#but the thought of him doing happy kitty biscuits was something i just had to draw

[kowtownart]

Hold hum like hamburgur

Again, i’m so sorry that this took me so long!!

He’s so happy to get some attention!! The silliest, fluffiest little burger around!

[mollymauk-teafleak]

Transmutation 101

This is the 100th fic I've written for Critical Role! And I decided to hit this milestone exactly how I started, with self indulgent widomauk! I hope you also enjoyed it, please reblog and leave a comment on Ao3 if you did!

Thank you so much for the excellent suggestions people gave me for this fic, I would absolutely love to use them in the future!

-----------

The students at the Soltryce Academy would always cross their fingers for the name ‘Prof. C. Widogast’ on their new semester schedules. Seeing it would always bring groans of relief, cries of delight, bursts of amused laughter. And if any among them didn’t understand, if anyone fresh to Transmutation or new to the school blinked in confusion at why this particular professor was so special, the more seasoned students would be happy to explain. 

The reasons were many. In a magical school full of teachers as strange and eccentric as their talents, Professor Widogast was the quiet, unassuming king of general oddness. The students actually could, and often did, play an adapted game of bingo with his idiosyncrasies. With the deepest respect and fondness, they would tick off squares for Professor bringing in his ancient looking travel mug with the cartoon kitty paw prints which he’d regularly spill, for him keeping his scarf on all through a lecture or for correctly guessing how many times he would say ‘ja’. There were bonus points available for being the first to spot a kitten poking its head out of one of his coat pockets. 

Of course, the more important reasons were the ones not talked about as much, students being students. Professor Widogast was just a good teacher. Not just because he seemed to know his subject inside out and back to front, teaching all of the core Transmutation classes and several specialist classes for final year students, but because he seemed to genuinely love teaching. 

Most of the other professors seemed to think of their students as a distraction from their own projects but Professor Widogast always turned up on time, bright eyed and eager, despite having more ongoing studies than any of them. He marked fairly, he spoke animatedly, he heartily rewarded any raised hands with candy from his pockets, regardless of whether the answer had been right or wrong. He loved a demonstration, wheeling bits of equipment into the lecture hall that probably weren’t meant to leave the labs, apparently perfectly willing to risk his eyebrows and fingertips as long as they’d have a big flash and bang to make a particularly tricky equation suddenly become exciting. 

And more than that, Professor Widogast seemed to remember what it was like to be one of them. His office hours were merely a suggestion, all of his students knew implicitly that his door was always open, if they were struggling with a piece of homework or deadlines were smothering them or exams hadn’t gone the way they wanted. They all knew if they started choking up, something they thought they’d all outgrown, Professor Widogast would have a gentle smile, a box of slightly stale biscuits and a spectral cat to curl on their knee and purr loudly until everything seemed better. Whatever they needed to get them through rough patches, extra credit or one to one sessions or just a pat on the back and an assurance that things would be alright, he had it in those numerous, cavernous pockets.

To the older students, Professor Widogast was the promise that the Soltryce Academy was changing for the better. To the new students, he was their reassurance that they belonged in this world of magic. They all would have loved Professor Widogast for that if nothing else.

But there was still one other reason, the one that was most prized on the face of it all as far as students pretended to be concerned. 

If you didn’t feel like doing any work that day, Professor Widogast of the long home made scarf and the scruffy ginger beard and the porcelain cat figurines on his desk was incredibly easy to distract, easy to divert towards an hour of anecdotes.

You just had to ask about his husband. 

“And then you can see how the two runes combine…these shapes here, the triangle from this one and the circle from the other…into the one for the new spell,” Caleb looked up from the receipt he’d been scrawling on, “Does that make a little more sense?”

He smiled warmly at the flood of realisation on Kyor’s face. He loved seeing that expression, that mix of relief and delight and pride that would light up his student’s eyes when something finally clicked.  

“Yes!” the young aasimar nodded eagerly, “I didn’t see how the different shapes came together until now.”

Caleb nodded, “That is the basis of most runic work but when they get more complex it can be hard to tease out…” he folded the receipt and handed it to his student, “Try the problem set and if you struggle, email me or drop in any time, okay?”

“I will, sir, thank you,” he took it and shouldered his backpack higher. 

“You can just call me Caleb,” he chuckled, the idea of that always took a little longer to sink in with his newer classes but they’d get there, “See you on Wednesday.”

He waved Kyor off then paused, staying behind the desk and sifting papers aimlessly, but no more students came forward with questions they hadn’t wanted to ask in front of the others. They’d either rushed off to their next lecture or were milling around in groups amongst the rows of seats, comparing their schedules for the rest of the day or deciding where to go for lunch. It was a pretty big group, the numbers for his Transmutation 101 course were climbing by the semester, and there was a pleasant buzz of chatter in the hall, even half full. 

Caleb wondered idly who’d won the bingo today.

He started shoving papers haphazardly into his satchel, telling himself he’d sort them properly later and knowing he was lying. There was a carpet of paper in the bottom of that bag at least two inches thick. As Caleb packed away, he tuned into some of the conversations around him. 

“Are they an art student or something? If they are, they’re super lost…”

“Gods, imagine if some of the professors see that many piercings, they’d have a heart attack.”

“They’re probably handing out fliers to a weird performance art thing.”

“Or for a cult!”

“Why’d you sound so excited about that?”

“Their ink is insane, do you think it’s weird if I go ask where they had it done?”

“If you do, ask where they got their skirt too.”

Caleb glanced up, catching the eye of the students near him, the group who’d warmed to him the quickest, who always sat at the front and could always be counted on for a hand in the air. 

“Who do you mean?” he asked with a wry smile. 

The closest, a drow girl named Bianca, smiled back if a little coyly, “Oh, the tiefling outside the lecture hall, sir. None of us have ever seen them before, is all.”

“A little colourful for our end of the Academy, are they?” Caleb chuckled, swinging his satchel over his shoulder and juggling his mug and the equipment he’d borrowed from the lab to show the students that he needed to get back before Essek noticed. 

“I guess so, sir,” Bianca smiled, “They just look a little too interesting for us.”

That made him laugh, moving to the door as he did so he could ensure their attention was still on him, “You don’t know how right you are. Have a good evening all, don’t work too hard, ja?”

That got him a ripple of good naturedly sarcastic laughter which choked off into stunned silence as Caleb caught the strange, oddly dressed tiefling’s running hug, spinning around with him before drawing back to kiss his cheek.

“Hello, liebling,” he beamed, “What brings you all the way over here?”

Molly gave him a lopsided grin and freed one arm to dig around in his pocket, eventually pulling out a slightly squashed plastic bag filled with even more squashed sandwiches. In his defence, they probably looked like that when Caleb made them this morning. And then, apparently, left them on the kitchen counter. 

“These!”

Caleb grinned sheepishly, “Sorry…if it helps I wanted to talk to you anyway? About something specific, not just in the way I always want to talk to you…” 

Molly tilted his head, tapping his cheek, “You’re adorable. Your office?”

Caleb nodded, sliding his arm around Molly’s shoulders, throwing a last wave over his shoulder to his students who all scrambled to pick their jaws up off the floor and duck their eyes. As soon as they were out of earshot, out of the lecture building across the sunny courtyard towards the office building, he gave his husband a teasing squeeze.

“You really need to stop doing that to my poor students.”

“I will when you learn!” Molly nudged him back with a hip, “All those stories you tell about me and you don’t even keep a picture in your office? Serves you right.”

“Fair enough…and it’s pretty funny…”

“And it’s pretty funny!” Molly winked, pulling him into the elevator as soon as they were in the cool of the faculty offices. 

They never took the stairs for two reasons. One, that Caleb’s office was a tiny space crammed into the very top corner of the building. He’d been offered bigger spaces as he published more significant papers, joined more councils, got increasingly positive student reviews and became generally harder to ignore in his stubborn way. But he rather liked his little closet, it meant people were less likely to bother him and he’d filled it full of so much junk that a move would take nearly a year anyway. 

The second reason for the elevator was they could give each other a proper hello behind closed doors. Caleb was looking more than a little rumpled by the time his office door closed behind them. 

“So,” Molly hopped up onto his husband’s desk, folding his legs under him, tail disturbing papers as it thrashed and betrayed the excitement behind his casual words, “You said you wanted to talk to me anyway? Was forgetting your lunch a carefully calculated ploy?”

“Wish I could say yes but no, I was just sleepy this morning,” Caleb sat down in his chair, making sure to angle his weight in just the right way so he didn’t break the damn thing, it was on its last legs. 

He shoved the sandwiches to one side, knowing they were going to quickly be forgotten. He shifted small paper mountains around, eventually finding the one notebook he was looking for, opening it to pages of scrawls, runes traced over and over again until they bled into the paper, lists of ingredients with some crossed out in red. That one little notebook, swollen with how many times it had been opened and folded and scribbled in, held a year's worth of work, snuck in around the edges of Caleb’s actual studies. It held more late nights that he could count, a good chunk of their savings, a few burns and scars on his hands from wrong turns or bad maths he hadn’t caught in time. And now it held an answer. 

Caleb turned to his husband with a soft breath and a gentle smile, feeling the weight one person felt when a joined life was about to change but the other didn’t know it yet. 

“I think I can make it work.”

Caleb slid the notebook over to him, open to a certain page. He knew the runes and formulae wouldn’t make any sense to Molly, it wouldn’t have to himself a couple of moments ago. It looked like a bizarre page from a biology textbook that someone had doodled on, a little transmutation, a little dumancy because there was a hell of a lot of luck involved with this. Though, Caleb supposed, that was true of people born with the right equipment too. 

But he knew Molly would understand the words written at the bottom of the page, circled over and over and given more exclamation marks than was really appropriate for a scientific notebook. Chance of conception: 95%.

That was enough to soften Mollymauk’s expression into wonder and flood his eyes with hope. 

“I’ve done some very basic test runs, not enough to fully manifest it yet, I didn’t want to risk using up too much of the materials. I know it will manifest, I know it will function, all the theory says it will. What happens after it’s worked, that’s…that’s a little hazier. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to take the risks, Mollymauk,” Caleb leaned in and laid his hand over Molly’s, searching for any doubt in his husband’s eyes. 

But they were clear as day past the tears when Mollymauk looked up at him, like Caleb was the man who’d hung the moons. 

“You did it,” the tiefling breathed, voice thick with tears, “You actually did it, you made it work!”

“In theory,” Caleb caught his Molly’s smile and his teary eyes. 

“Well, in theory, you are the best husband anyone could want and I fucking love you so much,” Molly pounced on him.

Of course that was the end of his chair, sending them both spilling onto the floor. Neither of them could truly say they cared, far too busy laughing and crying and clinging to each other tightly. Molly’s tail lashed in wild excitement, kissing every inch of Caleb’s face he could reach, his smile the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. 

“Ninety five percent,” he panted, laughing as Molly’s hair tickled his cheeks, “We’ve had worse odds.”

“Oh, we’ve done way stupider shit with way less chance of success,” Molly grinned, apparently completely content to lie on Caleb’s office floor, cuddling in.

“True,” Caleb allowed, stroking Molly’s hair, staring up at the ceiling where he’d tacked up maps of the sky, graffitied with mapping and calculating. 

Molly pressed a gentle kiss to his jaw, “Call me biased? But I think you’re the greatest wizard who ever lived.”

A brief smile flickered over Caleb’s face as his fingers traced Molly’s horns with a gentle thumb. The greatest wizard who’d ever lived. Just as he’d always wanted, though it had meant something very different back then. 

“Today,” Caleb murmured, “I kind of feel like I am.”

Professor Widogast was on a bit of a roll. 

He seemed to have forgotten about the spell on the board behind him, about the upcoming finals and the problem sheets he was supposed to collect today. Someone had asked a question and he’d followed it like a thread, unravelling the ideas they’d been discussing with abandon until he had the rapt attention of every mind in front of him. Until he was pacing along the front of the hall, arms waving and hands flapping in excitement and to illustrate his points, like the magic he spoke about was something that could be touched and felt. 

“So when people say transmutation, you understand, it is the magic of change,” his eyes were bright, “And this can scare people and no wonder! You do not like something, you change it, ja? It invites chaos, it invites the whole universe bending to the will of one individual with a grudge or a scar and the right spellwork. It is not the dependability of abjuration or the simple trickery of illusion or the connection to fate you get with divination. Change is the unknown. Change is fear. Change can be weaponised.”

He paused, hand opening like he was letting something go, his eyes far away, “But it’s learning this that will make you a true wizard of transmutation. Change can be all of these things but it is just one face of it. Change can bring good. Change can bring growth. You cannot use transmutation to change what has happened, however much it hurt you and might still hurt you today. But you can use it to change what’s coming, to make it better. Not in a ‘waving your arms and making all the solutions to your problems out of rocks’ way. But in a slower, surer way. This is transmutation. Ja?”

Professor Widogast paused suddenly, hands stilling, looking as strange as birds pausing mid flight. The students blinked, glanced at each other, wondering if he’d asked a question they’d missed and was waiting for an answer. 

But then they followed his gaze, to the back of the lecture hall. The tiefling from before- Professor Widogast’s husband- was standing there, having just crashed through the doors. He looked as though he’d sprinted there, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths, cheeks bright, tail lashing and wearing something that looked a hell of a lot like pyjamas. And his eyes were streaming with tears, his face cracked into the widest, brightest smile. 

The students were more than a little confused but Professor Widogast certainly wasn’t. He had a look on his face like clouds had cleared. 

“Class dismissed,” he croaked, eyes flooding, his own smile growing, “Sorry.”

No apology was needed, the class immediately scrambling out, grabbing their bags, not in case Professor Widogast changed his mind but because it was immediately obvious that this was a moment they deserved to share in private. 

The Mollymauk they’d heard about in anecdotes and warm stories pelted down the stairs and into their professor’s arms. They stayed intwined, long after their audience was gone, a single still point in the middle of two lives changing. Because it had worked. 

After that, if you wanted to send Professor Widogast off on a tangent, you could ask about his husband. 

Or you could ask about his children. 

[wri0thesley]

I understand if you got too many requests or are not interested but... maybe you'd like to entertain the neko curse situation but reverse the situation? Meaning it's the jjk men who got hit by that curse and turned into nekos! Maybe they tried to protect their s/o and ended up changed themselves but somehow before disappearing the curse left a mark on the s/o and the effects won't be reversed until the mark disappears (so no easy idle transmutation to solve this problem, mahito~)

not sfw, minors dni!

♡ —-> below the cut: gojo, nanami, geto, toji, sukuna, mahito, naoya, choso <—-  ♡

♡ Gojo immediately asks you if you think he’s a cute cat; which of course, you do. He’s got fluffy white ears and a majestic fluffy white tail that you desperately want to pet. He immediately, too, knows how to fix the curse - but the way you’re looking at him is so interesting that he can’t pass up a chance to see if you’ll make a move on him like this.

You end up curled up against him, your fingers delicately petting the soft, thick white fur of his ears whilst his eyes go half-lidded and he murmurs something about how he could get used to this. He tells you that he doesn’t think that being a lap cat is such a bad profession, actually, so long as the lap that he gets to sleep in is yours. 

- ♡ -

♡ Nanami is not sure how to proceed. He’s rather like a cat already; a solitary, elegant creature who doesn’t trouble himself to exceed more effort than he has to unless the situation calls for it. But actually having the features of a cat is different. He doesn’t like how sensitive his new ears are (especially when he tries to call Gojo). He doesn’t like how his tail fits in his tailored slacks. He works out the mark almost immediately - and then wants to go back to his place so the two of you can discuss breaking the curse, in private, before anyone sees what has happened to him.

He will not want to be intimate whilst he’s the one with the cat ears and tail; he’s too nervous for that. But he will accept gentle strokes, scritches behind the ear, a delicate top-to-tail rub from the back of his neck and onwards until his back arches and he sighs, a rumbling purr emanating from his throat. 

- ♡ -

♡ Geto does not want this to have happened. He is a well-mannered, polite curse user who uses his honeyed tones and his way of persuasion to bring people over to his side - and the new ears and tail that he is having to get used to are making people not take him seriously. He’s a very smart man; from the minute it happens, he’s running through all of the curses he has on him that might be able to help him figure out how to help.

Unfortunately, Nanako and Mimiko think that their father figure with cat-like instinct is the cutest thing in the world, and he keeps getting accidentally distracted by toys they throw for him or the stick with a dangling feather they’ve somehow procured. Part of him wants to tell them off; part of him can’t help but smile to see them having fun. If you join in with Nanako and Mimiko, though, Geto’s eyes go very dark and his smirk turns very crooked - and you can bet that, cat ears or no cat ears, Geto will punish you for being so forward later on tonight. 

- ♡ -

♡ Toji is grunting and grumbling about the curse, reaching up to scratch at the dark-furred ears protruding from his head. You bite back your cry of how adorable he looks; there’s a scowl on his face that you know is bad news, as his eyes fly over the mark on your wrist and he heaves a world-weary sigh. “Guess we’ve gotta work this one out together, huh?” He asks you, wry smile tugging at scarred lips. “C’mere--”

He pulls you into his lap, his hands massive as he gets you comfortable. He’s like a cat padding into his blankets, making biscuits on the soft meat of his thighs as he presses his chin onto your shoulders and begins to muse aloud about all of the ways that he can think of that he can get the curse to lift.

You can’t help but squirm as he kneads your skin, your ass pressing directly against the bulge in his pants as his breathing gets more ragged - and eventually, you’re pinned down onto the sofa beneath him, his tail flicking, agitated, as he murmurs; “You’ve really got me goin’ now, sweetheart--”

- ♡ -

♡ Sukuna … yes, Sukuna isn’t happy about it. He doesn’t think the King of Curses should be cute. This curse can sense his energy, and there are clearly tiger ears or big cat ears perched on his head, his tail long and thick - but still. He’s mad that he’s been made fun of, he’s mad that the curse has happened, he’s mad that the curse had the nerve to lay its mark on you when you’re his beloved little pet and his property and only he should ever be allowed to. If he can’t break out of it straight away, he’s smart and powerful enough to have formulated a plan before the end of the night.

But Sukuna’s sex drive is as insatiable as the rest of him, and he cannot go one night without burying himself within the tight, warm confines of your body. You will be pinned beneath him by four claws, a gazelle pinned beneath a tiger as he grins down at you aware that he is very much ‘the predator catching his prey’. You will enjoy his method of catching. 

- ♡ -

♡ Mahito is very interested in this new development. Honestly, he’s not overtly attached to his ‘human’ form - he uses his idle transfiguration on himself with little thought - and he quite likes the ears and the tail, and he certainly likes the way you look at him and curiously reach out to give him scratches on the sensitive new additions. He’s a little embarrassed by the low vibration that comes from his throat, the purr at being touched - but he’s also a creature interested in new developments and new sensations, and this certainly falls into both of those ball parks. The real problem is when he realises he can no longer use the transmutation to get into his other forms. He needs to be able to do that, for all of his plans - it doesn’t matter if he can still transmute humans, he wants the freedom to do whatever he wants to his own form. Mahito is determined when he sets his mind to it, and the moment he realises the mark on you is somehow connected to his new state, he is not going to rest until the both of you have gotten to the bottom of things.

Yes, he’ll explore how it feels to be petted and have his tail tugged and be collared in bed before you do that, though. Mahito takes every opportunity as one for pleasure, and he finds that even though you’re his little human pet first and foremost, he doesn’t mind if the roles are reversed as long as it’s temporary. 

