortune of hearing. how the hell did she ever fall for this idiot? “jesus, fine. take me to bed already.”

kara is only too happy to comply.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Guest Side Story

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Sarah Wilson Rating: T Word Count: 3214

Summary: Sam told Bucky not to flirt with Sarah. But this is her house, so Bucky's pretty sure she makes the rules.

Bucky’s missed white lies. Ones that don’t hurt anybody.

“Is that cigarette smoke I smell on your coat, James Barnes?” “No, Ma. ’Course not.”

“And you’re sure this dame knows it’s my arm she’ll be on?” “Sure, Steve. She’s been after me to fix the two of you up for weeks.”

Stuff like that.

Past few years, Bucky’s either been transparent or a brick wall, all lies or all truth. Which one he loses more sleep over just depended on the day. The most human thing, he’s learning, is to work with a little of both: fact and fiction. Give something here, hold something back there. Lying doesn’t have to be mean-spirited and telling the truth doesn’t have to make him feel hollow and guilty. Maybe you can only realize this kinda thing when you find your way home, even if the home isn’t yours.

Bucky’s standing in the kitchen listening to Cass teach him how to fish. It’s purely theoretical, no gear involved, just the overexaggerated motion of Cass’s arm as he mimes casting. Laughing, Bucky lightly grabs the boy’s elbow before it can collide with the refrigerator on an especially big swing. Cass downsizes his demonstration without pausing the excited flow of his instructions.

AJ catches Bucky’s eye; from the look on his face, he’s beginning to suspect that Bucky might already know how to fish. While Cass is focused hard on his hands pretending to show how to fit live bait onto a hook, Bucky smiles at AJ over the smaller boy’s head and raises a finger to his lips. White lies. Let Cass believe he’s the expert.

When Cass is winding down, Bucky moves around him with a grin, carrying an empty plate to the sink.

“I got it!” AJ declares, whisking it from Bucky’s hand and pumping a squirt of dish soap in the center while his other hand runs the hot water.

Cass slotted the Pop-Tarts the plate lately held into the toaster for him (no better end-of-the-day snack, Bucky was told) and now AJ’s cleaning up. They’re a hospitable family, all day long. No phoniness, no insincere offers of help that they’re hoping Bucky won’t take them up on. He actually had to race the kids to the shed to store a toolbox earlier. On the boat, Bucky has room to put in the effort for the Wilsons, but inside the walls of their home he’s not allowed to do a damn thing because he’s a guest. Per square foot of property, he doesn’t think he’s ever been treated this well in someone else’s house.

“Fine,” Bucky concedes, “but I’m doing all the dishes tomorrow—breakfast, lunch, and dinner. And don’t get up early to drink a glass of orange juice and try to wash it before I’m awake, ’cause I’ll be listening.”

The boys giggle and Bucky leans against the counter, hovering while AJ hands the plate off for Cass to wipe dry and pretending not to listen to Sam and Sarah talking in the next room.

…But there isn’t a full wall separating the kitchen from the living room and Sam knows Bucky’s hearing’s good, right? He doesn’t think they’re discussing anything that private and if Sam’s annoyed with him later for what he supposes Bucky might’ve heard, Bucky’ll just offer up another white lie and swear he couldn’t hear a thing. And Sarah… Sarah wouldn’t think any worse of him if she knew. Bucky imagines she’d have a lot of compassion for his frequent urge to give Sam a hard time just for the hell of it. He flicks a quick glance over his shoulder, just to see her, and concentrates on what they’re saying, giving himself vague permission because he overheard his name.

“This was your idea,” Sarah’s saying. “You brought the stray cat home, just like when we were kids.”

“Don’t compare him to something cute,” Sam complains. Bucky’s mouth tenses to keep his smile from spreading too far.

“He is a guest in my home, Sam, and he’s more than earned it after the work he’s been putting in with the boat.”

“And what about the work you’ve been putting in watching him do that work?”

“Sam. Grow up.” Sarah’s voice is playful and Bucky almost turns, wondering what her expression looks like.

“So you’ve just been appreciating his skill with a wrench and some sandpaper,” Sam says skeptically.

“If I’m also appreciating his shoulders in that shirt— if—” she emphasizes when Sam tries to interrupt, “—it’s nobody’s business but mine.”

“Ok, you definitely can’t have him sleeping on the couch.”

“What do you think I’m gonna do? Try to sneak him to my bedroom after lights out? With you listening, trying to catch us? Uh uh. Your sister is a grown woman with two children, a home, and a boat she couldn’t manage to sell, and she can lust where she damn well pleases.”

Bucky snorts out a laugh and AJ gives him a funny look. Kid’s too perceptive.

“He’s tricky,” Sam lectures. “You can’t see it, but I do. I’ve been around him a hell of a lot more. You think he smiles like that at everybody? If he smiles at me at all, I gotta assume he just looked up and saw a meteor hurtling towards where we’re standing and is only smiling because we’ve got seconds to live and I won’t be able to tell anybody.”

“You are hilarious.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re telling me your friend is charming. That’s what you’re describing. Don’t I deserve to be charmed? Where else is he gonna sleep, huh? With you? In one of the boys’ little beds while they share the other one? Because I know you’re not suggesting we skip the pretense and put him right in with me.”

Sam lets out a noise of obvious frustration.

“Time to intervene,” Bucky tells Cass and AJ, leaving them to swap confused shrugs in the kitchen as he saunters into the living room.

“Hey,” Sam greets stonily, arms crossed over his chest.

Just for fun, Bucky decides to be all the friendlier.

“It’s so great of you to put me up. Thanks, Sarah. This beats a hotel by a mile.”

“Our gourmet kitchen does offer an impressive range of sugary cereal,” she jokes. “I might even cook you boys a special breakfast tomorrow before you head back to the dock.”

Bucky’s grin widens.

“Oh yeah? I wouldn’t wanna—”

“No, it’s no trouble—”

“Well, that would be—”

“Both of you stop it,” Sam orders.

“Sam, go outside,” Sarah orders right back. “Play some tag with your nephews.”

“Sarah, I’m beat. We’ve been working on that boat all day.”

“Mhmm, you and the rest of the neighbourhood. You worked all day and you come home and there’s still two kids to entertain. But guess what?” She smiles deviously at her brother and throws a few fake punches at his stomach. “You’re Sam Wilson, the Falcon! Looks like you’re special after all. Me and Bucky here know you’ve still got some gas in the tank. Go on.”

Sam looks fairly planted to the spot as he glares from his sister to Bucky, but he eventually moves with a lurching step.

“I’m gonna be right outside,” he warns.

Bucky sidesteps out of his path and says nothing, though it’s hard to resist the instinct to egg him on.

“We’re gonna have a super-secret discussion about which towels he can use,” Sarah goads at her brother’s back.

Sam ignores her, corralling his nephews in the kitchen and guiding them out the door into the fading daylight with a hand on each of their narrow backs.

“Great kids,” Bucky observes.

Sarah nods, watching her family disappear, then turns to him.

“We’re not really gonna talk about towels.”

“No?”

Bucky’s eyebrows rise in surprise and delighted anticipation until Sarah grabs a folded blanket off the back of the couch and passes it to him.

“We’re making up the couch.”

“Oh.”

This is ok too. Actually, really nice, standing next to Sarah and unfolding the blanket as she stuffs a pillow into a clean case. Her eyes find his already on her and he swears he almost blushes; he’s been smoothing out the same crease in this blanket for a good thirty seconds with no result, just watching her easy movements, the way she flips her braids back when they fall forward over her shoulder.

“I hope you’re comfortable,” she says, lingering once they’re done.

“I woulda slept on the floor. A closet, even, like Harry Potter.”

“You read Harry Potter? Don’t tell the boys—they’ll be bugging you to play wizards with them.”

Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“Nah, I just watched the movie.”

“Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“You really better not bring it up then,” Sarah advises. “They’d try to tell you everything at once.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want to get in out of my depth.”

It feels like a significant look they exchange after his words. Bucky wants it to be—he thinks he does—but he feels awkward, romantically clumsy. Heartstrings tied together like shoelaces, waiting to trip him up. He’s been telling himself she’s only being kind, but after eavesdropping on her conversation with Sam, he knows she’s interested. In his shoulders at the very minimum. Was that right? His shoulders? Just in case, Bucky does his best to square them. Can’t hurt.

He’s fucking ecstatic when Sarah does glance down briefly, her gaze returning to his face with something flustered in it. Sure, she’s a mom and she runs a business, but it’s like she told Sam: she deserves to be charmed. Bucky’s not entirely sure he’s doing it right though.

“So,” she says, “Sam was just being a pain when he tried to convince me you can’t sleep on the couch because you’ve got a bad back, right?”

Bucky sighs but keeps smiling. It’s natural in her presence.

“I’d say that’s him making old-man jokes about me.”

“I apologize for my brother and his bad manners.”

“Ah, he’s not totally wrong,” he concedes, perching on the arm of the couch. “These last few birthdays have required more candles than you could fit on a cake.”

“Then you just have to get yourself a bigger cake.”

Bucky laughs.

“I guess optimism’s pretty much a family trait?”

“We work at it. They say you need to take the good with the bad, but they don’t tell you that means creating the good out of nothing a lot of the time, if you want any at all. The Wilsons worked that out some time ago, so we mostly do alright.”

“It’s a good feeling to be around,” he tells Sarah earnestly. Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. “Feels good, being around you.”

“We’re… I’m happy you could stay with us.”

The light’s softened in the room and her voice has gone with it. Bucky shifts on his feet.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” he assures her.

Sarah’s eyelashes flutter when she looks from his mouth to his eyes. Probably too try-hard to bite his lip now. God, Sam thinks Bucky’s so suave with Sarah, but it feels like he’s only got one move and it’s fucking smiling. Some Casanova he is. Sarah, meanwhile, is beautiful and authoritative and generous and moving closer to toss the pillow he’ll rest his head on tonight onto the couch.

“Anything else you need to be comfortable?” she asks, gaze slipping from one of his eyes to the other. “Another pillow? Pajamas?”

“I’ve got some, but…”

“But?”

Sarah gives him a questioning look and Bucky starts summoning the courage to make a move. He’ll touch her waist—no, take her hand. He’ll cup her sweet face so there’s no doubt what he means.

“But,” he picks up, “if I get cold in the night…”

There’s longing in her eyes, Bucky knows it, but Sam bangs in the screen door right then, one nephew squealing where he’s been slung over Sam’s shoulder.

“Well,” Sam announces loudly to the house at large, “that’s it! No more gas in the tank! Everybody get to bed!”

Sarah appears sorry as she steps back. Bucky almost reaches out to pull her in, to take another shot with another lousy line. Shit, he’s bad at this.

“There are more blankets in the hall closet,” she says, and slips away.

“Thank you,” he calls after her.

Sam walks past, Cass still dangling upside-down over his back while AJ runs ahead, and watches Bucky like a hawk (or some other bird of prey) as he digs through his overnight bag. What’s Sam expecting him to pull out? A strip of condoms? Bucky extracts a green toothbrush and holds it up with an expression of fake wonder. Sam rolls his eyes and heads off down the hall.

They are going to bed early, barely 9pm. That’s probably late for the kids though. Bucky’s pleasantly weary after a day outdoors, more working than talking, feeling like part of something as the Wilsons’ community came together to repair the boat. Seeing Sarah throughout. Flashing Bucky a smile while she spoke to a neighbour, grasping his outstretched hand to let him help her aboard so she could see their progress, checking Sam’s work like she’s his foreman while Bucky grinned and watched the siblings good-naturedly pick at each other. Sam was probably out like a light and Bucky should be too.

He’s not.

He can’t get to sleep right away, but it’s peaceful to lie here on the couch, on his back, while the house gets dark and darker. Sarah left the nearest window cracked for him and a gentle breeze washes in with the chirp of insects. Bucky’s already looking forward to being woken by the sun streaming through in the morning. It’d be good to get from now to daylight in a single stretch of sleep; that’s what he fantasizes about while he lies on his back: no nightmares. His head’s propped up by the pillow he tells himself smells like Sarah, though it probably just smells like her laundry soap.

It’s hard to put his finger on what’s missing, why he can’t fall asleep, until he hears the soft shuffle of footsteps on carpet. They’re too close together to be Sam’s—either hesitant or made by child-sized feet. Bucky cranes his neck around, expecting to see someone walk past on their way to the kitchen for a glass of water. His gaze roams over nothing for a minute, then he slumps back as the footsteps retreat. Maybe it was Sam after all, getting up to look in on his nephews or something. It’s the sorta thing Bucky would do if he were an uncle; he’d treasure the time with those kids, try to remember everything about his visit so he could hang on to it when he found himself half a world away, in Berlin or Riga or Madripoor.

He’s settling, trapping the blanket against his chest with a heavy hand, when he hears the footsteps approach again. Then back away seconds later. Slowly, Bucky starts to smile to himself. It’s Sarah. Can only be her. She’s either trying to psych herself up to come in here and talk to him and failing, or trying to resist venturing down the hall and succeeding.

On her next attempt, she gets closer, and Bucky sits up, kicking the blanket aside, and drops his feet to the floor in anticipation of her rounding the corner. He’s nervously gripping the couch cushion on either side of his knees when she does.

“You sneaking past Sam?” he asks quietly.

Sarah jumps, pressing a hand to her chest.

“You scared me. I wasn’t sure you’d be awake.”

Bucky shrugs, dreamily fixated on her smile. One of her neighbours turns on their porchlight and now Sarah can probably see his smile too.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he says.

“Shoot. Did you need something else?”

Kinda funny how she’s pretending she was coming out here for another reason and is just making a detour for him. He knows better, but he’s got enough remnants of being a gentleman not to call her out on it.

“Nah. It’s nothing to do with you.” Bucky stares at her a few seconds and changes his mind. “You know what? Actually, it is you.”

“What is?” Sarah asks with a hushed, confused laugh.

“The reason I can’t get to sleep. Sarah…”

But she smiles and does what he did to the boys earlier—holds a finger to her lips.

With the confidence of a woman at ease in her own home and her own body, she steps forward. She wore a yellow t-shirt today, but the one she wears now is pale pink. It’s loose and worn and reveals the strong, elegant curve of her shoulder when she moves and it slips. Gazing up at her, Bucky shifts until he feels the back of the couch. His hands hover in the air as Sarah digs one knee, then the other, into the cushion on either side of him. She lowers herself onto his thighs.

Moving slow like the hour, deep like the black sky, Bucky runs his hands up her back.

Sarah’s palms land on his shoulders and, smiling, she confesses to him, “I like these.”

He’s smirking when she ducks her head to kiss him.

Now that he has her here—on his lap, in his arms—Bucky forgets every way he wanted to touch her earlier. How he was gonna woo her with tender contact applied just right. Well, thank god for Sarah. She sets the pace of the kiss and, when his hands go still at her upper back, reaches around to bring one of them back down to her waist. He can feel that there’s no bra beneath her shirt.

“Rusty,” he breathes when their mouths slide apart.

“You were on that old boat all day,” she reminds him. “You know I’ve got patience for rusty.”

Still, Bucky wants to do a little better, prove that maybe he’s what she had in mind when she decided he was worth smiling at. He cradles Sarah closer, pulling her in, dipping his fingers into the valley of her spine when she arches into him. They kiss firmer, then faster. At her quick nod of encouragement, he moves his hands to her hips. Lower.

“Sarah?” Sam slurs sleepily from down the hall. “You outta bed?”

Sarah presses a hand to Bucky’s chest and pushes off his lap, other hand over her mouth to muffle her laughter. He chuckles too.

“As the Falcon, timing is one of his greatest strengths.”

“And as his sister,” Sarah counters, “it gets on my last nerve.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna say that, but…” Bucky grins.

“Sarah?” Sam calls out again.

She sighs.

“Is he trying to wake the boys?” She takes a step away from the couch, wearing a regretful smile. “I better go.”

Bucky catches himself before he can blurt out I’ll miss you. Overeager fool.

“See you in the morning?” Sarah checks, something shy about her now, but not in a bad way. Cautiously hopeful, Bucky thinks. He’s been feeling that way himself.

He gives her one more smile for the road.

“You bet.”

[koushisbabie]

Lovebites w Kenma

“i think i should submit here but may i please get a fluffy kenma one-shot where he kinda tackles the reader away from their study stuff because he needs attention and their relationship is relatively new so kissing and makeout stuff is rare but he's just kissing up on the reader's neck, nibbling on their neck, then just cuddling them after leaving a pretty hickey there, admiring the color on their skin before offering words of affection and just massive cuddles? i would love u forever” Request from @haikyutiehoe​

I kind of took creative liberty with this one, and it’s KIND OF suggestive near the end?? I hope you like it! (I also didn’t reread and edit it bc I’m supposed to be doing my essay lol)

TW: lovebites/hickeys, general fluff, suggestive at the end, probably doesn’t qualify as nsfw but like, be wary.

Pairing: Kenma x gn!reader

Word Count: 1,037

Soft lofi plays in the background as my fingers hover over the page in front of me. Loose documents and various writing accoutrement lie strewn across the kotatsu and spill over onto the floor surrounding me. Three almost empty mugs sit amongst the mess, their remaining contents long gone cold and stagnant.

I glance at the time, briefly scanning over missed messages waiting to be acknowledged. One message in particular catches my attention. A simple ‘what are you up to?’ Followed by ‘just a heads up, I’m streaming soon, wanna hang out after?’ And a third message ‘y/n, are you done yet?’.

Exhaustion seems to have made a permanent home in my limbs, but that not prevent me from instinctively smiling at the phone screen. I type back a hurried ‘I'm still studying, we can hang out later’ before turning the phone face down and shifting my attention back to the ruckus in front of me. I inwardly groan at the idea of trying to stuff copious amounts of information into my already tired brain, yet despite the hassle, somehow manage to force myself to open the next textbook and begin reading.

An indeterminate amount of time passes before a shrill vibrating erupts from the phone to my right. It pulls me out of my trance, and I reluctantly pick up the phone.

‘Hello?’

‘You’re still alive.’

‘Just barely.’

Kenma’s quiet laugh sounds on the other end.

‘What did you need?’ I ask, holding the phone between my cheek and my shoulder, using my free hands to write a few words down into my study notes.

‘Just checking up on you, you’ve been at this for hours,’ Kenma replies. ‘Come upstairs, give yourself a break, we can watch a movie or something.’

‘Tempting, but there’s some methods I haven’t completely wrapped my head around yet,’ I say, hoping that frustration does not wind its way into my voice.

‘Have you even eaten yet?’ Kenma interjects.

I glance guiltily at the snacks I vaguely recall him silently leaving on the table hours ago. ’I drank the tea,’ I quickly add, ’thank you, Kenma.’

He sighs audibly. ’Y/n...’

‘I'll eat, I promise, just a few more hours, okay?’ I smile into the phone, knowing very well he cannot see me.

‘Sure, Y/n,’ he says finally.

The phone goes silent and for a split second I consider just going upstairs to check that he isn’t sulking. He can handle a few more hours, I think. Turning back to my notes, I continue to read.

Before long, there is the muffled sound of footsteps on carpet, a door sliding open, and the gentle kneeling of a person behind me. Warmth envelopes me as sweatshirt clad arms encircle my waist, a cold nose nuzzling into my neck, the tickling of outgrown blonde hair against my skin.

‘Kenma?’ I peer at him out of the corner of my eye. ‘What’s up? You okay?’

‘Do you know what time it is?’ Comes his muffled voice. His lips press against my neck as he speaks, sending shivers down my spine.

‘It’s, uh,’ I go to check my phone, but Kenma’s hand grabs my wrist.

‘It’s time for you to listen to reason,’ he kisses my neck in between speaking, ‘and spend time with me.’

