#even more if you count the shadows I thought were mice earlier

[thelemonbandit]

Yes, I have six pet rats.

Yes, I have a MASSIVE fear of rodents.

I like to keep life interesting 🫠

[pines-troz]

Weekend With The Warners Chapter One - Animaniacs & Pinky and The Brain

Summary: When the CEO tasks Pinky and the Brain with the important task of watching over the Warners for the weekend, Brain is prepared for any antics that the children have in store. What he didn’t take into account was forming a familial bond with the kids.

Word Count: 1,868

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27849962

This is a found family story with a good combination of fluff, humor, and mild angst. Contains Brinky and Non-Binary Wakko

Beginning AN: This is probably the most self-indulgent story I’ve ever written

On a dark and stormy evening, a mysterious figure entered a castle that overlooked a provincial village. Deep inside the gothic estate’s stone walls, the figure snarled as he trudged up the winding stairs, leading to the top floor. He let out a vicious cry as he opened the large wooden doors to the laboratory. 

Dr. Brainenstein, the lord of the castle, stood behind his chemistry set, the glass beakers obscuring his face. Upon hearing the door open, he dropped his studies and gazed upon the visitor with an eager smile. 

“Ah, Pigor, you’ve returned!” Dr. Brainenstein greeted his assistant with a confident grin. The scientist emerged from his chemistry set to reveal himself. He wore a fancy black coat, a satin purple shirt underneath a white collared shirt, and black pants. 

The monstrous shadow revealed to be a lanky and chipper mouse wearing a brown hood and a muted yellow tunic. “‘Ello, Dr. Brainenstein!” Pigor replied merrily, waving to his boss. The mouse carried a large brown sack with something moving about. 

Dr. Brainenstein slid down the table leg and eagerly approached his assistant. “How was the graveyard scavenging?” He inquired menacingly, whilst rubbing his hands. 

Pigor strained as he carried the large sack with his findings. “Oh, brilliant!” He cheerily answered. “You know, you would be surprised what the dead leave lying around.” 

“By the way, I’ve probably been in here a thousand times, but I’m always amazed at how beautiful your castle is!” Pigor complimented. 

“Thank you, Pigor.” Dr. Brainenstein acknowledged. “I employed only the top masons. Those schooled in the latest techniques of wall-stone craft.” 

The scientist curtly shoved his assistant off to the side. “Now, let’s see what you brought me!” 

Dr. Brainenstein eagerly opened the sack, expecting a horde of body parts for his latest scientific experiment, but was surprised to see the Warner children. Yakko, Wakko, and Dot huddled together and smiled at the mouse. 

“Hi!” They chorused, but Wakko belched loudly, blowing the scientist’s fur and jacket backwards like a strong gust of wind. 

“Sorry.” Wakko apologized, their cheeks turning a bright shade of pink. 

At that moment, Pinky and The Brain broke character and started laughing. The Warners soon joined in, and the five rode out their bout of laughter together. 

“Oh, classic Wakko.” Brain sighed as he wiped a tear from his eye. 

Pinky went by Brain’s side and wrapped his arm around the smaller mouse’s shoulder and turned towards the camera. “You better add this to the blooper reels! Zort!”

But the primal yell from the director brought the joyous moment to a halt. The five actors immediately huddled together as they were about to face the wrath of the man in the director’s chair. 

“What is this?” The director irately shouted. 

“Hey, Wellesley! Hope you don’t mind the surprise cameo!” Yakko replied with a playful smile to humor the irascible filmmaker. 

“Yeah, we just wanted to give our favorite mice a surprise visit.” Dot explained as she gently patted their heads. Pinky contentedly closed his eyes and began tapping his foot a mile a minute upon receiving the girl’s affection. Brain, too, was endeared by the Warner sister’s pats and smiled at her. 

“So I ate all the potatoes and we hopped into this sack!” Wakko concluded, happily stimming by flapping their hands around. 

“But the script says for Pigor to carry a large sack of potatoes and have Dr. Brainenstein to open up the sack and be squished by a pile of potatoes!” Wellesley angrily explained. “Now can someone get those pesky kids out of here and get back to the scene!” 

But before any of the crew members could intercede, Brain stepped forward, taking a defiant stand against the director. “Forgive me if what I’m about to say comes off as a crushing blow to your fragile ego, but I wholeheartedly disagree with your creative vision.” Brain argued. “I say we should keep the Warners in the short.” 

The intelligent mouse quickly retrieved the script from his coat pocket. “And one other minor criticism I have with the script is that I find the ‘wall-stone-craft’ pun to be awfully misleading.” Brain added with a stern frown. “While Mary Wollstonecraft was an illustrious writer, she did not pen the classic gothic novel Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus. Her daughter, Mary Shelley, wrote the book that this segment is parodying.” 

“Hey, the studio isn’t paying you to be a walking history book.” The director fired back. “And besides, potatoes are very funny.” 

“Perhaps in Idaho, but having a cameo appearance from the Warners would be keeping in the comedic spirit of Animaniacs in regards to rapid-fire visual gags.” Brain argued. “The kids are staying in the short, and that’s final!” 

Unbeknownst to The Brain, the Warners smiled as they watched their fellow co-worker stand up for them and make a compelling case for their inclusion. 

Pinky then rushed over to Brain’s side and faced the director. “Can the Warners stay in the segment? Pretty please, Mr. Director?” Pinky pleaded, using his best puppy dog eyes and simpering pout. 

Wellesley rubbed his forehead and gave in. “Alright, we’ll use the Warners, but the ‘wall-stone-craft’ pun stays. Now can we get back to filming please!” 

Brain smugly smiled, satisfied with the compromise. He then turned to face his dearest co-star. “Well Pinky, it appears that my excellent debate skills and your irresistible cuteness have saved comedy yet again.” Brain complimented, ruffling the taller mouse’s head. Pinky relished the small and gentle display of affection from Brain. 

“Aww, I thought I was the cute one!” Wakko sadly interjected. Dot merely rolled her eyes at her sibling’s protest. 

“Places people!” The director yelled. 

“Come on, sibs.” Yakko said as he stood up. His younger sibling followed suit and the three pulled up the potato sack and hopped their way towards the door entrance. Pinky followed the Warners and Brain immediately returned to his place behind the laboratory equipment. 

-                      -                              -                      -                        -   

Filming the rest of the segment went smoothly for the mice. Brain was able to ad-lib his rant after seeing the Warners in the sack, comparing their cameo to ‘layman’s detritus’. The mice were able to strike up a friendly rapport with the actress who played Drusilla in between takes. They listened to her fascinating background starting out as an extra on daytime soaps before making the move to horror movies and acting with heavy special effects make-up. Brain also managed to work in some improvisation near the final scene where he almost smooched his assistant in an earnest attempt to comfort him, knowing that the viewers would have a field day with that moment. 

Once they wrapped up filming the segment, Pinky and The Brain collected their paychecks and made their way through the Warner movie lot, holding hands as they strolled through the studio together. After years of wrestling with his repressed emotions and attending many therapy sessions, Brain finally professed his love to Pinky, and Pinky happily reciprocated his romantic feelings to Brain. The two started their courtship four months before they received the news that they would be returning to Animaniacs for the reboot. 

Brain ignored the curious stares from the other workers on the studio lot, instead focusing his attention on his hand, which was interlaced with Pinky’s. This was all so new to him. He was trying his best to navigate the challenging terrains of a serious romantic relationship. Thankfully, Pinky was ever so gentle and understanding with him. The taller mouse possessed strong emotional intelligence and he was able to help Brain let his guard down and help him come to terms with his own emotions. The smaller mouse was still slowly getting used to public displays of affection from Pinky. 

Pinky recognized Brain’s nervousness and started to make small-talk to keep his mind occupied. “Oh, that ‘Bride of Pinky’ segment was so much fun, Brain!” The buck-toothed mouse proclaimed. 

“Indeed it was” Brain politely replied with a small smile. 

“And your improv was on point!” Pinky praised. “Dr. Brainenstein trying to kiss Pigor after the loss of his monster wife was brilliant!” 

“Well, your performance was believable as always, Pinky.” Brain kindly complimented. 

“Yeah, I’m glad those last couple segments were more on the fun and heartwarming side.” Pinky added. 

Brain nodded his head. He was still bitter at the writers who penned that dreaded ‘Mousechurian Candidate’ script for a number of reasons. The material had angered him, but deeply disturbed Pinky to the point that he had been hiding himself in his trailer after each scene. Brain and Julia did their best to reassure their poor co-worker that they were only acting. But once they had received the scripts for ‘The Babysitter’s Flub’ and ‘Bride of Pinky’, Brain was relieved that the following segments focused on the comedic and affectionate relationship the two leads shared. This renewed Brain’s hope that the reboot would manage to retain the magic of the original series. 

Meanwhile, the Warners bounced around the movie lot, looking for a way to let out their energy. Yakko spotted Pinky and The Brain walking together. He stopped Wakko and Dot and gestured over to their co-stars. The three made one long leap towards the mice. 

“Hey, fellas!” Yakko greeted. “Listen, we just wanna thank you two for vouching for us earlier.” 

“We really appreciate you two standing up for us.” Wakko added. 

“Oh, your welcome.” Brain said. “It’s awfully rare that we cross paths in the show, but Pinky and I welcome your enthusiastic presence.” 

“Personally, I’ve always been an admirer of your sophisticated wit and earnest comedic chemistry.” Dot complimented. 

Pinky looked bashfully at Dot. “Zort! Oh you’re far too kind!” 

“Oh, I have something important to tell you two.” Wakko announced. “So I told my siblings this a while back, and I want you to know that I’m Non-Binary!” The middle child turned their hat around to reveal the pin of the Non-Binary flag on the front of their cap. “Egad, you have zero binaries? Why that’s incredible!” Pinky exclaimed as he eagerly shook Wakko’s hand. 

“That’s wonderful, Wakko.” Brain congratulated. “And could you kindly inform us of your pronouns?” 

“I currently use he/they pronouns.” Wakko answered. 

“Well, Pinky and I are very happy for you.” Brain kindly told the middle child. 

“Aw, thanks!” Wakko said with a sincere smile. Yakko playfully ruffled his sibling’s head, causing Wakko to give their older brother a soft shove. 

“Well, as much as I would love to converse with you further, Pinky and I need to go to the bank to deposit our checks, and return to the lab to discuss our plans for world domination.” Brain explained, tugging his taller partner along. “See you soon, children!” 

“Bye-bye kiddies!” Pinky addressed the kids with a friendly wave. 

“Bye!” The Warners chorused before bouncing about on their merry way back to the water tower. 

Unbeknownst to the mice and the Warners, they were being watched by Warner Brothers CEO, Nora Rita Norita, from the top floor of the WB office building. The businesswoman looked through the blinds and noticed the great rapport between the five actors. 

She flashed a menacing smile before releasing her grip from the blinds. 

Additional AN: So this chapter is mostly set up, establishing the friendly rapport between the Warners and the mice. 

Like my previous story, Those We Hold Dear, Pinky and the Brain work as actors and that most of the segments were filmed on the Warner movie lot (the period piece ones like How to Brain Your Dragon, Pinko and the Brain, Bride of Pinky, 1001 Narfs, and I added Mousechurian Candidate because of how poorly executed it was and the writers really did those characters dirty. And I was inspired by a post by @themurphyzone about episode 8 while referencing that episode in the story. While other segments like Ex-Mousina and Roadent Trip will be referenced later on in the story, occurred in-universe. 

And I chose to start the story with the characters filming Bride of Pinky because I loved that little cameo from the Warners and thought it would be fun to play around with the idea of what went on behind the scenes. Also, I decided to expand on that director who kept yelling when something went wrong while filming, and decided to name him Wellesley after the one of the producers of the reboot, Wellesley Wild. 

I also made the self-indulgent inclusion that Brain finally attended therapy because I love that grumpy little mouse and I wanted to at least have some of his emotional issues straightened out. 

As of now, this multi-chapter story is mostly complete, and I just need to add in some details in certain scenes, so I will do my best to post new chapters frequently. 

Thanks for reading! 

[alarawriting]

52 Project #35: The Swan Wife

Surely you have once heard a story almost, but not entirely, like this one, about a man and a swan, though in this story, there is also a woman and a cat.

In a fishing village there lived a brother and sister, in the same home. Neither of them were married, so in matters of their household arrangements – though in no other regard – they lived as a husband and wife would. The sister cooked and cleaned and spun and mended, and the brother made a living as a fisherman, bringing home a catch every day to sell or to eat.

One might think such an arrangement would come about because a brother and sister loved each other too much to make a household with another, or some such, but the reality was very different. The father had actually made a will, and his wife their mother had signed it as well, that when they died and their son inherited their home, he was not permitted to put his sister out of the house until she had a husband. The brother treated his sister cruelly, hoping to drive her to leave their home herself, but there was nowhere else she could go, so she stayed.

Neither of them could find anyone to marry. People in the village talked about them and the strangeness of their arrangement. Women shunned the brother, wondering how it would be possible to live as a wife to a man whose sister already played that role. Men shunned the sister, thinking perhaps her relationship with her brother was less chaste than it was… and in truth the sister didn’t try very hard to convince any man otherwise. So they continued to live together, though they no longer liked each other. While the brother never struck the sister, his stream of insults and demands only let up when he was sleeping or fishing.

The sister had a little cat, a pretty little tabby queen, who was clever at catching mice and rats, and the little cat produced litters of kittens from time to time, as queen cats do. When the brother was displeased with the sister, he would threaten the cat and her kittens. The sister had to behave toward her brother as if she were a servant, to keep her little cat and her cat’s kittens safe. So she endured the insults, and the demands, cruel and unreasonable as they were.

One day, the brother was out fishing on the lake, with his boat in the reeds and lily pads, hidden away. He did this because the fish had learned to fear the shadow of a boat, but where there were so many plants disrupting the light that hit the water, the fish could not tell the difference, and had no fear. It also hid him away, and occasionally, that enabled him to spy on young women as they came to the lake to bathe.

He saw six beautiful swans gliding past. As he watched, they glided into another patch of reeds and lilies, hidden from the rest of the shore by a large rock jutting from the ground, and a tree… but from where he was, he could see them clearly. And so he saw each of them remove her feathers, and drape them as a cloak on the large rock. Underneath the cloaks, they proved to be beautiful maidens. Each was tall and strong, with skin that rarely saw sunlight, as white as a swan’s feathers, and dark hair like the dark patch of feathers around a swan’s beak.

As the fisherman watched, he saw one of them climb the tree, and toss down bundles to her sisters. Another climbed to the top of the rock, and handed the six swan-feather cloaks up to the one in the tree, who hid them away among the branches. Each of the swan-women dressed in women’s clothing, and they went around the tree and headed off on the path to town.

Quickly, the fisherman poled his boat over to that shore. He had watched carefully where each woman placed her cloak, and then had watched as the one on the rock and the one in the tree worked to stash away the cloaks, so he knew which cloak belonged to the youngest-looking of the sisters. All of the swan-women were tall and strong, but one was shorter than the others, more delicate of face and more slender of build. She was the only of the swan-women who was shorter than he was, and he thought her to be the most beautiful of them.

The fisherman climbed the tree, with difficulty, because he was not as strong and flexible and hale as the swan-woman who’d done it earlier, and he took the cloak of the youngest of the swan-sisters. He carried it away in his boat, to the secret hut where he hid the treasures he didn’t want his sister to know he had – money he had earned that he’d never told her of, things he had purchased for himself and himself alone that he didn’t wish to share, things he had stolen from their joint inheritance and then claimed he didn’t know the whereabouts of. And in that secret hut, he laid the swan cloak in a chest, and then placed his mother’s heirloom quilt, which had been intended for his sister, on top of the cloak. And then he returned to his spot on the lake, to fish and to wait.