-  ♡ -

♡ Naoya absolutely hates this development. He is the goddamn future leader of the Zen’in clan, and nobody is going to take him seriously with a tail sticking out of the waistband of his hakama and a pair of ears that don’t match his hair tufting from his head. He tries very hard to hide them from absolutely everyone, jamming his tail in his clothes and a hat on his head and trying extremely hard not to get distracted by passing shiny lights dancing on the windowpanes. When he figures out it’s something to do with the mark on you, he might blame you for it a little bit - but he insists that if you help him sort out the predicament he’s in, he’ll be lenient on you during your punishment.

As a cat, he’s a hissing, spitting fussy little thing - when the question of intimacy does come up, he’s still willing and wanting to fuck you, but he’s even more animalistic than usual. Nails-come-claws digging into your bare skin, slightly elongated fangs scraping along your soft skin. 

- ♡ -

♡ Choso is perplexed by the tail and the ears, hesitantly reaching up to touch them and shooting you awkward looks. He even tries to hide them from you at first, worried you’ll be upset by it - but when you look at them with your lip bitten and gently pet the base of his tail so his back arches, he realises that you’re not disgusted, just . . . interested. They don’t exactly get in his way, but he’s definitely flustered by the way people look at him with new additions. He doesn’t want to draw more attention than necessary to himself. The thing that upsets him most is that the mark is on your body; he wants this to be his own burden to bear, and he hates himself for getting you dragged into it. 

He’ll let you touch his new additions hesitantly whilst the two of you are intimate, but he won’t initiate. He gets all awkward and flustered by the petting, surprised by how turned on he is when you coo that he’s such a good kitty for you--

- ♡ -

[fluffy-deer-bunny]

The collection of references of my cuties is replenished! I decided to draw everyone, otherwise I didn't do this for a long time.

However, I wanna say that during the period of lack of of communication, Lucian has changed from a very emotionally happy helper boy to a calm and just equally happy father, who has gained wisdom and experience (o˘◡˘o)

Severina has changed very much, because for some time she lived in The World of Terra, not remembering the past. There she changed her gender at one moment, being physically and psychologically predisposed to this. Below I've described the text in more details about this event, but generally briefly – she has become an even more super fluffy cutie kitty °˖✧♡︎❤♡︎✧˖°

Once in Belgrade, an incident occurred that changed the body of Severin. I, Fia, also influenced this, because at times I felt bad, and this definitely affected life in this little world. Severin was always very sensitive bodily anyway, but at one moment the craving for bodily sensations intensified at times, because it was already not only excitement due to physical processes, as, for example, after something eaten, but also from love for the person he loved very mach.

So, how it all happened: in The World of Terra he once found out that such self-feeling bodily, behavior and (most importantly) the feature are already familliar indicators of person's bigender, with a slight predominance of one side. He, from now on, she even managed to meet the same bigender girl (although you can't really tell in appearance tight away, in fact, how it was with him).

Later it became clear why the "anomaly" occured at all: once upon a time, someone from the Aqueous kingdom decided to do the world a favor, to help by changing the human DNA so that everyone had the opportunity to continue the family line, so that it would be easier to find a couple and to double your Power (since the gender is a tremendous energy), + it would be incredible beauty. So they turned out on an experiment with a certain number of Inhabitants, but they didn't thought over that at least these Devons (as they began to call the first who experienced this experiment on themselves, and their children, who also adopted this feature. In their world this word has a different meaning than ours. Although at times one could find something similar in their behavior) and there was unimaginable beauty – it was paid for them with pain and torment, of there were no close ties at the right moment of increased sensitivity.

Such moments could derive them crazy, forcing them to resort to the lure of a person through an over – intoxicating smell and caressing their eyes with blinding beauty. After more or less sufficient saturation from the semen that were pulled out (or vice versa) by force, Devon also could killed someone, trying to drown out her hunger*. (* – such a state could be called "obsession", but not only by someone, but by the desire to satisfy hunger).

This craving for affection, waking up absolutely spontaneously, didn't help to find a better mate, but quite the contrary – some Inhabitants began to treat them coldly and even cautiously. And this is even worse for them than bodily loneliness. Therefore, over time, Devon became less and less, almost leaving even a memory of them. And all because of the fact that many preferred to die, because the pain and torment, especially those close to them, were terribly unbearable for them.

However, in the century when my dear Severina began to live in Belgrade, it was from her that the request came, and then the courage and courage of the Aqueous to return everything back – to balance the DNA. So Devon had the opportunity to be like everyone else, to calmly choose a mate for themself and enjoy life with their beloved without cruel and almost insatiable hunger, while still having the opportunity to be bigender. And the town, especially following the example of the life of King Veles and the cutie Queen Severina, many people could be convinced again that only Love can heal everything in the world: both body and soul.

~

P.s.: The first song is the theme of Luci (I think it suits the new him), the second two are the themes of Severina, an the third is her voice (as similar as possible).

Thanks for reading ♡ (⇀ 3 ↼)

[pettyprocrastination]

can we get any sort of hc for frankie & baby bat, i love the headcanons that you have for them🥵🥵🥵

YES YES YOU CAN MY LOVE

HEHEHEHE ive been thinking about babybat and frankie literally all day i was hoping somebody would say something and you HEARD ME I LOVE YOU

It’s 12:30 am so if these are messy and bad i apologize i just got way too excited akskks. 

Some tags: @captainsamwlsn @goldafterglow @thesadvampire @cinewhore @thirstworldproblemss @justanotherblonde23 @lilkermit14 @buckysalefty @qveenbvtch @clydesducktape @themarcusmoreno if i missed anybody else who wanted to be tagged in bb content please let me know! It’s late so my brain and working as hard as she should 

Content warning: foul language, talk of insomnia and PTSD, allusions to sex, camwork, light angst(?) 

Frankie makes sure to give you honest good compliments. 

Of course he’s not gonna pretend he doesn't say the usual porn dude stuff of “I want to cum on your tits” but he’ll also make comments of how lovely your smile is and how pretty you look in the fluffy robe wrapped around your figure at the beginning of each show. 

Sometimes he’ll ask how your day was. 

These little comments feel insanely more intimate than the mountains of crude ones you get. 

The first time you do a private show for him??? Oh my god he’s so nervous

Why is he so nervous??? He shouldn't be so jittery

Little does he know you feel the same way

You haven’t been nervous for private shows since you've started doing cam work, but something about this guy made you feel giddy. It wasn't until his camera switched on that you froze in realization that oh no he’s cute. 

When it comes to actually talking? He needs to be coaxed out of his shell. Sure he can make comments in the chat of a stream saying he wants to see your perfect pussy but saying it out loud?? To your face?? Ohhh boy.  He’s a little awkward at first, as most customers are so it takes some gentle conversation before he’s able to ask you to take your shirt off. 

“Why don’t we start with names?” You untie the robe and slowly let it fall from your shoulders. “I have to call you something, sweetheart.”

In hindsight he could've given you a nickname, or a fake name. Giving a fake name definitely would've been smarter but he was just to busy staring at you and your waiting smile and he just blurted out “Francisco” without even thinking about it. 

“Francisco?” You hummed and let your eyes shut, as if imagining all the separate situations you could say his name. “I like that. Handsome name for a handsome man.”

He knows it’s a line. That you're most likely lying, just feeding him rehearsed words you give to every other man who pays for your shows. But he doesn't care. 

He wants to hear you say his name again and again and again. Moan it, scream it, say it while you give him praise and beg him to fuck you until your voice is gone. 

“Francisco?”

He’s shaken away from his mind when he looks at the camera, youre staring at him expectantly. Oh god he spaced out. How long was he like that? Did he say any of it out loud?

You seemed to notice his panic and laughed. “I know this can be a little awkward the first time. So we can take it slow.”

Your fingers curl over the hem of your shirt and slowly pull it up just enough to show him the bare skin of your chest peeking out underneath. 

“Tell me what you want Francisco.”

In your regular day to day, you work at a small bookstore. Your apartment is decked out in halloween/spooky decor year round and you have two hairless kitties, poptart and biscuit that will throw fits if you aren’t giving them attention. 

Frankie accidentally met the two rascals during a private show when you thought you had shut the door all the way. But turns out you didn't because poptart zooms across the floor and into your lap, yowling for love meanwhile biscuit goes straight for the camera, batting at it with a curious paw because?? Hello???who is this???strange man taking mother’s attention

You are mortified, topless, and holding two cats while apologizing to him because “oh my god im so so sorry they were in the other room and-” 

He laughs and shakes his head. “It’s okay, they're really cute actually.”

You smirk. “Was that directed towards my cats or my tits, Francisco?”

“Both actually, both are very very cute.”

You begin to share anecdotes and stories about your days over these shows and streams, until late one night you get a payment with a message from him. 

‘You don’t have to do anything, I just don’t want to be alone right now.’

Its 2 am, you don’t bother doing makeup or switching your pajamas for lingerie before turning on your camera and accepting the link, to be shown a black screen and his voice. 

“Hey, I hope i didn’t wake you. I’m sorry it’s just been a bad night and i cant sleep, i didn’t-fuck. This was a bad idea. I’m sorry-”

“It’s okay Francisco.” Your soft voice stops him as his finger hovers over the leave chat button. “I’m happy to be here with you. Is there anything I can do?”

“Talk.” He rasps, a switch is heard and light fills his camera to show you his exhausted form. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, his hair is sticking up in separate directions and his eyes, looking anywhere but you, are red and puffy. 

“About?” You knew this was dangerous territory. You never messaged customers out of chats or private shows. This was not professional, this was personal, intimate. He could have reached out to anybody else, friends, family, but he chose you. Did he not have anybody else?

The notion shouldn't have made your heart swell as much as it did. Fuck this was bad.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

“Anything.”

So you did. You talked about books and movies and dumb stories from college, frankie learned you worked at a small bookstore and had your own personal reading nook in your house. 

You learned that frankie was a pilot who loves to cook and in his words, “makes a bitchin’ chicken alfredo.”

“Yeah well-” a yawn broke through your sentence and he smiled. Somewhere through the night you had wrapped yourself up in blankets as you spoke to him. “-you’ll have to make some for me sometime frankie.”

Frankie. A name he’s been called for years now but for some reason hearing it from you was like hearing it for the first time. 

He wanted to hear you say his name again. In bed, the morning after as he made our breakfast, the day after when he took you out to dinner and walked you home and-

Oh. 

Oh no. 

This is very bad. 

Unbeknownst to him, you're having the exact same revelation.

“Goodnight frankie.”

“Goodnight Baby.”

[iamdunn]

Miraculous Flash Forward Part 11: Something Missing

A Miraculous Fan Fic

Written by

AJ Dunn

Adrien didn’t get much time to spend with Marinette during her first week here as she thrust herself into preparing for the Fashion show. She wanted to make it perfect as Felix was counting on her. Adrien didn’t like her working so hard to impress his twin brother/cousin, but it made her happy to be doing what she loved and Felix was giving her every reason the G brand had to offer. 

It was easier to refer to it as the G brand rather than change all of the insignia from the Gabriel Brand to the Graham De Vanily insignia, considering there wasn’t one. However, now the G brand was featuring the Marinette label. It made a lot of the Shanghai designers jealous but they got over it quickly when they met Marinette and her kind-hearted always helping everyone else persona. Adrien was proud of her, but he was still waiting for his cousin to leave at the end of the week so he could have her to himself. 

“So what are we having for dinner tonight?” Marinette propped herself up on the stool as Adrien worked in the kitchen. “Another Cheng specialty?” she mused.

“Breakfast actually.” He cracked several eggs into a bowl, added some spices, chives, and scallions then whisked them together. He poured it over a hot skillet that he had melted butter onto. The eggs hardened slowly as he layered the egg with nori and sliced cheese. He then began rolling the square egg until it looked like a pinwheel sandwich and sliced it just the same. He separated the pieces onto three plates, then added some sausages that he had sliced to look like little squids, and a scoop of rice topped with sweet & sour sauce. He set the three plates on the counter then turned back around to hang up his apron. He moved some bowls to the sink and accidentally splashed liquid egg onto his shirt. 

“Damn,” he said stripping his shirt off without thinking about it. His back was turned to Marinette but he could feel the heat in his face as he turned and left the kitchen without looking at her. He got a clean shirt from the drawer in his closet and returned to the kitchen. Felix was already sitting next to her on her right so Adrien sat on her left. “How is it?”

“I’m inclined to stay another week if you keep cooking like this, brother.” Felix had grown accustomed to calling him that and now in front of Marinette who didn’t seem fazed by it, it was normal between the two of them. Adrien watched as Marinette toyed with her food lazily. He picked up his chopsticks and grabbed one of her sausages and shoved it into her mouth. The legs of it still hanging out of her lips as she turned to him in shock. Adrien and Felix began to laugh. The sausage quickly disappeared into her mouth as he cheeks lit up. 

“What was that for.” She choked as she swallowed the sausage.

“You need to eat, you have been running yourself ragged all week.” Adrien chastised. 

“What about you, up before the sun, gone before me, and you still make dinner.” Marinette pouted.

“Just want to make sure my princess is well taken care of.” Adrien smiled. 

“My plane leaves early I better get to bed.” Felix finished the last bite of his tamagoyaki the set his plate on the counter. 

“You can clean up if it means that much to you.” Adrien offered. Marinette smiled and began to eat her food unassisted. 

“Okay, I will.” Marinette finished her food and began rinsing the dishes and loading them into the dishwasher. Adrien watched her for a minute then went to the couch and turned on the television. He must have fallen asleep because he woke up to Marinette sitting on her knees in front of him. 

“See, this is what I am talking about.” She stood up taking his hand with her as if she could lift him from the couch herself. He moved his body to her command as she guided him to his room. He stumbled lazily behind her. Once in his room, he allowed him to fall onto his bed. He held onto her hand as she tried to leave the room. One tiny tug and she was laying on top of him, her face inches from his. He smiled coyly at her as he wrapped his arms around her then rolled to the side nesting his face into her neck. He pretended to snore as she attempted to wrestle out of his grip.

“You are not sleeping you goof.” she laughed, her struggles were in vain. His grip held her arms to her sides. He was safe until he wasn’t. 

“What are you doing?” he looked up at her in concern as her fingers began a blind exploration of the tiny hairs circling his navel. “Hey now, stop it, come one what are you doing.” He laughed uncontrollably as her fingers tickled the skin on his belly and crept to his side. He didn’t want to let go, but he didn’t know how much more he could take. He released one arm grabbing the invading hand. It was enough to give her an advantage as she threw a leg over his rolling body until she was sitting on his belly with his arms pinned to his side by her legs. She continued the invasion of tickles on his side as his shirt lifted nearly to his chest. He lifted her bottom up with his arms as she fell forward catching herself by dropping her hands on either side of his head. 

It had been enough to free his arms so he could grab her face bringing it in for a kiss. Before their lips could meet, they heard a cough at the door.

“Should I be recording this?” Felix asked, annoyed. “I mean you did leave your door open, maybe it’s an invitation to join, a … free for all?” Adrien threw a pillow at him. Felix threw it back hitting Marinette who grabbed it then leaped off the bed to hit him with it. Felix wrestled it out of her hands and beamed her on the head. Running for cover as Adrien came at him with another pillow. Marinette was left without a weapon and the boys now blocking her escape. The boys smacked each other around for a few minutes before Felix finally surrendered tossing his pillow to Marinette then headed back to his room.

“You guys are too much,” he said laughing. Marinette gave Adrien one last swat with the pillow as she marched past him. He grabbed her arms pulling her back to him as he kissed her lips gently then released her.

“Good night purrrincess.” Her face lit up 

“Good night, kitty,” she whispered, then went to bed. Adrien couldn’t stop thinking about how comfy it had been holding her on his bed and wondered how it might have been if she had been holding him back. He fell asleep with that feeling in his mind. 

Felix was gone before Adrien got up. He went into the bathroom to take a shower still groggy from yesterday. He didn’t want to hire a chef to cook for them, but he worked a lot and so did she, he also didn’t want to have to eat out all of the time. So for now, he would agree to rotate kitchen duty with her. 

Adrien stepped out of the shower grabbing his towel to dry his face when he realized he hadn’t brought in any clothes. 

“She’s probably still asleep.” He breathed to himself. He finished drying off then wrapped the towel around his waist and left the bathroom. To his surprise, Marinette was already in the hall dressed and now frozen in place right in front of the bathroom door. Part of him wanted to rush to his bedroom, part of him was as frozen as she was but the larger and more boisterous part of him wanted to take advantage of the situation. 

“Good Morning Princess.” He wrapped his wet arm around her waist pulled her closer with one arm as his other hand held her face as he placed a loving kiss on her lips. She melted into him as he knew she would. He released her and left her on the landing as he returned to his bedroom. His heart throttling in his chest as he leaned against his closed-door panting trying to catch his breath. He could hear a dozen tiny voices laughing from the hall. He listened until he could hear Marinette squeal before she slowly walked downstairs. He smiled and shook his head. 

“Adrien.” Felix had called him “I am at the airport there has been a change of plans.” Adrien had only just gotten dressed and was about to head downstairs. “Hold off on telling her please, Emelie and Amalie want you two to come to London, I am heading there myself.” 

“Why?” 

“They’re our moms, why else?” Felix didn’t sound convinced himself. “Emelie had something about signing the Agrest Mansion over to you, and staying with Amalie.”

“I’m not dragging Marinette all the way to London just for that,” Adrien said. “Besides, I still have a lot to process about all of this.”

“Emelie has made a full recovery,” Felix said “She wants to see her son, she needs to know what happened and why you are avoiding her.” 

“I’m….I’m not ready to see her.” Adrien thought to himself. “It’s just that, She was dead, I mourned her, I recovered.”

“That wasn’t her, that was…” Felix stopped, talking about Gabriel had been hard on both of them over the past year, more so since Amalie confessed to them their true parentage. 

“How do we know that she didn’t end up in that coma the same way Nathalie ended up getting sick, she had the same symptoms.” Adrien had often wondered if using the Peacock miraculous had caused his mother’s condition. Nathalie had confessed that it was damaged while she was using it. 

“Go talk to her,” Felix said. “I have to go, my flight is boarding.” He hung up the phone and went downstairs. Marinette was in the kitchen making breakfast. Adrien could smell something in the oven baking, how did she have time to bake something.

“What’s for breakfast?” He said, taking his seat at the counter.

“Biscuits and gravy.” She said, mixing a pot on the stove.

“How…. did you?” His eyebrows narrowed as he scrutinized her. “Did Tikki help you?”

“I mixed up the batter last night and dropped the biscuits this morning, the sausage gravy is the easy part.” She pulled the pan from the oven then flipped a biscuit onto two plates then spooned the thick sausage gravy over them both. 

“I was thinking if you want me to…” Adrien took a bite. She handed him a glass of orange juice then sat down next to him. “I could hire someone to come in and either cook or clean up for us.” 

“Pfft, what for?” She said as she began to eat. “Besides, we need to get used to it being just the two of us here, we also have waaaay too many secrets to trust just anyone in.” She wasn’t wrong, while Plagg and Tikki were always with them, the rest of the miracle box was safely hidden in her bedroom. Yet the Kwami’s were free to roam the apartment as long as they stayed unseen by anyone but them. 

“Marinette?” there is something we need to talk about.” Adrien gulped. She set her fork down as he watched her eyes looking back at him with concern. It was as if she could read his thoughts.

“What is it?” 

“It’s kind of about Me and Felix, but it’s kind of also about my mom, or should I say moms.” He turned his head away. This was a lot more difficult to say. 

“As in plural?” she sounded confused.