‘This is out of the blue,’ I laugh nervously. ‘Since when do you make the first move?’

‘Just because I haven’t done it before, doesn’t mean I don’t want to do it,’ Kenma blushes. ‘Is it really that weird?’

It’s now my turn to be embarrassed. ‘No, I like it.’

He presses his mouth against my neck more firmly. ‘What is it that you like, Y/n?’

‘That,’ I murmur in response, closing my eyes. ‘When you kiss me.’

His arms pull me ever closer, before using one cool hand to pull the neck of my shirt further to the side, exposing my collar bone. He places kisses fervently against my skin, the warmth and the firmness growing with each movement. I resist squirming in his grasp, not wanting to ruin the romance of the moment, despite the flustering in my belly. ‘Tell me if it hurts,’ Kenma murmurs into my ear, his lips tickling my earlobe deliciously.

‘It doesn’t.’

A moment of hesitation passes before the next kiss turns into something sharper, more urgent. He bites me hard enough to hold the skin between his lips before sucking gently and placing a soft kiss. I turn my gaze to his, the flecks of gold in his eyes shimmering innocently back at me, as if he wasn’t pushing every button I have in this moment. Almost every button.

‘Did you like that?’

The curiosity in his question almost makes me want to laugh. ’I did, yes.’

Kenma shifts his attention to my neck, his lips forming a lovely ‘o’ in surprise. He takes a hand and strokes the tender area. ‘You beginning to bruise.’

‘Am I?’ I cannot quite see the bruises.

‘I didn’t think I was that hard,’ Kenma gives a tiny smile. ‘Sorry.’

I grin mischievously at him. ’Something tells me you aren’t actually sorry for that at all.’

‘Maybe not,’ Kenma buries his blush in the crook of my neck, pulling me into an even tighter embrace.

‘Wanna go continue this upstairs?’ I ask, taking a hand and running it through the stray strands of his soft hair. This elicits a soft moan from Kenma, not unlike a cat’s purr.

‘That’s what I’ve been asking you for hours,’ He whines.

‘Ah, so you were sulking!’

‘Was not,’ Kenma argues. ‘Just, come be with me for a bit. I’ve missed you.’

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings. ’I’ve missed you, too.’

He meets my eyes with a tenderness that renders me speechless, and for a long second, nothing existed besides the two of us. God, he’s beautiful.

I stand and offer him my hand, to which he takes without hesitation. He eyes the mess I’ve made of my textbooks and study notes. 'I'll clean it tomorrow,’ I shrug. ‘Right now, I want to see how many more love bites you can give me.’

‘Anything for you,’ Kenma replies as he leads me by the hand to the sanctuary of the bedroom.

masterlist

[writingstarling]

Comfort in You

Adrien needed to get out. He curled deeper into himself as the walls chased down to cage him like a determined hunter.

It was a trick of the mind, he knew. He knew his room was spacious enough to support a relatively large apartment. That it would be impossible for him to be closed in.

He knew. But his brain couldn’t process that.

Today wasn’t what Adrien would call a good day—and he certainly had better. Just thinking of it sent him into a spiral of his own thoughts.

The air in his room were lego blocks he's forced to inhale. Smothering his nostrils in full force. And was it just him or was the ground starting to sway?

“Breathe,” a voice brought him back to reality. Adrien didn’t even notice he was holding his breath.

He had to calm down. Gain his head back.

Breathe, Agreste. Just like the article said, 4 7 8. Inhale through the nose for 4. Hold it for 7. Exhale through the mouth for 8, Adrien did as so.

You’re alright, you’re okay. Just calm down and you can get out of here!

Somehow he had managed. His surroundings were clearing up. The walls didn’t look like they were about to collapse on him anymore. The air filtering through his nostrils lightened in weight.

He was fine.

“Fine” was an overstatement really. He was far from it as it is.

But in his situation and for argument’s sake, “fine” would fit in nicely.

Exhaling one last shaky breath, Adrien fixed eye contact with his furry companion and smiled.

“Thanks, Plagg. I needed that.”

The black cat rubbed his cheek against his chosen’s. Not for long though. Despite appearances, Plagg had a reputation to keep. He couldn’t let Tikki make fun of him!

Plagg did loops in the air before favouring a spot in front of his chosen. His flipper like hands poised on his waist and a sly smirk played on his lips.

“So, you ready to break out of this place?”

Adrien mirrored his smirk with a fresh new glint in his eyes, “Plagg, claws out!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Life had been considerably unpredictable for Marinette. With her secret life as a superhero and the sudden debut of a supposed supervillain—or magical terrorist with the ability to grant people magical powers through the aid of butterflies, Marinette had thought that she was beginning to gain the capability to be unfazed by the unexpected. That with all the bizzare events in her life she became acquainted with it.

Apparently she was wrong.

Never had she expected for a certain cat—or perhaps Chat to be perched on her veranda. It rattled her at first. Chat’s last visit had been... interesting, to put it nicely. It wasn’t his fault per se, nevertheless the escalating events left a bad taste in her father regarding the cat themed hero. The bad blood died down, but finding the very person that broke your daughter’s heart on your balcony would certainly summon a very irresistible impulse to jettison him; and Marinette really didn’t want to explain to Paris why one of their heroes managed to become roadkill near her bakery (the suit would probably protect him, but Marinette did not want to take that chance).

That put aside, Marinette shuffled under her sole protector from peering—or in this case, Chat Noir’s eyes. A hand stationed at her trapdoor as her eyes spied on her partner.

His back faced her as he surveyed the city; his cat ears were flat on his tousled gold locks while he hummed a song Marinette became familliar with as “Little Cat on The Roof”. Her lips twitched into a knowing frown.

Being partners for so long they were bound to notice habits the other owned. At the moment, it was Chat’s occasional croons. Marinette recognised the song as Chat's solace. A safe haven achieved by focusing on the assortment of melodies the song offered. She came to the conclusion that her kitty was distressed; presumably due to family circumstances.

Marinette weighted her odds. It didn’t seem like Chat had noticed her yet—which was good. She hadn’t known what action to take. On the one hand, it would be wise to not nose around and let him solve it in his own time. But on the other hand, seeing him lack his usual jubilant and bright attitude sent a jab to her heart.

She wanted to help. To be of service to him like the terrible jokes and over the top shenanigans he did for her. No matter how stubborn she was to clung to her sour mood, he would do almost everything that came to mind to alleviate her spirits. She wanted to do the same for him.

“Marinette?”

The mentioned girl tensed before sighing internally. She knew she was bound to be spotted (HA!) somehow, though she did wish it would be from her own volition rather than a slip aided by Chat’s observation skills. Marinette didn’t loiter on that thought longer and pulled herself up. Red bloomed on her cheeks as the crisp autumn air caressed her skin while embarrassment added an even darker shade of red.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to spy,” she found great interest in the floor as her fingers busied themselves by connecting and disconnecting themselves, stealing peeks as she did.

She expected, hoped, for him to take the chance to chaff her of having an infatuation on him or alleging her of being stunted by his self-proclaimed dashing looks (Marinette has thrown herself into a spiral of denial), albeit begrudgingly. She had, because if he did—there lied a glimmer of hope that it would be easier to buoy her partner. Chat, however, had other plans in mind.

Chat offered her a smile. Impeccably centered and hollow like a well crafted porcelain doll, “It’s okay, it was rude of me to steal your balcony.”

Internally Marinette cringed at the sight. Her stomach wrapped itself in knots of discomfort. It reminded her of the smile Adrien would plaster whenever Chloe or Lila claimed possession of him. That night Marinette vowed that she would never let that smile abide on either boys ever again.

“It’s all right,” she spoke as her feet planted herself next to him.

A pregnant pause held them hostage. Both fearful of breaking the fragile semblance of peace between them despite the mutually felt inquietude.

“So,” Marinette threaded with rightfully earned prudence. Voice soft and light like footsteps on thin ice.

“...So...”

“I have some croissants.”

Finally a piece of her kitty came to light in the form of a grin on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

“You would indulge this poor stray to the finest pastries in the world? Truly, you are the most a-meow-zing purr-incess in the world!”

Marinette fought the giggle bubbling in her throat with no success before sending him a playful glare coupled by a smirk that flourished nothing but friskiness, “Careful now, those awful puns might just cost you.”

Chat’s hand sought his heart above the magical leather suit as an overly inflated gasp found freedom from his peach pink lips.

“How could you Purr-incess! My puns are widely ad-mew-tted to be fur-ry paw-esome,” he retaliated, voice brimmed with feigned smugness.

Snacks and chagrins were soon forgotten as they fell into an easy rhythm of banter. Jabs aimed to Chat’s puns would immediately be reciprocated with a flimsy defense along with an additional pun. Each one personally designed to perturb her further into submission. But despite it, Marinette couldn’t brush away the warmth buzzing through her entire body as they went back and forth. The once brisk air nipping at her skin replaced by a fervour akin to a hug from a dear friend.

After a particularly long laughter from both parties as Chat had finally managed to delivered a humorous pun - “EXCUSE mew Purr-incess, my puns are always funny!” - they settled in another lapse of silence. Consisted of feather lightness and melodic sweetness.

The city was exceptionally beautiful, they had agreed. Perhaps it was due to the occurrence of a full moon, offering the city a better lighting to its beauty; perhaps it was the fiery orange lining the streets with its playful gradient; or perhaps the most immediately discarded thought in their heads, the company they had.

It was a territory they never dared to venture. A land littered with minefields yet to be discovered, yet to explode with much more uncertainty and a set of emotions they were far too fearful to label. Because trying to label the unknown might shatter the bits of understanding of their emotions they barely possessed. Putting the hesitantly glued pieces into shambles; and as a teenager finding their place in the world, it was a risk they were walking eggshells on.

Neither allowed themselves to loiter on the thought longer than a second.

“I, I should get going.” Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps it was reality how Chat’s ears drooped as he spoke.

“Uh, yeah, it's getting late...”

Chat took the initiative to climb the rails of her balcony, hunched and ready to set off. Baton in hand and his leather-covered thumb hovering over the button to extend it the moment he leaps.

Swivelling his head to face the pig-tailed girl, he gave her a smile, genuine and sincere. “Thanks Marinette, I’ll see you next time.”

For reasons unkown to Marinette herself, a giggle burst forth from her throat. Tickling the air around them with her bubbly laughter. All at once, the air felt warmer to Chat Noir.

“Sure thing, you silly cat.”

Marinette had expected for Chat Noir to make his way. However, still he was in his previous position, unmoving. Marinette was one breath away from uttering her worries when Chat Noir’s voice cut through the air in slight whispers timid and uncharacteristic.

“Can I,” he paused for a minute, but persevered nonetheless, “can I come here again?”

The question sounded child-like in Marinette’s ears. Like a shy little kid trying to make friends while shouldering a large fear of rejection. He sounded so small, so vulnerable.

Marinette took a breath to ease the tenseness she felt from Chat’s question. She needed to deliver an answer appropriate from her words down to her tone in order to fully put Chat at ease.

Gentle and fluffy, sweeter than all the candies in the world with a tone of loveliness, she spoke. “You’re always welcomed here, Chat.”

A weight could visibly be seen lifted off Chat’s shoulders. Shoulders once guarded and fearful of rejection came to relax for the first time that night. With a nod, Chat finally made his way back to his house.

The journey was something he didn’t desire, but he can’t impose Marinette with his overdue stay. At the very least, he came back with a new feeling better than anything he had in a long time. A feeling of warmth buzzing in his heart. Perhaps, he’s finally starting to remember the feeling of home again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

HAHAHAHA SO-

I uh, I forgot about this thing’s existence and neglected it for 2 years...

Well so that’s also why the writing style is a bit screwed up but I tried and honestly I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing so you can have this mess instead ❤️.

[artxyra]

The League of Assions and The order of the guardions. The order master fu was a part of have always been allys. Daimon learns that lady bug and chat noir are active and thanks to a member of the Jla Paris calls for help have been wrote off as a prank. He goes sees how Chat is not doing his job and basical takes over. Marinette whom it the garudion now. Ask whom he is after he turns up as the new chat. He tells her the greeting league and order members use.

There was a hidden alliance unlocked only to those who deserve it. Damian had little knowledge until his mother pulled him away from a stray mission that his father sent him on and told him everything about. The Order of Guardians for the Miraculous, the miraculous themselves and how powerful they are. He never once thought a second of that was until a lazy Saturday night.

That night, Damian decided to hack the Justice League system and after coming across the trash file bin he finds footage of Paris dating back to three years ago. The recent video broadcasted only a few months ago had a very distraught and tired Ladybug staring at the camera. He watches every video that was ever sent to them and with each second a growing sense of anger rose within him.

By blood he is supposed to help the Guardians in their time of needs just like they do with the League of Assassins. Years of being pushed off as a prank, Damian knew what he had to do. Hacking into the Justice League of Europe he finds little to investigate, so he ends up searching for it online. Two vastly different websites regarding the Paris issue comes onto his monitor One website—the LadyBlog—was nothing but downgraded tabloid that would make Lois Lane, now Kent, gag and gouge her eyes out. The other site—Miraculous Out—was an informational site with Ladybug producing it along with news reporters by the names of Aurore Beaureal and Mireille Caquet. Together they appear in a professional setting reporting on the latest akuma attacks and give Ladybug the option to relay coping techniques every week and information regarding the aftermath of the akumatized victim.

It took every bone in his body to not just zeta tube to Paris right then and there. He must be smart, diligent. He doesn’t even know who the current Guardian is. It’s not like he could call upon the League and get (the right word is force) them to give him information regarding the current situation of the Order of the Guardians.

That sort of willpower only lasted a week. After being brushed off by the League members that remain after the majority, his father included left on a mission out in space. He snuck past Nightwing, his apparent guardian, and zeta tubed to the closest place to Paris.

It takes him a day to locate the current holders of the ladybug and black cat miraculous. That was mainly due to an akuma attack in the progress that night.

Chat Noir was practically no help. The hero wasn’t listening to any of the demands (the better choice of word is strategies) Ladybug was telling him. He could see the stress in her through her body language. A facepalm, constant use of a scowl. Her eyes darting around for a perfect moment. It’s all the reason why she hadn’t used her lucky charm yet.

Foolishly, Chat Noir called out his Cataclysm prematurely and it wasn’t Ladybug’s screaming at the hero to not do that, that gave it away. No, it was that with him analyzing the situation Cataclysm was not needed for what Ladybug was setting up. The akuma victim wasn’t near the proximately that the attack would even help.

Seeing the useless black cat holder looking unsettling unhappy. Ladybug now breathing deeply turns her attention back to reworking her plan as the person that was supposed to be her partner, her equal, runoff into the distant. Ladybug calls out to him, but even she knew better than anything.

Damian takes off towards the running, failure of a hero. He waits, lingering in the shadows. Each blast from afar, he knows that he needs to hurry. He no doubly trusted her abilities to handle the situation but for how long was the question that rang through his head.

Got him.

Damian quickly takes down the useless hero. It’s not like him to put up a fight as the hero was mumbling to himself at how she should trust him more, that they are meant to be together.

The kwami of destruction showed himself to the Gotham vigilante after Damian reassured him with the password that the League and the Guardians came up with to ensure they were the real deal. Reluctantly, the kwami gives Damian permission to be his wielder allowing Damian to take the ring off the unconscious former hero.

The kwami tells him how to activate the miraculous, but we will need to speak to the guardian after this whole ordeal to determine his fate after this. “Plagg, claws out!”

Ladybug was used to fighting alone, but that didn’t mean she liked it. Her plans go down the drains the moment Chat decides to act out during each of their attacks. She also hates knowing that he is Adrien Agreste, a person she once thought of so highly to the point when her civilian self wanted to start a family with him. After becoming the guardian, she only then started to see how selfish he is and clinging to others. Perhaps it was his lack of knowledge of the real world, but even a baby understands the meaning of no and yet he acts like one.

This akuma wants vengeance against those who wrong her. A beauty contest went wrong and she swears that the winner only won because she slept with the judge the night before. Not that Ladybug needed to know that.

She already figured out the akumatized item, it was her pageant satchel.

“Need a hand.” Ladybug turns around to see a person wearing a cat-eared hooded black cap. She swears that the person reminds her of Batman with a mixture of Nightwing.

“I don’t have time for this.” Ladybug sighs before stalking up to the newly defined holder of the cat miraculous. “Her akuamatized item is in the satchel care to lend a hand.”

The newly acquired black cat nods allowing Ladybug to proceed in giving him her plans for ending the akuma. She couldn’t get a good look at him until he launches himself into the air and sees the black tight bodysuit with red and green accents outlining his suit. His use of combat boots and handle the black cat’s miraculous choice of weapon with ease. If someone were to ask her if she felt jealous of his determination, outfit, and skills, she would have denied it to her very core.

They bodies moved in sync, always knowing what the person was going to do before needing to communicate vocally. It was this time of teamwork she needs right now.

“Bye, bye little butterfly.” She says as the purified akuma flies off into the distance. Throwing up her lucky charm item, a fishing rod, into the air everything returns to normal. She turns to the new black cat and asks him his business for taking the miraculous and being in Paris.

Damian asks for an audience with the current guardian. Ladybug places her hand on her hips and tells him that she’s the current guardian. Within a second of that information escaping her lips, he tells her the sacred password. Ladybug’s stance becomes at ease and she motions for him to follow her.

“You have some nerve taking a hero’s miraculous without my knowledge.” Ladybug sits across from him as Plagg hovers over her shoulder snacking on a slice of cube cheese.

“I’m in an alliance with the Justice League and only recently found out about the lack of attention Paris is receiving,” He tells her honesty. “As a member of the League of Assassins, it is my duty to aid you in your time of need.”

Ladybug sighs and leans back into her seat, “The help was nice. If you want, I can allow you to use the black cat miraculous until the Hawkmoth situation is dealt with, or you can return to the Justice League and help from afar?”

It was a great deal. He gets to be on his own seeing as he’s closed to becoming eighteen and gets to be away from his family’s prying eyes.

“I would like that.” He answers her after a moment of silence. “It would do my honor a great justice helping out an alliance that my grandfather swears by.”

“You seem like the type of person that would avoid anything, and all things League related.”

“And seem like the type of person to avoid things Order related.”

Ladybug and Damian shares a smirk together.

“Well, I’m sure the ladies at Miraculous Out is just dying to get to know the new black cat, what will you be called?”

“[Insert hero name for Damian here].”

Ladybug smiles and gets up to shake the man’s hand, binding their future together.

Permanent Tag List: @vixen-uchiha | @i-is-mysterious | @kuroko26 | @maribat-is-lifeblood |

[jinkicake]

You’ll Be Okay

Lev, Oikawa, Daichi with a s/o who had to quit their soccer team because of a medical injury. 