Six fair young women returned by the path, laughing and chattering amongst themselves, and one of them climbed into the tree as the others disrobed. The one in the tree tossed down five cloaks, but then said, “Slow Paddle’s cloak isn’t here!”

“What happened to it?” the youngest-looking woman, barely more than a girl, called up. “Didn’t you put it in the tree for safekeeping?”

“I did! An animal must have taken it!”

“Well, what am I to do?” Slow Paddle cried out. “I can’t return home without it!”

“You’ll have to search for it,” one of the others said, the one that appeared to be the eldest.

“I’m going to have to search for it? It was Swift Wings who put it in the tree! She must not have secured it properly! She should help me!”

Swift Wings had climbed down out of the tree and was disrobing, as the other swan women were putting on their feathered cloaks and turning into swans. “It’ll be dark soon. Who can find anything that way? We can help you tomorrow.”

“Well, what am I to do tonight?”

Two of the sisters, who were now swans, honked at her. Swift Wings, the only other swan-woman who was still in her woman-form, shrugged. “I don’t know. What do humans do at night? Find someplace to sleep, and come back to the bank in the morning, and look for your cloak then.” She shrugged her cloak on. “Maybe go back to the pub, get some meat and some ale, and honk honk”. Now she was a swan. She honked a few more times, the “unh-UNH” double call of a swan, before swimming away.

The brother poled his boat to shore. “Young lady. I hear you’re having difficulty finding a missing cloak?” He smirked at her.

“Yes! Oh, have you seen it? It’s a cloak of swan feathers!”

“Seen it? My lady, I have it, in my possession.” His grin grew bigger.

The girl did not seem to realize her situation. “You do? Oh, wonderful! Please, give it to me!”

“No.” Now his grin nearly split his face.

The swan-girl’s own face fell. “No?... but why not?”

“Because I will have you for a wife, and you will cook and clean for me and bear my children, and in four-and-twenty years I will give you back the cloak and let you return to your sisters.”

“What? No! I won’t do that, why would I marry you? You’re not even a swan!”

“Right now, neither are you,” the fisherman said.

“Give me my cloak!”

The girl lunged at the man, and she was large, and strong, but he was larger and stronger. Had he been beset by all six of the swan-women, or perhaps even just two of them, the outcome would have been different, but as it was, he was more adept with fighting in a human body, and bigger, and so he pinned her without great difficulty. “I will not give you your cloak unless you marry me,” he said.

“I don’t want to marry you.”

“Then I’ll leave here, and destroy the cloak.”

“No! You can’t do that!”

“Then marry me,” he said.

“I’ll follow you! I’ll find where you put my cloak—”

“You’ll do no such thing,” he said. “You’re alone, my dear girl. Your sisters have left you. If you were to follow me, to try to find the cloak, without agreeing to be my wife, I would beat you and leave you bloody on the road. The only way you will ever see your cloak again is if you agree to be my wife.”

Defeated, the swan girl finally agreed to marry the fisherman. He forced a kiss on her when finally she said yes, and then helped her to her feet and led her to his home.

“Sister!” he called. “This woman is my betrothed, and tomorrow I will take her to the church and marry her!”

“A woman was finally willing to have you? What a wonderful day,” the fisherman’s sister said sarcastically. “Let me see her… oh, she’s very beautiful, brother. Far more beautiful than you could have won fairly.”

“Shut up,” the fisherman snapped. “Your cat is about this house someplace, I’m sure.”

“Chasing mice that eat our grain, and earning her keep,” the sister snapped, but she said nothing more about her brother’s new bride. Instead, she made up a bed for the beautiful young woman, and shared with her some of the porridge of the night’s dinner.

***

After the fisherman and the swan-woman were wed, the fisherman’s cruelty to his sister grew even greater.

Nothing she cooked was good enough for his new bride. The thread she spun was too rough. The cottage wasn’t clean enough. When she objected, he threatened her cat again.

But he didn’t seem to treat his bride well, either. When she spoke out of turn, he glared at her, and said, “Remember what I’ve promised,” and she fell quiet. And at night, the fisherman’s sister could hear the young woman sobbing.

She knew nothing of the work of women, it seemed. She didn’t know how to cook, or how to spin, or how to clean. She could count money, and do figures with it, but that seemed to be all. The fisherman’s sister tried to teach her, but the fisherman’s wife sighed, and paid little attention, and said things such as “You’re so much better than me, how would I ever begin to compete?”, which seemed to the sister to be a polite way of saying “You do it.”

One day as the fisherman was out at his work, the new wife walked to the lake, moping all the way. From the house, the sister could see her outline sitting on the rock, head hung low. “Why must she mope so?” she said to herself.

Her little cat answered her. “Because she is a swan. Your brother stole her feathered cloak, and threatened to destroy it if she would not marry him.”

The sister stared at the cat. “How long have you been able to talk?” she asked, bewildered.

The cat washed her paw. “How long have you?”

“My whole life! Humans begin to talk when we’re infants! But you’re a cat!”

“I am glad you noticed I am a cat,” the cat said. “You are my beloved friend, and I’d hate to think you were too stupid to realize that I am a cat.”

“But how can you talk?”

“How can a girl become a swan by putting on a cloak?” the cat said rhetorically. “The world is larger and stranger than you know, dear friend.”

The sister sat down at the table, staring at the cat. “All right. But then why have you chosen to speak to me now?”

“Because I am afraid,” the cat said. “Now that he has a wife, your brother has no use for you. The law says he must give you shelter so long as you are not married, for that was your father’s wish. But if he were to lie about you—accuse you of being unchaste, or calling you a witch, or some other terrible lie—he could have you locked away in prison, or stoned to death, or hung, and then he would never have to worry about you learning how he has stolen from you. You are my dear friend who’s protected me and my kittens from that man. I must protect you in turn.”

“Wait, my brother has stolen from me?”

“Oh, he has blackmailed a swan into becoming his wife and he may betray you with lies to be jailed or executed, and it’s the stealing that bothers you?”

“What has he stolen?” the sister demanded.

“Many things. How should I know exactly? I’m a cat, these human possessions are of no import to me. There was a nice blanket once; I remember it was on your bed when I was a kitten, but I saw him carry it away while you were at the market, once, and never did it return.”

“My mother’s quilt. He said he thought that had been stolen while we were both away from the house. He accused me of leaving it out to dry where some ne’er-do-well could take it. I never did any such thing!”

“Of course you didn’t. A liar and criminal will always accuse you of the crimes they themselves have committed.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I don’t,” the cat said, “because my territory is small. There is a fierce queen-cat who patrols her territory all around mine, and she has tomcat sons who serve her, and chase away cats like me, for I am a very little cat. But if you bring me a fish from your brother’s catch, and a bowl of cream, I will have the strength to outrun her and her sons, and I will follow your brother and see if I can find where he has hidden the things he stole.”

“Why do the tomcats chase you away? You’re a beautiful little queen-cat; don’t they want to take you as mate?”

“Only when I’m in heat,” the cat said, her tail swishing. “And when I’m in heat, I don’t think about such things as the antics of human men. I am sorry for my coarseness, but if you are not a tomcat with a fine strong body and the stamina to mate until I’m satisfied, then when I’m in heat I’m really unconcerned with you.”

“That’s rude,” the sister said, “although I suppose it is true, given how I’ve seen you behave.” She sighed. “Well. It’s dangerous to steal a fish from my brother’s catch. If he learns I’ve taken one for you, he will probably try to beat you, perhaps even kill you. And I can’t steal enough cream for a whole bowl without him catching me.”

“Why not ask his bride to catch the fish for you, then?” the cat said. “She is a swan. She must know how to catch fish.”

The sister was unsure that her brother’s bride knew much of anything. All she ever did was mope about, stare out the window, or go down to the lake, where she moped and stared. Perhaps the little cat was right, and her brother’s wife was a swan; it would explain how she managed to be so useless.

She went out to the lake to speak to her brother’s wife. “You should come back to the house,” she said.

The wife sighed. “Do you have more things you want me to learn?”

“We have something important to talk about,” the sister said.

When they were in the house, where the fisherman out on the lake in his boat couldn’t overhear, the sister said, “I know what you are.”

“So does your brother,” the wife said, rolling her eyes. “It’s hardly a great secret, if you were planning to blackmail me with it.”

“I’m not my brother,” the sister said. “He treats you terribly. If you had your cloak, you would be able to fly away from here, wouldn’t you?”

“Do you know where my cloak is?!” the wife demanded urgently.

“No, but I have a friend who says she can help me find it. All I need is a fish and some cream, and I can borrow cream from the neighbor. You’re a swan, do you know how to fish?”

“Not without a beak!” the swan-woman exclaimed. “You humans and your hands, your fingers are clever little things but a fish slips right through them! Your brother is a fisherman, you should be able to get a fish without my help.”

“If he catches me taking a fish, he might try to kill my cat.”

The swan-woman tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Kill your cat?”

“He threatens you that you will never have your cloak again. He threatens me that he will kill my little cat. If he beats us, we can go to the magistrate and demand he be thrown in jail, but if he kills a cat or destroys a cloak, that’s not a crime anyone will take seriously.”

“Well, your laws say that what a man owns, his wife owns also. I will just take a fish from his catch for your friend. And another one for myself. He doesn’t let me eat nearly as much of the fish as he should.”

And so when the fisherman returned to the dock, his wife was there waiting for him, near the carts the fishmongers would use to carry his catch out to the market. Before he could hand the catch over to the fishmongers, his wife grabbed two large fish out of the catch.

“What are you doing?” he shouted.

“What’s mine is yours and yours is mine, isn’t that the rule of marriage?” she said. “I’m craving fish. I will take these two.”

“I won’t allow you to just take any fish you like!” he yelled after her, but she was already walking away.

Other fishermen joked with him. “She’s a feisty one you’ve caught!”

“Let her have the fish, man, she’ll reward you well enough at night!”

“Never argue with your wife. That’s the lesson I’ve learned after thirty years of marriage.”

“Cravings might mean pregnancy! If she wants raw fish, could be she’s got your son in her belly!”

The fisherman scowled, but did nothing further to try to stop his wife from walking away with her fish.

The swan-woman returned to the house with one fish, having eaten the other raw. “Here is the fish for your friend,” she said, and gave it to the sister.

Then the sister went to her neighbor, and traded some precious honeycomb that she’d bought with the funds from her brother’s fish sales for a bit of cream. Her brother kept track of the cream, because it was a treat for cats and he resented anything his sister gave to her cat, but cats do not like honey, so he paid little attention to that.

Out behind the trees around the house, in the small garden the sister kept so she would have something to trade for material to spin and sewing needles, the sister put down the cream and the fish for the little cat. The cat rested beside the bowl and the fish all night, occasionally nibbling or lapping, until in the early morning, before the sun had risen, the fisherman prepared to leave. Then the cat ate all of the fish she had remaining and drank all of the rest of the cream.

She followed after the fisherman, padding silently as cats do. When he turned for any reason, she hid in the shadows. But as she drew close to the lake, she was best by her rival’s two tomcat-sons. They were large, black cats, one with a white bib and one with a white spot in the middle of his tail.

“You are in our mother’s territory,” they said. “Leave, before we tear your ears off!”

The little cat huffed. “You had no problem with my visiting your mother’s territory when you wanted to mate with me,” she said. “And you, Spot-on-tail! I bore you four fine kittens! You should let me pass!”

The tomcat with the white spot on his tail raised it with irritation. “I’m a tomcat. I have no concern for the kittens I father; I’ve been with a dozen queen-cats and had a dozen litters of kittens carrying my bloodline. You aren’t special.”

“I am special,” the queen-cat said. “Because I have a friend I hold dear, who I am fighting for, and when I fight for my friend I can be as ferocious as any dog.”

The tomcats laughed at her, but they didn’t laugh long. With the strength and speed that the fish and the cream gave her, the little cat leapt onto White-bib and tore at his ear, snarling in fury. White-bib hissed and yowled and tried to dislodge her, but the little cat had hooked her claws into his skin and he could not remove her without drawing his own blood. He tried to twist his head to bite her, but that resulted in his ear being torn.

“Say you will give me free passage into your mother’s territory. Say it, or I will rip both your ears off!”

“All right! All right! You can have free passage into our mother’s territory!”

She jumped off, only to be beset by Spot-on-tail. “I promised you nothing!” he said. “You may have bested my brother, but you won’t defeat me!”

The little cat raced halfway up a nearby tree – and then, as Spot-on-tail sat at the base yowling at her, she leapt down from the tree, directly onto him, and bit and scratched him all about his tail. When he twisted his head to try to bite at her, she kicked him in the face with her clawed hind leg. Soon she had extracted from him a promise that he would give her passage as well.

And so the little cat continued on to the lake. The fisherman was already out on the lake with his boat, but the cat had spied on him before and knew the trick he liked, so she went up into a tree near where he liked to hide in the reeds.

When he poled his boat over there to rest in the shade and catch frogs in traps, she called out to him. “Fisherman! Fisherman, beware! Be wary!”

“What? Who is speaking to me?”

“I am the spirit of this lake,” the cat said, “and you are my beloved friend! I give you fish and frogs and ducks to sell at market, and I gave to you a wife. But your wife has sisters, and they threaten your happiness!”

“I took my wife for myself! No one helped me!”

“Oh, no? Who do you think grew a perfect spot for you to rest and hide, where you could see the swan women but they could not see you?”

The fisherman acknowledged that indeed, the lake had done that. “But what are you warning me of?”

“Your wife’s sisters are even now searching for their sister’s cloak! You must go back to the place you have hidden her cloak, before they find it, and make sure it is securely locked and sealed!”

“But it is definitely securely locked and sealed. I know, I sealed it myself.”

“But you must check to be sure! Otherwise your wife’s sisters may take back her cloak and bring it to her, and you will lose her!”

Swearing, the fisherman tied up his boat on the shore and got out, wading a short distance through the muck from the boat to the bank of the lake. He began running to his secret hiding place, and the little cat followed silently. She did not make the mistake of running to catch up with him, else he might hear her coming; instead she followed the muddy tracks his boots made in the dirt and grass as he ran.

When he reached his hiding place, he unlocked it with his key, which lived on his belt at all times. “Oh! Very good; no one has touched the secret chest where my wife’s feathered cloak is hidden!” he exclaimed. “No one has disturbed my sister’s fine quilt, lying on top of the cloak and keeping it from anyone’s eyes! The chest is still locked, and so was the door to my little shed!” He locked the shed back up. “There! No swan will get through this door; only someone with the key or with a stout axe could get through this strong wooden door, and swans cannot carry keys or axes!”

He returned to the lake, feeling safe. The little cat headed back for her house, following an old path she remembered from kittenhood, before her rival queen-cat had taken the territory around her home.

In the house, she told her friend, the fisherman’s sister, of what she had seen and heard. “I can guide you to that shed by the light of the moon, tonight,” she said.

“Should we try to steal my brother’s key?” the sister asked, worriedly. “Even in his cups, he is always careful to guard his keys. He even sleeps with them.”

The swan-woman waved a hand dismissively. “All we need is his axe. I have the strength to swing it if you do not.” She turned to the cat. “I am surprised. I thought you cats were selfish and fickle. Why are you helping me?”