“Felix and I are twins, and Amalie is our mom.” Adrien announced then shoveled food into his mouth.

“Oh, well that explains a few things and makes a lot of sense.” Marinette seemed to understand something he didn’t. “I mean, after her first pregnancy she couldn’t have any more kids, and that was way before our time.” 

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Adrien dropped his fork unsure of where it landed. His head began to spin. 

“I know we never talk about your sisters, because no one really knows what happened one minute they were there, and the next…”

“I don’t know what to say, how do you know so much about my family?” Adrien had no idea what she was talking about. He decided to play along. 

“You know I used to be a huge fan of the Gabriel Brand, I thought I knew everything about him.”  She paused to take a bite. “His wife, his twin daughters who looked just like her. And how one day, they were just gone. I remember reading a news article that said wanted to move on and not think about what happened to his ‘little angels’. 

“When was this?” 

“I think I was ten when I read that article.” she picked up her phone and typed something into the search bar. “There hasn’t been another mention of them since.” She held up the article on her phone. A picture of a set of twin girls in their early teens posing for the camera appeared under a headline, The Agreste Twins Were Lost At Sea. He read the article. He remembered the yacht that his father used to own and how they were hit by a massive storm, he had survived with his parents but the yacht went down.

“I’m sorry you must miss them.” Marinette placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“We have to go to London.” His voice was ragged as he spoke. His whole body shook as he stared at the article. He sent it to Felix then handed her phone back. 

His phone rang as he was packing his overnight bag, Had insisted that Marinette go with, though he felt bad dragging her into the drama of his family. 

“Marinette sent me an article I think you should see.” Felix said. 

“It was me, she showed it to me on her phone, so I sent it to you.” 

“We need to talk about this.” Felix wasn’t wrong.

“We are heading to the airport, we’ll talk when I get there.” Adrien hung up the phone and headed to Marinette’s room. She was scrambling around trying to figure out what to pack. 

“Is this a Marinette thing or are all girls chaotic when packing for a weekend trip?” He laughed at her. His laughter was met with a Cat Noir pillow to the face. 

“I’m going to be meeting your mother…” She turned around looking at him confused. “Mothers?” 

“Amalie is our biological mother, but Emelie is my mother.” He said. It was weird how she was more accepting of this new dynamic than even he or Felix were. “Don’t be nervous, I mean, I am but it’s only because I haven’t seen her… or I mean see her awake all of these years.” 

“It’s just the first time…” Marinette blushed

“If she doesn’t like you then we leave.” Adrien said flatly. 

Adrien’s nerves were on edge even more as they exited the plane. He saw Felix standing near the baggage claim. He had convinced Marinette to only take one bag of clothes because he didn’t expect to stay very long and would carry her back if he had to.

They carried their bags to the car Felix had waiting. The driver took their bags as they climbed into the back seat. 

“How much does she know?” Felix asked dryly. He took a deep breath preparing himself.

“That we are twins…” Adrien started. “That Amalie and Gabriel are our parents.” 

“Anything else.” 

“Gabriel and Emilie had a set of twin girls.” Marinette added. “Emilie couldn’t have any more after that.” 

“You know something we didn’t, how odd.” Felix said. “How do we not remember them, Adrien.” 

“Given that we now know Gabriel was Hawk Moth we can only assume he used his powers to erase everyone’s memory of them.” Adrien guessed. 

“How would he do that?” Felix was still ignorant to the intimate knowledge Adrien and Marinette had to Hawk Moth’s powers. 

“Remember that one time, we were on a school trip and an akumatized victim was erasing people’s memory.” Marinette pitched in. 

“Right, he could have sent one back then to erase everyone’s memory who knew about them.” Adrien added.

“Then how did Marinette know?” Felix asked.

“Who would expect a ten year old girl to be so invested in the Agreste family.” She shrugged. “I was always a huge fan of his before...you know.” she tucked her hair behind her ear as Adrien threw his arm over her shoulder. He could tell she was getting nervous, especially talking about Hawk Moth, it had been primarily the two of them to finally defeat him after years of battling his victims.

“But, why would he want to erase everyone’s memory of them?” Felix wondered. 

“I guess we’ll have to ask them about it, yeah?” Adrien said as the car pulled up to the Graham De Vanily Manor. 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Hii!!!!! How are you doing? I hope good!!! I was wondering if it was okay to ask for a scenario were the reader is in a relationship with Satan and she decides to take him to her home in the human world where she has two cats :) and maybe then they cuddle with the cats, since he loves them too? I need some fluff in this hard times hahaha, thank you so much!!! Keep up with the godly work!!💞💗

I love you.I love this request.This is ABSOLUTELY the BEST and SWEETEST request I’ve ever gotten in my life.Bonus points bcz Satan is my crush too.Oh dear Lord, I’m gonna get so many butterflies writing this.

—–

Everyone all over Devildom knew that despite being the Aspect of Wrath and one of the 7 Demon Brothers, one of the most powerful demons alive��Satan always had a soft spot for animals and cute things.

Maybe it was their innocence and the fact that they were incapable of any evil thoughts or perhaps that they were always able to calm him down, no matter how much he was being blinded by rage at that particular moment.

For Satan, animals were, in a way, sacred and treasured, and nobody could really understand how much his heart would be filled with joy whenever he would spot an animal, or better said, whenever he’d have the opportunity to spend time with it.

The sparkles in his eyes caused by ethereal glee was as obvious as the ocean mirror sheen sparkling in the light of the Silver Mother Moon like diamonds, brilliants and zircons, when you asked him if he wanted to come over to your house in the Human Realm, to play with your cats.

His cheeks were painted like pink roses, his eyes wide in shock, and jaw agape, only for a split second, since he’d never allow anyone but you to catch him off-guard, but at that moment, he felt revered…Honoured beyond belief.

He was happy.

After talking to Diavolo and getting his approval and help to get to the Human World, you quickly guided him inside your house, where you were greeted by your cute, little, furry babies.

Satan crouched and extended his hands to the wary cats that started nudging his hands rather quickly, thus accepting him and deeming he’s not a harm for you.

“Why don’t you go to my room and play with the cats while I go make some tea? I’m pretty sure I have a pack of biscuits too.” you smiled at him gently as you guided him to your room, while the cats trailed in front of you.“You have quite a nice room, Y/N. Do you need help with the tea?” he asked in his usual polite voice.“No, don’t worry. You can stay here and enjoy your time with them. I know you’re restless to spend some quality time.” you stifled a giggle as you winked and left the 3 of them alone, not before noticing his flustered expression.

You hummed a little tune while preparing the tea and waiting for it to brew, chatting a bit with Asmo and exchanging silly selfies, and when everything was done, you sent him a pic of the super cute flowery-patterned flower porcelain and sticking your D.D.D. back in your pocket, held the tray to your room, opening the door with your elbow, and the sight there made your heart flutter.

Satan was lying on the bed, one kitty nuzzling and cuddling in the crook of his neck, while the other was on the opposite side, its tiny head on his chest.The smile on his face was so soft and gentle, obviously more relaxed than he’s ever been in his life.Thanking every living deity for not disturbing the 3 of them, you quickly and soundlessly set the tray on the desk and took multiple pictures of them, even with the blond’s protests and flustered face…Even as he hid his face in the fur of one of the cats.

He was just so pure and adorable.

You couldn’t resist.

He was so happy.

“You’re ruthless, Kitten. Ruthless, I’m telling you. Attacking me while I’m unarmed…” he shook his head in mock disdain.“Hey, I brought you tea, I don’t see why you’re complaining.” you grinned, as he got in a sitting position.“Why don’t you join us, then? There’s enough place for one more kitten.” he gave you a teasing smile.“But you have only 2 hands, you can’t stroke my hair.” you pouted playfully.“I’m sure we can find something.” he patted the space next to him.

You climbed in bed, lifting the cat there and leaning on his chest, you let the two felines curl themselves on your laps, while you would sip tea and enjoy the silence together.

Everything was warm.

Satan put some classical music on his D.D.D. and put it on the nightstand so it wouldn’t bother you.

The cats were purring lazily.

You and Satan were cuddling and sipping tea.

You were both happy.

[let-the-dream-begin]

A Place to Belong Chapter 26: Telling Stories

Chapter 25

Read on AO3

In late February, the Redcoats came back.

They were evidently not satisfied that Claire was who Jenny said she was the last time they were here, when Jenny had shown off the potato-baby.

Claire was in the middle of changing Brianna’s diaper in her bedroom when the front door burst open. Claire’s heart leapt into her throat and her hands froze for a moment. She carefully continued tying off the diaper as she listened to the hushed voices from behind her slightly ajar bedroom door.

“...rumors in the village…”

“...a healer that lives here…”

“How is your cousin, Madame Murray?”

Claire swallowed, feeling like prickly sand was running down her throat as she did so. Her bedroom was no priest hole, but she felt it would be wise if she and Brianna stayed hidden. If they decided to search the house, well...she’d worry about that when the time came.

“Kitty play!” Brianna shouted.

“Shh!” Claire hushed. “We must be very quiet, Brianna.”

In deliberate defiance, Brianna gave a loud shriek, and Claire thought she might vomit. Brianna dissolved into a fit of giggles, quite amused with herself.

The voices downstairs stopped briefly, and Claire’s pulse only returned to normal when she heard Jenny’s voice again:

“One of the bairns. Ye ken how they are.”

Once Brianna was dressed again, Claire rushed to the windowsill, where Lambert had been left.

“Let’s play with Lamb, darling. How does that — ”

She turned around and Brianna was no longer sitting on the bed, and the door was slightly more open than before.

Fucking hell.

Claire dropped the lamb and sprinted out of the bedroom and down the hall after Brianna, toddling with impressive speed toward the stairs. Claire hiked up her skirts and reached her in four quick strides, scooping her into her arms, eliciting a shrill yell from the toddler that halted conversation at the bottom of the stairs again.

Claire looked over the banister at the three Redcoats cornering Jenny, who remained calm and level-headed as ever. All four of them were now staring upward. Claire wet her lips, her heart bruising her ribcage. She forced a pleasant smile and curtsied slightly before quickly turning around with the intention of slipping back into her bedroom and keeping Brianna occupied until they were gone.

“Madame.”

Fuck.

“Do come downstairs, if you don’t mind.”

That is not a request.

Claire took a shuddering breath, and her chin began to tremble.

“Brianna, love, we’re going to play a game, alright?”

“Play game?”“Shh...yes, a game.” Claire was whispering into her hair, quiet enough that she barely heard herself. “A quiet game. You must not make any noise. If you win the game and stay quiet, you may have as many biscuits as you want.”

“Biscuit!”

“Shh...quiet, lovie. Yes?”

Brianna nodded silently, pursing her lips together absurdly. Claire slowly made her way to the stairs and descended, clutching Brianna tightly. No doubt the soldiers had heard Brianna’s half of the conversation, but thankfully what she’d said could pass as a child making unprompted requests.

The other children were likely in the nursery with Mrs. Crook, aside from wee Jamie, who was likely outside with Rabbie and Fergus. If only Claire had changed her diaper faster, had been able to get her to the nursery before they were noticed…

“Good day, Madame,” the captain greeted. Claire smiled woodenly.

“This is the very same babe ye saw the last time ye were here, Captain,” Jenny interjected before he could prompt Claire to speak. She stretched out her arms, smiling brightly as she took Brianna in her arms. “My wee Brianna Murray.”

“How very charming,” the captain said dryly.

“Lizzie is her godmother,” Jenny continued, flashing a secret look at Claire. “Ye remember my cousin.”

Elizabeth. Jenny’s cousin, Brianna’s godmother. The role I’m playing right now.

“Indeed,” the captain said, eyeing Claire suspiciously.

“Mistress Fraser is visiting us again just now,” Jenny went on, rocking Brianna gently, keeping her smile wide.

Thank God Brianna would do anything for a biscuit. If I hadn’t pulled the quiet game out of my arse she’d have called me Mummy eight times already.

“And does Mistress Fraser have any healing abilities?” he pressed.

“Oh, aye,” Jenny said warmly. “Whenever she visits she offers what help she can to our tenants. We’re very grateful to her.”

“Tell me, Mistress Fraser,” the Captain said, turning to address Claire directly. “Where did you learn such abilities? Family trade?”

“She — ”

“I’d like to hear her myself, Madame Murray,” the captain said, clipped and aggravated. “Go on, Miss.”

Claire was trembling head to toe. She cleared her throat and answered in a raspy whisper: “Aye, Sir.” She took care to emphasize the ‘r’ the best she could.

“Do speak up, please.”

Claire exaggeratedly cleared her throat again, then touched her throat before forcing herself into a coughing fit. Jenny immediately caught on.

“Apologies, Captain. My cousin has caught something from one of our tenants, and she’s been having trouble wi’ her voice lately, ye ken.”

Claire carried on with her coughing, and the three soldiers unconsciously stepped back a few paces.

“Collins. Get the lady some water, for God’s sake,” the Captain ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Dangerous for the child, is it not?” The Captain said. “Having a sick woman hold it so close?”

Claire finally let her coughing subside, and she allowed herself to start panting.

“Och, the bairns have all had the sickness already. Canna catch it again,” Jenny said offhandedly, and despite the situation, Claire swelled with pride.

She’s been paying attention when I speak of these things.

“Ah. I see.” The captain took a step forward, unclasping his hands from behind his back. “Such a...vibrant color.” He reached a hand toward Brianna, and wrapped a curl around his finger. Claire’s stomach lurched. “Quite...red.”

Red Jamie.

“Aye, my mother’s color,” Jenny said with pride, though Claire could see the fear in her eyes. 

“None of your other children have it,” the Captain said, amused. “It’s astonishing, really.”

Collins returned then with a glass of water, and Claire accepted it with a polite nod, having to concentrate very hard to keep the water from sloshing out with the force of her trembling.

“My wee Maggie has a bit of it as well,” Jenny said dismissively. “Bits of red woven in wi’ blonde — ”

“Remarkable isn’t it,” the Captain went on. “The resemblance. Don’t you think, Collins?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Resemblance, Captain?” Jenny asked uneasily.

“To her...uncle.”

“Och,” Jenny said quickly. “Unfortunate that the traitor inherited much of our mother’s beauty as well. Suits the bairn much better, don’t ye think?”

“Indeed.” The Captain’s finger was still woven into Brianna’s hair, and Claire had never before felt such a deep urge to kill somebody.

Jamie would cut his bloody hand off.

“Are you a widow, Mistress Fraser?” The Captain said, abruptly turning his head to face her, his hand still touching Brianna. “And a mother, perhaps?”

Claire shook her head.

“Lizzie’s never been marrit,” Jenny said lightly. “I often tease her about it.”

Jenny made a move to shift Brianna, to inadvertently get her away from his grip, but he very abruptly seized a fistful of her curls and held on tightly, forcing Jenny to cause Brianna pain by pulling against his hand. Brianna yelped and began wailing. Jenny’s face turned white, and Claire’s vision went red, pressure building between her temples.

“Are you quite sure, Mistress Fraser?”

“Captain, please, ye’re hurting her — ”

“I’d like the truth, please, from Mistress Fraser’s tongue.”

Brianna shrieked again.

Claire forced herself to start coughing again, using all the breath in her lungs to create as realistic a hacking sound as she could manage.

“For Heaven’s sake, Madame. Enough.”

Claire let the glass slip from her grip and shatter at her feet, then rolled her eyes to the back of her head and dropped to the ground.

“Lizzie?” Jenny called. “Captain, please, she needs help, she’s ill — ”

“Get her up onto the sofa!” The Captain barked, beyond irritated.

Brianna’s shrieking was growing louder and louder, likely distraught to see her mother topple over. Claire’s heart was in her throat, tears gathering behind her closed eyelids, her arms aching to press Brianna into her.

Claire was roughly lifted by the two soldiers and laid out on the sofa. Jenny called for Laura and ordered her to take Brianna into the nursery with the other children. Claire bit her lip to stifle her sigh of relief; this meant that the bastard no longer had his hands on her daughter.

Jenny began fretting over Claire, putting a rag on her head, dabbing at her neck.

“She’s burning up,” Jenny cried, distraught.

In a different century, Jenny would make quite the actress.

“Captain, I’m heart sorry, I’ll be happy to answer any questions ye have, but my cousin is no’ well, as ye can clearly see.”

A heavy, tangible silence followed, and Claire could hear the Captain sigh heavily, almost giving way to a growl.

“Very well. When she wakes, offer her my well wishes and a fast recovery.” His voice was thin and tight.

Three sets of footsteps retreated, and then there was a great crashing noise that made Claire jump on the sofa. The footsteps continued and the front door opened and slammed shut.

Claire immediately shot up off the sofa, and Jenny firmly grabbed her shoulders. Claire vaguely registered that the contents of the mantle had been swept onto the floor, creating a mess in the parlor in the Captain’s rage.

“Stay, sister. In case they return.”

“Brianna...I need her…” Claire’s eyes were wide and frantic, her breathing shallow and panicked.

“She’s alright, Claire. She’s wi’ Mrs. Crook. He didna hurt her.”

“I could kill him...disgusting, loathsome man…” Claire spat, her entire body trembling under Jenny’s hands.

“I ken. It’s over now, sister. It’s alright.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her, and despite the urge to run, to kill, to scream, Claire simply melted in her arms, weeping bitterly.

“That was...horrible, Jenny…”

“I ken, mo ghraidh. It’s over now. Ye did well.”

“Her screams…Oh God…”

“I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.”

I cannot bear her pain.

“She’s alright, Claire. She willna even remember this.”

Claire nodded against Jenny’s shoulder, sniffling. At least there was that one small comfort.

“I think it’s been long enough, now. Let’s go,” Jenny said, smiling weakly. “I feel I must hold my own bairns just now, as well.”

That night, and every night thereafter, Claire wondered how much longer they’d be able to keep up this act.

——

March 19th, 1749

It was one of those rare moments of peace, a crackling fire accompanied by the glowing moonlight. Claire was knitting new arm warmers for Maggie, as she’d outgrown her old ones yet again, passing them down to Kitty, who passed her old ones down to Brianna. Brianna was restless beside Claire in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, Lamb tucked under her arm.“Mummy,” Brianna blurted.

“Shh...quiet darling,” Claire whispered. “It’s time to sleep.”

“Story, Mummy.” Brianna sat up and began tugging on the sleeve of Claire’s nightgown. “Story, Mummy.”

“Story, Mummy...what?” Claire looked up from her knitting, cocking an eyebrow at the demanding toddler.

“Story Mummy please?” Brianna said, her ocean-eyes widening, and her bottom lip sticking out in that irresistible pout.

“Well, alright,” Claire grinned, setting aside her knitting on the side table. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Brianna grinned a crooked, toothy smile and clapped her hands.

“Come here, lovie.” Claire opened her arms, and Brianna crawled into her lap, nuzzling herself into Claire’s breast, resting a pudgy palm on the soft flesh at the top of her nightgown, the latching instinct apparently not having left her just yet despite being recently weaned.

Claire hummed with contentment, feeling her little girl settling into her, safe and protected in her mother’s arms, where she belonged.

“Which story do you want to hear, darling? The one about the little princess, and the seven dwarves?”

Claire was not brought up on fairytales at all; any tales told to her by Uncle Lamb were folklore of whatever land they were currently occupying, based in culture, religion, or scientific fact. She hadn’t been raised on princes and princesses like other girls had. She hadn’t gone to see Snow White in 1938 for any reason other than curiosity at its novelty: the first full-length animated motion picture. She’d enjoyed it, and teared up more than she’d liked to admit during the dwarves’ funeral for the princess, mostly because Uncle Lamb had been openly weeping, surely remembering the funeral that Claire was too young to be affected by, a funeral of matching coffins.

