#he is really bein the man made monster over here | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

loftylockjaw · 1 year ago

Text

TIMING: Current LOCATION: The Grit Pit, The Wormhole PARTIES: Wyatt (@loftylockjaw) & Owen (@apaininyourneck) SUMMARY: Wyatt and Owen reconnect unexpectedly, and the things they'd been hiding about themselves for years are brought to the light. CONTENT WARNINGS: WRspice (dialogue), infidelity (past mentions/implications)

—

Fight night. It always got Wyatt some kind of riled, the shouts of the crowd as he lumbered into the ring sticking with him long after the show had ended. He was the newest addition to the roster of fighters, and seeing as he’d only been in town a few weeks, had only been pitted against mindless monsters so far. Still, management was aware of the reputation he’d built for himself in Boston, and after just one fight, decided that Lockjaw events were going to have to have a splash zone. Which of course cost extra.

The blood of the poor creature he’d ripped to shreds tonight still sat bitter on his tongue, his reptilian eyes narrowing into slits beneath the lights as they rose to reveal the full beauty of the massacre. Rising onto his feet, the gator-like beast parted his long, toothy jaws and let out a throaty, victorious bellow, tail swishing through the air behind him. The cheer was cacophonous, like a balm on his ego as he bobbed his head in a nod, gaze sweeping through the crowd before settling on the gate that had lifted to allow him to leave the ring. Until next time.

With some pep in his step, the lamia slipped through the opening and headed for the rear of the venue. He knew better than to shift in front of so many prying eyes, but still riding the high of a hard-won battle, he wasn’t really thinking about it as he paused near the entrance to the employee locker rooms. It wasn’t terribly uncommon to see the occasional patron wandering around back here, maybe hoping to catch their favorite fighter and rope them into a conversation, but the risk was low. Wyatt was a nine foot tall alligator-man, for crying out loud, there wasn’t much that anyone could threaten him with.

What was unexpected was seeing someone he knew. “Owen?” he barked in surprise, yellow eyes widening. “Remember you bein’ taller—” Oh. He was still—oh. Clamping his jaws shut, the lamia cleared his throat, hoping that the accent he bore wouldn’t be too telling… as if they were many other Cajuns that Owen Lundkvist was friendly with. “Wrong—wrong Owen, yeah? Sorry—”

—

Frequent flyers at the Grit Pit were a weird sort which is why Owen would have knocked out anyone who tried to lump him in with them. The place was good for a drink and some action but the vibes were still always a little bit off and being surrounded by all those creatures always left his skin tingling for hours afterwards. Still, curiosity generally worked in bringing him back every now and again, especially when there was something new to see. He’d had to wait through a few mediocre fights to finally see the advertised newcomer with a somewhat unfortunate name. The ruthless fighting made up for the name and Owen really had never seen anything like it.

Regretfully, a phone call pulled him away before the final act of the fight but it was very clear who would come out on top. He’d slipped through the cheering crowd easily, with a few harsh shoves for anyone who didn’t move, taking the call once he’d gotten to the relative quiet of an empty hallway. It was an annoying interruption to say the least, a desperate plea for him to get to The Wormhole due to someone else not showing up. Owen hoped that abruptly ending the call was answer enough. The plan had been to go back, hopefully catching the last of the fight but it seemed to be over.

Lockjaw’s giant frame was filling out the hallway and in an unusual scenario, Owen found himself needing to tilt his head up. After seeing most of the carnage back in the ring, he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of fighting this beast but he had weapons on him, like always so- ‘Owen?’

What the fuck? The hand that had started reaching slowly underneath his coat halted, head cocking at the realization that there was something human and in control behind those slitted eyes. Something human that knew him. “Fuck that, I don’t exactly look like someone who gets mistaken for other people,” Owen countered when the gator backtracked, which was both surreal and hilarious, hearing a creature of that size and ferocity clear its throat awkwardly. “And I don’t remember meeting a giant lizard man before but something tells me I might know your less deadly form?” His curiosity was banging on the inside of his chest, craving answers his brain couldn’t provide at this moment. Even though that weird dialect was scratching at something…

“You can tell me or I’ll find out. I’m resourceful.”

—

A low growl slipped free from the beast’s throat and he lowered himself onto his massive, clawed hands to bring them to something closer to eye-level. “Well, glad to see you ain’t changed much in your ways,” the lamia rumbled, somewhat amused by the whole thing in spite of the fact that it meant there’d be at least one person in this town that knew what he was. He couldn’t rightly remember how much of a gossip Owen was, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now.

Heaving a sigh, Wyatt glanced around them to make sure they were sufficiently alone before leaning his head in close and parting those bloodied jaws once more to stage–whisper to his old acquaintance. “It’s Wyatt,” came the admission, and the gator’s head cocked to the side a bit to stare him down somewhat threateningly. “I’d appreciate it if you kept this li’l encounter to yourself, yeah? The fuck you doin’ in Maine, anyway?” It was clear why he was here, after all—his reputation had preceded him in Boston, and the same could be said here. Or it would be, once he’d proven himself under this new moniker that management had given him.

—

The growl only made Owen grin, not a smidge of intimidation to be found. If this guy, whoever he was, knew the slayer from a bad encounter, those claws definitely would have been put to use by now. Either way, he was still primed to grab for a weapon if need be. “Change is for people who aren’t interesting enough already,” he retorted, trying to find something familiar in the scaled face, the yellow eyes. The accent was the closest thing he had to a clue but most of his time before Wicked’s Rest was buried along with memories he’d rather not revisit.

Blood filled his senses as he got a good view of the sharp teeth, air warm on his face and he half expected the menacing jaw to snap shut over his head. Instead, it whispered, finally scratching the itch in Owen’s brain. Green eyes widened in amusement, grin growing in size as everything clicked. Except for the fact that the man he remembered as a friend from Boston was apparently capable of turning into a human-like alligator. “And here I was, thinking we’d shared everything with each other, huh? Or mostly everything since bodily fluids were sadly off the table.”

Being threatened to keep his mouth shut was amusing but fair. Owen wasn’t above using information for his own gain but he would keep this secret unless he was given a reason to share. “I’ll keep my mouth shut if I get to see whether you kept that caterpillar on your upper lip,” he teased, arms crossing as he leaned back against the wall, alarmingly calm considering his current company. “Things went to shit in Boston. Heard this place was fun so here I am.”

—

Wyatt snorted in amusement, sitting back on his haunches. “Oh, yes. So very, very sadly off the table.” Was it not anymore? His curiosity was piqued, wondering what had happened to the woman that’d always been hanging off Owen’s arm. She was… intimidating, to put it mildly. Even to him.

He’d be happy to shift, but this was not the place. “Hey, c’mon now, jealousy ain’t a good look on you,” he teased right back, relaxing a bit now that Owen had agreed to keep his silence. They’d never had bad blood between them before, there wasn’t much reason to start looking for it now. “But sure. Wanna hear more about Boston… once I’m prettied up.” That thick tail flicked around behind him again as he rose to his full height, head turning to look at the door to the locker room. It was bigger than average, but the lamia still had to duck and squeeze to get inside. “... give me five.” With that, he excused himself to the locker room, where he shifted back into his human form (caterpillar and all), rinsed off the stink of the fight in the communal showers, and redressed himself. And true to his word, five minutes later, he was rejoining Owen looking more put together than he had been, and… quite a bit shorter. Adjusting the vest he wore, the shifter flashed Owen a grin as he moved toward him, extending a hand to shake, but using it as an excuse to pull the taller man into a jovial, one-armed hug.

“Still handsome, as you can see.”

—

Even though he was still just looking at blood covered scales and a forked tongue, Owen could so easily see the hint of the man hiding behind the monster now that he knew what to look for. Wyatt had been one of his favorites back in Boston and one of the only humans (or so he’d thought at the time) worth hanging around. Not that she had really approved of Owen’s much too friendly attitude but that hadn’t been explicitly saved for Wyatt - the Cajun man had just gotten more of the slayer’s time than most others. And sure, she hadn’t been completely wrong when she argued that he wanted to fuck the friend who played the trumpet but he never would have, not back then. No, she had made sure to take care of all the infidelity. Owen just teased and flirted and maybe let his hands roam a smidge too far when she’d pissed him off.

“If you think I’ve ever been jealous of that then you’ve gotten more stupid since I last saw you,” he scoffed, smiling even as his eyes diverted to the flick of movement behind the reptilian body. It was a strange sort of rush, standing this close to something this deadly, while throwing out insults. Owen would have settled for the simple pleasure of just meeting Wyatt again after all this time but this… it was an added bonus in some way the slayer couldn’t quite wrap his head around. The other man excused himself to go change, quite literally, and Owen rolled his eyes. “Fine. I do want to see how this whole thing happens sometime, though, and being self-conscious about your size isn’t going to get you out of it.”

Impatiently, Owen waited, lighting a cigarette that was reluctantly put out after a few smokes when a strange looking woman threatened to throw him out. Finally, someone slightly older than the man he knew once but much more familiar than the gator, appeared back in the hallway. Giving his old friend a once over, eyebrow quirking once he reached the mustache that was most certainly still there, he let himself get pulled in with a chuckle. Out of all the things from his past, this one was actually welcomed, as long as he kept the associated memories at bay.

Now that he knew Wyatt could take it, Owen gave the hand in his own a rather tight squeeze and clapped him fairly heavily on the back. “Still the less handsome one, though.” As he pulled back, he gave the vest a small tug, eyebrows raised in a clear display of ‘really?’ “Now I have more than one reason to want your clothes off. Come on.” No time for arguments as Owen slipped an arm across the shorter man’s shoulders, leading him towards the nearest exit. “It’s not glamorous but I have the keys to a bar so privacy is guaranteed.”

—

Their friendship had always been an interesting one, Wyatt finding himself on the receiving end of some very mixed signals that never amounted to much. But it wasn’t like he was pining for the guy, so he’d been content to let it ebb and flow as it had, seemingly in tune with however Owen was feeling toward Rosel on any given day.

Seemed like it was high tide tonight.

“Oh shut up, mon cher. Just because you don’t got no fashion sense—” He let the dig die on his tongue, buttoning it with a roll of his eyes as Owen snaked an arm around his shoulders and led him down the hall toward the rear exit that would dump them in an alley. “Privacy, huh? What you want with that? Gonna bend me over the backbar?” He was laughing as he said it, but it wasn’t exactly an off-base question, given his experience with Owen in the past and the very forward things he’d been saying in the seven minutes they’d been reacquainted.

As they moved outside, Wyatt ran a hand through his unruly hair, lifting a brow at Owen as he shot him a sidelong glance. “So you’re here alone, then?”

—

Still rolling with the punches, still taking every sharp thing that left Owen’s mouth in stride, reminding the slayer fully just why he had enjoyed Wyatt’s company back in Boston. “Mm, if I feel so inclined then maybe,” came the casual reply, spirits lifted higher than usual with the evening’s surprises and revelations. What the lamia was suggesting wasn’t at the top of Owen’s priorities at the moment but his suggestive comments weren’t just for fun, not anymore. A bit of catching up, something to satiate his curiosity further, was necessary before anything else, though. Privacy was preferable when it came to talk of shifting and shady fight rings.

Owen released his friend once they were outside, lighting a new cigarette before starting to lead the way to The Wormhole. The curious gaze was singing into the side of his face before Wyatt finally spoke, asking what was presumably his most burning question. Owen sniffed, lips quirking around the cigarette but the smile not quite reaching his eyes. “The bitch is gone if that’s what you’re asking.” Sadly, not as gone as Owen would have liked her to be, if he’d been less controlled by his weak feelings back then, the ones that had made him spare her. Hoping the slightly curt tone of voice was enough to deter further questions about the ‘how’ and ‘when’, he offered the smoke to Wyatt.

“What about you? Still a lone traveler?”

—

Lifting his hands placatingly, Wyatt pursed his lips with raised eyebrows in a sort of ‘sorry I asked’ expression. “Shoo-ee, well all right, understood,” he conceded, chuckling to himself as he went to take the cigarette from Owen as it was offered. He took a long drag before nodding his head in response to the question, flicking ash onto the sidewalk as they strolled alongside one another.

“Yeah, you know me. Can’t no one hold me down for shit.” He wasn’t sure if it’d be better or worse to admit to Owen that he’d been doing this sort of thing in Boston, too—supernatural fighting rings, that is. They’d met… god, where had it even been? After a show? He couldn’t remember anymore. There was simply a time before Owen, and a time after.

Things had certainly gotten spicier after.

As far as Owen had known, Wyatt was just a handsome, charming chef that liked to moonlight as a trumpet player with his jazz rock band. Clearly that was no longer the case, and the lamia was figuring that he might as well be fully forthcoming. “Just got a cute li’l place out on the lake, one of them A-frames folks on Pinterest are so nutty about. Thought I might stay a while. On account of… work.” Clearly he didn’t mean any kind of cooking or music-making, given his inflection. Taking one more drag before passing the grit back to his friend, Wyatt rubbed at his chin. “Pays good, though,” he mused as he exhaled the smoke.

—

Wyatt’s reaction proved that ‘curt’ was an understatement in describing the slayer’s delivery of that bitter statement. While any sort of emotion, any shift in tone, was usually calculated and rather controlled, this was something that still fucked him up and Owen still burned with anger at the fact. “Just not worth talking about,” he tried to backtrack, tone casual but probably a bit too much so. Fucking shit…

Latching onto the change in topic, the much easier shift in mood, Owen nodded in understanding. “Sure, that’s the reason you’re still single,” he dragged out the sarcastically delivered word, back to teasing, to a safe area. Not that he believed that, he’d known Wyatt long enough to know that he could have his pick of a partner easy, despite the damn mustache and accent that had in no way diminished in their time apart.

“Mm, the lake have anything to do with your less friendly side?” Owen mused, accepting the cigarette back, a feeling of ‘just like old times’ passing through. Minus the shit parts. It was a nice prospect, that Wyatt would be staying for a while but it might mean that secret keeping would become a little bit harder. This was a much smaller town than Boston and crawling with things that Owen had nearly killed and other hunters. Not that the man walking beside him would have a problem with the killing, that much had proved fairly obvious this evening but a general dislike for hunters couldn’t be ruled out. It would probably be revealed in time and if Wyatt decided to be a bitch about it, so be it.

“They better be paying you good, that was almost impressive back there.” Grinning, the compliment hidden somewhere inside the dig, Owen bumped his shoulder into the other man’s. He needed to ask about the things he’d heard about the contracts, know if someone was taking advantage of one of the only few people the slayer still deemed a friend. Later, maybe a few drinks in. Speaking of… “I present - The Shithole.” Digging out the keys he was definitely not supposed to deploy for personal use, he opened the door with a flourish before following Wyatt inside and flicking on the lights behind the bar.

—

Wyatt didn’t buy the excuse, but he wasn’t going to push it so soon. He was certainly putting a pin in it, though.

“It’s definitely the reason I’m still single,” he argued with a smirk, pushing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. He always looked a little dressed up these days, though he’d admittedly rolled the sleeves of his button up tonight rather than taking the time to reattach the cufflinks. He’d had a captive and impatient audience, after all, and it would have been rude to keep him waiting.

“Hey, I am just as friendly when I look like that as I am right now. I just get a kick out of maiming things once in a while.” The second sentence was said with some hesitation, but not much, considering. “But… yeah. The lake was a conscious choice. Water’s fuckin’ cold, but that’s what I got heat lamps n’ a big woodfire stove for.”

Scrunching his nose, the lamia pulled one hand out from his pocket and stole the cigarette back from Owen. “That why you left early, cuz it was only almost impressive?” It was late, past the time that a lot of the bars around here would still be open, which was nice. Having one all to themselves was nice. Easier, too… for talking. Et cetera. Keeping the grit hanging loosely from his mouth as he walked into the dark building, the lamia made his way to the bar, circling around to the back of it like he owned the place before hoisting himself up onto the bartop where there wasn’t any other shit in his way. Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, he leaned back on his free hand, taking another drag and plucking the cigarette from his mouth with the other. “Whisky, pretty please,” he cooed, crossing one ankle over the other as he watched Owen move about. “Mm… what a delightfully shitty li’l establishment. Suits you.”

—

The shifter clearly took his job seriously, which was fair considering that he really was good at it - Owen could tell, even after missing the grand finale. If you were going to be sensitive about anything, fighting skill was something the slayer could agree with. Not that he’d be sensitive about it and Wyatt was definitely not going to cry himself to sleep over the comment but the point still stood. Taking a dig at their most precious skill was a gray zone. “Would have left even earlier if I’d have known it was you, trumpet boy.”