Haiba Lev x Reader

Oikawa Tooru x Reader

Sawamura Daichi x Reader

˖◛⁺⑅♡ Here you go Anon. I’m so sorry you had to quit your team, I hope you’ll feel better soon. I know it hurts not being able to play anymore and I’m sorry you have to go through that. I hope these three clowns can comfort you in some way~ 

WC- 1,531

~~~

Haiba Lev

Lev would cry with you, honestly, he seems to be so sensitive and especially with something like this. Like how passionate he, himself, is with sports

His heart would be broken for you

Lev might not be the best boyfriend yet, but he is trying!

He’ll buy you cute little snacks and give them to you whenever he sees you so you can have a smile on your face

Please, he would get you the cutest little soccer ball key chain so you can remember how much you love the sport

Lev would get you to focus on the positive things, like the appreciation you have for soccer. Even if you can’t play it anymore he would want you to remember all the good memories you have because of it

He would drag you to the gym with him, you would just sit on the floor and the two of you would practice receiving a volleyball

Lev would always look out for your injuries, he’d offer you piggyback rides or ask if you need ice or anything for it

He is very concerned for you because let’s face it, he is a cutie in love

Please, Lev would take such good care of you and even though he is a little clumsy, he does try very hard to make you happy

“Okay just sit there,” Lev gently pushes on your shoulders and makes you sit down against the wall. “now we are ready!” He grabs a volleyball and gently hits it with his forearms over to you. You catch it with ease and direct it back to him, much to your boyfriend’s surprise. “You’re a natural (Y/N)!” 

It keeps going on for a while until Lev messes up and uses the edge of his arm to hit the ball, making it fly in a completely different direction. The tall middle blocker groans in annoyance before putting his hands out to you.

“I’ll get it, don’t worry!” He jumps up to his feet and runs after the ball that trailed outside, you sit in silence for a while. The gym feels utterly lonely without your boyfriend and a pang takes your heart by surprise.

Lev bursts back through the gym doors however, he doesn’t have a volleyball in his hands. Instead, a dark-haired cat rests in his arms. Your boyfriend eagerly runs up to you and sits beside you, placing the cat in your lap. 

“I got you something.” He cheekily grins before kissing the top of your head.

You smile lightly at the cat sitting on top of your legs and gently begin to pet it, stroking its fur and relaxing when you hear it purr.

“Do you like it?” Lev whispers and you nod before turning to look at him, his bright green eyes already staring at you.

“Yes, I really like the cat. Thank you, Lev.” You smile and he leans down to kiss your lips.

“I will always make you happy (Y/N).” He promises and you tilt your head down shyly, he’s so bold to say such things. “I promise.”

No matter how reckless Lev is, at that moment you knew you’d always believe his promises.

Oikawa Tooru

Oikawa would be really good at comforting you with this specific scenario

He understands the pains, more than anyone else, of overworking and just wanting to keep getting better

You know…. His knee :-((

He’d be so supportive of you and hold you in his arms, cuddle you until you have to push him off 

Oikawa would try to cheer you up with things that you like, he’d take you to get really good meals or treats

It’s all to partially distract you so you don’t think about what you are missing, he’d be really good at it

Oikawa already treats you like the special person you are, but he would be extra gentle with you now

All his touches would be so fond and he would make sure you are always comfortable

If for some reason, he can’t be around he would force Iwaizumi to hang out with you

You two would bond over how much Oikawa ‘annoys you’ when deep down you both love him more than anything!

“Oh, baby,” Oikawa would frown when he notices you crying on your bed. You’ve been having a really hard time after giving up a sport that you were passionate about and needless to say it wasn’t easy. Oikawa moves to hover over you, brushing any stray hairs out of your face. He feels his heart breaking at your watery cheeks and runny nose.

Your boyfriend curls up behind you, holding you close to his chest as he buries his face into your hair. 

“It’s going to be okay, (Y/N), you’ll be okay.” He squeezes his arms around you and kisses the back of your neck gently, anything to help calm you down. “I know it’s hard, baby, I know it is. I’m here for you, it’s okay.”

He keeps repeating the same soothing words over and over again. At first, it made you cry even more but after the third time, you started to believe him. 

It will be okay.

“I know it hurts, I’m so sorry.” Oikawa continues to coo and he holds you tighter every time a sob slips past your lips. “You’ll be okay, you’re going to be fine.”

Oikawa tries various things to help calm you down, he goes from rubbing your back to running his fingers through your hair. He lets you cry until you can cry no more, until your eyes are swollen and puffy.

“I got you. You want something to drink?” Oikawa watches for your reaction and purses his lips when he gets none. “You need to drink baby,” He forces you to sit up and brings his water bottle up to your lips, holding you against his chest to do so. “You’re okay.”

It might take some time but Oikawa is right, you will be okay.

Sawamura Daichi

Daichi is a very supportive person, and not to mention he is so caring

He would be able to understand you really well, even if he can’t relate, he would try to sense what you’re feeling so that he can help you

Daichi is the type to bring you on dates to take your mind off of not being able to play

Little trips to the river or just buying food from the convenience store and then hanging out in your living room

He would refrain from talking about his own sports life until it is no longer a sensitive subject for you because he doesn’t want to make you sad

If you ever need to go to the hospital for checkups or anything, Daichi will go with you

He is a person you can truly lean on, I admire how reliable he is

Whatever you need to do to cope, Daichi will do it with you

He will be there for you during the time that is painful, seriously he is there for you 24/7

Whenever you feel like breaking down or crying out, Daichi will hold you in his arms and rub soothing circles on your back as you let it all out

“Come on, pick out your favorite foods.” Daichi pushes as you two walk into 7/11, you look around the store glumly and bite the inside of your cheek. Your boyfriend grabs a basket and makes his way to the hot foods, grabbing a few yakisoba containers and rice balls before meeting you in the snack aisle. You grab some chips and candy that you like and place it inside of his basket. Daichi keeps his hand on the small of your back as you two grab ice cream and some drinks. “It’s going to be a little party, just you and me.”

Daichi’s warm smile makes your own appear on your face, almost like it is contagious. The cashier thanks you both after you finish paying and Daichi grabs onto your hand before leading you out of the store. 

The walk back to your house is short, thankfully, and you walk into the empty kitchen after taking your shoes off. Mentally, you thank the world that your parents are working late tonight. You grab clean plates and silverware before making your way back into the living room to see Daichi setting up blankets and pillows, the food already organized onto the table.

“Did you pick what you want to watch?” You ask your boyfriend and Daichi stares at you confusedly.

“Babe, it’s your party, you pick the tv show.” He calls back and you narrow your eyes at him like you know what you want to watch? You guys end up settling on some filter tv show while mindlessly chattering about random things as you eat dinner.

“You know I’m always here for you, right?” Daichi tells you after you finish eating and you nod slowly, of course, you know this. “I just wanted to remind you, babe.”

His kind words warmed your insides and as you stare at him, you really do realize how lucky you are to have him.

~

Taglist.

@yams046​ @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy​ @xhanjisungiex​ @xxashshs​ @chaosamu​ @angelkogane​

[philliamwrites]

the fault in our stars

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Characters: Claude & OC

Tags: #multiple dimensions, #dimension travelling, #platonic love, #mentions of major character’s death

Words: 4.5k

Summary: Claude receives a letter that states someone is out there able to help him fulfill his goal of unifying Fodlan and Almyra. Signed, “The Witch.” Of course he doesn’t trust this, but curiosity killed the cat, and so he sets out to find her and see what kind of help she can offer. It turns out, this witch carries more secrets than anyone Claude knows can carry and he, gentleman that he is, gladly lands her a hand.

Notes: A commission for @iam-miscellaneous

the fault in our stars

A twig snapped somewhere behind him and Claude whirled, an arrow nocked and ready, but it was just a little squirrel staring at him with big, round eyes. He raised an eyebrow, and it scurried off into the forest and disappeared.

Claude relaxed. The forest was quiet again since most of its residents had fallen into a deep slumber from which they shouldn’t wake up until Lone Moon. But Claude had read about dangerous creatures that didn’t fear the harsh Syopyr Taiga of the Galatea region, and stalked through the snow to hunt their prey. He’d much prefer not ending up inside the stomach of a moonbear or red wolf, thank you very much.

He should have brought Ákos with him. His wyvern was big and he would surely draw attention—literally the wyvern in a porcelain shop, but Claude would be save from any beast trying to have him as a snack. Also, Ákos was warm. Warm and with his white skin perfectly blending in between the snow covered pine trees that stood vigil like the statues of the four Saints in the monastery. But it would be hard for Ákos to move freely, so Claude relished in the comfort to know he was but a whistle away and would barrel down and crash through the woods to save him.

Were it not for the letter, Claude wouldn’t even be here in the first place.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the letter before him, its existence ever-present inside the pocket of his trousers as if it emitted heat, burning against his thigh.

I can aid you in your goal, wrote the mysterious person calling herself The Witch.

What goal specifically? Overthrowing Edgard? Unifying Fódlan and his mother land? Striking down the borders of discrimination and bigotry so people would finally stop slaughtering each other over the colour of their skin or what god they choose to worship? So many questions, and Claude hated any of them remaining unanswered. But for that, he had to find the witch’s cottage first and he’d been wandering through these woods for hours.

The Everglow stone certainly did keep his fingers from freezing in this relentless cold, but he knew he’d reach his limit soon and would have to return to base. He knew this time, Lorenz and Hilda would not allow him to leave so easily.

They’d been wary of it the moment the unknown owl had landed on Ákos’ head, carrying a letter addressed to “the Prince of a far away land.” Claude’s blood had run cold.

“Prince of a far away land?” Hilda had squinted at the paper spread out in front of them on the war table they kept outside under an open tent. “Who is that supposed to be?”

“And the things she offers, this ‘Witch,’” Lorenz had agreed sceptically, and thus luckily not noticed the quick glance Hilda stole Claude’s way. He’d always known Hilda knew more than she let people on, and Claude had given her one of his rare, tired smiles. She’d made a very serious, very un-Hilda like face, and turned back to the letter.

“I think I should check it out,” Claude had said, and their reaction was understandable, if a little too dramatic for his taste.

“If you die chasing this witch, could you die knowing you leave the Alliance in someone else’s hands?" Lorenz had said. That was very unusual for him. It had taken them five years to get there, and Claude wouldn’t just throw away that trust.

“What if she turns you into a frog?” Hilda had asked. That was very usual for her, and Claude was thankful for her effort to ease the mood after all the losses they’d suffered in the Battle at Gronder Field.

“Then you guys better start looking for a princess right about now,” he’d replied, his tone breezy when inside he’d been a storm. The only princess he knew had charged into the role of Emperor and would surely make frog leg soup out of him, and the only prince he’d known laid skewered without even a proper burial on a vast field that drank itself sick from all the blood spilt on it.

Things did not look good for the Alliance. As Claude had filed every advantage and disadvantage seeking out this mysterious person in alphabetical order, he looked at the owl that had delivered the message. Its black eyes were fixed on him expectantly, as though he should be well aware of what it sought as reward, but Claude didn’t know of course, and a second later, its sharp beak split open the skin at the back of his hand, drawing blood. It ruffled its feathers and took off to the sky, hooting in offence.

“Let’s hope you’ll start off better with this witch than her familiar,” Lorenz had commented, leaving Claude to tend to his wound. He’d hissed a curse, pressed his mouth against the wound and levelled a disbelieving look at his animal companion. Usually Àkos was no friend of man or animal. He barely tolerated Claude’s closest companions to saddle or care for him, but he’d allowed an unfamiliar owl to use his head as a seat, and peck at his friend and master.

Claude still pondered about that even after a week’s worth of travelling through the Alliance territory to reach the north of Faerghus. He didn’t like being short of options, but with the hand dealt to him by Fate, he could really use an ace up his sleeve.

The witch could have been more specific about her location though.

Come to the Okhotsk Forest and you will find me.

Well, that was a lie. He’d been out here for hours now, and still there is no sign of her, or her hut, or anyone living out here for that matter.

Claude would be mad furious if this turned out to be one of Hilda’s jokes. Though he doubted even she would go this far, especially during a time like this. War changed people. She wasn’t the giddy girl anymore, batting her eyelashes to let other people do her work. And yet he remembered this one time when his grandfather Oswald had celebrated the Leicester Alliance Founding Day and Hilda had written him a secret note to meet him, pretending to be his first crush. He’d been waiting in the cold until servants found him with a fever the next morning. But instead of getting angry, Claude was really impressed by Hilda’s lie and persuasion, and decided to have her as a friend rather than an enemy.

Claude shivered. Pegasus Moon was drawing its end. He could smell it in the crisp air—the time of new beginnings dawned. An opportunity for new plans, new schemes, and he wouldn’t be Claude von Riegan if he would pass up on them. That was, if he found his hopefully new ally. And just in that moment, he turned his head and caught sight of something dark in the corner of his eyes.

A hut.

Out of nowhere, a little hut stood in the middle of the clearing, looking as if it had been there since the beginning of dawn. It blinked into existence where seconds ago the forest ground stood empty. Claude blinked, thinking out of desperation he’d imagined it. But no matter which way he turned his head, what angle he leaned into, the hut didn’t magically disappear like the Fata Morgana he’d encountered during their trip around the Sreng Desert, where instead of finding one of the lost Saint’s weapons, they had stumbled upon an ancient, sentient beast.

Claude shook at the memory, feeling his mouth go dry just thinking about the scorching heat. Even days after their return to Derdriu, he’d found sand in places it wasn’t supposed to be.

Luckily, the forest was the complete opposite. It was eerily quiet. No birds heralded the spring, no foxes scurried through the underbrush in search for smaller prey. Among the blinding white of the freshly fallen snow that clung to everything, the black stoned hut with its small, red chimney looked like a picture out of a fairy book. Claude grimly remembered stories Dimitri had told him in front of the fireplace in one of the monastery’s big common rooms about a witch living in the deepest forests of Faerghus called baba yaga. Her house stood on chicken feet and she snatched away little children who went astray or lost their way through the forest.

But this was real. Claude had finally found her.

Approaching the hut carefully, his fingers danced across the hilt of the short sword attached to the belt around his hip. He wasn’t a fan, but since early days, Nader had taught him the way of the sword.

“You won’t always have the luck to find a bow,” he’d said after knocking little Claude to the ground for the fifth time in a single sparring session. Claude had endured without complaining, but he’d also made up his mind that day that the sharpest weapon on him would always be his mind.

Claude braced himself. Having finally reached what he’d been venturing to for the last weeks was wind in his sails, propelling him forward and lifting his hope. He knocked against the wood with his knuckles, once, twice. A third time.

Nothing.

Off to a good start.

“Hello?” he called through the door. His fingers itched to the letter as he wondered if he was supposed to say a secret code word. But he’d read the letter over a dozen times, analysed everything from the way she dotted her i's and crossed her t’s to how she constructed every sentence.

No secret password. No secret behavioural code. Nothing.

Claude decided to go for the doorknob. But when his hand hovered inches away from it, it turned by itself and the door creaked open. Claude shuddered. Inside, everything was dark. Heavy vermilion curtains didn’t allow any sunlight to stray inside. A minty scent lied in the air, not unpleasant, as if someone had recently taken a hot bath and thus steam still lingered in the air. He cautiously entered the hut, eyes straining to see any kind of movement. Everything was still.

Fabric rustled—no, not fabric. In one corner stood a perch, and on it sat the owl, regarding Claude with its black eyes. They stared each other down for a moment, in which Claude wondered if it had been the witch all along, playing with him. But the owl just regarded him sleepily, then turned around and chose to ignore his presence.

Claude allowed himself to relax a little. From outside, the hut looked small, barely the size of his bedroom at the monastery. But inside was enough space to hold multiple work stations and contain additional rooms to the east and west. One wall was completely lined with bookcases tall enough to reach the roof, neatly stacked with leather-bound books. When he looked closely, he could see gold letters shining off their spines. In front of if stood a large table that was buried under dozen maps, showing star constellations he’d never seen before. To his other side crinkled the fire place. A black kettle hung above it, and he could hear water boiling.

Claude approached the shelves standing beside the fireplace, filled with all kinds of different objects in containers and glass bottles. Glowing flowers, insects with rainbow coloured wings, sharp claws and large teeth swimming in murky liquid. He realised only then that he’d been expecting dead animals lying around with their abdomens wide open and jars filled with organs. But this place looked cosy. Like someone actually lived here instead of using it as a crazy laboratory.

“I see this place is to your liking?” sounded a voice from his right. Claude jerked back from the jar he was observing. He hadn’t even heard a door opening behind him.

She’d just appeared like a dream. Claude’s first thought was, She is very small, and for a moment he feared to meet with a child because he’d turned down the wrong path and missed his designated location completely. But then she opened the curtains with a flick of her wrist. Claude, blinded by the sudden light, flinched. He’d seen sorcerers and the like at the academy, had seen Marianne and Lysithea work their spells and yet he knew this girl in front of him was unlike any spellcaster he’d ever met.

Not girl, he realised as she stepped into the light, and he found her gaze linger on him. Those were no eyes of a young girl. For a brief second, Byleth’s face flashed in front of his eyes. Claude missed her. He did not look forward to face her once they’d reach the Imperial capital. If she didn’t come to him first.

“It is certainly … unique,” Claude said, moving back to the centre of the room with his back to the door. He didn’t like to be cornered, and though he guessed his chances weren’t bad facing an opponent a whole head smaller than him, he didn’t want to challenge Lady Luck. She didn’t appear to be very fond of him lately anyway.

“Shall we talk business then?” he quickly followed on, watching her move to the fire place. Taking the kettle, she poured steaming water in two prepared cups. He immediately recognised the smell, Almyran Pine Needles, his favourite tea. If there really was a spy among them, he’d have to find them quickly. Or she really was a witch and had insight in many things which meant he needed her on his side before Edelgard found her.

The Witch gestured to two heavy armchairs sitting in front of the fire and after a moment of hesitation, Claude crossed the room and sank in the cushions. Only then did he realise how exhausted he was from wading through knee-high snow. He took the cup from the witch’s small hands, but didn’t drink yet even though his body couldn’t wait to warm up quickly after the freezing temperatures outside. Besides, sometimes it was more about the company of a warm beverage. And he wanted to make sure she drank first to see if it was poisoned.

The witch took her first sip without hesitation, then looked at him daringly as if she knew exactly what he was waiting for. Claude didn’t trust her. But if she really would aid him, then he wouldn’t pass on that offer.

Bottoms up then. Tasting the nostalgic flavour, Claude immediately relaxed. There was the right amount of sweetness too, meaning she’d put in the right amount of sugar.

“Who are you?” Claude asked finally, the question burning on the tip of his month since he left Derdriu. The Witch took another sip. Her gaze roamed over his features, calculating yet at the same time somewhat caressing.

“A friend,” she answered, “who only wishes to see you win the war.”

Claude took that in for a second, allowing the tea to warm him from the inside. “I think I’d remember if I had someone peculiar like a witch as friend. And what exactly makes you think I need help?” he asked. “As far as I know, the Alliance is holding up pretty well.”

He had to test how much she knew. If there really was a spy, they had to find and eliminate them quickly.

The Witch placed her porcelain cup aside, and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees, she looked like a mother about to scold her child.