“I’m not,” the cat said. “I don’t care about you, but I care about my dear friend. You think cats are selfish, but that is only because we only take on obligations out of love, not gratitude. Feed me every day but treat me cruelly, and I owe you nothing, and will do nothing for you. Feed me every day but never pet me, and chase me from your bed at night, and I owe you nothing and will do nothing for you. But feed me every day, and protect me and my kittens from harm, and let me sleep on your bed, and pet me, and brush burrs out of my coat when I’ve walked in sharp places, and then you will earn my love… and for who I love, I will do anything.”

“Then why do you care?” the swan woman said. “Why set your friend the cat to finding my cloak for me?”

The sister could have said, Because my brother has been stealing from me, and in the place he hides your cloak, he has also hid much of my inheritance. She could have said, Because my cat friend fears that now that my brother has you, as soon as you have learned to cook and clean, he will find a way to dispose of me. Instead she found herself saying, “Because you are too beautiful to be trapped in this life, with this man. You have done nothing to earn the cruel fate of being bound to him.”

“And you have?” the swan-woman asked.

The sister bowed her head. “No, but nonetheless, it is my fate. He is my brother, and my parents bound us to share our inheritance. I do not have a feathered cloak, to change into a swan and fly away. Humans must live with other humans; we cannot forage for all our food as wild animals like swans can.”

“Is he the only human who you can live with, then?”

“If I were to marry, I could leave this place and live with my husband.”

“Why don’t you, then?” asked the swan-woman.

The sister had never said this to anyone, for fear of being judged. But she knew the swan-woman wouldn’t judge her. “When I think of lying in bed with a man, even one who is handsome and kind, the thought brings me to despair – more despair than living with a man who is cruel, but never touches me. I have never once wanted the touch of a man, ever.” She sighed. “But I fear for you! Swans mate for life, don’t they? Will you be cast aside, unable to take a male swan as your husband, because you have first been with my human brother?”

The swan-woman laughed. “Swans mate for life, when we choose our mates. Your brother blackmailed me; he is no chosen mate of mine. As for a swan to mate with, I have never before danced in courtship for another swan, or been danced for, but when I do, it will be with a female swan, not a male one.”

“How can that be?” the sister asked. “You are a female swan, aren’t you?”

“I am a female swan, but sometimes a female swan wishes only to mate with another female swan, and sometimes the same is true for a female human, isn’t that true?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Is the thing that gives you despair to think of simply the touch of a man or the touch of any human?”

“What do you mean?”

And then the swan-woman bent down and kissed her husband’s sister on the lips, and it made the sister’s heart leap, the way her friends of girlhood told her it felt to kiss a boy they loved, the way no boy had made her feel in her life. But still she was confused, and when the swan-woman broke the kiss, she said again, “I don’t understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand. Either it makes you feel good to kiss me, or it doesn’t. Does it?”

“It – it does, but…”

“But nothing. Then you are a woman who loves women, and I am a pen who loves pens.”

“Pens?”

“That is the word for a female swan. A male is a cob. I have cobs for friends, but when any of them have tried to dance the mating dance with me, I swam away. I only want to dance with pens. The kiss, there, that is how humans dance the mating dance, right?”

“…yes… I think so…”

The cat cleared her throat. “The fisherman will be back soon. He probably should not see his sister and his wife kissing, don’t you agree?”

“Oh – yes! Yes, he definitely should not,” the sister said, stepping back in a flurry of embarrassment and, still, confusion. “I have to cook a meal, still, or he’ll be angry when he returns!”

“How will we make sure he sleeps, when we go to retrieve my cloak?” the swan-wife asked.

“When I give him his wine with his dinner, I won’t water it. He will sleep quicker and more deeply, that way.”

***

As the fisherman slept deeply that night, his sister, his wife and the little cat journeyed forward with the axe, through the darkness. There was a half moon, and it was clouded, so the sister had difficulty, but the cat and the swan-woman seemed to be able to see well enough.

The little cat had paid no attention to whether humans could make their way through the path she had found, so many times, the women needed to push their way through a bush or make their way around a bramble, where the cat could just go under. They came to a fence and needed to go all the way around to find the path again, where the cat was waiting for them, having jumped the fence and run through the yard.

And then, a short distance from the fence, the little cat was attacked by a large tortoiseshell queen. The women heard nothing but spitting, hissing and yowling, but the little cat heard the queen say, “How dare you intrude in my territory? How dare you frighten my sons so they won’t defend my territory from you? I’ll kill you! I’ll tear your eyes out and your ears off!”

The little cat said, “Your sons need to leave your territory and go out into the world! Kittens aren’t supposed to live with their mothers forever! Let them have a life away from you!”

This was just bravado. The little cat was very scared, because she was only a little cat, and the tortoiseshell queen was large and strong. But the swan-woman, showing no fear of being bitten or scratched, waded into the cat-fight. She lifted the tortoiseshell, who yowled and tried to scratch her, but she held the tortoiseshell far from her body, walked to the fence, and dropped the angry cat on the other side. “Let’s go, little cat,” the swan-woman said. “That fence won’t keep her, but the humiliation might, at least for a bit.”

Finally they came to the shed. The little cat showed them the stout wooden door and the iron lock on it. But the sister gave the wife the axe she had carried, and the swan-wife was strong enough to make short work of the door.

Inside, the little cat showed them the chest, and the swan-wife chopped through that as well.

“My quilt!” the sister exclaimed, and took it from the chest. Beneath it was the swan cloak. The sister lifted the swan cloak and handed it to the swan-wife. “And this is yours.”

The swan-woman took it from her reverently. “My cloak,” she whispered.

The sister looked all around the room. “So many of my mother’s things,” she said softly, but with great anger. “I would understand if he took these things to sell them – never forgive, but I would understand. But what did he gain by taking what should have been mine and hiding it away from me?”

“I don’t know,” the swan-woman said, leaving the small shed. “Some men are that way. Some women, too, I imagine. Swans aren’t like that. Though I know of a goose who steals things the way a crow does, because they’re shiny and pretty. Perhaps he hid them away because he wanted to give them to a wife, but he needed you gone first.”

“Or perhaps he’s just cruel,” the sister said bitterly.

“That seems likely.” The swan-wife dropped her dress to the ground, and began to put on the feather-cloak, but hesitated. She looked at the sister. “I wish…”

“What do you wish?”

“Never mind,” the swan-wife said. “Perhaps the next time I’m human, I’ll come to visit you. But that may not be for a long time.”

“I understand. Godspeed, my friend, and god be with you.”

The woman finished shrugging into her cloak, and she was a swan, long-necked and beautiful. She called out, a sound almost like a duck quacking, and then she took wing and was gone.

The sister watched as the swan flew away. Then she turned to the little cat. “He’ll be angry when he sees her gone. You should hide for a few days.”

“I understand,” the little cat said, and ran off, her tail waving high in the air. She stopped a short distance away, and turned back. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

***

When the fisherman returned, he stomped into the house, calling “Wife! Wife! Where are you?”

His sister was at the stove, kneading bread to bake with the stew she was making. She smiled maliciously at him. “Oh, she might be lying down to rest in my room.”

“In your room? Why wouldn’t she be in my room?” The fisherman went to his sister’s room, opened the door… and saw the quilt their mother had made for her. The one he had hidden away, and put his wife’s swan cloak under.

He ran back into the kitchen. “Where is my wife?” he demanded.

“She found an unusual feathered cloak in a shed, hidden in a chest,” the sister said. “And what do you know? All the things we’ve lost since mother and father died were there as well!” She finished kneading the dough and began shaping a loaf. “In any case, the strangest thing happened! She put on the cloak, and transformed into a swan, and then she flew away!”

The brother was enraged, but there was nothing he could do. His wife was gone, and the swan sisters had been careful about where they hid their cloaks now; he had thought perhaps he could steal another cloak, and sell it to another man in town who wasn’t married yet, but he hadn’t found where they were putting their cloaks now.

But if he couldn��t get his wife back, at least he could get rid of his sister.

***

In the town, he told the magistrate that his sister had turned his wife to a swan, and that she was a witch. She had a cat as a familiar, and uncanny powers to find things that had been hidden.

No one in the town truly knew the sister. She kept to herself. Her friends from girlhood had moved away, finding husbands and leaving the village to be with them, and all that the men and women of the town knew was that she rarely talked to anyone, and she lived alone with her brother. The idea that she might be a witch was very, very plausible.

And so the magistrates arrested her, and there was a very quick trial, in which fishermen who owed her brother favors lied and claimed they’d seen her turn herself into a bat, and they’d seen her turn her brother’s wife into a swan, and that she danced in dark revels with the devil at night. The sister tried to defend herself, but how do you defend yourself against utter absurdity that so many people believe without evidence?

Her little cat came back home, to find that she wasn’t there. The cat explored the town, carefully, because humans were always a potential danger if she didn’t know them… and she happened upon her friend, looking out the window of her jail cell.

“Little cat!” her friend called. “They’ve accused me of being a witch, and they’re going to burn me tomorrow!”

The cat stopped dead, tail switching. “I was afraid of this,” she said.

“I’m so sorry. You’ll have to find a new home; it won’t be safe at home, when I’m gone. My brother will kill you if he can catch you.”

“I won’t allow this to happen,” the cat said, and ran away.

The sister was relieved to hear that the cat would be safe. But the cat didn’t mean she would stay safe.

She ran out toward the lake. This time, the tortoiseshell queen and her two black tom sons waited for her between the village and the lake. “You don’t have your human to help you this time, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” the little cat said. “My human is in the jail, accused of witchcraft. Don’t you know what happens when humans think one of theirs is a witch?”

The cats looked at each other. The two toms were black cats. They knew well the danger when humans were swept up in fear of witches.

“What do you think you can do about that?” the tortoiseshell snarled.

“Follow me and watch,” the little tabby said.

With the other three cats following her, the little cat went to the lake, and climbed up on the rock. She called out. “Swan sisters! Swan sisters! Heed me!”

The swans on the lake came closer. “My friend, the fisherman’s sister, is accused of witchcraft, because she helped your youngest sister get free of her brother, who stole her cloak. Now they’ve accused her of turning your youngest sister into a swan, and they’ll burn her at the stake tomorrow!”

The swans honked frantically and angrily.  The little cat meowed. And then all the swans took to the air and flew away.

***

At dawn, the magistrates took the sister out to the center of the town, where a stake had been prepared, and began binding her to it.

And then six swans came down from the sky, and five set upon the magistrates, the executioner standing by with his torch, the brother waiting eagerly with the crowd of observers, and the rest of the crowd, honking and hissing, pecking and biting, flapping their wings and driving everyone away. The last swan landed with a cloak of feathers in her beak. She dropped it and bit away at the ropes holding the sister to the stake. As the sister pulled herself free, the swan partially removed her own feathered cloak, taking the form of a woman wearing a cloak half-on rather than a swan anymore.

She bent down to where she had dropped the feather cloak, and handed it to the sister. “This is for you, if you want it.”

“For me?” The sister took the cloak. “I thought you were magic. I thought you had to be born the way you are. Will this even work for me?”

“It will,” Slow Paddle, the fisherman’s wife, said. All around the two of them there were screams and shouts and bird cries, as Slow Paddle’s five sisters fought an entire crowd of humans, driving them from the town square. “I have been making it for you since you freed me. I don’t know if you want it; I don’t know if you would want to be a swan, with my sisters and me. But I know that I would love nothing more than for you to join us, if you would wish it so.”

The sister finally understood, and smiled. “Surely there are other pens you could court?”

“Surely there are… but I am already in love. If you turn me away, I will find an opportunity to love again, someday, but when swans love we are slow to turn our hearts in another direction.”

“I will be happy to join you,” the sister said, “but what will become of my little cat?”

“We live on the lake,” the swan-woman said, “but when it is freezing cold or the rains are fierce, we have a hut we fly to, and a fire we keep. Your cat can live there, and come out to the lake with us when we are swans, and you can catch fish for her with your beak.”

“Then I will do it. How do I use this?”

The swan-woman showed the sister how to put on the cloak… and kissed her quickly as she did, while they both still had lips and not beaks. And then they were both swans, and they spiraled up into the air, joined quickly by five more swans, who’d successfully driven most of the humans from the town square.

***

The little cat lived in the hut with the swan-women, hunting outdoors as she pleased. She attempted to fish in the lake, but after falling in twice and needing to be rescued by her swan friend, she was content to sit on the bank and watch the water. She had many more litters of kittens, and all grew to be as fierce in the hunt and as loving in their friendships as she was.

The town was gripped by the fear of witches for a while, and so many cats were forced to hide out in the wilderness. The queen tortoiseshell was forced to yield her territory, with so many other cats moving into it. Eventually, though, the fever passed, and cats could live with their favorite humans in safety again.

The brother was never again able to fish. When he would go out on his boat, seven swans would attack him, and he had no luck in fighting them off even when he used his pole for a weapon. All of his secret stash of funds and hidden objects disappeared the night his sister became a swan, so he had nothing left to fall back on. He eventually ended his days as a drunken beggar, living in the streets of the town, holding out his cup to anyone who would drop a coin in it. In the meantime, the swans’ hut was well-furnished, with a soft quilt and beautiful decorations, and when they flew to a town to become humans and spend some time eating, drinking and shopping as humans, the swan-women had plenty of money to buy what they wished.

Humans cannot tell the difference between pens and cobs at a distance, and Slow Paddle was larger than her new love, her ex-husband’s sister, so humans pointed the two of them out for years as an example of the true love of swans, without ever realizing they were both pens. They didn’t care. Swans have no concern with what humans think of who they love. They never raised a clutch of cygnets of their own together, but they were loving and caring aunts to the cygnets the other swan-women and their cob husbands had.

And so the cat and the swans lived, as close to happily ever after as anyone, swan, human, or cat, can ever achieve.

[dimeadoesnt]

New fic is up!

I’ve been sitting on this one a while, but the first chapter is up here and on AO3!

Rating: teen and up

Warning: (semi)graphic depictions of violence

Word count: 4,418

Lone wolf

Summary: A brief hunting trip leads to more trouble than anyone could have anticipated after sniper is left with an unnatural bite, from an unnatural source.Not that anyone should be surprised, this is hardly the strangest thing to happen to happen to them

Ch. 1: predator and prey

Despite the growing warmth of spring, Romania’s winter clung stubbornly to all that would allow it. The winds still nipped at exposed skin, the ground was still firm throughout valleys and glades, and despite the burning of circuitry and searing bullet-holes, what was once the shells of robots turned icy in a matter of minutes. In all it had taken a little less than a day for four of Mann Co.‘s mercenaries to rid the world of them, if for no other reason than they stood in the way of gathering intelligence. It wasn’t as if they had a choice in the matter, programming was unquestioned, undoubted, and undisturbed in its complicity of ‘shoot what moves.’ Granted, that hardly seemed important when they all ended up as scrap metal anyways.

At least those were the thoughts silently floating around Snipers mind as he sat atop one of the larger bots they’d done in, pulling against his bowstring to test the weight it could pull after a few adjustments.

He’d made up his mind that a hunt wouldn’t be a half-bad idea. Evening was falling on their little group now waiting for confirmation on their return plan, but with the nearby forests shadows stretching on to cast shade along the hidden base, grabbing a few provisions seemed the right choice. A deer if he was lucky, or a few rabbits if they were not. Engineer would probably take what he was offered, scout ate almost anything put in front of him and spy... well spy could complain all he wanted, food was food and if he wanted something better he could find it himself.