Owen followed the other inside, eyes trailing him in a way that was close to predatory, smirk firmly in place as Wyatt made himself at home. “That’s all it took to get you begging? I thought I would have to work a little harder for that,” he sighed but still indulged the other, joining him behind the bar to grab two glasses. The whiskey was, to Owen’s delight, placed right beside where Wyatt had planted himself, giving the slayer a good opportunity to step in close and then closer than necessary to reach for it. At least he didn’t have to tilt his head down now to meet the other man’s gaze. He lingered for a moment before snatching his cigarette back and turning to fill their drinks.

“I could say the same for you, friend.” Handing one of the generous pours to Wyatt, Owen leaned back against the opposite bar, one foot braced against the counter close to the leg that dangled off. “Not that I mind the fighting, would probably partake in them myself if I hadn’t heard about the shady deals that make it… difficult for people to quit.” His eyebrows raised in question as he took a sip and followed it up with what remained of the smoke, the short bud then discarded into the sink.

—

“Beggin’ for booze, yes,” Wyatt corrected him with a pointed stare, smiling in spite of himself as the other got very much up in his personal space to retrieve a bottle. The moment was brief and the exhale that followed was almost a sigh, blue gaze wandering toward the ceiling while Owen poured their drinks.

“Oh, what, now you’re worried about me? That’s awful sweet of you, bless your heart,” Wyatt razzed his friend with his thick southern drawl, lifting his own eyebrows in turn as he took a sip of the drink. “Sure, they got contracts they want you to sign… but wanting to leave isn’t really a problem for me.” Clearing his throat, he felt something like guilt creeping in from the edges, and he didn’t like it. He was still getting acquainted with the place and with his fellow sapient fighters, but the details of their individual contracts hadn’t really come up yet. “Why… you know someone who wants out?” He tried to make it sound casual, but the idea of another fighter not liking the position they were in and being unable to leave made him uncomfortable. Upset, even.

—

Owen shrugged, carefree, at the correction. “I don’t mind having to work a little harder for the other kind.” Invading people’s personal space was far from a rarity in the slayer’s case, even more so when it came to Wyatt who had definitely gotten used to it way back when but there was nothing stopping him now from divulging further into the aforementioned space. Except for the conversation that really did matter just a tiny bit more than all the lost time Owen was currently deep into imagining how to make up for.

“Force of habit, don’t forget I knew you as a meager chef who played a trumpet out of all things until half an hour ago.” Not that Owen was worried, just… curious. If people were dumb enough to get themselves into shitty situations, it wasn’t his issue to get them out. A mild relief did snake its way through at the realization that at least for now, no one was forcing Wyatt to stay against his will. The thought even made the previously casual attitude his friend usually carried crack just so around the edges.

“Not personally, heard rumors. Hunters who were fighting, talked about wanting to leave, then never did or just… vanished.” His head cocked, gauging a reaction to the mention of hunters. Maybe that word meant nothing to Wyatt since there hadn’t been an abundance of them in Boston. Owen had no clue how things had been back in the swamp the shifter had moved from, though.

—

“A meager chef? Mon cher, that’s the worst thing you’ve ever said to me,” Wyatt laughed, splaying a hand across his chest, a mock wounded expression settling on his angular features. “Also, I’ll have you know that playing woodwinds n’ brass gives me fuckin’ impressive lung capacity.” He smirked. “Can hold that shit for a while. It’s a neat party trick. Pretty popular in certain circles.” He was deflecting, of course, but he was relieved to hear that there wasn’t some poor shifter bastard that Owen knew that was desperate to get out of their contract. Rumors were one thing, but… huh?

“Hunters?” he parroted the other, giving a curious tilt of his head before taking another sip of the whisky. “What, like these flanneled up idjits you’re servin’ fingers of Jack Daniels to? Why the fuck would some deer hunter be goin’ toe to toe with shifters?” Which, speaking of— “And, wait a minute. How long you known about that sort of thing?” Owen sure as shit hadn’t been going to the fights in Boston, or surely Wyatt would have seen him once or twice. “Shifters, I mean. How’d you hear about the Grit Pit?” For what it was worth, there wasn’t anything accusatory in Wyatt’s tone—he was purely curious. Confused too, maybe, but mostly curious.

—

Chuckling, reveling in the simple pleasure of finding each and every one of Wyatt’s buttons still very pushable, Owen shoved the hand displaying a dramatic amount of fake hurt away. “I know for a fact that’s not true but still, a thank you for being so easily offended. Makes my job of keeping that ego in check less hard.” Not that he wanted a change in his companion’s ego, it was amusing and especially when said confidence came out in comments like these, making Owen’s eyes glint with something unsavory but still a bit premature because oh, boy…

In a rare display of patience, Owen let the rest of the revelations pass through Wyatt’s brain, sharp blue eyes portraying every bit of discovery and consequent confusion. Sighing heavily as this might take a while and he was already itching to do something other than talking now that his own questions had been answered, Owen drained the rest of his drink. “Not deer hunters, creature hunters. Different types for different creatures. Flanneled idiots is pretty accurate for the ones that go after shifters. My family was more interested in vampires. Which is what I kill.”

After the briefest moment of hesitation, Owen pulled open one side of his jacket, slipping a stake from its hiding place and offering it to Wyatt. With the amount of bullshit that came from the slayer’s mouth, he figured a little bit of hard evidence might make this easier to swallow. Along with… “Probably easier to digest if you just-” He reached out, pushing at the underside of Wyatt’s glass and guiding it towards his lips.

—

Creature hunters? What the fuck did that mean? The bewilderment settled firmly into his expression as he listened, eyes widening a bit at the mention of vampires. “What?” Wyatt laughed with uncertainty, his gaze dropping to the object Owen was pulling out of his jacket.

That was a stake. An honest to god, Buffy the Vampire Slayer bullshit wooden stake.

“What…” It seemed to be the only thing left he could say, and his dumbfoundment apparently inspired his friend to encourage him to drain his glass. Feeling it bump against his lips, the shifter blindly followed the suggestion and threw back the rest of the whisky, his grip on the stake in his hand tightening.

“Okay, so…” Vampires were real, which was somehow a thing he’d not fucking known until now? And Owen… killed them? “You’re like… Van Helsing?” Wyatt couldn’t help but recall the barfights they’d gotten into back in the day and the confused pride he’d felt on behalf of his lithe friend for taking down men twice his size. Was that… part of it? There was no reason for Owen to be bullshitting him about this, but how had he never met a damn vampire before?

Creature hunters. “And… I’m a creature?” He looked up from the stake in his hand, catching Owen’s gaze. There wasn’t fear in his eyes, but perhaps some uneasiness.

—

With a continued air of patience, although very much mixed with amusement, Owen watched his stake in unfamiliar hands. He couldn’t remember a time where he had handed it over like that - Emilio had gotten to use it once under dire circumstances but other than that, the stake was his and his alone. Strangely, he didn’t mind it in Wyatt’s grip. Luckily for both of them, the shifter downed his drink which seemed to help some but didn’t prevent the stupid from leaving the man’s mouth.

“Van Helsing? Not sure I could pull off the hat but sure, something like that.” Wyatt’s fingers were turning white with the force of gripping the stake and Owen’s hand found the clenched fingers, wrapping around the closed fist. The distance between them gone like before but now without the air of challenge, of teasing. “You are.” Something close to softness tinted his words, sounding a bit unnatural but the effort was still there. “The ones who specialize in your kind, the rangers, can sense you. Just like I can feel when there’s something dead around.”

The discomfort in Wyatt’s eyes made the slayer uneasy - he was used to causing the feeling reflected in those eyes, reveling in it even, but he didn’t want its presence here, now. “Don’t think you have anything to worry about with your fighting skills, though.” His thumb brushed over the back of Wyatt’s hand before he slowly plucked the other’s fingers off the stake. “Another drink?”

—

"Yeah," the lamia answered without any hesitation. So there were people who specialized in killing shifters like him, huh? He wondered for a moment if that had anything to do with the Grit Pit, but quickly dismissed the idea. That was preposterous.

"And you're right, I sure don't—could rip apart any shithead thinkin' they can take me." His tone sounded slightly less confident than usual, but he did manage to perk back up as Owen vacated his personal bubble to refill their glasses, happy to be rid of the wooden stake that'd been reclaimed by its owner. "That's kinda fucked up though, ain't it?" He paused. "Guess I eat people sometimes, though, so I get it. But man… food chain aside, who'd wanna kill me? I'm amazing. The greatest. And so friendly." He was slipping back into sarcasm, which was probably a good sign.

Reaching out for the glass that Owen had topped off for him, Wyatt made sure to catch his wrist before he could move away again, instead tugging the slayer back into close quarters. "Guess it's a good thing I ain't a vampire, huh?" he teased, throwing back some more whiskey while allowing his free hand to wander to Owen's side. What were the fucking odds, first of all, that they'd both end up in this town? And moreover, that they both had secrets about their identities… and that Owen apparently had abundant wisdom to share about a world that Wyatt was blind to, despite being a part of it. His ignorance was almost a supernatural skill at this point. Oh well.

—

The drop in confidence was cute and possibly, if - or more likely, when - Wyatt encountered a ranger, might save his scaly ass. Undead that had underestimated Owen hadn’t lived to tell the tale. Considering how easily he’d beaten the shit out of Kaden, the slayer quite liked his friend’s odds. “Would love a front row seat to that,” he agreed, the image of the French ranger with the heart of gold still fresh in his mind, now being torn apart by Wyatt’s teeth and wasn’t that a joyous image? Putting the stake back where it belonged, he then snorted at the very humble proclamation.

“Scratch that, I would rather watch you try and smooth talk a ranger out of killing you with your friendly swamp charm,” Owen joined in on the joking because that was much less complicated than going through the history of hunters versus monsters throughout time and the way no one could ever convince him that killing vampires was ‘fucked up.’ That thought, coupled with the anger at the prospect of someone trying to take out Wyatt, was the kind of irony Owen did not want ruining this current moment. Wyatt seemed to be in agreement, at last turning the tide of this strange new dynamic they found themselves in.

Putting down his own glass, Owen nestled in between the legs dangling off the counter. “You sure?” he pushed, head tilting as his gaze dropped to Wyatt’s lips. “I think you might like me being a little bit rough.”

—

All Wyatt could do in response to the jabs was laugh, figuring that he'd probably earned it for being a wise ass. And as Owen settled between his knees, smooth talking in all the old ways he remembered, the lamia could feel his discomfort with the truths his friend was laying out in front of him start to fade. Would they return later, when he was at home laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling? Absolutely. Would they keep him up at night, wondering what else he was unaware of, and exactly how worried he needed to be about one of these rangers deciding it was his time to cross the rainbow bridge? Without a doubt. But that wasn’t right now, and right now he wanted to think about literally anything else. Thankfully, Owen was taking the bait. But could you really even call it bait when it’d been dangling there for years? At this point it was just a natural fixture of their relationship, albeit one that had been… modified recently. Modified in a way that Wyatt was curious to explore, but slowly. To call him ‘easy’ would be doing a disservice to the thoughtful sort of way he preferred to draw people in, but it wasn’t an untruth, either. It was complicated, as were most things when it came to Wyatt.

“Ohh, you think that, do you?” the cajun hummed, smirking as he caught the diversion of Owen’s attention. “Mm… seems to me like my friendly swamp charm you was so quick to dismiss has already been doin’ a lot of work.” His hand traveled up Owen’s chest to settle on his neck, his own gaze falling lower than his friend’s eyes. “But if you think you’re gonna roll back into my life and bed me just like that…?” He let out a breathy laugh, neither confirming nor denying the possibility of where this night might take them, choosing instead to just be here in the now. That was perhaps the only thing keeping him from thinking about how Owen was a hunter—a person who killed nonhumans like him. Vampire specialty or not, it was a freaky thing to discover about someone right before the flirting resumed, and it had him slightly on edge. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Owen, it was just… well… he didn’t trust anyone. Not anymore. How could he? That said, there was something exciting about it, too. Being aware of Owen’s side job, while not necessarily being at an immediate risk, or so he had to assume.

“It was fun when it wasn’t allowed,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. “How you plan on recreatin’ that fun?”

—

Hands settled comfortably on Wyatt’s thighs, eyes focused on the way his lips formed every word, every syllable and strange pronunciation, staring unabashedly because pretending at this point to not want to see his own name desperately fall from those lips would be a stretch, even for Owen. “Anyone can be charming if you give them all the time you’ve had to weasel your way in,” he hummed but both of them knew it was a lie. Owen had been charmed for a long time and had shown it for almost as long, the regular amount of flirting almost everyone received intensified when Wyatt was involved.

Wyatt’s hand wandered in stark contrast to his words and the simple answer to his stupid question was yes, obviously. Playing hard to get, though, hovering right at the line of what was technically allowed was nostalgic in the best of ways. And Owen usually fucking hated nostalgia but this kind? Where it meant slipping his hands further up toned thighs, practically sharing a breath with someone who made the anticipation almost as good as the final result? The sultry whisper was a dick move, though.

“Liked the thought of being a homewrecker, hmm?” His voice was low, head drifting until his mouth rested an inch from Wyatt’s ear. “I’ve been known to be… creative,” Owen breathed in response before hoisting the other man off the counter and forcing legs to wrap around his waist, carrying his weight effortlessly. “And I’m sure with your little secret out in the open, we can see just what sort of fun we can make with that.”

—

Bright baby blues rolled in their sockets, but the sass was short lived as he felt Owen’s breath on his ear, warm and still capable of sending a shiver down his spine. “What can I say? The drama, it sustains me,” Wyatt hummed right back before letting out a soft gasp as he was manhandled off the countertop. His other hand came up to brace itself on Owen’s shoulder, body tense as he waited for his friend to drop him back to the floor—he wasn’t light, after all. But to his surprise, the feat hardly seemed to phase the taller but decidedly thinner man. He thought back to those bar fights again, realizing that more puzzle pieces were slotting into place. Lord, okay. That’s how it was, then. Super strength, got it. “Fuck,” he breathed in shock, his nervous energy expelling itself in the form of a laugh. “Okay, showoff…” It took a moment for the other thing Owen had said to catch up to the thoughts in his head and he paused, feeling a bit more stable in the other’s arms, enough to squint down at him in disbelief.

“Ohh, that’s where this is headed, eh?” He’d never done that before—not even a partial shift. Up until tonight, his secret had had a pretty tight fucking lid on it. Leave it to Owen goddamn Lundkvist to come in with a sledgehammer and start taking down walls and rearranging the furniture. “That’s pretty kinky, I dunno…” The grin that was spreading across his face conflicted with his words, and he settled in to drape his arms over Owen’s shoulders. “Ain’t you worried I might eat you?” he muttered, grasping his own wrist behind the other’s head, leaning in until their lips were practically touching, but still holding back.

—

Wyatt was correct, he was a showoff and loved every fucking second of it, especially the gasp and soft expletive that were making it really hard to keep building tension - kinda felt like the room for more anticipation was long since running out. But this was a game, a strange version of chicken and he wasn’t sure which of them had started it yet losing was something Owen didn’t like. Did he like it less than not being able to take this man right here on the bar counter after thinking about it for longer than he’d care to admit?

It hadn’t even really been a conscious decision, bringing Wyatt’s other form into the equation, the comment dragged from the deep confines of his brain that were responsible for rash and bad decisions. As of right now, it didn’t feel like a bad thing and recent… experiences had proven just how much more fun things could be with the mildest threat of death or dismemberment hanging over him. “Don’t say that like you’re surprised,” Owen murmured back, tightening his grip to let one hand slide up under that godforsaken vest. Stubborn as he was, self control was in low quantities and that word, with the proximity of those lips, broke him. “Nah, I was kinda hoping for it, actually.”

His lips found Wyatt’s, stupid mustache somehow softer than he’d imagined and Owen would really need to remember to ask whether the fucker spent time moisturizing it, but right now there were more pressing matters to attend to. Teeth caught his lower lip, biting within an inch of drawing blood, the hand not holding Wyatt’s entire weight slipping up to grasp at the back of his neck instead.

—

Hungry, hungry. Owen was starved. Somehow, even when he stood in a grand dining hall with a banquet laid out that was fit for a king, the man still found room for second and third and fourth helpings. And while Wyatt hadn’t been back in his company for very long, he knew Owen, probably better than anyone else in this town, and he knew what the fool would’ve been getting up to all this time in the absence of Rosel. She was, frankly, the only thing that had ever stopped them before. And to his credit, Owen was usually the one pumping the brakes, though it was always done in a way that seemed to indicate he’d never wanted it to go any farther than it was, that he was just having some fun and blowing off some steam.

What an obvious lie.