“The Alliance is a powder keg about to explode,” she said calmly, yet with a voice that didn’t appreciate Claude trying to deceive her. “You can’t find a way to convince Lord Gloucester to join your forces and usually a nation divided does not win wars. Especially not against an opponent like the Emperor.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair, dragging his tongue over his lower lip, his mouth suddenly dry. Straight to the point, just how he liked it. “It doesn’t stop with getting old Gloucester to unite with House Riegan,” he said. “We need food, weapons. A new base of operation somewhere more central to send out our forces. Unfortunately, I doubt The Enlightened One will let us stay anywhere close to the Garreg Mach monastery.”

Something flashed in the Witch’s eyes when he mentioned Byleth. She pursed her lips, reminding him of Judith whenever she received a particularly unpleasant information.

“I see,” she said after a moment. “Your old teacher leads the Black Eagle Strike Force. That does make things more difficult.”

Claude leaned back in his armchair and stretched his legs, crossing them at the ankles. Interesting how she knew about the Alliance’s status but not that his old professor was on the enemies’ side. “Difficult how?”

“Let me deal with that once the time comes,” the Witch said. Claude wasn’t happy. He knew trust was a little too much, too quick given they knew each other for about five minutes. But she could give him a little more to work with here.

“Pardon me, but so far you haven’t really convinced me to accept your help, little witch.” He had to test the waters, see how far he could go in before the current dragged him under. The witch didn’t even blink at this nickname.

She mirrored his movement and locked her fingers in her lap. “Let’s just say my knowledge about certain things would aid you greatly in winning this war.”

“What things, pray tell.”

“Your plan to fend off the Imperial forces stationed in Daphnel. You won’t be able to occupy it for a long time before the Imperial army takes it back. You wonder if those knights and soldiers are better off stationed in Goneril to guard your supply shipments coming from Almyra, but you can’t say if your people would prefer to see an assertive ruler adamant on fighting the Empire or a generous ruler who cares more about protecting and nourishing his people.”

Once she finished, only the crackling fire made conversation with the burning wood. Claude didn’t avert his eyes from her piercing gaze, and she didn’t shy away when he cocked his head to the side, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

“So you do know a few things about me,” he said, and now he was the one mirroring her movement, leaning in closely. “But if you know about what keeps me awake at night, what do you know about my enemies?”

“Enough to end this war,” the Witch said, her eyes blazing with resolve, “if you listen to me.”

Claude raised his hand and pressed his palm to his heart. “I promise, should there be method in this madness, I will lend you my ear and listen what you have to say, little witch.”

She exhaled softly. Relieved, and Claude wondered how much of that conviction she’d shown was act. But he couldn’t begin to doubt this early, for the doubt would eat away at him and just this time, he wanted to believe whoever was their benevolent maker, he’d finally nudged Claude on the right path. He’d been without hope for so long, he’d forgotten how it tasted.

Claude stood, antsy to get back to his city and scheme away and finally, finally turn this war around. “How long do you need before you can join me in Derdriu?” he asked, moving towards the door when he noticed a strange apparatus next to it, showing a circle painted in different colours and a little arrow pointing at the part that was coloured a dark purple. When he turned, the Witch had followed right behind him, and Claude took a step back in surprise, his back gently pressing against the door.

She was smaller than him, yes, but her presence filled the whole room.

“I will finish a few things here, and then I will meet you there,” she said. She stretched her hand and rested in on the doorknob. Claude stepped away, allowing her to open the door, and was surprised when he saw Àkos waiting for him at the door step, liking snowflakes off his snout. When Claude raised his hand to pat him, he sneezed in his face.

Claude pulled a grimace. “Good to see you too, my friend.”

The witch followed him outside, and for the first time since their meeting, a smile had strayed on her face. She offered Àkos her hand, and before Claude could tell her to be careful of Àkos’ sharp teeth, he sniffed her fingers and gave a little confused huff before leaning in and allowing the witch to caress his smooth, leathery skin.

Now that was unusual, and maybe just a tiny bit, Claude felt betrayed. He swung on Árkos’ saddle, immediately relaxing at the familiar feeling of his wyvern’s steady, warm body. Before he took off to the skies, Claude turned to the witch and said, “You have to tell me who spies for you inside the Alliance. I might hire them as my new spy-master.” But she didn't give him a name, she didn't even smile thinking it was a joke. Her gaze was fixed to the woods stretching before them, her jaw set, and Claude knew that look. It would stare back at him in a mirror whenever he tried really hard not to cry.

“Your name,” he demanded. “I still don’t know your name.”

The Witch straightened her shoulders and raised her chin. “I will tell you once we win the war. Once we win, I will tell you everything.”

* * *

Claude tried to wipe the exhaustion away with his sleeve, but closing his eyes for even a second ran the risk of him dozing off. There was still so much to prepare for their defence of Derdriu. He had to block off the city, occupy the naval port and lead the reinforcements to each city gate leading to the heart of the capital. There was no moment to rest.

Fresh air. He needed cold, fresh air to clear his mind and wake him up.

Outside, knights and soldiers on night duty greeted him. They had nothing unusual to report, everything was calm. No movement from the enemy so far. Somehow, that didn’t reassure Claude at all, though he couldn’t say if he’d rather want the opposite.

His feet carried him to the outskirts of their camp, and there it was—standing out from all the other tents was The Witch's tent, its leather roof mirroring the constellations of the starry sky. Judging from the light inside, she was still awake, probably pondering about the upcoming battle just as he was. Claude crossed the clearing and opened the front flaps only enough for his voice to come through.

“It’s Claude. May I enter?” he asked. Something rustled. As if paper was quickly wiped away. A moment later, her voice called back to him, “Please come in.”

He ducked and entered her tent. Again, it was much larger on the inside than it appeared from the outside, yet just like her cottage, it was still simple. Instead of expensive, luxurious furniture, she decided to fill every nook and cranny with her magical apparatus’ and ingredients.

The Witch stood in front of a cherry wood table, wearing a simple, dark gown. From the way she tried to appear taller and held her hands behind her back, Claude knew immediately she was hiding something. He thought back to the sound of paper being quickly gathered and tried his shot.

“Writing to your lover?” he teased, settling in an armchair without waiting for an invitation.

The Witch blew back a black lock that stubbornly clung to her forehead. She crossed the room, and within a blink, the papers in her hands vanished. Claude gave an impressed whistle.

“He is more than that,” she said without any hesitation. “But are we lovers? No.”

“And how does one become become friends with a witch?” he asked, his curiosity piqued. She sat in the empty seat beside him, not bothering in the slightest about her posture. Claude liked seeing her relax around him. For the past few days, she’d been all over the camp, tending to the wounded or helping magic battalions with their spells.

He was surprised how easy it was to work with her. She effortlessly followed his train of thought and anticipated questions or knew exactly were to probe whenever he wasn’t certain about something and hoped no one else would notice. But she always noticed, as if she inherently knew his faults and weaknesses and therefore watched his back. If he didn’t know better, he’d assume this wasn’t their first time working together.

“I call everyone friend who offers me toffees,” the Witch said now, taking off her boots. Even though she’d been outside the whole day, there was no speck of mud on them, whereas Claude’s boots wore a mud crust he wasn’t proud of.

“Toffee.” Claude playfully stroked his chin. “I think I can supply some.”

“I would be so ever grateful.” She gave one of her rare smiles, growing slowly like the moon slipping slowly beneath the waves of a lake. Whenever Claude was capable of making her smile, pride bloomed in his chest.

He didn't know what it was about the Witch that made all the tight and careful knots inside his chest uncurl. Maybe that was what people meant when they said someone made them feel undone.

“How do you feel about our stand here?” he asked. “Do you think we’re prepared for Edelgard arrival?”

Immediately, she tensed, and Claude regretted bringing it up. They talked about tactics so much every day, they should be spared of it inside their tents, the only place of comfort and peace, but it seemed Claude had forgotten how to do small talk.

But the Witch just shifted her weight a little. “I don’t like lying to you, but the truth isn’t pretty.”

“I still want to hear it.” He needed to know their chances of winning. The truth might not be pretty, but more than that, he didn’t want to be lied to. He couldn’t say why, but especially from her, he didn’t want to hear a lie.

They held each other’s gazes, and Claude was impressed again by how black her eyes were. Darker than a starless night, he couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. Yet there was kindness in her eyes. Kindness and experience that told stories older than she appeared to be. But with no time to dwell on his theory, he tucked it away in a safe corner where he’d access it later. When this was all over and he’d have enough time to listen to her story.

After a moment, the Witch spoke, “I wish your success wasn’t depending on anybody else. I have prepared you to all my capabilities, but...”

“But we can’t say for sure what Edgard will do.” Of course they couldn’t. No one of them could read thoughts or look into the future. Claude was usually all for unpredictable variables to keep his mind reeling and working, but even facing Edelgard gave him more headaches then he asked for.

“No matter the outcome, I can promise that your city and its people will be save,” the Witch said. They’d been working together for a couple weeks now, but Claude had learnt early on that she kept her promises and it was nice to lean on someone for a change.

“That’s all that matters to me,” he confessed. “I don’t care what happens to me. But I cannot let down my people. The Alliance. Its future. It’s all that matters.” Because how else would he begin his peace-mongering without his Leicester Alliance unifying with his Kingdom of Almyra.

A dark shadow settled on the Witch’s face. Her eyes roamed over his face, taking in his features as if she wanted to commemorate them. Claude had to fight the urge to fidget, to flee from her keen gaze.

“The nation will learn how to move on when you are no more,” she said quietly. “But what about those you leave behind. Do you not care about your friends and comrades?”

“I care about what becomes of them after the Emperor captures my city and they are no more masters of their own fate.” Claude didn’t want to think about such a future. It would make him turn mad if he did.

“I know you think everyone has the might to forge their own paths. That fate is not absolute. But there are some fates you cannot change. You can only bow to them. Believe me. I’ve seen it many times. Too many times.” The Witch immediately clamped her mouth shut and turned her head away as if that would undo the words she just spoke. Claude hesitated. He wasn’t equipped to handle her surprising honesty. Honesty meant being vulnerable, and he’d never seen her like this. Sometimes it was easier to handle battalions and war generals than raw emotions, and Claude was thankful for the distraction fluttering it.

The Witch’s owl, that had been sitting on its trusty perch, flew through the tent and settled on the Witch’s shoulder, nuzzling it’s soft head against her cheek. The Witch smiled and scratched its chin. In return, the owl hooted and then proceeded to give Claude an accusatory glare as if he’d been the very reason for its mistress’ distress.

“Your little friend doesn’t like me at all,” Claude observed a second time since making acquaintance with with her feathery companion. “It’s like I offended him in some way.”

“She,” the Witch said mildly, “is fond of you. In her own way.”

Claude doubted that. “An unusual way to show her fondness of people. Pecking at them. Must your secret friend also endure this bullying or is he spared of it?”

“She treats everyone equally,” the Witch answered, and now he could see amusement crinkle in her eyes like the flying sparks of a fire. “My friend is no exception.”

“And is he a wizard like you? Or like us common folk?”

“He is,” the Witch began tentatively, “a just, young boy who heard the sound of flowing water in a world of sand and thus began to believe in hope. And this belief is a strong weapon, but the strongest weapon on him is his sharp wit and gilded mind.”

“Sounds like you hold him in high esteem.”

“I would burn cities and dethrone kings just to see his greatest wish fulfilled,” the Witch said, her gaze burning holes in Claude’s eyes. Something hot whipped through him, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Jealousy. Hot-white jealousy burnt inside him to have a friend this dedicated to him. Maybe that was what books spoke of when they told stories about soulmates, and right now, his soul longed for a relationship like that. To be understood and accepted without having to give anything in return.

He took a deep breath, and banished those thoughts where they didn’t hurt. “Your friend sounds like someone I could become friends with.”

“Yes,” she said, turning her eyes away from his. “You two are quite similar.”

Claude wanted to know what it would take to meet him. To sit alone with him and have a chance at hearing all the Witch’s secrets, unravel them one by one and learn more about her. But she did tell him she’d explain everything after he won the war, and Claude held onto that promise like a drowning man.

After he wished her good night and left her tent, Claude remembered Nader had told him a story once. Claude, barely seven years old, had strayed into the desert bordering a small port city in Almyra where his mother loved to take him on vacation. After hours upon hours in the scorching heat, when he’d already made peace with the thought that the wide sea of sand would be his burial, he’d stumbled upon a small oasis. To this day, he remembered the sound of rushing water from the small waterfall and diving into the cool depths until he finally was found by Almyran soldiers looking for him. He’d never told this story anyone. Now he stopped, turned around and nearly ran back to the Witch’s tent only to be stopped when horns blared through the night’s quiet, waking up the whole city.

The Emperor had arrived.

* * *

Smoke rose to the grey sky that looked as if at any moment, the clouds would open to lament and cry. When she descend the cobblestone streets, her head a melody of pain and anguish, no one stopped her. No one could stop her because no one could see her as she hurried through tight alleys and corners, her spell making her invisible to the untrained eye.

The port stood abandoned. Now that it was occupied, there was no reason to guard it, and the Imperial troops had moved on to the centre of Derdriu where the important buildings stood. The embassy with its golden roofs, the Leicester mansion with its hundreds rooms and the famous Round Table.

But she didn’t care about silent stone monuments that would live to see another thousand years. She only cared for the one person who could have held it all together.

The Witch found Claude von Riegan lying on his stomach, his face drained in his own blood. The gaping wound in his chest still bled, a horrible hole left by none other than the nasty bone shards of Aymr. His eyes were still open but unfocused, staring ahead at the darkening sky.

Her stomach churned. No matter how often she saw him like this, it never got easier. The Witch sunk to her knees, and gently cradling Claude’s body into her arms, she whispered, “Forgive me, old friend. I was unable to save you yet again.”

There was no answer. As always, silence was her only companion, and grief her only caretaker. She teleported herself and Claude’s body outside the capital city where she looked for a secluded space outside the city, and using her own hands, she dug a grave deep into the earth. He deserved to be buried in his home land, the place he loved more than anything, but there was no time. There was never enough time.

She finished when the sun hung low on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of red and pink. One moment, she stood in front of the mound, and one single blink later, she walked through the front door of her cottage. Exhaustion bled her dry when the door closed behind her, and with a slow twist of her wrist, she turned the doorknob. A click sounded next to her, and for a second, everything turned black.

When light returned, everything was the same, and yet everything had changed.

On her way to the bathroom, she put water to boil in a black kettle hanging above the fireplace, and laid out a nice porcelain set of cups and Almyran Pine Needle tea for her guest.

The bath was already ready for her. She shed her dirty, ragged robes, and lowered herself in the hot water, feeling it immediately sooth her hurting limbs. As always, it took some time to clean the blood and dirt under her fingernails from digging Claude’s grave. She scrubbed herself raw until nothing was left of the previous world, and stepped outside the bath like a new born child. When she dried herself, she heard three sharp knocks at the door, and a voice calling out. Willing her new, clean robes to come and dress unto her with a flick of her wrist, the Witch took a last, long look at herself in the mirror.

Thirty tries. None of them had succeeded, and she was becoming so very tired of it all. With every try to save her friend, she’s learnt new things about the worlds and dimensions, and yet none had been enough in the end. She knew that chances to succeed were higher whenever Byeth was leading the Alliance. In some rare cases, in little pocket dimensions that would immediately dissipate when she tried to set foot in, the remaining Kingdom forces had joined the Alliance and victory would lay at the tip of her fingers. So close, and still unreachable.

But she would never cease her fight against the world that wanted to see her dear friend suffer and fail. Even if that meant bending rules, and changing to something that wasn’t human. She would make death bow to her, and once he was her servant, she would put her dear friend free of his curse of never-accomplishing happiness.

The witch squared her shoulders, and swallowed these thoughts and her still-fresh grief deep down where they didn’t hurt anymore. When the door quietly swung open, and she saw Claude von Riegan inspecting her shelf of ingredients, she said, “I see this place is to your liking?”

[merryfortune]

The Monster in the Fruits Basket

hi @ina-bon​ I was your secret santa on the discord

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Ship: Takeru/Kiku

Word Count: 5,876

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fruits Basket, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor or Implied Child Abuse

   “I don’t like it here anymore, Gramps…” Takeru confessed and he stared at his hands whilst thinking about her. Kiku. “It feels like I’m sitting in a lukewarm bath. I’m just getting pruney.”

   His Grandfather regarded him cautiously. Ever with a stern brow and a stern upper lip.

   Takeru swallowed. “I want to go out and fend for myself again for a bit. I’m sick of being here. I want to pursue my passions in judo and other martial arts. When we went camping for those few months last year, it was the best time of my life. I feel antsy and dull in comparison to living here. With them.”

   “I disagree.” his Grandfather said. “I think you are making excuses.”

   “I’m not!” Takeru snarled, he banged his hand on the table.

   The door slid and Kiku was there, she was holding onto a tray of rice balls and looked jumpy and apologetic. Takeru looked up at her and the grizzle in his face all but vanished when he saw her. His eyes were wide, lit up, and for a moment, a flicker of remorse for having raised his voice.

   “Sorry, this is a bad time. But, when you're ready to come down stairs, there will be rice balls and other refreshments.” Kiku said and she excused herself just as quickly as she had interrupted.

   “I disagree vehemently.” Takeru’s Grandfather insisted, a low growl to his voice.

   Takeru glared. He felt like he was pushing at a wall which wouldn’t budge for it was all bricked up and mortared and more. And when that energy expired, he collapsed over the table, burying his head in the crooks of his overlapping, folded arms. The beads - bone yellow and blood orange - clinked on his wrist and glinted in the fluorescence of his bedroom’s light on the ceiling.

   This was twice now that Takeru’s Grandfather had to see his own, intimate kin wear that bracelet.

   He recalled meeting The Cat as a youth but his youth may as well have been another world with how it changed and collided. He had been playing out in the courtyard with a ball, just bouncing it off every surface available whilst trying not to hit any of the servants or other passerbys until it bounced to the other end. Into what appeared to be a barely open shed. He had crept inside and found a man in a beautiful kimono in a small room but he was caged. He was also holding the handball that he had been playing. They exchanged pleasantries and the man handed back the ball and he left. The man seemed glad to have had a visitor but his visitor was unsettled by the whole exchange, it seemed so ordinarily peculiar.

   He would only later learn that person was The Cat but he would learn it at a wake he unintentionally attended.

   After that Cat died, the next one was born and after that surreal moment, like a dollop of honey on a wooden spoon, in a summer afternoon, playing handball, the next Cat was born to him and his wife. He liked to think that he had done his best to raise the next Cat but life was arbitrary.

   Takeru shouldn’t have been born the Cat but his father died before he even learned he was a father. A freak accident. It could have been anyone. And his mother. His poor mother. She drove herself to madness because of her husband’s death and when her son was born, when she held him in her arms for the first time, still covered in the mire of being born, he did not remain a baby. He grew fur and claws, became a white and ginger kitten.

   It was harrowing for her to say the least and for six years, Takeru never saw his grandparents or even the outside world. He was his mother’s little treasure in every sense of possession. His little hands forever checked for stray hairs and claws. His little wrist was the most delicate of all as she checked that the rosary against all that being inhabited by the spirit and jealous of the Cat entailed. The rituals of it all were ceaseless until one day she didn’t come home from grocery shopping and she still hadn’t even ten years later.

