#i folded and drew monster high <\3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[kamboree]

would someone lend me $800 USD so I can buy the OG lagoona and Clawdeen dolls

[sofiiel]

Cryptid!Eddie x Reader | PART FOUR

⇠Part 1 | Part 3 | Next⇢

Warnings: Violence. Hurt/Comfort.

A/n: working on a masterlist as soon as I can think of a decent title. My proofreading skills are still atrocious.

Nature called and was calling swiftly, you scrambled from your bed and ran for the bathroom. Nearly tripping over a stray pile of blankets in the middle of the floor.

Happily relieved, you exit the bathroom.

"Wait...a pile of..."

Your eyes fell on the heaped blankets. All of them the ones you'd used for Eddie, all except one.

Your eyes scanned your studio, in the dark glow of the setting moon, it seemed empty.

"Eddie?" you called out. Though he would have been hard to miss.

"Maybe he's downstairs?" you reason with yourself before you worry., heading for the lift.

Though downstairs, as the doors opened, you were hit with the strong breeze pushing through the window curtains. Orange and auburn leaves dance about the bakery floor, more fluttering in by the second.

Your eye hone in on the gagged glass, the hole far bigger than what the brick damaged. It was specifically monster sized.

With eyes the size of saucers, you spend little time rushing back to the lift, going back for your coat. "I swear, if you've eaten Toad -" you utter under your breath.

Shinning the flashlight away from the map and onto your watch, you grimaced at the time.

"This is stupid, he's a giant, he's perfectly fine. Toady goes out on her own all the time, she probably wigged out the window and he probably..."

You exhaled and drew in a gulp of the crisp, chilled air, "burst through the rest of the glass of the shop window like a cartoon character for the hell of it."

No, it still didn't sound convincing to your core.

With a sigh, you steal a glance at the sky above, you wouldn't have long until sunrise.

Already at the edges of town, you shine your light into a thicket. "Eddie? You out there somewhere?" you whisper. It wasn't the first time you'd asked, but you were holding onto hope. After all, your next place to search wasn't one you loved the idea of.

An answer never came, and nothing shifted in the dark. Your teeth sink tentatively into your lip. "I should just go home and wait." you tell yourself.

Groaning her stamp your feet, "I can't."

You now had a long walk to the very edge of town, where the stalks of corn loomed like a pale forest all its own.

"It's taller than I thought it'd be." you murmured. Eyes glued to the corn field, a hand reaching to push aside a few stalks.

Across the gravel road, the fields shifted lightly, rustling. Your skin prickled, and a shiver shook your spin. You check the tree top to find them dancing in the breeze.

"Wind, stop freaking yourself out." you cold yourself. "Let's just get this over with. If he's not here, you go home." you sighed, venturing into the fields.

"Two rules, don't get lost or caught trespassing." you remind yourself, clicking on your light.

Moments after pushing through the thick sea of corn, you came upon trampled ground.

You moved along carefully, but the ground was oddly uneven, sinking every so slightly. Though there was no sign of mud.

Stalks were snapped and folded down and pressed deep into the earth.

Lost in your concentration, you are left unaware of the shifting of corn at your side. Carefully creeping behind you.

Deep into the fields now, you'd lost the trail.

"Damn it." you hiss. Dirt and dust kick up as you turn about, you try to retrace your steps, "just go back, you missed something."

A tin, piercing screech jolts your body, your head turns left and right as you hold your flashlight up as a weapon.

Though, after a beat, nothing happens. Your fight instinct is left disappointed, and you try to calm your racing heart.

"What was that-"

"arhowh!"

Looking down at your feet with mouth slack, you spot a bristled Toad.

She howled at you yet again, her thin patchy curls stood straight while she backed up against you. Her back arched high.

That was never a good sign, bending down, you scooped her into your arms and held her firmly. Your gaze drawn to the direction she faced her fury.

You slowly move backwards, trying to put distance between the two of you and whatever might have given her a fright.

"She isn't afraid of Eddie, so, what's out there? She hates dogs. A guard dog maybe?" your thoughts buzz in your brain.

Though they are muted swiftly but the solid wall at your back.

Your ears tingle at the low growl above you, the guttural rumble bellowed from deep within its core. You held tight to Toad, though she seemed oddly calm, while you cast your shaky gaze up to meet a family face with foreign eyes.

Eddie's eyes capped in white shimmered under the half moon like pearls in the sun. But he didn't acknowledge your presence, his gaze fixed on the disturbance in the corn ahead of you.

"What's going on with your-"

He released another deep growl that rose into a shrill bellow. Eddie's lips parted, and out from them bloomed a warped flower. Flaring to show rows of needled teeth.

You nearly crushed Toad to you, and while your fear spiked into a weight you should feel settle into your limbs, she was calm still.

Another bellow answered Eddie's roar. Whirling about on wobbling knees you gasp at the faceless creature, it sported twice as much muscle as Eddie while they matched in size.

"Oh," you gasp, sucking air into your terror crushed lungs. "My god."

You hit the dirt, flung to the side as Eddie bounded forward. He and the other monster, colliding with audible force.

Gurgled snarls and flapped snaps sounded in the night. Your eyes couldn't focus fast enough to follow the fight. Whimpers and growls broke between the odd hollow yowl.

"They look similar, why aren't they friends?" You thought, feeling the blood your teeth had drawn from your tongue.

"Because they're probably fighting over their food." said the little voice in the back of your head.

"But if that were true, he would have snatched me up and ran. It would be easier than a fight." you muttered, hugging Toad.

With a sound like screeching tires coming from his throat, Eddie is flung. You watch breathlessly as his large body flew over your head, landing into the fields with a dull thud. Dirt and broke stalks fly into the air.

"Eddie!" you called out, getting to your feet with your cat. Toad now digging her claws into your skin.

As you ran for Eddie, the second monster made chase.

"I can't bring this thing back to him if it's just gonna kick his ass!" you thought, changing your course into a new direction.

"Please go to the road!" you panted.

Though, as with how the night was going, you were faced with trees.

"fu-"

Beating and whooshing assaulted your ears. Wind kicked up dust and fallen foliage around you. A quick pain clamped into your shoulders, liquid seeping from around the talons hook into your flesh.

Your scream is strangled in your throat, knotted into silence as you find yourself torn from the ground below you. Rising higher into the air at concerning speeds.

Daring to look above you, you find Eddie, his haunting eyes snarling at the creature below you.

"That's right, It doesn't have your wings." you murmur.

But did this mean you were, in fact, food?

You winced at the tearing pain in your shoulders. Eddie growled one last time before rising further into the sky, taking you and Toad with him.

Holding to Toad firmly, you watched the long drop below you. Unable to decided which was worse, death by tree impalement or as a monster's meal.

Looking up at Eddie, you watched him glance down at you. His eyes seemingly honed in on the blood soaking the fabric of your shirt. He licked his lips in the way a wolf licks its maw after a meal.

"E-eddie?" you stammered.

"It's um, thanks, that was an n-nice save back there bud!" your words chirp out. Maybe you could convince him, remind him you're a friend.

"The shop is the other way, though."

He snarled at you, and your mouth snapped shut.

"Ok, ok. shutting up." you whispered.

"Ah!" you land with pain searing through your shoulder, rocks lodging in a few of the deep, narrow tears.

Scooting away from Eddie as he crawled towards you on all fours. One of your arms cradled Toad while the other aided your escape. Your fingertips dip into freeze water.

Glancing over your shoulder, you take in the small pool of water. You gaze, following the cliff behind it upwards.

You gulped, far below the topside.

In your mind you could recall your map, "this might be the quarry." you thought.

"It would be a good place for a den of sorts."

You broke your thoughts, Eddie was much closer now. His shadow hovering above you, blotting out the light of the moon. He opened his mouth wide, revealing four sets of fangs.

It was only now you'd spotted the dried blood around his lips, crusting his cheeks.

"I'm not food! We, we're roommates! Um...sort of!" you cry out.

You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel it in your fingertips as you back away, water soaking into your pants. You'd crawl right into the water if you had to.

Glaring at Eddie, you stopped, "I helped you. Right?" you tried to reason with the wildness in his eyes. Once fixed on your wounds with a primal hunger, they flickered to look at your face.

"So you helped me. I am. Not. Food. Damn it!" your words flow out demandingly.

Eddie's uncanny movement with the tilt of his head was worrying. It was everything horror movies had taught.

But in his eyes, you did not see the same soul you'd seen when you'd first met him. He wasn't a part of himself at this moment. It was much like looking into a picture rather than the physical person.

"This isn't you." you breathed in realization.

"It's some, 'on the night of the full moon' or 'bloodlust' bullshit." you uttered, looking up at him.

Your eyes, however, get sucked in by the deep claw marks near his ribs. The monster had cut into old scar tissue from healed wounds. Without thought, you find yourself reaching forward.

Your fingertips graze the wound past the torn toga, tipping in thick blood, before you press your palm against them.

Eddie froze, the pearlescent cap over this eyes fading away slowly. He flinched, though not at the pain.

"____?" he questioned quietly. Voice hardly a whisper as it trembled.

He sat back, and examined his hands and feet, both coated in two types of blood.

Unable to find words, you focus on the water glistening in his eyes.

"I didn't-"

You shook your head, "no, but if we're honest, you might have." you answered.

Eddie backed away, "you should run." he warned, a hand clutching her stomach. "I didn't feed enough, it won't be long before things get bad again."

"Feed? Blood?" you questioned.

Eddie shook his head, hair falling into his face, unable to look you in the eye.

"No." his words held an ache of shame in them.

You give your dry lips a lick and try to speak steadily, "Take me home. I have meat at home. Raw in the shop freezer."

He continued to hang his head. "If you can still walk, you should-"

"You just fucked up my shoulders, I hauled my ass on foot out here to find you. You're taking me home." you fought. Words not of anger but fear, If you couldn't get him to come back - something in your gut told you he'd never be seen again.

"That look on Lucas' face when it was you. The way he talked about this friend Dustin and your uncle. They need you." you thought.

"You can fight whatever is happening. You can, you didn't feed the night before, right?" you said.

Eddie frowned, "I was exhausted, that's all." he said.

"And you're not now? You tussled with that, that thing. It threw you around like a pillowcase. You should be." You pressed.

Eddie dug his claws into the dirt, his body trembling.

"You don't want to be given up on. Because if you did, you'd be the one to leave."

With your words, he crawled towards you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

You finally released Toad, wrapping Eddie's head in your arms, and the act cause his tears to spill over, splashing against your shirt. His tail wrapping around you.

"This is why I hid." he croaked.

"It could have been Wayne, it could have been Dustin, the guys. And I'd-" Eddie rambled in a hoarse whisper. His words faded into a loud sob. "I didn't ask to be this way."

You batted your eyes to fight the salty sting, they were words you'd heard before. Words that cracked something inside at the memory of the sweetest smile you knew, filled with agony.

The memory of a goodbye you'd only recognized when it was too late.

"Eddie, take me back." you spoke quietly.

You stroked his hair comfortingly. "Lucas is coming in the morning and the sun will be up soon. If we go now, no one will see you on the way back." you reason.

Eddie pulled his head away and peered up at you.

His eye searched your face, were you serious? You meant it?

"I'm cold, and we need to do something about these wounds." you said.

He nodded slowly, and got to his feet, lifting his arms the wings beneath them flared and Eddie took to the sky.

You hugged Toad once again and awaited the pain to return to your shoulders. Though this time, Eddie's talon curled gently into them, leaving the skin unbroken.

He took to the sky with you, sharing the same care a gator might while carrying its young in its mouth.

"You were one thousand percent dinner." you thought to yourself at the stark change. Opting to look at the ground below you rather than focus on the terror you'd faced.

Up in your studio, Eddie watched you from a distance, quietly devouring the meat you'd taken out of the shop freezers. It wasn't what his body needed, but maybe it would be enough to help him fight the monster inside.

Toad excused herself long ago to lay on your bed as you patched Eddie and yourself up as best you could. You'd finished wrapping your shoulder and sighed.

Your nerves finally decided to relax.

Eddie finished the last of his meat and stared at his claws, he'd washed them clean as well as the talons of his feet. He couldn't shake the thought, "there's another one out there."

He'd thought the creatures of that place had been run off after the battle.

"But you weren't here for any of that, so you don't know for sure. Some might have survived. You did, didn't you..." he murmured to himself.

"What was that?" you asked him.

Eddie looked up in surprise, "I didn't you could hear me." he confessed.

Setting down your medical supplies, you went to him carefully, "wait, you're saying that the rumors about this town. They aren't just rumors?" you asked him.

Eddie stared at you with a level gaze, his expression leaving his face. "You've seen me. Is it hard to believe?" He asked back.

You sat at his feet from where he sat on the sofa. Looking at his face, into his eyes. Your own eyes narrow slightly, "What happened to you?" you asked him.

Eddie met your gaze, "I tried to be something I knew I wasn't and became everything they all thought I was." he said.

You exhaled, "what does that have to do with, with the bombs and chemical warfare?" you asked.

A large question mark took over Eddie's face. "T-that's not what happened." he said, anger taking over his features, "if that what's been said?" he asked.

"Yeah, the town was evacuated when the fallout floated into it and the military moved in to neutralize-"

Eddie growled, "No!" he shouted.

"Innocent people died because of, Venca! All that shit behind those gates. Someone should have made that public!" he raged.

"Wheeler wouldn't have let it slide....not without a reason..." he then whispered.

You blinked several times, "Vecna?" you asked carefully. "That sounds like a new flu."

"That would have been easier." Eddie muttered.

"So then, what really happened?"

"That would take all night," he sighed.

"Uh, I'm not sleeping after tonight anyway. I've got time, and I'm not going to be lost when 'everyone' shows up tomorrow." you pressed.

When the sun finally took to the sky, the studio was left in silence. Eddie was all too happy to let you stew on the story he'd told. It was clear in your eyes there was a lot to take in, and in his eyes you could see the recounting made him weary.

You watched the cream swirl into your drink, steam rising to caress your nose.

"Jesus...I suddenly regret not believing dad. If all this could be true, there's no telling what else in this world is." you thought.

"Are you alright?" Eddie called out to you, watching as you spaced out.

"I should be asking you the same thing. I'm not the one who went through a whole sci-fi saga in a handful of days, then for years ever after." you murmured.

Your brows knitted together. "What are we going to do about your, eh, hunting episodes?" you questioned.

Eddie shrugged, "Hell if I know. Last night I tried leaving as far away from town as I could. That's what I've done for years. But it's getting harder to stay lucid enough to manage that."

He then looked down at his claws, "If that thing hadn't showed up, I probably would have gone to the farms to find....someone." he confessed.

You shuddered, eyes falling on the worn necklace chain around his neck.

"Hey, can I see that?" you questioned, running your hand along your neck.

Eddie peered down at his chain, wordlessly he reached back and tried to unclasp it. It was a struggle, and there was no way it was happening on his own.

Under different circumstances, you would have laughed.

Going to him, you shifted his hair and offered to help.

"Maybe we should file those claws down a little, to make it easier for you to maneuver." you said.

"I tried," he sighed, "on trees, rocks, metal they're super tough."

Slipping the chain from around his neck you examined it, "it might work or at least give us a warning." you muttered.

Eddie watched you perplex as you wandered off behind your divider.

Once again, you dug into your trunk. A soft tinkle chiming from the bottom as you shifted its contents. "Come on, I hear you." you whispered, continuing to dig.

Finally, you felt the cool metal surface, your mind vividly imagining the silver little object.

Sitting back, you slipped the musical ball onto Eddie's necklace and held it up with a hint of a smile.

It jingled as you returned to him, holding it up.

"A bell?" he asked.

"Before you say it, I'm not nuts. This is a good idea for now, if you let me explain." you rushed.

Eddie remained silent.

"I used this bell when potty training Toad. She was feral when I adopted her and pissed indoors all the time. My brain is trained to wake up when I hear this thing." you explained.

"So when I try to leave in the night,"

"I can wake up and try to get you to calm down or try to get you something that will help your um...your midnight munchies." you said.

Eddie shifted his hair and leaned forward, "I'll try it." he said.

You smiled and quickly went to help him place the belled necklace back on.

When you were done, you stepped away and Eddie glanced up at you. "I owe you one," he said. "Or like forty."

Reaching out his hand, he stopped short of touching your shoulder, his claws twitched, and he drew his hand back.

You stopped him, letting your fingers take hold of his hand, you brought it to your shoulder and pressed his palm to it.

"You can only hurt me, hurt people, if you will it. You have to stop being afraid of yourself." you spoke with solid words. He could not look at you.

"You've seen what I can do."

"Yeah, I saw you stop." You pressed her palm closer.

"You have to trust yourself, you didn't hurt me on the way back here. You knew better than you did when whatever happened, happened."

Eddie gazed at the floor and you sighed heavily.

"Whatever is going on, no matter if you want it or not - and I know it has to feel so strange," you released his hand and stooped to meet his eyes.

"It's your body, It's the thing that houses who you are. You have the ability to decide how it moves, for now. It might feel alien to you, but you can tame that, work with that, learn how to make it feel more like you." you reasoned.

Eddie watched you intently, he flexed his fingers.

"It won't be easy, but you'll need to try. You don't want to give up. You want your life back, your friends. They're coming to see you, which means they want you back, too. Your biggest hurdle in that will be yourself."

Eddie blinked away the onslaught of tears that threatened to roll past his eyelashes. Chucking softly as he did so.

"Yoda, for sure." he laughed quietly.

You smiled and narrowed your eyes a bit, "I just got you back inside, you are already aiming to get put out?" you teased.

Eddie shook his head and looked up at you, something hopeful in the reflection of his eyes.

"I'd like to stay." he said, it fell from his mouth like prayer.

"Then don't call me Yoda." you hummed, turning to head for the kitchen.

"We're all going to need comfort food by the end of this reunion of a meet up." you added.

⇠Part 1 | Part 3 | Next⇢

[ohyondermemphis]

WIP Lines Tag Game

Thanks for the tag, @luxvespertine!

Rules: share 7 (or more) lines of a WIP you've been working on

———

Well, I am getting old af. But these WIPs are even older.

1.

A Silence of the Lambs AU that just feels like I'm watching the movie but with Tomarry:

“You drew these yourself, sir?” He follows Harry’s line of sight, unblinking, that slow slide of a smile that still looks ill fitting on him. Voldemort hums, walks slowly closer to him. Harry tenses, jittery but desperate to not show it, this close and it feels like a predator closing in. 

He’d been to the zoo once, long enough ago that it’s not a clear memory, but a snake had reared up in the cool dark of the enclosure, swaying eye to eye with him for breathless moments. He feels very much the same now. 

2.

Jumping on the Regulus bandwagon, Fem Harry/TR/RB, semi-incestuous Black family drama:

“You fuck him and call it family.” She spits it out, like it could absolve her from her own guilt, like how she dug her fingernails into her palms every time she looked at him. 

He smiles, bright and charmed by her vulgarity, crosses around the desk to stand in front of her, tall and much more impenetrable than she could ever hope to be. His hand, long and wand calloused, touches the curve of her cheek, her hard jaw. He whispers lover soft into her ear, “What do you call it when I fuck you?”

A jolt, but he’s always hit below the belt. 

“A mistake.” He laughs, low and amused, forever amused by her, she’s always ten inches tall in front of him. 

3.

Tomarry Arranged Marriage AU - my absolute favorite - with a gush of A/B/O:

Customarily, before mating, the alpha will supply all and sundry for the omega. He is to come to his alpha with nothing but that which the alpha provides. Harry isn’t surprised that Voldemort is such a traditionalist. 

So, Harry sits on his bed, sleep deprived and nervous. His fingers twitch on his bare thigh, and his door remains locked even though there have been knocks. He murmurs an affirmative to their low voices, ambivalent to any concern now that the contract is signed. The words are binding, his people are safe, his family and friends even more so. Magic is shining her light on Great Britain again and he isn’t even the first war bride in the last century.

4.

Witcher!AU - High fantasy with UST and knives to throats.

“He’s but a boy.” Tom arches a brow, arms folded and already bored with the older men’s theatrics. The clash of swords outside, that beautiful melody of steel against steel, reaches longingly into his ears. How long has it been since he pressed blade to blade with Barty, with Bella? How long since he had felt more human than monster? 

The answers aren’t in Dumbledore’s bright blues. Nor are they in the basin, with its blood and gore, where two emeralds fade into the bones that rattle in its depths. 

“A boy.” Sardonic, he turns to Gellert, his mentor, one hand holding his cheek and long legs crossed. His smile is all sharp teeth. He knows Tom will say yes, his pet seer isn’t needed for that, at least. 

5.

Fem!Harry/Fem!Tom, Hogwarts!AU - Grief fic sliced with slutty interludes.

Tom puts her arm up, quick, silent, stopping Harry in her tracks. She licks her lips, eyes on Tom, feeling that reckless, that daring more than usual tonight. “You’ll let me go, won’t you, Tom?” She becomes boneless, lost lamb. Tom’s eyes eat up what little light there is in this secret, furtive alcove.

“That depends entirely on you, sweetheart.” Tom doesn’t do anything as crass as licking her lips, not like Harry, who has plump bottom lip caught between teeth. She leans, breathless, on the wall, let’s Tom tower over her. She seems to like it, this cat and mouse game Harry can’t stop herself from playing. 