Still, even with the door standing wide open, Wyatt felt compelled to keep the tradition alive, though the roles would have to be reversed this time. He permitted the kiss, fell into it, actually, losing himself for a few moments in the touch of another, but—

“Okay, Heracles,” he breathed against Owen’s lips, chuckling in a way that probably tipped the hunter off that he was about to hear something he wouldn’t like. “But I’m not lettin’ you fuck me in this shitty bar. All you’re gettin’ tonight is an hors d'oeuvre.” The ‘deal with it’ that had settled on his tongue went unsaid, but it was implied. Owen was going to have to be patient for once in his life.

—

The kiss broke and Owen let it, expecting some sort of quip from his companion, something to up the stakes, anything except… “That’s funny,” he growled, still not relinquishing the grip on Wyatt’s neck. Alas, although humor shone through in those blue eyes, they were also serious, annoyingly so. It was tempting to take this as simply a test, see how long the shifter’s self control could hold on but Owen knew the other man’s stubbornness nearly rivaled his own. His tongue ran over his teeth, the taste of whisky and Wyatt still abundant, as he mulled over his options for a reply, steely gaze never breaking eye contact. He had the man completely in his physical control, at least while the gator didn’t make an appearance, but Wyatt still held every morsel of power right at this moment.

It infuriated Owen and made him deeply intrigued at the same time.

So he gave in, loosening his grip and lowering Wyatt back onto the counter, dropping his weight at the last second just because he could and because he was frustrated. Grabbing his discarded glass before stepping back, Owen huffed, eyes still blown and tinged with annoyance. “I’m charging you for those drinks,” he finally said, tilting back his glass and finishing off the amber liquid.

#. thread ;#. with ; owen lundkvist #. the ol' razzle dazzle ;#infidelity tw #wrspice

7 notes · View notes

simpymf · 1 year ago

Text

𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀 pt. 1/3

⌈ UNDERTALE HUMAN!SANS x MONSTER!OC ⌋ (n.) the journey of changing one’s mind, heart, self, or way of life

CONTENT WARNINGS: EXPLICIT LANGUAGE · RACISM · MENTIONS OF ABUSE · MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE · DISCRIMINATION · FAT SHAMING · ANGST · SLIGHT SEXUAL THEMES · ROMANCE · PLOT WITH IMPENDING PORN

Word count: 4,724 words

- - - -

Awh, shii, here we go again.

yup, i'm makin' another fic and it's similar to my previous fic AMATIVE. This fic is considered a "Canon" x OC and not an x Reader, so if yer not into that, I'd suggest skeddaddling now. If you ARE into it... nice.

This is a human!Sans x monster!OC, and the design credit for this human sans belongs to the great @htsan. i know last time i said plz ignore, but y'know what, go crazy wit it this round. maybe i'll become a whore for attention. reblog, like, comment, go ham ig.

please heed the content warnings because the people in this fic are MEAN. and, for the record, the OC does show her side of racism as well, but don't worry. we's fuckin the racism out by the end of this. I've got part 2 finished, but part 3 might take a minute...

That's all I got though! Enjoy part one. Cha cha <3

- - - -

“Bold of you to bring me to a restaurant with a bunch of fish tanks surrounding us,” grumbles a black cat, whose voice is tight and churlish.

Sitting across a plump man—whose clean-shaven head proves well to blind passing monsters and humans alike—is a feminine black cat, her radiant golden eyes squinting sharply at his dorky grin. She sits with her slender and furry arms crossed over her chest, rustling her creamy halter strap crop top.

He chuckles, “didn’t want us ta get stuck de-bait-ing where we should eat, so i thought this would be a fin place.”

“...” The black cat monster says nothing, but her acidic squinting quickly evolves into an unimpressed grimace. “...die.”

“pff- don’t be koi now—”

“Quit it.”

“you finally let me reel you out for once—”

“I said stop.”

“and you’re wearin’ a pretty dress for the occasion...”

“...”

“...” The man grins, his flabby chin resting on the flats of his palms. “it really made my jaws drop when i first craw you.”

Lune’s gold-tipped ears immediately fold back, her nose twitching. Her features instantly scrunch up, regret over saying “yes” to going out boiling deep within. The cat’s pupils shrink into slender threads as she bores her unimpressed stare on Sans’s smug face, her sleek tail swirling beside the curve of her thigh.

“...” Her expression remains sour.

Hehe...

Isn’t he just adorable?

The tightness on Lune’s face loosens on the spot, her lips almost parting to curl back in disapproval, but she stops herself. Instead of staring at the clean-shaven human with affliction written all over her face, the black-furred cat merely gawks back at him in awe, though something tells Sans it isn’t out of fondness.

...hah?

“Adorable”? Him?

Mm-hmm! He was oh-so sweet for asking you to come out for the night!

...he wouldn’t stop saying “please”.

He’s very persistent!

Agitating.

Don’t be mean! He’s trying his best!

Lune’s face becomes pointed, her point of focus veering off to the side absentmindedly. Her golden gaze narrows as she gazes at one of the luxurious fish tanks.

He should stop.

I’m sick of bein’ duped.

Hh-He isn’t duping you! He’s genuine!

With shrewd precision, Lune peers at the human sitting across from the corner of her eye, her lids squinting acutely. She watches the naturally weary human trail his cerulean eyes up to the ceiling embellished with intricate carvings—they remind him of the crashing waves on a seashore—before they fly to another group of humans wrapped in laughter and merriment. The vibrissae stretched above Lune’s squinted eyes furrow.

I don’t see what makes this human any different than the others.

She inhales slowly, the glow of her golden gaze dimming as she squeezes her lids shut. In a habitual temperament, Lune’s tail curls in on itself only to unfold before it curls again. The cat monster slightly digs her yellow-ish claws into the wood of the table, tendons threatening to bulge out from beneath her furry exterior until she releases her grip.

Lune always took June for a fool. A tall, wide-eyed fool. A voluptuous fool. Why did she have to be the one in control of their SOUL? June is as helpless as a toddler stuck in the middle of a mall—which, ironically, occurred once.

June found Sans in the middle of a road, where a car was destined to crash right into his pudgy and stunted body—perhaps it would have killed him; Lune likes to think it would have. After many laborious months of running into each other and pursuing “dates”, Sans unwittingly professed his affections for the bunny monster on a night of celebration. Supposedly, the drinks had a death grip on him, and unfortunately loosened his tongue.

Ever since then, the three two of them lived together with nothing but tranquility and love between them. At any given chance, Lune insulted the human from within the recesses of June’s mind. Never were they addressed by the bunny herself, but Lune was always there. Always nagging about the evident flaws the human possessed. Always pointing out his insecurities as attempts to change June’s mind and get rid of him.

Of course... none of it ever worked. June always looked at the bright side. June always chose to usher Lune’s words away and embrace the human. She always chose to press her amative kisses on his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his lips, and his body whenever it offered itself. To say Lune abhorred their boundless affections would be an understatement.

She hated seeing both of them joyous. Didn’t she deserve it, too?

No, she hated seeing June joyous around a human.

What good have humans brought us?

All they do is cheat, lie, and hurt everyone.

Th-That’s just not true!

Lune gradually pivots her ears, flashing their soft pink skin. She glares at Sans.

“Why did you ask for me to go out with you? Got tired of June suckin’ up to ya?” Lune questions him, settling the lengths of her furry arms on the ragged wood of their table.

Sans blinks out of his listless stupor, cerulean eyes quick to latch onto Lune’s pointed expression. He spies the skepticism swirling in her narrowed eyes, but he refuses to draw any offense from her cynical query. Instead, the bald man—who actually decided to wear decent clothing for the night—merely cracks a grin.

“why not? you usually come out at night when e’ryone’s asleep... but you just run around the apartment for... whatever reason...” Sans’s grin slightly stretches, almost appearing thinner to the cat lady across from him. His shoulders rise and fall, lids slowly shutting themselves. “ey, i don’t judge. you do whatever makes ya happy i guess.”

Lune gives him another pointed look before turning her head, mildly irritated at his lack of a straight answer. She hates when he gets all elusive with his responses.

A small grumble reverberates within her vocal cords, “And I’m just supposed to believe you’re genuinely interested in a monster like me and June.”

Lune watches him raise a hairless brow, his hands interlacing each other as they sit on the edge of the table.

“...uh... yeah?” He plainly states.

“...”

It appears the bitter monster remains unconvinced. Slowly, her arms slide off the table and return to the height of her chest in order to weave them together. Her tail swishes at her side, brushing off meager speckles of leftover food from—assumably—the previous customers.

“You know I hate humans, right?” Lune bluntly tells him, hardly bothering with maintaining a sugar-coated disposition.

“yup.”

“...and that doesn’t concern you?”

“...should it?”

Lune’s ears veer away from each other before gradually reclining against the top of her head.

“For a long time I wondered why June would pick someone like you,” she grumbles. “You’re not extraordinary. Not conventionally attractive—”

“water y’talkin’ about? i think you should be a little more s-pacific...”

“Kck—” Lune grits her jagged teeth, whiskered brows furrowing as deep as the Mariana trench. “You’re just proving my point-! You got those annoying jokes, and you never take things seriously! How the hell does June put up with you?”

Sans chuckles, utilizing his hands to shrug.

“maybe she’s just not as crabby as you can be,” he answers, his features consumed by another wave of smugness.

“...”

A prolonged groan mixed with fatigue rolls over the cat’s golden tongue, her pupils rising to the ceiling, teasing the likelihood of rolling her eyes. She denies herself the satisfaction and merely returns her impassive gaze back to Sans.

“...tch- whatever. Just keep me out of it,” mutters the monster, who reclines into her seat.

“...”

Aimlessly kicking his feet under the table, Sans stares back at Lune—who remains persistent in not glancing his way—before he pivots his head entirely to half-heartedly admire the atmosphere. A variety of voices fill the restaurant: loud and indistinct, honeyed and brusque, high-pitched and dull. Most struggle with interlacing each other, fighting in a war of sonority within the building.

The stout human and feline monster entered the scene roughly an hour ago, one bitter and irritated while the other was indifferent to the atmosphere before them. Regardless, Sans thought it would be a great idea if he received his brother’s advice and took Lune out on an o-fish-al date, considering she rarely wanted to pop out when he and June started dating. When she first emerged from June’s subconscious, it... didn’t exactly go the way Sans expected it to.

Immediately, Lune sprung at him and pinned him on the floor, her fangs dripping with an abundance of glossy, sinewy drool. Her unrelenting stare held a malice that practically haunted him for the following nights. He didn’t know he would genuinely fear for his life when facing a monster—he hardly ever had trouble with them before—so he thought Lune wouldn’t be so different.

He regretted his words within a second.

June supposedly fought Lune for the control of the SOUL in that moment, overwhelming her with piercing headaches and numbing every imperceptible nerve in her body. Lune fought desperately to maintain her control. Clawed at her own face and wrestled with herself for the authority of her SOUL, but she inevitably lost to June’s strength and retreated to her subconscious.

“Hhaa-... hhf... hmph...”

June slowly turned to Sans. When he really thought about it... that was the first time he saw her drop her smile out of fear... she dreaded what would happen if she ever let Lune out again.

“...maybe-... maybe we should–” June worriedly lowered her eyes–“postpone... an official meeting... with Lune...” she mumbled, anxiously dropping her head between her shoulders.

Now, after enduring a year and six months of facing Lune on several occasions, the two remain seated across from each other. Lune sits with her arms crossed at her chest, wearing a cream-colored crop top with straps running up her chest, over her collarbones, and behind her neck. Situated around her waist is a dark brown flowy skirt with sunflowers sutured around the edge of the fabric. In Lune’s defense, this was the outfit June begged her to go out in...

Sans, however, unwinds in his seat whilst wearing a simple white button up—multitudes of folds practically carved in the material considering it’s been sitting at the base of his closet for an unspecified amount of time—and a plain gray jacket. His legs are dressed in black slacks that easily pass for a pair of dress pants, not that anyone called him out on them yet.

“...”

Lune’s posture slightly caves in, her glowing eyes flitting back to Sans’s ordinary expression. When the man catches her curious gaze, he allows his grin to widen. She grimaces and tears her gaze away.

...you’re not going to... say anything?

Tch- why should I? He’s just being weird and...

Again, the female monster guides her skeptical eyes to the human across from her. As she suspects, his cerulean eyes remain locked on her facial features, a look of amusement and mirth twinkling across his face.

Staring.

Blankness quickly takes over Lune’s features, her eyes boring into the fish tank just behind the counter of Sans’s head.

He’s trying to be sweet! He likes you!

Ew... I’d rather... not deal with that.

You used to be super mean when it came to humans, but you’ve gotten better at it!

It’s obvious he’s changed your mind!

Tch-

Did you forget that kids used to throw sticks and rocks at us for being us?

...

Did you forget that Caleb can’t see out of his left eye now because of humans?

I-...

Humans killed cats and rabbits for generations. Who’s to say we’re not next?

Hh-He’s different, Lune! He wouldn’t hurt a-a fly!

You’re a fool. He could become a threat just like—

scchhhhhhhhhhhhh-

Mm—

scchhhhhhhhh-

Wh-

schhhhhh-

Lune blinks out of her acrimonious trance when a distinct shuffling takes place before her, her eyes frantically searching around her as if the culprit is a neighboring table. Soon, however, Lune directs her bemused gaze to the only possible suspect. She stares him down momentarily before batting her eyes down to witness his arm gradually stretching across the table.

The space between her whisker brows decreases, her ears slouching reluctantly, a distinct look of perplexity written all over her furry features. She notices his hand remains plastered atop a square-shaped napkin, further inciting her bemusement.

“...?” Lune stays silent, but her lips momentarily part, as if she means to drop a puzzled comment, though nothing ever leaves her.

Sans’s lids squint with childish glee, eyes locked in on Lune’s twisted features, finding her bewilderment utmost amusing. Quickly, he peels his hand off of the plain white napkin only to recoil his entire posture back to his side of the table.

“...hah?” Is all that Lune manages to utter out.

Opting to ignore the evident glee written on Sans’s face, Lune hesitantly lowers her hand and clasps the napkin. Her yellow finger beans run over the floppy material of the napkin, noticing certain characters are etched into the flatness, a faint note of ink drifting across the pad of her sensitive nose. Upon observing the scent of pen ink, Lune sets her attention onto the napkin itself, creasing the fur between her vibrissae as she concentrates on the written message.

“i’d fuck you silly over this table if nobody else was here.”

“...”

Lune reads it again. Then again. Hoping she misread; skipped a few letters, perhaps.

No...

It definitely says “i’d fuck you silly over this table if nobody else was here”.

My... how bold...

Ew.

Reluctance consumes Lune’s movement as she slowly looks back at the ostensibly grinning man before her, his lids barely hanging. Lune is entirely silent, too starstruck and disturbed to come up with a snarky reply. The napkin remains flopped over the back of her twitching digits, the scribbled words gawking back at Sans although upside down—it almost makes his grin widen.

“...you don’t even have a pen on you,” Lune bluntly states. “...so how the hell did you write this?”

“guess you could say i’d be an ink-credible magician, huh?” Sans snorts, his tubby body gradually leaning forward until he can easily set his elbows on top of the table. “i thought it’d be a pretty fine point gag, y’know.”

“...” She parts her lips before sealing them shut. Seconds later, she peels them open again to speak, “You’re fuckin’ annoying, y’know that?”

“yep. my number one hobby,” he remarks, snapping his fingers before finger gunning the aggravated cat. “eyyyy... when’s our food comin’? i’m kinda hungry. you’d expect them ta bring out some bread, huh? that’s the yeast they could do.”

“Kckk—”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“didn’t you order the egg soup?”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“i’m eggs-pectin’ it’ll be out here soon,” Sans chuckles. “if they don’t bring us some food, i’ll just keep makin’ these stupid jokes ‘til you crack up.”

“...”

Stiffness takes over Lune’s facial features, her eyes boring themselves into space while her lips are drawn thin. Her right ear flicks at the air repeatedly, as if fencing off a pesky insect attempting to land on her fur. Soon, the cat’s tail curls repeatedly, swishing and twisting at her side like a snake held in a chokehold.

He’s not a threat...

Her eyes slightly widen, wrinkles itching the subtle bridge of her nose and revealing bits of her fangs as she grimaces at the clean-shaven human.

He’s just.

Really.

A n n o y i n g.

“i’m actually enjoying myself,” he remarks, kicking his legs with a look of satisfaction across his face. “y’know... yer really not that bad to be around. sure, it’s also pretty fun makin’ you mad and watching you huff and puff like a big bad wolf. but honestly... you’re a nice change of pace. yer honest... yer pretty resolute. ‘n... y’know. yer...” Sans smiles sheepishly, finally averting his gaze for once before reeling his eyes back to Lune’s puzzled expression.

“you’re... also pretty... pretty. you and juney are pretty,” he admits, raising his shoulders. “even when you’re pipin’ mad, i think you’re pretty to look at.”