The sharpshooter mulled over how much gear he would actually need, giving pause as he decided packing light would prove effective, the less he had weighing him down the better. He gave pause to his thoughts however, as his attention was pulled from them to the slight shift of weight behind him.

“What dyou want, mongrel?” He asked, going back to examining his gear by smoothing out the fletching between his fingers.

“How’d you know I was behind you?” Scout asked, rounding out from behind the automatons husk with an aggrieved glare. “I was quiet as hell, like a literal mouse couldn’t do any better.”

“Owls hear mice all the time, consider it a predator vs prey thing.”

“You callin me prey?”

“I’m callin you easy to catch. Now what dyou want? I’m about to head out.”

“Oh for real?” Scout asked, any hint of annoyance quickly melting away in favor of a thinly veiled excitement. “That’s actually what I was gonna ask about! So I know you go survivor mode sometimes, decide ya wanna rough it for a while somewhere not here- well not *here* exactly, but wherever we are, and head out to wherever you go when you do this. No clue where that is, considering we’re usually in the middle of nowhere, but I gotta assume you found someplace half decent. Anyways, not the point- what I’m gettin at is: you like to hunt, right?”

Sniper gave a quick nod, used to the younger man taking detours in his road of thought by now.

“Right! So you know all the ins and outs of it?” Another nod. “Awesome! So let’s say, hypothetically, that if someone asked, you would show them how to hunt.”

From the outside it seemed the suggestion hadn’t phased the huntsman, half his face obscured by shades and the wide-brimmed hat, though beneath the shade his eyes squinted as he stared scout down, brows furrowed and suspicious.

“You want me to show you?” He asked, voice flat despite the surprise; an opening scout readily pounced on.

“Well since you’re offering I don’t see why not! Thanks, pal, knew you were a good guy. I’ll grab my stuff and meet ya in like, two minutes.”

Before any protest could be uttered, scout was gone. Perhaps rabbit would be on the menu- and a very loud one at that if nothing else could be caught.

The hike hadn’t been much of a problem. The distance between their enemy’s ex-outpost and the wilderness was nigh nonexistent as it bordered the edge where trees staggered into the valley. Instead the problems began to occur the further into the tree line they trekked. Shadows grew darker, and distant sounds of wildlife echoed to sound both much closer and much further away at the same time, at least to an untrained ear.

There were plenty of issues in bringing someone inexperienced along for a hunt, however the one scout seemed to have the most trouble with was the very idea of being quiet- a fact that would surprise nobody if they were to hear it. The runner trampled twigs and underbrush like he was trying to make a path, and he swatted at limbs and moss as if to knock them down entirely. The worst though was the fact that he did not know how to stop talking. Even when trying to be quiet the young man opted for a stage whisper instead of silence, asking every now and then how deep they would go, what exactly they were looking for, how soon it would be before he could bag something and bring it back. Sniper indulged in a few of the questions, though the deeper in, the less he spoke at all.

Another minute or so and the pair had come to a halt, looking between a small parting of grass, and a thinning of trees. A self-assured grin made itself at home on the marksmans face as he held a hand up, moving scout to settle in behind a tree before grappling the limbs of its neighbor until he was hidden among the lower branches, whispering for scout to watch closely. Unfortunately, scout himself seemed to have different plans.

“Watch?” He hissed. “What dyou mean watch? I’m takin down what I see.”

“No, you’re not.” Sniper said flatly. “There’s more to it than just taking the shot, if you make a mistake it’ll end badly for everyone.” There was no room for argument there, despite how scout very much wanted to. While the Australian was normally a surprisingly patient man, he was just as much so a creature of routine and practice.

Within a few seconds they had fallen completely silent, save for the occasional shift, or scout plucking at grass, occasionally glancing back towards their target range with mounting boredom. Snipers slow shifting ceased after only a few moments, falling into a comfortable, practiced stillness while his eyes never once left the clearings edges.

Time passed immeasurably after that. The only frame of reference coming from the last rays of sun being replaced by the pale light of moonbeams breaking through the treetops. The air was still in only the way a forest without wind could be, and unsteadily silent, waiting for a disturbance to startle from its light sleep. Finely tuned instinct whispered to wait, to watch, and to forget hesitance the moment opportunity struck.

Eventually the instinct proved itself valuable when the sound of rustling leaves echoed across the glade. It was faint and careful, but the sound was distinctly the cautious pacing of a creature. within a minute the sloping curve of a deers head was peering in between the trees, apparently assessing the landscape before slowly stepping further into the pass.

Sniper readied his bow, thumbing over one of his arrows ends as he knocked it to his wire.

Slow breaths.

Focus.

Don’t blink.

He drew the bow taut, one eye slipping closed to center the arrows tip between the wide eyes of the timid creature. A deep breath and all breathing stopped, fingers slipping from the wire to let the arrow fly. and had he loosed it properly the shot would have hit perfectly, painlessly, and efficiently. Unfortunately, a sudden crash and shout startled the entire wood out of its tense sleep, as birds flew their nest and both predator and prey startled. sniper snapped the arrow into a tree, and the deer ran off full tilt the way it had come. The hunter turned to check on where scout had been sitting earlier only to find the spot was empty, and with that sudden realization, knew full well where the disturbance had come from.

He dropped from the trees limb onto the ground, trying to pick up on where the sound had come from, cursing scouts name to hell and back while also praying there were no bears nearby; and if there were that scout wasn’t foolhardy enough to try and disturb one. Another, closer, shout sounded off from his right, and while Sniper might have otherwise been livid at the absolute disregard shown for their entire outing, he was more focused on the look of absolute terror his teammate wore.

“We gotta go!” Scout snapped, stopping just long enough to tug and Snipers arm, which was just as soon yanked back.

“What happened?!” The larger man asked, grabbing scout by the shoulder to get some kind of answer before acting.

Scout gave a broad sweep toward the way he had come from. “It- I don’t know! I don’t know, there was this- it had to be some kinda messed up animal. All I know is that it was real big, real angry, and fast as all hell, so we gotta **GO** he urged once more, taking a step backwards towards the way they’d left the outpost.

“You want to drag whatever it is back with us?” The marksman scolded, moving to press his back against one of the massive trees. “If it can see us it’ll follow us. What we need is distance or a distraction otherwise it’s-“ his voice halted as a new ‘crash’ shook the ground; much heavier, and much closer than any had been before. Scout seemed to be all too aware of what it was, reaching over to yank the kukri from Snipers hip in an apparent knee-jerk reaction.

Both were well aware of what a calm before the storm felt like, and this was no different. Everything stood as still as an image. Nightbirds didn’t let out a note, deer and rabbits sat still wherever they were, and the two men in the forest barely breathed against the fragile air that surrounded them.

And it was all broken in a second.

Without warning, an animalistic yowl shook the very earth and a hulking mass launched itself from the shadows, its weight slamming into snipers side like a bullet train. All at once the air was knocked from his lungs as predator and prey slammed into the trees base. There was only a second to get any bearings, but that second slowed to eternity at the sight of the attacker. In the light of the moon both men got an unhindered look at the terrible creature.

Thick hair black as pitch stood on end, back hunched forward on legs too long for comfort. A large maw curled back into a sinister, sharp snarl, its long fangs shooting out to gnash at its target. Worst of all though we’re those eyes. Pupils pierced through a wide ring of brown like daggers, while the rest was filled with white. Stark, pallid, bone white- visible in all directions around the pale brown irises.

An unsettling discomfort pierced Snipers chest when he looked into those eyes, getting the distinct feeling that they knew exactly what they were looking at, and that the mind behind them was smarter than its exterior. It knew that it was stronger than them. It knew that it was fast enough to catch any movement. And it knew it wanted these sharp little things in its forest gone.

The second ended, and the beast launched itself forward again with a growl so deep it rumbled in the base of the hunters chest. Reflexively he lifted his hands, catching the creatures face in a shaky grip, matted fur held tight between his fingers as he tugged it away. Snapping teeth shot forward, yanking one of the hands free from their grip, and on instinct the arm was brought up in front of snipers neck. A second of numbness followed, though a deep spattering of blood began dripping from the creatures maw to feed the roots of the tree.

Animal attacks were rarely something to brush off, but this one in particular stung in the way electricity might. It burned, seared, and scorched as the teeth buried so deeply into the arm that no sound could escape his chest, only the feeling of his jaw clenching hard enough that his teeth creaked. A flash of fear shoved its way into snipers mind, shouting that they didn’t have a doctor on hand. They didn’t even know if the teleported between America and Europe were running yet. What he did know was how long it took for an untreated wound to get infected. He did know how long it took for someone to bleed out.

Then suddenly the pressure was gone. The beasts jaw snapped open to let out a shrill cry, jumping to the side with a staggering limp. Fur began to dampen at its hip, and if the kukri now shining a slick red in scouts hand was any indicator, the wolf had forgotten it was a fight of two against one. A professional never missed an opening, and a hunter never misused his weapons. Sniper reached over his shoulder to his quiver to pull one of the thin rods forward.

An animals shriek echoed through the woods as the arrow found itself firmly lodged between two of the monsters ribs. Perhaps he shouldn’t have felt quite so satisfied when the monster shuffled further away, snapping down towards the thorn in its side, but the feeling of vindication was enough to get him moving.

“I told you!” Scout called, his first few paces back to base being backwards, still holding the knife outward at the wolf as it twisted and snapped at the pains between its chest and pelvis. As it turned out, panic and survival instinct proved very useful in weaving between trees and thickets, neither sparing a second to look back until the abandoned base was in view, and only stopped once the heavy sound of the doors slamming shut and locking echoed through the room.

The base was cold by now, but safe, and as the pair stood backs flush against the wall, breath coming in heavy, short bursts, the rush of the chase slowly wore off. visions of sharp teeth faded in favor of the bleak grey walls that surrounded them, and the chill of wind was replaced by the still coldness of a room not built for humans.

Scout was the first to come out of it properly, much to Snipers own surprise. His breathing was still shaky, but slowed to something resembling normal as a minute or so passed. He dropped the knife with a loud clatter and gave himself a quick pat down, apparently making sure everything was still there, and while he was relieved to see he was unharmed beyond bruises and scrapes, a glance at his companion revealed that the same could not be said in his case.

“Oh Jesus.” Scout muttered. looking down himself sniper had to agree that it was a fair assessment. The bite was deep, clearly showing torn muscle while thick rivers of blood lazily rolled down his arm and dropped to the floor. Sniper had seen enough viscera and gore in his life to remain unphased at gruesome maulings, but this felt different from any kind of mammals bite he’d gotten before. As feeling came back it reminded him more like the pierce of a vipers fangs, setting his nerves on edge with a feeling of hot pins and needles crawling up his arm and across his chest; the huntsman’s brain became addled and muddy, though if he had the chance to think logically he should have been more concerned about nerve damage and blood loss than any invasive thought of snakes. Seeing as how he wasn’t thinking logically though, he could only slide down the wall, landing with a heavy ‘thump’ against the concrete floor. Distantly he was aware that something was being said, though it was so indistinct he paid it no mind. He was tired, that was what mattered.Breathing grew shallow and slow, and the last image before darkness were those dark, terrible eyes staring back at him.

The first thing he was aware of was a loud rumbling from below. Eyes still closed, the distinct hum of an engine, and what must have been the rolling of gravel. Everything felt heavy, and even the slightest movements made his body ache in protest, only made all the more uncomfortable by the now familiar shifts and bumps of what could only be a car in motion. Sniper let out a low groan and ran a hand over his face, thankful for once that he didn’t have sunglasses blocking anything.

Across from him there was a loud ‘thud’, accompanied by an enthusiastic ‘oh thank god.’ coming from an all too familiar voice. He tried to blink away the burn in his eyes and sit up, though only managed to get himself propped up on his elbows. In that time scout had gotten up from where he’d been sitting and opened the window between the front seat and the cargo area of their truck

“Yo, sleepin’ beauty’s finally up” he called, earning a glare tossed back from the mentioned sleeper. Regardless, the response he got was genuine, and the relief in Engineers voice settled a slight tension in the hunters chest.

“well if that ain’t a relief I don’t know what is.” The southerners warm voice echoed back. “Hows he doin? Any problems we oughta stop for?”

“Uh, lemme check.” Scout responded, turning to speak directly at the prone marksman. “Hey, snipes, how ya feelin?”

“Like I want to turn your head into a fine pink mist and pass out again”

“He’s fine!” Scout cheered, getting a quiet laugh back, along with the sound of spy beginning to chide their engineer for worrying over nothing. Leaving them to bicker, scout took a few steps back in towards the center of the shipment container. Getting a look around there was actually very little inside, the largest item, save for a few gun cases, being a couple of boxes filled with ammo and scrap metal tied down along the walls. By the notches carved into the top of one of the medium ones, that had been where scout was waiting; though now it seemed the runner had decided it was more appropriate to sit at the gunmans side, jaw in hands as he gave sniper another once-over. Pushing himself to sit up properly sniper grimaced, finding his right side falter when put under pressure.

“Yeah, might not wanna stress that too much.” Scout commented, seeing how his teammate cringed at the slight movement. “Hard hat patched ya up as best as he could, but the docs gonna go ballistic once he sees what’cha got there. we still got some’a those tablets for pain if you wanna drop the tough guy act too. Speakin of: what the hell dude?!” Scout scolded, throwing his hands up. “why didn’t you tell anyone you’ve got a fainting problem like that? Scared the hell outta everyone” he asked, a tight frown carved firmly into the usually coltish face.

“I don’t.” Sniper huffed, adjusting to lean back against the wall as a dull throb began to knock at his head. “it was blood loss, if anything. Wouldn’t doubt if shock, and a concussion compounded it, at least if this headache means anything.” Not to mention how tired he still felt. He’d experienced all three plenty of times before, both separately and in combination, but this time in particular left him feeling exhausted in nearly every aspect. Scout seemed to mull over the answer, and after reaching into his pocket to pull out a small bottle with medics handwriting scrawled across the label, tried for a weak, but wide smile.

“You can say ya got scared, it’s ok.” He teased, dropping a few pills into snipers hand before dropping the bottle onto the sleeping bag the other was resting on. To his own surprise, sniper found a slight laugh bubble up, foggy and indistinct, but still present.

“Last I checked we were both scared out of our minds.” He huffed, taking the medicine dry. “But thank you for reminding me of that, I’ve actually got something to ask”

Scout perked up, inching a bit closer in interest.

“Yeah? Alright uh- ok what’s up?”

His answer came in the form of a firm punch to the shoulder, and a heavy glare.

“What in gods name is the matter with you?!” He exclaimed, feeling better as scout recoiled, holding the now bruising shoulder.

“Freakin hell, man, what in the shit was that for?!”

“Why’d you run off?” Was the quick response he got. Scout had the decency to look ashamed for at least a second before vibrato kicked back in and he puffed his chest, glaring sharply back.

“Well it wasn’t like anything was gonna happen any time soon! I was gone for what? A few minutes?”

“That doesn’t answer the question.”

“... fine! Fine. I heard somethin movin around and followed it. I didn’t know it was... well, yknow. *that*”

Sniper put his head in his hand, rolling slow circles into his temple.

“So you just... followed it. Without telling me. Scout you could’ve gotten hurt so much worse than this” he gestured to the arm hanging prone to his side.

“I didn’t though, did I?” Scout asked, to which sniper leveled him with an incredibly unamused face. “Fine, fine, I get it, ‘going into the woods alone is a bad idea.’ But you do it all the time, what makes you think I can’t handle it?”