Tom’s other hand touches her sharp collar bone again, light fingertips that trail across vulnerable skin. They haven’t broken eye contact. 

Harry pushes forward, tip toes skimming the flagstones to press her mouth against the slick smirk on Tom’s. 

6.

Again. Femme Tomarry - because there just isn't enough. Toxic domesticity (catch and release pt 2)

There’s a darling curl of a tattoo under her rib, snake and skull, that clues Tomasina to anywhere she might be. She’s had no cause to regret it, even now. 

They’ve only been split for three days, enough that the ashes of every Marlboro light still clings to the tips of her fingers, drunk on cheap fire whisky (at home) and giggle water (at the pub). She keeps her wand near her and her ears as open as she can, can’t help but watch sightless in front of her when Tom’s name is whispered behind her back. 

7.

Tomarry Hannibal!AU - Dark romance in all it's forms.

She doesn’t bring up her late night escapades the next day. All her glamours drip off like rain as she walks through his doors, so she doesn’t have to say a word. The arch of his brow, the purse of his lips, the way he can read her so well, intrinsically, intimately. 

She swallows the thought back down. 

“Trouble sleeping again?” She wonders if he’s paid by the word, if he’s energized by the charming way he disarms every warrior that enters through his gates, world weary and heavy hearted. She snorts, inelegant, unrefined, nails bitten down and dirt from where she’d worked in her garden this afternoon. 

She was off today. Twenty four hours away from the hell her job had become. Twenty four hours to drink whiskey from mugs and pet her cats and feed her owl and pretend for twelve goddamn hours that this was the sum of her life. 

Her mandatory attendance with Tom Marvolo Riddle, six p.m. sharp, every Wednesday, whether she was working or not, interrupts that blissful fantasy. 

These were the terms and conditions of her agency. Free will wasn’t an option. Not when she was her, not while she still dreamed of monsters, not while she didn’t even need to be asleep to see them still. 

.....and that's enough of that.

[kim-monsterlings]

Vin - M Orc x F Human (Reader) // NSFW Monster Match

Monster match for the lovely @teenagezombiekryptonite​​ <3 I couldn’t tag you!

Matches will be under the read more!

Content: NSFW/Lemon; mutual pining, friends to lovers, use of endearment “sweetheart”, intimate embraces (cuddling, thigh touching), slight possessiveness, teasing, flirting, kissing, lingerie on reader, light choking, teasing, nipple play, marking (love-bites, tusks), fingering, slight praise kink, penetrative sex (no mention of protection or explicit release), clitoral play

Masterlist // Monster Match Info + Masterlist // My Ko-Fi

Headcanon

Not for the first time today had you wished for company beyond the orc settled patiently outside your changing room. The morning had passed with such ease - ever comfortable with Vin, supported by a touch as simple as his chest to your shoulder - until finding yourself staring at your reflection, otherwise alone.

Days ahead of the annual camping trip often passed with a familiar cluster of friends. Breezing from shop to shop - buying gear and planning itineraries, usually you would fall into waiting arms after a long day, not begin with him.

It was harder this year, accompanied only by the orc gently rapping his knuckles to your fitting room door.

Everyone else was busy. Clashing plans promising a ruined summer, and your heart had sunk. "No camping trip?"

"We could go." Quietly so not to call attention to the disappointment rising to your face, Vin squeezed your hand, crinkles rising at the corners of dark eyes. "Just the two of us, hey?"

You wanted it more than anything, hesitating only at the twisting of your stomach - had he offered to appease your pain?

When he lifted your chin to whisper, "I'll even let you choose the music," you agreed. He wanted you there as much as you wanted to be with him, though the day of shopping had slipped your mind.

You opened the door for him, looking at your reflection. "What do you think?"

"Give me a spin, sweetheart."

The soft hem to the short dress spun before he drew you into his broad chest, so close he embraced you with all the warmth you would soon be sharing a tent with.

"Look at you," he breathed. "Do you like it?"

You loved it.

"Do you?"

"You make it beautiful."

Windows rolled low - cool wind tangling your hair and bringing the piercing through his tusk to clink - your music warmed the car, his smile lifting at your soft singing. Halfway as you found yourself tiring, his hand fell to your thigh, an exchanged smile easing your slight nerves.

Friends preoccupied at home teased you before leaving.

Some gambled that before the return journey, over a crackling fire or near sleep, either one of you would confess your feelings for the other. You chose the faded pages of your diary to turn to rather than fuelling their bets.

How it happened, though, seemed more an accident.

Cuddling together came in a natural progression, resting on the thin bedding, whispering, "it helps me to sleep." Hugging your old bunny tight to your chest eased your racing thoughts, until Vin pressed himself close, arm extended.

"Maybe I could help, too?"

Vin stroked over the curls formed of a day driving through wind, and with all the courage in your chest - clinging to hope and remembering how he cared for you, you pressed a soft kiss to the hair of his chest.

Only after your friends hinted towards him returning your crush did you recognise it.

How when you turned to your front beneath midday sunlight, he rested close, applying your sunscreen without you needing to ask. In the passing presence of hikers, Vin's heavy hand curled into your upper thigh.

You turned your cheek on your arms, though your teasing faltered. The way he kneeled close, hovering as though to remain as near as he could, tugged at your heart.

"I think you've covered my legs."

His dark lips fell to let free some excuse, sure to brush off your remark, until he found you smiling and yet to turn from his softening touch.

You were left breathless when his tusks dragged against your throat, guiding your thick hair away.

"Let's stay longer."

The same hopes shared in secret between you and your diary the night before lifted your head. "Really? With me?"

Vin grinned, stroking his hand against your back when you turned to meet his soft lips. "Really."

Drabble

Since returning from the first holiday taken as a couple - turned from several nights into almost a fortnight, and one you were both reluctant to end, you rarely shopped alone. The warmth of his approval coaxed you into easy decisions, and buying a riskier outfit had your nerves high.

Vin adored you in brighter clothes; he wore black enough for both of you.

To pass him with nothing more than a kiss after never sharing your plans to spend the day shopping was a tease, worsened by the ruffling of tissue paper set atop the bag. Had he sought to peek inside, he would've found it empty.

The delicate lace clung to the curve of your hips and chest beneath a dress he loved.

Late evening, you turned into his embrace, warming at the gentle run of his palm over your rear with a light squeeze.

"Tonight, you choose the film. Let me guess..."

"If you don't want horror," you interceded, though he already hushed you with a soft kiss, film set up ahead of your decision.

Despite banning anything horror on your first camping trip - "we aren't watching a horror film alone in the woods, sweetheart," - he never objected on your evenings. Rather than disappoint you, he distracted himself.

In less than twenty minutes, his straying touches brushed lace, and you tucked yourself closer. "New today. I bought them for you."

Only distantly, you registered him ending the film. The hand easing around the column of your neck and pressing you into the soft cushions became your only focus, fixated by him rising over you.

"Dress off, please."

Little more than a growl of pleasure turned against your collarbones when you revealed darker lingerie. So little of your body was left to the imagination, decorated with slinky lace beckoning him closer.

He adored you in pink.

He ruined you in black.

Rounding over your thigh, Vin stroked where your body burned beneath elegant lace. He held you down with little strain as you arched beneath him, your body throbbing from fabric pressed to your slick folds. He whispered his love and devotion as he sucked on your sensitive skin, taking your nipple between his lips through the thin bralette.

Tusks traced the slope of your chest when thick fingers eased into you. "My pretty girl."

"So-" your voice trembled, his thumb lifting to run against your flushing clit when you lifted into his hand. "You like them?"

"So much," he hummed, guiding his fingertips to your tight walls, "that I'll take you in them."

Fabric tugged against your trembling thigh, Vin stroked himself before easing his thick head against you. He waited until you keened before flexing his hand - a gentle reminder as you fell back with a moan.

"Lay still. You're taking me so, so well, sweetheart. Feels so good."

He angled his hips down and your thighs clenched around him. Your gasp silenced against his hot kiss, only able to whisper, "I need you."

"Let me take care of my girl. Tell me," he murmured, running the rougher pad of his thumb over your flitting pulse. "Who's my girl?"

With his wide hips pressed to yours, tusks marking flushing patterns over your chest and tongue tracing burning kisses not far behind, you rocked up, desperate for him.

"I'm yours."

[therenlover]

The Bay (A Helmut Zemo x GN!Reader Drabble)

A/N: I wrote this on vacation while I was getting emotional about Lake Michigan and completely forgot about it... oops! Enjoy this shitty rushed love letter from my heart to both Helmut and my great state <3

Synopsis: You and Helmut enjoy the final evening of your vacation on the dock overlooking Grand Traverse Bay. 

Tags: Tooth Rotting Fluff, Kisses, General Pretentious Michigan/Great Lakes Experiences, Overly Floral Prose, Mosquito Bites

Rating: T

Warnings: Minor Mentions Of Casual Drinking, Slapping Mosquitos But Like... Not In A Violent Way

Word Count: 1100~

“Have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your entire life?” 

Your question was rhetorical at best. Of course, Helmut had seen things far more beautiful than the sight you’d set before him. He was rich and affluent, a man with ties to royalty and a private jet that would happily take him wherever he wanted to go, but still, you hoped he could humor your small-town sensibilities a bit longer as you enjoyed the final evening of your spur-of-the-moment weekend holiday. 

Before you, the Grand Traverse bay stretched out into the distance, glassy and still save for the gentle ripples made by your dangling, frozen toes. 

The sun was still relatively high up in the sky, nowhere near the horizon, but you could just begin to see purple streaking through the sky. Soon the sky would be filled with colors; red, yellow, orange, purple… a sunset more spectacular than anywhere else in the world. For the moment, though, the sky was still its usual cornflower blue. You wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Helmut hummed from his spot on the dock, reclined on a colorful beach chair, his latest book in hand. “It is… unique, in the best of ways,” Then, he grinned. “What’s so funny?” 

He chuckled a bit to himself before lifting up his sunglasses and smiling down at you. “I am simply enjoying the view,” 

“I thought you said it was unique,” 

“Perhaps, but I was only referring to the scenery. When I include you in the picture, though, any view automatically becomes the most beautiful I have ever seen,”

Despite the fact that you’d known Helmut for years, your cheeks still heated at his endless flattery. “Stop that, you know I was talking about the lake!” 

With little more than a thoughtful hum he slipped from his seat and kissed you softly, the knees of his pants scuffing against the wood of the dock as the pages of his book, abandoned beside his glass of white wine on a small folding table, fluttered softly in the cool, late-afternoon breeze. 

Your combined laughter carried all the way up to the rental house.

You stayed that way for a good, long time. In fact, by the time you thought about anything besides the feel of his plush lips on your own, the mosquitos were out in full force, and a soft purple dusk was settling over the sky. 

The pair of you were squeezed onto the colorful beach chair as the sun descended, falling below the treeline across the water. Neither of you really knew how you’d gotten there exactly, not that you minded the closeness. His natural warmth meant you didn’t have to break away and retrieve your sweater from inside. He definitely wasn’t objecting either if the way his arms snaked around your waist was a good indicator. 

You broke the silence after pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, voice joining the chorus of frogs and grasshoppers alike. “I think I’ll swim tonight before we sleep. You can join me if you want to, but I get it if you’d rather stay inside,”

“I’ll consider it.” His hand fell away from the meat of your side after giving it a soft squeeze, reaching for his glass. “I don’t quite understand your obsession with torturing yourself in 45-degree water, but if it’s important to you, you know I will partake,”

That earned him a soft snuffle of your face against the warmth of his pulse. As he leaned into the touch, the last of his wine slipped sweet and cool down his throat. When you lifted yourself up to kiss him once more you could taste the last of it wet on his lips. 

“Should we turn in for the moment?” Helmut’s voice was soft, almost reverent against your flesh.

“Why would we? It’s gorgeous out here,” 

“Schatz,” a light smack against your flesh punctuated his sharp words, “you’re practically being eaten alive,” Sure enough, a quick glance at your stinging skin revealed a tiny crumpled mosquito, crushed beneath the weight of his palm. A sheepish sigh was the most you could offer in retaliation.

“Alright, alright! You’ve got a point. I just… five more minutes?” 

Helmut tensed, prepared to put his foot down in the very special, gentle way that only he could, but, unlike almost every other moment in your whole relationship where he insisted to know what was good for you, he relented, settling back down into his chair with little more than a smile and an apathetic shrug. “Five more minutes. Then we’ll find some bug repellant and we can get ready for our evening swim,”

Your eyebrow raised slightly. “Our?” 

“Did you think I’d allow you to be alone out here in the dark, falling prey to these blood-sucking fiends?” 

Once again, Helmut slapped your flesh and his hand came away with the telltale red smear of an unlucky bug. You were already starting to itch despite the relatively early hour, which was honestly to be expected so close to the still, marshy water’s edge the swarms of irritating monsters called home. Perhaps, if you were lucky, the chilly waters would numb your senses to what was sure to be an unpleasant amount of bites. 

Even if they didn’t heal your ills, there was something captivating about the seemingly endless waters that awaited you. The curved trees that drooped and swayed above and the blooming lilies that cradled the sunset below and all the endless ebbing, flowing waves that crashed against the pebbled shore in a whisper singing sweetly no matter where you rest- Come home to me! I waited for you! Do you recognize me? You’ve grown!

You’re home. 

The realization doesn’t come all at once. No, it’s a slow thing. The waves crash and the mosquitos hum and Helmut rubs his hands, cold with condensation from his glass, down the soft exposed flesh of your arms. Ever so slowly but all at once, the final piece clicks, and you smile. 

Somehow, you know you’re where you’re meant to be. 

The world would turn, that you were sure of. You’d wake in the morning and pack up your bags before running to wherever Helmut saw fit for your next worldly excursion, and that was fine. You couldn’t stay rooted in one place forever. Still, though, at that moment, you were sure you had found the path you were always meant to find. 

With that in your mind and heart, you leaned closer to Helmut and drew him in for one more soft kiss. Neither of you tried to pull away for a good long while. 

You wouldn’t have had it any other way.  

[eloquent-vowel]

Part 4 "Type of" Bucky x OFC (#043)

Description: After two years of upgrades, #043 is finally woken up permanently. Just in time for her fight with the Winter Soldier.

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Slow burn, very much a slow burn. Bucky Barnes x OFC, Winter Soldier X OFC

Warnings: Canon typical violence

Thank you all for reading! I hope you enjoy the first meeting between #043 and the Winter Soldier. <3

Part 3

The lights were bright. Too bright, the ceiling was blindingly white and it burned. The light burned. Her eyes were dry, so dry, blinking hurt but having her eyes open hurt.

Everything was loud, not everything, some things were quiet, the things that were loud were meant to be quiet. The buzzing of the air conditioner, the static sound of electricity, footsteps that sounded close but felt far away. It was overwhelming but she couldn't speak, there was something in her mouth.

A high pitched whine filled her ears, they began to ring, louder and louder, until it drowned out the buzzing.

"#043, you have finally woken up."

The ringing in her ears ceased and she could now hear the chatter in the room. A face blocked the light from her eyes, a familiar one.

"It is likely you don't remember but you have been up before." Dr. Leeb began to fiddle with some restraints on her wrists. "We had to wake you up to test if the enhancements worked. It may have taken two years but I believe we have made the latest breakthrough in mechanical enhancements."

#043 was finally able to sit up, disorientated and confused. She had never seen the room she was in yet it felt familiar. White walls and medical equipment surrounded her, there were a couple of men in white coats chatting by the door.

"You are a stunning success #043, almost enough to atone for your previous mistakes." Dr. Leeb undid the restraints on her ankles, as #043 sat up to face him. "Now I want you to do something for me. Listen to the men over there." He pointed to the men in lab coats. "You can't hear them now but perhaps if you just focused, you may be able to."

#043 didn't quite know what focusing your hearing felt like but she did was Dr. Leeb said and focused. Her ear began to burn slightly as she focused in but eventually she could hear the two men talking as clear as day.

"... chip in the Occipital and Frontal lobes, replacement of the Stapes, enhanced prosthetics and enhanced senses, what type of monster is..."

#043 tuned out, before nodding at Dr. Leeb.

"What were they talking about, dear?"

"Me." She paused before staring right at the Doctor. "What did you do to me?"

"We have simply made you better now! Enhanced sight and hearing. I upgraded you prosthetics to fit your fully grown form and added some extra bonuses in them! #043, click your heels together."

#043 slowly stood up from the bed, Dr. Leeb seemed much smaller than she remembered. Her knees almost gave out when she put her full weight on them but she caught herself on the IV pole beside her.

"We haven't got all day!"

Struggling, #043 balanced herself the clicked her heels together. There was a slight hissing noise and two small blades perturbed from her feet, from the heel on her left leg and the toe of the right. She clicked her heels again and they retracted.

"Brilliant aren't they. Come on now, its time for you to get used to these new legs and then it is time for you to fully atone."

Although he wasn't mentioned by name #043 knew that her atonement was in the hands of The Winter Soldier.

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

The Soldier stood on the edge of the fighting ring. It was a large concrete circle with walls built up around it, high enough to prevent escape but low enough to allow scientists to stare at him from above. He knew little of why he was here, other than to fight yet another contender. He was tired, tired of the endless fighting, he always won in the end and those who would lose to him would be taken away for more enhancements or to be disposed of.

For this fight, however, there was a palpable tension in the air as the men above him whispered to each other. He was unarmed, except for a small knife which he was currently flipping between his hands. He was unsure how long it had been, how long he had been waiting for but just has the knife in his hands flipped at the fastest it could the doors on the other side of the chamber opened.

The doors parted to reveal a tall figure, probably as tall as him. She was dressed in a similar fashion to him, black vest and her hair pushed out of her face. The Soldier analysed his opponent. She rivalled him in stature, and her eyes were just as sharp as his as he saw her sizing him up as well.

His eyes flicked down to her legs, he felt his arm whirr slightly as he recognised the same mechanics used in both her legs. They were made of interlocking metal parts that glinted in the florescent lights, with every step she took there was a slight whirring as the metallic joints folded over each other.. Her right leg still had her own knee and was made of metal from there down in contrast her left has an artificial knee joint that clacked slightly when she straightened it, the metal plates going far enough up to just brush her hip.

He walked towards her until they met in the middle. He was right, she was the same height as him and almost as broad. Once she was closer to him, he saw that her shoulder's were littered with scars. They were uniform and regular in their placement, perhaps they were a weak spot of hers? He followed her arms down to see the knuckle dusters clasped in her fists. He looked down at his small knife, this was to be a game of wits as well as strength.

All in all he saw her as a threat, he knew he would have to avoid her legs. Now that she was close enough he looked right into her eyes. They were empty. While her eyes moved over him in a clearly assessing way there was nothing behind them. She was devoid of emotion, his heart beat loudly in his ears as he felt pity. Pity and sympathy. A voice came over the intercom

"#043 meet the Winter Soldier, Soldier meet #043."

They nodded at one another.

"#043, you are to defeat the Winter Soldier. This is the only way you may become Eris. Make me proud, my dear, destroy him."

The Soldier looked as the empty eyes of #043 turned from emotionless to anger, she gave no warning before she attacked.

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

It wasn't personal, the Soldier was just a target. #043 thought as she launched forwards. Despite not remembering the past two years her movements were the same as always. Chaotic and destructive. She felt her arms moving before her brain and watched as the Soldier jumped to block her.

The two super soldiers battered at each other. #043 felt her arm getting bruised each time she countered the metallic arm. She stared into the eyes of the soldier and he stared back each trying to predict the others moves. They danced around each other. Exchanging pummel after pummel, the brass knuckles caught the Soldier's temple, tearing it. In retort the knife caught #043's cheek. Blood flowed down her cheekbone and she paused.

The Soldier paused too.

They stood for a moment, fists still raised, eyes still locked. There was a hint of recognition that passed between them. A familiarity of shared experience, a moment of finding someone who could finally understand.

"Do I need to remind you what will happen if you lose this #043."

It was enough for #043 to be spurred into action once more. The Soldier was immediately back on the defensive as she attacked him continuously. He couldn't predict a pattern in her blows. She seemed to move with no thought, no direction other than to harm. Her legs kicked out with shattering force and he soon learned it was better to dodge than block. She was unrelenting, while his body was not as tired as hers his mind was beginning to lag. He had to focus, he had no time to switch to the offensive. He had to wait, to wait for her to get tired, for her to slip up.

She punched, he parried. She kicked to his chest, he sidestepped, His eyes narrowed. She was going to kick, with her left, no RIGHT. A deafening clang rang out as he blocked her leg with his arm. Her foot was an inch away from his head. They were both breathing heavily, neither of them having fought someone as similar to the other. Once more their eyes met, the Soldier hesitated- under all the anger and hatred in her eyes was a desperation- fear. She was scared. Not of him. Of consequence, of losing.

She began to push against his arm. The scrape of metal against metal sent shiver's down #043's spine. But she kept pushing, she couldn't lose, she refused to. She grunted out at the effort it took to break the Soldier's guard. She gritted her teeth, she felt his arm give way, she relaxed and was swiftly thrown off balance by the Soldier throwing her leg away. He took the opportunity to run at her.