It was a fond memory she kept tucked away, something she stopped speaking about after Uncle Lamb had passed. She found herself speaking of it again, telling Brianna the little fairytale as best as she could remember from her one viewing of it. It was simple enough: little princess runs away from an evil queen, lives with seven little men, is saved by her prince, and off they go to happily-ever-after. Brianna enjoyed it well enough, and it made Claire smile to think of telling her about motion pictures someday, and revealing that her favorite of Mummy’s stories was actually created by a man named Walt Disney, each frame individually drawn and painted with as much care as the portraits done by her Grannie Ellen and her Auntie Jenny.

“No Princess. No dw-avs,” Brianna says simply. “Queen, Mummy.”

Claire smiled wistfully, a quiet sadness settling in her chest.

The tale of Laird and Lady Lallybroch was another one of her favorites.

“Alright, lovie.” Claire kissed the crown of her head. 

“Once upon a time, there was a brave, dashing warrior.” Claire felt her little girl smile against her breast. “He had hair like flames and eyes like deep water. Just like yours, baby. He called himself Laird Broch Tuarach, and he lived with his Lady.”

“Lady Bock Too-wack,” Brianna cooed, and Claire gave a watery chuckle.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Lady Broch Tuaroch. She was the most important thing in the world to the Laird. She was…”

“Queen!” Brianna said.

“And he was…”

“King!”

“That’s right, lovie. Their own little kingdom. They loved each other very, very much.” Her voice got tight, and she wound her arms tighter around Brianna. “So very much, that they decided to bring a little princess into the world.” Brianna gave a little giggle. The more she heard the story, the more she began to process that the little princess in question was her.

“The Laird had to go away, leave his Lady and their little princess. But, he left behind a special gift before he had to go away. Special for his little girl.”

Brianna proudly held up the little lamb, and Claire chuckled again.

“That’s right, darling. Fraser colors, so that your father will always be with you.” She pressed a fervent kiss to the top of Brianna’s head.

“The end,” Brianna said contentedly, pressing Lamb back into her chest.

Claire didn’t say anything for a moment. She rocked Brianna silently, her chin resting atop her wild curls, feeling her squishy cheek pressed into the crook of her neck.

“Brianna?” She broke the silence. “Do you know that the warrior, the Laird, the King...do you know that he’s...he’s your Da?”

Brianna had heard the word before. Her cousins said it every day to Ian, about Ian. She wondered if her little brain could grasp it yet, what it meant to have a Da. Or to not have one.

She didn’t expect Brianna to say anything, didn’t expect her to understand well enough. This story was Claire’s way of telling her daughter that she had a father that loved her, even before she would understand. Someday she’d understand.

Claire thought she was hearing things again when Brianna’s little voice said:

“Da.”

She’s just parroting. She’s only two-and-a-half years old. She doesn’t understand.

But logic was powerless to stop the raw emotion that slammed into Claire at the sound of Jamie’s daughter calling out to him.

“That’s right, baby,” she croaked, squeezing her as tightly as she dared. “Da loves you.”

“Da…” Brianna cooed once more, before the sound morphed into a little snore, and she was fast asleep against her.

Claire allowed the tiniest of sobs to escape her lips before she clenched her entire body to silence herself. With the greatest care, Claire laid Brianna on the mattress beside her and then clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling hot tears run over her fingers.

How many tears must I cry? How many nights must I burn alive with this pain?

And yet...how blessed have I been…?

She took a shuddering breath, running her fingers lightly over Brianna’s downy soft curls.

How blessed am I to have you here still? How blessed am I to raise her in your honor, to teach her to love your memory as much as I loved your flesh and blood?

Could she? Could Brianna ever understand the depth of her father’s love for her, the depth of her mother’s love for him?

I’ll do my damndest, Jamie.

I will never stop telling our story.

[kabillieu]

I’m halfway through this pregnancy, and I finally miss booze again. It was kind of nice to take a forced break, like a hard reset on my drinking patterns during an incredibly stressful year when nothing was normal and everything was difficult. But lately while watching TV and movies, I look longingly at characters drinking red wine or a glass of bourbon. It’s kind of nice that the baby will be here by July, which means I’ll get to enjoy at least a glass or two of cold white wine or rose outside while the weather is still warm. I remember when my kid was born I was too sick and miserable to drink for a long time, but eventually there was a beer here and there, a glass of wine. It’s something to look forward to.

I had a mild breakdown yesterday morning, where I just couldn’t force myself to do all the work I needed to do. So that makes things harder for me today and tomorrow, but what can you do. I’m not a machine.

I wish Dominic and I could get vaccinated soon. There’s no date on the horizon for either of us. I keep thinking about all the points of contact we have that put us at risk. It’s scary. I’m still fairly sure I’m going to get vaccinated, but I have the opportunity to talk to my doctor again on Monday. The reaction some people have been having to the second shot scares me. It wouldn’t bother me if I weren’t pregnant, but it’s difficult to accept any risk at all right now, even though every day is a risk. I will probably still get both shots when it’s my turn, but I will definitely at least get one.

My kid had a great week at school, excepting one episode when he didn’t understand the rules about staying on walkways during recess to avoid the snow. He didn’t understand that his teachers interpreted walking on the snow (which he was doing) to be playing in the snow, and that triggered an episode where he was upset, it sounds like, for the better part of an hour and had to be separated from his classmates until he calmed down. He’s actually a pretty good rule follower, but he has to understand the rules and the rules have to make sense to him, and if he doesn’t, and if they don’t, that’s where he breaks down. 

Scout is sitting my lap as I write, which is nice as she’s not normally much of a cuddler, but, ouch, this cat cannot stop making kitty biscuits on my legs with her claws fully extended. 

I sent a poetry submission to a fancy journal known for lightening-fast rejections just to get used to seeing no again and to knock away any pretenses I have about being precious about my work. And I got a rejection in about a day and a half, so...it worked. 

One last thing to tie together this collection of mostly unrelated thoughts: I was really rattled going into my first pregnancy and experience with motherhood because I wasn’t sure who I was or what path I was on, and all that left room for was mother, but this go-around, I am an artist and I’m on an artist’s path, and that sounds pretentious, but it’s also true, and it’s nice to have that grounding. It makes me feel centered and happy and productive and hopeful. Anything that helps, right?

[royalbluehues]

Come Back to Me. Pt. 2

Title: Come Back to Me. Pt. 2

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings:  None.

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Author’s Note: It’s here, lassies. The second part. Next part should be coming soon.

Would you want to see a second part of I Promise? Let me know!

I love seeing your kind words and thoughts! They make me happy! :) A drabble with Tom is currently in the works, so keep an eye out for that.

Part 2: Dressing Down

“You girls will be aiding the nurses in making beds, handing out food, caring for the injured, sterilizing the instruments,” Matron Carter spoke, “tasks such as those will be executed professionally.”

The middle aged woman sat her clipboard down on her small desk, “If you remember the contract you signed back home, you will keep in mind that the Red Cross does not tolerate any unprofessional behavior. You came to care for the sick and the dying, not to be lollygagging.” 

She looked to Kitty, one of the English girls, who was looking down and twiddling her thumbs, “Is there something you would like to say, Miss Stanton? You’re fidgeting quite an awful lot.”

Kitty’s green eyes look up in guilt, and you bent your head forward with eyes furrowed to look at the girl. 

“Of course not Matron Carter. Not at all. Just nervous to begin is all.” Kitty spoke languidly, despite her nervous twitches.

“And you,” the Matron spoke, whipping her head to where you were standing, “I’ve been told that you were walking about unsupervised. What do you say for yourself?”

You straightened your back, eyes wide as you looked at the matron with contained panic. All eyes were on you now, and Kitty’s head was bent to look at you in the same fashion you had with her. Matron Carter’s grey eyes sized you up quizzically, waiting for your response.

“I was just going for a walk,” you told her honestly, wishing you could turn your head to snap at the other girls to stop looking at you, “To clear my head.”

“To clear your head?” The Matron Carter repeated, “Girl, you are near the front lines. A few miles north and the Germans are there ready to shoot down anything that moves in sight.”

You felt your cheeks redden deeply, “I apologize Matron Carter. It won’t happen again.”

You narrowed your eyes, too embarrassed to meet eyes with her. Kitty and Shannon had told you and Lila about how severe the Matron was.

“Had she been a man,” Kitty once told you as she pinned her hair in place, “she would have met all the requirements to be a drill sergeant.

Now you were receiving the sting of the statement. 

“That goes to all of you,” the head nurse peered over to the other girls, “I’ve a tight ship to maintain. Kitty and Lila, I’ll be requiring you to help with the kitchen today, allow the boys working there to rest a bit. The two of you,” she spoke to you and Shannon as she lifted a paper up from the clipboard, “will be fixing the beds in the medical tents and rolling bandages. See to it that you assist any of the surgeons or doctors if they need help.”

She picked up her pencil, scribbling away at the paper, and all four of you stood ramrod straight, waiting for her next instruction.

You would estimate that you waited for a solid two minutes.

She peered up at you all from her activity, “Well?” She said coldly, “Go on then! You’re wasting time!”

You were the first one to exit the tent, hands clasped as you let out a sigh of relief from leaving her proximity. 

“The kitchens!” Kitty bemoaned, “What am I to do at the kitchens?” She grumbled when she was far enough where the matron wouldn’t hear.

“I hear they have a lovely assortment of turnips at the moment,” you put in, smiling cheekily to her.

“Oh hush,” Kitty told you, jutting her bottom lip out, carefully stepping around a pile of mud that had formed from the rainfall only hours before, “You know what I can’t fathom?” She asked, not waiting for a response, “We’ve come to help doctors, not bloody cook.”

Lila frowned at her companion, “Kitty that’s not nice, what if we were the ones in the trenches? Besides,” she told her, lifting her skirts to hop over the pile, “I’m sure we’ll make a better meal then the ones the boys have been cooking up.”

Lila, who came with you on the ship to England, held a sweet heart, always looking for the positives in situations. She had come from Cincinnati, and had easily befriended you upon meeting. 

“Cheer up Kitty,” Shannon piped up from behind you, “You might catch yourself a suitor.”

Kitty whose head lolled to the side, nodded, “Well I suppose you’re right. Well, I suppose we won’t be seeing much of each other until the day becomes night. Tooda-loo.”

She offered her arm to Lila, who hooked her arm with hers, and smiled at you and Shannon. “Take care ladies.”

“To you two as well,” you responded, beginning to walk in the opposite direction, “Don’t tire yourselves out.”

“Kitty’s got a point you know,” your British companion told you, “about actually helping. Not doing menial tasks.”

“Shannon,” you said sighing, “I don’t think the nurses will ever truly accept us. They just see us as help, not actual trained nurses.”

“But we are!” She exclaimed dishearteningly, “I had to go through classes to get my certificate!”

“I suppose it isn’t good to complain about such things now. We’re here and that’s all that matters.” You replied, looking around at the bustling activity.

You heard Shannon mutter about your ‘American enthusiasm’, but you ignored her.

Upon reaching the tent, you began your work. Changing the bedding, replacing it with the new ones, fluffing pillows. You made small chat with Shannon and was introduced to the head doctor. 

Your time passed slowly, and the gust of wind did little to alleviate the cold you were feeling. By now, it was nearly midday, and you and Shannon were sitting on opposite sides of the large tent, with baskets full of bandages at both your feet.

You were too concentrated on your task, rolling each bandage and tucking it in itself, laying it neatly in a small pile beside you. You shivered as the wind crashed against you.

You failed to hear your name being said in a low murmur, but heard Shannon plainly say, “She’s over there.”

You looked up mid-roll, seeing the tall man from the night before. You smiled brightly in greeting, “William.”

He came to you with his helmet held between his hands, reminding you much of a boy being scolded for getting caught, “Hullo.”

“How’s the day faring you?” You asked as you finished rolling the bandage, and then looking up at him through your lashes.

He shifted his weight and hooked one finger to ring the sweater at his neck, enthusiastically saying, “It was fine!” He turned red, clearing his throat, “I- uh, it’s been fine, thank you.”

You stood from your chair, moving the basket to the side, “That’s always something lovely to hear,” you told him, looking down as you fixed your white apron.

He took a step back, allowing you space, “I wanted to apologize for not coming earlier.”

You shook your head, “It’s unforgivable, lance corporal. Truly unforgivable,” you jokingly quipped at him, stepping aside as you gestured towards the chair, “Sit, please.”

He moved to sit, a small smile tugging at the upper corners of his lips. “Now let’s see here,” you mumbled, moving his chin up and to the side. 

The young man watched you with alert eyes, noticing the way the small curl by your right ear bounced in the wind. He held his breath as you moved closer to inspect.

“A nasty gash.”

“Just a scratch,” he countered, “Nothing serious.”

You moved to reach for the wet rag lying in a bowl of water, ringed it, and began cleaning his neck, “I’ve been trained to take any form of injury seriously, William.” When dirt gathered on the rag, you went back to rinse it, ring it, then come back to clean once more. “You’ve any other gashes?”

He sniffed, “Well there's one on my arm, but-”

“But nothing.” You interrupted, “I need to be thorough with my work.”

“Alright then,” He said, the same small pull of his lips returning.

“Tell me more about your home,” you told him, stepping back from your work. You avoided meeting his eyes, feeling them on you as you uncapped the made Dakin’s solution. You wet the small piece of cloth at your fingertips.

“What would you like to know?” He asked you quietly, in a softly spoken manner.

You hummed, “Tell me about your picnics with your mother.”

He shifted in the chair, tilting his head up when you moved in with the antiseptic, “Well, Mum really enjoys cooking. She’d pack meat pudding for us to eat. That was dad’s favorite.”

You dabbed at the cut, watching as he did the slightest of flinches that could have gone unnoticed had you not been studying him. He suddenly smiled, a genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle around the edges.

“There was one time Mum had packed our meal the night before, and I managed to sneak into it. She enjoys baking, and she had just made a batch of biscuits. But not just any biscuits,” he told you, eyes rounding as they met yours, “she made her shortbread biscuits, and I managed to get my hands on them. She was so mad that she told me that she’d never make them for me again. Nearly threw a fit, I did. But she still made them after. That day she had another tin hidden and took it with us. When we’d go, she’d put down a sheet, one with flowers all around it. She’d take a book with her and read, and if she wasn’t in the mood to read then she’d take her knitting with her.”

“And what would you do?”

“Oh, I’d play. At that age you can find entertainment in nearly anything. I’d climb the willow tree that resides just by the river. Sometimes I’d watch the boats sail by, or see if I could see any fish.” He scratched at his chin, looking off, “Dad made me a boat out of some spare wood he had. I’d play with that, too.”

He had absentmindedly taken off his jacket by know, rolling up his shirt to show you the long scratch running up his right arm. “Is your father at home?”

He shook his head, “No. He died a few years ago. He got sick.”

You frowned, both at his words and at his cut, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. Not your fault.” He let you lift his arm and tap around the wound, “What about you?”

You paused your movements, “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your home.”

You gently set down his arm and nodded. “When I think about home, I like to think of how my apple tree is faring. She’s a beautiful thing, just outside my bedroom window. Around spring time I’d purposefully leave my window open so when I’d wake my entire bedroom floor was covered in petals. Have you ever seen an apple tree in bloom?”

He stayed quiet, but only for a moment, “Yes. I’ve seen cherry blossoms as well.”

You dabbed at the cut with solution, “Well, at home we only have apples. I’ve never seen a cherry tree before, but I can imagine they’re similar.”

“Yes,” He replied quietly, “Quite.”

The tone of his voice made you look up, “Are you alright?”

He lifted his eyebrows, looking at the irritated area around the cut, “Yes, I’m alright.” 

You eyed him thoughtfully, noting the way his demeanor became despondent. “What else would you like to know?”

He inhaled deeply, speaking as he exhaled, “Do you have someone waiting for you back home?”

You let out a small laugh, “Other than my mother and father and brother, no. Nobody special if you mean it in that regard. And you?”

He shook his head, “No. I’ve no one either.”

You wrapped his arm in a light gauze, pinning it securely and then shimmying down his sleeve. “On that note, you’re all patched up.”

He looked as if he did not know what to do, only looking down where your fingers pulled at his jacket, “Oh.”

He then looked up at you, “Can I meet you later? When you’re alleviated from your duties?”

It was your turn to blush, “Oh, I’m afr-”

“No she cannot.” 

William watched the color drain from your face. You moved to stand ramrod straight, clasping your hands behind your back, holding the rag soaked with solution. “Matron Carter.”

“Was is it that you’re doing?” The nurse asked you, eyeing William sitting in the chair. 

“I was cleaning his wounds, ma’am.” You told her quickly.

“And what of this meeting later on?” She asked you coldly.

You shook your head cheeks deepening in color, “Oh, no, ma’am. I was just about to tell him that due to protocol-” Your words died away under her stare. Your mouth opened and closed like a fish that has been plucked from water.

The stout woman frowned in disapproval, “I do not need to be constantly reminding you girls that you cannot stray from your duties, nor can you begin affairs with the men.”

You were taken aback, eyes widening in horror, “Matron Carter you are severely mistaken-”

“It was my mistake,” The man behind you piped up, standing to stand beside you. “I did not know that the nurses were not suppose to mingle amongst us.”

“Well best keep it in mind, lance corporal. While you’re at it, you can inform the other men.” She glared up at him with a stony look. “The volunteers have enough work as it is.”

She walked away, leaving you astonished. 

“Forgive me,” William apologized once again, “I didn’t know.”

You blinked, moving to take the wrapped bandages, “Don’t be silly. It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was, though. I’ll keep my distance. Thank you for helping me.”

You said nothing, still mulling over the head nurse’s words. Just thinking about it made your throat tighten in anger.

When you finally processed his, however,  and when you had turned to face him, he was already gone.

.

.

.

Masterlist

Tags: @sexyskywalker @aathepenguin

[huntertales]

Part Three: You Are What You Eat. (Dog Dean Afternoon S09E05)

Episode Summary: While investigating two bizarre murders, Y/N and the boys realize there is an eyewitness to both gruesome deaths–a German Shepard. Anxious to find out what monsters they are dealing with, the three look up a spell that can help communicate with the dog. When Dean decides to be the one to perform the spell, he quickly realizes it comes with side effects no one saw coming. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warning: Mentions of blood. Word Count: 4,647.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

“So, what can you tell me about the man with the cowboy hat?” 

You had to be honest, at the beginning of this plan you were excited for the chance to go around each kennel so Dean could personally speak to the dogs and get a potential eyewitness of what happened the previous night. Your enthusiasm slowly trickled away when you realized how this was turning out to be a complete waste of time. All though you could only hear one side of the conversation, the homeless pups were turning out to be less helpful than the Colonel had been for you. You watched from the other side of the shelter as Dean questioned another dog that looked almost to be the exact same breed as the famous Lassie. However she wasn’t capable of much of anything due to her fleeting eyesight due to her old age. Dean listened anyway.

“Honestly, I couldn’t see much. Damn cataracts. And you know no one is going to pay for my surgery. Just another casualty of the system, I guess.” The dog followed up her story with a complaint about how her final days would be spent in a cage. Dean offered a sympathetic smile from the lonely end she was most likely going to face. Almost no one adopts older dogs. The man felt it was time to cut the conversation short when she tried to guilt him into taking her home. “I don’t belong here, you know. I’m Pedigreed.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be out of here soon.” Dean tried to offer some hopeful words to the dog that better days were ahead for her. She shot him down when she told him her age of fourteen. In human years she was in her seventies. She didn’t have much time left on this Earth. He winced at the awkward situation he put himself in. “Good luck…ma’am.” 