“Wh—” Lune winces, her raven-black fur tingling at the base of each follicle she possesses until suddenly... she appears poofy to the human.

Sans flits his attention to her current state, glancing up and down at her fluffiness, unable to resist the knowing grin from spreading across his lips. He rests his fleshy cheeks into the comfort of his palms, practically getting comfortable in his seat while witnessing the feline monster toil with herself after receiving his words of adoration.

“O-Oi-! I’m not... gonna fall for that. You could trick June with that kind of talk, but yy-you won’t get me,” Lune grumbles, firmly crossing her arms over her chest in the manner of a fussy toddler.

“what kinda talk?” Sans hums, gradually letting the weight of his left cheek take over his palm, leading him into cocking his head to the side. “y’mean like... if i told you i love it when your eyes sparkle like the wishing well star cluster... lookin’ at your eyes feels way better than star gazing, too.”

Lune’s SOUL twists, settling deep within the pits of her stomach (if she technically owned one), where it continues to squirm uncomfortably. She shakes slightly, grumbling curses to herself while squeezing her eyes shut and turning her head away.

“Tch-... you just... sound stupid... a-and corny...”

Sans chuckles, “and you sound a little starstruck.”

What the hell is goin’ on? Did he just turn this all on me?

“Y—”

“You-!”

Lune winces when a voice cuts through the atmosphere, her ears instinctively twisting and folding back to protect her sensitive hearing. Her posture adjusts itself while she remains seated, luminous golden eyes quickly searching the room for the source of the voice.

Pivoting her head the instant she catches movement in the corner of her eyes, Lune faces her left, where she witnesses a short-haired human woman with smooth olive skin march up to their table, her steps clearly indicating she means to address Sans. Lune sees the woman is wearing a juniper dress, the fabric hugging the woman’s body and outlining her alluring curves whilst the puffy material sewn across the bosom of her dress allows enough room for the imagination.

The woman has dark brown hair and keeps her hair styled in a soft pixie cut; a means of displaying her innate confidence and authoritative personality. Her dark eyes fall to Sans’s face, recognizing a momentary look of disbelief mixed with a hint of bewilderment.

Much like Lune, Sans flinches upon meeting eyes with the person he did not think he would ever encounter again... his ex-boss. His hairless brows briefly meet at the bridge of his nose before they part once more, discomfort flaring within the confinement of his SOUL. He was looking forward to this date night, too...

“oh...” mumbles the bald man, his lids hanging lethargically.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing your face to me after what you DID-!” The woman shouts, finally stepping up to Sans’s side and slamming her palm onto the surface of their table. “Do you have ANY idea what you did to me?! You and all those other brainless fucking pigeons!”

Lune blinks before she hardens her gaze, eyeing this human with restricted cynicism as she barks at her date of the night. The feline monster’s tail stills its winding movement, lying lax at her side and dangling off the edge of her chair. Now, a persistent agitation scratches at the back of Lune’s mind... likely originating from the white bunny monster grumbling defensively in her subconscious.

What is this human saying? Those aren’t very nice words!

The human woman firmly stabs the table with her finger, glaring down at Sans, whose expression remains rather composed as he gawks back up at his once-supervisor. Her bulged eyes stare at Sans, miniscule crimson filaments snaking into the whites of her eyes, nostrils flared as she angrily huffs.

“You all think you were some righteous gang of heroic icons for getting me kicked off the executive board? It’s not like that company would’ve hurt without those dollars! Ohh, but you ass-kissing saps couldn’t handle getting your feelings hurt every once in a fucking while. Knowing you, you’d have probably needed those bills just as badly as I did!”

“...i was banking on them to fire you sooner cos of that nasty “charisma” you got there. finding out you were involved in some good ol’ embezzlement, though, was actually a bonus,” Sans responds, his smile stagnant, though a devilish color flashes in his eyes.

As much as she refuses to flatter Sans for his dry yet witty remarks, Lune finds herself blinking dumbly—ears unconsciously flattening against her head—a brief urge to snicker at his words rushes through her. Her tail curls with a lively energy, stirring her raven fur on the side of her thigh.

...that was a little funny.

See!

Doesn’t-... it doesn’t mean anything!

Your SOUL did a little flutterrr...

Sh-Shut up!

“You think this is a fucking joke?! I lost everything because of you and your convoluted friends!” The woman hisses, batting her hands through the air. A disgruntled huff flies past her ear, drawing her venomous gaze to the feline monster, whose radiant golden eyes glare back with the same level of venom. “And, of course, you brought your freak of a girlfriend here. I knew only a fucking monster would wanna date an obese smart-ass like you.”

Sans spies a distinct jerk from the corner of his eye, watching Lune defensively twist her head and upper body to face the bigoted woman. Out of concern over how Lune chooses to retaliate, Sans merely lets out a dry chuckle and rests his cheek on his flattened knuckles, peeking up at his ex-boss with one eye open.

“i’m sure you get lotsa dates with that heavyset attitude of yours,” he remarks, cerulean eye twinkling with an underlying mischief.

The woman’s fair toned face evolves into a deep shade of red, streaks of her dark hair fall out from her once tidied hairstyle, framing her face. Intricate wrinkles are etched above the bridge of her nose, nostrils flaring uncontrollably, and her eyes now stretched as wide as they can be—blood vessels visibly peeping out within the whites of her eyes.

“WHY YOU PIECE OF—!”

Sans’s smug smile drops, his fist falling down onto the surface of their table. For a moment, he panics, witnessing the woman promptly turn. He expected a punch or a slap at first... having winced the second she moved. Instead, Sans’s panic magnifies when his attention is caught by the sight of her digits curling around a cool glass of water—beads of liquid garnishing the circumference of the cup. With a wall sitting directly beside Sans, the human male realizes his fate is doomed by a frigid glass of clear water mixed with hints of lemon, raising a hand to his face to brace for the shock.

Creeak—

! SPLASH !

“...”

“...?”

Keeping his eyes squeezed shut, Sans holds his breath in suspense, knowing he is bound for an impromptu shower... though not a drop of water hits him. Astounded gasps and murmurs crash over the atmosphere like a wave, further perplexing the clean-shaven human, who reluctantly guides his hand away from his face.

“hh-... huh?”

Plip...

Plop...

Plip...

Standing in front of Sans, and effectively taking the cold splash of the water, is Lune. Water seeps into the fabric of her top and skirt, gradually clinging onto her fur, which is now just as soaked. Her fur—saturated with ice-cold water—shines beneath the azure brilliancy of the restaurant, unable to cling onto the descending drops of fluid. Lune’s furry cheeks now sag with an abundance of water adhering to each strand of hair on her face.

Lune’s ears slowly unfold, turning in order to reveal their soft pink skin to the red-faced woman, the golden hue garnishing the tips dramatically dimmed along with her eyes.

Sans’s eyes widen, shock flowing through him and sending him into a state of pure silence. His lips remain parted, but no sound ever escapes him. He cannot summon a single thought. Seeing Lune standing before him, drenched in the water that was intended to hit him, stupefies Sans. He was so convinced she loathed everything about him. Loathed him.

Why take this onslaught for him?

“...” Lune blankly stares at the enraged woman, confining any signs of discomfort within her SOUL. She feels water trickle down every thread of fur on her face until every drop congregates at the apex of her chin, plummeting down to soak into her cream-colored shirt.

“Wh—” The woman stands tall, lowering the glass she tightly clasps in her hand.

Sans shimmies himself closer to the outer edge of his seat, hoping to reach his hand out to Lune. He worriedly lifts his gaze, aiming his focus onto the back of her head.

“lu... -ne...?” He tests his voice.

She slightly turns her head, glancing down at Sans from the corner of her eye.

“...still wondering why I hate humans?” Lune utters, paws now dangling at her sides.

Parting his lips, Sans promptly attempts to give Lune a response, though he quickly finds nothing comes to him at the moment. He merely gawks up at her with wide cerulean eyes, awe written all over his face and deeming him silent. His hand hovers in the air. A pitiful attempt to help Lune despite the fact he wields nothing appropriate to help dry her off.

“...i-...”

With disappointment flashing across her eyes, Lune turns away and starts treading on a path to the exit, abandoning Sans and an eerily silent crowd. Her tail dangles behind her, brushing against the rough texture of the black and blue carpet settled beneath her. Nothing the stout human male at the table says behind her breaks her pace out of the restaurant. Every desperate yell of her name or stuttered “waits” goes unheard by the time she pulls the door open and strolls out into the dark streets.

“oof-!” Sans exclaims as he stumbles out of his seat, practically shoving the culprit of this entire fiasco out of his way only to tread the same path Lune took to leave the building. “ll-lune! w-wait!”

“Wh-?! I wasn’t done-!” The woman yells, stomping her foot as she pivots her entire body on one heel. She curls her digits tightly around the glass, its contents now emptied out.

“O-Oi...”

“That was a disaster...”

“Yeah... and that woman was being totally disrespectful...”

“Hmph... honestly, I would’ve been embarrassed if I were her.”

“Ruining an innocent couple’s dinner.”

“What...” The woman hesitantly turns her head, eyeing the numerous tables of monsters and humans alike. She spies several distasteful looks from neighboring tables, unable to understand why her hands now shake at her sides. “What are you—”

“Not only did you harass them, but you practically assaulted that poor woman!”

“Sh-She’s not a woman! She’s- she’s just a-... a stupid mm-monster! Are you people serious?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself...”

“Ma’am, we’re going to have to ask you to leave the premises. You’ve been causing a disturbance and compelled our customers to leave our restaurant. Please, come with me.”

“WH-?! I didn’t do anything wrong! I was entitled to finishing my personal business! Wh-?! Hh-Hey-! Don’t fucking touch me! Wh-?!” The woman shrieks as two waiters extend their arms behind her and gently guide her to the exit of the restaurant, where she happens to match eyes with Sans, who has a gentle smile spread across his face whilst he gives the restaurant one last glance.

“YOU-! You’ll fucking pay for this! YOU’LL FUCKING PAY, I SWEAR TO YOU-!” The short-haired woman promptly shouts, hysterically thrashing between the waiters meticulously restraining her.

Sans lingers in silence for a moment, observing how furiously his ex-boss flails about between the crowd of people attempting to calm her down. He stares before allowing a smile to stretch across his lips.

“guess you got served anyway, huh?” The short man remarks, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jacket. With a suave mannerism he rarely ever possesses, Sans turns away and approaches the exit.

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝… (1/3)

#undertale fic #canon x oc #eventual smut #angst #romance #drama #undertale sans #human!sans #x oc #speciest?#ut fic #shameless simp

5 notes · View notes

crescentblossom66 · 1 year ago

Note

Bashes the door

OH SO....

hatkid talking to conductor about timing and him using it in his movies

A mini monster au one shot ft conductor x cookie

Ooh, I really wanted to write some Sugar Rush content so...I hope you don't mind me choosing the second option.

“Are you sure that you want to accompany me, I know you hate don't like having many people around you, and it's a sale, so there will be plenty of people around.” Cookie asked the man that grabbed his keys while making a dismissive gesture with the other hand.

“Eh, it will be fine, I need to head inta town anyway, so, it ain't a big deal.” He reassured as he followed the witch outside. The morning sun had just risen over the horizon and the dipped the the whole town into a lovely orange. It also caused Cookie's red hair to shine even more than usual, it reminded him of orange lilies that he could see on the big field before the final stop on before he'd loop back around with the train.

“My hair looks like a mess, doesn't it? I didn't have the time to wash it this mornin'.” She looked a bit embarrassed and gave a light chuckle as she walked next to him. Her talking had snapped him out of it, he hadn't even realized that he had been staring at her. He focused on looking only in front of him, as to not make eye contact as that would cause even more problems as if merely looking at her would cause his face to heat up. He mentally scolded himself for behaving like a 15 year old teenager in high school having a crush on a girl in his class, he had had a wife for peck's sake! These feelings felt so wrong, like he was betraying the one he had lost, yet Cookie's presence made him happy. It was truly frustrating.

“Are you okay? Are you in pain? You're gritting your teeth, sweetie.” He got startled by her soft voice, and that lovely southern accent she had.

“I-I'm fine. Uh, I was thinkin' 'bout work yesterday. A passenger was bein' a real pain in the backside.” The Conductor explained...even though it was a blatant lie. Cookie didn't seem to have caught on thankfully.

“I know what you mean, I had a rude customer last week. He ordered a gazpacho and complained about it being cold...it's served cold.” The red-haired witch looked a bit annoyed, but quickly shrugged it off. The wereowl quietly sighed in relief after noticing that she hadn't realized what actually bothered him.

The pair soon reached the market, and it was as crowded as Cookie had said it would be. “Great...we'll be stuck 'ere fer years.” The blonde man looked already impatient as he tried to find a way through the crowded streets to their destination, the department store.

He nearly jumped in surprise and visibly flinched when Cookie grabbed his hand to hold. “We'll get lost in this crowd, it's easier to not lose each other like this.” She stated rather plainly and looked completely unbothered as she pulled him with her toward the entrance. It was a good thing she never turned around or she would have seen that her companion was as red as a tomato after feeling her soft and warm hand in his. “So, what was it that you wanted to buy?”

The man was so lost in thought for a moment that the question took three seconds to even register in his brain, and when he tried to answer, his vocal cords disobeyed him. “Uhh...uhm...I...I wanted to buy somethin' fer the red hooded lassie...She's growin' out of 'er old clothes.” He could himself before Cookie caught on and got worried.

“Aw, it's so nice that you take such good care of little Mu, she's had it really rough.” Cookie weaved through the crowd to find the department with the kitchen supplies. “I'm here to buy new wooden spoons they don't scratch up the pans when stirring food, you know. Hattie used them to practice a fire spell, and, they all burned to crisps, as you can imagine.” She looked back at him and laughed softly at the kid's antics.

“Aye, a wee rascal, that one.” He masked his nervousness with a fake chuckle. While Cookie went to buy the new spoons, Conductor went his own way for a bit and bought a new red hoodie for Mu. He hoped she'd be happy about it when he got home and could give it to her. As he exited the kid's clothing section, he noticed a nice, white bobble hat, and he recalled that Cookie had complained about the weather getting cold. He took the hat and checked the material, and found that it was well-made and warm. He decided to buy it for her as a present.

When he was waiting in checkout, standing in a queue of at least ten people, an old memory surfaced, a memory of those that he held so dear playing in the snow...he was once again brought back to reality, but this time by the rather impatient woman that waited for him to hand over the hat and hoddie to check the prize tag. After paying for the item, he joined back up with Cookie who was waving at him near the small fountain in the middle of the department store. “Did you get everything, Conductor?” She had a small bag in her hand and gave him a smile as he joined up with her again.

“Got all of it.-” He rubbed the back of his head. “-took a wee bit longer, got stuck fer ages in checkout.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the white bobble hat. “I...uh...got you a lil something.”

Cookie looked both stunned and happy at the kind gesture. “You...you bought me a hat?” She examine the hat and even put it on.

While Cookie was looking at him with awe and happiness in her eyes, he looked away, trying, and failing, to hide his blush. He stiffened when she showed her appreciation with a soft hug. “You can be so sweetheart.” He hugged her back, for the first time in a long time, he felt happy.

#answer asks #ahit fanfic #ahit cooking cat #ahit conductor #ahit sugar rush #ahit monster au

5 notes · View notes

aggressive-positivity-network · 3 years ago

Note

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

80 notes · View notes

trashytummiez · 4 years ago

Note

what if Orca ate too much and Killer Croc rubs her belly?

Killer croc returned to his underground lair and rubbed his scaly stomach hungrily. It growled like an animal and left him grumbling for his own stomach to keep it down. But when he checked his fridge to his dread he saw the whole thing was picked clean.

"What the hell?!" Croc shouted.

He had a stocked fridge when he left how could it it be empty just like that?

Then he heard groaning from the other room and straight away got his answer.

There he found his girlfriend Orca sitting on the floor and caressing her massively stuffed tummy. Orca had eaten so much that her stomach looked like she was pregnant and expecting any second now. Her blubbery tummy was so huge that she had to sit on the floor with her back against the wall and her thighs spread out just to give it some room to breathe.

"Ey why'd ya eat everythin' in the fridge??" Killer Croc complained.

Orca groaned miserably. "Unnngh sorry Croc. Something got me feeling anxious again so I had to distract myself..."

"So ya settled on cleanin' me out?"

Orca hiccuped which made her huge belly jostle and slorsh. Not a good feeling right now. "...Unf couldn't help myself..."

The way her massive tummy groaned so loudly was enough to make even Killer Croc cringe almost as hard as Orca did. He'd certainly been there countless times in his life.