She was now on the defensive. Using her arms to block in coming knife swipes. Using her legs to parry his own kicks. She tried to get a jab in. Only to have the knife slash across her knuckles, causing her to drop on of her brass knuckles. They clanged against the floor, forgotten as she had to double her efforts to concentrate. She ignored the shooting pain over her hand and continued to block punch after punch.

#043 was tiring. She knew this. He knew it. She felt him doubling his efforts to trap her. Sweat was dripping down her brow. Her usual ability to predict her opponents movements was gone, her brain too focused on surviving. The Soldier drew closer. She blocked a final jab with the knife but he grabbed her. He grabbed her wrists and twisted. She dropped the other brass knuckle. He pulled her close, twisted so that her back was to his chest, and placed his metal arm around her throat. He squeezed.

"Yield." His voice was quiet in her ear, low enough so that Dr. Leeb would not hear.

She struggled, clawing at his arm. She thought of Dr. Leeb, of the chair, of consequences. Black spots began to dance around her vision. She would not go out like this. She focused on her left leg. The chip in her brain that lead directly to her left leg. She really did not want to be disposed of.

Dr. Leeb watched with barely veiled excitement as #043 let out a guttural scream. He watched as her left leg began to twist, it rotated against her skin until it was facing backwards, the foot facing the Winter Soldier. The leg reared back, unnoticed and kicked. Dr. Leeb laughed as that single kick dislocated the soldier's knee. The Soldier loosened his grip and she escaped. They faced each other once again.

The ache in her leg was almost impossible to ignore as it twisted back to the right place. Much to her annoyance the soldier was still standing. They were both breathless, bloody and bruised.

The Soldier grimaced before snapping his knee back into place, he had given enough for it to be considered a fair fight. It was time to end this fight.

They both moved at once. Their dance resumed. This time they were both switching from attacking and defending every other hit. #043 began to launch a series of kicks. The Soldier kept deflecting them. She knew she was becoming predictable but every inch of her hurt. Her knuckles were bleeding. Spraying red droplets everywhere as she continued to punch. In desperation she began to launch a final switch kick. It felt obvious, she saw the soldier's eyes flick to her feet. He knew what she was going to do. It was too late to change. She launched her right leg towards the Solder's temple. He raised his arm.

There was a thud as the Soldier hit the floor. Unconscious.

#043 blinked. He had seen it coming. He had raised to block it. Had he been tired? Was he too slow? Her win felt wrong. She stood frozen over his form. She had won. She was Free. She was Eris. So why wasn't she happy?

"What type of monster have you created Dr. Leeb?"

Dr. Leeb turned to face the General, a joyous smile on his face.

"I have created an unstoppable tide of chaos, General. I have created Eris."

Part 5

[imnotwolverine]

The Wolves Return - Part 4

<Part 3 | Part 5 > 

Summary: Evil is looming and old memories are blooming in the keep of Kaer Morhen. 

Word count: 2005 (7 min read) 

Disclaimer: old and brittle Jaskier, dementia, blood and gore, a melancholic Geralt (but also a touch of fluff stuff) 

Author’s note: Sorry for being MIA my loves! Life’s been crazy busy with long workdays and social events (FINALLY). So writing was kinda pushed on the backburner. Hope you enjoy this one ❤

--

‘Remember that time in Velen, Geralt?’ Jaskier’s voice sounded brittle with age. 

Geralt looked up at Jaskier. His friend no longer talked as much like he used to. With thoughtful blue eyes the bard looked out over the vines that outstretched the autumnal valley of Corvo Bianco. Their shared home for some time now. 

Geralt sighed. 

‘Which time is that? The one when I saved your ass from the Duchess?’

Jaskier squinted, as if thinking. ‘No no. The time..The..’ He started to fling about his hands as if searching for words. ‘The one time I had nearly eloped with the butcher’s daughter, remember that? The one in..’

‘You mean the time you told me you’d be a father?’

‘Yes..’ Jaskier's voice quieted. ‘Oh Geralt!’

‘What’s that, Jaskier?’ 

Jaskier remained silent until yet another of his bloody coughs came up. With a bony hand he raised a kerchief to catch the red stains that had parted from his lungs. 

Geralt gritted his teeth. It was all going so fast all of a sudden. His lifelong friend whom he had travelled up and down the Trail with, would soon be no more. Jaskier’s hair had gone grey years ago. And his once nimble fingers no longer played the songs they used to. Which, for a time, had been pleasant, Geralt had to admit that. 

Looking at the slumped form that was his friend, the Witcher felt his heart crumple with fear. He didn’t like goodbye’s. Never had. But he knew that with the falling leaves and the arrival of winter, the days were growing shorter for his friend, too. 

It felt too soon. 

‘I’m a father.’ Jaskier let the bloodied kerchief fall to his lap. ‘Ha..’ Jaskier’s lips turned into a little smile. ‘She must be nearly grown now.’ 

Geralt tried to smile along. The unsteady motion of his heart was however difficult to contain. Jaskier had been with his daughter for years, but the way he spoke of her made it feel like his friend could no longer remember. Like he couldn’t remember many things now.

 ‘Well, let's hope she’s not as talented at getting herself into trouble as her father was.’

Jaskier sucked in his lips, breathing deeply. His blue eyes had watered up as he watched two swallows duck down from the trees. They remained low, meaning cooler weather or perhaps even a storm would come. 

‘I should’ve been there for her.’ Jaskier said, sitting back up stiffly. 

‘Jaskier..’

‘No Geralt. I mean even you. In fact YOU. You’ve raised a kid. And what type of vivacious, vibrant young woman that has become!’

It made Geralt think. As the day came to an end, the bugs drew out from their sanctuaries, though today they didn’t fly high like usual. Geralt’s eyes followed the swirls and dives of the swallows as they feasted on their bounty. Swallows.. Hmm.. Ciri. Cirilla. Zireael. His little swallow. He wasn’t sure what to say in that moment as his friend slowly pushed himself up from the stone bench they’d been sitting on. With cracking bones Jaskier hoisted himself up by his walking stick. Should he tell Jaskier he had been a good father? Geralt couldn’t know. He had not been there at that time. Not for many years. He had not even met Jaskier’s daughter.

In a swift move Geralt stood up as well, arm reaching out to support Jaskier where he could. And then yes..Ciri. Watching the swallows up above, he thought of his own adoptive daughter. He had not heard of Ciri in some years now, either. Nor had he heard of Yen. 

Looking at Jaskier beside him, he wondered how well he’d do all alone. 

‘Well Jaskier. We both are fathers. And we have tried our best every day.’ 

Jaskier looked up, blue eyes lighting up with curiosity. ‘Me? Goodness Geralt..-’ Jaskier halted as his body started to rack up another bloody cough. The white kerchief was hit with a dark red gob of spit, before it was duly returned to a pocket. 

Geralt watched and silently inhaled the scent. The scent of looming death. As if it would help, he held onto Jaskier a little more tightly. 

Jaskier sighed wearily and tapped at Geralt’s paw, that was just about death gripping his arm. ‘Geralt..Geralt..Promise me one thing Geralt.’ 

Geralt released his grip. 

‘Treat her like you would have me.’

--

Palewhite was Isabella’s face as her finger pointed at the other side of the room. High up above, where the dark wilderness loomed through narrow windows, fluttered a crowd of dark shadows. Crows. Bats. Or something of the like. 

With little thuds the animalistic shadows started bumping into the glass panes, willing the windows to break. 

‘What the..’ Eskel gripped for his sword, and not far behind was Geralt who swivelled around with an awkward stagger, hand gripping for the nearest sword rack where some old swords were hung for decoration. 

‘Speak Isabella.’ Geralt growled beneath his breath. ‘Did you bring these?’ 

‘WHAT? No!’ Isabella started to furiously shake her head, eyes wild. ‘No, no..I..’ She pressed herself into a wall. ‘It wasn’t me I swear!’ 

Eskel squinted his eyes. ‘Transmutation you think?’ Eskel asked, studying the beasts that were now flying larger bouts so they could drive themselves with more force into the windows. 

‘Like fuck..’ Geralt sighed, feet shuffling to find a more comfortable stance. Above them the windows started to groan with the pressure. Dust was falling down. And not long after the inevitable break of one, became the breaking of many. Like crystal rain the windows shattered, shortly followed by a cloud of flapping wings. 

Behind the witchers, Isabella cried louder. ‘Not again!’ She cried. 

‘Again?’ Eskel slashed into the air, trying to keep the bat-like creatures at bay. ‘You best not be --’ He swiped right. ‘telling us you have ANYTHING to do with--’ He caught one with his hand and squeezed it to mush between his thick fingers. ‘this.’ 

On his left, Geralt was slashing with less grace, but more annoyance. Short, jagged motions hit and killed and before long a pile of beady eyed creatures had piled up on the keep’s stone floor. 

Outside the windows a strange voice called, but no more than two of the creatures managed to escape the Witchers’ assault. Flapping furiously they raced until there was nothing left but the carcasses of those that had been slain. 

Eskel tipped one of the leathery black creatures around with his shoe. It was shin-length and beneath all the black blood that was spouting from its innards, it looked like a regular, though slightly too large, bat. 

‘Start talking young lady.’ Geralt snarled. 

Isabella shuffled uneasily, eyes looking for the exits that were too far away to escape to. ‘I …’ She inhaled sharply. ‘There was this man at the inn. I thought he was one of youse. You know. Big ol’ armor, some Witcher-y necklaces on, swords on his back. We drank..and..’ She cleared her throat. ‘spoke of nothing special really. The weather and such.’ 

‘Necklaces? Plural?’ Eskel asked.

‘Yes.’ 

Eskel started to wipe the blood off his sword, frowning. ‘And they looked like Witcher necklaces?’ 

‘I think so. One of them looked like yours.’ 

Eskel shot her a warning glance, to which Isabella scowled even further back up into the wall. 

‘So he’s not one of yours then.’ She mumbled.

‘Did he follow?’ 

‘Of course not. I..I got too drunk. I slept for the whole day after, then the inn keeper warned me about the weather. That I best be on my way. So then I went..and..but..there was nobody. I swear. There was nobody else out.’ Isabella looked at Geralt, who had folded his arms in silent judgement. 

‘I swear! It was raining cats and dogs! I wasn’t followed!’ 

‘Hmm.’ 

Eskel cleared his throat. ‘I’m going to check out what’s going on. You stay here with this one.’ He pointed at Geralt before leaving the hall. 

Geralt clicked his tongue, yellow eyes looking out into the broken windows. ‘You’re not telling us everything little bird.’ 

Isabella looked down at her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I really didn’t think I was followed..’ She brushed away a tear. ‘My father’s maps weren’t really clear anyway. Got lost and all.’ 

Geralt kept his eyes up and out to the windows, so Isabella continued with another sniffle. 

‘I’m sorry Geralt. I really am.’ 

Finally his gaze lowered. He looked disappointed. 

‘I’ll leave -’ Isabella said, sighing and sniffling. 

‘Did this man have a name?’ 

‘The man? Eh. Something..’ She searched for the words, but they didn’t come. ‘Mm..can’t remember. He was Redanian though. Quite odd so far up North.’ 

‘Redanian.’ 

‘Yea.’

‘The paths are blocked off. And can’t have you knowing any more of our..secret..pathways. Which by the way are NOT on our maps.’ Geralt raised an unamused eyebrow. ‘So we’ll see to this in the morning.’ 

Isabella sighed in quiet relief. ‘Thank you.’ 

‘Oh and Isabella. We’d like ALL our maps back.’ 

Isabella blinked up at him, cheeks blushing a deep red. 

‘Now.’ Geralt reached out a hand. 

‘Really see it all, huh?’ 

Geralt stepped in closer, forcing her to flatten herself to the wall. ‘I see..’ He looked deep into her eyes - cornflower blue, just like her father’s. He wanted, in that moment, to teach her a lesson. To perhaps frighten her. But his resolve melted away with the hue of her blush and the rise of her bossom. 

Argh. 

Growling inwardly he turned away, pointing at the table, where she could place the “borrowed” map she was keeping in her skirts. ‘Right there. Just put it there.’ 

It took a long night of waiting before Eskel returned. With blood caking to his rugged clothes, he spoke of a number of monsters that had run rampant around the keep. A short magical imbalance, it seemed. Though Eskel and Geralt both continued to be wary. Not in a long time had unwelcome visitors come ‘round. The last time actually having been the Night Hunt, who had come to look for Ciri. 

Ciri. Geralt wondered where she was right now. If ever she’d return to Kaer Morhen, even if just for a day or so. Was she even alive still? 

Holding guard in the hall, he watched out into the night where stars sparkled like the glass they had swept to a side of the hall. The bat bodies were burning in the fire, all purple and gooey and obviously not quite natural. 

In the corner two of the old cots had been returned to their function of beds. Both Eskel and Isabella were out cold after the eventful night. Geralt, however, did not feel the least bit tired. He could feel something else. Melancholy. Loneliness. Immortality. The ever grinding passing of time. The ticking of the clock on the wall behind him. The washing and waning of the moon in the sky. The drifting by of clouds and birds and before long it was another day, followed by another night. Though hopefully, by that night, the fuss that was Isabella would be gone. He was thinking of blindfolding her. Getting her out through the crypts. But even then it would be a difficult thing to get out. 

With half an eye he looked at the two sleeping forms in the corner. Eskel, though terribly annoyed with the young woman, had hushed Geralt when he had made another attempt of showing her who’s boss. Geralt didn’t know why he did that. Lashing out to Isabella the way he did. Perhaps the lack of grip on the situation had bested him. Perhaps it was because she reminded him of.. 

He felt his eyes water and just like that all the frustration he felt slipped down his cheek in the shape of a tear. Gods he missed Jaskier so much. He’d take it all back. The mischief. The saving the bard’s arse over and over. Even the annoying songs. Yes, even the songs. His stiff lips turned into a melancholic smile. 

‘Treat her like I would you, hmm?’ He sniffled. ‘Fine.’ 

--

Part 5 > 

--

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[catharrington]

Strawberry Seeds and Love Potions. (T, 2.4K words)

@harringroveweekoflove day 2: LOVE POTION && MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURES. Also including: witch Robin, post season 3 recovering Billy, flustered but giving it his best Steve, and cat boys. Or cat men? No, cat boys.

***

The coffee mug clicked onto the table with an otherworldly menace. Steve’s brown eyes darted to it, then back up to Robin. He furrowed his brows in a question. But before he could open his mouth, she held up her hand.

“It’s not poison,” she explained.

“Could have fooled me, Robs,” Steve hissed.

“It’s called a potion, dingus. It’s going to help!” She pushed the cup farther down the bar. The diner around them was mostly closed, and Robin was the only waitress in the place. Her peach colored apron brought out the green of her wide, devious eyes.

“Potion... poison... that’s like one letter different,” Steve leaned back in his stool away from the mug.

“Wow, so you know how to spell. What other skills will you showcase, The Amazing Harrington?” Robin’s lips curled up in an evil grin, leaning her body over the bar to dig the insult farther.

Steve just scoffed. Putting his elbow up on the bar and shielding himself as he tried to get back to the open College text book he was supposed to be reading. All the words were rushing together in swirls of black and white. He pushed his thumb into his curved bottom lip to try and force himself to focus, chewed on the pad of it, but he could swear the mug was mocking him.

Could swear he could smell that strawberry pink liquid Robin had poured for him when he ordered a simple black coffee.

“Drink it,” Robin snapped.

“No,” Steve growled.

“Are you going to grow a backbone and actually confess then?” She quirked one brow up.

Her face was so condescending. So smug. Steve hated how much he knew that look, how it made him sort of fond for her.

“I mean,” he sighed. His walls crumbling in defeat. His fingers coming up to join in worrying his bottom lip. “I mean I might?”

“It’s been a year Steve. A year of following him around like a little stray kitten! A year of ‘Oh Billy, I’ll give you a ride!’ ‘Oh Billy, how was physical therapy?’ ‘Oh Billy, pay attention to me!’—“

“I get it, I get it!” Steve turned towards her again to motion with his hand to keep it down. Waving his wide palm around until Robin’s pursed face cracked into a giggle. “Just keep it down, would you?”

And he turns over his shoulder to survey the empty diner before he’s got enough courage to look at her again.

“Yeah, okay. I’ve got a fat, stupid crush on Billy. And I know that I’m the most embarrassing and dumb guy you know. But...,” he trails off. Eyes wandering back down to the coffee cup. “It’s not the same as Nancy Wheeler or even Tammy Thompson. So much can— no, so much has gone wrong. If I... confessed right now, It would just make everything too much for him.”

His fingers nervously tick across the mint green bar. Wishing like hell he could cross them in front of his chest and make a barrier.

Robin takes a step forward. Her own fingers an inch away from his. She twitches like she can’t make up her mind if she wants to grab them. Like someone worrying their bottom lip if they are going to pick the last slice of pie in the diner’s glass container. But she does, reaching out to lay her skinny fingers and their chipping black nail polish over his own.

“Dingus,” she starts lovingly, “you don’t know any of that.”

Steve scoffs, rolls his eyes like he’s going to turn away, but Robin holds his hand tightly.

“You don’t know if it’s too much for him, or what he wants. And you don’t,” Robin took a second before continuing, her breath hitching, “you don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

Hawkins, Indiana is the poster town for unknown tomorrow’s. Steve knows way too well about that. The tunnels crawling with slime and vines that play host to the monsters of the world.

But Billy, he surely knows better than anyone. It’s been a whole year but noone’s going to ever forget what he did. What happened to him under the control of a creature called The Mind Flayer. How Billy used himself like a human shield and died to try to make up for it. Just to come back with an electric jolt to his tattered heart.

They had to stitch new lungs inside his chest. He called himself Zombie Boy now. Called the patchwork scars heavy metal.

Steve just smiled. Nodded his head as he watched Billy climb out the crumbled wreckage of his shell. Climb out a new man, a man Steve caught himself falling head over heels for.

“You’re right, Robs,” Steve exhales.

“Oh, what was that?” Robin giggled, leaning in to hear better.

Steve pushed her away by their joint hands. Wiggling his fingers afterwards as if cursed.

His breath quipped and held tight in his chest as he turned back to the coffee mug. It sat waiting for him. The light red liquid swimming with foam and black seeds at the top. As if no matter how long it sat, it was always freshly prepared.

Steve gripped the handle of the white mug hard. Thought about how quick Billy’s body hit the ground when he died. How quick it all felt to Steve who had to helplessly stand back and watch it all.

He lifted the mug to his lips and drank in desperate, greedy gulps.

And as he finished it and slammed the ceramic back down on the bar, he didn’t immediately feel different. His mouth felt strange, the red juice had a powdery after-taste and much more seeds than his gag reflex was expecting. But as he screwed up his face from the flavor, he didn’t feel changed. Or empowered. Or whatever Robin was trying out with this magic spell.

“I don’t—,” Steve started, but his voice stopped just as it started. His head pounded like a drum was beating right next to his ears.

Doubling over in his stool, he gripped at the sides of his head in a panic. His whole skull felt like it was vibrating. Shifting around even, his scalp moving at the top of his head as if something were to burst out.

Steve grabbed two fist fulls of his hair and groaned through the wave of pain. Burying his chin in his chest to try and stop the noises before they came. It was so painful, but somehow only lasted a second.

As sudden as it came, he felt fine again.

Steve jerked his head up to scream at Robin , when he noticed her eyes wandering to the top of his head.

He followed them with hesitant fingers, slowly running up his now messy head of quaffed brown locks under his fingertips brushed something new.

Giving an undignified yelp, he drew his hand backwards as if burnt. His eyes were wide and pleading with Robin. But she watched him right back with the same face. As if she didn’t make this, as if it wasn’t her poison potion that created this.

Steve timidly touched the new addition to his head again. This time he didn’t finch as his fingertips sank into hair that felt soft as fur. Following it up to a point, and then feeling as it curved inwards to softer peach fuzz.

He could feel something, as his fingers moved, he could feel them as easily as if he were touching the lobes of his ears.

Because he was touching his ears.

A quick glance to a dingy mirror hanging at the back of the bar confirmed it for him. There was a pretty pair of brown cat ears sprung from the top of his head.

“Robin,” he breathed. Unable to fully grasp how he felt. “What was that drink exactly?”

She blinked at him, gathering her thoughts before she cleared her throat. “It’s um, it’s supposed to be a charm. An aid, like-like an enhancer. It said it would bring out the traits that the person you craft the potion for desires the most.”

Then she stopped to laugh, her red lips caught between gaping open or turning up on the corners in a mocking laugh. “I didn’t— wow! I thought worst case scenario would be you’ll turn into an asshole like you were in high school. B-But this?”

Steve looked from her back to the mirror. Wrapping one hand around the pointed triangle of his ear. Pushing it down just to watch it perk back up again.

“I’m... I’m a cat boy?” Steve stutters out a gasping breath.

“Well, more like a cat man, really,” Robin tries to help. “Come on, you’re almost old enough to buy beer.”

“Really helpful, Robs, thanks so much for the curse and now the insults!” He shouts.

Holding up her hands in defense, her smile doesn’t drop. Even in her shoulders Steve can see she’s quivering with laugher.

He feels along the base of his new ears. How the fur is the same color and melts almost perfectly into his own silky hair. How it feels good, actually, to scratch his blunt nails there just like how a house cat would enjoy it.

“This isn’t some trait. Or some, something that Billy would find attractive in me.” Steve groans. “This is some freaky kink!”