   “I think you should go down and have something to eat.” Takeru’s Grandfather told him.

   “I’m not hungry.” Takeru complained.

   “You should eat regardless, then.” his Grandfather continued. “You will need the strength tonight. There’s a storm.”

   “I’m not some little kid anymore,” Takeru spat, “I’m not afraid of storms.”

   His Grandfather smirked and there was a clash of thunder. Takeru stiffened to the last hair on the back of his neck.

   “Then this discussion is over. Until further notice, I want you to stay here, in this lukewarm bath as you called it. If you run away, I will make sure she brings you back.” his Grandfather said.

   Takeru lifted his head off the table and his arms, he quirked his brow, “She? Whose she? At least do it yourself, you lazy old fart.” Takeru growled.

   His Grandfather ignored him. Gracefully, he got to his feet and Takeru scrambled to join him, a flurry of limbs until he straightened up. They left Takeru’s room and came down stairs to where everyone was. The atmosphere decidedly terse.

   Everyone was clustered around the long, low table in the centre of the room, trying to avoid the windows as they banged and rattled. At the moment, it was more the wind than the rain itself which had everyone on edge - assuming it was the weather at all which had made them uncomfortable, and not whatever they had overheard from upstairs between Takeru and his Grandfather. 

   Still, Kiku sat on her knees and she already had two plates at the ready as she hailed down Takeru and his Grandfather. Takeru readily sat down next to her as she piled one rice balls onto his plate before sliding it towards him with a smile. Takeru’s grandfather observed her, still standing up, awkwardly hovering close to Shoichi and Jin who were watching similarly twitchy.

   “See? No chives since I know you don’t like chives.” Kiku piped up. “Oh, and these ones are tuna-mayo since those are your favourite but this one’s chicken.”

   Takeru smiled. “Thanks, Kiku.” he replied but as he accepted the food, his smile faltered. He was thankful for her but she also represented too much to him but he ate the food to be polite. “It’s good.”

   “I’m glad to hear it.” Kiku smiled.

   With Takeru eating, it could be argued that the atmosphere was easing up from its irrational tenseness. Even Ryoken, who was sitting in the corner, like the mouse that he was, had unhooked his arms from around him and had reached for more of Kiku’s rice balls. She encouraged Ryoken to take more but saying that prickled Takeru, so he grabbed another - one which didn’t appear flecked with chives - and wolfed it down all but immediately.

   He didn’t spare a moment to savour it as he swallowed. He was just thankful for the food. It somehow felt that dinner was so long ago but it wasn’t really. The argument that he had had with his Grandfather had simply exacerbated that distance but the rice balls were good. Kiku was a good - no, great - cook. From the moment that she had arrived at this hodgepodge house for the exiles of the Main Kogami manor, Kiku had been charming all of those around her.

   Takeru kind of wished he had been there. That moment when she had all but turned up out of the blue and introduced herself to her so-called neighbours; enchanting Shoichi with not only her etiquette but her knowledge of the Chinese Zodiac. His little painted models had been fatefully sitting out in the sun and she had mentioned it to him, talked about how adorable they were but it was a set of twelve rather than thirteen and she was the biggest fan of the Cat from the story. She didn’t want him to be lonely.

   But Takeru was the Cat and he wanted to be lonely because bad things happened to those around him when he was anything but lonely.

   Yet, since meeting Kiku, Takeru had felt a slight change in him. A transformation different to how he became the Cat and how he became… nevermind that. Kiku was the reason that his fingers were pruning in this lukewarm bath. She treated him with a kindness that he wasn’t used to. Telling him he had a plum on his back and that she wanted to learn things about him, from him, going so far as to do her own research on subjects that he liked such as martial arts. She was dense and happy-go-lucky but her laugh was like nectar.  He liked it best when she was smiling, with her golden eyes all lit up like the sun.

   Soon enough, Takeru had eaten more than the lion’s share of the rice balls that Kiku had prepared, disgruntling Ryoken in the process but having seen his grandson eat so vigorously, Takeru’s Grandfather was pleased. Yes, there was a tentative serenity to sitting around, having a snack after dinner. There was even laughter and Shoichi, who was standing around, watching, hoping Jin wouldn’t come down from his nap at an inopportune time because it seemed like now was the time to strike. Just when there was a lull in the group.

   “Takeru,” his grandfather interrupted the teenagers at the low table, “I want to go outside. To spar.”

   “Huh? What?” Takeru half-growled, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of such a demand. “It’s pouring outside.”

   “I think it could be fun,” Shoichi piped up, voice suspiciously airy, “and its not pouring, just… spitting.”

   Everyone glanced out the door on that. Opened just enough to let a breeze in because the days had grown humid and stuffy thanks to the spring showers. And it was dark out there but not with thick storm clouds. Just with twilight settling down in the puddles.

   “Ooh, you could show me that left hook that you’ve been working on, pretty please?” Kiku emphasised, taking the bait that Shoichi had set out. “You’re always talking about what a great judo master your grandfather is, I want to see this in action.”

   “It would be nice.” Takeru said, embarrassedly thinking about how he had been hankering to do just that for the past day since his Grandfather had come around to visit.

   “Good.” Ryoken piped up. “I’ll look forward to seeing an old man kick your ass.” Yet despite his stoking remarks, he seemed dubious of this sudden exhibition match between Takeru and his grandfather. 

   “Oh, shut up.” Takeru snarled but in a more playful way than usual.

   “Should we wake Jin up?” Kiku asked, looking towards Shoichi. “It sounds exciting, he should come down.”

   Shoichi waved her off. “Him getting enough rest is more important, besides, his sport of choice is soccer. Not martial arts, I doubt he’d be interested.”

   “Yeah, that’s true…” Kiku agreed.

   With that settled, despite a strange crackling feeling in the air which wasn’t lightning about to strike, everyone got up and shuffled outdoors. Going from the cool air conditioning indoors, just behind a sliver of glass, to getting out into the soggy grass of the front yard was disconcerting. It was humid - sticky and all encompassing - and getting dark. Storm clouds brewed and despite the subtle strangeness of it all, Takeru and his Grandfather took position in front of their crowd.

   Kiku stood with Shoichi who stood with Ryoken who stood by himself, out the front, just by the window. Kiku clasped onto her hands, cooing, as she watched how Takeru and his Grandfather eyed each other down. It was heated and fiery, without words, as they stared, readying their stances, and then pouncing. 

   They all gasped as Takeru was entirely outclassed by his grandfather. Takeru couldn’t let a single strike on his grandfather; he seemed so strangely clumsy compared to his grandfather who avoided him with ease. The nimbleness that Kiku, and even Ryoken, associated with Takeru seemed so slow as his grandfather blocked and parried his decisive movements. 

   “Appalling.” his Grandfather scolded him.

   Takeru gritted his teeth as he tried to force a landing on his Grandfather but he was stopped entirely. His Grandfather took his forearm and grabbed him. It was a reversal of all Takeru’s raw strength funnelled into his own upheaval. Takeru landed with a thud on his back on the ground. Kiku grimaced as she knew she would be the one to do the laundry later.

   “Is that it?” Shoichi asked. He scratched his goatee in thought.

   Takeru’s Grandfather sank to Takeru’s level. “You’re short-sighted, boy.” he said.

   “You don’t say?” Takeru sassed him. “Better get new glasses, I’ve been on the wrong prescription for years then.” He wasn’t even wearing his glasses tonight; they had been annoying him.

   His Grandfather rolled his eyes at him. “You need help. To get better at your practice, you need a more holistic and unafraid approach. One more balanced than brute strength. And I’m going to show you how.”

   Takeru’s eyes widened as he had the ghost of a question on his tongue, “What…?” he barely managed to eek out of his mouth as he had a terrible realisation of just how helpless he was in this position. His grandfather took his hand and Takeru watched as the bracelet around his wrist, supported and protected, was removed.

   It felt as though time slowed for Takeru as he tried to get up, tried to get the bracelet back, tried to resist every inch of what was happening to him.

   Shoichi stood, gawking, and guilty. He was acting strange but he couldn’t look away. Completely unlike Ryoken who shut down with what was happening. He looked away, eyes closed tight, and Kiku noticed how he flinched. She had an exclamation or a gasp just beyond her lips but she could only focus on Takeru as he ripped himself from the ground and how his Grandfather let the bracelet drop into the mud. A transformation completely unlike anything Kiku had seen occurred.

   When Kiku had first arrived at this house, it had been one accident after another which led into a spiral of female on male contact. Nothing serious. Just hugs and even something as simple as brushing up against Shoichi and then Ryoken and then Takeru had caused the curse upon them to activate. It was silly and kind of funny in hindsight as the pretty looking young men around turned into a dog, a mouse, and a cat respectively. It had been strange but light-hearted.

   This, what was happening now, was strange and anything but light-hearted. It was monstrous. 

   There was genuine fear and horror in Takeru’s eyes as he tried to get up but his body disobeyed him as he transformed. A transformation that was jagged and unshielded by the mist usually produced by the curse. This was raw and grotesque. A stench emanating through the yard, from Takeru, as his muscles burst and his bones broke, reshaping, until he was anything but human. Or even like an animal.

   Ryoken refused to look towards Takeru’s general direction; he had a hand clamped over his mouth and he was gagging. Shoichi was transfixed the same way one became transfixed around disasters like car wrecks. He was pale but stern. Kiku. Kiku was somehow both. Her stomach knotted as she recoiled visibly because of the smell and the sights; she wanted to look away, to alleviate the strange and horrible feeling in her gut, but she was unable to.

   Takeru became a creature the likes of which Kiku had never seen.

   His proportions were all wrong. On all fours and with a long tail but his appendages were stooped in ways that looked broken. His fingers were elongated and his bones were sharp beneath the taut skin of a sickly orange. And his muzzle was jagged with huge, gleaming eyes that were predatory and afraid.

   His Grandfather rose to his full height and he observed cooly as Takeru launched himself from the ground in shame. In fear.

   “Ta...keru-kun?” Kiku murmured. She blinked. 

   The sound of Takeru’s claws scraping through mud, through tile, through tree branches - wherever he landed in his fleeing leaps and bounds - echoed through the air. It began to rain but the rain barely softened the horrid sounds: the crunching and the breaking. 

   “That is the other form of the Cat Spirit,” Takeru’s Grandfather began to explain to the dumbfounded Kiku, “does it disgust you?”

   Kiku was silent but she leaned forward slightly with a horrified stare and a slackened jaw.

   “Does it scare you?” he asked.

   Kiku was silent but she was no longer still. She was propelled forward on something like instinct. She kept her head up and she passed by the bracelet in the mud as she kept going forward, as uneven and rock as her steps were. Where she ignored it, Takeru’s Grandfather picked it up and said his prayers for his grandson on it: not praying to any deity, just a girl whom he, and many others affected and involved with curse, had high hopes for.

   Kiku ran into the forest. Chasing after Takeru or what had become of him in this other form. She had no idea. She had no idea that the burden of his Curse ran so deep but it certainly explained some things. In the dark, she was blind to everything but she kept going forward, trying to find Takeru, unfettered even as she fell over and tripped. As she knew she had no idea what she was getting into. The instinct she was acting on was the kindness that she had been taught and she valued so dearly.

   She had to keep going, she thought to herself, before bile spiked suddenly in the back of her throat. She got up, on her hands, but she felt her whole body weaken and she threw up in front of herself. She wretched quickly, fouled by the taste and the quickness of how it had come from nowhere but it stopped her altogether.

   Confusion was thick and rotten all around her. Kiku didn’t know what to do, what would be right and what would be wrong, that was the truth of the matter as she tried to grapple with what she had seen. The sight of Kyo’s transformation was not something that Kiku would forget soon; the botched way his arms bent and the way his eyes gleamed. Recalling them was more than enough to elicit fear from her, making her skin prickle and her stomach squirm again. But, even so, with tears in her eyes and on unsteady legs, Kiku got up. She clutched onto a tree for leverage as she got up. She kept going.

   The rain felt freezing after being so hot. It was pouring down now with no end in sight. Only misery.

   Takeru sat on his haunches as far away as he could. He pulled up his knees to his chin and buried himself in himself. He clenched his eyes shut and he felt like a child. Beneath the leathery hide of this monstrous form, he felt like a small and vulnerable child again. Between every lash of cold rain, he could swear that he felt his mother’s breath on him, slowly encroaching on him with a cruel and all encompassing embrace, her hands following his limbs along to that bracelet.

   Those memories of his mother raked through him. A growl dribbled out of his mouth in genuine pain of them - and of this transformation. It was anything but painless, it felt like sulphur was in his veins. He hated it and he hated her and he especially hated her love. How it was transfixed on making sure he was protected, insulated, from the big, wide world which would hate him more than she hated him.

   Takeru whimpered to himself, all alone, on a little island in the middle of the flooded pond in the forest. He just wanted the world to collapse in on itself so he didn’t have to deal with it. He thrashed about, causing landslides around him with his claws but the senseless violence did little to quell all that fear and fury in his heart. Growling, he looked up, and he was surprised to see someone on the edge of the trees, on the shoreline of the pond.

   Kiku stood there, wonky and awkward, holding onto herself and a tree. She was looking out across the murky water to him. She tried calling out to him but her voice was too weak. Takeru’s wasn’t.

   He snapped at her, shouting, “Go away!” A monstrous snarl to his voice.

   Kiku didn’t even flinch as Takeru’s voice boomed across the water and through the rain. She just stared with this sympathetic look to her face.

   “Why… Why the hell’re you following me like nothing’s the goddamn matter?!” Takeru growled.

   Kiku tried to call Takeru’s name again but he cut her off with a howl. Her body language drooped. Saddened. And yet she stepped forward, nonetheless. The water was cold and thick around her, even at just her ankles.

   “I said go away.” Takeru growled, his voice frayed at the edges now. “What’s wrong with you…? Are you blind? Can’t you smell…?”

   Kiku kept coming forward. Takeru watched how she waded through the water, how it ate up to her knees now and how she held herself as she approached. 

   “Don’t you hate me? I-I’m creepy and sickening and we both know it.” Takeru whimpered. But then he turned to a roar: “Why can’t you leave me alone?!”

   Kiku slowly set foot on the island that Takeru was on. She felt exhausted. Drenched to the bone, the taste of vomit still on her mouth, to say nothing of the stench that reeked around her so she came to her hands and knees. Still, she crawled closer to Takeru, her eyes wide and huge.

   “I don’t need any of your pity.” Takeru murmured.

   Kiku listened but she kept crawling closer. Mud on her hands and knees, skirt dragging in the mire. She came within a talking distance of Takeru, stood at his paws on the mound, and looked up at him.

   “Please…” he begged her. “Please, don’t do this.”

   “Takeru-kun, but I…” Kiku murmured as she lifted a hand to him with the intention of stroking him so that he might feel some vain semblance of comfort in the downpour and misery. “But I love-”

   Takeru didn’t want to hear it. The way that seemingly simple word tumbled out of her mouth elicited the worst in Takeru. He struck out. He swiped at Kiku, tossing her back as she was nothing but a rag doll before him. Kiku screamed, more from the impact than from the horror of being hurt by her friend.

   “Don’t touch me!” Takeru growled. “Get lost!”

   Kiku was thrown into the water. A huge splash followed after her and then nothing. Just the harsh pitter patter of the rain hitting the coarse surface of the water. There was a moment where Takeru watched, with regret, before Kiku rose up. She broke through, panting and gasping, in the shallows on the bough of the island, fingers scrunching through the mire below her as she roiled with how she had been thrown and near drowned.

   “You’re annoying, I want you gone.” Takeru spat with guilt. “Next time, I’ll hurt you for real. For good…”

   Kiku dithered and her hand drew back. She noticed that the sleeve of her shirt was torn and beneath was fresh, stinging scrapes. She was lucky they were only shallow but they hurt like an acid burn, not just a cut. She clamped her hand over them for searing relief but it was curt. She looked up at Takeru again, her golden eyes looked like umber in the dim rain.

   Takeru turned his back on her. He didn’t want to see her anymore and he didn’t want her to see him, either. He begged and begged that she would turn tail but all, save for the rain, was still. Silent. 

   Then, slowly but surely, with her head hung low, Kiku got up. Water dripped off her in the course of her sluggish movements and she chewed her lower lip. And she made her decision. She turned around and walked off. Her legs like lead as she dragged them through the pond.

   Takeru’s ears, long and ribbon-like, anything but feline or human, twitched. He could hear Kiku leave, the sludge that moved around her, and Takeru’s muscles tightened. He wanted to hurt her so bad that she never forgives him. He had hurt her bad enough that she left - and maybe even left for good - and he wanted that and yet, his heart clenched. He didn’t want her to worry about him and Takeru knew - thought - that lashing out was the best option but… but he wanted to look back and he wanted to see Kiku looking back as well. Even if it was just once before moving on for good because things were too wrecked to be fixed or forgiven.

   Takeru couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick of losing people; he was sick of pity, he was sick of feeling miserable, and most of all, he was sick of having things forced upon him.

   He remembered something his mother said whilst taking his hand, toying with the beads of the bracelet on his wrist, but he couldn’t remember how cruelly she smiled. He remembered her assuring him that no, he was as human as anyone else. It was all just bad magic that this just so happens to happen to him. The fact that he became a child again afterwards was proof that the human was not the monster because the monster was temporary. That was trite but what she said afterwards was worse. She told him that she wasn’t scared at all and that she loved him. What rotten lies.

   She couldn’t have loved him less and she couldn’t have been terrified more. Takeru was revolted with certainty. 

   Every hour of every day, she checked to make sure that abominable bracelet was in place. She would draw the curtains tight and never let him out of her sight. It had been abhorrent but he had been a child. He hadn’t known any better or anything else but now that he did. He didn’t want anything akin to that ever again and he would rage against such sentiments in whatever form that they took before him.

   Even if it was Kiku. Kiku who remembered his dislikes and wanted to engage in his likes and told him that he had a plum on his back. Kiku was, Takeru realised with an alien ease, the first person to recognise him and acknowledge the real him. Completely unlike others who had been in his life before who claimed to love him, like his mother.

   Takeru buried his head in his hands. A guttural growl leaked out of between the crooked gaps of his teeth all wrong for his bizarre maw. He knew how those memories ended. Without closure. With his mother simply disappearing and how distant, faceless relatives told him, without knowing a thing about him, that his mother loved him above all. 

   “Stop it!” Takeru roared, thrashing around, swinging his arms, pounding his fists into the ground below. “I don’t want that kind of love forced on me! I don’t need it...”

   He kept murmuring it over and over. I don’t need it. And at the edge of the shallows, where only her ankles were wet, Kiku did hear him. She stopped and she sucked in a breath. She looked over her shoulders, her eyes that were pooled with hot tears, and she surged forward. A force of nature in her own right, outclassing that of the downpour that continued torrentially over them.

   Water skirted up the side of her as she ran back through the mire. She slipped and tripped, here and there, but was undeterred. She flung herself onto Takeru. He flinched as he felt her embrace the long spike of his bowed elbow. She buried her face in his grotesque skin. His head bent around with a snarl but Takeru couldn’t bring himself to say something as Kiku hid herself using his limb.

   “Let’s go home…” Kiku murmured. “We have to go home.” She reefed her face off him, holding him tighter, her cheeks were flushed as she insisted with the utmost determination, “We have to go home together.”

   Takeru blinked and he felt his heart waver.

   “O-Otherwise, I have a feeling, Takeru-kun won’t come back home - to that house - ever again.” Kiku said.

   She took a sharp breath and she could swear she could hear the front entranceway door of Shoichi’s place slam shut. She cringed. She just knew that Takeru was on the other side of that slam and she didn’t want him to be.

   “Stop. Let go.” Takeru growled.

   “No!” Kiku shouted, holding him tighter.

   “Don’t you get it?!” Takeru snarled.

   “No!” Kiku yelled. “No, I don’t get it.”

   “Let go of me!” Takeru howled.