“Because of that *thing* we ran into out there. If you’d been alone how would it have ended?”

Scout leaned further forward, taking his headset off to fiddle with the microphone.

“What was that thing anyways?” He asked, clearly unhappy at the images flashing through his mind as he elected to stare down at his headgear rather than sniper. With the argument momentarily stopped, the Aussie humored the thought, only to find that there really was no answer.

“Dunno.” He finally said, pulling his knees up to cross his arms over. “Looked like a giant wolf but it- it didn’t act like one. Usually wolves’re fairly scared of humans, they’ll turn tail more often than not, so to give chase like that and then attack its... it weren’t natural.” He sighed, a new worry of rabies making itself at home in his already spinning mind.

“Y’ever had a job in Romania before?” Scout asked, the question so out of pocket it threw sniper out of the quickly sloping spiral he was headed down.

“What?” He asked,

“I’m just saying, maybe that’s just what wolves’re like in Romania! Like breeds ‘a dogs. A Dalmatian’s a dog as much as a dachshund is, but they look totally different. So maybe this is just what a Romanian wolf looks like: fucked up and angry.”

A beat passed as sniper took in the suggestion. Sure, a wolf from Russia would look different from one found in India, but this one felt off in a way he couldn’t quite explain. Still, scout seemed hopeful that that was the case, and it wasn’t as if people had documented every animal in the world, so he sighed and pulled a slight smile- for both their sakes.

“Different breed then... tell ya what: once we get back I’ll look into it. But if nothing matches what we saw im using you as bait to catch one.”

“Wh- hey! it seemed to prefer you over me if you’re talking about a bite to eat! Thing probably thought you were a strip of beef jerky anyways.”

And despite the deep ache that had made its home in snipers bones, he let out a quick, easy laugh. For as much of a braggart the kid was, he at least knew how to cut tensions.

“Remind me why I tolerate you again?”

“Cause I got your hat and glasses back, dummy. Also I helped carry your gangly ass back here, so I think a ‘thank you’ is in order.” Scout answered, reaching somewhere behind him to produce the familiar old slouch hat and aviators, setting them beside his friend.

“I’ll thank ya when my arms not fulla holes anymore, hows that sound?” As if to punctuate he lifted his forearm, now seeing the patchwork of gauze wrapped together by what looked like grip tape. He was already dreading what medic would have to say about the macgyvered first aid, but at least the bleeding had stopped if the dried patch of red at the top was any indication.

The conversation continued on in much the same way for most of the ride, both sides deciding that if an argument was necessary then it could wait. At some point, sniper found himself lying back down, comfortably realizing the medicine had begun kicking in; silently appreciating how nice it was to be able to rest without sharp pains running from wrist to shoulder, and he assumed the dull ache that persisted through the rest of his body would dissipate in the next few minutes. It helped that he had something demanding attention to keep his mind off of it too.

By the time they had reached the base the sun was once again crawling beneath the horizon, and conversation had lulled into a comfortable silence with scout stifling the occasional yawn, and sniper adamantly trying to keep his eyes open. It didn’t last long however, seeing as he barely recalled the car stopping. After a groggy apology and assurance that really, he was feeling better, he gave a quick wave back before leaving for his own bed. He didn’t remember how he convinced Engie that they could wait to talk to medic until morning. Nor could he remember actually entering his van, or changing into a set of clothes that weren’t stained in blood and mud.

What he did remember, however, was how strange he thought it was that his the deep, dull ache in his bones had persisted despite the pain relief he’d taken.

[merry-thieves]

TSC male characters as Disney Princesses

I’m only choosing based on characteristics, not ethnicities

I got the characteristics of the princesses from random “which Disney princess are you?” tests but I think they’re pretty accurate

Julian: Mulan

I chose Mulan for Julian since he is quite strong and often underestimated regarding his abilities. Also with Livvia’s Watch, he kinda saves his people (at least the cool ones) like Mulan saved her country. Furthermore, he is pretty intelligent and fights for his family.

Kit: Ariel

So why you ask is our beloved Kit Ariel? Well first of all because of this fanfiction which gave me the idea for this whole thing. Secondly, because Kit is pretty impulsive, adventurous and independent. Also, especially in Lady Midnight and Lord of Shadows, he feels confined by his life and yearns for another. And Kit is stubborn.

Ty: Cinderella

Like Cinderella, Ty is quite modest and humble. He is also a generally kind person with a more subdued sense of humour. Also, Cinderella talks to mice and Ty is good with pretty much all animals. In addition to that Ty is really resourceful and creative and uses those abilities to achieve his dreams (going to Scholomance and not the Livvy thing)

Will: Belle

Okay, Will is mostly Belle because they’re both bookworms but hear me out. Like Belle Will is also really attractive and both are intelligent (even if Will hides that sometimes). Also, Belle gave up her freedom to save her father and Will left his family to protect them. See the similarities?

Jem: Snow White

Which tsc character can ever be as kind as Jem? No one can. The same as no princess can compete with Snow White’s kindness. Jem stayed a sweet-natured and compassionate person even after all the horrible things were done to him. He never complained about his predicament and kept on seeking the right path. Furthermore, like Snow White Jem is intelligent and strong-spirited. Also, both of them were poisoned.

Jace: Merida

I chose Merida for Jace since both have a great love for weapons and fighting and are generally athletic people. In addition to that Jace has a strong will and an adventurous spirit. Also, he is a passionate and fiery person. And if he has to he can be really focused.

Alec: Tiana

In my opinion, Alec has big dreams and a vision of the future he is working towards just like Tiana. He is a bright and inspiring person who doesn’t care about what something looks like on the outside but rather wishes to find the truth beneath (basically his relationship with Magnus and his plans to unite the Shadowhunters and Downworlders).

Magnus: Jasmine

Well, well we came to Magnus. First of all both Jasmine and Magnus have great taste in fashion and seem to be fans of felines (Jasmine has a tiger, Magnus has cat eyes and a cat). Also like Jasmine Magnus is more than a little flirty but at the same a truly loving and gentle person. In addition to that, I don’t know a more independent person than Magnus. At the same time he also desperately wishes to find true love (which he does with Alec).

Mark: Pocahontas

Since Mark is part faerie I thought Pocahontas would be a good match. Mark has respect for all people and things and isn’t exactly cut out for intrigues and such like. Furthermore, Mark loves nature, is free-spirited and an intuitive person with a sense of adventure (I guess since he did kind of miss the wild hunt).

James: Aurora

This one may seem a bit odd but I have my reasons. James was definitely given certain talents, beauty and riches at birth since he is a Herondale, the son of a head of an institute and the grandson of a Prince of Hell. But please don’t forget that like Aurora James is at least a little bit cursed (you can choose between his heritage and the gracelet). James is also a bit shy and loyal to his friends and family (Grace and her gracelet don’t count).

Simon: Rapunzel

Hear me out, this isn’t as random as it seems. Rapunzel is quite the modern and quirky princess and since Simon grew up in the mundane world he has a different more modern approach to things than other Shadowhunters. Also, he makes so many references and puns (I read tlbotw a few days ago and oh my lord were there many puns) he just couldn’t not be Rapunzel. And I would say he does have curious nature (even if that’s the reason he gets in so much trouble in the earlier books). And you can’t tell me he wasn’t passionate about the status of Downworlders in the Shadowhunter Academy.

 And as a bonus, I present the rest of the merry thieves as the three good faeries ​

Matthew: Merryweather

Christopher: Fauna

Thomas: Flora

@fair-but-wilde-child @cassandraclare​

Please share your opinions about this and if you would have done anything differently!

[lynnsfics]

The One Where There’s Only One Bed

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Prompt List #12 “You take the bed, you need it more than me.” Gender-neutral reader)

Word Count: Approx. 1600

Warnings: Mild Language

Requests Open! See Prompt List for more details!

~~~

The door slammed behind you, rain dripping from your hair, “Well,” you stated, “that was a disaster.” It was true. The mission had taken a turn for the worse, and you had barely escaped with your lives, but unfortunately not with the intel you needed. To be fair, maybe Fury’s plan of having the literal Winter Soldier infiltrate a HYDRA base wasn’t the best. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, “at least we made it out of there. It could have been worse.” You had to agree with that, HYDRA wasn’t exactly the most hospitable when it came to taking prisoners. 

Only nodding in response, you sat down next to the fireplace. Thanks to Tony Stark, the AVENGERS had secret safe houses all over the place. Unfortunately, this one happened to be one of the less upgraded hideouts. Grabbing the fire stoker, you tried to get the coals to catch flame. Finally a bit of heat and smoke emerged, and you sighed in relief. You wouldn’t be dying of hypothermia tonight. 

“There’s some food in the kitchen,” Bucky called out, “it’s nothing fancy, but it’ll do. Want some tomato soup?” 

Nodding your head ‘yes’, you abandoned your warm spot by the fire to grab a bowl. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait for backup?”

He shrugged as he tied his hair back. “Ideally? They received our message and will be here in a couple hours. But in reality,” he paused to open the soup can, “probably not until the morning.”

You froze at his words, “Not until the morning?” 

“Let’s be honest, it’s close to one in the morning and it’s raining frogs out there.”

“Hold up, raining frogs? That’s not how the saying goes.” “Well that’s how the saying goes in Bucharest,” he said with a slight smile.

You held up your hands in mock surrender, “Alright fine, you win. But if they aren’t here until morning what are we going to do about the, uh,” you felt your face flush a little, “sleeping arrangements.”

“Stark funded this place, I’m sure there’s two beds, it’ll be fine. We can go check it out in a minute, the soup’s almost ready.” 

Thunder boomed overhead and you felt yourself shiver. You weren’t scared of storms, exactly, but you weren’t overly fond of them either. Being stranded in what was essentially a slightly fancy log cabin didn’t improve your current opinion of them, although some may find it cozy. 

Bucky pushed a bowl of hot soup in front of you and you felt better immediately. The familiar taste of tomato filled your senses, and your stress seemed to melt away. 

“Feel better,” Bucky questioned from across the counter.

“I do, but how could you tell I was upset?” “You always twist your hands when something stresses you out.” He smiled, “Don’t look so surprised, I’ve known you for almost three years now, I can tell when you’re stressed out.” 

Looking down, you sighed. Of course he would be able to tell, he was always so good at reading your emotions. Well, most of them, anyway. He still didn’t know you had harbored feelings for him for the past year at least. Or at least you hoped he didn’t. 

As the last of the soup swirled around your dish, you felt your eyes growing heavy. You knew you’d pass out at the counter if you didn’t head to bed soon. Leaning back, you yawned and stretched your arms over your head. 

“Time to get some rest?” Bucky asked, and you nodded. Standing up, you took a look down the darkened hall. A light switch was positioned near you on the wall, and you flipped it on experimentally. 

A warm glow emanated from the hall, shining a light onto a singular door at the end. Nervousness filled you as you gently made your way down the corridor. Your footsteps grew increasingly loud, seeming to reverberate off of the wood floor. Entering the room, your breath hitched. A singular king size bed sat along the middle of the wall. 

Oh God, there was only one bed. 

“So,”  Bucky said, entering the room behind you, “remember what I said earlier? I might have been wrong.”

“Yeah, I think so,” you responded, feeling nervous. “You take the bed, you need it more than me.”

“And where will you sleep?” 

After a moment of thought, you replied, “On the couch in the living room, obviously.”

“That thing is rock hard. There’s no way you’d get a good rest of that thing.” He was right, of course, but you didn’t need him to know that.

“I’ll be fine. Besides, you shouldn’t have to take the couch, you could barely fit.” 

“I’m sure I could,” he answered with a scoff.

“You’re like six feet tall. I’m barely even five foot four. There’s no debate.”

Then, he said the words you’d be dreading, “Why don’t we just share the bed?” You replied quickly, heart racing, “It’d be a bit cramped I’m sure, and I-”

“The bed is king sized, no need to worry about that,” he interjected.

“Well, I,” you didn’t have any other arguments, so instead you resigned, “I guess you’re right.” 

“Of course I am,” he replied with a smirk, “aren’t I always?” 

“Oh haha, very funny, Barnes,” was your sarcastic retort. A second door caught your eye, and you realized there was a nice bathroom connected to the room. After running for your life and getting caught in a rainstorm, a hot shower sounded wonderful. 

As soon as the door was closed behind you, you took a deep breath and sighed, How on Earth would you get through this? It wasn’t as if you hadn’t faced worse, you could name ten things more terrifying off the top of your head. But for some reason, having to spend the night next to Bucky seemed to petrify you. 

“It isn’t as if he can read my thoughts,” you reassured yourself as the hot water poured from the faucet. But that wasn’t the most reassuring, because a million and one things could go wrong, and he could figure out how you felt. Not only would your friendship be ruined, but the whole team’s dynamic would be off. “Shit,” you cussed softly, “let’s hope this ends well.”

Exiting the bathroom, you saw Bucky had already pulled back the deep red quilt that had been covering the bed, and was settled in, reading a book that had been on the bedside table. He looked up, “I can turn off the light if you’re planning to head to sleep.”

“Oh, no it’s fine, I don’t mind the light being on,” you replied before crawling in the bed. Being careful to stay near the edge, your heart was hammering as you lay down. “Alright then, try to get some rest, we’ll be up early tomorrow.” You cleared your throat, hoping your voice wouldn’t sound as shaky as you felt, “Okay, sounds good.” Apparently, your strategy hadn’t worked. “Is everything alright?” “Yeah, I’m just peachy. Just tired is all.” 

“Okay then,” he didn’t sound convinced, but thankfully he let the matter drop.

Closing your eyes, you surprisingly found yourself drift off quickly, and soon you were out like a light. 

The light on the bedside clock shone 5:09 AM when you found yourself suddenly awake. You could have sworn you heard something in the hall, although it may have just been in your dream. But no, there it was again. A subtle scritch-scratch that made you bolt up. A shadow moved and you let out a small shriek. 

Next to you, Bucky sat up quickly, “What is it? What’s wrong?” Taking a deep breath you answered, “A mouse, look.” He chuckled, and you felt yourself blush. “Doll, you work as an assassin, and yet a mouse scares you?” “Mice aren’t as predictable as people, alright?” 

“Do you want me to take it outside?”

You looked over at him, “Could you?” He nodded, “No problem, I’ll be right back.” 

Laying back down, you felt a bit more at ease, but did a quick scan of the room, just to be sure there weren’t any more rodent intruders. Once satisfied that you were safe, you closed your eyes, but didn’t quite drift off. You were still laying like that, eyes closed but still awake, when Bucky re-entered the room. 

“The mouse is back outsi-,” he stopped talking, thinking you were back asleep. He smiled softly as he got back into the bed. “Goodnight doll,” he whispered. “I love you. If only I could find a way to tell you that while you were awake.” 

Your heart felt like it stopped completely. You had to have misheard, right? Or maybe it was all a dream? Nonetheless, you couldn’t stop yourself from whispering back a gentle “I love you too.” 

This time, it was Bucky who bolted up in bed, “Wait, what?”

Shit. Well, you had to face it now. Sitting up in bed, you sighed. “I said, I love you, and I have for a while,” you paused not sure how to continue, “I didn’t know how to tell you, but with all this,” you motioned to the shared bed, “it just, slipped out.”

He glanced down, and then met your eyes, “I’ve felt the same way, and when I thought you were asleep I,” he stopped talking, “Is it alright if I kiss you?” You nodded, closing the distance between you, heart pounding. As your hand found its way into his hair, a knock sounded at the bedroom door. 

“Hey guys,” Sam said, entering the room, “I heard you needed backup,” the last word was barely out of his mouth before he began to back out of the room, “You know what? I’ll just come back later.”