Robin finally clasps her hand over her mouth to dam up the waterfall of laugher. It hits against her palm in a muffled, annoying, cruel noise. She shakes her head as if she wanted to argue but couldn’t get past how funny she found it.

“You must have mixed up the wrong stuff, Robin! Put the wrong magical thing in the mixture!” Steve tried to shake his head out to unstick his thoughts.

He runs his hands through his hair as he does when he gets flustered, and now his cat ears bend with the motion so they don’t get tugged on. Folding neatly onto his head before bouncing back up to attention.

It felt so weird, but somehow it didn’t feel very different at all. They acted as if they’ve always been there.

“Yeah, okay, that’s it,” Steve nodded to himself. “You gave me the wrong potion. It’s okay, it happens! Just whip up a new one that’s for reversing cat ears. That’s in your witch book right?”

Robin kept her hand over her mouth and kept shaking her head. She wasn’t replying to anything Steve said. And it was honestly making him more mad than the new ears on top of his head.

“Hey, is it really funny enough for all that?” he mused.

Then Steve looked back up at the mirror. He turned his head side to side to admire the way his ears moved with him. How they were his hair color on the outside then a flushed pink in the very middle. How there were strands of lighter brown between that and those reminded him of how highlighted his hair gets in the summer sun.

“I don’t know. I think they... I think they sort of suit me?” He shrugged.

Robin dropped her hands and her laugher was louder without it, but she managed to catch her breath to finally reply. “Oh, they suit you alright. You’re a natural at this stuff, Garfield.”

Steve furrowed his eye brows. Cat ears folding down on his head in defense. “I’m not orange,” he hissed back.

Robin opened her mouth with likely more insults and no actual help from the aspiring witch who caused all this mess, when she was interrupted. The bell above the entrance letting out a loud ding.

The front door, painted in matching mint green like the bar, swung open. And like he was summoned, like his ears were simply ringing so much from being talked about he hunted down the source, in walked Billy.

He was wearing a grey hoodie. One of many that he collected once he got discharged out of his hospital. This one Steve was familiar with, because it was his. Handed down with a coat and a couple other winter items as Steve feigned indifference over concern about Billy’s California blood staying warm. An old Hawkins High baseball league logo sitting right in the middle. It’s fading green and orange design still bright enough to make Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

“Hey, Harrington,” Billy greeted. He lifted his big, scarred hand to wipe the hood down from his head. Letting loose the wild mess of short curls that are regrowing on his head.

“Hey, Billy,” Steve croaked out. His voice was awkward. His face, he knew, must be blushing bright red.

He turned to seek help from Robin, but the swinging door that lead into the kitchen was rocking back and forth on its hinges. She must have run away as soon as Billy came in. And Steve was too busy watching his entrance to even notice.

Cursing under his breath, Steve racked his brain with an excuse. Some logical way to explain why he had sprouted two new fluffy ears off his head.

He felt like he was playing a pinball machine in his head. Flashing lights and jingling noises were going off. But nothing was coming to him. He couldn’t find any words to offer at all to Billy.

So he whipped his head to the side, watched as Billy stopped glancing around the empty diner to finally settle on Steve.

And he watches as Billy’s gorgeous, totally unfair pretty blue eyes lift to see the cat ears on his head.

“Woah, Harrington,” Billy exhales like he’s blowing a mouth full of cigarette smoke. “That’s really—,”

“I know, Billy, okay! It’s um, um?” Steve waves his hands around as if that can turn the wheels of his thinking some more. But he can’t think. Not well anyway, when Billy’s standing here looking so handsome, so warm, and so alive right in front of him.

“Yeah, okay, I can totally explain this—,”

Billy cuts him off with a soft chuckle. Just under his breath. Steve closes his mouth quick enough to make his teeth click.

“I don’t know, Steve. Ya don’t have to explain it. It’s kinda cute, actually,” Billy drawls out his words low and soft. And then smiles at him.

A second ticks by. Billy’s boots skid on the tile as he steps even closer. All the way until he’s right next to Steve. Grabbing the back of a stool right next to him.

And Billy hasn’t taken his eyes off Steve’s ears once. And he’s got a little sparkle in them like the first time Billy got a point over him during basket ball practice back in high school. And oh, oh.

“Cute?” Steve parrots back.

“Yeah, super cute,” Billy confesses.

[batarella]

I Don’t Hate You - Part 3 (Jason Todd x Reader)

OKAY LEMME TELL YOU ALL I’VE NEVER POSTED ANYTHING THIS LONG. AND I’VE NEVER SMILED SO MUCH WHILE WRITING A SINGLE FIC IN MY LIFE. IT’S 2K WORDS LONGER THAN THE COMMANDER FINALE. TALK ABOUT CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT.

REMEMBER WHY JADE WEST WAS SO ICONIC IN VICTORIOUS? READ ON!

WORDS: A WHOPPING 7404 WORDS FOR A SINGLE PART OF A SERIES WARNINGS: NEVER HAD THIS MUCH FLUFF IN MY LIFE

Masterlist

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-----

Hands flat on Ms. Peterson’s desk, you flashed the brightest fake smile you could. She looked up from her computer, probably the fifth round of solitaire for the day, and cocked up an eyebrow. She did not at all look amused at you storming in.

But you’ve been in the library for twenty minutes and this woman has not given you anything to do to keep you in here.

“Listen, Ms. Peterson. As much as we just love hanging out in this outdated hellhole, I’d rather we go home than just sit here and do nothing for the next hour and a half.”

Her shaky hands didn’t flinch. And she turned her attention back at her screen.

“I’m told to keep you in here for another eight weeks. I’ve had this job for fifty years and I’m not about to lose it to two whiny brats.”

“She’s the only whiny brat here, Ms. P.” Jason rested his elbows on the desk and leaned over beside you. “If you let us out, it’ll be our little secret. C’mon.”

Obviously, that sort of trick works for Jason more times than it would for any ordinary person. But Ms. Peterson was not the one to charm with. And she had the same, dead look in her eye when she turned her head at the young man.

“Sit. Down.”

“What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t care. Just get your asses on those chairs and sit. Oh look! A person in need of service. There’s your job. Go do it.”

Only one guy was standing behind you. You snarled at him, eyes narrowed. You were almost growling beneath your breath which made him visibly stand back. Jason looked at him over his shoulder with less fear factor but with the same annoyance.

The sight of you both made him almost piss his pants.

“Uhm,” he gulped. “Can you please show me where sci fi books are at?”

You cocked up an eyebrow, glancing at your nails before nudging Jason with your shoulder. He grunted at you, giving you that same ‘I really fucking hate you’ look on his face he’s practically embedded onto his own skin by now. You shrugged, looking back at your nails. Then Jason stood straight and held the guy by the shoulder.

“Go through that aisle. Third shelf from the right.”

“He asked you to go with him, Todd.”

His glare on you was really starting to show. “He can find it himself.”

The poor guy gulped and viciously nodded to agree with Jason. He walked away, making sure not to catch your eye. You lifted your elbows from the librarian’s desk and spared the old lady another snarky look, to which she didn’t even bother to notice. Both of you sitting back on the empty table, Jason placed his arm crossed over the other on the surface and leaned his head over to at least try having a nap. His hair was all sprawled out. You, on the other hand, leaned back, head hanging on your neck, and closing your eyes hoping time would fly by faster that way.

It didn’t.

Two weeks. It had been two fucking weeks. And yet, you were far from being halfway through this macabre series of events. Why couldn’t you have just punched that Maxwell kid in the face? Or threatened to murder him in his sleep? Anything else would have been better. Anything that would’ve landed you in an entirely different situation than to be stuck here with an old woman stricter than a Belle Reeves prison guard.

You could either look at the windows out the library, find a book and actually read one of them (though if they had any more of Poe’s you’d likely get your hands on them).

Or just stare at the eye candy in front of you.

Your smirk was less obvious when you glanced over the veins on his large, muscled arms, folded on top of the other with his skin stretched. His thick, black hair that was long enough to cover most of his forehead, now sticking onto his arm. His neck that was long and thick, his thin shirt and how even more lean muscles would pop out when he’d unintentionally flex. You often caught sight of his stomach when he’d reach over a shelf that was at the top most level, and the ‘V’ shape on his skin was more than eminent enough for you to picture. He wasn’t absolutely huge, especially since he was just 17. But he was definitely fit.

You wouldn’t mind looking at that for a while. Not until he starts talking, anyway. For long minutes, that was what you did, then you got bored.

The tip of your boots kicked his shin under the table. He jumped up, startled, almost growling at you with dark bags under his eyes.

“The fuck do you want now?”

“Someone’s a bit angsty today,” your evil little smirk ticked off another of his nerves. You could tell. He let out a large sigh, started leaning back against the back of his chair, then spread out his arms behind his head to stretch.

Ooooooh shit. There is was. The veins.

“I didn’t sleep last night.” Jason finished stretching and went back to lean against the table. “You done gawking?”

“Cute.” You scrunched up your face to mock him. “I’m bored.”

“And what am I supposed to do with that?”

“Help me sneak out of here.”

“Two weeks here. You think I haven’t tried sneaking out once or twice? That woman’s got the eye of a fucking hawk.”

“Is there any other way out of here?”

“I doubt it.”

Your groan was indefinitely long, stretching the back of your neck when you opted to reach for your phone.

“I’m at three percent.”

Jason took out his own phone. “Mine’s at five.”

“That blackout from last night reach your monster mansion, too?”

He snarled at you and rolled his eyes. “Bruce has generators to power up the whole place when we need it.”

“Then why are you at five percent?”

“Because I’ve been tinkering on this sorry little fucker the last thirty minutes.” He held it up with just his fingers. It had a cracked screen. It looked too old to even be used. “Battery drains faster than my patience.”

“Can’t your new rich dad buy you another one?”

“He did. I don’t wanna use it. Just doesn’t feel like mine.”

“Ah. You're one of those guys. ‘My parents are rich, not me’ kind of dudes. You’re all the same kinds of annoying.”

“I don’t act all high and mighty, for your information.”

“I’m just saying,” you raised your arms up. “If I were you’d I’d at least enjoy his wealth. It’s stupid if you don’t take advantage of things you clearly already have.””

He silently shook his head and looked to the side like you wouldn’t understand even if you tried. Scoffing, you turned away, and you caught the eye of Maxwell, who had a sling on his arm still.

“Holy fuck,” you reached for your bag. “I can't believe I fucking forgot.”

“What?”

Pouring out the contents, you mumbled. “Help me with this thing and I swear I owe you a huge favor.”

“I think watching you wallow in your pain would be more worth my time.”

“That sounds more like my line. You’re taking after me. Good. And I’d say likewise if I wasn’t so desperate, Todd.” You started pouring out pieces of paper, a bottle of glue, and a pair of the largest scissors Jason’s ever seen.

“Is that-“

“The scissors that sent that guy to therapy?” You pointed at Maxwell. “Yes. Yes they are.”

“Jesus.” He took it from your hands. “No fucking wonder.”

“Stop ogling and help me.”

“What the fuck are you supposed to do?”

“Remember the project that kid spilled his coffee on? This is it. I finished it that day and now I have to do it all over again. They gave me another two weeks to do it and I completely forgot about it until now. I’m supposed to make a stained-glass kind of picture. But with cutting pieces of colored paper.”

Jason took the paper you had on the table.

“These are all white, black, gray, and one sheet that’s dark red.”

You shrugged. “I like working with those colors. Now help me. I wanna do this.” You pulled out your phone and showed him a saved photo of one you’d like to copy. He almost jumped out of his seat when you suddenly showed him a picture of a deranged clown with a big red nose, a smile much larger than half his face, and eyes dark and dwelling enough to give him nightmares.

“I wanna know what type of dark shit you’re on.”

“It’s just a clown.”

“I am not helping you on your little art project.”

“Please.” Your hands were down, your eyes widened but not the threatening kind. And your voice, it was definitely the softest he’s ever heard it. Twitching an eyebrow like he was watching your every move, Jason didn’t flinch.

He looked at the clock. Then back at you with his eyeballs rolled all the way around.

“You’re lucky I literally have nothing better to do.”

You propped your shoulders up and gave him a black piece of paper and a pair of scissors. “Great. Cut these into the shapes I drew here.”

A disgruntled groan and a sharp snatch from your hands, Jason looked just as cranky as you usually were. It was amusing. He glared at you and you just smiled back. “Thanks, Jay.”

“Shut up and get to work.”

Your eyes lingered a bit longer on him, even when he’d started to fiddle with your too-large scissors, and you rolled your eyes with a bit of a smile.

“What’s making you so grumpy today?”

He didn’t bother looking up at you. His brows were all scrunched up as he cut the black piece of paper.

“I told you. I didn’t get to sleep last night. I was… out. Why are you grumpy all the time?”

You squinted your eyes at him then went to work. Carefully, he went through the first paper and gave you the shapes you wanted. You set aside your own batch and you took out the larger, white paper on which you’d glue it all on.

“Okay. Give me the shapes.”

You took out the glue and started pouring it on the paper.

“You’re doing it all wrong.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“You clearly don’t.” He snatched it from you and started wiping the glue off with his finger, spreading it around. “I can't believe I’m fucking doing this.”

“And what are you doing exactly?” you snarled.

“Pouring the glue in will make it all sticky. You should’ve traced over the outer lines so it wouldn’t crumple.”

“I know that.” You took the glue away from him again, then placed the shape onto the paper. “One down.”

“Fucking kill me now.”

“Keep cutting. I’ll handle the glue.”

“Do it right, then.”

You stuck your tongue out at him. He started again with your scissors and went back to snipping off the pieces of paper. Gluing the shapes one by one, you started taking out a red marker and traced the outlines to mimic the flow of blood.

Jason stared at it, then at you, eyes wide with disbelief, then went back to his scissors.

“Excuse me,” a girl went up to you. A freshman, you could tell. “That lady told me you could show me to the young adult section?”

“No. Go away.”

You kept with your glue, not even looking at the girl who just stared at you awkwardly. Jason pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a deep, long sigh. “Go down that aisle. Fifth shelf. Down the very end.”

“Uh. Thanks.” She walked over to where Jason was pointing at. You still didn’t look up from your work. And instead, watched on as Jason continued with cutting the shapes. “You need to chill.”

“Finish those up. That’s the last one.”

Jason rolled his eyes even more, angrily cutting through the pieces of red paper the size of the clown’s big red nose. He dropped the scissors onto the table and just continued to watch you gluing the pieces together with way too much glue.

He gave you no warning before grabbing the glue bottle from you and the shapes, stretching his arm out so you can't reach them.

“TODD.”

“YOU’RE RUINING THE WHOLE THING.”

“NO, I’M NOT.” You cursed with his name and stood up from your chair, reaching out with your arms all the way to him while he desperately wiped off the excess glue for your sake. “GIVE THAT BACK.”

“SIT DOWN.” He cried back at you.

You heard the shrillest shush Ms. Peterson has ever made, before you went back to fumbling with Jason. Your table was at the far end, and she was no longer at your line of sight. He held your wrist, wiping off the rest of the glue, then finally handed the bottle back to you. Putting the shapes onto the paper, you groaned when you slumped back on the chair.

“It looks horrible,” he tried to stifle a laugh.

“Fuck you.”

“At least you’re almost done, right?”

“You put the glue on the shapes then, genius. I’ll paste them on.”

Grumbling with his deep voice, he took the glue bottle and swiped the shapes back over to him. Using thin, barely visible lines, he was so stingy with the glue you wanted to tear your hair out.

“That won't even stick to a fly trap.”

“You want your work to look all crumpled? Go ahead.”

“Just put a bit more.”

“I have the fucking glue bottle,” his eyebrows were raised. “You sit there and wait for me, then you stick them yourself. Start with this.”

He slammed a shape onto the table and you took it, careful not to hit your fingers with the glue. Biting into your gums, you wondered how you’ll be able to handle yet another eight weeks with his kid.

Your bickering didn’t even stop there. It went on, and Jason had to cut even more shapes to make up for some that were far too small. He was practically yelling at this point, and you weren’t about to get yelled at and not respond.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WHO CUT THEM, DINGUS.”

“HOW WAS I SUPPOSED TO KNOW THE RIGHT FUCKING SIZE.”

“I GAVE YOU THE PATTERN. YOU ONLY HAD TO FOLLOW IT.”

“WELL I WOULD HAVE IF YOUR SCISSORS WEREN’T SO DAMN BIG.”

“THEY’RE THE BEST PAIR IN EXISTENCE. YOU JUST CAN'T HANDLE IT.”

“I THINK I CAN HANDLE A PAIR OF SCISSORS.”

“THEN WHY CAN'T YOU CUT BETTER THAN A FUCKING SEVEN-YEAR-OLD.”

“’CUZ THEY DON’T HAVE A FUCKING PARROT SCREAMING AT THEM EVERY FIVE GODDAMN MINUTES.”

The silent yelling didn’t stop. At the end, your voices were too loud that Ms. Peterson would’ve eventually shushed you for the last time and probably throw her slipper at you. Thankfully, she’d gone out to the bathroom and you were left alone.

Everyone else had left. It was almost 5 pm, and you refused to go if your project still wasn’t finished.

“This. Is. The worst day. Of my entire life. And I used to live in the streets.”

“You're not going anywhere. Stay.”

A deep, agonizingly painful groan. He slumped onto the table and buried his face into his arms. “Why can't you just kill me?”

Another set of long minutes, with your attention directly at the glue and scraping off the excess to make it look presentable. It didn’t actually look that bad. The second set of cut shapes were just the right size. Jason didn’t bother looking up. He might have even fallen asleep with you being silent for the longest time since you got there.

No one was left in the library, and it was just starting to get dark.

“Aaaaand THERE.” You placed the finished project onto the table and clapped your hands together in a grinning happiness. Jason, on the other hand, looked as good as dead.

“You may go.”

“You owe me fucking big time, kid.”

You smirked at him when he violently pushed his chair back, grabbed his backpack and went out for the door. You took your time, especially since going home late didn’t seem like such a drag anymore when Dad moved back in. You carefully slipped your collage into your folder and slung your bag over your shoulder.

Jason was still standing in front of the door, hand frozen on the handle you pushed him away and turned it, only for your hand to come at an abrupt stop and the sound of gears halting its turn.

“Where the fuck is Mother Goose?”

“The bathroom-“

But she wasn’t at the bathroom. Unless Ms. Peterson took her large purse and computer along with her to the toilet, she probably wasn’t in there.

“Are we-“

“There has to be a key here.” Jason rummaged through the librarian’s desk. Every drawer he could forcefully pull out, he did.

You pulled out your phone, which was a dead 0%, the image of a drained-out battery staring back at you, and that’s when you started to feel the panic slowly rise. You rushed to the library’s telephone, but you couldn’t even hear a dial tone. The phone was off. Jason’s phone was probably just as dead.

You rushed to the lights to turn them on, but nothing happened.

Fuck. Another blackout. FUCK.

“No key,” he rested his hands on the table. “Shit. FUCK.”

You only stared at each other, feeling that panic start to settle in when you realized you were out of options.

“M-Maybe. Your dad will come pick us up?”

Jason shook his head. “The last time I ran away for the night, he said he wasn’t gonna go around Gotham to pick me up anymore.” He looked at you. “Your parents?”

“Said the exact same thing.”

Your back hit the wall, and you slid down with your head up in the ceiling. Both silent. None of you even said it out loud.

Jason looked like he wanted to scream.

-----

You laid on your back, flat against the table, with just your arm over your eyes to shield it from the light posts outside the window on the driveway. You tried to drown out Jason’s fiddling with his lock pick and the door handle. Two hours had passed, and you’d barely gone by the evening.

“That’s not gonna work.”

“You have a better option, Lydia Deetz?”

You clenched your jaw and sneered. “You’ve been at it for an hour.”

“I’m almost through this.” He kept with his pick, a hairpin he found on the ground which he spent another hour looking for. “Juuuust- THERE!”

You shot up from the table, feet landing enthusiastically onto the floor and you sprinted to Jason’s back. “Here’s to freedom.”

Too eagerly, he turned the handle and pulled the door with a victorious grin.

Only for his hand to jolt at another abrupt stop. The door wouldn’t budge, only peering open through an inch. The grin on his face was immediately lost, and he almost feel out of his feet when you violently pushed him away, pulling on the door yourself and failing.

You could see the deadbolt, but something outside was holding the double doors from opening, no matter which one you pulled on.

“That batshit crazy old witch,” you growled. “Fucking chain locked the door.”

A loud, frustrated groan from Jason as he threw the hairpin to the ground like he would’ve a knife. “WHO CHAIN LOCKS A LIBRARY?”’

You walked away from the door, going back to the tables so you could bend over and stuff your face into your hands. Jason was even more of a mess.

Your dad started his first big fight with mom since he moved back in last night, just when you thought they’d finalized the divorce, he squirms back in. And your room was never far enough to drown out their screams.

That night you wished you were somewhere else. And you ended up somewhere even worse.

Jason was sitting on the floor, back flat against the wall, and his eyes were shut close while you laid back down on top of the table.

“I’m hungry.”

“The fuck you want me to do about that?” Jason kept his eyes shut.

“You got any food?”

“No.”

“Don’t you have something in your bag?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“You think you can stab me with those scissors? ‘Cuz I feel like choking on my own blood right now.”