Dean shut the cage and placed the latch back down so she couldn’t try and escape. As he passed by a labrador, he overheard the rough conditions they were living in. “One a day they clean these cages. Once a day!”

“A biscuit. Just one biscuit.” 

“I need a Raquel Welch poster and a rock hammer.” 

“I’m shaking the fence, boss. Still shaking the fence.” 

Dean wasn't sure what to expect when he took the spell that would make him be able to communicate with the Colonel. He didn't think it was going to lead him into being able to speak to every single animal that would end up in him getting mocked by a pigeon and hearing the complaints from the dogs living in the shelter. He let out a quiet sigh from how overwhelming it was to hear all their voices ringing in his head for different reasons that all varied out to the same reason. They wanted to get his attention for a chance at going home with him. You gave him a curious expression as he approached you and Sam after trying to speak to another dog.

“Any luck?” Sam asked his brother, hopeful for some kind of breakthrough. 

“Hardly.” Dean admitted. “And I’m not just getting any clues—just a bunch of complaints.” 

“Hey, pretty boy.” The older Winchester might have spoken too soon when he heard another voice pop up into his head, making him look over his shoulder to see who was speaking to him. A small yorkie jumped on his hind legs and leaned himself against the fence to try and get the hunter’s attention. “Over here.” 

“Yeah, sorry, pal.” Dean said, shrugging off the dog for whatever excuse he was about to try and throw his way to get him over there and chat his ear off. The man thought he already knew what was going to happen if he wasted more time on yet another dog. “I’m done for the day.” 

“But I saw everything!” The dog shouted, saying exactly what the hunter wanted to hear. It was enough for Dean to make his way over the kennel. You and Sam followed behind, figuring this was the lead all of you had been looking for. “And I’ll tell you, but…it’ll cost you.” 

“What? Are you kidding me? I’m being extorted by a dog.” The older Winchester scoffed at the sudden shift of the conversation. No one else had given him much help. This was the only major lead you had going for you. Dean rolled his eyes and unwillingly gave in to listening to whatever the dog might try and bribe out of him. “Well, what do you want, huh? What? Beggin’ Strips? Snausages?”

“Bitch, please. If I’m gonna rat someone out, it’s got to be worth my while. I want…a belly rub.” The dog gave his final demands to make him speak. Dean once again rolled his eyes at the presumption that it was going to be him who was going to be forced to do the deed. However the yorkie wouldn’t let just anyone come near him.  “Not you, sweetie. The short one.” 

“The...Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” Dean grumbled underneath his breath when he turned his direction to the short person he was talking about. You were standing next to him, wondering what was making him grow annoyed now. “He wants a belly rub. From you.” Dean informed you of the pooch’s request. You felt your lips stretch into a happy smile. As if this hunt couldn’t get any better.  “Get to it. You’re like some kind of dog whisperer.” 

You pushed up the latch to the cage and opened up the metal door to greet the yorkie with a big smile at how happy he was from the way his tail was wagging. “Hi there, cutie. You wanna belly rub, huh? Come here.”

The dog wanted his end of the bargain before giving any sort of information about that night to Dean. You started off enjoying giving the pooch what he wanted. He was cradled in your arms like a baby as you scratched his stomach like he requested. His tongue poked out from the side of his mouth as he panted in enjoyment from the rare affection he was being given after spending most hours locked in the small confidments. The human side of Dean was growing annoyed at how much this mutt was trying to milk this bribe for his own benefit. And the canine side of him was growing territorial at how much you were giving someone else affection. 

“Ohh, a cowboy hat, leather pants.” The dog managed to give a basic description of the man of what he was wearing on the night of the murder, occasionally breaking his concentration from the bellyrub long enough to do so. “The dude's a total closet case.”

“Okay, what else can you tell me about the guy other than his outfit?” Dean pressed for more, knowing that it was useless to the three of you. 

“What does he want with the cats?” Dean asked. 

“Ooh, attagirl, yes.” The dog was once again delayed on responding to the question, too caught up in the euphoric feeling. “Hell if I know. But he took all of them, except for the one he ate.”

“Ew.” Dean mumbled to himself from the twist he wasn’t expecting to come from the story. You momentarily stopped scratching the dog to hear what made the man reaction that way. It was for a reason you never would have guessed "Apparently, our guy has a sweet tooth for kitty cats."

You felt your lips stretching into a childlike smile from the information, feeling the need to crack a joke. “So you’re saying he likes to eat p—”

"Keep scratching." Dean told you, cutting you off from making a distasteful joke.

"Oh. Oh, and the sack had something written on it." The yorkie added, giving some information that might help make it easier to track down the man. 

"Okay, what did it say?" Dean asked. The dog decided at that moment to go silent. He went limp in your arms as he let out a yawn, acting as if it was Dean who was wasting his time. "Hey, come on. We had a deal."

“Well, you tell that to your friend.” The dog said  “She’s the one who stopped rubbing.” 

You rolled your eyes when Dean tossed you a look to keep going with the deal he made with the dog. You could only do this for so long before you complained of a hand cramp. Not to mention he was starting to make your arm grow numb for holding him in the same position for a long period of time. Dean didn’t seem to care for your complaints. 

“He’s not talking.” The older Winchester said. 

“I’m sorry, do you want to do it?” You asked him, nodding your head to the needy dog. 

“You’re the one who volunteered.” Dean reminded you. “Very happily.”

You let out a quiet sigh and continued on with your end of the deal. The dog’s tongue poked out of his mouth in happiness.“Attagirl. It said ‘Avant-Garde Cuisine.’” He continued on. “Lucky for you, I read French.”

“That's a café on Main Street.” The Colonel said, jumping into the conversation to lend a helping paw. “No dogs allowed.”

“Well, no wonder he smelled like hamburgers and dish soap.” Dean mumbled, seeming to be still talking amongst the dogs. You raised your brow slightly, wondering if he found a possible lead afterall. “We got to go downtown. Apparently our guy works at a restaurant.”

Dean nodded his head to put the yorkie back into his cage after getting the information you needed from him. “No, no, wait, wait, wait. Sure you don't want to adopt me?”

“No, thanks.” The older man shot down the offer with a smile. “We'll pass.”

You bent down to grab the Colonel’s lesh with your good hand as you tried to stop the cramping in the other. While the little yorkie was a pain, you had to admit it was sort of fun spending some time with the pooch. Even if he was a pain. 

“It’s kind of sad, don’t you think?” You wondered out loud, looking around at the kennels filled with dogs you would have loved to adopt. Sadly not all of them might get a chance. “All these poor things might never get a proper home. I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life in a cage.”

Dean found himself reflecting on what you said for a moment. He didn’t like dogs. Hell, he wasn’t the one for pets. But being able to hear their thoughts and struggles they faced, spending some time walking in their point of view, gave him a better perspective. Every creature, human or animal, deserved a loving home. He felt his lips stretch into a smile from what he was about to do. He knew it would make you happy. Maybe this spell wasn’t such a curse after all. 

You and Sam were left baffled at what the man was doing when he went to every kennel and opened up the cage doors to let the dogs free. A scurry of four legged animals went running past you and straight out the door. You might not have been able to hear the excitement of their freedom, but you could tell from how they raced out of here. Dean was pleased with himself at the little act of kindness. 

“I didn't peg you for a softy.” The Colonel said. 

Dean merely shrugged his shoulders as his response for the German Shepherd. There were a lot of things that were out of character for him today. He spent his entire life saving humans. It felt like a good change of pace to lend a helping hand to man's best friend for a change. 

+ + +

It wasn't too hard for you and the boys to track down the restaurant of the crazy lunatic who murdered two people and catnapped all of the shelter's felines for reasons you still weren't sure of. Sam was the one who picked the lock of the back door and headed inside first, you and Dean following after. You wondered the reason why the place was closed when you were still in the early evening, it should have been booming with business. A closed sign wasn’t going to stop you and the boys from breaking into the place and taking a look around for yourself. It was going to be easier knowing there would be no lingering eyes to disrupt you. 

"I'm sorry. Who can afford to be closed on a Monday these days?" Dean wondered out loud.

“Homicidal maniac?” You guessed.

Sam brought your attention over to a door that was marked private. after passing a few unmarked ones. All of you stepped inside and began taking a look around through the scope of the small flashlight you pulled out. You noticed it must’ve been extra storage for the restaurant from the walk-in freezer you spotted across the room and shelves filled with different canned goods and spices and doubled as an office space for the staff. The younger Winchester approached a desk that was near the door and spotted a framed photograph of a man that was dressed in a chef's uniform with a cowboy hat as an accessory. He smiled for the camera while sharpening a knife. It was oddy suspicious at first glance, but it didn't exactly scream psycho killer to you. 

"Check this out." Sam said. He pulled your attention away from exploring more of the room and to the picture he found. You furrowed your brow slightly at the potential suspect you might have. "Chef Leo. Think he's our guy?"

Dean shrugged at the coincidence, "It's Okie town. Lots of dudes wear cowboy hats." 

Sam decided to stick around the desk when he pulled up a chair and began rifling through some papers and drawers to see if he might be able to find anything suspicious about this Chef Leo. Dean continued on walking through the place as you stuck around to help Sam to cut down the process faster. You flipped through a folder full of important documents for the restaurant that ended up being meaningless to you and dropped them back down where you found them. You pulled out one of the drawers out of curiosity and stumbled upon a little pharmacy Chef Leo had kept for himself.

“Whoa.” You mumbled to yourself. You counted at least eight prescription bottles in the drawer that were all for him. You bent down slightly to get a better look at the drugs to see what he was taking. "Oxycodone, tramadol, methadone. Jeez. Guess he likes to cook perfectly numb.” 

"Help us." 

"Please, mister."

Dean found himself stopping in his tracks when he heard the sound of high-pitched voices coming out of nowhere. He looked around to see where they might have come from, but the only people around were still you and Sam, who were busy looking deeper into Chef Leo's desk. He kept on trying to find the source of the voices when they talked to him again, trying to get him to find them. 

“Did you hear that?” Dean asked, curious if he was the only one. You glanced up and gave the man a confused look as to what he was talking about. You shook your head before continuing on your search. “Sounded like little kids.” 

"Help!" The voice called out again, close enough for Dean to stop again and point his flashlight at a table that was holding something that was hidden behind an apron. "If you don't free us, the chef will eat us." 

“She’s not lying.”

“We’re in a cage!”

Dean managed to find the source of the distressed voices when he pulled off the apron and saw a small cage big enough to be holding a few mice that were unhappily crawling around in their mental confidements. He bent down slightly so he was at somewhat eye level with the rodents so he could speak to them properly. "Eat you?"

One of the rats told him to look in the refrigerator behind him to discover what else the chef was hiding. He did as he was told, making Dean stumble upon several tupperware containers stacked on top of one another with labels of unusual ingredients he had a feeling weren't on the menu. You wandered over in curiosity to discover what Dean had found while Sam found something suspicious on his own. You glanced inside the see through door to see the chef was stocked on animal organs of all kinds. 

"'Owl brains.' 'Cheetah liver.' 'Grizzly heart.'" Dean listed off just a few of the strange organs that made you grimace as the possible reason why the chef needed these ingredients. And how he managed to acquire such an array of organs for such a diverse palate. 

"Ah, a spell book." Sam said. He figured out what kind of book he had been reading through, and why the chef has so many organs on hand. "Shamanism." 

"What's a chef doing dabbling with witchcraft?" You asked.

"It says here whatever animal organ you ingest with the right mix of hoo doo and spices, you temporarily gain the power of that animal." Sam read off some information from the book to help explain what was going on here. Your nose wrinkled slightly as you looked back over at the fridge. The thought of ingesting any of those organs made you feel slightly queasy. "So, okay, if you're munching on owl brains..."

“Your head spins around like ‘The Exorcist’?” Dean wondered, deciding to take a wild guess.

"Close. Bolsters your IQ.” Sam said. He turned his attention back over to the book and began to read through the effects of the organs you and his brother discovered. “Okay, eat a cheetah liver for speed, bear heart for strength.”

"Okay, so if he's chowing down on this stuff—” 

"Then it would make sense why he constricted the taxidermist and clawed the guy at the shelter." Sam said, finishing his brother's thought. 

"Well, no offense," Dean turned his gaze back over to the cage with the mice. They were bottom of the food chain compared to the other animals Chef Leo had on stock. "But why would he want to eat you guys?"

"Uh, we have collapsible spines." The rodent said. 

"Look at this." Sam said. He found several index cards with what appeared to be some kind of recipe with the organs the chef harvested. You grabbed a few from the pile to flip through them yourself. "'Lion liver plus eagle heart.' 'Rattlesnake fangs plus anaconda bladder.' 'Baboon brains plus black widow abdomen.' He's mixing ingredients." 

“What the hell for?” 

Dean’s question went unanswered when the focus in the room went straight for the closed door after hearing what sounded to be metal crashing to the ground. You tossed the cards back to the desk as Sam turned off the small lamp. The rodents were spooked as well from the noise as they began to argue amongst each other. 

“Shoo! Quiet!”

"Don't shush me! You be quiet!" 

"I am quiet. Now." 

You and the boys headed for the door with your guns dawn, unsure of who might be out there. It might have been the chef back for a snack. You followed behind as Dean opened up the door and swiftly stepped outside to the hall, taking a quick glance around before you and his brother joined him. There was no one around the hall you came down, but there were echoes coming from the kitchen. All of you slowly headed there, expecting the man you heard so much about. Instead Dean found himself lowering his gun and hiding it quickly as he could when he spotted an unfamiliar face at work. It took no time at all for the chef to look up from what he was doing and to the three strangers disrupting him.

"Who the hell are you?" The man asked in a slightly frustrated tone of voice. He turned around and crossed his arms over his chest, waiting impatiently for your answer.

"We're from the health department." Sam explained to him, tucking his gun into the waistband of his jeans. "Stopped by for an inspection." 

"I wasn't aware we had one scheduled." He said. 

"Yeah, no, you wouldn't be. That's the point." Dean replied, continuing off with the lie his brother made up on the spot. "Besides, I thought you were closed." 

"We are. Chef's having a private dinner." The man explained to all of you. One of the waiters working tonight pushed open the swinging doors to the dining area and walked in, only to stumble upon the confusing sight that was unraveling. "In fact, he'll be here any minute," 

"Oh. Well, then. In that case, the kitchen's shut down." You declared. The chef's expression dropped at hearing the news. Clearly he demanded answers as to the sudden dramatic information without a proper warning. "Because you're both in clear violation of penal code 8.14. And what's that? Mice. You people have mice. You call yourself fine dining. The only thing people here are getting served is mice droppings." 

"Out. Come on. Get out." Dean instructed the two men, waving for the swinging door the waiter came in from. All though they weren't exactly happy about the change in plans, there was little fuss. "Both of you. We'll let you know." 

You crossed your arms over your chest as you watched the two men inform the guest about the change in plans for the evening. While they didn’t appear to be pleased at the ruined evening, everyone scurried off the property in the matter of seconds. "All right." You directed your gaze back to the older Winchester when he devised a plan. "I'll take the front. You and Sam take the back." 

“Do we even know how to kill this guy?” You asked, wondering if you were going into this situation with the wrong weapon. You hoped this wasn't going to be like poking the bear with a stick and getting mauled to death like the other victims.

"Well, empty one of these in his head." Dean suggested, gesturing the gun he pulled back out after the staff left. "See what that does."

You let out a faint sigh as you watched Dean make his way to the front of the restaurant as Sam continued searching through the rest of the kitchen, leaving you alone. This wasn't the first time you were going up against someone with strange abilities and an unsure way of how to take them down. You found yourself turning back on your heels to the hallway you came from when the sound of metal clanking wandered through the air again. You positioned your gun in front of you as you quietly followed the noise from where it came from. 

You began making your way down the hallway again to see where the noise was coming from. All though you were cautious and on high alert, when you reached the end of the hallway, something still didn't sit right with you. You learned to trust your gut instinct when it kicked in. And right about now it was telling you something was wrong. You turned around to see that you weren't alone anymore. Chef Leo stood in front of you after appearing out of thin air. Whatever he had taken made him be able to blend into his surroundings and get the jump on you. You had no time to react at all from what he did to you next. 

You felt a sudden sharp pain like claws dig into your neck scratching the skin deep enough for you to realize that it wasn't a simple scratch. You pressed your hand to the side of your neck when you felt blood starting to pour out from the wound at a fast rate. The son of a bitch slashed your throat. You had little time to react before you bled to death on the floor. You tried to steady yourself as you made your way down the hall, keeping as much blood in your body as you could. Chef Leo watched on as you struggled to stop yourself from falling down, he found it all amusing in a twisted way. 

"Chameleons aren't all that bad.” He said, a hint of humor in his voice. “Kind of tastes like chicken." 

You struggled to get your feet moving again when you finally pushed yourself off the wall you had been leaning on. The logical part of your brain was yelling at you to get moving before it was too late. You already lost enough blood from just standing here trying to get your head on straight. There was no way you could scream for help, but you might be able to find Dean if you moved fast enough. You tried to get your vision from going blurry as you managed to take a few steps. With each passing second you felt your body starting to grow weaker as you struggled to breathe on your own. 

You dealt with severe blood loss before, you knew the way your body was reacting. You forced yourself to try and keep going, despite your breathing turning heavier and your sight growing weaker with your body. You felt yourself starting to lose consciousness as your fight was slowly dwindling to the end. Right as you were on the edge of death, someone pulled you back from taking the plunge. 

Ezekial, the angel who had been hiding himself quietly in your body over the past several weeks, needed you alive. He preferred to keep his meddling to a minimum. Most of the time he was lured out from hiding by Dean due to some situation he put himself in that needed his help. He felt you slowly choking on your own blood from the slashes you endured on your neck. A simple touch to the wound when he took control healed your wound in the matter of seconds before he vanished quickly as he came. You were left gasping for air, and finding it was easy to do so. 

You felt something sticky and warm covering the hand that was wrapped tightly around your neck. That was it. No excruciating pain. No gasping for breath. You felt...normal. You quickly felt around the skin for some kind of indication that the slashes on your throat were still there. But there was nothing. Your brows furrowed together in confusion as you turned around to face Chef Leo, who appeared to be perfectly normal. Not a drop of blood was on him. You were covered in your own blood. But not a single scratch was on your body. The man stared at you with bewilderment at what you did in front of him.

“How the hell did you do that?” He questioned you. 

“Do what?” You asked him, sounding confused as he was.

"Don't play coy with me." He snapped at you. "I want to know what you are."

"Buddy, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." You shot back at him, trying to turn your anxiety into anger. Despite the fact that you were without a weapon, you knew you could defend yourself against him. But your mind was still stuck on the fact that you were miraculously healed after he clawed your throat. 

"Oh, screw the sharktopus."  Chef Leo muttered to himself. Your focus finally went back to the psychopath standing in front of you, and before you had a chance to get yourself out of the situation you landed yourself in, he was faster. All it took was a swift punch for you to fall to the ground unconscious. "You’re my main course."

[Next Part]

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[theravencawsatmidnight]

1868 London.

Horses and carriages clicked over the cobblestone road. A man was sitting at the front to direct to horses while you sat inside looking impatient. Your father had woken you up rather early to go pick something up for him. Foolish. This is what the servants are for not you. You had money and you loved to use it whenever it benefitted you.