~~~

General Taglist:

@sydneyisnotawriter

@dark-night-sky-99

Requested by: @sourpatchspinster

I wrote this instead of sleeping, so I’d like to formally apologize for any grammatical errors.  Also, requests are still open (Details above)! As always, likes and reblogs are appreciated, and let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! Love you all <3

[haiq-trash]

Cinderella AU

So a heads up. I was previously @lu-haikyuu I lost that account :(anyways this is a repost. To clarify I am the writer and owner of this fanfic👉👈

This AU I wrote inspired by @kos-tyan art work of Hinata and Kageyama Cinderella AU fanart they made♡

[Word Count: 1,189]

[Type: Fluff]

His pale hands were marked with spots of red and muddy purple. He’d been cleaning the floor for hours, the wet rag never seemed to clean as effectively as it should or maybe it was his evil step brothers who walked in and out dragging not only dirt into the house but there sneer comments as well.

“Oops! I think you misses a spot,” the spoiled brat sneered at him, “better hurry or you’ll never make it to the ball!”

His laugh was neither enjoyable or pleasant it sounded as if though you dragged nails on a chalkboard while babies screamed.

Hinata just bit the inside of his cheek trying not to talk back the voice of his stepmother ringing clearly, “You talk back once and its no ball for you!”

They had left him on his own as his mind reeled. An Hinata had finally finished cleaning the floors as well as waxing. He walked with heavy arms and feet up the stairs. Sighing with relief when his body landed like a rock on the bed, as the stingy frame creaked.

The door opened slightly and there stood Natsu, her muted brown dress all splotched. Threads sticking out from every direction.

“Come here. I’ll fix that stingy thing for you real quick!”

Natsu shook her head full of striking orange hair, “ No Onii-chan! You must rest, tonights the ball after all!”

Hinata chuckled a bit. Tired or not, Natsu was his only remaining blood. After both their mother and father died, Natsu became Hinata’s life. But as she grew older, more independent Hinata felt lonesome.

He stood from bed grabbed some needles, a needle cushion, thread and began working away. Adjusting those loose strands in a flash.

“There all done, see? No time at all either way I have to finish working on my tux for the ball!”

Natsu’s eyes held specks of glitter, “Oh! Can I see how it looks like? Pleaseee!”

Hinata stood up from his bent down position and walked to the corner of the room there stood a mannequin wearing a almost completed tux.

Blue in cloth color and trimmed in the edges with gold/yellow lining. All gathered from discarded materials and clothes from his step brothers. All that was missing were the final buttons and he would be done.

“Wow that looks amazing!”

Hinata flustered a bit and nodded, “Thanks Natsu.”

Soon enough the step mothers cried for help were heard and Natsu stood up to do so. Not before saying, “I’ll go Onii-chan, you finish your tux and don’t have too much fun!”

Hinata was about to protest but his sister had already left. He began to humm a lullaby his mother sang to him a long time ago. As tiny baby crows flocked to his window peering from the edge to see the dancing ball of orange fluff.

Once complete, he swifty changed his clothes. The sun no longer shone as bright so it was safe to assume some hours had passed by.

An although the sun wasn’t as bright, Hinata sure was. As he saw his hard work on himself, he look amazing. No longer the markings of a peasant.

He twirled around as excitment drew near, it was almost time for the ball! Oh how much did he want to go! Socialize and make a multitude of friends, he even heard the prince was quite the looker.

He knew many girls would want him as a suitor but it was well known that the prince preferred men. So his step brothers were out for the hunt.

But his peaceful moment was interrupted when he was called down stairs. Still in hi suit in all he walked as he saw his step brothers dressed in over the top clothes with [quite dreadful] ruffles.

“Hinata you forgot this mark!”

“N-No I didn’t it must have been made recently”

“Are you calling your step brothers liars?!”

“N-no! Its just-”

“Mother! I dare say isn’t that MY clothes? As well as my dear younger brother?!”

The oldest of the two walked to Hinata and gripped the suit.

“N-Now wait! Its clothes you’ve discarded and-”

But Hinata was silenced by the gasp of the older step brother and as he ripped the sleeve. The younger one followed, each devil pointing out where or what the cloth was taken from.

Till Hinata laid sat down, head facing the dirt mark, suit in shreds. His step mother towered over him, her menacing shadow ending any sunlight that hit him.

“You shall not go to the ball! This behavior is unacceptable! You will stay here with Natsu and clean the dishes all night!” An dare he say he saw a smirk graze her wicked face.

Soon the carriage arrived and the bumbling devils left the home. Hinata walked upstairs to his room and cried as the little crows flied near him. One began to peck at his toes, he sniffled.

“W-what?”

The little crow hopped from one place to another. Moving, flapping its wings toward outside.

“I have to go help Natsu”

The little birdie did not care and began to peck him on the head.

“Ow! Ow! Okay, okay I’ll go!”

The little birdie flew out the window as Hinata walked to follow it. It lead him to a patch of clear forest, no shrubs or weeds in sight as a beautiful river laid on the middle.

He walked around and saw his reflection, the mess he was and began to cry. His dream ruined, crushed.

But he stopped. When he felt a hand be placed on his shoulder, looking up his eyes widened.

A man with silver hair, warm golden eyes and a mole under one wearing a robe smiled down on him.

“Don’t fret my boy! I’ll help you go to the ball!”

Hinata sniffled as he stood up, “Why would you do that for me?”

The robed man lifted one hand from beneath his robe revealing his wand, “Well i’m your Fairy Godfather after all!”

Hinata eyes widened as he looked at the man who was chatting with the crow from earlier.

“I know Asahi! Can it or I won’t turn you back,” he cleared his throat and turned to Hinata.

“Now my boy. You want to go to the ball yes?”

“Yes! I really do!”

His Fairy Godfather waved his wand, “well you going to need a new tux and a carriage while your at it too!”

“Bibbity Boppity Boo!” He began to chant and sing as he moved. Specks of magic wrapped themselves around Hinata and his ruined suit became a art piece. Patterns and stitches so complex not even the best tailor in town could compete with. The small pumpkin the crow had brought turned into a huge carriage and the crow from before turned into a tall, long haired bearded man that stood handling the horses that were once mice.

Hinata stared in awe as he began to choke up, “Thank you!”

“Your welcome but be warned! The magic will wear off once the clock strikes midnight!”

He pushed Hinata to the carriage and he rode off, his heart pumping.

When he arrived, the grand staircase greeted him as royalty and nobles from across the land arrived. He mingled with them actively avoiding his step mother and brothers. Although they possibly couldn’t have recognized him.

As he walked he caught eye of his step brother dancing with the prince he was wearing a white suit trimmed with a golden color. Hinata thought the prince looked absolutely beautiful. His stepbrother on the other hand kept stepping on the princes toes. An Hinata suppressed a giggle and once the music stopped and there dance was over the prince caught the sight of orange hair.

Their gazes met and Hinata flushed. Then the prince pointed at him and declared, “You, dance with me.”

Hinata awkwardly stumbled to him as his step brothers and mother glared at him. Yet did not recognized him as the prince grabbed his hand. He planted a kiss on it and Hinata fumed as he began to blabber.

But it all halted as the music started and they danced. Hinata peering into the princes magical blue eyes. His dark hair , strong arms. Hinata realized he didn’t want the dance to end. An for the rest of the time the prince had Hinata by his side as the people whispered amongst themselves.

“Who is that boy with orange hair? What is he doing with Prince Kageyama!?”

Hintas step mothered glared as realization hit her, “No idea.”

Meanwhile Hinata and Kageyama talked all night, finding multiple common grounds and differences. Everything was paradise.

Until Hinata heard the clock chime as the clock struck 12. He began to panic and tole the unsure prince, “I-I have to go!”

Kageyama tried to grab his hand, “Wait! Where can I find you!”

But Hinata was already off, running leaving nothing in his awake, besides a stand of orange hair. He hopped on his carriage and was able to get home just in time before the carriage transformed into a pumpkin and the horses into mice.

The next week Hinatas mind was occupied with thoughts of the dreamy prince. Until a marshall came and declared that every house hold would be checked for orange hair. Hinata’s eyes widened, he was looking for him?!

An when the knock came to the door Hinata rushed to open it, but was stopped by his “family”.

“Don’t even think about it! We already saw you with the prince at the ball that night!”

One brother had Natsu in his grasped and forced Hinata inside his room with his sister. Locked the door as he shouted and banged on it.

The marshall had come in with prince Kageyama. His blue eyes scanned the room, two orange haired boys stood peering at him. He grabbed the strand of orange hair and held it to there’s for comparison.

“Its too dark” he scowled.

“Oh your majesty you must be mistaken! It is clearly the colo-”

“Its not” his voice was gruff, it was not his hair. It was too dark. The marshall and the prince were about to leave, bodies half way through the door. When Hinata ran into the room, pink and sweating. The prince turned back to see his eyes wide.

“Its you!” The prince shouted as he pushed aside the protesting mother and step brothers.

He held his strand of hair to Hinata and it was a perfect match. The prince hugged him in a warm embraced and spin him around.

(A few months later)

Hinata stood in the palace nervous as his Fairy God Father, Suga giggled.

“You’ll be fine!”

Hinata stuttered, “I-I’m getting married!”

Natsu giggled as she spin in her adorable dress with bows on it.

Suga adjusted Hinatas tie and pushed him to enter the door. There as he walked down the aisle he saw Kageyama standing handsome as ever.

His step mother and brothers no where to be seen, doomed to wash palace dishes for lifetime.

As a Hinata and Kageyama were seen kissing through the carriage windows. Flying off to their own happily ever after.

Hinata walked hand in hand out of the church with his prince. As crows flew and petals rained from the sky, bells ringing symphonies of happiness.

[no6secretsanta]

On the morrow he will leave me

Hey gecko (@lostemotion)! I was your secret santa this year! I took your prompt to heart and came up with this fic. I hope you like it! Happy holidays! <3 - Ace (@hi-im-secretly-satan) Word count: 2161 Warnings: none Summary: Nezumi has a tendency of leaving Shion behind without saying where he’s going, or when (if) he’ll come back, leaving Shion to simply having to trust he will return. Nezumi’s wandering spirit as seen through Shion’s eyes. Title from The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.

—

The first time Nezumi had left him, Shion was twelve years old.

The rat had crashed into his life, soaking wet, and filled a void Shion hadn’t even known existed. As soon as he woke up alone in his bed (suddenly way too big for just one person) and saw the two empty cups of hot cocoa on his desk and the open window (the only traces of Nezumi’s presence), the emptiness crashed over him like a wave and had left him incomplete, always yearning for that missing piece. It was almost like Nezumi had not only taken the checkered flannel and the first aid box, but also his innocence.

The months following their strange encounter had been hard. At night Rashi’s face flashed through his mind, with his cold smile that never reached his eyes. Asking questions like “why” and “where”. Why had he taken in VC103221? Where did VC103221 go? Buried deep under the covers, Shion asked himself the same questions. Why had he let that bleeding boy in? Stitched his wound, fed him his own food, clothed him in his own clothes? And where had Nezumi gone? Each time Shion relived his memories searching for answers, he only found more questions. If he could turn back the hands of time, return to his old room and watch the hurricane crashing down on the city, would he still open the window if he knew the price he would pay? Save Nezumi while knowing it would cost him his prestige and his comfort here in Kronos? No matter how many times Shion thought about it, turned it over, analysed every bit of data at hand, he always came to the same conclusion.

Yes, he would.

But after all the wondering and pondering, the question he found nagging at him the most was “Will I ever see him again?”

Oh, how Shion longed to unravel the mystery that had thrown his life upside down. He needed to see Nezumi again; gather more data than his memories contained. In those grey eyes raged a storm he wanted to lose himself in. He wondered what could have scarred Nezumi’s back at such a young age. Wondered where and how Nezumi had learned to effortlessly, coldly, render him motionless, ready to kill if needed. There was so much Nezumi hadn’t told him and Shion wanted nothing more than for Nezumi to take his hand and show him this new, mesmerizing world he had never known existed.

-

Meeting Nezumi again was everything and nothing like Shion had hoped. He had not expected Nezumi to come to his rescue, but then again he hadn’t expected to be labeled a criminal either. It surprised Shion how little he cared about having to flee No.6. As irrational as it was, he had a feeling that as long as Nezumi was by his side, he’d be able to survive anything. After four years of living with a memory, the real Nezumi was within his grasp and this time Shion would not let go so easily.

Nezumi was still the same contradictory enigma he had been when he was twelve. He told Shion not to be kind to strangers, yet he had given Shion’s flannel to one of the children living nearby. He told Shion to let go of his memories, yet clung to his own past. But the one thing Shion couldn’t wrap his head around was how Nezumi had kept an eye on him for four years, watching him from the shadows and keeping him out of trouble, yet now he seemed almost hostile. They got into fights and every night Nezumi left him. Nezumi left him just like he did all those years ago. Whenever Shion asked why, where to, or when he’d get back, he dodged the questions.

One night, a month or two after Shion had arrived in West Block, he was alone in the underground room again. Nezumi had run off somewhere without telling him where the day before, and hadn’t come back. The stew Shion had made earlier that evening was cooling down on the stove. He hadn’t wanted to have dinner alone, but it was getting late and his stomach growled. He had never known hunger back in No.6, had never known how hard it was to ignore, making it impossible to focus on other things. His clothes were baggier on him than he remembered them being. Another growl echoed through the vault and Hamlet chirped on his shoulder. Shion smiled and reached up to scratch its head.

“We can’t eat yet. Nezumi isn’t home,” he said with a sad smile. He put down his book, the enchantment of the “Lady of Shalott” broken by hunger and worries. He ran his fingers over the spine of the book and stared at a stain on the open page. Hesitantly, as if speaking the words out loud would make them come true, he asked, “Do you think he will come back?” The mouse chirped again, seemingly reprimanding him. Shion chuckled and shook his head, scolding himself for even daring to think Nezumi wouldn’t come back. This was his home, after all. “You’re right, of course he will.”

He loved his new life with Nezumi but he couldn’t deny it was lonely when Nezumi wasn’t here, even though he had the mice to keep him company. With a sigh, he closed his book and pushed himself off the floor. Right when he had turned the stove back on to heat up their dinner, the door opened and Nezumi stepped inside, a gust of wind accompanying him. It seemed to storm wherever he went.

Immediately all of Shion’s worries melted away, the tension flowed out of his body and he sent Nezumi a bright smile. “Welcome home.”

He had been foolish to doubt Nezumi. Of course he would always come back. No matter how many times Nezumi left him, he always came back. Even when Nezumi had collapsed on stage, when Shion feared his life had been taken by a parasite bee, Nezumi had opened his eyes and called out Shion’s name.

So surely Nezumi must come back to him now as well. That was the thought that grounded him as Shion stared at his hands, painted red with Nezumi’s blood. A sight he’d never expected to see since he had stitched up his shoulder. It was a silly thought, but after Shion had watched Nezumi survive so many perils that were sure to kill him, he had come to think it was impossible for Nezumi to die. He had forgotten Nezumi bled just like humans do. He had forgotten that Nezumi was human. Nezumi, who laughed, danced, fought, bled, was human.

And now here he was, lying on the floor of the Correctional Facility, his pale skin crying crimson, sluggishly gushing bloody tears, his breathing shortening and pulse slowly, slowly, slowing down. Dying like humans do.