You rolled over so you were laying on your stomach. Craning your head up to look at Jason, your chin resting on your fingers, you grinned. “I’d rather not spend the night being stuck with your rotting flesh. I’ll kill you in the morning.”

Jason screamed into his hands. “We are not gonna be stuck here until fucking morning.”

“Either you die tonight still in denial or we actually try to survive. Now do you have anything in your bag or what?”

He didn’t give in to picking out his bag without leaving you a dark glare. The sky was completely dark by now. And the only light source you had were three lamp posts outside the window. The power was still off, which meant it was going to be this dark the whole fucking night.

“Would you look at that?” He took out a small protein bar from his smaller pocket. “Forgot that was there.”

You jumped off the table again. “Great. I’m starving.”

You walked too fast to Jason, who immediately stood up and hold you by the shoulder, raising his hand away from your reach. “Ey. Mine. From my bag, remember?”

“I don’t have anything in mine!” you reached and tried to push him, but had no luck against his strength. “Come on!”

“I have way more body mass than you. I need this.”

You pursed your lips, glowering at him even when you knew he still wouldn’t budge. He kept pushing your shoulder from him until you backed away reluctantly.

“WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO EAT?”

You whined and grunted with your back hitting the wall. Jason stepped away facing you and opened the protein bar, took a large bite that left it with almost a third of the whole thing left.

“You know. That thing with the scissors stuck into your neck doesn’t seem like a bad idea anymore.” You grumbled.

Chewing profusely at the bar, he folded his one arm over his chest and smirked while watching you silently grovel in annoyance. You leaned on your side and made sure he wouldn’t hear your stomach starting to growl.

“Fine,” he groaned. “Here.”

A little over a quarter of the protein bar left. Jason handed it over to you and you gritted your teeth.

“There’s barely anything left, you bile-headed twat.”

“You want me to finish it?”

Snatching the bar away from him, you cursed under your breath right before you gobbled up what was left of the snack. It did little to nothing to make you feel less hungry, but at least you weren’t going to die.

“You're welcome.”

You threw the wrapper onto the floor and went back to sitting on the table. “Got anymore bright ideas?”

“Maybe if you’d help, I’d actually be able to tolerate you.”

Jason walked over to the classics shelf, pulled out a book and did the same as you. He swung his legs over on top of the table across you, bringing his knees up so he could rest his elbows on them. He then opened his book.

“You're reading,” you bit your gums. “You’re actually reading at a time like this.”

“What else are we supposed to do in a fucking library?”

Your hands met the surface of the table behind you and you threw your head back. “We have at least until the power comes back on. GOD, this place in insufferable.”

“Never mind the helping. You shutting up would be enough not to drive me insane.”

“And you're less of an ass when you're not a grouch, dickhead.”

“I’m ignoring you now.”

The vein on your forehead started to throb. You weren’t tired yet, and you wouldn’t be able to sleep at this hour even if you tried. You rolled around the table, desperate for any position that wouldn’t drive your limbs numb.

You jolted when you heard Jason curse.

“This fucking lamp post’s too dim. Can't even see shit.”

He set the book aside, laid down on his back and watched the ceiling with you.

“How did we even get locked up?”

“Maybe if you didn’t keep me captive with that stupid clown project for three hours we wouldn’t be in the mess.”

“So it’s my fault now? You're the one who fell asleep!”

“How could you have possibly missed the time? You know the library closes at five!”

“I didn’t fucking know that! I leave before that old witch does every time!”

“Just-.” Jason shut his eyes. “Can we stop screaming for ONE SECOND? Especially since we’re gonna stuck here the whole night?!”

The mocking noise you made was almost inhuman. Jason didn’t bother snarling back.

You saw a car pass by, the headlights shining through the window for the shortest moment. You kneeled on the table and waved your arms around.

“HEY. GET US OUT OF HERE!”

The car kept moving, and the headlights passed through the whole of the window until it left. You slumped back to lay down and groaned. “Fuck everything.”

You grabbed your bag, rummaging through everything inside just to find anything to do or anything that could possibly help you. Nothing. Not even a fan to cool you off when you started to feel the temperature rise.

“Did you call the number I gave you?”

You licked your teeth. “I used the piece of paper you gave me as a bookmark.”

Jason lifted his arm off his head. “No shame in asking for help.”

“I told you, I’m not being fucking abused.” You started picking on the leather of your boots, tracing along the creases of where your toes folded. “I don’t know what the hell made you think I was.”

“It doesn’t have to be actual physical abuse,” he sat up on his elbows.

“You really wanna make us feel uncomfortable? Why do you come to school with bruises all the time?”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m not gonna fucking tell you, Y/LN.”

“Fine. Then let’s not talk about this.”

You had that usual condescending tone, but you didn’t sound like you were on the verge of lashing out. You sounded like you were pleading, even. Jason bit his lower lip. “Okay. What do you wanna talk about? It’s too early to sleep.”

You brought your knees up to sit cross legged and you leaned in on your elbows.

“Wanna play a game?”

Jason drummed his fingers on the table and sighed. “What?”

You scooched closer to him and swung your legs over the edge of the table. He did the same and faced you. “Give me your hand.”

“What?”

“Just give me your hand, Todd. Don’t be a pussy.”

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

“Then give me your hand.”

Jason snorted, leaning his elbow over his lap and giving his other hand over to you. You took it, smiling at him, then gripping firmly onto his wrist. “Make a fist.”

He fisted his hand and you could see a few veins pop out on his arm. You started rubbing the outside of his fingers. His eyes scrunched up, watching you. “Open your hand.”

He opened it, then you lightly slapped it with your own palm. “Fist,” you said again. He breathed and pulled it again to a fist. You repeated your first action with a growing smirk. “If I come out of this with one hand left-“

“Shut up. Open again.”

He opened his palm. And with a single finger, you tapped onto the center of his hand, then released your grip on his wrist.

Jason widened his eyes, amused. “It tingles.”

“I know right.” You folded your arms.

“Where’d you learn to do that?”

“That’s a secret.”

He then reached out his other hand to you. “Do it again.”

You laughed and snorted before grabbing his wrist, rubbed his fingers the same way you did the first time. Jason leaned over closer to look at your movements, and his nose was all scrunched up like it would when he was focused on a book. The corner of your mouth lifted, then you tapped his hand with your finger and let go.

“What sorcery is this?”

You shrugged, leaning back and folding your arms. “You have any tricks of your own?”

“Yes I do,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “Hold out your hand.”

You did so without hesitation. Jason held your fist, then looked straight at you. “Pick a finger and don’t tell me what it is.”

“Okay?” Your ring finger. Easy enough.

“Look straight into my eyes. Don’t look down.”

You rolled your eyes slightly to the side, licking the inside of your teeth, then did as told.

He was looking straight at you, not even trying to blink. A smirk formed on his lips, and his eyes had that same flick of a glare, but there was a little shine on them from the dim lamp post. You shook your head while still maintaining eye contact and felt his other hand start toying with your fingers.

“It’s your ring finger.”

“Huh,” you shuffled closer to him. “Do it again. I wanna watch your hands.”

“No. You have to look straight at my eyes.”

“Fine. Just do it again. I’ll pay more attention.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and you both tried your best to hold back emerging bursts of laughter while he continued to toy with your fingers and trying not to blink.

“You're not choosing a finger.” He said.

“Not true. You just suck.”

It was true. You forgot to choose a finger. The middle finger this time. You shifted your focus, but the way he’d try to hold back a laugh made you choke. “Stop laughing.”

“I’m not.” He so was. You felt him touch your fingers, moving around them one by one. “You’re trying to look for movements.”

“Nope. It’s the middle finger.” He kept at it. Over and over, with you refusing to admit he read your mind.

His hands started feeling warmer each time. You didn’t know you noticed.

-----

A bustling, screeching noise of a cart being hauled around the room for the past ten minutes. You’ve been here for five hours. You were tired, starving, and sweating. You covered most of your face and ears with your hands, but the cart’s noises just kept going.

You shot up from the table. “DUDE. STOP.”

You normally had more insults to scream at him, but at that point of the night, you were all out.

Jason kept going and ignored you. Starting from one end of the library, he pushed the handles of the empty cart, accelerating it with his feet. When he gained the momentum, he placed his feet on the metal and rode it across the room. “Real mature.”

“Don’t be an old hag.”

He accelerated again from the opposite end, then climbed on. Jason went faster this time and just narrowly missed a shelf.

“There’s another cart right there if you have the balls to join me.”

You placed your weight on your arm, watching Jason sprint from one end of the room to the next. With a loud grunt, knowing you wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway, you jumped off the table.

You emptied the cart from the remaining books and pushed it to Jason’s side, who waited for you just by the shelves. “Jump when it speeds up.”

“I know what to do.”

He laughed. “Race you to the other side.”

You gripped on the handle firmly, watching the end of the room, the one lined with heavy bookshelves, and readied yourself. “GO.”

You sprinted the two carts and grabbed on with your life as you sped down the large enough room, feeling the air slightly cooler when it was rushing past your skin and hair. You laughed playfully, stopping just before you hit the shelf. “I win.”

“Are you kidding me? I was waiting for you.”

“One more lap.”

“You’re on.”

Again, you sped past the room. You held onto one side of the handle too hard and accidentally hit Jason’s cart, both of you almost tumbling to the ground. “I call foul!”

“It was an accident!” you laughed, then took the cart again to finish the lap. He caught up with you and you no longer stopped in between, continuously sprinting and jumping onto the metal all across the room. You rode past the shelves, the narrow aisles, narrowly missing the books. You almost hit the tables with the carts and you definitely hit the wall too hard when you stopped too late. Jason was trailing right beside you, then he went about his own route.

That’s when he purposefully hit the front your cart with your own, throwing you off on the ground. “FUCK”

He laughed too hard. “Come on. I have another game.”

Holding his hand out to you, you grabbed on and he pulled you up to your feet. You stood close to him, both of you still laughing. And you were staring too long at his face being close to yours. You pulled away from his lingering grip, looking at the ground.

Setting his own cart aside, he pulled on yours, settling it between the aisle of the shelves. It went straight through the longest path down the room, and you’d have to be lucky to miss the shelves. “Hop on.”

“Todd, if you throw me out the window-“

“Come on. Don’t be a pussy.”

You felt the rush, and you liked how free you felt rushing through the air. You climbed into the cart, grabbing hold of the edges and focused on the end of the room.

Jason leaned in to your ear. “Don’t scream.”

“JASON.”

He was incredibly strong, pushing you in the cart like you weighed nothing and sped through the room faster than he previously had. The cart was growling and was so ready to break apart, but you never felt that kind of thrill since you last rode a coaster. You definitely screamed, a high-pitched shriek you know Jason must never mention to anyone, ever. But you were also laughing your stomach out when Jason turned you around, sped to the other end again. And this time, his feet jumping onto the cart.

You threw your head back, laughing, then you caught a glimpse of his face flashing the brightest smile you’ve ever seen on him.

Your laughter came to an abrupt stop when he stopped the cart too late and crashed against the shelf. You both stood still, watching it toppling like an unsteady jenga tower.

Holding your breath, you heard books fall to the floor, then the shaking mellowed down and you released your breaths when it finally stopped. Turning to Jason and falling into the cart laughing, you clutched at your stomach. “JESUS CHRIST.”

“Not funny!” he cried out, but even he was stifling a laugh. He walked over to the front and placed the books into the cart with you. Some fell on your lap, and you took the books from him and placed them to your side.

“At least we have something to do now.”

“Yeah. Especially since you put these books in the wrong shelf. These belong over there.” He pointed to a shelf nearby.

“Let’s fix it then,” you said, still not moving from the cart. He placed all the books from the floor onto you and moved the cart to the corner.

“You’re heavy.”

“Shut up. From now on, we shelf books this way.” You took a book from your lap and gave it to him, who placed the book in its right place.

“Top shelf,” you smirked.

“I know where to put them.” He took it from your hand and shoved it in place. You didn’t have many books to begin with, but even after that, he continued to push the cart, with you still hitching a ride, and you walked around the library to just look at all the books.

“Everything’s in the right section.”

“Because of me. You made a shit ton of mistakes.”

You threw your head back, looking at him. And from that angle you could see his glare turn into a smile. You leaned against the back of the cart, your head lightly touching his arm.

When you’ve managed to tour the whole library, you sat up.

“You're turn. Get in here.”

Jason wanted to laugh at that. “You’d never be able to lift me.”

“Watch me try.”

You hopped off the cart, pushing him aside from the handle. He shook his head, but eventually climbed on like you had. He was bigger than you, so he looked a lot more uncomfortable with his knees folded way up and his arms barely fitting inside the cart.

He was really heavy. But you managed. Pushing the cart slowly at first, Jason leaned in to the left side to steer you off. “Jason!”

“I see stray books. Go over there.”

You pushed the cart with whatever might you had. When you reached the desk, Jason took the books you previously set aside and placed them on his lap. “Braille,” he said. “These go all the way to the back.”

“I can handle this. I’m a big girl.”

You pushed the cart, eventually gaining speed, but it wasn’t nearly as fast as when he’d pushed you around. You reached the far back, with two sharp turns that nearly killed your back, then stopped with a loud breath.

“You're right. We should do this more often.”

You were panting by that time, and Jason handed you the books to place on the shelf. “Chop chop.”

-----

Two fucking am. The power was still out. Jason was definitely going to call the electricity company when you both get out of here. You were sat cross legged on one side of the long, narrow table, fiddling with your sleeves since you couldn’t sleep. He was laying on the same table but facing the opposite way, closing his eyes and feeling the beginnings of light slumber. His back was going to kill him eventually, but when the rush from that cart fiasco died down, he was so awfully tired.

Jason laid his head on his arm, closing his eyes as tightly as he could.

Then a warm, soothing melody started to buzz through his ears, a tune he’s never quite heard of before. His eyelids suddenly grew softer, feeling the humming song vibrate through him.

Where was it coming from?

He slowly opened his eyes, trying to find the source. Jason craned his head up to you, with your back turned to him, and realized you were the one humming.

You turned to him, and he went back to closing his eyes, pretending to sleep. “Jason?” you lightly asked, not enough to wake him if he was actually asleep. You turned your back around and crouched over to relax.

He wasn’t sleeping anymore, but he kept closing his eyes. A little while later, with you thinking he wasn’t conscious, he heard you actually start to sing.

 You got a fast car

I want a ticket to anywhere

Maybe we make a deal

Maybe together we can get somewhere

Anyplace is better

Starting from zero got nothing to lose

Maybe we'll make something

Me, myself I got nothing to prove

 Then you paused. Your voice was so soft and light, he never would’ve have heard it if there was anyone else in the room or if he wasn’t awake. You never would’ve sung if you knew he was, though.

You had the most beautiful voice he’s ever heard in his life.

 You got a fast car

I got a plan to get us out of here

I been working at the convenience store

Managed to save just a little bit of money

Won't have to drive too far

Just 'cross the border and into the city

You and I can both get jobs

And finally see what it means to be living

 Your voice was low, a beautiful, vibrating low. An alto. And there was that deep, breathy growl when you reached the lower notes with ease. A light vibrato at the end of the vowels, and there was that drowsy, slow feel to it that just made it seem like you didn’t make that much effort at all. At some points, you whispered the words, like your everyday screaming never affected your vocal chords at all.

There was a tug at his chest, his face started to burn up. He was wide awake by now, and there was that thudding within him that was too hard to ignore. And it worsened each time you breathed out the end of the verses.

You managed to finish the song, and by then, he was a mess.

You didn’t sing anything more, no matter how much he wished you would. He ended up fighting his tiredness, just in case he’d miss another song.

But right before he drifted to sleep, he realized he’d been smiling his cheeks off.

-----

Twelve hours.

You were stuck in the library.

For twelve fucking hours.

Both of you shot up from the table the moment you heard the chains outside the door clink to the ground. You and Jason raced out the door, and before the security guard could totally open it, you violently pushed it aside and raced out into the wide-open space of the driveway outside the gates. The poor guard looked puzzlingly at you. But since he was too old to care or even ask about what happened, he shrugged it off.

The cool air felt heavenly against your skin, and the bright sun, smiling back at you against your face. You spread your arms out and took in the breeze as much as you could. Jason was fanning himself with the collar of his shirt, raising his arms up the same way you were. “AHHHHH.” He screamed. And you did the same. The frustration went out the window as fast as you’d ran.

“FUCKING FINALLY.”

“THAT IS NEVER HAPPENING AGAIN.”

“NEVER.”

You faced the sky, still taking the deep, fresh intakes of air. Jason placed his hands on his hips and ruffled his sweat covered hair.

“Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“Agreed,” you said. “Not even Ms. Peterson.”

“Not a single soul.”

You both faced each other, raising your brows, no longer from a glare or out of annoyance. Your body felt light. Your chest felt lighter. You were smiling.

“I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Kudos to us for surviving.”

A high five. And you both laughed, still feeling that flush of relief flow throughout your limbs. No one was in school yet. It was Saturday, though. No one but a few of the faculty members were going to show up.

But the sky looked pink, mixed with a bright yellowish orange. The driveway never looked so clean, and the breeze was so wonderfully cold, with the autumn leaves still floating on the grass and the roads, you just felt happy. Your lingering gaze on Jason helped with that bright smile.

As if twelve hours in the library was nothing. As if it wasn’t torture at all.

As if it was, in fact, the most fun you’ve had in a single night in a long, long time.

“Walk safe.”

“Bye, Todd.”

Walking towards opposite ends of the sidewalk, hands on your sides and not in your pockets like you usually would. You couldn’t stop grinning.

Sparing one last glance behind you, seeing him get on his motorcycle, you turned to the corner of the street.

-----

I DON’T HATE YOU - MASTERLIST

-------

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH PLS TELL ME YOU ENJOYED THAT CUZ I CERTAINLY DID

THE SINGING SCENE IS REALLY INSPIRED BY LIZ GILLIES (REMEMBER THE READER IS BASED ON JADE WEST) SO THE FAST CAR SINGING SCENE WAS ACTUALLY INSPIRED BY THIS VIDEO

Taglist: everyartistwas-firstanamateur  @sarcasmismyfirstlove @damned-queen-of-gotham @idkmanicantenglish @wunderstell @birdy-bat-riya @get-loki@everyday-imfangirling @comic-nerd-dc @multifandoms916 @icequeen208@offendedfishnoises @egdolan @xemiefx @arkhamtoddler @elsenthal@mythicbitchx @supremehaunter @ burning-alive  @lucy-roo  roseangel013bf @ loxbbg  reclusive-chicken-nugget http-cherries shadowsndaisies 

[rune-writes]

Too Far North For His Liking

Fandom: Final Fantasy VII

Word Count: 1073

Rating: G

Summary: Kunsel is deployed to Icicle Inn, and he hates the cold.

Note: The first of my daily life Kunsel fic! Plan to make it as a one-shot collection about the life of this Second-Class SOLDIER and the people in his life. Inspired by @helsensm's Kunsel art :3

Chapter 1 of Daily Life of a Second-Class SOLDIER

Read on AO3.

~*~*~*~*~

Kunsel hated snow. This fluffy, white substance that was cold to the touch. At least, that was how the media always depicted it, and not as these frigid, hard, icy shards. The moment Kunsel stepped out of the warm inn in his thick woolen coat and thick woolen cap, the cold immediately stung his face. Not even the scarf he’d wrapped around his neck could do much about it.

Fighting against the urge to run back inside, Kunsel folded his arms as he struggled to keep the chill from seeping into every crack and slip of his clothes. He didn’t envy the grunt standing watch at the village’s northern entrance, but thought maybe he should let the guy have his break and warm himself at the inn. The grunt only looked too happy at the offer. He’d bolted indoors before Kunsel could say another word.

With a quiet chuckle, Kunsel took up his post, then pulled his coat tighter around himself, breathing into his gloved hands and rubbing them together. But what little heat the motion yielded was quickly stolen by the harsh northern wind. Frosty breath clouded before his palms. Kunsel's lips curled into a grim, scornful smile. The next shift was not until half an hour later. He'd brave the cold until then, then rushed back inside.

But the lone wait didn’t last long. A call came from up ahead—from the snow trail leading deep into the woods and the Glacier beyond. Zack waved his hand high, a huge ear-to-ear grin splitting his face.

“Everything good here?” he asked upon reaching him. Zack waved away the grunts who had gone with him, telling them to rest and get something to eat. The inn had promised to provide them with a warm bed and a warm meal. The crackling fireplace teased his mind, and Kunsel wanted nothing more than to burrow himself in a pile of blankets inside his room.

“Everything good,” Kunsel replied, watching the grunts disappear around the corner. “Monsters culled. Villagers are safe.”

Zack nodded, then took his spot next to him. Kunsel gave him a sideway glance.

“You’re not joining them?”

“Nah, I’m good. Still trying to shake that last bit of adrenaline out of my system.”

Indeed, his friend was swinging his arms and stretching his back, squatting even with his sword on his back. They had been deployed to Icicle Inn. Too far north for Kunsel’s taste, but there had been increasing monster activities in the area that apparently had warranted SOLDIER attention. Kunsel and a handful of men had stayed behind and kept the village safe while Zack and the rest of their team had gone to seek the den.

“We encountered hostiles, but no luck finding their nest,” his friend said, still doing squats in the cold. “Sun’s about to set, so I figured we should return for the night, or we’d freeze to death.”