   Takeru pulled back his arm. His head reared back, maw snapping, teeth glinting, and he hoped to forcibly rip Kiku off him but as he flailed about, Kiku held on. Her legs lolled about, straightly, as she held on for dear life to his arm. She whimpered, afraid, but trying to be brave. He slammed her into the ground, belly first and the blow winded her. She sputtered in the aftermath and Takeru glared. Fierce and vermillion. 

   Still face planted, Kiku mumbled, “I’m scared…”

   Takeru’s ears pricked up. He had almost missed it but he heard her. Her tiny little voice rife with terror. And despite that terror, Kiku began to get up. Her hands trembled but she still tried to hold onto the monster that was Takeru for anchorage. 

   “R-Right now, even though… even though I hear your voice, it doesn’t sound like you.” Kiku murmured. She shook as she got to her knees, still too weak to properly face Takeru. “Y-You’re in a form I’ve never seen before a-and it scares me.”

  Takeru stared. His lips were pulled back in an uncertain and feral way, and Kiku embraced him through it. Gladdened that he had stilled.

   “But I want to… I want to understand you now.” Kiku said. “Just like you listen to me when I’m discouraged,” she thought of how they had studied together after that big test had wiped them both out and how their marks improved together afterwards, she thought of how Takeru, and Ryoken, had gone to collect her from her grandfather’s house after the renovations and how it felt so wrong until she had seen him again, and finally she thought of New Years, sitting on the rooftop with him, making wishes on the stars and the skylines, “I want you to tell me when you are scared or hurting, or when you’re feeling weak, and let me worry about you! B-Because I want to keep living together with you.”

   Takeru examined Kiku through the lens of his slit eye. She trembled, soaked with water and mud, and she looked pathetic. But she was being honest. His heart fluttered somewhere within the arcane structure of this body’s form.

   “I want to eat with you, study with you, and worry about you… All those things, I want to continue to live with you.” Kiku sobbed as she embraced Takeru’s malformed arm. Her tears dripped down her face, mingled with the raindrops.

   Kiku trembled as she held onto him, a bawl in the back of her throat. Her words, though quiet, managed to silence the world. The clouds above were grey and Takeru stilled with shock as he listened to her impassioned pleading. And there was a change, almost imperceptible but Kiku felt it. She looked up.

   Takeru, naked as the day he was born, stood on his own two legs and he spoke not facing her, “It would have been fine if she didn’t love me at all…”

   Kiku was slow as she clutched onto Takeru’s lithe arm, he was wet with the slick of the rain. Kiku felt a little bit confused but elated too, with relief, as she looked at him, unacknowledged. Tears pooled in her eyes but she wasn’t crying, even if the muscles of her throat felt soggy and thick.

   “Or if she was scared of me…” Takeru continued, almost aimlessly but there was a shine to his voice, as though he were having a divine revelation about his relationships with others. “Being scared would have meant that she was seeing the ugly part of me. But Mom used to love to avoid looking at me. She avoided thinking about it - and I think she avoided thinking about the ugly parts of Dad, too, or maybe I was just the straw that broke her back…” Takeru began to sink, he sat down and Kiku joined him on her knees, still clutching onto him because she wanted him to feel some comfort in her fingertips. “But I wanted her to think it through with me, to worry with me. I wanted to tell her all the painful things but I never could.” His eyes began to water, his lilac-grey irises were glassy. “I wanted to live in the present with her.”

   Kiku reached out and cupped Takeru’s face. He was finally able to look at her. Her hair had become untied and was in waves and clumps of cobalt black. Her golden eyes were huge with concern and worry, edged with lingering tears. 

   Takeru swallowed a lump in his throat. He had always thought… He had always thought nobody would want to say those things to him, with him. See him as a monster and see him as a cat and seeing him as him as well. Takeru’s heart trembled and his head throbbed. He began to slump forward, into Kiku’s arms. 

   For a second, Kiku thought she was going to be kissed but then Takeru hugged her. One arm cupping her back and the other taking her hand as his body, weak and wracked with exhaustion, all but crashed into her. He nuzzled his face against Kiku’s, he heard a tiny gasp and then a little, thank goodness, under her breath. And in that goodness, Takeru felt a sublime peace that he had never truly known until this moment right here in the mud and mire. 

   “Kiku…” he whispered to her, grateful. He felt her flowing tears on his bare skin.

   The sky began to lighten. Clouds began to part for a feeble but kind sunshine that illuminated the drear of it all and Kiku held Takeru in her arms. He slept, a calico cat, white and ginger, in her arms and he dreamed softly, of dark nightmares melting back to sweet dreams as he was taken home by Kiku.

[seizethecarpe]

Shift Happens || Nicole and Dave

Timing: Current Parties: @nicsalazar @seizethecarpe Summary: Dave and Nicole narrowly escape a mauling from a “wolf” Warnings: some gore/body horror

The sun was almost set, dim light filtering through dense trees as Nicole ventured deeper into unknown territory. The night was upon her and she hadn’t been able to spot a hiking trail for almost an hour. Getting lost in the woods wasn’t a common occurrence for her. Exploring the vast forest White Crest had to offer was only possible if she strayed from the established limits set for humans. But she always found her way back to civilization. There was no need to panic yet, despite the night threatening to fall soon. She’d find her way back, she always did. Her steps halted, an exasperated breath escaping her lips. She stood and listened to what the forest had to say. The ominous whispers of the wind, the light, scurrying steps of small creatures looking for shelter from night predators, the chirping of insects. And then, at the distance, the faint splash of a waterfall. Possibly a creek, somewhere. With that knowledge she carried on,  sharp eyes darting in the shadows. She was buried in the heart of the woods when she found unexpected company. Down the field and partly hidden, was a couple. Not the smartest of dating spots, she mused. Blush crept in her cheeks at the thought of interrupting and asking for directions, but before she could walk down to them, a branch cracked behind her. She held her breath at that, moving stealthily for cover. Her nostrils flared, confused at everything she was picking up. She had to be wrong. Why did it smell like the sea so deep in the woods? And there was something else, too— something she didn't have time to process, because the shiny eyes she caught across from where she stood sent her heart racing. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who had found the couple’s sanctuary.

Dave had found himself favouring the shadows the last few days. It was his impulse to sneak around, like it would be better to ambush everyone, even the old lady with dragon’s breath who worked at the convenience store. Already tolerant of the cold, Dave had begun to seek out more cold in even in the dead of winter, his shoulders bare as he walked through the forest. He could smell so much, the decaying wood under the trees, squirrels cache’s deep under the dirt, rotting flesh up in a tree from a pixie that had been hit by hail wrong. He smelled everything, but what he really wanted was to feel everything. Thick fog let him feel everything, but he still kept pressing his cheek against trees and walls because of how much he wanted to feel. He could smell folks nearby, and before he even understood why his mind began to consider how to flank the, like they were penguins for him to ambush. Dave had never even eaten a penguin, making everything weirder. Still, as he wandered closer and closer to the sound of water, he became acutely aware of others there. Dave wrinkled his nose as he looked at the couple. There was something weird about the smell of the man, but he didn’t know what. The man was possessive in his touches, nuzzling his face into her neck. Pursing his lips, Dave began to look for a way around them. He sure as hell didn’t want any part in that. 

In a beat, Nicole hid her body behind a tree, looking over her shoulder. The couple still were unaware of the company. She breathed in deeply, as quiet as possible. She could go around the trees and investigate what was on the other side. Confirm it was only an animal. Then, go down the clearing and ask for directions. Great plan, she decided, carefully stepping down from the edge and venturing in the trees again. Part of her begged her to turn the other way, find another path, do the sensible thing for once. She was possibly walking straight into danger with nothing but a bottle of water and some snacks in her backpack. Her eyes fixed on a passing shadow at the distance, heart jumping to her throat. And for a brief second her control slipped. Amber eyes flashed and her vision was nitid in the dark, making out what her brain processed as a shoulder. Eyes shot to the ground, until she was sure her vision returned to normal. She kept her head down, afraid she might have scared whatever she was chasing. Her steps were cautious as she continued to approach, quietly stalking, waiting to be perfectly sure she had the upper hand. Then, she did something equally stupid and brave. “I...I can hear you” despite the statement, her tone was laced with uncertainty. Could be an animal. More often than not, it was the case. It didn't explain the shadow, or the bare shoulder she believed she had seen. She was being paranoid. The forest was known for its deceptive shapes. “I’m not— I’m not dangerous” she spoke aimlessly, knowing it was unlikely to have the effect she wanted.

There was the smell of some kind of cat or fox or something that Dave picked up as she watched the couple, his cheek still pressed against rough bark even though it served little purpose for working out more about them. He tilted his head curiously, trying to work out what he was picking up on, whether it was a local predator or just the scent of their tabby’s fur clinging to their clothes. But he realised after a moment that it wasn’t them, that it was something bigger and far closer, but it was downwind from him, he’d caught it too late, so as he turned he heard a human voice. Dave rubbed his face in frustration, straightening up because he knew it looked like he’d been trying to sneak around. Well, he had been, but that was just because-! Dave didn’t know why he was doing it. “Well, I can barely hear you, so come out where I can see you,” Dave replied eventually, looking around. “Nor am I.” Having turned his attention away from the couple, he heard the crack of twigs as one of them began to move, but not the accompanying noise of complaint. 

Nicole waited, her jaw set until the other voice came. Her judgement wasn’t the best, but at least the voice did not twist her stomach with dread. Small victories. Now what? She didn’t like it when she had to share space with other hikers, but she exhaled sharply at the request, navigating through bushes and trees until she reached the source of the voice. She wasn’t wrong, it had been a shoulder she had spotted before. And while she had more pressing questions to ask, they took the backseat to judge his appearance instead. “Jesus, aren’t you fucking cold?”. She shook her head, hoping to gain back some focus, but in the time she looked away from the couple, something went down. A scream filled the air, and the stranger in front of her was forgotten. Her head whipped down to the field. The screams continued, growing desperate, pleading. The couple was gone. It was just a woman, and a massive dark figure hovering over her. “What…” An animal? It didn’t look like a bear, and she doubted she could find any other beast as big as that in the forest.  Unless— the hair on the back of her neck stood. It was all too much to process in two seconds. “What the...fuck is—” her words died, eyes widening in horror.  

Dave frowned at her question, before looking down at his exposed arms and calves before shrugging with a wry smile. “Cold doesn’t bother me,” he replied, his words cut off by the scream behind him. He immediately tensed, crouching behind the tree as he smelled thick blood in the air, clogging up his nose. For a brief second, he saw the man staring at the woman in guilt, flesh dangling between his  human teeth. The next, he saw a terrifying beast, It’s jaw cracking as it extended and narrowed into a maw. If Dave had had any intentions to try and save the woman they quickly faded as he realised that they weren’t dealing with any monster but a werewolf. His breath caught in his throat. He knew he had his foolhardy moments, but Dave didn’t fuck with werewolves, not ever. Considering their impressive hearing and sense of smell Dave suspected that the werewolf knew where they were already but for right now it was distracted, tearing the woman apart. If he couldn’t do anything to intervene, then Dave could at least give her the dignity of not looking away. The moment her scream ended was the loudest, but the wolf did not stop tearing into her. “We’ve got to go,” he growled at Nicole. “Now.”

 Nicole closed her eyes, hoping that would erase the image etched in her brain. The blood, the screams, the horrifying beast that shouldn’t be real. She was about to be sick and the stench under her nose didn’t help. She knew werewolves existed. She heard countless stories from other rangers. It was likely she had been near some at any point in the woods, evading them by sheer luck. She knew of them, but nothing had prepared her for the viciousness of their behavior. She vaguely registered the stranger speaking to her, but it took seconds for the words to finally find its meaning. She blinked her tear filled eyes, willing herself to turn away from the gory scene. The words rushed out of her mouth, all jumbled together. “Wha— what do you mean...what do you mean go, she’s—” she stepped forward, but hesitated to jump to the clearing. Why was he talking about leaving, when there was a person dying in their proximity. Looking back to her didn’t help. Anger burned in her chest. Were they supposed to let that beast tear into her like she was nothing? Like some meaningless chew toy? No, she was somebody. Someone had to be waiting for her to come home. People who loved her. She didn't deserve to be ravaged by a monster to never be found again. She froze on the spot, the adrenaline clouding her thoughts. “N-No. We— I have...there’s gotta be a way to stop that thing”. 

“Ain’t nothing we can do for her,” Dave said harshly, shifting the weight on his injured leg. “Look at me, look at me. Neither of us have a rifle with us, neither of us are equipped. Animals like that, we can’t stop them.” His eyes slid past her to the wolf tearing through the woman’s thigh, her leg jolting and jerking about as the tendons clung futilely to her bones. Skin hung off the back of the looming werewolf, dripping blood down its fur. “We gotta go.” Pointedly, he began moving himself, gesturing pointedly for her to follow. 

She knew —of course— that his words were true. Nicole couldn’t fool herself. The woman had stopped screaming, and the only sounds coming from the field belonged to the wolf. She was gone. Frustration brought tears to her eyes, and she stubbornly refused to follow the man’s command.  He could go if he pleased. She had to wonder why she was still considering running down and trying to stop it. Stop what? she’d only end up being the second course. His words dawned on her. Animals. Beasts. Monsters. That’s what the werewolf was. What she was too, if she were to lose control. She flinched, but forced herself to watch the beast tear the woman’s leg off. Had she done that too, when the jaguar took over? Did she have bodies count too? She clenched her jaw, angry eyes fixing on the stranger. Fuck off.  An unfamiliar urge to take on him burned in her chest. But logic prevailed, and she relented from the edge of the trees. If they were lucky, the wolf was still too busy with his meal to hear her shuffling between branches. “You’re too fucking calm— too fucking calm... for someone who just watched a person get fucking—” she shook her head, furiously wiping the tear rolling down her cheek.

Once she started moving, Dave didn’t fuck around, hurriedly leading them both through the thicket. Fortunately in winter there wasn’t quite so much greenery obscuring the forest floor, following a river route, but the wet, rotten leaves left much to be desired underfoot. He saw her tears and didn’t care, couldn’t care, until he couldn’t smell blood and bone and canine in the air. She still smelled like the dozen or so cats she must have in her home, though. “I ain’t calm,” he growled, turning back on her, suddenly as angry at her as he was at the fucking nerve of the kind of werewolf that delighted in tearing people apart. Dave’s lips curled into a sneer, unable to shake the image of her skin dangling in the man’s mouth before he’d twisted into his other form. “You don’t get to accuse me of anything when you were prepared to stand there and get eaten!” He breathed in deeply, catching the hint of wolf on the wind, and gestured sharply for them to keep moving. 

Nicole dragged her feet behind him, letting out shaky breaths through her mouth. An attempt to control the urge to cry harder. She only grew more frustrated when the branches kept poking at her clothes and hair as they moved closer to safety. Her reaction as he turned was swift. She stepped back out of reach, hands rising. Part apology, part defense. She swallowed the angry reply, but kept her hardened gaze on him. She would never win a verbal fight. Not without bursting into tears in the process. And would that even count as a win? She had already embarrassed herself enough. And he wasn’t wrong. Guilt sat in the pit of her stomach. She had done fuck all to help the woman. Just yell that she needed help. What good did that do? She was thankful he continued to move. The scent of the beast grew stronger, and judging the by its paws against the grass, it was headed in same direction as them. “It’s coming this way” she warned softly, eyes darting around searching for a solution. Hiding from a werewolf wouldn’t work. Taking a detour maybe, if he hadn’t sniffed them yet. Climbing? She could, but was unsure on her companion. “Any good at running?” she regretted it as soon as it left her mouth, glancing at his injured leg.

  They’d followed a nearby river for as they trudged on, Dave kicking the thicket underneat out of the way as he impatiently lead Nicole through. Recent snowfall and freezes meant the river was threatening to flood its banks. The rushing of the river might just be enough to hide the sound of her sniffling as they trudged along. But he wasn’t angry at her, not even as she glared at him. Considering everything, she was doing a damn fine job of keeping herself together. Dave smelled it, thick wolf fur soaked with blood. It had delighted in its first meal, and it was plunging through the forest, still uncertain on its legs with a strange gate, searching for them. “Shit, shit.” He looked at Nicole, caught her question, and nodded, he’d deal with his pain later. “When need’s must,” Dave said, but as the gangling monstrosity thundered through the trees before them, skin dangling off its back, sinew dripping blood from between its teeth, he knew they would not be fast enough. Dave looked once at Nicole, once at the river, slung his arm around her middle, and plunged backwards into the icy river, letting the water sweep them away as he held her head above the freezing current. 

 They had agreed to run, and though Nicole couldn’t form any words, only managing a nod to confirm they were on the same page. Until the wolf surged among the trees. Too fast to even sense it. Although delayed, the real threat of the beast made her survival instincts finally kick in. She had to run, leave the injured behind. Maybe the man would even agree, as he’d wanted to do that with the first victim. It only remained a passing thought, as one moment later an arm wrapped around her and pulled her into the river.  It seemed to happen in slow motion, sinking in the water.  But it still didn’t prepare her for the cold shock response. She gasped sharply, limbs kicking in a panicked state. Something was keeping her head afloat so she wouldn't take water into her lungs. Someone, she vaguely registered. She kept fighting to release herself from the hold, her brain unable to process what was happening. She began to hyperventilate when the spasm in her leg sent another wave of panic. She was going to drown. With her heart at her throat, it was all she could think of. She had to relax, then. She knew this. She was good in water. She had to let the river take them. It was that or drowning. It felt like ages until the shock passed and she stopped resisting, the current carrying them river down, out of the wolf’s grasp. When the land seemed to narrow enough, she held onto anything she could find to push herself out of the water. 

Dave let her go as they reached a river bank, heaving himself out of the water with practiced ease before offering his hand for her. Despite the frigid temperatures, he didn’t even have a shiver yet, but he was worried about her. Twice fold, considering the number of bruises she’d managed to give him while they were in the river. Dave rubbed one such bruise on his jaw ruefully, looking her over with concern. “Sorry ‘bout that, didn’t see we had much of a choice. Pretty damn sure we lost it. God help us if we didn’t. You alright?”

  Refusing his helpful hand, Nicole dug into wet soil and rocks to get out of the water. She scrambled to her knees first, only to lie on her back soon after it was clear she didn’t have energy left to hold herself up. She panted, shivers rippling through her body. Teeth clattering, she held her backpack close to her chest, weakly patting her arms to create any sense of warmth. “F-fu...fuck” she let out a long, shaky groan. Her eyelids were heavy. The man’s voice came, and she craned her neck searching for him. She clenched her jaw, exhaling sharply through her nose. She couldn’t stop shaking, but breathing wasn’t so painful anymore. She reckoned she was only alive by the sheer determination to fight him once they made it to land. A fire that burned through the icy current. His words, however, subdued her almost instantly. She was too tired. A warning would’ve been nice, sure. But he acted quickly and led them to safety. If she had energy to feel, she would’ve been thankful. “Don— N-no” she tilted her head to the side, that was as much as a negative as she could offer. Her body jolted again, and she rolled to her side. Why didn’t he look terrible? It was like he took a dip at the beach. Not a shiver, not even a— “Wh- happ’n…” eyes fixed on his bruise, confused. “You ‘kay?” 