He decided to cut his girlfriend some slack so Croc sat down next to her and planted his rough scaly hands against her giant smooth tummy. Then in a surprisingly gentle way Killer croc began to rub Orca's massive tummy with a great deal of care. His hands delicately moved up the giant blubbery medicine ball of a tummy where his claws gently dug into the fat flesh.

Orca's eyes rolled to the back of her head and she moaned at the much needed tummy rub. For a monster so rigid Killer Croc knew how to be surprisingly tactile and docile with her.

"That feel good?" Croc asked.

Orca hummed through her chest and smiled pleasantly.

Killer Croc grinned and kept it up even when his own stomach rumbled.

Orca frowned guiltily when she heard Croc's scaly belly complaining. "Sorry I really should've left you something..."

"Ah it's cool. It's pretty late so I'll go back up t'the surface and find a mugger later."

Orca shrugged. At least Killer Croc would be getting a more filling meal that way. Then she continued to enjoy his soothing treatment over her tummy.

His scaly hand ran up and down the fatty side of Orca's massive stomach. He just kept rubbing it up and down occasionally rubbing upwards with his palm or gripping into Orca's blubber and kneading it to help it settle. Croc's hands traced over every bit of that giant whale belly and kneaded into it on top of rubbing away.

Orca sat there loving every second of it. Especially when Croc dug his claw into her very deep belly button. Croc kneaded into Orca's navel moving around circularly inside which got Orca moaning a little louder. Even when she was human her belly button was always extra delicate.

When Croc yanked his claw out of her belly button her whole chubby tummy wobbled around until Croc patted it heartily which caused it to slosh around and made Orca hiccup again.

"Man ya really know how to pack this stuff away don'tcha!" Croc admired.

"I stress-eat sometimes," Orca admitted with embarrassment. "I keep meaning to maintain better self control."

"Pssh self control's overrated," Killer Croc dismissed speaking from extensive gluttonous experience himself. "Besides ya look good with a belly on ya," Croc almost purred when he grabbed a hold of Orca's hefty blubbery tummy.

Orca blushed and scowled back in response. "Y-You're just saying that to make me feel better."

"Naw I'm serious," Croc insisted and looked down at that big plump tummy which he rubbed circles all over. "Ya look sexy as hell."

"...You're an idiot..." Orca said but the way her cheeks flared up hinted something else.

She didn't object when he continued stroking her tummy though. Her silky flesh felt so smooth to Croc even with his scales partially diluting everything he felt. Even he could feel the sleekness to it and how much softer it was when Orca was so unbelievably bloated. He couldn't help marvel at her girth as his hands roamed every bit of that hefty belly.

Killer Croc fondled her heavy underbelly gripping into her tummy and heaving her whole stomach up a little to just feel its weight in his arms. And the way he looked down at this massive tummy with this hungry look in his eyes was telling.

Maybe Killer Croc really did have a thing for tummies, especially Orca's tummy.

Orca also had to admit. Having her belly tended to by her big scaly boyfriend was doing something for her too.

It was enough to make her forget all about her troubles. At least until Killer Croc brought it back up.

"So what was buggin' ya anyway?" Croc asked while he rubbed.

Orca shifted a little. "You know me. I'm an anxious person."

"But ya usually ain't anxious fer nothin'."

"I don't know. I guess I was just thinking about the future. I've accepted this is who I am now but I don't know things like how it's going to affect my lifespan if I can have children or if it will affect my mind going forward."

"You've been this way fer years now though."

"Mutations do still occur and I never got a chance to read the fine print when they transformed me."

Killer Croc frowned. He'd changed a lot too when he grew up but for as much as he mutated he was still himself. "D'ya feel any different?"

"No?"

"Yer thoughts ever make ya think differently?"

"Well I didn't used to think humans tasted so good," Orca joked and rubbed her fat belly fondly patting it a few times too. "Besides my hunger and my new body though no. I guess not."

"I ain't smart bout nothin' but I know people well enough. I think the fact yer so nervous bout this sorta crap only means yer still you cuz ya always overthink crap. Comes with bein' a nerd right?"

"Scientists aren't nerds," Orca frowned.

Croc grinned teasingly. "C'mon ya could be playin' video games with me but instead yer always readin'? Yer the queen'uh nerds babe!"

"And you're an asshole."

Killer Croc laughed and nodded in agreement. Orca herself couldn't help laugh and shake her head. Croc wasn't the most sensitive of maneating monsters but he was surprisingly very good at listening and helping Orca get out of her own head sometimes. That was all she really needed sometimes and he never failed to give her that relief from her own anxieties.

"Thank you," she said sincerely.

Croc smiled back at her and leaned up to kiss her on the lips.

Or at least he tried to until her huge belly gurgled heavily enough to actually make it ripple slightly.

Orca cringed and turned her head with a fist pushed against her mouth. She stifled a deep burp in her mouth that Killer croc could hear rumbling in her cheeks. Then Orca gripped the dead center of her chunky belly and muffled an even bigger burp that made her cheeks balloon out somewhat.

She blew the gas out from the corner of her mouth and blushed.

"Unnnnf excuse me. That was gross," Orca pardoned herself.

"Pssh ya forget who yer datin'?" Killer Croc teased. "Don't hold 'em in if yer feelin' gassy babe. That ain't gonna feel too hot fer yer gut."

Killer Croc leaned his heavy scaly torso against Orca's giant belly. The added weight of his body alone was causing the pressure to build but then he squeezed Orca's tummy firmly and forced that pressure right up her throat. Before she could stop herself Orca a huge echoing burp that rumbled throughout the tunnels.

BBBRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHP!!!!!!!!!

Croc grinned. "There ya go babe! Get it all out!"

Killer croc gripped the center of Orca's belly and pushed his hands deeply into the middle of her heavy tummy. Before Orca could tell Croc off she burped so hard that the ground felt like it was shaking!

HHUUUUUUUURRRRRAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOURRRHP!!!!!!!!!

Croc laughed heartily. "Damn! Ya been holdin' out on me haven'tcha!"

Orca panted heavily and waved her hand to get Croc to pause for a moment. Her blubbery tummy rose and fell heavily with her stunted breath. Orca's face was pretty red. She was never shy about burping at all even back when she was still human. But these days she usually only did that either if she was alone or if the only other person around was in her stomach.

She couldn't help be a little embarrassed by how loud they were. But she had to admit it felt so much better getting the gas out.

Whatever the case Orca puffed out her cheeks and blew in a weary sort of way. "Ungh push here," Orca instructed Killer croc pointing right around her belly button again. She felt that part of her stomach bubbling and making it feel even more tense.

"Grand finale time huh?" Croc grinned. Then he pushed his thumbs into Orca's belly button and pressed both hands right into the middle of her chunky gut. They actually sank into the blubbery belly fat and caused her whole stomach to churn.

The Orca's mouth parted with an absolutely colossal burp that was louder than any she'd ever let out and rumbled out of her tummy so long that Croc stopped counting the seconds.

AAAAAAAAAHHRRAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUURRRRAAAAAAAAAOOOOOOOOORRRRRHHHHUUUUUURRP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Orca panted so heavily she started drooling. She slumped back in a daze feeling absolute relief while her belly spilled out freely and bubbled much more softly.

Killer croc slapped his thigh with laughter. "GAHAHAHA!!! Holy shit babe! You'n I definitely gotta have ourselves a contest later!" He said childishly patting her tummy and making her hiccup again.

The relief she felt was so astronomical that Orca didn't even blush. She just smacked her lips and said, "I wouldn't want to embarrass you."

And in an uncharacteristic display of cockiness Orca thumped her chest and burped one last time to prove her point.

#kink fic #orca #killer croc #waylon jones #grace balin #stuffing #belly rub #belly kink #burping #hiccups #belly button play #fat play #belly play #fluff #killer croc x orca #waylon jones x grace balin #canon ship #relationships #anxiety

60 notes · View notes

lazyneonrabbitt · 4 years ago

Text

Full moon meetings

Werewolf!Daryl Dixon x Reader

You get stuck in the woods, surrounded by walkers when something saves your life.

Running from walkers was terrible. The only upside here was that you were alone and you could hide way easier than with a group. The other bad part was that it was currently late at night and you had to leave most of your stuff at your campsite because of the small herd that woke you up. The slightly better part was the full moon brightening the area which helped you spot a cabin up ahead to hide in until the walkers passed.

You rushed in and blocked the door behind you, waiting for the herd to pass. When it finally did you carefully scouted the way you came from and backtracked towards your campsite with the hopes that everything was still fine. On your way back you managed to avoid running into another small group of walkers but your camp was ravaged. You could find two knives that you took with you but the bag of food you had to leave behind was trampled completely. Now you were stuck in the woods, alone and with no food.

Your group had ditched you after you've gotten in a fight with someone and they all chose their side instead of yours. You sighed and dug around for anything that was still good enough to take with you and left for the cabin again. Memories of the fight that got you into this mess kept repeating in your head, causing you to not notice a ditch that you casually stepped into and slipped with a shriek, alarming all the walkers you so desperately tried to avoid. This time you didn't have enough time to escape and ended up surrounded, slowly taking down stumbling walkers but it wasn't long before you had them all getting too close too fast and there was no way out of this for you this time.

Not until you heard more growling, but a different kind then walkers' growls. You cowered down and hid your head between your knees, just waiting for it all to be over with as the growling became louder and the shine of the moon seemed to disappear underneath you. There was more growling and a lot of movement but nothing seemed to be directed at you and it surprised you how long you were actually surviving this whole thing. When the walkers' growls died down and the movements seemed to stop, the moon shone on the ground near you again and you carefully lifted your head to look at what happened, only to touch your nose against something wet before opening your eyes. You jumped up with a scream and ran off in the opposite direction, frantically looking back to see a giant creature standing among the corpses of the walkers that surrounded you just now. It didn't seem to move as you slowed your run and rounded it from a large distance, back on your way to the cabin to hole up in for the night, hoping the creature wasn't gonna attack you when it got hungry again. Finally back at the cabin you sat down and let out all the anger and frustration you had bottled up and cried into the murky bed that sat in the far corner. A group of walkers got in the way of his search for food. These nights were best for hunting and he always brought back the largest catch for the community. the ones who knew never spoke about it, and the ones who didn't never seemed to question it and somehow all accepted that the moonlight helped seeing late at night so it was easier to make multiple kills in one night. The group of walkers was a big one, but split after a noise somewhere further down into the woods which he also decided to follow. He came across a small campsite with only one sleeping bag and minimal supplies when another small group passed through, ruining everything in sight. He decided to watch from a distance to see what the walkers were fixated on and after a while of observing he ended on a survivor in the middle of another small section of the herd, surrounded and unable to get out by themselves. He watched as the person gave up and crawled down. As if his body moved on its own he jumped in and started gnawing away at the walkers, clawing and biting at them until all of them were down. He stepped away from the girl and sniffed around her, trying to smell for other humans or any sign of a walker bite but he found none. While he was busy she had raised her head and bumped her nose against his and jumped up with a shriek. He stepped back in confusion and stared as she ran off into the distance. He stalked her back to the cabin and decided to go back to hunting after seeing she got in safe.Normally he'd store his kills in the cabin but for now he'd have to think of something else.

You woke up later, your eyes still hurt from crying so it took a while longer to get adjusted to the darkness. When you were able to see properly again you checked out the cabin again, better this time now that you were safe and rested. While staring at the far wall you dragged yourself out of bed, stepping on something and dropping to the floor. Said something moved. "What the.. Shit!!" You called out as you tried to get away from the thing that you ran into earlier. It was large, covered in fur, and ..snoring? No, that wasn't a snore. That was more of a huff. Shit, you woke it up. It grumbled as it opened an eye to see what happened and saw you on the floor, staring in fear. It decided to get up and move further away from the bed and plop down on the floor again, keeping an eye on you until it had settled and closed them again to continue its sleep. Carefully getting back up you to make it back to the bed you spotted something near the door. Taking a better look you saw it was a pile of animals, not chewed down or torn apart but seemingly skillfully hunted. From what you could see there wasn't a lot of blood on them but their necks were clawed open or twisted in a gross way so you stopped looking and lied back down. Rest didn't really come anymore so when it was getting brighter outside you carefully snuck out of the cabin with all your stuff and left without waking the thing that accompanied you.

"I'm heading back to my group now, bye." You whispered softly as you closed the cabin door and walked off to what you hoped was your next safe stop and some food.

After what felt like an eternity you managed to catch a fish to fry and finally eat something. You took a break at the riverside and moved on after you had rested enough. You walked for a bit when you ended up on a road with a sign telling you about a place called Alexandria, a safe space according to the writing. It felt like a dream come true and you quickly made your way towards where the sign told you to go and close to sundown you finally arrived at the gates. You were quickly called after by someone on top of the gates. They asked you all kinds of questions after someone opened one part of the gates before letting you in. A small group had gathered already and a guy named Aaron had given you some water and was talking to you together with another guy who introduced himself as Rick. He was a lot less nice than Aaron but you understood where his concerns came from. "She's fine. Quit bein' harsh on her." A gruff voice spoke from behind them. A guy with long shaggy hair moved into the group and you tried your hardest to remember if you ever saw him before but you had no idea who he was. "Ya said ya were goin' back to yer group. Why're ya here alone?" The two other men looked at him with confused looks on their faces but you tried to go along with what he said. "Yeah, I don't have a group. Thanks again for saving my ass. I didn't want to be bothering you any more than I already did." You said apologetic, hoping you came across convincing enough. "S'alright. good ya found this place." He added before going into a discussion with the other two, just out of your earshot. The man named Rick came back and brought the news that you were accepted into their community as long as you posed no threat to anyone and pulled your weight in the group. You agreed to all the terms he gave you and led you to an empty home where you could live for tonight. They all understood you were tired and left you alone for the time being. After you cleaned yourself up you went to sit down on your porch to take in your surroundings. It all felt surreal, it looked like this place had never even seen a walker at all.

"Hey, you." The guy from before made his way over to your porch and sat down next to the bench, keeping an acceptable distance to not scare you off. You welcomed him and moved down to sit closer so you could talk easier. "You saved me last night, didn't you." You asked quietly, not sure if it was something okay to ask about. He nodded and thanked you for not freaking out about it. "S'alright. My name's Daryl."

"Thank you for saving my ass, really. And for saying what you did when I got here." You had introduced yourself before at the gate and now you talked about how you lost your group and ended up in the area. It was clear you were skilled enough to survive on you own as long as you didn't get caught off guard. "So, am I allowed yo ask about last night?" You wondered carefully, earning a smile and a nod. He told you about his hunting trips during the full moons and the further his story went, the more he wondered how you were so calm about it all. "I guess I have a soft spot for big monsters that are nice to people? I used to watch old monster movies for days on end before al of this." You turned away shyly. "I gotta admit, I've always been a sucker for werewolves." Saying that out loud made you want to curl up and disappear, but instead of being answered with something hurtful or being laughed at, you got a genuine smile and a "Glad I saved yer ass, then." He replied casually. "Finally someone who ain't scared of that side." The sad tone in his voice was hard to miss now and you felt bad for him. You gave him your biggest smile and leaned closer to him. "I like both of your sides."

You were new here and it was all still a little scary, but you knew it was all going to be alright with your big, not so bad wolf at your side.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd #twd imagine #twd x reader #twd oneshot #daryl dixon oneshot #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead oneshot #the walking dead #werewolf au #werewolf!daryl dixon #sometimes i write

144 notes · View notes

trashboatprince · 3 years ago

Text

The anniversary for the Bioshock au was just this weekend (actually on the official anniversary for the game Bioshock, what a coincidence!), and my friends and I decided to do something for it today!

While they have chosen to redraw some of their original art for the au, I had planned to rewrite something I had written ages ago, but then an idea came to me!

So, you guys get a new fic!

Warning: mentioned experiments, mentioned body horror, sad thoughts

As always, Henry belongs to @inkspottie, Ross belongs to @thedobermutt, and Delta is my Henry!

On with the fic!

Henry, Ross, and Delta made their way around the old lounge bar that they had broken into, with Henry looking for supplies, Ross scouting the area for any splicers or searchers hidden about, and Delta was securing the door, making sure no one got in.

Once the coast was clear and the door secured, they could finally relax, which Delta was so thankful for. They had gotten into another big fight and he needed to check to see if his suit was still in good order. He had only just changed into this one earlier in the the day since his other one was damaged beyond repair, he had to make sure this one was still good to go.

Trudging over with tired feet, he sat himself down on the floor by the large floor-to-ceiling windows, the glow of the city in the ocean illuminating the room for them. “Bendy, a little help?” He asked the Li’l Devil, who had been helping Henry look about.

Bendy perked up and ran over, knowing exactly what to do. He started to help with unhooking the large tanks on Delta’s back as the Big Daddy worked on the suit. He needed to get out of it to make sure his examination was thorough.