That last statement caught his attention. Kunsel quirked an eyebrow at him.

“What?” Zack asked from his crouch.

“You noticed the cold.”

The incredulous stare Zack gave him would have made him snort had he meant his remark as a tease. But Kunsel had been genuinely amazed, because since the moment their truck reached the snowy landscape earlier that morning, Zack had never stopped looking at the white expanse in awe while Kunsel had stayed the farthest away from any doors or windows.

“Of course I noticed the cold. What kind of question is that?”

The kind he’d ask someone doing ten full sets of squats in the cold like they were already back in their training room. Kunsel shifted his gaze back toward the Great Glacier.

“For someone who grew up in the middle of a jungle, you don’t look terribly averse to it.”

He felt the glance, saw Zack doing another squat, then another, before finally leaping onto his feet with a loud, all-encompassing sigh.

“What, ‘cause you look so much worse for the wear?”

He would have wrinkled his nose at the cheeky smirk, but even his nose was too numb.

Above them, thin wisps of cloud drifted across a dull, gray sky. The wind picked up, howling in the distance. Kunsel swallowed his sigh at the sight of those tiny flakes. One landed on his cap while the other on his cheek. Kunsel shivered at the touch and drew back into himself.

He should cancel the next shift. No man should be allowed to stand watch in this weather. And after what he and his men did to their brethren, he doubted those monsters would attack the village again anytime soon. Zack would probably agree—

Beside him, Zack had lifted his face and held out his tongue, trying to catch the falling flakes in his mouth. Kunsel stared at a loss for words.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to catch snowflakes in my mouth.”

“I can see that.”

One landed on his tongue. Zack lapped his tongue over his mouth. “Like shaved ice," he said between laps, "but salty.”

You think?

Had the monsters struck Zack's head so hard that he'd lost his mind? Or was it his jungle blood that was making him act like a ten-year-old experiencing his first snow? Then again, maybe it was Zack’s first snow. As someone who'd grown up in Midgar and rarely experienced snow himself, people wouldn’t find him jumping with glee at the sight of it.

Zack had his tongue out again, and Kunsel found himself doing the same—

Stop!

What the hell was he doing? Had the cold finally gotten to him and turned his brain to mush? He couldn’t believe he’d let this stupidity seep into h—

A soft icy flake landed on his tongue. Salty, like shaved ice. His brain froze.

“I’m going back,” he muttered under his breath. His head pounded. Kunsel shivered, cursing himself for following Zack’s lead. “We’ll save the watch for tomorrow morning. Nothing’s gonna attack us in this blizzard.”

Despite Zack's calls of protests, Kunsel turned around and ducked his head under the biting wind, keeping his coat, cap, and scarf from being whipped away. Zack wanted to play in the snow for a little while longer, but, as he'd said, Kunsel was already so much worse for the wear. He'd rather not spend even one more second out in this cold. So he trudged back toward the inn, where a warm fireplace and a warm meal awaited him.

~ END ~

[janekfan]

hi mom! quick update: i had a panic attack at work the other day. luckily my coworker/manager knew what it was and helped me out but i still had to do the rest of my shift but at least i got the next day off. hours are still bad but everyone around me is talking about how proud they are of me... i just barely managed to scrape up a 50 cent raise... im one of three people on my shift... i cant take time off. i know you already did one for me but... i dont have much else to bring comfort

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27072691

My darling child! <3 <3 <3 This is inadequate! And I shall do better soon! But I love you and hope this offers a little comfort!

When asked later if he’d known, Tim lied. Of course not. He hadn’t realized just how sick Jon had been, certainly didn’t know how long it’d been. After all, no one really saw him most days, skulking as he did around the archives, a flickering, limping shadow among the stacks. Jon didn’t have use for them and Tim didn’t have use for him. Not until they enacted their plan of attack and finished things once and for all.

So no. When he’d dropped by to toss Martin’s research at him he ignored the pallor, the beads of sweat dotted along his forehead and matting his curls. He paid no mind to the dark flush high in his face, the glazed distance in his eyes, the shortness of his breath as he fought to form one coherent thought. A plea veiled in a request and it gave Tim all the excuse he needed to conveniently forget to fetch Martin for him.

“T’Tim...could, could you ask Martin to, to.” Jon could barely finish a thought. Exhausted, he’d been under so much stress, running himself ragged on adrenaline and awful, terrible statements, and he just wanted to see someone kind. Someone who might help him instead of hate him. Someone who maybe didn’t want to hurt him or kill him. Or worse. “I’d like t’to speak with him? P’please?”

“Sure, Boss.”

Martin wasn’t coming.

Martin wasn’t coming and Jon was miserable. But he didn’t blame Martin for staying away. It was alright. He was probably upset with him or angry or had a hundred other reasons to avoid seeing him and it was fine.

Jon let his cheek collide with the tea-stained blotter and slow tears slipped down to join the other watermarks, the rust traces of his blood. With a thin, trembling finger he connected the scars etched into the surface like constellations, each one tied to a memory; some he remembered, some he’d forgotten, some he wished he could forget. Why the old desk even had this second skin he would never know; it was already damaged and scratched and why bother protecting it when it could never go back to the way it was before? Heaving a shaky breath that didn’t give him near enough air to sustain him, Jon closed his eyes. It would be a lovely thing if sleep restored anything or made him feel anything other than relief for the blissful span of unmeasured time he spent not feeling. Floating, dizzy and suspended here in the dark, so tired it seemed like the room was expanding around him with every hard won exhale, shrinking to crush him with every inhale.

It didn’t seem worth it.

Like he wasn’t worth it.

When Jon was asleep, he drifted along unfamiliar currents, memories that didn’t belong to him or anyone that he knew from hundreds of years ago, from mere months ago. From far underwater he listened to the sounds of the office fade away through a closed door that may as well have been a kilometer away for all the strength he had left. Everyone was leaving for the weekend and he wasn’t able to stand. Everyone was leaving and he wasn’t able to call out, snared in these fathomless depths and sinking fast.

Silence.

Thick. Blanketing. Suffocating.

He was drowning in it. Struggling to breach the surface only seconds at a time to snatch at sips of air and seawater.

The safety lights cast shadows that slipped along the floor like oil, into the cracks, up the walls Jon clung to, casting just enough light to see by and aggravating his head. He wanted to sleep. He needed water and it was how he found himself in the dingy break room leaning heavily on the sink, holding on for dear life as he weathered the salt swells, the tilting of the room and the vertigo swirling up, up, up. The first glass met its end on the floor when it slipped from Jon’s grip and he could have sobbed from the loss, from how hard he’d worked for it only to let it go. The next he cradled close in both hands, sitting at the rickety table and gulping down close to half before coming up to breathe. Cool rivulets trickled down his throat, soaked into the neck of his borrowed tee and he shivered. It was always cool down here. For the documents. Only now he was freezing, longing to fall into the cot, just rest, but it was too far away. He’d never make it as he was. He drank the rest of the water and went through the trouble of a second glass. There were no bottles in the fridge, none in the cupboards. He’d never be able to carry it back to his office. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes. Why was this so hard? Laying his head on folded arms, Jon let the frustration come, shoulders shaking, and when he woke again he forced more water on himself and limped to the doorway.

Which way?

This time, a cough bubbling up in his lungs jerked him out of the deep. It was harsh, painful, and he lost the remaining water in his stomach from the force of it, tasted iron behind his tongue. Groaning, clutching at his aching chest, Jon realized he was on the floor in the hallway. Not even halfway to his goal and he didn’t remember collapsing. His limbs were lead, movement sluggish because of it, and he only managed to drag himself another meter before the spiraling of the corridor forced him to close his eyes. The fever was relentless, sapping him of everything, throbbing in his bones and boiling in his blood. Jon coughed again. The hot, tight tangle in the center of him drew tighter, a noose, instead of giving way and the black lurking at the edges of his vision swallowed the rest of it.

Martin adjusted the blanket in his arms, thinking again that it would have been easier to have put it in his bag for the walk from the train. He didn’t regret his choice though. He remembered how cold it could get down in the archives and Jon looked like he could do with a bit of comfort these days. Maybe being wrapped up in this monster would do it. Shouldering it, he took the narrow stairs, surprised that no one else was here yet. But considering none of them really wanted to do much actual work these days it made sense. Martin got his things situated at his desk, leaving the comforter overflowing in his chair before heading off to start the tea kettle warming. Glass crunched under his shoes and when Martin turned on the light it was clear Jon had dropped it. What was confusing was that he had left it. He wasn’t the most fastidious about his appearance or his surroundings but even he wouldn’t leave broken glass just lying around. WIth a crease in his brow, Martin swept it up, dumping it in the bin before turning off the squealing kettle. He prepared two mugs as usual and the only reason he didn’t drop them upon seeing Jon crumpled up in the hall was because he froze stock still.

“J’Jon?” He abandoned the tea on a desk, skidding on his knees to a stop at his side. “Jon! Oh, no, no. Jon, wake up.” Ashen, burning up under Martin’s fluttering hands, chest stuttering with half breaths. Had he been like this all weekend? Had he been like this before they all left? How did, why didn’t he check on him? Only when Martin slid his arms beneath his body did Jon stir at all, a pitiful sound of pain pulled from between his lips when he was lifted. A halfhearted cough ending in a moan. “It’s alright, Jon. You’re alright. I’ve got you.” He should call 999. That’s what he should do but with all that had been happening, was that the right choice?

“Mmar’in…” He toed open the door to document storage and laid him down, brushed back his curls and took up the cold hand Jon was reaching with. “Ma--” His grip was barely there when the deep, damp coughing jag stole the air right out of him, so strong Martin levered him forward, worried he would choke. Days. Days alone like this. He swept the tears away with careful fingers, traced the shadows like bruises beneath his eyes.

“It’s alright.” He propped him up against the corner, wishing there were more pillows to make him comfortable and pulled away, heart twisting up when Jon whimpered at the loss. “Hush, now. I’ll be back, I won’t leave you.” Quick as he could Martin gathered supplies, medicine for the raging fever, the blanket he’d brought along, a thermos of tea, checking on Jon in his fitful sleep with each trip. He sounded bad, he was having too much trouble breathing and the crackling wheeze was terrifying. The next time he came back it was with a basin of hot water and a towel. He placed it in Jon’s lap, sliding behind him to steady both him and the bowl, gentling him when he startled. “Just breathe, Jon. This, this should help.” The steam rose, bathing his face with humidity and it was probably wishful thinking but Martin thought each breath came a little easier. When Jon coughed Martin pressed a handful of tissue against his mouth, tossing the mess into the bin and letting him curl up against him for just a few moments. He was so warm. Too warm and Martin plied him with paracetamol and tea, as much as he would take before letting him fall back to sleep, smoothing a damp flannel over his forehead and leaving him to rest.

Soft, cool hands, kind, reassuring words. Jon drank them in like a desert after the rain, let them flood him, take away all the fear and loneliness he was holding onto. Martin was here. Martin was helping. Martin was holding him, saying things he didn’t quite understand in a steady voice. He wanted to cry from the relief of it, of having someone, of not being alone and he thought he might have but there was no teasing or threatening. Nothing he did made him hurt more. Everything he did made him hurt less. There was tea and pillows and blankets, warmth to replace the memory of lying on a cold floor and drifting in and out.

But he was gone now. He’d left him alone and Jon wanted him here. Struggling to his trembling legs he gave himself time to steady, limping out of the room and following the familiar voices and latching onto Martin’s. He sounded upset and Jon wondered if it was because of him. Most people were upset with him these days. He heard Basira and Melanie and Tim and he didn’t want to see them but Martin was with them and he wanted to see Martin. Martin with his kindness he didn’t deserve. He was cold. He was shaking.

Tim was yelling.

It made something in him afraid.

It made his chest hurt. It made it harder to breathe. It made him want to hide. And when he became even louder, Jon shrank into himself. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t.

“And speak of the devil!” Tim’s mocking tone rang in his head like a bell. “He shall appear.”

“Tim!”

“I’m. M’Martin? I.”

“What, Boss? What else could you possibly take that you haven’t already?”

“J’just--” Still human enough to want, too much a monster that he wasn’t allowed to have. Tim took a threatening step forward, and Jon forgot what he was going to say in favor of stumbling backwards, falling to the ground and knocking the air out of himself. He clawed at his neck, suddenly completely unable to breathe when Tim stood over him, towering and tall and seconds later Martin was taking up the whole of his horizon. Just Martin.

“It’s alright, Jon. Let’s get you back to bed, hm?”

“W’will you stay?” He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, the sniggering coming from behind the larger man confirming what he already knew. Martin had already helped him. He had no right to ask for more. But again Martin carried him to document storage and again he placed him on the cot and this time, he stayed with him, wrapping him up warm and safe and tucking his head beneath his chin. Jon shuddered, the aftershocks of his panic and embarrassment still rocketing through him. “Martin...don’t. Don’t feel well…”

“I know.” Martin pet his head slowly and Jon relished it, pressing his ear against his broad chest and listening to the rhythm of his beating heart. He probably wouldn’t remember this anyway, not with a fever like this already making everything so fuzzy, and he wanted, just for a little while, to feel safe. “I’m sorry.” It was nice to hear even though Martin had nothing to apologize for. It was still nice that someone would say sorry to him. Exhausted all over again, the space between blinks stretched longer and longer. “You can sleep, Jon.” But what if he left? He didn’t want him to leave, the thought of it wetting his face and just like before Martin wiped the tears away. “It’s okay, just close your eyes. I’m not going anywhere.”

[thecagedsong]

Forgotten Light: Chatper 8: Boundaries

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11

Chapter 8: Boundaries

Ronodin hadn’t returned, and said that he wouldn’t until tonight. Kendra had another day to whittle away. She read more in her book on the Fair Folk over breakfast, then sat in front of her crafting materials again.

Kendra had no idea if her medallion even worked, but at least it dried nicely. The wooden texture came through the paint, but that made it look functional. Like, hey, this is a wooden medallion meant to weaken my enemies, not be a high school shop class project.

Did she take woodshop class? Did she ever go to high school? From Ronodin’s story, Kendra probably had tutors. Why did she feel like she knew more about the American public school system than she did about monster hunting? Or even tutoring schedules?

Trying to figure out her past by evaluating what bodies of knowledge she possessed and what she didn’t left her with a headache.

Kendra refocused on the fabrics in front of her. She did okay with the medallion, maybe her body had remembered something her brain didn’t. Hopefully that subconscious knowledge would help her do what she wanted to make next: create a jacket.

Ronodin assured her that the clothes in her wardrobe were all hers, taken and given to Ronodin from her own closet for exactly this time. Pieces her family didn’t approve of and wouldn’t know to find missing. But old Kendra’s clothes…left a bit more exposed than she liked. Aside from also being mostly black and red, and she was really growing tired of those colors, the dresses were low cut at the top, and high cut around the thighs.

She looked sexy in them, but with Ronodin continuing to ‘forget’ that she had only met him two days ago, sexy wasn’t the look she wanted to wear. She’d start with a simple cardigan, covering up her shoulders and back, then see what she could do about altering hemlines.

Looking over the fabrics, she wished she had pink. She thought she liked the color. Pink wasn’t among the fabric options. There was more red and black, and white, silver, dark blue, green, orange, and dark purple.

Because it would clash horribly with the red and the black, she selected the pumpkin orange fabric. If she was enough of an eyesore, maybe she could convince Ronodin that they needed to pop into a shopping mall for a real wardrobe. Something she was comfortable with now. The orange fabric was a wool/giant hair blend, dyed with pigment from the Fala plant, that produced its own distractor spell to convince people that it was dead until they forgot what they were looking for.

Sewing was a lot harder than she thought, especially without a sewing machine. Did she do this by hand the first time? The needle felt so awkward, her stitches were uneven, she was approximating the designs in the book, but some of them had her folding fabric before cutting? What did it mean by grain? She tried to incorporate ‘make me look hideous!’ magic intentions as she sewed, imaging Ronodin cringing away from her, refusing to look at her in it, but it was a little hard when most of her focus went to not pricking herself.

Still, she wasn’t a quitter. Kendra had to undo a seam, because apparently clothes were assembled inside out, but by referencing the book every few minutes, and working through hand cramps, she managed to at least make the pieces stick together.

It was early afternoon when Kendra finished her uneven hems. Some of the tools in the basket might have helped her, but her books didn’t reference any of them, so she left them alone.

Holding up the final product, Kendra giggled. She’d done everything on larger estimates, figuring that her goal was to be covered and folds in fabric were easier to have than one side not fitting, and cutting down was easier than adding. The result could generously be described as an orange tent. Kendra had to see herself in the monstrosity. She rushed to the bathroom, passing Mendigo in the hall, and positioned herself in front of the mirror.

She slung on the cardigan over the black lace dress, and cracked up.

“Hi Ronodin!” Kendra waved to the mirror with both hands, one sleeve reaching halfway up her palm the other so wide it fell back against her elbow at the motion. The ruby necklace looked like it was suffering, trying to hide from her attempts at sewing.

“Oh, er Kendra, I see you tried sewing,” Kendra mocked in the mirror with a low voice.

Kendra twirled, then did an impression of herself with a higher pitch than normal, “I did, do you like it? I love it! I put soo much effort into it! I love the pumpkin look, don’t you?”

She imagined Ronodin’s face, the horror, the strain not to insult his girlfriend, and burst out laughing. Kendra couldn’t wait to see his face for real. She would insist on wearing this until he took her to the mall.

Kendra stopped laughing and frowned at her reflection. That really didn’t seem right. Even if she had arranged all of this herself, why would she arrange a hideout she couldn’t ever leave? If old Kendra had wanted to live a free life with Ronodin, why didn’t she pick a hide away that let her go outside? Her family couldn’t be powerful enough to search the whole world. If she had been able to pick anywhere, a remote island seemed like a much better hiding place than where she was.

Maybe she and Ronodin had had a disagreement over how long she should stay underground. He might be capitalizing on her memory loss to keep her extra safe; it’s possible Kendra had never intended for herself to remain sealed away. That seemed like something Ronodin would do. Slip in a little lie amongst the truths to save himself battles.

Well, wherever they were, Kendra wanted out. Now that she wasn’t dressed for a cocktail party, she would find her way to a window at least. She went back to her room, and decided to arm herself with the bow she had brought with her through the barrel, even though she didn’t have any arrows. She hadn’t had anything else on her, so she slipped on her shoes and went to the door that Ronodin usually walked out of.

She turned the heavy knob, but the door wouldn’t budge. Jiggled it some more, but didn’t move. She searched everywhere for a key, but couldn’t find on. What kind of front door could be locked from the outside?

“Mendigo?” Kendra called, and her puppet came forward. “Open this door.”

Kendra stepped to the side as Mendigo started straining his wooden hands at the door. He turned back to her and shrugged, showing his wooden fingers. Duh, no way could he get the grip he needed that way.

Should she order him to break down the door? These rooms were rented to them by their mysterious ‘host’, who apparently had Ronodin working like a slave. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her busting his door down. She decided against it until things looked more dire.

The last hasty, destructive action she had ordered had almost killed her fiancé. She would demand a key from Ronodin when he got back before resorting to property damage.

“Thank you Mendigo,” Kendra said, “Let’s see what else there is in this place.” Putting her hand on the wall to the left of the door, Kendra started walking, never lifting it. She discovered three different storage closets: one for cleaning supplies, one empty, one for linens. Kitchen, Ronodin’s bedroom (extremely frugal, disappointingly empty) (he had a couple of robes Kendra considered using to augment her own wardrobe, but decided that would send the wrong message), Library, bathroom, craft room, Kendra’s room, Kendra’s bathroom, Kendra’s closet, sitting room/front room, and back to the main door.

That was it. The entirety of her existence, done up in blacks, reds, and gray stone and drenched in blue firelight. Some of the carpets had cream accents, but that was it.

Kendra knew what kind of front door locked from the outside.

She wandered back to her craft room and picked up a canvas to draw. This was about passing time. Next time she wouldn’t let Ronodin leave without her. Kendra just needed to stay sane until he got back. Even if practicing her magic with nicer emotions would create a less effective item, she wanted something nice to look at. Something peaceful. An outdoor scene, and she’d try to work peace into it. It was for herself anyway, and she’d do it in blue and green and white, and it would look beautiful.

Unfortunately, Kendra couldn’t visualize what ‘outside’ looked like. She knew the sky was blue, it had a sun, and grass was green and flowers came in all colors, but the pieces wouldn’t put themselves together. Kendra had never seen ‘outside’, she had nothing but rote facts. She put her pencil to canvas anyway, figuring that if she drew the pieces, it would all come together eventually.

Her hand refused to move. It had no direction on what to draw. Were horizons bumpy or straight? What color blue was the sky? What did sun look like on plant leaves?

Glaring, Kendra started sketching her craft table, in front of her, with the wall behind it turning into prison bars. She’d seen those in her mad-dash self-kidnapping.

Sketching came easier than sewing or carving. Maybe because more art principals were known by the public, the curse wasn’t able to remove them as personal memories. It was nice to have something come together, even if it was only a picture of her cell.