A vague voice in the back of Shion’s head yelled at him to get up, drag him to safety, tend to his wound like you did all those years ago. Shion slowly tore his gaze away from his bloodied hands, stared at Nezumi’s face which was growing paler by the second.

Get up! the voice screamed. After you have saved each other so many times, do you really want to let him die now?

“He killed Safu….” Shion murmured.

You know that is not true. You have both killed people. You are both drenched in sin. Now get up and save Nezumi, otherwise he will never come back to you.

A soft whimper, impossibly loud in the cacophony of death and destruction around them, snapped Shion’s attention back to the bleeding body in his arms.

Right. He had to save Nezumi. He had to save Nezumi and get out of the Correctional Facility. Inukashi and Rikiga were waiting for them. His mother was waiting for them. And together they’d return to that room underground - to their home.

Shion hooked his arms under Nezumi’s armpits and started dragging him to the nearest room, wincing as he watched another wave of blood flow from Nezumi’s chest. He was going to save Nezumi, even if it would cost him his own life.

-

Even before he was fully awake his mind had registered every cell in his sore and battered body screaming in pain. But as he opened his eyes and recognised the storage room that also used to function as his bedroom, the memories of the past few days slowly washed over him and the pain turned into a pleasant ache. The injuries were almost a trophy, proof that he and Nezumi had destroyed the Correctional Facility, destroyed No. 6 and received a second chance from Elyurias.

Nezumi.

Shion looked over at the other side of the bed and found it empty. Although they had shared a bed in the West Block as well, he was no stranger to waking up alone, for various reasons. But today, waking up without Nezumi was a punch to the gut. After everything they had been through, the horrors they had witnessed and survived, he couldn’t bear being alone. He had to know if Nezumi was still alive.

A breeze caressed his cheek and he glanced at the window. Karan had opened it last night for some fresh air and they hadn’t closed it. Shion sat up, blankets pooling around his waist, and stared outside. Was this a repeat of four years ago? Had Nezumi really left him already? Again? Or had it all been an eerily realistic fever dream? He did not know which would be worse.

-

The relief he had felt when he had found Nezumi standing in the door opening, a cup of coffee in his hands and a gentle smile on his face, his hair swaying in the breeze and fondly greeting him with his usual “your majesty” was nothing compared to the feeling of rejection that shook him to his very core when Nezumi had told him he wanted to travel. The sparkle in Nezumi’s eyes when he spoke of discovering distant lands made Shion envious, wishing Nezumi would look upon him with the same wonder as he gazed at the landscapes.

But as much as the truth hurt, Shion knew deep in his heart that this was for the best. The idea of making a home here was paradise to Shion, but to Nezumi it would be a prison. He was a free spirit that should not be caged. Still, that did not stop him from pleading Nezumi to stay anyway. As they stood in the fields and Nezumi checked his provisions one final time, ready to leave on a long trip to unknown destinations, it was suddenly hard to breathe.

Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Nezumi’s hand and called out his name. “I’m begging you. Please don’t leave, Nezumi. A world without you means nothing to me. Nothing, Nezumi. There isn’t any meaning at all.“ The words tumbled over his lips in a desperate attempt to convince Nezumi to stay. He half expected Nezumi to scold him for saying weird things again, but then gentle fingers on his chin lifted his head and Nezumi’s face was suddenly a lot closer than it had been. He barely got to protest before Nezumi pressed his lips against his. A hand came up to cradle his jaw and Shion squeezed his eyes shut, not caring about the tears that spilled over his cheeks. As one who is shipwrecked clings to a piece of driftwood that once belonged to the ship that carried and guided him over the vast oceans in life, so Shion reached up and clung to Nezumi’s arm like it was the only thing capable of grounding him. Sorrow, yearning, anguish, love, and more feelings he could not even identify rushed through him and threatened to drown him.

When he finally came back up for air, Shion almost didn’t dare to ask for fear of his heart shattering. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. He doubted he ever would be. But more than that, he could not bear the thought of never seeing Nezumi again. He did not know what he would do with himself if Nezumi truly never returned to him. He couldn’t-

“It was a promise,” Nezumi replied with a gentle smile. He carefully untangled himself from Shion and pocketed his hands. “Reunion will come, Shion.” Nezumi sent him a final, longing look and with that, he turned away.

As Shion watched him casually walking down the rocky path like he was simply going out for a stroll, he thought of the questions he had asked himself when he was thirteen, hiding under the covers, and the answers he had gotten during their winter together. He realised most questions still went unanswered, but that was all right. As long as one question would be answered, nothing else mattered.

Will I ever see you again?

[supermantv]

the end of all things

It’s late. His eyelids have become heavy, weighed down by lack of sleep.  It takes great effort to keep them open as he wants nothing more than to be pulled into the land of dreams. Night is slowly transforming into day as the sun begins to rise, creeping along the horizon. Keith watches, fascinated, as the shadows in the room shrink back against the walls, shying away from the warm, golden light the floor has suddenly become bathed in. He’d left his phone in his room, has no way of knowing for sure what time it is, but if he had to guess he would say it was around six in the morning. The realization that he has been up for more than 24 hours only enhances his exhaustion.

Although no one seems to notice that they have all been up for far too long aside from Shiro and himself.

Shiro looks as tired as Keith feels, but the younger boy know that their exhaustion stems from different sources. Immediately he is concerned for his best friend, the knowledge of how difficult these past few weeks- no, years -have been for him hits Keith hard. Shiro has shouldered too many burdens by himself. He has had enough pain inflicted upon him to last a lifetime. He has been hurt too often and left with too little time to heal. But as Keith studies his mentor, eyes searching his face, he's able to relax. Shiro wears a small, content smile, and his eyes are soft and fond as he regards the younger paladins of the group. Instinctively, Keith knows he is going to be okay.

Satisfied, he moves on, gaze following Shiro’s to focus on the others.

Hunk sits on the floor, legs stretched out in front of him as he slouches back against the wall. Pidge and Lance are seated on either side of him. The three of them are lost in their own little world, as they so often are, loud and unabashed as their voices and laughter bounce off the walls. Nothing has changed between them, they are the same as they always have been; the best of friends simply enjoying one another’s company, just as they had done on so many occasions prior. Keith doesn’t completely understand why, but he knows he finds that fact to be oddly comforting.

After another minute or two, his eyes finally come to rest on Allura.

She sits in a chair that’s tucked into the corner of the room, separate from everyone else. Her chin rests in the palm of her hand and her head is angled toward the window where her attention is focused. Her hair is loose, falling around her shoulders, obstructing his view of her face. He can tell, though, that she is lost in thought.

She’d been oddly quiet the entire afternoon, but Keith found that that could easily be explained away. The conversation had been mostly dominated by him bickering with Lance, Pidge and Hunk who had gone off on more science related tangents than Keith could count, and Shiro who couldn’t let a second go by without interjecting with some dry, sarcastic remark he must have found hilarious. Allura had smiled widely and laughed loudly at all the appropriate moments. She joined them in ridiculous debates over who the better pets were, defending the space mice vehemently with Hunk.

But if Keith thinks about it, there had been plenty of opportunity for Allura to jump in the conversation without being prompted. Her smile had seemed forced, too large for her face with too many teeth on display. Her laughter was strained, lacking genuine joy. Keith can’t help but feel she is distancing herself from the team, hiding something that has so obviously been troubling her these past couple of days.

There never seems to be any time for Keith to speak with Allura, and there is never a good moment to bring it up. However this holds true for all of them. This is the first time they’ve all been in the same room together in weeks. In the aftermath of their fight against Sendak there was too much to be done. There was never any time to catch one’s breath after their recovery, constantly being pulled in different directions, away from each other.

Suddenly, as if sensing his gaze fixated on her, Allura turns her head and locks eyes with Keith. He feels his face flush, embarrassed to have been caught staring so openly, with no way to pretend he wasn’t. He can’t find it in himself to look away though. Her expression is blank, features carefully controlled as she doesn’t allow her emotions to betray her. Keith can’t get a read on her, not like this, and it kills him to know he can’t figure out what she’s thinking. Her eyes, which are usually so bright and expressive, unable to hide anything, seem unusually dull, lacking their usual sparkle. The sight pains him. He can’t remember the last time he felt this disconnected from her.

They maintain eye contact for another thirty seconds or so before she lowers her gaze. Her brows furrow and her lips form a frown, as if an unpleasant thought has just crossed her mind. She turns her head away, and Keith can’t quite put a name to the sharp, painful feeling in his chest.

“Allura!” Lance exclaims suddenly, eyes bright and smile wide. “You need to back me up here! Tell Hunk and Pidge that-.”

Allura stands up, cutting Lance off before he’s able to finish. “I’m leaving.”

Everyone’s attention shifts to her. The way she says it, there is finality in her tone, and because of that Keith knows she doesn’t mean she’s excusing herself to go back to her room.

Everyone has fallen silent, and the room has become devoid of all laughter and conversation. It appears that they have all caught on to the implied meaning as well. There is sudden tension that didn’t exist five seconds ago. The happy, carefree mood is gone all too soon, replaced by a much more somber atmosphere.

It’s like someone has dumped a bucket of ice over his head. Keith is no longer tired, and he finds that sleep is now the furthest thing from his mind.

Lance shocks no one when he is the first to speak.

“Leaving?” he splutters disbelievingly. “What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I mean I’m leaving earth,” she clarifies, meeting his gaze steadily. Her eyes are steely, hardened by resolve. “And I don’t think I’ll be returning.”

Her voice is firm and unwavering. It’s obvious how much thought she has put into this decision, she has put her mind to it, and is determined to see it through. Allura was never one to be easily swayed. This is not a spur of the moment thing, and it’s abundantly clear to Keith that she doesn’t plan on changing her mind. Lance doesn’t seem to realize this.  

“You can’t be serious,” he says, struggling to keep his emotions at bay. Hunk reaches out to place a hand on his arm, but Lance shrugs him off as he scrambles to his feet. “Tell me you’re joking. Allura-.”

“Lance. Stop.”

Shiro is fully awake now and he wastes no time in moving to stand beside Lance. The younger boy looks ready to protest, hurt flashing in his eyes as he whips his head around to face Shiro. He seems to think better of it though. His shoulders slump forward and his mouth falls closed, and Keith is not sure if he has ever seen Lance look this defeated. Allura’s lips are pressed into a thin line as she regards him carefully but he refuses to lift his head and look at her.

Keith is the next one to speak, voice low and quiet, tentative as he asks his question. “Is this what’s been bothering you these past couple of days?”

Allura’s attention snaps to him. Her mouth drops open, forming a little ‘o’ shape, and her eyes are wide in surprise. “You noticed?”

‘Of course,’ Keith wants to tell her, ‘I notice everything about you.’ It’s the truth, one he’s certainly not ashamed of. But he’s certain he doesn’t want to admit such a thing in a room full of all their friends, and not when the situation is. . . well, this. Instead he settles for a simple nod followed by a sheepish “yeah”.

Allura blinks as if she finds the news baffling. Her head is tilted to side cutely as she studies him. His face feels hot, and he can’t remember ever blushing this much around her before. Seconds feel like hours, time moving at a painstakingly slow pace as Allura stares at him. All eyes in the room flick curiously between the two but Keith pretends not to notice. Finally, as if she’s decided that she’s tortured him enough, she clears her throat and begins to speak.

“Well you’re partially correct Keith. I thought about it a long time, and after a while, it seemed kind of obvious and the choice became easier for me to make. The Altean colony is still out there, along with Zarkon’s witch Haggar. We have no idea what’s happened with the coalition and what’s become of the Galra empire also remains a mystery to us. We know what Matt has told us but it just doesn’t seem right; staying here when I know I should be out there.

“What was giving me the most trouble, actually, was figuring out how to tell all of you.”

There is a pregnant pause immediately following her confession. Her gaze passes over all of them, gauging their reactions, and Keith swears her eyes linger on him the longest. The situation strikes him as oddly familiar, and a second later when Pidge and Hunk rush to Allura’s side to embrace her, Keith realizes why. It’s like he’s been struck by déjà vu, the moment is eerily reminiscent of when he told the team he was leaving to join the Blade of Marmora. It’s like he’s reliving his own memory, watching it play out before him with someone else cast in the lead role.

But there is something else- something she said that has Keith worried. It must have lingered on Pidge’s mind as well because she pulls away from her hug with Allura to look at the older girl, expression concerned.

“Earlier you said you might no be coming back.” Tears glisten in tawny eyes. “Did you. . . Did you mean that?”

Allura opens her mouth before closing it, sinking her teeth gently into her lower lip. She talks slowly, choosing her next words carefully, as if she is hesitant to speak the truth even though they have all already figured out what it is. “I’m. . . not sure if I’m being honest with you. I guess it all depends on how dire the situation is out there but. . . I don’t think I’ll be stopping by for a visit anytime soon.”

Her words seem to be the final straw for Lance, who is nothing more than a blur as he makes his way to the door. He knocks Keith’s shoulder in his haste to get out, and caught off guard, Keith stumbles back. Hunk and Pidge have the good sense to back away before he bumps into Allura. His heel comes down hard on her foot. She yelps loudly in his ear as she places her hands on his shoulders in what Keith guesses to be an attempt to steady him.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, stepping away from the princess. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” She sounds breathless as she answers him, and Keith doesn’t understand the reason why. “And yourself?” She’s not looking at him as she asks, eyes trained on the door Lance has just fled through. It feels like his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach as the next words leave her mouth. “I should probably go after him.”

“Of course,” Shiro nods, ever the understanding elder. “We can continue this discussion later, in a more appropriate setting.”

“Yes,” Allura says slowly. Her eyes find his and he’s held captive in her gaze. “We’ll talk later.” It’s a promise.

Later comes sooner than Keith had anticipated. Following Allura’s deliverance of her unexpected news and Lance’s dramatic exit, the mood was dampened and as a result, everyone slowly dispersed. Keith has returned to his own room where he had proceeded to fall asleep just as soon as his head made contact with the pillows. And that was how Allura found him.

“I can leave,” she tells him.

“It’s fine,” Keith replies. He hastily pulls a shirt over his head and runs his hand through his hair, trying to rid it of any knots or tangles. Allura does a good job of avoiding looking in his direction, a bright blush prominent against her cheeks. From his spot at the foot of Keith’s bed, Kosmo’s eyes flick lazily between the two as if he finds the whole situation amusing.

Allura had knocked first, calling out his name when he hadn’t answered. Understandably concerned as it was the middle of the evening and he wasn’t replying, she had pushed open the door and was met with the sight of a very much asleep and very much shirtless Keith. Flustered, she had moved to back out of the room, but Kosmo had already seen her, and had taken it upon himself to pounce on Keith and wake him.

“I’m decent,” Keith announces after he’s certain his hair doesn’t resemble a rat’s nest. He scoots to end of his bed.

Allura still doesn’t look at him. “Are you sure?”

Keith fights off the urge to chuckle. “Yes, Allura, I’m sure.”

“Okay,” she says. She lifts her eyes to look at him, still blushing heavily, and she makes no attempt to move from her spot in the doorway.

“Um,” Keith clears his throat, trying to stave off the awkwardness that has settled upon them. He pats the spot next to him on the bed. “Do you wanna sit?”

“Oh,” Allura breathes softly, and crosses the room. She sits next to him, leaving a respectable amount of distance between them. She’s perched herself on the very edge of the bed, leaning forward slightly, as if she’s getting ready to take off at a moments notice.

“So. . .” Keith says dumbly.