Ross looked up from where he was sitting on a sofa, raising an eyebrow at the other man. “Delta, what are you doing?”

“Checkin’ my suit.” He replied, like it was the most obvious answer in the world. He hissed, shuddering when Bendy got the tanks disconnected from not only his suit but from the ports in his back. Never a pleasant feeling, uhg.

“Are you... getting out of it?” Henry frowned, walking over, his arms carrying the items he had picked up before depositing them on a table nearby.

“Kinda have to.” Delta replied as he worked to get himself out of the suit. “Not for too long, not like when I was panickin’ earlier when I was, ya know, sorta dyin’.”

It had been an emergency, he needed a new suit, new tanks, he was sadly stuck with these things to live, due to what had happened to his body.

He stepped out of his suit, luckily wearing pants and a shirt under it, he wasn’t one for being indecent even in his own gear, but he knew the other two could see his arms, his neck.

They saw it earlier, when they helped him get into his new suit, all the scars and damage done by the Big Daddy project. He didn’t think much of it at the time, but Delta felt a little self-conscious now.

Oh, they had seen what INK did to the splicers, the damaged skin and minds, but Delta’s had all been controlled. He had been tested on, his face left normal for reasons he had never been told, but the rest of him was a mess.

And with his healing abilities due to the splicing projects, his wounds healed quickly, but still scarred, over and over again.

“Is...” Henry started, but shut his mouth.

“You’re fine to ask.” Delta replied, sitting down, letting Bendy hook the tanks back into his back, he held back a yelp at the sensation. He picked up one of the sleeves of his suit, looking it over, avoiding eye contact.

Henry coughed, before speaking again. “Is it... painful? The scars?”

“Stopped bein’ that way years ago, kid.” Delta replied, frowning at the cut he found, asking for the sewing kit he knew Bendy had stored in his hammerspace.

“Is it from battles?” Ross asked. “Or from what Joey had done to you?”

“Both, mostly the latter.” The tallest of the trio sighed as he got to work on repairing the cut. “Nasty effects, splicin’, INK. I used to be a scrawny thing, ya know? About as skinny as you, Henry. But that wasn’t for long, had to be built like a damn tank for this work!”

He kept his eyes on his task. “I was normal for maybe a week? Just health exams, Norman told me, nothin’ serious, had to make sure everythin’ was in workin’ order. Then they started injectin’ INK. It was fine at first, felt healthy, even stronger and faster, then... it got worse.”

He still remembered when the effects finally kicked in, the horrible pain and heat of his body changing, too fast, too slow, broken bones and damaged skin. Delta looked at his hands, they were trembling, but he pushed on. “It sucked, I don’t know how long it was gonna keep goin’ for, I thought that it would destroy me before anythin’ could really happen. And then...”

He looked at Bendy, who was happily looking out the windows, watching the fish go by. “And then they had me meet Bendy and it was worth it, cause I had a purpose cause of all that.”

“It still wasn’t right.” Ross spoke, a deep look of concern was painted on his face. “You shouldn’t have been forced into this, you didn’t even have a choice.”

“None of us did.” Delta sighed. “Henry didn’t, I didn’t, and you sure as hell didn’t either, Ross. Drew did whatever he wanted to us because everyone here’s his plaything.”

He finished the repair and moved to look for more.

“It’s still not right.” Henry frowned, reaching for a candy bar on the table. “But when we get you up to the surface, you won’t have to worry about this stuff anymore.”

Delta looked up, then looked towards the windows. His eyes drifted to the tanks behind him, and he shook his head. “Guys, I know you want me to come with you when we’re done here, but... I’m not made for the surface anymore, I can’t even go an hour with my tanks off, I need the INK and PAINT. I need my suit.”

Ross shook his head, standing up. He walked over to Delta, looking down at the man still seated on the floor. “Delta, you have to have some faith in us, in Norman. We promised you that we’d get you to the surface, no matter what. Why do you doubt us?”

The Big Daddy blinked, then looked ashamed, rubbing at his bare arms. “I’m... not made for the surface, for a normal life. I dunno what Norman can do to help me survive up there, but what became of me... that’s impossible to change, I can’t go up there with these scars, I’ll look like a monster or somethin’.”

The older man sighed softly. “Look, I know it seems bad, but you’ll have us to help you, to be there for you. Yeah, some people will stare, but that’s on them, not you.”

“We’ll be there with you every step of the way.” Henry smiled a little. “And Norman said he’ll do whatever he can to help you survive without your tanks! You’ll be as normal as you can be! And besides, I’m not all that normal myself, we’re clones, and we’ve got...” He flicked his wrist, bolts of lightening came from his palm, before vanishing.

“Yeah, after all of this, we’re in a similar boat with you, even if it isn’t exactly cosmetic.” Ross chuckled.

Delta looked at the two men he called his friends, a small smile coming to him. “You guys are so weird, but... alright, I mean, I dunno about this, but I would like to finally leave this place, there’s a sun I wanna see.”

“That’s the spirit, Delta.” The smallest of the trio smiled a bit more. “Now, no more of this, let’s just take the break we really need. I am not built for running around like this.”

“I hear that.” Ross sighed, sitting back down.

The Big Daddy looked at them once more, still smiling as he went back to work on checking for damage to his suit, listening to the others talk to each other. He’ll hold them to this, he wasn’t sure how confident he was that he’d get to leave Rapture, but it didn’t hurt to have a little hope.

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #bioshock au #henry stein #batim bendy #john's drabbles

27 notes · View notes

loviatars · 4 years ago

Text

The Highwayman

pairing: astarion x female npc (reader, not the mc!) warnings: vague references to abuse and torture that will become less vague in future parts rating: teen for the above reasons, for now <3 word count: 1,388 notes: so i think this’ll be my first astarion mini-series, as this’ll definitely have another part (and hopefully soon)! i just wanted to toy around with what might happen to astarion should the mc sell him out to the monster hunter... part two. ao3.

You are scared to touch him. You think he will cry out in pain.

He might be warm, you continue to think. Like skin. Or cold from the night seeping between the bars of the cage. His doublet looks frayed and unloved. The man is hungry behind the eyes, but also afraid. But also angry.

“You,” he spits, “who are you? Where am I?”

With troubling speed, the man hurls himself against the side of the cage. The metal rattles and shakes under his pale hands but they do not budge. You watch, wide-eyed and horrified as he grits his teeth against an unseen pain.

You’re stunned to silence, slack-jawed with fear. With a grunt and a mournful sound, the man behind bars slumps down away from them. His palms are singed red, you notice. Whatever the cage is made of is poisoning him.

“Outside the Dying Gull,” you whisper. The man driving the covered wagon didn’t look too friendly, you’d rather he not know you’re speaking to his travelling companion. Or captive. “It’s an inn on the highway, about a week’s hard ride from Baldur’s Gate.”

The man sounds flat, pressing his injured palm to his forehead and being careful not to touch the bars with the back of his neck.

“Well,” he sighs, “I’ve heard far worse news in the past three days. That just leaves who you are.”

“Just the barmaid,” you admit. After a pause, you continue, “If you don’t mind, can I ask a question now?”

“Were I in your position, I may have a few,” the man says. He’s still slumped over, you’re beginning to worry. His hand now covers his eyes, like they hurt. However, his tone is oddly sarcastic for his apparent exhaustion. “By all means, ask.”

“What’s happened to you? Why’s that man got another man locked up in the back of his wagon?” once you’ve opened your mouth you can’t quite stop. The man huffs, either in amusement or annoyance.

“That is two questions, in fact. So now you’ll have to pick just the one,” he says.

“I answered two,” you reply. But you’re inclined to take pity. “Fine, the second one.”

“I am in the company of a very incompetant bounty hunter,” the pale man begins, “who has wrongfully determined my identity to be that of a criminal.”

“Oh,” you tilt your head to the side. Looking into the cage, you see two red eyes swimming in the centre of his pale face when his hand moves. “A criminal might just say that. Are you lyin’ to me?”

“Of course a real criminal would lie, but I am not one in the least,” he insists. He seems to gain a little energy defending his morality, either that or he’s a capable performer. The man sits up until he’s moved away from the bars at his back. “Whatever that Gur says, I am not who he thinks I am.”

You say nothing for a moment, peering through the dark at those deep-red eyes. You decide that he’s lying. But to his credit, he’s a man in a cage. And you find something other than pity welling up in your chest once more.

His anger seems mostly gone now that he knows it was misdirected. The creature looks tired and gaunt, hungry and in pain. Your heart lurches.

“One more question?” you ask. He heaves a sigh.

“Very well, what was it?” he starts, “Right, what in the world has happened to me, well--”

“No,” you stop him. “Not that one, I don’t really want to force you to make up more lies. I just want to know your name. Can you tell me that?”

He seems stricken for a second. And only then does it occur to you that he’s begun to peer back. It’s what sways you to find him innocent, you decide. He looks at you, stares at you and tries to decide if you’ll be the third person to hurt him in as many days.

“Astarion,” he says. “My name is Astarion.”

“Good to meet you, Astarion,” you say. He seems troubled by your good-natured smile, not the least bit comforted by it. But it’s better than a grimace or a look of fear, he seems to reconcile.

Especially when you put your hands on the cage. Then, it appears as if hope’s caught in his eye. The bars don’t burn you, you notice. And you frown. But only for a moment, only as you’re thinking.

“This won’t be easy to open,” you say. You bring your knuckles down on the metal, eliciting a hollow sound. “Were the whole thing pure silver, it’d buckle under its own weight. But it’s platin’ somethin’ sturdier--”

“And how do you know that?” Astarion asks. You look down at him, your eyes are no longer sizing him up.

They’ve decided he is neither predator nor prey, as he has with you.

“Da was a goldsmith, he worked with all sorts of precious metals,” you explain. “Means I can identify ‘em, but I’ve not the strength to rip the door straight from its hinges.”

“And I’ve been starved for days,” he confesses, “so I’m far too weak to be of any help.”

The look of empathy on your face is unprecedented. It seems to make Astarion uncomfortable, so you stop it. You turn instead to the door that’s locked tight. A cruel, rusted padlock bolts it shut.”

“Could nick the keys off ‘im,” you muse. You’re not watching the stranger’s face, but it’s more expressive now that it’s been since you tugged the curtain covering the cage aside.

“You would do that for me?” he asks. “You believe me, you would free me?”

“Please,” you huff, “you’re bein’ treated cruelly. And I’ve no reason to trust the man who’s keepin’ you hostage, either. I won’t aid him.”

“Good to know that there’re still a handful of decent souls to be found,” he says, “even if I’ve only noticed a dearth of them.”

“But I don’t believe you in the slightest,” you add. Astarion squeezes his eyes shut.

“I swear to you that I am innocent, what more--” he starts, you cut him off with an unexpected smile.

“I know you’re innocent, I’m choosin’ to believe that. But I also know you’re far from honest,” you say. He cocks an eyebrow.

“Then we have an understanding,” he says. He sounds relieved and you nod.

“I’ll need the key, but I can steal it. Once you’re out, I’ll take you to the barn behind the inn. There’s cattle there,” you tell him. But Astarion bristles with feigned disgust.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” he snaps.

You try your best not to roll your eyes. Lying, it seems, comes too naturally to him. With the plan laid out before you, you drop the padlock.

“I’m not stupid, Astarion. And you’re a poor liar,” is all you say. And it’s all that he does, too.

When you move to tug the curtain back over the cage, however, Astarion sits up. Panic is back in his eyes, you dislike the sight.

“No. Don’t, please,” he says. He holds his hands out, perilously close to the silver that burns him so badly. “I-- I haven’t seen outside in days. Leave it.”

“Of course, I wasn’t thinkin’,” you say. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, try to stay out of sight of any passers-by.”

You make a point to tug the curtain a little further back, giving Astarion a view of the Gull after dark. He watches you turn away.

The inn glows, light spilling out of its square windows. The Gur inside is still boasting, drinking himself into a stupor that he’ll have to sleep off eventually. But whether he’ll do it here is what worries you, what pushes you back inside and in search of the key that fits the padlock.

As you walk, you can hear the awful voice rising above the din. Part of you wonders if the vampire in the cage is lying to you about everything, for he is a liar at heart. Another knows that either way, what’s being done to him is evil. You pause before you open the door.

It’s time again to commit theft, which calls for a different arrangement of the face.

#astarion #astarion x mc #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate fic #baldurs gate fic #baldur's gate #bg3 #bg #bg3 fic #astarion baldurs gate #there is like 0% chance of this showing up in the tags bc i have -3 luck but #hey if it does and you can see this??? i hope you enjoy #first chapter's not hella romantic but ya know #anniewrites

245 notes · View notes

svnflowervol666 · 5 years ago

Note

harry doing baby bubs hair in the bathroom while she’s facetiming mitch 🥺

Word Count: 2.4k

Author’s Note: This made my heart melt. It’s in a puddle on the floor right now. That’s all.

“Baby, ye’ gotta sit still,” Harry huffed as he resituated his daughter on the bathroom counter for probably the fifth time that morning.

She was normally a patient and well-behaved child despite her ripe age of three, but today she was really showing her age.

“Want mummy do it!” she whined, smacking her pudgy toes against the inside of the sink.

“I know ye’ want mummy t’ do it. I want mummy to do it too, but she had t’ go t’ work early. ‘S just me and you today.”

Harry reached for the spray bottle filled with water with his right hand while keeping a firm grasp on his daughter’s unruly head of curly hair with his left, determined to tame the frizzy strands that seemed to have run wild while she slept the night before. A ponytail shouldn’t be this fucking hard. Should it?

He spritzed the bottle a few inches away from her head, trying to smooth down the baby hairs that littered her hair line. And he almost had it. That was, until his daughter tucked her head downward in agitation and caused Harry to lose his grip and the poofy tufts of chocolate brown hair to fall once more around her forehead and ears.

A exaggerated (but not really, it was well-deserved) groan erupted from Harry’s chest, and a feeling of defeat washed over him. He rubbed his tired eyes with the knuckles on his fingers. It wasn’t a big deal and he knew that, but the fact that he couldn’t do his daughter’s hair was making him feel like a failure of a father.

“What’s it gonna take for ye’ to stop squirmin’, huh? Will ye’ just be good so daddy can do your hair and we can get ya t’ nana’s?”

She was getting restless now, the hard stone making her tiny bum ache and her attention span dwindle down to the point of non-existance.

“Daddy, I want dowwwwwn,” she fussed as she balled her hands into fists and hit them on her knees in protest.

“I’ve got t’ fix your hair, lovie. Can’t have it hangin’ in your eyes. Just be still for a few seconds. Ye’ know what? Here. Play with this.”

Harry fished his cell phone out of his back pocket and placed the sleek device in his child’s lap. He was normally against letting her mess with his phone in fear that she’d accidentally delete an important file or call one of the dozens of influential figures he had saved in his contacts, but at this point he’d do just about anything to make her stop moving so that he could put her damn hair up.

Her eyes seemed to light up when she realized what she now held in her possession, fingers moving quickly to unlock the screen and cause whatever damage her heart desired. It didn’t take her long to realize that unlike her mother’s, Harry’s phone was locked with a passcode and she was unable to get into it.

“Fix it, daddy!” she exclaimed, raising the phone over her shoulder while Harry had finally managed to regather her hair into a somewhat presentable bundle.

He cursed under his breath and let her curly mane go once more, then took the phone back from his daughter. It was unlocked and back in her arms in a few seconds flat, to which Harry’s millionth attempt at corraling the curls he undoubtedly passed down to her began.

In an instant, she’d forgotten all about how antsy she was, now busying herself by opening random apps that caught her eye and pressing random keys that meant absolutely nothing to her because she was a three year old that couldn’t read, but it didn’t deter her from thinking she was a proper adult doing adult things on her very own cell phone.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when she seemed completely content, reaching once more for the spray bottle to rewet the comb he had been using to smooth over his daughter’s scalp. She put up no fight when he pulled her hair taut against her head, almost as if she had forgotten he was even there as her pudgy fingers tapped away on the glass screen.

The silver lining was now in reach, the finish line only a handful of long strides away. He was satisfied with his work. Sure, there were a few lumps and bumps, but nothing his wife or mother would fuss over, so he raised his arm up to his mouth to pull the neon pink hair band from his wrist with his teeth. As fate would have it, just as he began securing her ponytail with the hair tie, the flimsy elastic snapped and shot to the floor, leaving the toddler’s hair in a bird’s nest on top of her head and Harry’s patience at it’s end.

“You’ve got t’ be bloody kiddin’ me,” Harry groaned, having to turn his body away from his daughter as if the fuse attached to his last nerve was going to implode at any second.

He was now certain that whatever higher power in the sky was planning his demise on this bright and sunny Tuesday morning.