When she got to painting, she ignored the descriptions of materials and focused on colors. Easier than before, she took threads of magic, threads of the flame from the candle inside her, into her hand and turned them to her own emotions, mixing with the paint materials. She wanted people to look at the painting and know that she was trapped. She wanted them to know the suffocation, and the feeling of crafting little trinkets while sun and stars roved the heavens unseen. Not being able to draw the sun or the sky. Not knowing what those looked like. Not knowing what anything looked like outside of six people, a puppet, and her prison. It was a nice prison, possibly one of the nicest in the world.

Kendra painted black beyond the bars. Even gilded cages birthed insanity.

[nazyalenskyism]

Moonlight

Summary: Another night, just the same, but Nikolai isn't holding back anymore. A/N: Another Zoyalai fic, who could've imagined? I hope you like it, comments are always super appreciated and my inbox is open if you ever want to send prompts or talk! <3 The rest of the fic is under the cut!       Ao3: Moonlight         It had been a week since the monster had emerged again, leaving the Triumvirate to chase him across the countryside yet again, only this time something had been different. Ever since the fold, Nikolai had been able to control the demon, and they had worked together towards a common cause, but every night since they’d won the war-- since their enemies had been defeated and engagements broken off, the monster had been rearing its head, as if it wanted something Nikolai didn’t have. And so, a week ago, his demon had broken free, and Nikolai had stood by, unable to stop it until it had nearly been too late. He had almost caused irreversible harm to her. To Zoya. So here he was, pushing open the door to her chambers, something he would never have thought to do before this madness had happened. But it had been a week and he hadn't seen a trace of her in that time, and he was the king. A king who was done pining, done yearning, and who was here to try fix the rift that had overtaken the most important relationship in his life.

        “Zoya, I’m…”

        “I know.” He found her leaning over the terrace railing, back to him, the wind pulling back her silky hair to reveal her arm, bandaged from her collar to her wrist, a stark contrast against her silver netted nightgown.

        “I should have said something…”

        “Said what, Nikolai? We both know how you are with words, what could you have possibly said to make this any better?” her voice was as stiff as her posture, a telltale sign that she wasn’t okay.

        “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly, taking a step towards her. He wanted more than anything to reach out and push her hair back, to see her face and what she was feeling, to know how to fix this. But that was the problem, he always had hope that he could fix anything, but he didn’t know if he was capable of this— of bridging this gap between them. Guilt had been gnawing at him from the inside out for a while now, and yet somehow, the man of many words, Nikolai Lantsov, had been at a loss. This was the first time he’d brought up the incident since then. He didn't try to apologize, the last time he'd tried that, she'd nearly killed him, and so instead he let go of whatever inhibitions he had left.

        “No.”

        He inched closer, “then why do you still have it bandaged?” he whispered.

        “Just in case…” she breathed, her face still determinedly turned towards the horizon.

        “Just in case…” Nikolai exhaled, slowly trailing his finger up her arm from her wrist, all the way across her collar, dancing up her neck to her opposite cheek, gently pushing her chin towards him.

        She didn’t look up as he stepped even closer, but she didn’t turn her head away either. “Just in case.”

        “Just in case of what?” His lips hovered by her ear, and he shivered when she tilted her head, his lips barely brushing over the crescent of her cheek.

        Her eyelashes fluttered, ‘what was he doing to her?’ “Your highness.”

        As if he sensed what was about to happen, he pulled his head back, “yes?”

        “Leave,” she said, with lethal softness. It was the only way she could push the words out, the only way she could give herself a moment to breathe was if he left right now.

        “Zoya--”

        She closed her eyes, “leave, Nikolai. Now.” Cold air washed over her as Nikolai drew back, the sensation of his fingers trailing across her skin lingering for a second longer than he did, Nikolai taking the last bits of warmth away with him.

        Zoya heard her door close gently, and she knew was alone on the balcony. She bent backwards over the railing as a clap of thunder echoed through the night sky, noticing how the distant lightning almost electrified her bones as usual, but not today. The rain began to fall, washing away the tears gathered in her eyes. Feeling chilled to the bone, she took a heaving breath as she realized that she was alone again.

        She didn’t know how long she spent outside, she was so tired, not wanting to sleep but wanting a break. She wondered what it would be like, if she had given in, if she’d let herself and Nikolai be more brave. Zoya was on her knees now, her body too tired to stand. All she ever wanted to say when Nikolai left a room was, ‘ come back,’ but no amount of silent screaming would ever let her be heard by ears other than her own. She would live hundreds of lifetimes, but she didn’t think that she would ever feel this way again. Every breath in his presence felt like agony lately, but she didn’t want anything else. She wanted to spend her mornings arguing over herring, afternoons in meetings and teaching her students, evenings in front of the fire, writing correspondence and sharing her stories, finally hearing his. But he belonged to someone else, even if that person wasn’t known yet, one day Nikolai would be married to her and do all those things with someone who wasn’t Zoya. And she would have to accept that.

        The sinuous thoughts winding their way through her mind, reminding her of all that she could never have were interrupted just as abruptly as they had begun. A sudden warmth engulfed her, and she realized a soft blanket was being draped over her shoulders as she ran her fingers ran over the king’s emblem lining the edges. “I thought I told you to leave,” she said hoarsely, eyes flicking up to Nikolai, while the king settled down next to her, arms wrapped around his knees.

        “And I did.”

        “Yet here you are again,” she ground out.

        “Yet here I am again,” he replied. 'Why did he have to come back?' It was always harder to pull away when he came back. As if the Saints were determined to prove her point, Nikolai turned towards her, moonlight kissing the lines of his face, and Zoya longed to follow the outlines with her fingers, the hollow of his cheek, curve of his neck. She chided herself, those weren’t the thoughts of someone who was trying to create distance. But he made everything so hard, she’d tried to hate him, she’d tried to leave, she’d tried everything she could think of to prevent the inevitable disaster from happening, but tonight, she was too tired. She wanted to know, just once, what it would be like if she didn’t have to fight to keep each of her walls standing, wondered if it would give her peace.

        Zoya waited for a split second before she made up her mind. Before she could talk herself out of it, she shuffled over, until she bumped into Nikolai. He was quiet for a moment, then, so softly that she almost missed it, he spoke. “Stop shuffling around, Nazyalensky, otherwise the blanket is pointless.”

        She scoffed, “you’re pointless.”

        “Not your best,” he hummed. Nikolai lifted his hand, tugging the blanket securely into place under her chin, his fingers lingering for just a second too long. ‘To hell with it,’ Zoya thought, and she leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm curling around her almost instinctively.

        He paused again, “so, Nazyalensky...” he said, taking her hand in his.

        “Shut up.”

        “Make me,” he taunted, raising their intertwined hands and pressing his lips to her fingers.

        “Don’t think that I won’t,” she warned.

        Nikolai raised an eyebrow, “is that so?”

        Zoya surged up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before resting her head back on his shoulder, imaging the dumbfounded look on his face.

        “That took you long enough,” he muttered.

        “Not long enough.”

        Nikolai let out a laugh, pulling her closer, “how long are we planning on staying out here?”

        “Until I feel like going inside.”

        “When will that be?”

        “Whenever you learn to shut up.”

        “If that’s the case, I think we’ll be out here forever.”

        “Shut up, your highness.”

        “I quite liked it when you made me stop talking the first time. Perhaps you should do that again.”

        Zoya rolled her eyes at him, as she tried to hide the amused smile curling at her lips. "I don't think I will." But for all her talk, in the end, she did.

[illyrian-lover-flower]

Chapter 3

As Azriel walked the right wing of the white staircase up, he noticed that Feyre seemed more tense than usually, but why would he blame her? She hasn't seen him in the past three years so why would she just relax by seeing him?

But there was also something strange about her reaction when she led him in at the front door. Shock crossed her features first, but was soon replaced by something like hurt and pity? Pity was the last he wanted from her, after all she was the one that lost a sister.

The light hallway hasn't changed much within these three years, only a few new paintings from Feyre hung on the walls. He noticed that some of the newer paintings were lighter and more colour in them. But it was no new painting he suddenly stopped walking for - almost in front of his High Lords Office.  

The painting he stopped at had more colours too, but the moment it caught laid back so many years. It showed an occasion at the beginning of his and Elain's friendship, a moment were both knelt in front of one of Elain's flower beds. They nursed some herbaceous plants with delicate petals. Back then Elain had only gotten them, making them the newest members of her beloved garden, the closed blooms were the evidence. But some already started to open up, peeking their heads out to meet their new caring owner.

Elain smiled softly at the white Freesia, if he remembered correctly, both hands on the soil around the plant. Some soil already found its way to her cheeks and nose. She looked with such love at the plant that Azriel actually wished to be one of them too, only to be shown such love.

As he expected -Elain was covered in Light, her blush pink gown glittered a little, but was also messed up with soil. She didn't look like she cared though. Her honey curls caught the sunlight, Looking like liquid honey. The big pink blooms of her flower crown fit perfectly to her innocent look.

And as Azriel looked at himself, now twenty-three years older, he saw something glimmer in his younger eyes. A look Feyre managed to express good, even with all the mixed-up emotions. There was admiration for the flower grower and everything she created. There was something like longing too, but there also was love? He would have liked to deny it, but it seems like he already had a weak spot for her back then.

But what wondered him the most was, that the creative Artist put him into the light too, right next to the flower grower, her beloved older sister. He wondered why she would put a so destroyed monster Right next to her perfect, petite sister.  

But he remembered that they actually sat like this. His hands were on the ground too, covering the roots of a Freesia with Violett pedals. His scarred fingers and palms covered in the wet earth. He looked her way and had only eyes for her, a soft smile drawn on his lips. Sitting Closer than anyone to her.

The scenery was covered in green and the bright sunlight, lit by the colours of Elain's garden and her flower crown. Not even one shadow in sight.

When Azriel looked again at Feyre, his vision was blurry, he found her smiling sheepishly at him. He tried to ask her when she had drawn it, she only shook her head, now Looking at her painting too. She smiled at it and started answering his Questions.

"I had actually had searched for Elain that day. I wanted to ask her if she might know what tea fits best for a Friends meet up in spring, but when I saw you two there, I didn't want to disturb you two. You both looked so happy and calm at that time, as if you were in your own world, so I left you alone again. But at that time, I already had the inspiration for that drawing."

Now she looked at him again, Tears started to brim in her eyes. His heart felt like granite and slowly started to sink into his guts. Her voice came out shaky as she spoke again.

"I actually drew it two years ago. I always thought you two would have a problem with pictures hanging around of you, when it wasn't for Family portraits. But after you two left-" her voice broke and tears started streaming down her face.

Azriel hung his head low, knowing that he was one of the causes for her pain. So, he did the only thing Elain thought him as right in such moments -he hugged her.

He only hugged her lightly, making her even more sob, but she wrapped her arms around his frame.

After a few silent moments she whipped her snooty nose on her blue wool pullover and took the last steps towards Rhys office. She knocked softly and didn't even wait for the muffled "Come in."

*******

The office still looked like as the day he decided to leave his family. And in all honesty - it pained him.

The dark, chunky mahogany desk still stood in the middle of this large room. Windows that reached up to the ceiling enlightened the white room. On the grey walls hung also paintings from Feyre.

If it wouldn't have been such an unfitting time he would have laughed at the paintings, because each of them showed his High Lord in an over dramatized heroic position. Rhys looked up from his papers as he saw him entering the room. The mood immediately switched as he rose from his dark leathered chair.

Feyre seemed to have noticed too and left her mate and the puzzled shadowsinger behind as she closed the large door.

His brother walked around his desk and casually leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest, over his black pullover. 'Wearing black, as always.' Azriel thought silently, at least some things don't change.

Rhys offered him a smile, a forced one. The shadowsinger already saw better ones than this of his High Lord, or he just saw right through him. With all the time that past it wouldn't wonder him - he knew him almost his whole life after all.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at him, making his forehead wrinkle. Rhys sighed at that and dragged a hand through his midnight hair.

"I would have called you soon anyway." he mumbled.

His brother mentioned silently to the black armchair in front of his desk. He himself sat back again in his chair. He propped his elbows on the table top and folded his Hands nervously before him.

Azriel took the -for winged persons- rather uncomfortable seat, Looking at his High Lord now. He sighed again and closed his eyes frustrated.

"I didn't mention it when I last talked to you," he begun. His words were tense, the shadowsinger straightened a bit.

"..., but there are still riots at Windhaven and the other war-camps. They won't listen to Cassian, but they also refuse to listen to me." another sigh. Whatever is bothering him, is definitely a whole pain in the ass.

So Azriel growled lightly as he spoke "Get it out already!"

He hated that about his High Lord, he always sweet talked everything and danced around the main Point.

"Devlon and the other war-Lords want that you and Cassian repeat the Blood Rite."

It suddenly became verry Cold, even for him and he was glad he already sat, because else he would have needed a chair now. His scarred hands clenched and unclenched in his lap.

"And why is that?"

"They said if you and Cassian take part in the next Blood Rite, they're going to put their weapons down and obey. They said they would also finally accept you two."

Az laughed drily at that. "We're not going to suddenly be respected only because we survive that stupid Rite a second time!"

Rhys tensed, his words were calm as he spoke again, this time as his High Lord. "Cassian has already agreed to it."

Azriel was far more than shocked. He wouldn't have thought of his brother as that lightheaded. He shook his head in disbelief, but he obeyed his High Lord as he nodded. His Body screamed at him to not do it, to not do the Rite another time. His primitive instincts screaming at him to search for a safe hiding place and safe his life.

"I never wanted to be accepted by These Monsters." he scrunched his nose at the thought of all the winged males that only waited to shed the blood of their enemies.

"Then don't do it for yourself -do it for your court."

Az needed to nod, as he gave in to his High Lord, like every time. Laying his fate in Rhys Hands, yet still having to take care of his life in his own destroyed hands.

"But after that," he started, Looking into the violet eyes of his High Lord, his Brother. "..., I want to take the next six months off. I want to search for her and not even you can stop me from doing that."

Something hurt and knowing crossed his eyes, but was gone in a blink of them. He nodded "I think that can be arranged."

"So, where's the snag in all that?"

Rhys sighed again.

"You and Cassian are going to start at the opposite sides of Ramiel. You two shall not unite this time."

"And if we do?"

A sad look crossed his Features as he looked at him "Then you two have to fight. A fight of life and death. They say you still can use your shadows, so they should be able to warn you soon enough and if they don't …." he shrugged with his shoulders, trying to Play it down "...it'll end with the death of one of my Brothers."

Azriel nodded as he stood up and reached for the door, Ready to leave again. Not even trying to make his Point of not taking part in that deadly Rite again or the fact that he still wanted to take off and start searching for his love instead of having to train again.

"Why don't you stay for dinner?" Rhys asked him in a rushed Question.

Azriel nodded again. Wanting to at least spent his last time with his Family. He had already caused enough pain to all of them and he also wanted to apologize for it. After all, the Blood Rite was only two weeks away.

                                                    *******

"It's good to see you again, I actually thought you had become a shadow yourself!"  

Cassian probably meant it as a joke, but Azriel had the slight Feeling that the bulky Illyrian knew just too well that he indeed was only a shadow of himself. Az still offered him a slight smile, fake, but he tried.

He took his usual seat, the one to his left still empty. A heavy blanket started to fall upon him and his emotions.

Cassian sat across from him and smiled sadly as he noticed Azriel starring at the empty chair next to him.

Mor took also her usual seat, at the Right side of Cassian. They started to form a conversation as soon as the plates were filled.

Rhys and Feyre grinned at each other from across their seats. Feyre had the chair after the empty one at Ariel's left, while Rhys sat next to Mor. Amren, fierce as ever sipped annoyed at her blood red wine. His already eaten Food wanted to climb out of his mouth again at the colour, but he smiled when he noticed that Amren was kicking something under the table, and both Rhys and Feyre winced a little in pain.

They truly lived their life's as ever. Even without the seer.

As he ate his dinner silently, thinking About the seer and all their playfully annoyed and pained expressions they gave each other when their family did that at every dinner. The ghost of a smile came to his lips at the playfulness she only shared with him.

But over these lips never came a word of an apology. The words imprisoned in his own world.  

And as he flew home, the wind hitting his face, finally, again, he only thought about Elain and all the things he should have told her, because of the future perspective with the Blood Rite, he was scared he would not be able to tell her his deepest secret.

So, he flew a little longer than necessary, with the Image of her smiling face and sparkling Eyes in mind.

Still no apology on his lips, as he once again united with the dark night sky and its sparkling stars.

__________________previous chapter | next chapter ____________________

Let me know if you want to be tagged

[dershloopmain]

End Of Everything - Chapter 2

‘’Jesus,’’ Casey said, looking down at the broken fence with multiple zombies, all in different states of living, tried to claw their way out of their barbed wire and wooden confines.

‘’Tell me about it. I knew they were dumb but I thought they were supposed to have dope eyesight? Doesn't look like it to me,’’’ Raph scoffed, pulling his own splintering baseball bat out of his bag, poking the arm of the closest trapped zombie.

‘’Won’t Donnie want a sample for his tests? Don't poke em too much what if they come free you ass!”

‘’They won't come free! I dunno I thought he was good for all that.’’

‘’I dunno either but shouldn't we at least ask him? Besides, we need the help,’’ Casey said with a shrug, ‘’and stop poking em Raph!’’

‘’What? You can ask him, but if I show my face in that lair before this is done, Leo will end my life so you’re going,’’ Raph said, pulling back from the undead recipient of his abuse.

‘’Fine, I’ll go alone then.’’

‘’Don’t say it like that you’re making it seem like you're going out into a haunted forest. You just gotta drop down the sewer pipe and walk like 100 feet then you’re at the turnstiles.’’

‘’I know! I also know I am, just as susceptible to Leo’s… whatever we’re calling them.’’

‘’First of all, when did you learn such a big word Jones and second just text him then you big dope,’’ Raph rolled his eyes, turning back to his undead victims, beginning to poke and prod at their bodies.

‘’I said stop fuckin’ poking em dude!’’ Casey said, pushing Raph away from the fence with his foot as he tapped out a text to Donnie, ‘’And it's surprising what hanging with D all day makes you learn.’’

‘’Hey! Rude. They're not gonna hurt anyone they're stuck as anything in there. Besides, I’ve been hanging with Don for years, you won't get smarter in a couple of months. Half his ramblings are gibberish at this point,’’ Raph said, sitting up and continuing to poke the zombie. Casey rolled his eyes, realising he wasn't going to win this.

‘’I dunno. I guess I just actually pay attention to him,’’ Casey said with a glare.

‘’Oh sorry,’’ Raph said with a sarcastic high pitched tone, ‘’What is he your boyfriend now? Why’re you getting so defensive?’’ Casey shot another glare at Raph, ‘’Yikes, touchy subject then. I’ll support you no matter what bro, and if you wanna kiss some time, just let me know,’’ Raph said, standing and pouting his lips while moving towards his friend.

‘’Dude stop it,’’ Casey laughed, pushing Raph back, ‘’No he isn’t either I’m just saying, maybe you’d be less of a bone head if you actually listened to him.’’

‘’Nice to know I’ve still got a chance with you then,’’ Raph said with a smirk, ‘’And who are you calling ‘bonehead’ Casey Jones, you’ve got more skull than cells.’’

‘’Alright alright I get it you’re gay for me, its hard not to be, just don't let Mona hear or she will kill both of us. I’m also just gonna ignore that last part but what I said still stands you’re a bonehead.’’

‘’I show you bone head,’’ Raph said, diving at Casey and tackling him to the ground, locking him in a headlock, ‘’Say I'm not a bonehead and I’ll let you go.’’ He said with a smile.

‘’Never!’’

‘’Well then, I hope you like the taste of dirt and sweat because I ain’t moving until you say it!’’

‘’Children, children, come on stop it,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself out of the sewer. Raph looked up at his brother and smiled, allowing Casey a moment to flip Raph up and off of him. He landed on the dusty, cracked tarmac with a shout of surprise, before huffing and pulling himself and Casey up off of the floor, ‘’Now then. What’s the problem?’’

‘’We need help and Case was wondering if you needed new samples to test,’’ Raph said, pointing at the hole in the fence and multiple zombies clawing at the floor in an attempt to pull themselves free and feast on the 3’s flesh.

‘’Right… I’m guessing Leo said you couldn't have help right? That’s why you texted me?’’

‘’Yup.’’

‘’Thought so,’’ Donnie said softly with a small grimace on his face. A grimace that didn't go unnoticed by Casey and Raph. Nothing was said regarding it but yet… they all understood. A silent yet ever-present cloud hung over them all but not a word was said. Raph cleared his throat.

‘’Right then,’’ He spoke, rubbing his hands together readily, ‘’Let’s get on with it.’’ With that, the moment was over and the cloud disappeared, however not completely. It still loomed over them, threatening to take over their beings at any point. Donnie and Casey nodded, pulling their splintering boe staff and baseball bat out respectively and begun to shift the monsters, pushing them back from a safe distance.

‘’How long have our defences been compromised?’’ Donnie said, straightening up and letting out a deep breath.

‘’Not sure,’’ Raph said, copying his brother, ‘’But they’re really stuck in there so it must’ve been at least a couple of days. Probably longer.’’

‘’Why did Leo only send you two to do this?’’

‘’Your guess is as good as mine. He probably still hates me because of what happened.’’

‘’He can’t be still hung up on that. It’s been 3 months.’’