You lived an easy life in a big house with servants and hot meals every night. Everything was handed to you on a silver spoon. The servants called you spoiled but you did not care in the slightest. You could make them disappear whenever you wanted and have a new servant by morning. Your father never tried to marry you off , you could stay home as long as you wanted. The dresses you wore were always beautiful, nothing too extravagant , more on the corset and flowy dress side , perfect for a little privileged girl like you. So why would your loving father send you on such a task instead of sending the help?

The carriage came to a stop and the door was opened for you along with a bow from a gentleman. He helped you out of the carriage and led you inside to a fancy house full of jewelry and swords all in glass cases shining in the sunlight. You stopped a few times to gaze at these fine relics , your fingers creeping up the glass in anticipation

. The man cooed you over to a certain glass case that was covered with a pretty red cloth. He lifted the cloth revealing the priceless gem you had been eyeing . The Lavender Cats Eye, a beauty. No merchant could put a price on such a fine rock. The slit in the middle was a dark purple and seemed to stare straight at you no matter which side you looked at it from. It was often referred to as the ‘Wandering Eye’ for a reason.

The man freed it from the case slowly. A pretty silver chain following it . You clapped, skipped over and pulled your hair to your front so he could put it on you. As soon as it was secure around your neck a purple cat ran into the room jumping on a glass case to stare at you. A disgusted look fell over your face and the man shooed the cat away apologizing immensely for the sudden interruption. You thought nothing of it since you were preoccupied with the gem around your neck glistening in the sun. You would have to thank your father for such a lavish gift upon your return.

•••••••••

The cat zipped all around the carriages in the road disrupting things , spooking the horses. It hopped onto a fruit stand kicking its legs till it got up on the top to jump again onto a nearby roof . It scaled all along the shingles from roof to roof , the cat jumped down to a stone wall to run along that led out of the area into the forest until the stone wall ran out . It slowed to a happy trot taking in the scenery .

It came to an old looking shack with one window in the front with a black cloth sitting in it blowing slightly. The cat nudged the door, scratching it till it opened. It trotted inside yowling watching the man lay back down on the beat up bed to look at a shiny bracelet in his hand. The cat jumped onto the bed making its way to the man's chest and sat down.

“Rr…”

“Yes Ruyo? What did you find for me?”

Ruyo looked all around at the beat up shack , it was all made of wood and stone and a faded grey color. Everything was poor looking except for the bags of gems and jewelry overflowing in the corner.

The man picked up Ruyo holding him in the air and Ruyo yowled again shaking his paws till the man put him down.

“Oh Ruyo, “

“Rrr!!!!”

The man blinked sitting up holding the cat up. “The cat's eye? “

“Rr……”

The man placed the bracelet around the cat's neck and set him down to pet his back in long strokes. “Perfect.. you'll have to show me tomorrow. “. He ran his free hand through his purple hair grimacing and laying back down , his hand moved about the bed finding a ring . He held it up in the shining light admiring its beauty. Ruyo purred deep at his masters strokes along his back , lifting his rear each time his fingers slid over it , his front paws kneading the old bed.

The Lavender Cats Eye.. he had been after that for a while now , him and Ruyo traveled far and wide for it coming up empty. They did gather quite the loot though, making them well off . Tomorrow he would have to see it for himself, the lovely Wandering Eye.

••

You had been woken up early in the morning by one of the girls who tended to you. With a groan you pulled yourself out of bed going straight to your lovely Eye to admire its beauty.

“Young Miss. Are you ever going to wear the item? It's lovely and should be seen by all.”

“Absolutely not. It's priceless, if something happened to my Eye i don't know what I would do.”

The young girl put your bed together, smoothing out the lovely red blanket .”I suppose that's true, Young Miss.” she joined you to admire the Eye for a minute before opening up the windows to let air in. “Young Miss. we have your morning duties today. Please go get ready for them”

She followed your grumpy person out of the bed room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The man inched out of the tree upside down holding his capture scarf that was tied to a branch . He had a clear view of your lavish home. He put his feet together admiring it. Ruyo wiggled out of his scarf climbing up his body to sit on the branch and yowl.

“So its in there? “

“Rr…”

He stretched out his right arm to scratch his scruffy chin thinking on how to go about this.”Ruyo ya know you dont need to hide in my scarf all the time.” He scratched the other side of his chin.

“Rrrrrrrr.”

“No i'm not blaming you for my face itching and no i'm not getting rid of it.” He climbed back up and jumped to the ground pulling his dark hood up. Ruyo jumped down crawling inside his hood to lay down with his tail around his neck , two lavender eyes peeking out under the man's hair.

“Hungry?” He strolled into town, swiping an apple off a stand and eating it, Ruyo growled making the man laugh . “Of course you are. “ he chuckled making his way to the local fish market. On his way there he spotted a WANTED sign and stopped to read it.

Hitoshi Shinso.

Thief.

Reward 800 Pounds.

“The least they could do is get my face right. Ruyo, do I look that old?” He asked, continuing his walk. The cat made a mocking sound and Shinso shook his head smiling.

••

The morning duties were anything but enjoyable, go see the animals, greet the people answering questions. Talk about the affairs of London with the other spoiled women of the town, sipping tea, eating biscuits, laughing while the help looked on in annoyance.

One of your friends was talking about the Cat Thief and you laughed waving your hand. “Pesky creatures, that's why i don't have one”

“No no, y/n he has a cat and they steal.” Warned your friend putting her tea down. She had a blue fancy hat on.

“I hear he's rough looking, scary even” chimed in the one on your left.

“No sir.” Said the blue hat one, touching her face. “What do you mean? “

“He's got scruff on his face!” Yelled the one to your left.

Everyone gasped at the little table and the two servants looked at each other.

“Unkept!! Lives in the dirt!!!” She added. “A mockery of a man!! And his cat is just as dirty! A low life tainting our way of living. A very tall man who looks tired all the time! His clothes are all black and his hands are large and coarse! I heard he takes women and they never come back. He does something to them, hypnotize i think, he knows dark magic”

The servants whispered to each other. “Sounds hot.”

“I'm right there with you “ agreed the other.”Better than living here with these clowns.”

“Want to go shopping ? I need to pick up supper.” Asked the servant to her friend.

“Okay, its better than this.” They left you alone with your gossipy friends. Your friends went on and on but you paid no mind. As if such a man would approach you or your gems.

••

“Emilia?,” asked the tall servant.

“Yes, Veronica?” Asked the short one

“Do you think the missing women are true?” She asked while walking the market . Passing Shinso who was feeding Ruyo some fish in his hood , he noticed the girls and smiled following them.

“I don't think so, magic is mumbo jumbo and not real silly.” Emilia said , stopping by a large ship to admire it. “I'd love to get on a ship and just… go.”

Veronica leaned on her friend holding her hand. “We will , I promise.”

“Why not go now..?” Shinso asked, appearing next to them, still feeding Ruyo. The girls jumped holding each other to see the Cat Theif right next to them, scratching his scruff with his free hand. His gaze traveled to them and Emila stood in front of her friend. “If your planning on taking us away, don't even-“ he held out a little bag to her, dropping it in her hands. Ruyo rubbed on Shinsos neck purring , happy with his meal.

“I've never taken anyone away, I think sending them away is the proper way to say it.”

The girls looked in the bag and fell into each other; money, jewels , rings.

“Get on outta here lost little kitties.” He pat each of their heads.

“Thank you!!!” Emilia cried out.

Veronica grabbed his sleeve looking like she was going to cry. “It's yours. Believe me we have plenty more.” Shinso smirked. “But.. i do have a couple questions about that spoiled woman you work for.. or well, worked for”. Emilia shoved the bag in her dress and held out her hand. “What do you want to know about little miss perfect?”

Shinso grabbed her hand along with Veronicas smiling. Ruyo also rubbed on Shinsos face purring, looking rather pleased.

••

Finally, the day was over and you were free to admire your precious gems in solitude. Veronica and Emila never showed up after tea time and you were forced to make food for yourself, the nerve. With a slam the door to your bed room closed , you stomped to your dresser but you stopped to admire yourself in the mirror. Such a lovely dress. So pink, perfect, the only one of its kind. You turned looking over your shoulder in the mirror smiling.

Ruyo was sitting above your window flicking his tail to give the signal. Shinso scaled the building like it was nothing. Using his scarf to hold and pull himself up he slipped into your room rubbing the back of his neck scanning all around till he saw it. “Pretty Kitty..”

Ruyo yowled and Shinso rolled his eyes going over to the case crouching down to stare at it. “Besides you, Ruyo”

His hand lightly caressed the lovely silver chain moving down to the actual gem . It shined in the setting sun glistening . He had just gotten a good grip on it when the door clicked. He shot up running into the closet leaving the Eye shutting the door pulling his hood up and making himself flat against the wall.

After you admire yourself in the mirror you danced to the dresser to admire the Eye. “Perfect, amazing. All mine.” You rubbed its front and skipped to the closet for a night gown . You opened the closet not even noticing Shinso on the side, his eyes watched you close and as soon as you turned away from him he slipped out past you crouched going to the dresser snatching the Eye. The window was the safe way out, he would be stupid to go through the house. He whistled and Ruyo looked in upside down to see you taking your dress off and Shinso. He motioned his hands and Ruyo stuck out his tongue .

“I feed you fish and this is what i get-“

You turned to see Shinso still crouched , the Eye in his hand. “Oh f.”

“GUARDS!!!!” You yelled covering yourself, falling over.

Shinso shot up running towards you stepping over you getting to the window placing a foot on it. “Well that was easier than i thought.” He looked back grinning and Ruyo jumped into his scarf purring .

You stumbled up to see him in the window , “no!! It's mine!!! “

Shinso tipped his hood to you jumping out the window.

••

Happy birthday Shinso you deserve that Hero spot i love you , you are my heart and soul💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜💜

@squeaky-ducky @maron-k-rh @beelzebabey @celesterdzc18 @jassiejj2118 @alexisntherebb

[2manyfandoms2count]

#MarichatMay Day 14

I might have spent a little too long imagining this... Hence why it’s late! I love writing cooking scenes, slightly sad I had to cut it a little short (I actually need to start studying again though). Hope you enjoy it! It takes place in a sort of AU where Adrien and Marinette are slightly older, and I guess season 3 hasn’t happened.

Happy reading!

@marichatmay

Day 14: Chocolate

For the first time in the three years they’d been in the same class, Marinette had given up on the idea of getting a Valentine’s Day present for Adrien. Alya had qualified her decision as “absolutely out of character” (”Girl, you tried to give him a gift for his fifth name day. HIS FIFTH NAME DAY. And you’re giving up for the most obvious love celebration in the world? Who are you, and what have you done with my best friend?”). Marinette couldn’t deny that her heart still fluttered a little when her eyes met the model’s. He was still her celebrity crush, after all (although even that was arguable). It was just that somebody else had been slowly but surely crawling his way into her heart. A particularly infuriating cat. That she also happened to feel very comfortable around. 

They’d spent an increasing amount of time together over the years, both as Paris’ superheroes and out of costume. Well, as Marinette and Chat Noir. She still didn’t know who hid behind that mask of his, and he had no idea the two girls he spent most time with were, in fact, one and the same. They’d grown up together, and Marinette had found herself more and more attracted to her Chaton. She had to admit he’d become a lot more charismatic over the years.

Despite the obvious tension that existed between the two of them, Marinette couldn’t decide which of her personas should take the leap from being “good friends” to “significant others”. The logical choice would be to date him as Ladybug, but she was afraid Chat wouldn’t come and visit his favourite civilian anymore if he was dating his ultimate crush, and she actually sort of preferred their interactions when she didn’t have to worry about saving Paris. And even if he did, she wasn't sure she'd be able to maintain her act for very long. She couldn’t talk it out with anyone, for obvious reasons, which sent her into waves of overthinking and delaying any sort of action. A new potential romantic relationship, back at square one: “procrastinate expressing your feelings”.

Marinette looked at her watch. Chat was late. With Valentine’s Day approaching, he’d asked her if she could teach him how to make macarons. Her parents had a meeting with investors to discuss the opening of a potential second bakery in one of the most touristic spots of the French capital, so the kitchens were free for at least a couple of hours. Her parents wouldn't mind her using them, but she wasn't sure her father would be thrilled by her company. He was still weary of the alley cat who'd “broken his daughter's heart”, despite all of Marinette and Sabine's efforts to change his mind.

She heard Chat's landing despite his attempt at being more stealthy. She had developed a sort of 6th sense when it came to him; she was just aware of his presence.

“Good afternoon, Princess!” He announced as he let himself in. “Sorry I'm late, I had a couple errands to run.”

He handed her a single red rose with a grin.

“Aren't the red roses usually for Ladybug?” Marinette tilted her head quizzically.

“How do you know that?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Oh, er...” Her mind raced to find a plausible excuse. “The Ladyblog! There are plenty of pictures of you chat-ting her up with red roses.”

“Ah, yes. I forget everything we do is mediatised these days.” He shook his head. “I don’t know, I just thought this could be a nice change.”

Marinette could have sworn she saw a hint of a blush appear on her partner’s cheeks. She decided not to jump to conclusions, though.

“It’s lovely. Thanks kitty.” She got on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

“Well it’s only natural.” He cleared his throat. “See, I really want to do something nice for this girl I like and...”

Chat rambled a bit as Marinette’s heart sank slightly. Which she realised was stupid, because chances were that girl was herself. With a mask.

“... Anyway, I have it from good authority that she likes chocolate macarons. And I really don’t want to give her cat-astrophic biscuits.” He concluded with a smile.

“Yes, that would be unfortunate.” She absentmindedly replied. “Let’s get to work, then!”

As usual when they cooked together, there was a bit of flour throwing which left them both slightly dishevelled, but Chat was more focused today than he usually was. Probably something to do with the fact he wanted this to be just right. He mimicked Marinette’s actions, checking frequently he hadn’t made any mistakes in the recipe.

“One of the most crucial parts of cooking is tasting,” Marinette said, dipping a finger in the batter and licking it. Chat imitated her. “See, it tastes nice and chocolate-y, but the bitterness will be enhanced by the cooking, so we need to add sugar.” She reached for the packet as she spoke. 

“Wait, you got a little something there.” Chat said, pointing above his lips. Marinette licked in the direction he was indicating, but the chocolate was just beyond her reach.

“Better?” She asked.

“Not quite... It’s really just... Actually it’ll be easier if I just get it for you.” 

In one, smooth step, he was right in front of her. He loomed over her now, having continued growing long after she had. His hand flew to her cheek, his thumb barely brushing against the top of her lips. He paused, cupping her face in his hand.

And suddenly his lips were on hers. He tasted like chocolate, which Marinette appreciated as she kissed him back, her hands flying to his soft hair. He pulled her closer as he deepened the kiss. She felt him smile against her lips.

"What?" She gasped for air. He leaned his forehead against her, panting slightly.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, princess." He purred.

Her heart skipped a beat. She stood on her toes, ready to kiss him again, but he gently pushed her away and sighed. 

“I didn’t want it to happen this way, but you’re just so... purr-fect, I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?” He had completely lost her.

“I’ve had a couple of conversations with Ladybug, and from what I gathered she wasn’t very fond of the idea that we -superheroes- could date a civilian. So I wanted to approach you at school. My identity would have remained a secret, and all would have been well in the world.”

“Wait, we know each other?” 

“You’ll be the judge of that next week.” He winked. “Now, you were saying, these aren’t sweet enough?”

Marinette tried to bring back the conversation to his identity, but Chat kept evading her questions, a satisfied smile on his lips from having piqued her interest. She felt his confidence wobble when she back him against the warm oven where their creations were cooking, but he stood his ground.

“I’m paw-sitive I’m worth the wait, Princess. We’ve waited this long for me to ask you out, what’s another couple of days?” 

She kept her guard up all day on Valentine's day, waiting for the promised sign. More than once, she was tempted to call it off. Did she really want to know Chat's real identity? Would she be able to keep hers a secret? Did she have to keep it a secret?...

At around 4pm, she sat on her own in the courtyard, taking a small break between two class periods. She pretended to read through some of her notes as she actively tried to calm down. She didn't notice someone approaching until a box was shoved under her nose.

"Hey Marinette, would you like a macaron?" She looked up into Adrien's green eyes. "I made too many and I hear they're just the way you like them... Princess."

Her jaw dropped. Maybe everything was going to be a lot more simple than she'd anticipated after all.

[ohmrlove]

Hello! May I have a request of the bois as kitties and their obsession of following after their owner MC. Well, for Victor, I think we all know he'd be 'that one cat' who likes to push stuff off high places just to tease you but also at the same time loves cats. Bonus if MC is the cat and the bois are her owner.

Hey there! So, due to the nature of the question and the fact that my answers can get kind of long, I’m only doing the first half with boys as cats. When the ask box is reopened, feel free to submit the MC as a cat prompt.

In the future I’d appreciate one question per ask, as that makes it easier on me :)

Let’s answer this question! =＾● ⋏ ●＾=

🍷 Victor 🍷

He’s the asshole cat

If you want to pet him, you come to him. He doesn’t come to you.

If he DOES come to you, he will sit on whatever you’re working on. Or if you’re reading, he’ll plop down in the middle of it. He’s decided he wants to be pet so you better give pets

Can be a food snob--it’ll take you a few tries to find something he likes. It’s best to get cheap trial tins of foods until you find a favorite

Most likely to do that thing cats do where they sniff something and gag

Will make the ugliest gremlin yowl if you’re holding him and he wants to be put down. He’s not completely against it, but he’ll DEFINITELY let you know when he’s had enough

He’ll grab your ankles about 40% of the time. He’s not even in a playful mood; he just wants to grab your ankles.

The type of kitty that has to be in the room with you, but pretends you don’t exist

Meows obnoxiously to locate you--you left? Um, excuse me! I’m not done!--just to meow in your face with a disinterested look upon finding you before going back to you not existing

Does the annoyed ear flick if he steals your seat and you try to sit with him anyways

Doesn’t like most cat toys. Prefers absolutely random things like cardboard tubes and hair ties

You can dress him up in little ties if you pay enough cat treats

The type to sleep on your face at night and only care a little.

He loves you, he’s just not going to show it. 

Will dart out in front of you for no reason. There’s an 80% chance he’s trying to trip you.

📢 Gavin 📢

A decently active cat that needs time to warm up to you

He’s pretty easy to buy over--wave around a couple of toys and toss some treats and you’ve got a new best friend!

Much cuddlier than Victor cat, but will disappear around company

Will blanket burrito with you

Chatters when he plays, and peeps to you in the morning

More about rubbing up against your legs and sitting on your chest

The type to bonk your head in the morning if he wants you to get up. May tap at your nose.

Has a favorite stuffed animal that he MUST have if he goes anywhere. Will be best kitty--no matter what--when he has it

The one you’ll hear running around your apartment at 3AM.

You’ll find him in unexpected, high places

Tends to hide in the pantry/cupboards

Must sit with you or touch you if you’re in the same room

You want to work on your laptop? He needs to be in your lap. That’s the cost.

The type to get really still if you give him catnip--he’s stoned out of his mind and will basically sleep. Or look like a blob on the floor.