With the last bit of his dignity, he knelt down to open the cabinets and rummage through the bin with all of his daughter’s clips and bows until he found another hair tie that would match the outfit he’d picked out for her to wear. He kept a firm hand on her back as he jumbled around the contents of the container, just in case she lost her balance and fell backwards off of the counter (she didn’t really need the extra reinforcement, but he’d not quite been able to shake the over-protective dad persona that he’d adopted whenever she was much smaller and prone to flinging herself backward without warning). There was no additional pink hair tie in sight, so he was forced to go with a bright green one that didn’t compliment what she was wearing in the slightest, but it was just nana’s house, so who gives a shit, he thought to himself.

As he was regaining his stance from where he was balanced on his haunches, he heard a deep voice that wasn’t his daughter’s echo off the walls of the master bathroom.

“Hey, man! What’s goin’ o-,” the voice, which Harry now recognized as his best friend’s came to an abrupt hault when the camera focused and the man was able to see who was actually facetiming him at seven o’clock in the morning.

“Oh. You’re not Harry,” he toyed, trying to amuse the tiny girl he’d known and loved since the minute she was born.

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter yelled directly into the speaker of the phone, causing Mitch to hold his own phone several inches away from where he had it resting on the arm of his sofa.

“Hello, princess. Where’s your dad?”

“Right here,” Harry interjected with a grunt as he willed the pain in his knees (and back) away.

“Sorry, she’s messin’ with m’ phone. Must’ve called you on accident.”

“No worries. ‘S a lovely surprise. What’re you two doin’? You on baby duty this mornin’?”

Mitch could see Harry messing with the toddler’s hair, a purple comb balanced in between his teeth and locks of wavy, brown hair slipping in and out of the frame as he gathered it on top of her head.

“Yep,” Harry spoke through the comb, “And it’s not goin’ s’ great.”

“Judgin’ by the look on your face, I’d say so.”

“Haha. Very funny.”

“Mitchy!” Harry’s daughter called for him again as if to refocus the attention of this conversation back on herself.

“Yessss?”

“I see kitty?” her voice raising an octave as she asked to see the kitten he’d adopted a few months ago that she adored oh so much.

“Kitty’s sleepin’ with Sarah right now, bug. Can’t wake them or they’ll both be grumpy for the rest of the day. Why don’t you come over and visit and you can see all of us? We miss you,” Mitch pouted dramatically at the camera, making the small girl giggle in a way that made him smile right back at her.

He’d always been rather reserved, but had quite the soft spot for his close friend’s bub and couldn’t help but show her all of the affection that he could.

“Daddy, I go to Sarah’s house?” she jerked her head back to look at her father, whose life flashed before his eyes when the sudden movement almost caused his to drop her hair again.

Harry quickly turned her jaw back towards the mirror with his thumb to keep another disaster from occurring.

“Maybe later, petal. You’re going to nana’s today. Daddy and Mitch have to go t’ work.”

“You play songs?”

“Yeah. Gonna play some songs,” he laughed at his daughter’s earnest attempt at understanding what he did for a living.

“Are you bein’ good for ye’ dad?” Mitch asked, seeing Harry’s struggle and doing what he could to distract her while Harry smoothed the final lumps over her delicate head with the fine-toothed comb.

“Yeah, I bein’ good,” she gloated, flashing her tiny baby teeth.

“If that’s what ye’ want to call it,” Harry mumbled under his breath.

He wasn’t quiet enough for Mitch to not hear his snide comment, to which he let out a chuckle towards Harry.

“I take it you’ve got a bit of a fibber on your hands?” Mitch directed at Harry.

“No kiddin’,” Harry huffed, face concentrated on one stubborn tendril of hair that wouldn’t lay flat no matter how many times he brushed over it, “’Ve been trying to put her hair in a bloody ponytail for twenty minutes. I swear I’ve never seen a three year old with this much hair before in m’ life. Don’t know how her mum does this every mornin’.”

“’M afraid that hair’s all you, lover boy. Those curls are unmistakeable.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“Is your dad good at fixin’ your hair?” Mitch asked the toddler, knowing good and well he was giving leeway for Harry to be teased mercilessly by his ruthless toddler.

“No, I like mummy do my hair more. Daddy pulls it too much.”

“Listen here, you little monster. If ye’ would have sat still for two seconds, this would have been done ages ago and we could’ve been halfway t’ nana’s by now,” Harry stated very matter-of-factly.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Mitch intervened, “Take it easy, mate. She’s three. It can’t be that bad.”

“I would absolutely love to see you babysit her for twenty-four hours. You’d be choking on your words.”

“I’d love that, actually,” Mitch snided, “What d’ya say, princess? Sleepover at uncle Mitch’s house with Sarah and the kitty?”

The three year old cheered excitedly, her chubby cheeks widening on the sides of her face at the thought of spending time with her favorite people in the world (aside from her mum and dad, of course).

“No, no, no!” Harry yelled frantically, “Hold still. ‘M almost done.”

He quickly looped the brightly-colored elastic around her bunch of hair that he held tightly in his hand as if an imaginary stopwatch was about to go off and signal that he was out of time and he’d lose control of her curls once more, for which he’d certainly burst into tears.

“Aha!” he held his hands above his head in victory when he was satisfied with the number of times he’d wrapped the hair tie around her hair.

“Finally.”

Harry was breathing heavily as if he had just run a marathon, making Mitch cheer him on sarcastically.

“Super dad does it again.”

“You’re not funny, Mitch.”

“‘M very funny, actually. Isn’t that right, bubs?”

“Uh-huh!” Harry’s daughter agreed, earning an eye roll from her father.

“Alright, we’re very late. Need t’ get goin’ before Jeff yells at daddy n’ I’m not sure I can handle much more today.”

Harry scooped up the pint-sized child from the sink by the belly and helped her stand, her hands still clasped around the phone surrounded in a baby pink case.

“See ye’ in a bit yeah?” Harry asked Mitch as he straightened his daughter’s shirt that had crinkled at the hem from sitting on the counter for so long.

“Yeah. Reckon it’s probably time to go wake Sarah. You be good for your dad and nana today. Alright, stinker butt?”

“I not stinky!” the girl cried, almost offended.

“You’re right. ‘M sorry. Your dad’s the stinky one.”

“Goodbyeeeeeeee, Mitch,” Harry sang monotonously into the speaker.

“Bye, Mitchy!” his daughter called after him.

“Bye, sweetheart. See ye’ at the sleepover.”

She began rattling off another excited spout of words, but was cut off as Harry reached down and pressed the red button on the screen, ending the call. He took the phone from her hands and slid it back into his pocket. His daughter was too busy buzzing from the high of being invited over to Mitch’s house to play with his kitten to throw a fit over being deprived of it, to which Harry was thankful.

“Did ye’ put your bunny in your backpack?”

She nodded her head, yes.

“And your blanket?”

She paused, lips pursing as she tried to recall whether or not she stuffed the worn, yet still comforting wad of fabric that she’s had since she was born into her bag.

“Better go check then,” Harry added, watching her as she booked it down the hall towards her room as if she was in a race against herself to make it there.

“Got it!” her tiny voice came trailing back into Harry’s bedroom, the corners of the blanket sticking out from the giant backpack that was nearly the size of her body strapped to her back.

The sight of her wobbling back into his line of sight with the oversized bag made him want to cry. She was still so tiny, but where had his sweet baby gone?

“Good gir-” he began to praise her before he realized what he was currently looking at.

In the midst of her running, she must have exerted herself a bit too harshly, for her curls that were styled perfectly just minutes ago were floofed around her head in a (not-so angelic) halo and the hair tie had slipped down dangerously low, mere inches from falling completely out.

Her inherited curls were one of the cutest things about her and anyone with even the worst vision would agree. But, god. At what cost?

“-YOUR HAIR!”

#harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #dad!harry #dad!harry x reader #asks

1K notes · View notes

luimagines · 3 years ago

Note

Subject 10-Mulan Link

You have now gained the accesses file page of the chain links case number #19835 Corrupted heroes for Subject #10

Current state: Safe

legal name: Link,last name unknown

Nicknamed: Mulan

Biological age: unknown

Chronical age: unknown

Hieght: Unknown

Weight: unknown

Visiting accesse time for subject Zero: Must be planned ahead of schedule time in order to have private meetings and clerance from head chief researcher Queen zelda and level 5 personal clerance

Physical description: Subject 10 is a short haired Hylian woman who wears a green tunic and knight gear armor.They have a well built muscular body and a ferret that rests around thier neck as well as scars and cuts around thier body.The most noticeable scare they have are three little cuts under thier chin and a long vertical cut across thier right cheek.

Information: Subject 10 first arrived at the castle carrying subject zero and subject 11 bloodied and badly injured with a broken arm and serveral fractured bones as well as stab/slash wounds.They came in as duplicates of four identical versions of subject 10 dressed variouse colors such as brown,cyan,yellow and green.Only one of the 4 sets had arrived at the castle with subject Zero and Subject 11 while the others fought off to keep back the “chain” while back up knights and town gaurds were deployed to apreheand them.Subject 10 is not placed under any containment but is required to come to the SCRPP research site to have check ups and testing as well as recorded interviews with research personales.Subject 10 refuses to have to go anywhere without her ferret campaion so all interviews and meetings are held with subject 10′s ferret either on the site with them or curled around subject 10′s neck.Subject 10 is in current possesion of the master sword and four sword as well as veriouse other items from the group(but not all for research purposes and other classified resons).They are to be informed of any drastic procedures that are to be done to any of the known subjects and participats of case file #19835.Subject 10 is one of the only subjects out of all the links who dose not show a red essence seeping out or show any signs of agression or possesive behvaiors for subject Zero. Research is still going underway to find out a way as to why it is and if blood or dna samples can be exracted from subject 10 in order to find a cure.

[interview recoding of subject 10 #1]

Dr.Jean: Now beining case file number #1983 dash 1 subject 10 interview of the anomalie the Curropted Heros. Time started at 10:89. Interview researcher personale Dr.Jean, tag number 893 of site 13 room A14.

Dr.Jean: Ok,lets start.Rember at anytime you start to feel uncomfortable we can stop the interview,alright?

Link: ok..

Dr.Jean: ok,lets start off with something simple.Subject 10 can you please state your name?

Link: Mulan.

Dr.Jean: I am sorry,let me clarify I meant your real name.

Link: oh,right..its uh,its Link.

Dr.Jean: Good,can you state your last name as well?

Link: I dont have one.

Dr.Jean: Are you sure? No documnets? Family? Anyway to file for one?

Link: Yes,I am sure.I dont have one.Thats it.

Dr.Jean: Right,right, *ahem* can you tell us how long you’ve know the links?

Link: We had all know each other for about a year and a half, and today would have been our second year together if…you know,had things still been normal with everyone.

Dr.Jean: how did you meet these people to begin with?

Link: I was out exploring the outskits of the forests behind my house one day and saw a bright light,so i got curiouse and followed it.I found a portal and went through it.I was transported to the guredo desert and wondered a around for a bit before I found the chain.it turns out the portal took me to a diffrent time period and there was some time,dimentional stuff going on and we were all gathered to fix it or something.

Dr.Jean: How did you meet subject Zero?

Link: Subject Zero? oh,do you mean [redacted]?

Dr.Jean: Link,please reframe from saying subject Zero’s real name during this interview.

Link: Fine.

Dr.Jean:thank you,pleas contiue.

Link: We first met them a few months after lucky came when [ audio connection has been temperarly lost]

Dr.Jean: Intresting and how did you feel about Subject zero?

Link: I didn’t think much of them, I thought that they were ok.they were kind of nice and everyone liked them,so I did too.But there was something just…off about them.

Dr.Jean:Off like what? Did you distrust them?

Link: no,no,no not distrsut or anything like that…just that something was not right…there was just something…..something WRONG with them,I dont know how to describe it, they were just not normal in a very bad way.But I ignored it and didn’t think much on it. I think they were just…diffrent.

Dr.Jean: Why did you help them escape?

Link: Because it was the right thing to do.I wanted to get them out of a situation where they were held captive and also keep the others from killing each other on who got to keep them.Its not that complicated. besides it my fault for not stopping this sooner.

Dr.Jean: How?

Link: What?

Dr.Jean: How do you think it was your fault?

LInk:[sighs] its…it was all right there I didn’t want to see it,I knew everyone was starting to act a little wierd but I didn’t want to take it that seriously,I didn’t want to think badly about my fami-friends..my friends…Until one day when they had gone completly overboard and uh…..I had found some of them beating down on a man after they were flirting with..with subject Zero…and to say that they looked like they were thugs when they were doing it would be too much of a understatement…They looked like they were having a good time doing it too.I swear when I saw them that day at the allyway they were not the heros I knew and travled with and as faw as i was concerned they were strangers-no,not even that,they were monsters…And the look on thier faces when I yelled out to them and they turned to me…it was like they were going to kill me right there and then……[Inhales heavily before exhailing shakingly] they weren’t normal….thier eyes….I don’t think I can really ever forget those empty vacant looks..it was like someone els was there…Since then things had started to get worse.

[suject 10 begins to pet her ferret at this time seeming to find comfort in it from thier stress]

Dr.Jean: Who were the ones that were there at the time of the incident?

Link: it was…I think Twilight,Four,Sky and Wild were all there.

Dr.Jean: Even Sky?

LInk: Yeah, him too.I rembered the second I started yelling and taring a new in asshole for them he just came up from behind the group and started to try to “calm me down” and explain how the shit I just saw wasn’t what it seemed like and yadda yadda yadda,typical gaslighting you know? But I wasn’t going to fall for some shit like that so I got the man out of there and to a medic, payed for all his expenses and reported them to Time and Warriors. Honestly I was so pissed off and in shock about it all that I had finally started notice and realize more and more things that were wrong about the group that I use to just keep ignoring.I still didn’t try to do anything serious about it though until the end of our journey.

Dr.Jean:What did you mean by noticeing things?

Link: …….just things….and looking back at it now should have been obviouse red flags but I never pressed for them.I think the first time I did it was with Wsrriors but he kept brushing me off saying things like “everyone is just protective of [redacted]” or “that you are looking way too into this” and when he did listen to me he would tell me that he’d keep a closer eye on the group.I suppose you can take a guess that, he did not, in fact, keep up the promis that he made.

Dr.Jean: did at any point in your adventures feel,were attempted to or successfully attacked or harmed by any members of this group during you adventures before the escape?

Link:No-well I mean yes but…[ exasperated sigh]…yeah….yeah there were a few…ok maybe a lot…But I guess the one that really stuck with me was when,uh,when Time held me up against a wall and tryed to cut my throat during a heated argument about…..them.

[Subject 10 reaches over to rub on a faint cut across thier neck]

[the ferret circles closer to her neck nuzzling it head into hers in an attempt to comfort Link]

Link: Aww,its ok little guy,I am fine right now.Don’t worry fluffy.

Dr.Jean: i am sorry if its too much but what was the argument about?

Link:…….

[subject 10 stays silent for a few minutes before speaking again]

Link: It was about if we should kill subject zero.

Dr.Jean: Then do you think we should kill subject zero?

[subject 10 stops petting fluffy and stares at the doctore without giving an answer for several more minutes]

Link:[a shallow exhale leaves thier mouth] …….I……..I….

[the sounds of sirens and alarms going off]

Annocemnet :There is a containment breach in the D -12 containment building floor,please all personels and staff go to the evacuation exits and safety rooms while special elit force knights handle the situation.Subject 4 case 19835- 1,2,3 and 4 cololrs have all escaped.If you see him or any of the colors they are to be neutralized and brought back to thier containment cells.All other staff do not ingage unless -

Dr.Jean: oh Hylia,looks like we’ll have to cut this short and we have to hurry and-wait where are you going! The safety room is this way! Link!

Link: [distant and muffled]I know,I just need to go out and kick a few stobbern little butts back in thier cells first-!

Dr.Jean: Link the elit knights can handle it you don’t have to-Link!! Link! Sir Link! Lin-!!

[audio ends here]

I am doing wind next

This is long, so I'll react as I read.

oh SHOOT THEY RAN!!!

MULAN USES THE FOUR SWORD!!

[REDACTED]?!?!!?

LUCKY!!!

AUDIO CONECTION TEMPORTARILY LOST!?!?!?!?!?

THEY GONNA KILL A GUY-KIL MULAN!!? SKY IS GASLIGHTING!?!?

TIME CUT THEM?!?!?

MULAN GONNA KILL SUBJECT ZERO!?!?!?

THEY ESCAPE!?!?!? THE COLORS ESCAPE!!!!

MULAN GOES TO FIGHT?!?!?

MY GIRL!!!!