“So. . .” Allura echoes, her fingers twisting in his sheets.

“Did you talk to Lance?” he asks.

“Mhmm,” she hums in affirmation, but offers nothing more, and because this is none of his business and the matter doesn’t concern him, Keith doesn’t pry.

They lapse into silence for a couple minutes before Allura speaks again.

“Lance he. . . He doesn’t get it. He keeps asking me questions he can’t understand the answers to. Earth is his home, not mine. He belongs here and I don’t. This isn’t where I want to live, not where I want to spend the rest of my life. Earth is so strange, so foreign, so alien. I know my place in the universe isn’t here, and Lance he. . . He can’t seem to understand that.”

Keith is reluctant to ask his next question, somewhat fearful of the answer, but needs to know. “Allura, are you and Lance. . .” he trails off, unsure how to phrase it.

He doesn’t need to finish though, because Allura seems to know exactly what he is getting at. “No. I mean, I thought. . . well, I don’t know what I thought but the answer is no.”

“Oh,” Keith says, and there’s a funny feeling in his chest, and it’s like an immense weight has been lifted from his shoulder. And then he surprises himself with the words that leave his mouth. “Take me with you.”

“W-what?”

“I want to go with you,” he repeats himself, straightening his back.

“Keith I-.” Allura’s eyes are wide. She wasn’t expecting this; she’s been caught off guard, and she doesn’t know what to say. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking me to do anything, Allura. I want to,” he tells her, voice hard. “What you said earlier, about Earth being Lance’s home and not yours- I feel the same way. I belong out there.” With you. “I want to help you find the Altean colony. I want to help you restore peace to the universe. I want to help you.” I want to be there for you, always.

“You mean that?” Allura’s eyes search his face.

“I mean it,” Keith nods.

Allura’s eyes have regained their sparkle, an emotion Keith can’t name shimmering in her ocean irides. He reaches out, taking her hand in his.

This is the end, he can’t help but think. The end of everything they’ve ever known. The end of everything they ever were.

But a brilliant smile makes its way to her lips that seems to light up her entire being, and Keith finds that he no longer cares.

And as she leans in closer, close enough so that he can feel the soft skin of her cheek and the fluttering of her lashes against his face, he swears that his heart seizes in his chest. He knows that this is undoubtedly the start of their future together; a new beginning, and he couldn't be happier.

[mexican-texican]

Sandman (Not That One)

Part of the “Repercussions of an Earworm” series Megamind/Minion T rating Words:2913 "Mister Sandman" by The Chordettes, Single, 1954 It's the end of the world and the lives of the survivors of Metro City rely heavily on two former villains and their boombox.

Those who witnessed their arrival, and survived the first waves of attack, claim they fell from the sky.

People didn't know what to do with them in the beginning. They looked, harmless, with their friendly forms and colorful pigmentation. What was one to expect from something so small and innocent?

The scientists who harbored the creatures didn't know what they fed off of at first when studying their behavior (or lack thereof). As far as they could tell these things didn't really have mouths. Or limbs. Or possibly conscious thought. If anything they more closely resembled marimo moss, which came to a surprise when one of the less experienced interns thought to feed one of the balls of fluff blood meal and it showed signs of positive reaction.

That should've been the first sign.

During a standard inner building transport one of the loading dock staff noticed the moss would shift erratically when its containment unit was stored adjacently to a cage of testing mice. Drawing curiosity, more testing was conducted on the reactive moss when placed within the confinements of a live animal, its soft fur-like coverage shifting to reveal long wisps that were eventually concluded to be feelers.

That was the first sign.

Proceeding with caution and following through the standard practice that came with handling a live and potentially dangerous biological threat, the moss balls were sent to be secured in a solitary lab set in a more desolate section of the research wing. Access was restricted to level III and only those with a double guarded suit were allowed to handle the creatures, ensuring they would not pick up the scent or vitals of living tissue underneath. As was such the progress of research proceeded without disturbance in the protection of the sectioned laboratory.

However all the safety defenses and containment precautions in the world could hold no measure of idiocy for the well-being of mankind. As was proven by one of the first responders to the scene of the landing site.

,:':,

In the shadow of downtown Metro City stood a six-story apartment complex, fifteen apartments per floor that homed the average single working individual with the exception of a young family on level four.

A few of the tenants had been milling around when the landlord trudged his way through the lobby trailing an EMT and the fire chief, a ring of keys jingling nervously in his hands. It had been at the least a week since anyone had heard from the young technician and the neighbors below his room had complained of a distinctive smell of molasses lingering in the air.

A couple of hesitant knocks and a hard shove of a wooden door later and the heavy smell of beet sugar attacked their senses, the only thing that was available to them in the dim and quiet apartment.

The chief took hesitant steps towards the center of the living area, cautious of the dead silence and weary of the dark corners as he called out to his subordinate.

"Moore?"

Receiving no response the fire chief turned on one heel to give a shrug of uncertainty towards the landlord and EMT standing in the kitchen entrance, waiting in the awkward silence when the sudden sound of shuffling and a thud drew their attention to the bedroom.

Being the closer responder, the chief moved in position to open the bedroom door where the sickly strong smell of sweetness clung to the heavy humidity that poured from the room.

The EMT will later recall thinking the firefighter must've been sick if the mounds of multivitamins and the humidifier being on full blast was anything to account for. He will also recall being unsettled by the thick coverage of overgrown plant life creeping up the bedroom walls, the leaves and stamens fluttering in the breeze.

And remember how there was no fan on.

Once the chief had walked into the room, the landlord following close behind, the EMT admittingly let his nerves get the best of him and planted himself firmly in the middle of the living room, bolting out the front door at the sounds of the first screams.

And that's how humanity was introduced to The Mass. _____

The physical competition was so sad, they were even given the opportunity to run on a few occasions. Which in case lead to the immediate dismemberment and disfiguration beyond recognition of what was once a living organism known under the binomial name of Homo Sapiens Sapiens.

Many instances the choices seemed trivial, a clearance on the field where the risk ran low and the prospect of freedom was too inane to ignore. In others the chances ran hazardous, a gap between waves of attacks or a brief opening in the fog of war and death that seemed to be a liberating opening.

Either ways, the option to escape was always overshadowed by the prospect of receiving the same results. Agonizing and reciprocating slaughter.

Out in the distance of the rising drafts of chemical smoke and rotting meat were the remnants of the city, destroyed within itself and fallen by the hands of righteous leaders sought to clarify their lands of its mistakes as god had leveled Sodom and Gomorrah.

Smells of molten iron and blood-stained lands, the deafening silence from the absence of sound within the once sprawling metropolis, the scenery shook the two beings standing on the edge of an abandoned warehouse roof overlooking what was once their domain in which they ran rampart, void of the civilians whom at a point would flee from their chaos and climactic actions.

With a kick of an empty shell casing from a reinforced boot, one of them muttered "So much for taking over the city," before they both made their way to check on the blockade they had set up earlier in the week.

Being a creature of habit the blue man did not let the despairing surroundings depress him, at least not to face value, and had summoned the energy to hoist himself over a battered city bus resting on its side which up to that morning had been in use as a barricade.

With the perimeter security breach throwing everyone within the confines of their refuge in a frenzy, The Overlord himself sought to clear the threat and patch up the barrier before the danger would prove their current location unsafe to keep as a sanctuary.

Although with the title of Overlord came the assumption there were individuals to order and a functioning civilization to rule.

With the swagger of someone preparing for a fight, The Overlord paced down the length of the bus from one end to the next, his right hand man standing aside with a duffle bag slung over one shoulder watching him attentively while keeping caution to the streets below them in case any of the Mass decided to make an early appearance.

"I think we should set up here, I have sights on the intersection up ahead and the alleys filter out in both directions leaving them with nowhere to head to in case they try to back-track. From this height I should be able to clear out any that might've made their way past the bus and we could work our way forward to secure the breach through the first barrier once they start trickling in."

"But Sir, this setting leaves you exposed by all sides and with all the sound we'll be making that's surely inevitable, they might not be known to climb but they can pile on each other pretty well-"

"In which case leaves more openings for someone else to take the shot if I get crowded, hence why you're here."

"I still don't like it," his henchman responded bitterly.

"Just set up the sound system, Minion."

The robotic suit moved mechanically as Minion brought the bag down from his shoulders to drop between his feet with a clemp. The fishlike being eyed his boss with exasperated annoyance while going through the bag to pull a cylindrical speaker that stood at waist height when he bolted it to the side of the bus.

Uncoiling wires and pulling a laptop from a side slot, the henchman set to readying the sound system as the blue man took note from which direction the, things, might wobble from first.

The parasite was known to be attracted by the low pitch of rumbling thunder, as they had first witnessed during a late thunderstorm. However, they also seemed to be sensitive to the waves emitted by high soundwave frequencies to the point of being stunned, the Hz count lingering around the capacity of a burglar alarm.

Luckily for them, both The Overlord and Minion tolerate soundwaves at a much higher frequency, and The Overlord found it immensely useful to be able to layer the vibrations over a few of the songs on his "showtime" playlist.

After sighting-in his scope he looked over his shoulder towards Minion, giving him a sly smile with a nod for confirmation to start the song.

"Which one, Sir?"

He was in the midst of replying when his attention snapped back towards the streets, the sound of a guttural scream rising from a Mass.

"Shit. I guess we're going to have to start early," The Overlord said as the first of the parasite infested bodies loomed forward from their hiding spots, spotted trails of black and brown left behind each one as they rushed forward towards the source of another potential host.

He raised his scope to his eyes and immediately had one of the pulsating organic things in his crosshairs, readying position from his spot on the side of the bus.

"Sandman."

Minion began to type away furiously on his keyboard over the sounds of the gun going off in quick succession as his boss picked off a few of the hosts edging their way forward. He quickly dropped the gun to his side and gave a stabbing kick towards a Mass lingering under the edge of the bus before it could figure out how to climb over, then brought the gun back up to shoot off another couple of rounds into the creeping crowd ahead of them.

He slowed his shooting when the sound of static and clapping came over the speaker, then stopped shooting all together when he heard a- barbershop quartet he realized with disbelief, start singing in varying "bung's". He couldn't help his head rolling over to glare at Minion when the ladies started to sing.

"Not," he raised his gun and blindly shot out towards the horde, "-that one."

"I'm sorry Sir! I have-, I have no idea how this, happened, I-I-"

"Change it!"

"I can't!"

"Why-" BAM "Why not?!"

"It says 'exe stopped working'."

"WHAT-" the blue man shouted sternly over shoulder, "how is that even-, it's a song, not a program!"

He shot off a few frustrated rounds into a group of Mass rounding out a corner to their far left, coming out of one of the back alleys in groves. Once he whittled the group down to a few lone stragglers he set his focus on the ones pouring out of a shuttered mechanic store slightly to his right, his voice venting out over the song.

"How the hell did that one end up playing?"

"It's in order."

"What 'order' and why do we even have that song to begin with?!," he griped lowering the gun, trails of gunpowder smoke lingering off the chamber while he made a few adjustments and let it cool briefly from its moment of overheating. There were a lot more of the Masses than he was prepared to take on with just the two of them.

"We used it during a plot to create a serum for sedating Metro Man-, Sir you sure you don't want me to bring out any more muscle from the Lair? At least another form of firepower-"

"If those idiots hadn't put off the scavenge we-" BAM "-would have properly raided the military-" CLA-CLACK BAM "-military base and everyone would have a proper means to def-" CLACK-BAM "-end themselves instead of some shitty ass twenty twos and a Barrett, which no one can figure out how to handle properly-" CLA-CLA-CLICK

CLICK-CLICK-CLICK

He eyed his gun with hate, gritting his teeth at being so caught up in his anger to have ignored the signs his weapon was overheating drastically.

"You could've at least let Metro Man stay to help out," his henchfish muttered behind him, drawing a deeper scowl and adding napalm to the fire.

"Oh, Metromahn, I can't do without you, so helpless as the villain now the world has ended, save me," the blue man retorted in a mocking high pitched voice, his hands flailing around and fanning his face dramatically only briefly before the scowl returned to his face and he went off.

"That bumbleheaded buffoon wouldn't know how to save anyone that isn't surrounded by cameras, he's just as useless after civilization as he was back then trying to deter actual crime!"

"But at least he could help fend off the Masses!"

"I can do that on my own! He needs to help those that aren't lucky to have two supers!"

"That doesn't mean he couldn't have helped us regain control before he le-SIR!" the extraterrestrial fish raised an arm to warn the angry villain of a Mass climbing over the edge of the bus, a few of its ribbon like tendrils from its head swinging around madly towards one of his booted feet.

He turned in time to side step the ribbons and crush them under-boot, lifting and swinging his leg again to connect with the shell of its head and send it sprawling over the mound of Masses on the side of the bus that had created during their exchange.

"Minion turn it off!" The Overlord shouted over the chiming-piano singing women and the buzzing growls from the Massive. He threw a coupled of hard jabbed kicks and knocked a few that made it to the top of the swarming pile. They seemed to find the song appealing.

"I'm trying! I-GEH!"

Turning towards his companion panic took over the slender blue alien, seeing a handful of Masses climbing over the mechanical suit he'd made him in their youth, their ribbons pocking and prodding to find access into his holding tank.

Forgetting all about the strength the suit itself had from its power armor, The Overlord rushed to free his brother from the swarm trying to crush the suit. He had succeeded to incapacitate a couple when a third climbed over the edge of the bus and stumbled towards the blue alien with sluggish movements, throwing its weight onto the man's back and bringing him down to the glass siding of the bus.

"Get off me!" he struggled against the hard casing surrounding the parasite hiding inside what used to be a human head, cocooned in layers of dried membrane and hardened tumors making it look similar to the shell of a walnut. And an old one too, judging by the strength of the casing.

"I said get OFF!" he cried with more of a panic, the ribbons unfurling themselves from within the casing and making their way towards the blue man's head and neck.

"MINION!"

The Mass imploded on itself, what would have been the partial lobe launching cleanly off the left side of its head in a cloud of maroon and black dust as the ribbons went limp and the dead weight fell on top of The Overlord.

A split second after the body dropped did he hear the telltale echo of a distant gunshot, followed by a couple more as Minion was freed from two of the four Masses that had overtaken him, giving him enough room to work on neutralizing the last two.

Still on his back, the blue alien tossed the body aside with a grunt while catching his breath, finally regaining control over his pulse to look over where the delayed crack's came from.

Half a mile down their path with a squint of his eyes he caught glimpse of a dark figure huddled close to a rooftop adjacent to their lair, a hand shooting out from the darkness ending in a fist with a single middle digit raised towards his direction.

"You think she's still mad at me?" he muttered as Minion helped him regain his footing.

"I told you not anger Miss Ritchie, I'm pretty sure she's been watching ever since we left," Minion replied with a tone that was almost scolding.

"I'm sure she was just, setting her calculations and couldn't aid sooner. We don't all have the luxury of taking time to do adjustments on an oversized 50 cal," his boss offered as an excuse, his attention taken up by checking on his gun.

The sudden pass of a hiss by his blue ear combined with a ripping burn and a thud of a Mass collapsing behind them was her reply.

"Nope, she's still mad," Minion replied smugly.

The Overlord gripped his left ear with a hiss. "How the hell did she know what I was saying?!"

"You still have your earpiece on you blue moron," her voice suddenly manifested inside his right ear making him jump slightly, Minion restraining a snicker as his boss tried to burn him down with a glare.

"For the love of Hodr just change the damn song already."