Has torn up a curtain and scratched up some things, but learned not to do it after a punishment

🔬 Lucien 🔬

A very quiet, unexpectedly affectionate cat

Naps a lot

The type to watch TV with you, or sit next to you when you’re on your computer. Sometimes you swear he knows what he’s looking at

Will play with the mouse cursor for fun

To wake you up in the morning, he flops near your face. If you don’t look like you’re getting up, he’ll play with your feet

The one you’ll spend hours looking for because he wouldn’t meow back and it turns out he was curled up, blending in with your things

Stretches out across your lap for back scratches

You can pet his tummy. He won’t actually attack you, even if he puts his paws down. You think he enjoys how it makes you flinch and draw your hand away

The one with the loud purr

Tends to knock things off the counter out of curiosity

The type to stick his tongue in all your drinks (or his paw)

Likes to get behind you when you sit and try to make biscuits with your hair

Loves to put his tail in your face

Is it comfy? It’s his now. You found him in the bottom of your dresser once, in a nest of pajama pants

Give him a clear view outside and he’s a happy cat. You don’t know if he people watches or looks for animals, but he could spend all day up there!

Doesn’t like it when you’re away from him. Like Gavin, he has to be near you. Usually lays down on your foot or climbs into your lap

Figured out how to turn the bathroom faucet on so he can get free water whenever he wants

🎤 Kiro 🎤

The cutest cat ever

He loves people, and he loves you. Warms up to pretty much anyone but will ALWAYS prefer you over others

Has the cutest mews and can be quite manipulative

The type who thinks his bowl is empty when the food in the middle has been eaten. Will make an absolute RACKET until you investigate

Always asking for treats

Most likely to be an internet star--he picks up tricks fast and he’s the cat that can “talk” back

A needy baby. Loves to be carried.

Will settle for riding around on your shoulder

When you’re sitting down he gets right up on your chest, his little paws stretched out to touch your neck like he’s hugging you

The type to sleep in weird positions, like on his back with his paws in the air

Has the most fun with food containers and empty boxes

Most likely to steal your food and chew on things he shouldn’t

Very playful. If you’re using a pen--and not paying attention to him--he’s going to fight you for the pen now

The one you have to keep taking off of your keyboard or whatever your working on because he wants to be the center of attention

Will wake you up in the morning by trying to grab your cheeks or walking on you. Will probably try to eat your hair.

If you leave him, he’ll sound like the saddest creature on earth.

The one that has to go with you when you go to the bathroom because he thinks you disappeared

Freaks out when you take a bath or a shower because WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! IT’S WET IN THERE AND YOU’VE BEEN IN THERE FOR A LONG TIME!

The one that hides in your purse/bag and wants to go outside with you. You’ll have to get him a space backpack or a kitty harness and take him with you.

Gives you the most wholesome, noisy greeting when you get home, jumping into your arms

This was a really interesting question. I never thought about them as cats before. I hope you liked it!

[sareyen]

A Machine Without Feelings: A Jane Eyre AU (Part 5/11)

Read on ao3

Chapter 5

It was midday on a Tuesday when Moira interrupted Charles’s lesson with Peter, the boy being allowed an early tea time.

“What is it, Moira?”

“Someone has come to visit you, and they are currently waiting in the foyer. A Mrs Katherine Hudson, I believe,” Moira said, Charles crinkling his nose, the name unfamiliar to him. Charles did not have a wide social circle, the only people who would call on him residing in either Westchester or Graymalkin – and they would rarely have a need to call upon him in person.

“I do not know of any Hudsons, let alone a Katherine Hudson. Did she say where she has travelled from?”

“She said that she knew you when you were a boy. She introduced herself as Mrs Hudson, but she did mention that you used to call her ‘Kitty’.”

Charles’s eyes widened as his lips spread into a wide, giddy smile. Kitty had come to visit him, his favourite and most beloved nurse that used to sneak him sweet biscuits and wipe his sweaty brow when he was feverish. She had been Katherine ‘Kitty’ Pryde when Charles had been at Westchester, but that was eight years ago – Kitty must have gotten married to a Mr Hudson, and Charles knew that the man was one lucky bastard.

Charles laughed aloud, feeling lighter than he had been for the past few days, kissing Moira on both cheeks before rushing past. Charles did not spare a glance at the drawing room, where the tinkle of piano music was drifting out of the open door, accompanied by the laughter and chatter of noble gents and ladies.

Charles caught, in the corner of his eye, Erik glancing at him as he brushed past the doorway, but the tutor moved too quickly for Erik to comment on his sudden presence.

“Kitty!” Charles called as he reached the top of the steps leading into the foyer, the woman standing below turning to the sound of the voice, revealing her face. Kitty looked very much the same as the image Charles conjured up in his memories, and barely looked a day older despite eight years having passed. She was dressed in a demure light blue day dress, and her hair was done up in a slightly more fashionable style than what she wore as a maid in Westchester. She held a bonnet with a matching sky-blue ribbon in her hands.

“Master Charles, is that you?” Kitty said, rushing forward as Charles leapt down the stairs, not caring about manners as he lunged towards Kitty, wrapping her up in a tight embrace. Her billowing skirt got in the way a little, and the stiff bodice of her dress pressed uncomfortably against Charles’s chest, but he did not care. Kitty laughed with surprise, but returned Charles’s embrace wholeheartedly.

“My, how you’ve grown! You’re not the little master that I used to know,” Kitty spoke fondly as the two pulled apart, pulling at Charles’s shoulders to make him turn around in a circle so she could inspect him. “You’ve grown into a handsome young man, Charles, but those sparkling blue eyes of yours are still the same. I knew school would do you good.”

“It did. And you, Kitty. I have just heard that I can no longer address your as Miss Pryde. You are Mrs Hudson now, is that correct?” Charles asked, Kitty blushing a little, making Charles’s grin stretch wider, eyes glimmering. “Do tell me, Kitty. Who is this mysterious Mr Hudson?”

“I am indeed Mrs Jimmy Hudson now,” Kitty admitted, showing Charles the simple gold band around her ring finger. “He is a good man, and works as a coachman. He came to work at Westchester a mere few months after you left for school.”

“Congratulations, Kitty,” Charles said, hugging his old nurse – his friend – again. “Oh, I have missed you, Kitty. And all of the others at Westchester.” Kitty warmed at the young master’s words, clasping his hand with hers. Kitty’s touch was still as gentle and comforting as Charles remembered it to be.

“If you really missed us, Master Charles, you would have written to us sooner – I had sent correspondence to Graymalkin where I had heard that you were a teacher, but they said that you had moved on to find new employment! And Ironfield hall is even further away from Westchester than Graymalkin, I’ve been travelling for days to meet you,” Kitty said, touching Charles’s cheek.

“I do apologise, Kitty. Time is a luxury, these days. I’ve been so busy,” Charles apologised, Kitty shaking her head, waving away his words.

“No, no, you need not apologise, Master Charles. I am glad that you have been keeping yourself busy. You are a tutor here, if I have heard correctly. You must enjoy the work immensely.”

“Oh, I do, Kitty,” Charles gushed, thinking about Peter and his smiling face, how his nose crinkled when he struggled on an arithmetic problem or when he tried to recall all of the countries of Europe. “I have but one pupil, but teaching him is very fulfilling. He is quite energetic, and quick-witted, so he keeps me on my toes.”

“I do say that you’ve found your calling,” Kitty said, genuinely happy for her not-so-little master. “And is your employer, the master of this house, a good man?”

Charles faltered a little, but the slight hesitation went unnoticed by Kitty. Charles cleared his throat, nodding.

“Yes, he treats me… appropriately. He is a fair and just master. His other subordinates treat me well, too. You must have met Moira, Mrs MacTaggert, earlier,” Charles said, Kitty nodding.

“Yes, she was lovely. I was truly relieved to find that you are surrounded by agreeable people here, Master Charles,” Kitty said, the two of them knowing that the same could not be said about Westchester. At the reminder of Charles’s former home, Kitty’s exuberance at their reunion dimmed, her expression turning grave. Charles felt apprehension churn in his gut, his brow creasing.

“What is it, Kitty? If you’ve come to visit me, something must have happened. Is everyone at Westchester alright? I can only imagine what must have happened if you are here asking after me now. I do hope no one is dead,” Charles said, growing more nervous as Kitty seemed to try to find words.

“I wish I came under better circumstances, young master, but no. You see, Master Cain Marko has passed. It was yesterday a week, now,” Kitty said. Charles’s mouth dropped open with a shocked pop.

The name from his past sent a series of shockwaves coursing through Charles’s body, and for a moment, it was like he had a bout of severe vertigo. When everything righted itself, Charles looked at Kitty carefully.

“And how does his father, I mean, my step-father bear it?” Charles asked, knowing that Kurt considered Cain the sole heir to the Marko-Xavier fortune. Now that Cain was dead, Charles could only imagine the state Kurt must be in.

“Why you see, young master, it was not a common mishap; Master Cain’s life has been very wild, and these last three years he has given himself up to strange ways. Drinking, gambling, unsavoury acts. It was no secret. His death was shocking, but it did not come as a shock,” Kitty said, dropping her voice and whispering, as if speaking about the dead man would rouse him from the grave.

“Unsavoury acts?”

“Yes. Master Cain associated himself will all manner of ill folk, and got into debt and thrown into jail. Of course, his father helped him out on multiple occasions, but he was not strong of head or heart, and fell into his old ways soon enough. They say…” Kitty said, leaning in closer now. “They say he killed himself.”

“Killed himself?!” Charles exclaimed, his voice echoing in the foyer, Kitty wincing. Charles gathered his voice, dropping his speech to a quiet mumble. “If that is the case, I can only guess that my step father is beside himself.”

“That he is, young master. When he found out, he was in a rage for the next two days. His reaction was unlike that of a father losing a son, but not surprising for a man like Kurt Marko. In his rage, though, he seemed to burst something in his brain, and now he is bed-ridden. The doctor says that he does not have much longer to live, now. Which is why I am here. Master Marko does not speak much after being struck with illness, but he keeps saying ‘Charles, Charles’ over and over,” Kitty explained, Charles growing a little pale.

Even after all these years, even when Charles believed that he had moved on from the terror the Markos have stirred up in his life, just the mention of their names sends his gut twisting.

‘No, Charles. You are no longer the ten-year-old Charles Marko. You are not afraid of him. You are Charles Xavier, tutor to Peter Eisenhardt, employee and… equal, of Mr Erik Lehnsherr. You are Charles Xavier, and you are not afraid, and you are not alone.’

“I must go to Westchester,” Charles said, now grasping Kitty’s hand, tapping it as he thought. “We must leave quickly. Westchester is a day or two’s ride from Ironfield, and if Kurt Marko is in such a dire situation as you suggest, then he may even breathe his last breath before we mount a carriage. Kitty, I need to speak with Eri- Mr Lehnsherr about being granted leave, and need to pack a few things.”

“Of course, Master Charles. I can assist with the packing, if Mrs MacTaggert allows me,” Kitty offered, Charles kissing her cheek gratefully. Charles soon found Alex, who was more than happy to find Moira and help Charles pack while he went to speak with Erik.

While Charles had been speaking with Kitty, Erik and his party had left the drawing room and withdrawn outdoors to the gardens. The spring weather was lovely this day, contrary to the gloom surrounding the events at Westchester, and Charles had to shield his eyes from the obscenely bright sun as he made his way outside.

It was not hard to find them, Charles only needing to follow the chorus of obnoxious laughter. Charles found Erik sitting with Miss Frost beneath a vine-covered canopy, the two of them seemingly engaged in conversation. Erik had a small smile on his face, one that was vaguely amused, while Emma returned the look with an elegant curl of her lips. They stared into each other’s eyes, seeming to speak with their gazes and their minds, and Charles had to clear his throat to garner Erik’s attention when he approached.

Charles bit down on the poisonous green monster and tried to kill it. He was not victorious.

Emma smirked a little, tilting her blonde hair to the side as she watched Charles. Her gaze was a little different than usual. She did look at him like he was something she should crush underneath a bejewelled shoe, but regarded him curiously, like she was trying to figure something out.

Erik stood quickly, murmuring something to Emma, who just smiled knowingly and turned away from Charles and Erik to peruse a small novella in her hands.

Erik strode over to Charles, eyebrow raised in that way that asked ‘what is it?’.

“I need to leave Ironfield,” Charles said, Erik freezing. Erik stared at him, jaw set tightly, before roughly grabbing Charles by the elbow and hauling him out of the gardens and back into the large mansion. Erik manhandled Charles into his study, shutting the door behind him, his larger frame blocking Charles’s exit.

“Erik, that was completely unnecessary. Why did you haul me here?” Charles huffed, rubbing his elbow as Erik regarded him carefully. “You were awfully rough about it too.”

“You say that you need to leave Ironfield, and then you ask me this?” Erik retorted hotly, crossing his arms over his robust chest. “Why do you think I reacted like that?”

Charles did not want to think about the answer to that question, his heart thumping.

“Well, that is not the pertinent matter right now. As I was saying before you manhandled me from the gardens in the view of all of your guests, I require a leave of absence, for a week or two,” Charles said, flicking his blue eyes to meet Erik’s, which seemed to dawn with understanding. Charles could see the moment Erik’s tension seeped from his tight shoulders, how he relaxed a little and dropped his crossed arms to his side.

“For a week or two,” Erik mimicked, Charles rolling his eyes a little at Erik’s slowness this afternoon.

“Yes, as I said. A week or two, or longer. It is hard to say.”

“What for? Where are you going?” Erik questioned, stepping away from the door now that he knew that Charles was not running from Ironfield forever, moving past the tutor to sit on the edge of his desk. Charles drank in the image of Erik’s long legs crossing over as he rested his hands on either side of his hips on the desk, muscles flexing beneath his shirt.

“My step-father has summoned me. He is dying,” Charles said simply, shrugging. Erik noticed Charles’s shoulders sink, and he stood from his desk again, coming to stand in front of Charles.

The older man gently nudged Charles’s chin upwards to meet his eyes, which were warm in their icy hue.

“The step-father that disliked you because you are smarter and prettier than him?” Erik asked, Charles letting out a bubbly laugh, one that coaxed a shark-like smile from Erik. The sight of the smile made Charles’s insides melt.

“One and the same,” Charles said, voice gentle.

“Good riddance, then,” Erik said, and despite his rude remark about a dying man, Charles couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s dying Erik. There is nothing good about it,” Charles chastised half-heartedly, the smile on his face showing Erik that he wasn’t truly mad.

“So you will be gone a week?” Erik asked, Charles shrugging once again. Erik’s hand moved from Charles’s chin to rest against the curve of his shoulder, thumb brushing against the fabric covering his neck.

“A week, maybe more. It is hard to say. Since he is dying, I can’t put a time on that.”

“Then I hope he dies quickly,” Erik muttered, Charles choking on his breath, Erik shooting him a cheeky grin.

“Erik! That is- You- He’s a dying man, Erik!” Charles spluttered, the older man barking out a laugh.

“He is of no importance to me, and from what you have told me about him, you even making plans to visit him is more than he deserves. For what he’s done to you, no one can be mad at me for wishing him a swift death,” Erik said, and Charles didn’t know whether to be afraid, upset or flattered. Maybe a mixture of all three.

“You are incorrigible,” Charles harrumphed, rolling his eyes. “And you owe me wages. I have yet to be paid for my many months of service.”

“How much do I owe you?” Erik asked, stroking his thumb along the slope of Charles’s chin before stepping back, opening a little box on his desk and pulling out some bills.

“Fifteen pounds.”

“Here’s fifty,” Erik said easily, holding out a large sum of cash in front of Charles, the tutor’s eyes bugging out at the sheer number.

“What? No! You only owe me fifteen,” Charles replied stubbornly, Erik grinning.

“You are the first person to not accept a raise in their wages. Come, Charles. Take the money,” Erik said, shaking the bill in front of him again, eyes alight.

“No, you only owe me fifteen, Erik. If you don’t have smaller change, I can receive my wages when I return.” Erik liked the way Charles phrased it, like it was a simple fact that he would come back.

“You need money to travel, Charles. Take it,” Erik said again, a little impatience seeping into his tone now. Charles just rolled his eyes, now crossing his own arms across his chest. Charles did not respond and just stared at Erik challengingly, his employer gritting his teeth and throwing he fifty pounds back into the box and pulling out another slip of paper. “Fine. Then I only have ten.”

“Fine. You can owe me five pounds, then,” Charles said, moving to swipe the cash from Erik’s hand, the man withdrawing it at the last second. Charles scoffed, before saying with a huff, “Really, Erik?”

“You will come back for the other five, won’t you?” Erik asked, more of a promise than a question, lowering his arm so Charles could take the money. When Charles’s fingers pinched the note, Erik’s other arm quickly came forward to latch onto it, holding Charles in place. “You will come back, won’t you, Charles?”

“Yes,” Charles breathed out, Erik squeezing his hands, before letting him go. Charles turned to leave, but before he left Erik’s study, he turned back around, a small smile playing at his face.

“Since you still owe me five, I won’t be going easy on you in our next chess game. You haven’t paid me to let you win, yet,” Charles said, grinning at the sound of Erik’s unabashed laughter than resonated after him as he walked down the hall, already counting down the days until he would return.

Back to Ironfield. And back to Erik.

***

A day’s carriage ride later, Charles pulled in through the heavy metal gates of the Westchester estate.

Westchester was almost exactly the same as how Charles remembered it, but it seemed a lot smaller now. Charles wasn’t sure if it was because he had grown in height (though not by a lot, compared to other boys), or if it was just because he was no longer filled with terror as he walked through the grand halls of his childhood.

Not to say that Charles was not afraid – he was, but it was only his intangible memories that he was scared of. It was only memories of books being slammed over his head, of the way his breaths seemed too loud when he was hiding from Cain, of the eerie creaking in the Red Room that made Charles’s breath sometimes quicken.

But in the present, Charles was not afraid. Cain was no longer stalking the halls of his former home, and Kurt Marko was bedridden and apparently paralysed on the left side of his body. A bleed in the brain, they said, caused by stress, drinking and his robust size.

Kitty touched Charles’s arm and told him she would carry his meagre belongings to his old chambers that the staff had maintained even in his absence. Kitty also informed him that at this time, late in the afternoon, Kurt was usually asleep after having an early supper of watery porridge and lukewarm tea, unable to stomach much else. Charles would have to wait until morning to speak with him, if he lasted through the night.

If anything, the fact that Kurt Marko was still breathing after his near-fatal fit only showed how relentless the man was, clinging to this last thread of life with tenacious will-power. ‘Erik,’ Charles thought, ‘would probably curse the man’s apparent inability to die swiftly.’

With nothing else to do, Charles roamed the empty halls of Westchester. He passed by the room of portraits, lingering a moment in front of the image of his mother and father, labelled ‘Mr and Mrs Brian Xavier’. Beside it was a portrait of Kurt Marko, the man’s large form covering an entire portrait, with no room for much else.

Walking through the room, Charles moved onto the library – it seemed to remain relatively untouched, no one in Westchester being much of an avid reader, not like Charles. The young man ran his fingers over the neatly stored spines of the books, before stopping at ‘Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens’. Charles pulled it out, and saw a little crust of brown at the bottom corner of the book; a little crust of blood that lingered here, even when the wound it came from had long since healed on Charles’s head.

That was much like everything else here at Westchester. Everything was a remnant of times past, stagnant and unchanging. It seemed that only Charles, who had miraculously escaped the estate’s still hourglass, had moved forwards. Charles, and Charles alone.

Charles found his favourite nook, but this time he did not feel the need to draw the curtains to obscure himself. His longer body fit the alcove more snugly than before, knees bent out of necessity rather than comfort, and he leaned against the window as he flicked through the pages of ‘Zur Entwicklungsgeschichte des Pollens’.