“You hit me,” Dave replied wrily, looking at her on the ground critically. “Jesus, girl, you’re freezing.” But he was just as soaked as she was, his clothes wouldn’t help warm her up. “C’mon, let’s get going. Not letting you catch your death like this.” She was still shivering, which was good, but they’d need to move fast. Hell, they were a ways from his van, but maybe there was somewhere else nearby that he could help her get warm. “Need to move fast, alright? Can you do that or do I gotta call someone out here?” If it was the latter, that would be an issue. He didn’t not know where they were, but like hell could he give directions over the phone easily. He bent over to help her to her feet, his hands unusually warm. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh” The slight twitch in her eyebrows was the only clear sign of surprise in Nicole’s face. She didn’t apologize. He was ready to keep going, and she let out a grunt. How was he still in good shape? Maybe he made the habit out of jumping into cold water. He looked too adjusted to the temperature even before that. “N-no. No” at the suggestion, she managed to move her head with more energy. She’d rather be dead than call for help. Just like that, she began to warm up. “I can” she swallowed, a shiver running down her spine. She sat up. Taking his hand to help herself up, she shook her head. Trying to save energy by talking as less as possible “F-fine...just—” freezing. They could walk until they hit the road, then she could call an uber. Decent plan. She took a couple tentative steps, gauging the state she was in. Okay enough. She removed her jacket, letting more water drip. In the meantime, she took in the surrounding scents and sounds to orient herself. She dragged her feet down the path she believed would lead them to the road. “How...are you fine?” she huffed, shuddering again. It wasn’t the most pressing issue, but she couldn’t let it go.

“Alright,” Dave replied, not one to argue with someone so determined to be alright. “I’m a sailor, taken plenty of tips out of the boat. Guess I’ve built a resistance to it. Not as much practice getting away from wolves.” Dave waved his hand, walking a little unsteadily, his leg stinging like a jellyfish cloud. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, forever grateful he’d invested in such a water tight cover. “Thank fuck,” he said soon as he smelled tarmac and rubber burn - a surefire indication they were near a road. “We’re gonna have to call the police or something to let them know about that feral beast attacking that couple. I know it must’a been scary to see that.”

“Guess that explains the—” Nicole stopped, as her foot almost got caught on a protruding tree root. He did smell so much like the sea. At least that part of the puzzle was solved. She forgot where she was heading with that sentence, distracted by the mention of wolves. In the commotion and the shock, she didn’t stop to think about how fast he was to figure they were in the presence of a werewolf. She shot him a quick glance, debating her next words. It was always strange to meet people who knew of the supernatural but being unable to discuss it. Because he knew didn’t he? He did. Was he one of them too? She bit her tongue, it wasn’t the time. “Sure”. What were the police going to do about a beast like that? Just serve as the next meals. But she kept her mouth shut, unsure if she kept shaking her head because she didn’t agree with him or due to the cold. “Right” she nodded, and it took all her mental strength to not blow up over his lack of reaction again. He might as well be the reason she lived to tell the tale, she reminded herself. “More used to finding bodies already dead in the woods than—” her throat tightened again. She wasn’t sure she’d get the image off her mind any time soon. Better to move on from the topic. “Can hear the road close, no?” 

 “Sure isn’t the kind of thing you wanna get used to,” Dave agreed quietly, almost as an apology for how calm he’d been before, unflinching at the sight of the woman’s brutal demise. “Don’t go feeling guilty now, there was nothing you could have done for her, alright?” He wasn’t sure any of that was helping, he’d never been all too good at the comforting thing, but it needed saying, He nodded at her question, hopping over a fallen log and pushing through a bushy thicket and onto the main road.

 “Yeah. If you call a car, I’ll stay with you until it gets here. Wouldn’t want that animal coming back for you without back up.” In the meantime, he’d debate back and forth, over and over, like he had for much of his life, whether this was the kind of wolf it was better to call a hunter on, or whether it was better to leave well enough alone. 

 Looking over at Nicole shivering, Dave had no doubt he knew what her answer would be. 

 No. It wasn’t. But if Nicole had to choose between finding someone already dead or watching them die, the choice couldn’t be easier. “Guess it happens when you live here”. As usual, curiosity struck in the worst moment, wondering if the man had seen it happen before. It explained his lack of reaction. While his words rang true, it didn’t ease the guilt. The pressure extending from her stomach to her chest was hard to ignore. It wasn’t just her inability to take action, but she couldn’t wrap her brain around other reasons yet. Maybe she was upset because she couldn’t get the image of the beast tearing into a human off her head. Maybe she was just hungry and tired. She thought of the human within the beast, and the breathing she had managed to steady turned erratic again. It worked as a reminder that she could never lose control over herself and risk the same thing happening. 

 It didn’t look like either of them were particularly good at conversations, but for once Nicole preferred that way. She didn’t think she would remember much of the night besides the wolf and the icy river anyway. When the car arrived, she glanced at him one last time. If anything, to remember his face. The ‘thank you’ was left unsaid. She wondered briefly what would happen to him, but the most pressing thoughts were those of her warm bed. She did wish for him to find his way home safely, at least. 

[swan--writes]

The Deetz went on vacation, the Maitlands are taking care of something in the Neatherworld and reader has to babysit Beetlejuice

I have no idea if this is what you wanted, but this is what my brain cranked out. Really hope you enjoy!

Words: ~2,160

“C’mon kid, ya can’t do this to me! What’ll I do without you? I’ve never been alone with Y/N before!”

“Beetlejuice, come on. I have to leave.” Lydia’s words were drowned out by a pathetic wail from the demon clinging to her suitcase. You watched from where you stood beside Charles’s car. Lydia was attempting to drag her suitcase down the front steps of the Deetz-Maitland house.

Beetlejuice had spent the previous twenty-four hours trying to stop the Deetzes from leaving him. The family had hidden their vacation plans from him for as long as they could, using code words, deleting internet histories, delaying packing for as long as possible. But Delia had let slip on Thursday night that the family was going away for Lydia’s February vacation. Beetlejuice did not take the news of their imminent departure well.

Rather than deal with a bored, hyperactive demon for the week, the Maitlands had opted to spend some time in the Netherworld. Miss Argentina was missing some paperwork for them anyway. Charles had explained all of this to you the day before the Deetzes were to leave. You had been tutoring Lydia for a few months, and had hardly batted an eye the first time you met the demon. Once it became clear that Beetlejuice had no intention of leaving the house while everyone was gone, Charles knew you were just the person to ask for a very special favor.

“Thank you for watching him. I know this isn’t what we hired you for.” Without waiting for a reply, Charles scooped up Lydia’s large black suitcase and tossed it into the trunk of the family car, shaking off the demon as he did. Beetlejuice fell in a heap on the dirt drive. If it added any stains to his jacket, you couldn’t tell. “You know what to do if he gets to be too much?” Charles was already rounding to the driver’s side.

“Yes, I have all of Lydia’s instructions memorized,” you said.

“And you know about–”

“All of the plants, the stray cats, and the cleaning instructions.”

“What about–”

“The trick stair, third from the bottom.” You smiled down at Delia. She had told you this from over Charles’s shoulder the day before, practically yelling into the phone over the sounds of the raging demon just outside their bedroom. “Don’t worry, the house will be fine. Just go and have fun in London.” To your left, Lydia was helping Beetlejuice pick himself up from the ground. She dusted off his shoulders. Lydia rolled her eyes when Beetlejuice presented her his cheek and, rather than give him the kiss he was after, she pushed his face away, wiping the slime from his skin on his jacket as she went. Beetlejuice feigned insult. Lydia ignored him and climbed into the car.

“Bye, Y/N.”

“See you in eight days, Lydia.”

“Thank you again for doing this, Y/N.” Charles was halfway in the car when he thanked you. You knew why he was in a hurry – you yourself were watching Beetlejuice warily from the corner of your eye.

“It’s not a problem, Mr. Deetz.”

Beetlejuice watched the Deetzes drive away. You watched Beetlejuice. He waved enthusiastically, calling after them that London really wasn’t so great, and that he didn’t need them, and that it was only a matter of time before the London Eye went on a rampage, and you got the sense he was warming up to some very descriptive language before he took a step too far from the house.

Before your eyes, Beetlejuice’s front foot contacted an invisible barrier. “Hey, whoa. Whoa-no! Whoa!” Green sparks shot up from the ground and he was swept into the air, swirling and spinning and shrieking his way back into the house. The front door slammed shut behind him.

This might be a problem, Mr. Deetz.

You smiled in amusement before walking up the front steps and through the front door.

The first three days were quiet. Far too quiet. Beetlejuice floated through the halls at about your eye level, groaning, his hair a dull green. As long as he could still move, you decided not to worry. You refused to leave the house just in case. On day four, however, you realized you were out of snacks. You closed the cupboard and all but snuck upstairs, skipping the third step as you went. You got dressed in the guest room, where you had been sleeping, and washed your face quietly. When you went back downstairs, Beetlejuice was floating from the kitchen and into the living room. You stepped in front of him to stop him.

“Beej.” He came to a halt before you.

“Oh, you’re still here,” he said solemnly. You gave him a look, but ignored the remark. You had spent the last three days cleaning up the messes that Beetlejuice somehow managed to leave behind; water on the floor of the bathroom he didn’t need to use, dishes from the dubious meals he didn’t need to eat, the dirt he seemed to trail behind him.

“I have to run to the store,” you explained carefully. “I will be back in thirty minutes. Don’t do anything weird, don’t set anything on fire, don’t leave any messes that I can’t fix within the week.” Beetlejuice’s feet dropped to the floor.

“C’mon, you know me babes. I’d never give you anything you couldn’t handle.” A mischievous glint sparkled in his eye.

You shook your head. “I’ll be back.”

Needless to say, your heart was racing the entire time you were gone.

When you returned to the house, you only managed one step up to the front door before thinking better of it. Looking around, up to the roof, behind you, and through every window, you didn’t see Beetlejuice anywhere. As subtly as possible, you crept around the house to the back door and entered the house as quietly as possible. The back door brought you into the laundry room, and once you had tiptoed out of it, what you saw only confirmed your suspicions.

The front door was covered in green webbing. One strand of webbing led to what looked like a black flame thrower, off to the side. Would Beetlejuice really set you on fire? You didn’t think so, but regardless, you didn’t want to find out what that contraption did.

When you turned to your left, you were met with Beetlejuice’s face hovering upside-down, mere inches from your own. His feet were lost in the ceiling, and his filthy jacket was hanging over his head. He was grinning.

You gasped, but recovered quickly. “Nice try, Beej, but I’ve been seeing ghosts since I was like, three. You don’t get to me.”

Rather than reply, Beetlejuice leaned forward. Before you could stop him, the demon pressed a wet, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Smart breather,” he growled before the ceiling sucked him up and out of sight.

“What the hell?” you cried after him. You made a disgusted noise and wiped what seemed to be ectoplasm off your face with your coat sleeve. Then, hearing sizzling, you rushed to get out of the thick coat and threw it to the floor. Maybe you should use the flame thrower-looking contraption on it.

You opted not to leave the house again after that. It only got worse. There was the swirling vortex in the guest room closet that you had to leap back to avoid. There was the slimy…thing among the cleaning supplies that you had to chase all over the house and subdue with a bucket before dragging it outside. Even on day six, when you had a movie night and Beetlejuice was sitting right at your feet eating popcorn, he somehow made all the condiments in the fridge fight a battle to the death with the cutlery. The cutlery won. Finally, day seven came. It was uneventful – a dead rat here, a bloody knife there. You wondered if Beetlejuice was starting to settle down.

Even at the time, the thought seemed naïve, but you let it go.

In the middle of the night, you were awoken by all the screens in the house lighting to static and the sound of chanting. Butts and brains. Sorrow and pain! Nooses and snakes, bottomless lakes, corpses with weights…

“Beetlejuice!” You had no idea where he was, so you just yelled into the darkness of your room, barely illuminated by the moonlight. “Cut it out, I’m trying to sleep!” But the chanting continued. Grumbling, you stepped out of bed. In retrospect, you should have known better.

As soon as your foot made contact with the cold floor, something that felt an awful lot like a tentacle wrapped around your ankle, latching on and pulling hard. As you fell to the floor, you let out a high-pitched shriek. Reaching out blindly, your hand found the thick hardcover you had been reading before you went to sleep. Though you managed to grab it, you couldn’t break your fall and your elbow smashed into the floor. The tentacle started to drag you under the bed. You turned and started whacking at it with the book. It took a few tries for you to connect, but finally you felt the grip on your ankle loosen. Scrambling away, you pulled your legs out from under your bed, ran across the room, and hit the light switch. When you whirled around again, wide-eyed, you saw him.

“Beetlejuice,” you wheezed, trying to catch your breath.

Beetlejuice emerged, limping from under your bed. “Jeez, babes, what did you hit me with? The Necronomicon?”

“Beetlejuice,” you growled. You threw the book aside and stalked up to the demon. Your voice was low. “I get that you are bored. I get that you miss everyone. But what do you mean to accomplish by torturing me?”

“Aw, I was just havin’ some fun, baby. It’s no harm–”

You kept the same deadly tone, but now your voice was rising. “Are you kidding? I have barely gotten any sleep this week, I have bruises everywhere, the house is a mess, and I can’t even walk down the hall without being assaulted by a dead guy.” You jabbed an accusing finger at his chest. “That sounds harmful to me!”

Now Beetlejuice was staring at you. Some of the humor was wearing away from his expression. “Y/N…”

You shook your head, then sighed through your nose and turned away. “Whatever. Whatever!” you repeated, throwing your hands up. You climbed back into bed gingerly, the small injuries of the past week all choosing that moment to remind you of where they were. “Just go do whatever it is you do when you’re not screwing with me. I’ll be gone soon anyway, everyone will be back in the morning.”

When you looked up at Beetlejuice again, he almost seemed not to know what to do with himself. Faintly, you noticed that his hair had turned purple. Without speaking, he nodded and walked to the door, head downturned all the while. When he got there, he hesitated. Slowly, Beetlejuice reached down and picked up your book. He brought it back over to the nightstand and, ignoring how you tensed up more and more the closer he drew, he set it down. Then he walked back to the door and left, shutting it softly behind him.

The next morning, you came downstairs fully dressed and expecting to have to battle some new eldritch creature. You had your book at the ready. But when you walked into the living room, it was spotless. All the webbing on the front door was gone, the scuff marks from where you had dragged the thing through the house were erased. Every dent in the furniture, every chipped spot on the walls, every ketchup stain was gone, as though nothing had ever happened. You wandered into the kitchen and found your ectoplasm-free winter coat draped over the back of a chair – the one you always sat in when you came to tutor Lydia. When you returned to the living room, Beetlejuice was sitting on the stairs. He watched you with a sheepish look on his pale face.

You walked up to him and ruffled his hair. It changed from purple to green under your hand. “Thank you,” you said. He gave you a sharp-toothed grin.

At that moment, the front door opened and Lydia Deetz tumbled through. In the time it took you to blink, Beetlejuice had lifted her off her feet and was, according to her muffled complaints, suffocating her. Charles and Delia walked in after the teenager and set their luggage down. Delia walked over to Lydia and Beetlejuice to try to intervene. To your right, Barbara and Adam were bouncing down the stairs and announcing that they were home. Charles leaned on the door and looked down at you.

“So, how was he?”

You gave Charles a weathered smile. “Oh, he was easy,” you said.

Buy Me a Coffee?

[nitewrighter]

Have you ever considered for doing a fic of a double date? Any ships you want!

Haven’t written for McHanzo or Symmarah for a while, and I’ve always wanted to develop Hanzo and Symmetra’s rapport in my fics more.

——-

“…Why?” said Hanzo, watching McCree straighten his collar in the mirror.

“No one ever has to justify wearing a bolo tie,” said McCree, tucking his shirt in.

“You know that’s not what I mean. Why are we doing this?” said Hanzo.

“Civvy night’s important to Pharah,” said McCree, “And Pharah’s important to me. I’ve known her since she was a skinny little scamp about yea high.” He brought a hand halfway up his ribs, “Anyway we need stuff like this. We’re fighting a long fight.”

Hanzo adjusted his own dark blue blazer that he was wearing over a tasteful yellow v-neck shirt, a result of an afternoon ‘thrifting’ with Tracer and Brigitte. That whole excursion was utterly baffling to him until Tracer offhandedly mentioned Genji and Hanzo had immediately realized that it was Genji who had suggested they invite him along in yet another attempt to try and ingratiate him to the rest of the Watchpoint. He had confronted Genji about it, but Genji had more or less played it off with, ‘I just thought you should get some new clothes since you’re staying with us’  which, infuriatingly, was true, but there was something sickening about the idea of Genji running around the watchpoint asking people to hang out with his poor lonely brother who murdered him. If it wasn’t thrifting with Brigitte and Tracer, it was morning jogs with Reinhardt, or Winston’s movie night—even Mercy had managed to stuff down her dislike of him enough to invite him along to her book club. Book clubs! What kind of illegal splinter organization had book clubs?! And for the record, no, he wasn’t willing to discuss the fact that Where the Crawdads Sing had made him cry.

“Hey—You in there, darlin’?” said McCree and Hanzo suddenly snapped back to the present.

Hanzo glanced down a bit self consciously, picking a stray bit of lint off of his blazer. “Did you plan this with Genji?” he asked.

“Nah—this is me and Pharah dragging you and Satya along in a night of shenanigans. Y’know, balancing out the friend stuff with the couple-y stuff.”

“…you would consider us as close as Fareeha and Satya?” said Hanzo arching an eyebrow.

“I mean…” McCree scratched at his stubble, unsure of how to respond to that and Hanzo realized what he had just said could be taken in a more hurtful way than he intended.

“That wasn’t what I— I mean I do lo—like you. You are important to me. They just… seem more… established.”

“Hey— it’s not like we’re going to be aggressively making out next to each other—we’re just hanging out,” said McCree. Hanzo was quiet, glancing down. McCree put a hand on his shoulder. “Look, if you’re really not comfortable with it, we can call the whole thing off. But, on the other hand, Fareeha’s one of the coolest people I know. This isn’t Genji trying to get you buddy-buddy with the watchpoint, this is me hoping we can all hang.” McCree thought for a moment, “Plus… Symmetra’s all… classy and stuff—She never really took to me, so maybe she might take to you. But again—I can call the whole thing—”

“Fine,” said Hanzo.

McCree smiled and kissed his eyebrow. “You won’t regret it.”

“Mm,” Hanzo grunted in response, not really sure what he just agreed to as both of them walked out of the apartment.

“Well well well… look who the cat dragged in,” a voice called up from below and McCree looked down over the balcony of the admin apartments to see Pharah standing in the lot below in a leather jacket and aviator sunglasses.

“You got a lotta nerve showing your face back here, Amari!” McCree fired back.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve wearing a bolo tie!” said Pharah.

“I don’t have to justify myself to you!” said McCree, “RAAAAHH!!!” he practically vaulted down the stairs and Pharah bounded up to meet him.

“YAAAAAAAH!” She caught him around the waist and hoisted him terrifyingly easily up on her shoulder.

“Jes-US ‘Reeha what have you been eating?” said McCree, the wind half-knocked out of him from the lift.

“More protein than you, I can tell you that much,” said Pharah, planting McCree back down on the ground. They bumped fists and then took each other up in a one armed hug. “It’s been too long, cowboy,” said Pharah, before looking over to Hanzo, “Hey! We uh… haven’t talked much, but anyone who can put up with Jesse is all right with me,” she held her fist out

“I’m told you were among the first to answer the recall,” said Hanzo. He glanced down at her still extended fist and nearly moved to shake her hand, then had to consciously make his own hand a fist to bump hers. The delay was clumsy, awkward. Stupid, he thought.

“Ha, yeah, Overwatch brat with something to prove,” said Pharah, tucking her beaded braids of hair back, “But no missions tonight! It’s civvy night!”

“Civvy night!” said McCree, “Speaking of which… where’s Our Lady Of Geometry?”

“Oh, Satya’s gonna be here, trust me,” said Pharah, “Come on.”

She started walking briskly and McCree and Hanzo followed after her. McCree glanced over at Hanzo, who was glancing off with a furrowed brow. Hanzo felt something brush against his hand and glanced down to see the pinkie of McCree’s prosthetic extended to him, touching his knuckles. Hanzo wrapped his fingers around McCree’s prosthetic and looked up at him. When all was said and done, McCree did look good with a bolo tie. There was an odd comfort in that.

“Okay,” Pharah was walking backward towards the Watchpoint hangar, “I just want you guys to… keep an open mind, okay?”

“An open mind?” said Hanzo, arching an eyebrow.