‘’I know,’’ Raph let out a shaky sigh, lifting his hand and pinching the bridge of his nose, ‘’He's not the only one who lost someone important though. We all lost something but we aren't all tyrannical megalomaniacs.’’

‘’You know how close Usagi and he were though. You can’t be mad at him for missing him.’’

‘’It’s past ‘missing him’. Fuck, I miss Mona too but it’s not my fault it happened I just- I just hate that I can't stop loving him. He's my brother, no matter what he does to me. I nearly died on that supply run, if it weren't for Casey I wouldn't be here but… no matter how mad it makes me I can’t stay mad at him,’’ Raph bit his tongue, his shoulders sinking in defeat, ‘’I’d do anything to get him back.’’

‘’I know Raph. I know,’’ Donnie said softly, moving towards his brother and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his shell comfortingly. Casey didn’t say a word, he only followed Donnie’s lead and wrapped his own arms around his friend.

‘’Fuck me, man, there's something about the apocalypse that's making us all sappy,’’ Casey laughed, pulling an arm away from Raph and wrapping it around Donnie, who evidently also wasn't taking the entire situation well, but was just a lot worse at talking about it. He could tell from the turtle's physique that it’d taken a toll on him. Initially, while he had always been relatively thin, any muscle mass he had had before was gone, leaving nothing but skin, bone and organs. The eye bags Donnie had always sported seemed deeper and more rooted in weeks of sleepless nights rather than days of late nights and early mornings. His face was sallow and thin, his cheekbones protruding through his skin, almost pushing to escape their green confines. But he never said a word. Not to him. Not to Mikey or Raph. Not even to April. He was a silent sufferer, he wouldn't say a word to anyone but yet everyone knew. One of these days, Casey thought, he was going to have a proper conversation with Donnie. A proper talk. Even back before all this, they hadn’t been insanely close. Always at war over something or other yet something drew Casey to Donnie. He wasn't sure what yet but he’d figure it out. Eventually.

‘’Guys you do realise there's still zombies literal centimetres from us,’’ Donnie said, glazing towards the green-grey decaying hand reaching out for Raph’s ankle.

‘’Oh shit yeah,’’ Raph and Casey said in unison, pulling away and starring down at the writhing mass.

‘’How are we gonna move ‘em then?’’ Raph said, pulling a broken hockey stick out of Casey’s bag and poking the creatures again.

‘’My God Raph you’re like a 6-year-old. Stop. Poking. The. Fucking. Zombies!’’ Casey said angrily, ripping the hockey stick out of his hand and shoving them firmly back into his bag.

‘’Well, by the looks of things,’’ Donnie said, crouching down and levering the creatures up using his staff, ‘’They’ve been impaled by the fence. Pushing them back is just going to lodge them in even more and break the fence even more. We need to create some kind of lever system to lift them up so we can push them off the fence and out of our perimeter,’’ He stood up again, stretching his legs out and giving them a small shake, before looking over at Raph and Casey.

‘’This is why you’re the brain’s and I’m the brawn D,’’ Casey said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pushing him down into a headlock.

‘’Cut it out Casey,’’ Donnie said indignantly, squirming in an attempt to get out of Casey’s arms.

‘’Yeah Casey, cut it out. We gotta sort this out before ‘Nardo throws his rattle out his pram,’’ Raph rolled his eyes and Casey grimaced, loosening his grip and allowing Donnie to pull himself free.

Without another word, Donnie pulled a small toolbox out of his bag and placed it on the floor not too far from the creatures writhing in the barbed wire and jagged wood. Opening the box gently, he pulled out a small, clean-looking glass syringe and a neatly folded wet wipe.

‘’Ok,’’ He said finally, ‘’I need you two, and its imperative that you listen and do exactly as I say because I’m your only hope for a cure and if I get turned you’re all doomed so,’’ Donnie pointed at the pile of zombies, ‘’hold them down and away from me. But under no circumstances are you to do ANYTHING that could kill that one. If they die, their sample will be tarnished and it won't be effective,’’ He finished, a stern and serious expression on his face.

‘’Got it, Don,’’ Raph said, walking towards the pile and pushing his foot down onto the head of the creature Donnie had said, ‘’Casey, can you hold the others back while try and sort this one out?’’

‘’I’ll try,’’ He said sheepishly, looking down at the 3 or so other zombies laying at his feet before quickly composing himself and beginning to use his hockey stick to lift them up and pushing them back and away from his friends and home. Stepping over the barbed wire and broken fencing, he jammed his hockey stick back into his bag and pulled the splintering bat out, moving towards the now free pile of freaks.

‘’You want me to kill em, D?’’

‘’Can do,’’ Donnie said flatly, not looking up from his test subject.

‘’Uh- You know what never mind I’ll just kill em,’’ Casey said, swinging his bat in a downward arch, smashing the creatures’ skulls in, killing them all instantaneously. Mushy brain and dark, viscous blood splattered on his sneakers and jeans, coating them in another layer of grit and grime. He had to admit, the idea that these were once living people was disturbing to him. They’d once had lives, jobs, families and friends. They’d been like him once. Alive and free. Would everyone have bashed his skull in if he’d been infected? Or would he have been corralled and used as a test subject for Donnie to find a cure? He hoped the latter but… He wasn’t sure. After what’d happened, he wasn’t sure Leo would’ve been insanely happy with the idea of keeping zombies in the lair, especially not him. Being low on the hierarchy had its perks but not having Leo on his side in regards to anything was not one of them. He sighed, shaking the viscera off of his shoes and bat before stepping back into the borders of their home.

‘’Nearly done Don?’’ Casey said, crouching near him. He glanced over at his

‘’Nearly and… there we go done,’’ Donnie said, wiping the mucus and deep red blood from the small wound he’d just created, smiling at his work.

‘’Why’d you wipe it after. They’re dead their entire body is infected,’’ Raph said, removing his foot from the creatures head and letting Donnie back up before dropping its arms and dashing around to the other side of the fence.

‘’Force of habit,’’ Donnie said quietly, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen.

‘’We have to do it, Don, I know you don’t like it but we do,’’ Raph said, walking over to his brother and putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Donnie looked away, gently placing the syringe into a ziplock back and putting it back into his toolbox.

‘’I know you do I just- I don’t think I’ll ever get used to seeing them be killed. They used to alive and through no fault of their own, now they’re monsters I- I don't know how much more of this excessive violence and murder I can take,’’ Donnie said, his eyes filling up with tears.

‘’Hey, hey don’t get upset. Crying’s healthy and all but if you start, I’ll start and even Raph might start- hey ow!’’ Casey exclaimed, whipping around and shooting Raph a death glare. Raph snorted, a mischievous smirk plastered on his face. Donnie laughed, wiping away yet another batch of unshed tears.

‘’Sorry it just… gets a little much at times,’’ Donnie shook his head, rubbing his elbow nervously.

‘’Don’t apologise for having emotions you big dummy,’’ Raph said, walking to stand next to Casey, ‘’I gotta say, me and Casey aren’t exactly peachy. I doubt Mikey and April are either. Don’t even get me started on Leo. It’s ok to feel like this Don, just stop bottling it up. That’s where it’s not healthy.’’

‘’I can’t believe for once WE are the one's schooling Donnie,’’ Casey said, crossing his arms and shaking his head jokingly. Raph rolled his eyes, as did Donnie.

‘’Now the sentimental shit’s over, let’s just finish up here and go down, I seriously doubt ‘Nardo is gonna be happy with how long we’ve been,’’ Raph said, trying not to think about what was inevitably to come.

‘’Tell me about it. D, we’ll deal with the creature and you can like, close your eyes and ears if that’ll help, then we’ll get started on the fence,’’ Casey said, trying to add an air of enthusiasm to his voice to bring up the mood, however, even he could tell it wasn’t working.

‘’Sure,’’ Donnie said, walking back to the manhole cover and looking away, covering his ears as Raph and Casey pulled out their respective weapons and began pulling the zombie out of the barbed wire and splintering wood, replacing it out onto the dusty street. Then, Raph stepped towards the thing that was slowly attempting to crawl back towards them and slammed his sai down into its head, cracking its skull and killing it, once and for all. He felt the vibrations up his arm as the metal of his sai clashed with the concrete, causing him to shiver a little, before pulling himself up and shaking the remnants of blood and brain off of his sai.

‘’Ok D, all done,’’ Casey shouted over, turning around to his friend and giving him a reassuring smile, who offered a small, shaky smile in return.

With that, Raph tucked his sai away and stepped over what was leftover of the small portion of the fence.

‘’You got any nails in that thing Donnie?’’ Raph asked, gesturing at the toolbox.

‘’I should have a few, I brought some hammers too, I figured you two wouldn't have remembered to bring any with you,’’ Donnie said, opening the toolbox and pulling out a handful of nails and handing them to Casey, before pulling his backpack around so it hung over one shoulder and rummaging through it for a couple of seconds before pulling out 3 relatively clean hammers and handing one to each of them.

‘’Well then, let's get to it,’’ Raph said, swinging the hammer around and grabbing a couple of nails from Casey’s outstretched hand, before picking up one of the wooden boards and beginning to bash it back into the wooden post that protruded from the tarmac. Casey and Donnie soon followed suit, before finally beginning to carefully pick up the barbed and wrap it around the makeshift fencing.

‘’That wasn’t so bad,’’ Raph said, grinning at their handiwork.

‘’Definitely a lot quicker with you here D,’’ Casey said, smiling at his friend.

‘’No problem Casey. I know how Leo can be, so just text me if you ever need help with anything. He already doesn't like you coming down to my lab. Thinks you’re stopping me from working or something,’’ Donnie said with a sigh.

‘’Well, I’m not gonna stop coming unless you tell me to. I don’t care what he thinks,’’ Casey said defiantly, putting his hands on his hips as if he were some hero.

‘’A real modern-day revolutionary you are Casey Jones,’’ Donnie said, rolling his eyes with a smirk.

‘’Should we head back? It’s getting cold,’’ Raph said, wrapping his arms around himself and rubbing them in an attempt to preserve any sort of body heat he could.

‘’Jesus it is. Must really be September,’’ Casey said, stuffing his hands deep into his hoody pockets.

Donnie nodded, flexing his fingers before pulling them back into a fist multiple times.

With that, the three headed towards the manhole cover and climbed down back into the sewer. It was surprising how much you learned about New York’s bathroom habits after 6 months of the apocalypse. Raph had always assumed that there’d always be greywater down here, no matter how many humans lived up top yet somehow, the sewers had run dry. Remains of final faeces and bathroom breaks lay dried up or non-existent along the floor of the sewer. It was almost impressive yet disturbing. The world really was ending. Or, as Donnie had put it ‘’Humanity's end as the dominant life force on earth’’.

‘’Bite your tongue Raph. If Leo says anything, don’t bite,’’ Donnie whispered as they hopped the turnstiles into the lair. Raph swallowed in a desperate attempt to dampen his dry tongue, failing miserably. He could feel his stomach turn in knots and any food he’d eaten in the last 24 hours was churning in his stomach, threatening to make a reappearance.

‘’Raphael,’’ Leo’s deep voice filled their ears, Raph flinched, ‘’I trust your supply run went well.’’

‘’Yeah. Got more medical supplies. There wasn’t much else we needed though so that was it.’’ ‘’What about our defences. Are they secure now?’’

‘’Yeah. Casey and Donnie helped me patch it back up so it should be fine.’’

‘’Donatello helped? I thought I told you that you and Casey were to do it alone.’’

‘’Yes, I know, I’m sorry but he was already up there to get another sample from the zombies and he had stuff on him to help so…’’ Raph trailed off, his eyes trained on the ground. He refused to look into Leo’s cold, uncaring eyes. If he did, he already knew he couldn't hold himself back.

‘’Hmm. Donatello? Is this what happened?’’

‘’Yes, Leo. I promise you, they didn’t ask me to help them. I asked them if I could come up to get a sample for my studies,’’ Donnie said sheepishly, looking up at Leo, trying his best not to let his fear be shown.

‘’Fine. I’ll believe you. You may all leave now.’’ Leo said plainly, glaring down at Casey and Raph, both of whom were starring at the ground still as they walked away, shoulders hunching slightly.

Leo nearly felt himself crack. He wanted to stop them, tell them he was sorry and wanted everything to go back to normal but… he couldn't. He couldn’t stop hating them for what happened. He couldn’t stop his blood from boiling every time he saw Raph walk past him to leave the lair. Maybe time would heal all wounds, but for now, he was perfectly content blaming and hating his younger brother for what he’d done. Not just because of what he'd lost. It's what all of them had lost. It was how reckless and immature Raph had been and HOW he'd caused it. All of it added up into a pit of rage that had been brewing for years. The number of times he'd been kidnapped or injured because of Raph's idiocy and complacency and arrogance. What had happened had broken him, the small, sane and happy, innocent part of him had snapped. Maybe if Usagi returned that part would be reconnected but… he knew that wouldn’t happen. It couldn’t happen. And it was all Raph’s fault.

[mando-lore]

"A bird... or something...": The story of Mothman and other 'flying men'

Certainly Strange: A Podcast About The Unexplainable, episode 7

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"It was a bird... or something."

It was the 15th of November, 1966, and Roger and Linda Scarberry and Steve and Mary Mallette were joyriding through a maze of dirt roads that connected abandoned world war two bunkers, late at night in Point Pleasant West Virginia. They had just driven past an abandoned generator plant when they saw… something. A huge figure in the darkness, just off the side of the road. And it was watching them. With huge, blood red eyes.

"I'm a hard guy to scare" Scarberry later said to the local newspaper, "but last night I was getting out of there." He slammed the gas and tried to manoeuvre his car out of the dump area as quickly as possible, away from the strange creature that watched them. And as they fled, they all saw the creature, something that looked like the hybrid between a man and a bird, standing on a hill by the side of the road.

And then, it started following them. It hoovered above the car, chasing them. “We were driving one hundred miles per hour and that bird kept right up with us. It wasn’t even flapping its wings.” The women started crying. The creature followed them until the couples reached the National Guard Armory on Route 62. They thought they had finally lost the strange man-bird, but once they turned the car around, there it was again. It seemed to be waiting on them.

The creature was over six foot tall, grey, with a wingspan of 10 feet. "It was like a man with wings," Mallette said. "It wasn't like anything you'd see on TV or in a monster movie..."

The Scarberries and the Mallettes gave a statement to the police. "If I had seen it while by myself I wouldn't have said anything," Scarberry commented, "but there were four of us who saw it."

At first, the four witnesses were the laughingstock of the town. But soon, stories started to surface, old and new. They were definitely not the only ones who had witnessed the creature that is now known as the Mothman.

On that very same day, on November the 15th 1966, the Mothman had been spotted by a farmer about 90 miles away in Salem. Newell Partridge was watching television when at 10:30pm he heard his German shepherd named Bandit howling. The farmer went out to check on his dog with a flashlight, when he was met with two large red eyes, like red reflectors, staring at him.

Bandit took off towards the creature that threatened his master, into the night. Then, the farmer could hear his dog screech and whine. And he never saw him again.

The strange thing? In their eyewitness report, The Scarberries and the Mallettes told the police that, while they were being chased by the Mothman, they had seen something, lying on the side of the road. It had been a carcass. The carcass of a dead dog.

The very next day, the Mothman was spotted by one Mr and Mrs Wamsley and their friend Mrs Bennett, who were driving through the world war two bunker area on their way to visit a friend. They parked the car in a darkened area several feet from the residence, and knocked on their friend’s door. When they found him not at home, they headed back to the car. This is where they saw it. In the darkness, a shadowy figure lurked behind the automobile.

“It rose up slowly from the ground. A big, grey thing. Bigger than a man, with terrible, glowing red eyes.” Said Bennett. According to her own statement, when Bennett saw the creature, she was so horrified she fell on her baby whom she had been holding in her arms.

There were dozens of Mothman sightings during the next several weeks. One witness, Mrs. Roy Grose, saw the creature through her kitchen window, early in the morning when her barking dog had awakened her. She say a large multicoloured object hovering over the treetop in a field across the road. That same day a local teenager encountered a huge birdlike creature with his car, and claimed that it had followed him for more than a mile.

Tom Ury, a young shoe salesman, was driving down route 62 at 7:15 in the morning on his way to work, when he spotted a towering figure standing by the road in an adjacent field. Suddenly it had spread its wings and took off straight up. The figure then started circling his car like a bird, and kept flying over the car even at the speed of seventy-five miles per hour, much like as he had done to the Scarberries and the Mallettes. Tom was apparently so frightened by this encounter, he did not get into work that day.

In total, there were around 200 sightings of the Mothman in the year 1966 to 1967. But it was not the first time something like a bird-man was spotted near Point Pleasant.

In 1961, 5 years prior, a woman was driving down route 2 along the Ohio river with her father when she spotted a winged figure. She had just passed by a park when a tall figure suddenly appeared in the road ahead of her. It was a grey figure with folded wings across its back, like how one would describe an angel. Startled by the car, the creature unfolded its wings, which “practically filled the whole road”, and then the mysterious creature took off.

However, the woman and her father were not the first to ever witness the creature that would become known as “The Mothman”. In 1948, the Army officials at McChord Field in Washington state were approached by the 61-year-old Mrs Bernice Aikowski, who claimed that she had seen a man-bird in her backyard in nearby Chehalis.

“I know most people don’t believe me, but I have talked to some people in Chehalis that tell me they say the man, too. It was about 3 PM on January 6th, and there were a lot of small children coming home from school at the time. They saw the man, too, and asked me if they could go into my backyard so they could watch him longer as he flew towards the south end of the city.”

According to her, the flying man-bird seemed to be a man equipped with long silver wings fastened over his shoulders with a strap, like one of the inventions of Leonardo da Vinci.

On April 9th, 1948, two Longview Washington state residents named Viola Jonson (a laundry worker) and James Pittman (a janitor) told journalists that they had seen several men with flying suits and goggles, flying through the air, circling the city at a hight of 250 feet. Two similar flying men were sighted near Butte in Oregon, on September 16th that same year.

In 1971, at 2AM in Norton Massachusetts, police sergeant Thomas Downy was driving home along Winter Street in Mansfield. As he approached a place known, ironically, as Bird Hill in Easton, he was confronted by a huge winged creature that was over 6 feet tall with a wingspan of eight to twelve feet. As sergeant Downy drew to a stop at the intersection, the birdman flew straight up, disappearing over the dark trees into the swamp. Downy reported the sighting to the Easton police when he arrived home and a patrol car searched the area, but the man bird was never seen again.

These birdmen are not sighted exclusively in the United States, however. Plato and Homer already wrote about a race of winged men in Ancient Greece. On July 11th, 1908, the Russian explorer VK Arsenyev sighted a winged humanbeing near the mouth of the Gobilli river. Sightings have also been reported in Portugal, England, and Vietnam.

The many sightings of the Mothman came to an end on the 25th of December in 1967, when the Silver Bridge, connecting Point Pleasant with Gallipolis collapsed. 46 people died, and it is still known as the deadliest bridge collapse in the history of the United States. Next to the Mothman sightings, the Silver Bridge collapse was the second terrible and bizarre thing to put Point Pleasant on the map in one year’s time. So it was not hard for people to seek a connection between the two.

Some eyewitnesses claimed that they had seen the Mothman at the bridge that day it collapsed, blaming the creature for the disaster that killed so many. Of course, it is a way of mourning to seek an explanation, someone to blame, for this terrible loss of life.

People did indeed think that the Mothman was a bad omen, a demonic vision that foreshadows a great disaster. The Mothman does bear the resemblance of a demon, the embodiment of fear itself.

A more realistic based explanation for the Mothman comes from Dr. Robert L. Smith, an associate professor of wildlife biology at West Virginia University, who said that the description of the Mothman all fitted the sandhill crane, the second largest American crane, which stands almost as high as a man and has a wingspan of more than seven feet. He said the “red eyes” could be the large red circles around the crane’s eyes. The appearance of the bird could have been moulded into the image of a monstrous creature through mass hysteria.

So, is the Mothman an image of the mind, the demonic embodiment of fear? Is it simply a bird, mistaken for a monster through mass hysteria? Or… is the Mothman real? Whatever he was or whatever he may be now, still, he is certainly strange.

SOURCES

All That’s Interesting. (2017, May 17). The True Story Behind The Legendary Mothman Said To Terrorize West Virginia. Retrieved from https://allthatsinteresting.com/mothman

Coleman, L. (2001). Mothman and other curious encounters. Cosimo, Inc. https://books.google.nl/books?hl=en&lr=&id=KZlavRmNPtkC&oi=fnd&pg=PA8&dq=mothman&ots=KSz4GP-jP7&sig=-WwUOFtlxYvPePGyE-MwpPccj4s#v=onepage&q&f=false

Daly, J. (2020). Narrative Hijacking: Mothman and the Silver Bridge Collapse. https://digitalcommons.usu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2279&context=researchweek

Gettysburg Times. (1966, December 1). Monster Bird With Red Eyes May Be Crane. p. 12. Retrieved from https://news.google.com/newspapers?id=LG0mAAAAIBAJ&sjid=Rf8FAAAAIBAJ&pg=620,2790721&dq=point+pleasant+roger+scarberry&hl=en

Point Pleasant Register. (1966, November 16). Couples See Man-Sized Bird...Creature...Something. Retrieved from https://web.archive.org/web/20071011230219/http://www.westva.net/mothman/1966-11-16.htm