Now that he was more educated, he no longer had to skip the long German words that he did not know, and he did not have to decipher meaning from a mish-mash of pictures and phrases. Charles read the book thoroughly, fingers running over worn pages and faded watercolours, before Kitty found him and called him for supper.

“Will mother be joining us?” Charles asked, Kitty shaking her head.

“You know the mistress,” Kitty replied, Charles nodding and not saying anything further. “But, she has been a bit more lucid as of late. It may be good for you to see her as well, young master, before you go. She is usually best after supper; having something in her stomach usually helps her, so tomorrow evening would be ideal.”

“Thank you, Kitty,” Charles said, the woman smiling as she placed a hearty stew in front of Charles. Unlike before, the stew was thick and full of ingredients, the staff no longer having to try and bypass Marko’s restrictions and able to use whatever they wanted to feed their returning young master.

Everyone was so glad to see that their young Master Charles had grown into a fine young man; short, but boyishly handsome, with rosy cheeks and a vibrant smile. They compared him to the now departed Cain, and the contrast was like night and day.

Charles invited all members of the staff to dine with him, and he regaled them stories of his time at school – only the good memories with Raven, of course – and how his life was at Ironfield. Everyone listened to Charles with rapt attention, their hearts light with the knowledge that their young master had grown to become eloquent and educated, but retaining the same youthful innocence and kindness that they remembered from all those years ago.

Charles returned to his chambers early, body and mind drained from the long journey, but found that he could not drift off to sleep easily even with a full and content belly. His bed was not as comfortable as the one he had in Ironfield, and even though Kitty had lit a substantial fire in his chambers, he felt a little cold.

It was in a moment between wake and sleep that Charles realised that Ironfield was now his home and where he belonged; alongside Moira, Alex and Peter. Beside Herr Lehnsherr. Beside his Erik.

***

While everything at Westchester remained the same, Kurt Marko did not. He looked like a mere shell of the man that he once was, shrivelled and puny and buried in layers of blankets to stave away the cold. He was a shadow of the terrifying figure Charles pictured in his head, and that alone made Charles step towards him confidently the next morning.

Kurt Marko’s eyes watched him, one drifting lazily in the opposite direction, the other one recognising him instantly. Those blue eyes, the floppy and thick brown hair, the smattering of freckles and unnaturally red lips. Kurt Marko would recognise that Xavier boy anywhere, even on his deathbed.

“Hello, step-father,” Charles said evenly, voice deeper and more measured than Kurt Marko remembered it to be. He no longer sounded like the boy who cried out to be released from the Red Room, and Kurt gurgled out a putrid laugh at that.

“You have grown,” Kurt slurred, a little drool dribbling from his lips and down his chin, but he could barely feel it.

“It has been eight years,” Charles replied, the dying man choking on a bitter laugh. “I am not the same person as the boy that was sent off to Graymalkin School.”

“Evidently. A teacher now, are you,” Kurt said, wheezing a little from where he sat semi-supine in his bed, torso propped up with numerous pillows. His hair had grown grey and it was thinning terribly, combed over only to reveal a speckled head creased with wrinkles.

“Yes, and I enjoy it very much,” Charles replied, moving to stand beside his step-father’s bed, taking a towel that Kitty had left beside it to dab at the drool on the man’s face. Kurt looked incensed at the seemingly belittling notion, spluttering something unintelligible at Charles, weakened arms feebly swatting the young man away.

“Why…” Kurt heaved, eyes alive with the flames of hatred, incongruent with the weakness of the rest of his body. Kurt’s body was weak, but his soul was still very much alive, running on the fumes of almost a decade of hatred. “Why must you still live, but Cain… my Cain, my son, be the one buried beneath the ground?!”

“Because I looked after my health, Sir,” Charles said evenly, taking care to remain calm, not wanting to fall to his step-father’s level and give in to the anger simmering beneath his freckled skin. Charles would not be the boy who retaliated against his step-brother and hit him over the head. Charles would not stoop to that level of being ever again.

“Bah! You were always an unnatural child, protected by demons. I sent you to Graymalkin School where I thought you would die. You were supposed to die, of typhus or accident. But no… No… You are still standing here, healthy and blue-eyed, looking like your father, like all the other fucking Xaviers,” Marko spat, Charles frowning. The movement in his face seemed to feed into Marko’s anger, the man grinning at the reaction he caused.

“I know that you do not want to be here. Why would you?” Marko sneered, pushing himself up a bit as his body was wracked by a fit of coughs. Charles held a glass of water to his chin to try and help wet the man’s throat, but he just growled and smacked Charles’s wrist, the glass of water tumbling onto the carpet and staining it dark.

“I heard that you were dying, step-father, and I wanted to make peace,” Charles said, the man just chuckling darkly.

“Make peace. Make peace? How could I make peace with the thing that has tormented me for so long? I know what people think of me, and I know about what they think of you. ‘The true Xavier heir’. They call me a usurper, and my son a false prince, all because you exist!” Marko coughed harshly again, and Charles was startled as a light spray of blood spurted onto the white bedding by his step-father’s head.

“Step-father, calm yourself. You are not well,” Charles said, but not making a move to wipe away the spittle or the blood.

“Don’t speak to me as if you are superior, boy! I am Kurt Marko. I own the land you stand on, the wooden boards beneath your feet, the roof over your head. Everything is in my name, and you do not own a single bit of it! It was supposed to go to my son, my real son, not the fucking Xavier offal that Sharon sired. You…” Kurt said, pointing a fat, shaking finger towards Charles. “You… You probably came here because you thought that because I am dying, everything I own will become yours, hm? Well, you are mistaken.”

Charles looked at his step-father, confused and fists clenched. Kurt mistook Charles’s confusion for anger, and cackled in spite.

“None of this belongs to you. Upon my death, you will have none of it. Your name is not mentioned in my will, and Sharon will get nothing except for that cart of whisky in the cellar and the old, decaying cottage by the stormy ocean. This… All of this may no longer be under the Marko name, but like Hell I’ll hand it all to a Xavier.”

Kurt wheezed again, now completely drained, but smirked at Charles in satisfaction. Charles just regarded him with apathy and a hint of disgust, wondering what it was about this pitiful, pitiful man that inspired so much fear in him before. Looking at him now, all Charles could see was a spiteful, depressed old man who, in the end, possessed nothing of worth. No family, no love, and certainly no happiness.

Charles didn’t want anything he had, not even one shilling.

“Thank you, step-father,” Charles said, the man in the bed stilling as he stared at the young man who rose from his chair. “For relieving me of the burdens and trappings of this house, and everything in it. I had no desire for it, and you have organised new accommodations for my mother, which I also thank you for. And now that you have so cleanly cut ties with me, once and for all, I will see myself out. I hope your last days are peaceful, and that you pass without pain. Farewell.”

Charles did not look back at his step-father when he left his grand chambers, the old man spluttering obscenities in Charles’s wake.

Kurt Marko died that night after a laborious coughing fit; his sheets were stained with blood, and the contorted look on his face showed that he had not died peacefully, nor did he die without pain.

***

Charles saw Sharon Marko the day after her husband passed. He found her in her drawing room standing by the window, a near-empty glass swirling in her hand. There was an opened bottle of half-finished wine resting within arm’s reach beside her, the cork long discarded since once a bottle was opened in the presence of Sharon Marko, it was always finished by the end of the evening.

Sharon Marko was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was diminished by the way she carried herself, already under the influence of what looked to be her second bottle. Her blonde hair that appeared golden in the Xavier portrait was now coloured like dull straw and simply tied in a knot at the base of her skull above her hunched neck. Her skin was wrinkled, splotchy and red from the drink, and her poor dietary habits meant that she was thin and frail, though naturally tall.

Now, she wore a black mourning dress, black lace veil obscuring most of her flat hair.

Her face was tired and weathered, and when she turned to look at her son, it did not even look as if she recognised him. She did, though, and momentarily put down her drink to wave the young man over.

“Charles,” she said, the name sounding foreign in her voice. “My son. I have not seen you since you were…”

“Ten. Eight years ago now, mother,” Charles supplied for her, the woman nodding slowly, before picking up her glass and taking a drink from it. She drained it in one mouthful, moving to pour herself another. She poured a glass for Charles as well, handing it to him.

“So you are eighteen. A full man, now,” Sharon spoke, contemplative. There was a little twinkle in her eye that was so rarely there. “Almost nineteen, then.”

“Yes, soon,” Charles said, Sharon smiling a little more now.

“What wonderful news. Kitty tells me that you’re a tutor, at Ironfield Hall. I am not familiar with the family there, they are a bit far from our region,” Sharon said, settling down onto a chaise lounge.

“Yes, the house’s master is a Mr Lehnsherr,” Charles said, Sharon humming.

“Only a Mr Lehnsherr? No wife, no family?”

“None that I know of,” Charles said, and Sharon cocked her head to the side, before reaching out to touch her fingers to the crest of her son’s hair. The touch was short and brief, but it had been far more affection that anything she had given Charles for most of his life, and Charles’s heart swelled and ached, almost full to bursting.

“And are you happy there, with this Mr Lehnsherr with no family?” Sharon asked, eyes appraising. Charles swallowed, nodding slowly.

“Yes. He is a good man, and his other subordinates treat me well. I consider them good friends, and maybe with a little more time, I can see them as family.”

Sharon smiled a little more at that, sobriety piercing through like a lightning bolt, before the clouds drifted in again.

“That is good, my son, and it is good for you to visit me here. I will be off to the countryside cottage immediately after the funeral, and it is a fair journey from here.”

‘I’m not sure if you will visit me again,’ was left unsaid, but the two Xaviers seemed to hear it loud and clear.

“Carriages are swift these days, mother,” Charles offered, the woman letting out a short laugh.

“Yes, they are. How times have changed.”

***

Like Sharon, Charles left the moment Kurt Marko was lowered into the ground, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary. It had been one week since he had left Ironfield to return to Westchester, and even though a week was not a long stretch of time by any means, it left Charles feeling antsy and desperate to return to Ironfield, which was now home to him.

Like eight years ago, Kitty packed Charles’s belongings, slipping a packet of sweet biscuits and an extra set of socks into his case. Like before, Charles kissed on the cheek before they parted ways.

Now that Westchester belonged to a new master that bore neither the Xavier nor Marko name, it was only natural for most of the staff to be let go and find new employment. Kitty was not too upset about that; she held no lingering ties to the estate now that both Sharon and Charles were no longer affiliated with it, and it was not difficult for her and her husband to find employment elsewhere.

The journey back to Ironfield did not feel like it took as long as the trip Charles endured to leave it. It was like there was a string tying Charles to Ironfield, pulling him closer with a warped sense of gravity. He could hear the call of the estate in his head, always urging him to come back home. Charles believed that even if he were on another continent, on the other side of the globe, he would still be able to hear that call.

It was daylight when Charles arrived back at Ironfield, and he had leapt off the carriage prematurely, wanting to walk the last stretch himself. His suitcase was light as he walked along the side of the road, fingers brushing past the soft flowers and bushes that lined it, blossoming bright in the springtime.

It was when Charles reached the outermost field surrounding Ironfield that he saw a lone figure sitting atop a stone barrier; brown hair that looked copper in the sunlight, ginger scruff and piercing pale blue-grey eyes. The man had forgone a coat, and was simply wearing a familiar checked brown waistcoat and expertly tailored trousers, feet enclosed by polished brown boots.

Charles found himself smiling giddily when the man looked up and saw him, immediately hopping down from where he was perched on the stone. The man slapped at some dust on his trousers, bounding over to Charles with a few strides on his long, lean legs.

“You’re back,” Erik said, rushing into Charles’s space, filling up Charles’s horizon and heart. “You said you’d be gone a week, or two. You kept your word.” There was a slight mischievousness to Erik’s shark-like grin now, and Charles swore that he heard the words ‘bastard of a step-father must have died quickly, good riddance’.

“Of course I came back. You still owe me wages,” Charles said, Erik’s face softening minutely, bringing his hand up to straighten Charles’s neck tie that had gone askew from when he jumped out of the carriage in a flurry. Erik’s fingers brushed his chin a little, an intimate touch that Charles pretended was accidental.

“I’ll pay your wages after a game of chess. It’s no fun when I’ve paid you to let me win,” Erik said, Charles laughing, shoving Erik’s shoulder playfully, the older man’s eyes lighting up. The two of them made their way back to the mansion together, smiling and teasing, both so obviously happy that Charles had returned.

“I am glad to be back, Erik. Thank you,” Charles said, bearing his heart a little. Erik smiled, nudging at Charles’s wrist and leading him to the drawing room, a chess set already sitting there and waiting to be used.

Charles’s heart lurched. Erik did not know when Charles would be back, so if the chess set was already set up, it meant that he was also waiting and preparing for Charles to return to his side.

Charles rubbed at his aching chest as he sat down in his usual chair, and letting himself forget, just for a brief moment, that Erik was not promised to wed Miss Emma Frost. Right now, in this room, Charles indulged his fantasies and let himself think that it was only him and Erik that existed, everything outside of this room rendered obsolete.

Next chapter (6/11) →

[writerman]

Adam, Anathema, Madame Tracy and the others have to take a moment, to actually process and get over the fact that they know, and are friends, with an actual angel and a demon. And it doesn't help that Ezra and Crowley don't hide the fack that they are celestial beings anymore. Sometimes they can't help being in awe of them (bonus points if they show off their wings ahaha)

Thank you for this prompt. First ever GO prompt and the first ever thing I’ve written for the fandom. No wing mention but they do have a little display of their power in a rather odd and adorable way!

------------

Everyone was crammed into the bookshop.

The weather outside was dismal, rain fell in unrelenting sheets from a slate grey sky, and it seemed as though the whole of London heaved a weary sigh at the sight of the dreary overcast horizon.

Aziraphale was busying himself with making tea for the gaggle that had invaded, taking extra care as he did so. Human hands were delicate and he'd rather avoid further injury due to overconfidence by rushing through the ritual. 

For the most part, the chatter was a soft lull behind him putting the angel at ease. Adam whispered feverishly about conspiracies with Anathema and Newton- though the latter seemed wholly astonished and a little lost at the rate the topic changed from one moment to the next. All the while young Adam leaned on his elbows which rested on a worn, yet much loved, table eyes alight with interest as Anathema spun stories that had his imagination spiralling out of control as a young boy was wont to do. 

The older of the visitors, Shadwell and Madame Tracy, sat in comfortable silence by the fire, they had arrived later than the rest and we're making use of the warmth to dry off. Both sat close to one another legs touching as their eyes gravitated to the dancing flames in the fireplace. 

The room was so full of love and happiness that Aziraphale could scarcely contain his joy and it fairly showed as he brought tea in for the gang, his entire countenance glowing as though the sun resided within the bookshop. 

The conversation stopped when the tea tray was set down on the table and many quiet thank-yous greater the angel and he handed over mugs of hot tea. 

Only one person was missing from the group, a particularly important person and it had not gone unnoticed by the visitors… Crowley was nowhere to be seen. 

To the human eye anyway. 

Or rather, to human eyes looking for a demon with flaming locks and somewhat obsessive love for round lens sunglasses. 

The demon was currently in snake form curled up on a deep purple cushion by the fire unbeknownst to everyone there, aside from Aziraphale. 

Shadwell and Madame Tracy hadn't noticed him and we're now sipping hot tea mumbling unhappily about the weather and how 'June is summer, isn't it?' 

All the while a snake lay nestled on the soft fibres of the cushion in a loose coil, his little forked tongue flicking out occasionally. 

If observed by any of the guests he maybe have been found to be 'simply adorable'... Well not by all guests but a fair few of them. A demon snake all soft, warm and sleepy by a crackling fire, his shining black scales given an orange glow reminiscent of his hair by the dancing flames. 

Eventually, his whereabouts became the topic of conversation when young Adam raised his gaze to the still glowing angel.

"Mr Aziraphale, where is Mr Crowley?" The question promoter the rest of the guests to look ok about the room hoping to capture a glimpse of the demon lurking in the shadows. 

The chatter rose louder than the earlier gentle buzz, someone exclaimed that they'd noticed a lack of snark in the conversation since they had first arrived. 

At the mentioned of Crowley, the angel beamed and hurried over to the fireside. Leaning down he gently lifted a snake from a cushion and held it all up for all to see. 

"Now, Crowley, I believe you've had quite enough sleep by now. Time to play host with me, it only seems fair after I've let you rest here for so long undisturbed." The snake hissed in response to Aziraphale’s words and the angel brushed it off with ease. A hiss was nothing, and who wouldn’t be in an awful mood when woken abruptly from sleep?! 

There was another hiss but it lacked any sort of malice, it was tame in comparison to the earlier one though it was still directed at Aziraphael hoping to convey annoyance. 

The angel merely smiled down at the moody serpent completely unaffected by Crowley’s grumpy demeanour and pressed a light kiss to the top of the scaley head- this prompted Crowley out of his animal form with such violence that he crashed into the table knocking the cups and saucers to the floor. 

It took mere seconds for the demon to right himself and the table with the click of his fingers, as he did so he vanished and order was restored just with less demon in the room than before. 

Most of the guests were on their feet now on the lookout for a sour face demon.

Shadwell was shushed as he muttered about witches, the request for quiet came as a dig in the ribs from someone’s (Madame Tracey’s) elbow. The witch hunter did quieten down but he looked about the room with, almost, eagle eyes for any further tricks. 

“Did he go home?” Adam asks, he’s stuffing biscuits into his mouth, though most of his attention is on the angel and not on the biscuits that left copious amounts of crumbs on his t-shirt and the table he was sat at. He could see that the incident had left the angel fretting that he’d upset the demon quite seriously, but Adam believed he was just showing off in case anyone had forgotten he had magic powers. 

Aziraphale worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Crowley’s behaviour had been quite out of character, but then again… so had his. Kissing the little snake head had been an impulsive move sway by the feeling of overflowing affection he could no longer ignore within himself. 

It didn’t help that he had always found Crowley’s snake form adorable, well aside from the larger form that had slithered around Eden causing havoc. The sheer size of that form had unnerved the angel to no end. 

Silence had fallen over the little book shop now as all eyes now fell upon the angel who stood with his back to them. They were waiting for him to say something, anything… 

Pushing aside the feeling of panic rising up the angel turned to face the gang with a smile. 

“That was most dramatic of him…” 

“Well, yeah…” Adam began, still pushing the limits of his stomach by cramming more biscuits into his mouth, “But it was pretty cool. I forget you two can do stuff like that. Can you turn into animals, Mr Aziraphale?” The boy’s query was a perfect distraction and the angel offered the brightest smile he could muster, with a flourish of his hands the angel vanished and in his place stood a little white cat, it blinked up at the gang with big blue eyes. 

He was gifted with various ‘oohs’ and ‘aaahs’ from the majority and Anathema even went as far as to reverently whisper that the angel’s power was great but he was just too adorable to be afraid of in this form. 

Newton had agreed without actually speaking, he just nodded while keeping his wide-eyed gaze on the fluffy creature. 

Again, Shadwell mumbled something about witchcraft and again he was silenced with a light jab to his ribs. Though, when kitty Aziraphale trotted over to the older man he did get a scratch behind the ear before being shooed off. 

While the gang were being entertained, Aziraphale’s thoughts returned to Crowley. For the most part, he knew that, logically, the demon would return to him, perhaps not that evening or even that week but he would return. 

A darker part of his mind spoke of something that left an ache in his chest, a thought bloomed in his mind that he had completely blown it with Crowley and their friendship had come to an end.

Regardless of the outcome, the angel would seek him out and they would talk.

Even if it was an apology. 

Even if it was the last conversation he had with his dear, dear demon.