“Well usually for civvy night we just go out for snacks and bar food—that kind of stuff—and I know usually the point of civvy night is getting away from the watchpoint but Satya wanted to try something new, so…” Pharah opened the door and both McCree and Hanzo’s eyes widened. The entire hangar was a wonderland of blue and white, filled with hard-light structures of miniature castles, sphinxes and pyramids, a miniature mountain with a sparkling waterfall and a dragon perched atop it, windmills, and an impressively big construct of a diplodocus moving its massive neck up and down. A layer of hard-light was stretched across the floor, levels shifting slightly with holes placed at various points near the fantastical constructs of castles and dinosaurs and windmills.

“Mini-golf?!” McCree blurted out.

“It was an interesting challenge,” a voice spoke behind them and both McCree and Hanzo whirled on their heels to see Symmetra in a high-waisted white skirt and sky-blue polo, leaning against the wall behind them, “But I haven’t had an interesting challenge in a while. The visual research, while…. incredibly tacky, was uniquely inspiring. And it’s not often that I have to run simulations as extensively as I did here. I even had to bring in outside consultation.”

“Outside consultation?” said Hanzo.

“Jack Morrison was surprisingly helpful,” said Satya.

“Jack,” McCree repeated incredulously, “You got Jack to help you plan a mini-golf course.”

“He was quite amenable to the concept if it came with the promise of customized putting constructs in his own quarters,” said Satya.

McCree looked back out at the pyramids and castles and the diplodocus slowly moving its neck up and down.

“Not that I need your approval, but…. I wouldn’t say I had a stick up my posterior now, would I?” said Symmetra, sidling up alongside him.

“I never said you had a stick up your—“ McCree caught himself and realized he had said something along those lines, only he hadn’t used the word ‘posterior.’

“Satya this is—-“ McCree took his hat off and ran his fingers through his hair, at a loss for words, “This is honestly amazing. Thank you. You didn’t have to do all this—“

“I know,” said Satya, smugly, “But,” she materialized a putter out of hard-light in her hands, “What you may not realize about me is that I enjoy a challenge.” Hanzo glanced over at Pharah who was also grinning at this. Satya held the putter out to McCree and McCree took it.

“And bowling was out,” said Pharah, catching another putter as Satya tossed it to her. Satya handed the final putter to Hanzo.

“…I’m… not very well-practiced in golf,” said Hanzo, looking around at the constructs, still perplexed

“Well that’s the good thing about mini-golf—less rich people bullshit, less pressure… and everything’s kind of kitschy so you don’t take yourself as seriously,” said McCree, testing the weight of his own putter in his hands.

“I thought it would be appropriate with your focus on… accuracy?” Satya offered, “And it’s tackiness I thought would fit Jesse quite nicely.”

“Ouch,” said McCree, but Pharah just snickered and elbowed him.

“Rules are simple, try to get it into the hole with as few strokes as possible–lowest score wins,” said Pharah, shouldering her own putter.

“I understand the basic concepts of golf,” said Hanzo, flatly before catching himself. He cleared his throat. “Very well. I accept this challenge.”

Satya materialized a hovering screen with a grid featuring all their names in neat little boxes, “I do always say, ‘what game is complete without a grid?,’” she said, smiling.

“Of course you would,” said Pharah and Satya’s smile turned wry.

“Waaaaait a second, if the balls are constructs, too, how do we know you won’t cheat?” said McCree.

“You don’t,” said Satya.

“It’ll give you an excuse when we wipe the floor with you?” suggested Pharah.

“Good enough for me,” said McCree, “More fun than a bar night, anyway.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” said Pharah, hurrying off before coming back lugging a large cooler over loaded with ice and bottles of beer, as well as a few cans of sparkling water for anyone who didn’t drink (namely Satya—not a fan of the taste, apparently). McCree cracked open a bottle with his lighter and handed it to Hanzo before opening one himself.

“McCree can I get that lighter—” Pharah started.

“Here, my light,” said Satya, materializing a bottle opener for her out of hard-light, and Pharah kissed her on the temple in a thank you as she opened her own bottle.

Hanzo sipped at his own beer. He could enjoy beer, but tended to prefer sake. With sake there was a sense of ritual to it, with beer, there was a sort of implicit feeling of having to be social, as well as some stinging nostalgia over his great uncle Hideyoshi.

“Heh, and Satya calls me tacky,” said McCree as he and Hanzo watched Pharah help Satya adjust her golf stance, practically hugging her from behind.

Hanzo forced a chuckling “hm,” before sipping his own beer. This isn’t Genji pushing the Watchpoint to put up with you, he thought, This is just Jesse wanting to have fun. You can have fun. You can… deal with people.

“Hanzo?” said Satya, “Your turn.”

“Oh— you can…Fareeha can go next.”

Satya just shrugged and rearranged the order of their names on the grid, putting him below Pharah as Pharah putted next. Despite helping Satya with her own stance, it actually took Pharah several tries to get the ball close to the hole, and by the time she had the ball a few inches from the hole, McCree blurted out “GOOD LUCK!” and Pharah ended up hitting the ball too hard and they all watched as it bounced over the hole and hit the blue bricks of the retaining wall.

“Ass,” said Pharah, finally putting the ball into the hole and McCree just shrugged, grinning.

“All you,” said McCree, putting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

“You—you should go,” said Hanzo.

“‘Kay then,” said McCree. It turned out he was almost as bad as Pharah, and it didn’t help that Pharah made a point of getting him back throwing her off of her own putt by going “Hey Jesse!” every time his putter made contact with the ball. He managed to sink the ball with only two more strokes than Pharah.

All the while Hanzo studied their stances, how they gripped the putters, how hard they tapped the ball, and managed to sink his own ball in only two strokes.

“…damn,” said McCree, “Thought you said you weren’t big on golf?”

“Well it’s… fairly intuitive,” said Hanzo.

The pyramids were next. “Awww… you made little me’s!” said Pharah, bending over the hard-light structures of the statues around the pyramids.

“I simply modeled them on the statues at the temple of Anubis,” said Satya.

“Oh,” said Pharah.

“That was a joke, they are you,” said Satya.

“Awww!” said Pharah again.  

The Windmilll proved to be the bane of McCree’s existence. Satya and Hanzo watched as he muttered to himself, making stroke after stroke only to have the windmill’s arms knock them away while Pharah heckled him.

“I’m not cheating, if you’re wondering,” said Satya and it caught Hanzo off-guard to realize she was talking to him, “The speed of those windmill arms is perfectly consistent.”

“I didn’t think you were cheating,” said Hanzo, “It doesn’t seem in your nature.”

“Thank you,” said Satya. A pause passed between them. “I hope this all doesn’t seem too silly to you,” she said.

“There’s a giant glowing dinosaur in a watchpoint hangar, what could be silly about that?” said Hanzo as McCree finally sank his ball.

“I… actually was looking forward to this. We haven’t spoken much yet—” said Satya.

“So people keep saying to me,” said Hanzo.

The corner of Satya’s mouth twitched and Hanzo realized he had cut her off. He opened his mouth to apologize but was cut off by McCree teasing Pharah as she putted. “I…sorry. Please continue.”

Satya’s eyes lit up. “Well, it always tended to be difficult for me to initiate things with other people,” she went on, “Fareeha said ‘Civvy night’ was her idea so that she could touch base with other teammates… but I can’t help thinking she also came up with it to help me get to know the others.”

Hanzo’s brow crinkled. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Why would—” Satya started.

“Satya, your turn!” Pharah called.

“Duty calls,” said Satya as she made her own putt. It actually took her a few tries, though not as many as McCree.

Hanzo snorted a little before moving forward with his own putter. He remembered what Satya said about the arms of the windmill, studied the construct for a few seconds, furrowed his brow, and then made his stroke. Pharah and McCree were still bickering and teasing each other but both quickly fell silent as the little ball easily rolled up the slope, past the waving arms of the windmill, and planted itself neatly in the hole on the other side.

“A hole in one?!” said Pharah.

“Impressive!” said Satya.

“Holy shit, Han!” said McCree, slapping him on the back.

“Yes… well…it’s… just a matter of timing,” said Hanzo, smiling a little as they moved on to the next hole. Once again, it took a while to get through both Pharah and McCree’s rounds with all the heckling they gave each other.

“You said you were looking forward to speaking with me,” said Hanzo as they watched Pharah attempt to get the ball up the miniature mountain, “Why?”

“Well… I feel you are in a similar position as I was when I first joined,” said Satya.

“How so?” said Hanzo.

“Well… prior to my joining, the most basis anyone had for my character was Lúcio. And he was, justifiably, not fond of me,” she tucked her hair back, “And, of course, everyone on this watchpoint is eclectic enough to make their own decisions, but when the one person everyone seems to like doesn’t like you, well…” she shrugged, “Let’s just say I was eating a lot of meals alone during my first few weeks here. There was Zenyatta, of course, but arguably, Zenyatta makes a point of that sort of thing so...” she trailed off.

Hanzo wasn’t sure he liked where this conversation was going.

“And I like to think we have similar tastes,” said Satya, apparently noting his discomfort and switching gears.

“…similar tastes?” said Hanzo and Satya just motioned with her head over at Pharah with McCree’s head in a headlock, giving him noogies and going “YOU WANT A MULLIGAN? I GOT YOUR MULLIGAN RIGHT HERE!”

Hanzo snorted. “I suppose they’re making up for all the lost stupidity with all the missions they’ve had,” he said with a smirk. Satya silently and easily made her hole in a few putts as McCree and Pharah headed off to get another round of drinks for everyone.

“What did you mean earlier?” said Satya, coming back to Hanzo as he made his own putt. 

“What?” said Hanzo.

“When you said ‘that doesn’t bother you?’ Why would it bother me?”

“It’s… it’s embarrassing. It’s… pitying you,” said Hanzo.

“You think Pharah introducing me to her friends is pitying me,” Satya said flatly.

Hanzo’s stomach tied up in knots. “No–It’s–It’s different for you. Before you joined the team you built things. You created. Sure, it was for an… evil corporation, but you weren’t… we are not the same.”

“You’re moving the goal posts,” said Satya.

“What?” 

“Moving the goal posts. You relate to me when you think I’m being pitied or treated like a child by my partner, but when I’m able to rationally say, ‘No, it is not like that’ then suddenly we are not the same.” 

Hanzo blinked a few times.

“It’s not pity, Hanzo Shimada, it’s empathy,” Satya went on, “You don’t think everyone else here has been lonely? I was lonely in Vishkar. I was lonely when I first came here. Pharah was estranged from her mother for years, McCree was wandering with a bounty on his head—” Satya sighed, “It’s… it’s terrifyingly easy to convince yourself that no one needs you when you’re alone. And it takes a lot of strength to bring yourself back. To cultivate relationships so you can center yourself. And sometimes you fall back, and that’s fine. I didn’t make it to the book club this month because I didn’t want to talk about how the book made me cry. But as long as you keep putting yourself out there–”

“You’re in the book club?”

“Yes.” 

“Where the Crawdads Sing made you cry?”

“Yes.”

“…why is there a Watchpoint book club?”

“Long Orca rides.”

“…I hate how much sense that makes,” said Hanzo, “It made me cry, too.”

Satya just huffed and smiled. “Make your putt, Shimada.”

Hanzo stepped forward, placed his ball, drew in a steadying breath, and then with a single tap sent the ball rolling up through the castle, the little drawbridge closing behind it and a little fanfare playing. Both Hanzo and Satya rounded the castle and watched as the ball rolled out the other side and plopped neatly into the hole. The fanfare played again and little firework-like lights shot off from the castle’s parapets in miniature starbursts.

“…have I mentioned your work here was brilliant?” said Hanzo.

“You could stand to mention it more,” said Satya, arching an eyebrow.

“Have you been keeping score?”

“Oh honestly you won two holes ago, even if all three of us got holes in one for the rest of the course there’s no chance of beating you.”

“…Ah.”

“Shall we move on to the dinosaur?”

“It is a good dinosaur.”

“Told ya they’d hit it off,” said McCree as he and Pharah headed back from the cooler.

“You told me? I believe I invented civvy night,” said Pharah, “All you did was hook up with your probation charge.” 

“Which makes me a certified genius. You just call it civvy night because calling it a double date is cheesy,” said McCree.

“It’s called civvy night so there’s no pressure to bring a date,” Pharah frowned as her ball popped over the hole and rolled out the other side, “Still trying to get Mei to come along.”

“God, someone needs to get her away from that lab,” muttered McCree.

“Right? But then again… 9 years asleep. Makes you feel pretty far behind on work.”

“Pretty far behind on partyin’ too,” said McCree, closing the distance between himself and Hanzo, “You guys down for another round?”

Satya smirked as Pharah handed her her drink. “But of course,” she said.

[rannadylin]

Character Stats

Thank you @aban-ataashi​​ for the tag! I’ll pass one on to (if you want to, no pressure!) @gerundsandcoffee​​ @jadesabre301​​ @sayonaramidnight​​ @adraveins​​ @ariela-of-aedyr​​ and anyone else who’d like to! Claim a tag from me, I’d love to see your characters!

Dal (POE ttrpg, God Squad campaign)

Face Claim: Natalie Dormer - this one was the ref for Dal’s campaign art by @grumpy-jedi​ above:

Name: Idalia Tlalli, though the surname is only recently learned/acquired

Age: I think I ended up saying 22?

Height: Somewhere around 3’ or less, I don’t think I ever really specified but she’s on the shorter end for an orlan female

Species: orlan

Gender: woman

Birthday: whatever date Siofra picked for her to celebrate it was a guess based on guessing how many days old a glowing infant orlan was, so Dal should probably ask her parents now and see if they kept track

Residence: Grew up in Gilded Vale; now living in Quetzalli of the Ixamitl Plains

Marital status/Love interest: Uh…married eventually…Ranna has plans (and Ranna should write them buuuuut)

Alignment: Lawful Good

Drink: tea (but at this point she’ll stick with the non-magical kind)

Food/snacks: bread, sugar cream pie (why yes of course I am gonna appropriate some midwestern recipes for Dyrwoodan ones XD), peach cobbler, hazelnuts, onions. Not carrots.

Day or Night: Day

Pet: cats are OK and Dal will feed the strays that hang around the kitchen but is not too eager to pet them (knowing cats this probably means they hang around her all the more). Otherwise she is not that interested in animals, though she may have developed a fondness for the moths that hover nearby when she glows.

Colour: yellow, peach, light pink & green & blue

Flower: dahlia :-D Er, but her actual favorites are anything that can be used in cooking.

Sexuality: straight

Body Type: overall she’s orlan-tiny but a bit of extra padding from all that cooking :-D

Eye Colour: light blue, almost grey

Hair Colour: strawberry blonde (so, somewhere in between the “just blonde” and “bright pink” shades that most of the picrews seem limited to XD)

[latenightreaper]

Nothing Bad

"There is nothing bad in the basement." I have been told these words since I was small. It began when I was a toddler. According to my mother, I had followed her to the basement one day while she was doing laundry. I had been very taken with some old jewelry I had found in a box. She saw no harm in leaving me alone for a short time while she took the dry clothing upstairs. She sprinted back down to the basement when she heard me scream; a blood-curdling scream like I had my arm ripped out of my socket. She found me sitting on the dryer. A large box filled with books sat on the floor where I had been; it had fallen from a very tall shelf. She had thought the family cat might have pushed it off somehow. However, that didn’t explain how I ended up on top of the dryer when I was too short to do it myself. She shrugged it off as she tried to calm me and herself down. She decided that I should stay out of the basement until I was older. A baby gate was placed in front of the stairs for some time.

"There is nothing bad in the basement sweetie." Mom had said.

The next time I found myself in the basement was when I was six. I had two close friends over and we decided to play hide and seek. I was it. I was looking in the usual hiding places, when I passed the stairs I thought I heard laughter from below. My friends and I had only been hiding on the ground floor, so I thought maybe they had wanted to play in new territory. I waited a little longer when I heard the sound of movement. "I can hear you moving. I'm gonna find you." I yelled. I ran down the steps quickly, trying to catch them before they could hide.

As my feet touched the basement floor, silence filled the room. I scan the room for any places my friends and I could hide. The room was open, with no walls to divide it. A washer and dryer sat on one end, a water heater hummed in the corner. A desk and the furnace were placed on the other end. A few rows of shelves held the emergency food supplies stood in the middle of the room. The wall across from where I stood was two windows that brought the afternoon sunshine inside. The light shined around a floor-to-ceiling cabinet that stood just between the windows. That was the only place they could hide. I crept closer to the worn wooden doors. I could hear faint breathing coming from inside. “I can hear you.” I laughed at the door. “I found you!”

My hand had gripped the door handle when I heard two voices upstairs. The voices of my friends as they laughed. Nausea and fear washed over me as I realized that whatever was breathing in this cabinet was neither of my friends. I backed up to the stairs, I never took my eyes off that cabinet. The cabinet door slowly pushed open a crack, long dark fingers wrapped around the side. I screamed and bolted back up the stairs. My friends were seated at the dining room table, my mom was serving them snacks. “Hello sweetie, I was just about to call for you, where,” I wrapped my arms around my mom; crying in terror at what I had seen, what I had almost seen. “Honey, what is the matter? What has gotten you so upset?”

I turn my head towards the basement stairs, half wondering if the thing had followed me. “There was something bad downstairs. It was in the cabinet. I heard it breathe! I think it might eat me.” My friends sat still in shock at my words. My mother bent down, wiped the tears away from my eyes, and rubbed my back.

In a calm voice, she told me “There is nothing bad in the basement.”

I’d been a little more nervous being in the basement since then. My eyes would never stray from the cabinet when it came into view. If I even heard the cabinet creak, I would be out of the basement within seconds. I rarely went down there alone. My parents would continuously repeat the phrase “There is nothing bad in the basement” whenever I asked them about it. One day I had gotten tired of this ridiculous saying and yelled, “Well if it isn’t bad, then what is it?! What does it want?!” My parents looked at each other, a silent conversation between them. Finally, my dad looked at me with a tired expression.

“Nothing bad.” I let it go after that.

It was when I was a senior in Highschool. I had brought my close friend Ian over to work on a project. My parents wouldn’t be home from work until later that evening, so it was just us two. It had been a little over two hours when I noticed that Ian was acting weird. He was constantly staring at me, anytime we made physical contact he would make it linger, and I thought I even caught him sniffing my hair. I was getting really creeped out. “Let’s take a quick break, I need a drink.” I stood up and almost ran into the kitchen. I was filling up my glass when Ian wrapped his arms around me. I pushed him away as roughly as I could manage. “What are you doing?”

Ian looked upset, and I suddenly realized that my friend had wanted something more from me. He gripped the back of my neck and tried to kiss me. My hands became the wall that protected my mouth by covering his, and my arms shoved him away hard enough that he stumbled to the floor. I watched as he transformed from my friend into something possessed by a dark determination. The look in his eyes told me that I should escape by any means necessary.

I scrambled past him as he got to his feet. The thundering footfalls behind me gave me a grim reminder that Ian was on the track team. My fingertip grazed the front doorknob as Ian gripped my hair and dragged me to the basement staircase. He tossed me down those stairs like I was weightless. My head landed on the cement floor. My vision spun, but I could see Ian as he slowly walked down the staircase. I fought the urge to vomit from the pain of being dragged across the room to the front of the cabinet. Ian kneeled over me; his hands gripped my neck and squeezed. My hands scratched desperately at his. Every time I came close to loosening his grip, he slammed my head against the concrete floor. My vision blurred and I knew I was going to die. Tears streamed down my face, Ian was a watery blur. “Help me,” I whispered as dark spots clouded my vision.

The cabinet doors flew open and a loud roar filled the room. Ian froze with fear; his face turned white at whatever he saw crouched in the cabinet. A large dark figure leaped over me to push Ian onto his back. I gasped for air before I could pass out. I heard the sound of Ian’s cries of pain with the sound of the creature tearing into the flesh under it, and all I felt was relief. My vision was spinning too much to keep my eyes open. I heard the screams stop along with the wet tearing noise. There was a sound as the creature turned towards me, and my fear returned as I expected to be ripped apart too. I squeezed my closed eyes and braced for more pain. I heard it crawl over until it hovered right above me. I could feel its breath on my face. I felt something sticky brush through my hair slowly, I stayed as still as possible as the thing continued with the soothing motion.

“Nothing…bad.” It whispered in a deep voice filled with gravel. “Nothing…bad. Safe…now. Nothing…bad.” I did not know why it decided it would not kill me. I did not care to know. I finally accepted that it saved me, and the relief that I felt mixed with the creature’s reassurance that I was safe pulled me into a deep slumber.

I was shaken awake by my frantic parents. They found me asleep on the basement floor covered in bruises and blood. I told them what happened with Ian, and what the creature had done. They were confused, “Where is Ian? It’s just you down here.” I looked where I knew Ian’s mangled corpse should be, but there was nothing there. There should’ve been a large bloodstain at least, but the floor was completely clean.

I turned my head to the cabinet. It was closed but I could almost hear a deep, satisfied purr coming from behind those doors.