OH MY GOD

#pinky replies #SCP LU #PINKY IS SCREAMING #pinky is screaming #i don't know which one I use anymore #violence #yall gotta let me know with tags #i don't think this was so bad in terms of being graphic....#but let me know because i can't think...#yandere #yandere linked universe #horror

33 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years ago

Note

54. I’m not sure what you think I said, but you start calling me an asshole and whip a ruler at me and somehow, we both end up in detention

Indruck, sfw, please?

Here you go! Content note: spiders appear at one point.

I based some of this AU--namely the concept of the Crucible and how magic is channeled--on the Carry On series by Rainbow Rowell. And Duck is trans in this, because any good wizarding school is inclusive.

After three years at Amnesty Academy, Duck is used to the objects being magically propelled through the air. But a ruler zipping through the air and smacking the back of his head is a new, unpleasant experience.

He tracks it to two chairs to his left, the new third year with the silver hair. He hasn’t even been here a day, what the fuck the is his problem?

“Hey, what the hell man?”

“You know very well what.”

“Uh, no I don’t, and I don’t appreciate bein hit with a fuckin ruler!”

“The maybe think before you insult someone next time!”

“I didn’t fuckin insult you! I don’t even know your name!”

“Ahem.” Ned, their Charms professor, looks down at them reproachfully, “gentlemen, while I know the review of Zone of Truth is rather dull, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t entertain yourselves with mindless conflict.”

“Sorry, Ned.” Duck mumbles, sending his pencil shooting below desk level to whack the other guy in the leg at the exact same moment he whips his pen at Duck’s hand.

“OW!”

Ned sighs, “I hate to do this, but-”

------------------------------------------------

“Detention! Lovely, my first day here and I’m in trouble. Thank you so much, Duck Newton, for landing us here.”

“You started it!” He growls as they take their seats. God, he hopes this isn’t one of Woodbridge’s days.

“Huh, only two.” Mama wipes her boots on the mat, closes the door behind her, “Afternoon, Duck. And…”

“Indrid.” Says his nemesis, “It is nice to meet you Professor C-” he cocks his head, “you really prefer I call you ‘Mama?’”

“Yep. Never could get behind that more formal stuff. Let some of the first years call me ‘Ms. Mama’ if they really need to feel like they’re showin some deference.”

Mama is deputy Headmistress of Amnesty. The only reason she’s not fully in charge is that she’s not a witch and some families object to that. So The Quell technically runs the school while Mama does most of the actual day to day work. She also teaches a course of non-magic practical skills because, “some things you can’t magic your way out of. Like taxes.”

Duck loves her class and, while he doesn’t understand why someone would opt into this weirdness, he admires the guts it takes as a fifteen year old human to walk into a wizarding school and declare that there was plenty you could learn there even though you couldn’t so much as send a spark from your fingers.

As he and Indrid watch the clock tick down, Mama pulls a bag from her satchel. The contents are cookies, which she offers to each of them.

“Barclay tryin’ out new recipes?”

“Course he is. Kid is gonna be the best damn kitchen witch in the country by the time he graduates. Guess he’s plannin to spend the summer drivin around and learnin the food magic of different regions.” She smiles, “bet you’ll never guess who’s goin’ with him.”

“Joe?”

“Bingo. Apparently he wants to study niche cultural magic.”

Duck’s pretty sure there’s another motive; sharing a van bed with Barclay. It sounds fun, roving the country, discovering new places with someone handsome by your side.

All that’s by his side is a glower hiding behind red glasses.

“Mama? I, ah, would it be possible for me to leave five minutes early? I’m supposed to get my pairing from the Crucible tonight.”

The older woman looks between the two of them, “Better tell me how you landed here first. Ned just said it was an argument.”

“He threw a ruler at me outta nowhere.”

“It was not, you know what you said.”

“The last thing I said before you hit me was ‘“nah, man’ when Billy offered me a pizza roll from his lunch.”

Indrid goes still, “Oh. I, ah, I misheard you. I thought you said 'mothman.' I apologize. I ought to have given you the benefit of the doubt.”

He seems so suddenly downtrodden that Duck shrugs, “Yeah, you should have. But it ain’t the worst thing that’s happened to me here. Not by a long shot.”

“No kiddin” Mama leans back on the desk, “Two of you can go at five til.”

His evening turns uneventful after that; dinner, hanging out with Juno and Aubrey, half doing homework and half fucking around on his phone in his room (the agreement between the school and the government is that a long as the students don’t post vidoes of themselves doing sick stunts with magic, the government will ignore any explosions and/monsters in the vicinity of the school).

He’s never had a roommate; when the Crucible spat out his name in fire on his first day, there was no other name with it. Almost everyone else rooms in pairs or trios. So his belongings are strewn about the tiny cabin that makes up his home away from home. Which is why, when the door creaks open at ten p.m, he sits up and prepares to fire off a spell.

Indrid stands in the doorway, one bag over his shoulder and another in his hand. He looks tired.

“Hello, Duck. Ah, I guess that one is my bed, then.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

The class schedules for Amnesty are generated by the heart of the school itself. Indrid isn’t entirely sure what that means, but the heart must not be terribly creative. It stuck him in divination class. He’s been seeing the future since he was five, managing it with his drawings since he was eight. Even the professor has no idea what to do with him, since the images come in like a garbled T.V signal when he uses a crystal ball and the cup shattered when he tried to read tea leaves.

At least Barclay gave him a conciliatory caramel while they swept up the shards. It made him feel a bit better, though whether that’s due to enchantment or Barclay being exceedingly good at cooking is hard to say.

And now he has to go to “Magical Weaponry.” Magical Defense he understands; there are still lots of malicious forces out there, or even just everyday evils that it’s good to be able to ward against. Plus, Vincent is a good professor, enthusiastic and understanding.

Professor Minerva is just as enthusiastic but twice as loud. This is their first day in the actual gym, as opposed to at a blackboard, and his visions suggest it’s going to go poorly for him. As it should; he’s not a fighter, he’s a disaster.

At Amnesty, magic is channeled through objects. Most people use wands or their hands but some, like Aubrey, use jewelry (a necklace from her mother) or another accessory.

Duck Newton uses a sword. Or he’s trying to. The sword seems to be winning.

“Exert your will on him, Duck Newton, he answers to you!”

“I answeeer to only the capable.”

“Shut up, Beacon.” Duck adjusts his grasp, but nothing happens until he drops the sword and sends a spell through his fingers. The target explodes. Indrid suddenly feels a bit better about his own probable performance.

Duck notices him, indicates the practice area next to him is clear. While they started off poorly, his roommate is doing his best to demonstrate southern hospitality. He invites Indrid to eat with him, helps him when his visions offer no help in navigating the grounds, and even lent him a blue and green shirt (Amnesty's colors) for his first Spirit Day. Duck is the best thing to happen to him in his first month here.

By the time class is over, they have six broken targets, a shredded mat, and a knife that is now a very confused frog between them. They manage to laugh about it, even as Duck scoops up the amphibian and tucks him into his shirt pocket.

It’s then that Indrid realizes he has a crush.

--------------------------------------------------

“You comin to the game tonight?” Juno measures her sapling.

“Assumin nothin comes up and nobody’s tryin to kill me, you know I’ll be there.” He loves cheering Juno on during her soccer games (hey, not everything has to be magic based, even at a wizarding school).

“Drat.”

The hissed frustration draws his attention to the far end of the work table. Indrid is trying to coax his Venus Flytraps to perk up, but they remain brown and limp.

“Need some help?”

“Please, as you clearly know what you’re doing.” Indrid tilts his head towards the sapling pine tree Duck is working on. If he does his growing spells right, he’ll be able to take it home as a Christmas Tree during winter break.

“You tend to picture words or, uh,pictures when you do your spells?”

“Images work best. The trouble is that the futures sometimes make it difficult for me to picture a spell clearly.”

“What if I try describing how I’d see it and you picture what I say?”

“It’s worth a try.” Indrid closes his eyes.

“Okay. Think about the roots drawin water up from the soil, about the traps absorbin nutrients from prey. That brown is goin green as they do, they’re stems are growin stronger…” he grins as the plant turns bright green, it’s mouths open, “hey, ‘Drid, look”

“Oh!” Indrid flaps his hands, “it worked! Now I can keep them healthy and big andohno, nono not again.”

The table cracks and collapses as the plant turns gigantic, blocking out the light from the greenhouse roof.

“Holy fuck, that’s great!”

“Language, sport, but I agree.” Thacker, the head of the magical Horticulture classes, whistles as he looks the plant up and down, “this is mighty impressive Indrid. Wonder if we could use it on some pumpkins come fall…”

“I don’t recommend it, unless you want them to chase people.” Indrid points to one of the heads, which is swaying in the air and lowering closer to him. It snaps and he leaps back, falling to a pile of potting soil. Thacker raises his walking stick and the flytrap returns to its proper size.

Duck helps Indrid up, but his friend stays quiet through the end of class and on the walk back to their room.

“You know it ain’t anythin to be ashamed of, right?” Duck flips on the light, “we all fuck up spells now and then. Hell, Aubrey is on track to be the best spellcaster this school’s ever seen and she still has trouble.”

“But mine go haywire constantly” Indrid flops, dejected, onto his bed, “forget mastering my powers, I’ll be lucky if I graduate able to keep them in check. If I graduate at all.” His hand searches the bed blindly; Duck sets the weighted, plush bat into so Indrid can set it on his chest.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never lasted more than a year at a magical school. Or a non-magical one. I started at Mt Vernon when I was fifteen. Tried Deep Hollow and Shasta the year after that. I’m powerful but I can’t seem to channel it well, and three different schools decided I was more trouble than I was worth.”

“Bullshit.” Duck rests a hand on Indrid’s knee, “you’re strugglin with somethin; that means you need more help, not less. And if anyone gets it into their heads to kick you outta Amnesty, I’ll raise a goddamn ruckus.”

Indrid chuckles, quiet and disbelieving.

“I’m serious. You know Aubrey and them would side with me, and Joe knows school policy well enough he could probably find a reason why them tryin to get rid of you was against the rule.”

“Thank you.” Indrid’s smile is a rare flower, fragile and stunning.

“You want one of those calm-down caramels Barclay made?”

“Please.”

Duck grabs the box from the cabinet of their little kitchenette, then snags a Coke and a pineapple soda from the fridge. Indrid is no longer horizontal, is instead sitting with his back to the wall so Duck has space to join him.

Under the fizz of fresh bubbles, his friend murmurs, ‘“Have people really tried to kill you?”

“Yep. Someone sent an assassin after me my first year, and there was a Dire wolf on the grounds last winter that was clearly locked on to my scent. Perk of bein a Chosen One.” He grumbles as he swigs his drink.

“...Who on earth sends an assassin after a fifteen year old?”

“Right?! Fuck if I know, they never got any information out of the guy. Fuckin prophecy I swear, I didn’t even want these powers, let alone to be some kind of hero.”

“I sympathize.” Indrid rests his head on Duck’s shoulder, “there are prophecies around my birth as well.”

Duck clunks their bottles together, “To bein’ fucked over by stuff we can’t control.”

Indrid drains his soda, then perks up, “Oh! Oh dear, you should go if you want to be there for Juno’s match.”

“Come with me?” Duck can’t get the image of the two of them sharing a giant pretzel while smushed thigh to thigh on the bleachers out of his head.

His friend grins, “Of course.”

-----------------------------------------------------

Duck hoped, after his not-great time in middle school, that a magic academy would be asshole free. But no, there are assholes everywhere, and these ones have even more tools for tormenting their targets. He’s never been one, nor have any of his friends. The one time someone tried to bully Barclay, Dani sicked three spectral hummingbirds on them until they apologized.

Indrid, odd and new, is an easy target, though he seems to hold his own just fine (and his proximity to the most powerful witch in school does scare off many potential antagonists). But three guys in their Magical Defense class have zeroed in on him.

They’re standing in line to practice against an evil eye when Indrid’s glasses, the ones he doesn’t take off even when he sleeps, hit the floor by Duck’s feet. Duck scrambles to grab them before they get stepped on, wondering why everyone is making such a fuss. Then he turns and backs up in alarm.

An eight foot tall moth creature is where Indrid should be, red eyes wide and claws clicking together anxious.

“Who let that thing in here?” Someone yells from behind him.

Indrid’s antenna flatten.

“Fuck, wasn’t expecting him to be that big a freak” one of the bullies scoffs.

Black wings twitch.

“Newton, give him the glasses back so we don’t have to look at him!”

Indrid trills, upset, and leaps into the air at the same moment Aubrey yells, “that’s enough” and Vincent shouts a reminder about no flames in enclosed spaces and also detention for you three. Duck is to busy climbing out the window Indrid flew through to pick up the details.

One two-story fall later, he’s chasing a dark shape into the Monongahela forest. While the parts of the woods near his hometown of Kepler are non-enchanted, this chunk is magic down to the moss (he plans to write his final year project on how those halves of forest mesh on an ecological level). One of the worst aspects of the enchanted portions is their tendency to re-shape around travelers. His usual way around this is to have an unwavering sense of where he’s going and pretend the woods are giving him an unchanging path to get there. But that trick does fuck-all when he doesn’t know his destination.

After two hours of searching he’s no closer to finding Indrid, it’s getting dark, and he’s debating heading back to the school for help. He hasn’t been this deep in the woods since he fled the Dire Wolf, and he knows the deeper you go into the trees, the wilder the magic becomes. Bad news for him, even worse for his friend who's out there somewhere, upset and alone.

Eight gigantic eyes glitter at him from the dirt, and he quickly rearranges who has it worse right now.

Throwing a burst of light into the trapdoor spiders eyes buys him enough time to bolt to a tree and climb. As soon as it crawls free of its burrow he freezes; if he’s remembering right, they use vibrations to locate prey.

Fuck, that thing is the size of a VW Beatle. Why is that even a thing? No spider needs to be this big!

In spite of his stillness, it spies him and sets its forelimbs on the tree-trunk. There’s nothing else for it; he draws Beacon, pictures the spider shrinking, and casts his spell.

A soft crunch of leaves signals it hitting the ground, now an unremarkable size for an arachnid. Just as he steps down a branch, a second trap door opens and an enraged spider bursts out, looking for it’s friend. When it can’t find it, it turns and snaps its mandibles at Duck. This time, Beacon does nothing, no matter how Duck commands and curses as his eight-legged doom gets closer.

A crackle of electricity and then this spider disappears as well. On the other side of the trunk, red eyes regard him with worry, “are you hurt?”

“Nah, all in one piece thanks to you.” He holds out his hand, “you wanna head back?”

“Yes, please.” Indrid flaps to the ground, Duck following him on foot and then turning them towards campus, “you did not need to come look for me.”

“Course I did, not gonna let my friend get swallowed up by the forest. Oh, here” he holds out the red glasses, “you want these back?”

“Not just yet. That is, if this form is not too alarming to you.”

Duck takes in the glossy feathers, the charming ruff, the way the face is still obviously Indrid yet excitingly new, “I’m good.”

Light flickers from black claws, stars and flowers spinning out with ease, “It’s so much easier when I’m like this. I never foresaw my disguise charm being an issue, but the older I’ve gotten the more it seems to influence my ability to control my spells. But, well, you saw how people reacted. Even you were startled.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d been eaten by, well, you.” Duck casts the same spell, vines of light chasing the red flowers, “I’m still sorry, though. You ain’t horrible like this, ‘Drid; you’re fuckin stunnin. Never seen anyone as incredible as you.”

Indrid stops, looking down at him, “Do you truly mean that?”

Duck rises on his toes, pecking his cheek, “Yeah, I do.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The Halloween Formal is the most elaborate event at Amnesty. Indrid feels that if there’s any day he’s within his rights to be in his true form, it’s when everyone else is dressed as monsters.

He doesn’t have a date. He thought Duck was in the same predicament. Then his friend left before he was half-done grooming his feathers, saying he needed to get flowers for his hot date.

Ah well. At least Indrid will get to see him there and spend some time with his friends.

He checks his reflection in the gleaming black walls, orange and purple lights glowing and jack’o lanterns floating above his head. He adjusts his robes, the nice red ones his father sent him, and prepares to enter the ballroom.

“Hold up.”

When he turns, Duck is standing there in his black dress shirt and green tie, looking for all the world like he’s alone.

“You got one more thing to put on” He holds out a bracelet of flowers, sized to slip perfectly over Indrid’s hand. There are matching flowers pinned to one side of Duck’s hair.

“Oh. Oh my. You really-”

Duck uses a small spell to bend Indrid into a kiss; it’s a bit messy, since their mouths aren’t meant to fit together, but Indrid would not trade it for all the magic in the world.

“Yeah, ‘Drid, I really do.” With that, Duck offers his elbow and they walk arm in arm into the great hall.

#indruck #indrid cold/ duck newton #meet ugly #wizard au

18 notes · View notes