#i need to squeeze them until they make squeaky toy noises

[httyd-art-requests]

I was contractually obligated to make this tag real, it was simply too adorable

(Not canon to the Toothless in Gravity Falls AU!)

[ID in alt text]

(Alt version and tag screenshot under the cut)

( @mouthsfullofsharpteeth thank you for the tag <3)

[trashogram]

Nah man if i were in a cuddle pile with the tp. The closest weasel is probably gonna get squeezed. (I normally sleep while hugging something and i have a bear that proves how strong my grip can get while hugging things)

You’re making me wonder if they make squeaky toy noises whenever you hug them too tightly 😅

I feel like Stupid would be very happy to be squeezed (he’d probably hardly feel it). Greasy would enjoy it for more devious reasons of course, Smartass would bitch about it, Wheezy would probably panic for a second then try to play it cool while slipping out and if you squeezed Psycho, you’d wake up from being stabbed by something sharp — also he needs to move in his sleep so he will whine until you let go if being stabbed doesn’t remove you.

[intruality-overlord]

Why Are We (Best) Friends?

Warnings: Excessive swearing, alcoholism, mentions of drugs, drug use, suggestive humour, implied sexual content (no smut), some gore descriptions. Generally, Remus stuff.

Taglist: @blogging-time @veraisnotfine @littlestr @jessibbb @ibroken-butterflyi @hi-its-tutty @idkanameatall

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the taglist! Updates every Wednesday/Thursday. Have fun :]

Chapter Three 2/2: Duck

Drowning and Itchy

October 4th, 2017.

Remus’s skin was crawling. It scraped against his muscles like a cheap woollen blanket, disturbing his tired bones beneath.

Itchy. It was a strange, unrecognisable itch that he couldn’t satisfy with his usual means. Hugging himself, he frustratedly tried to stop the grating of his nerves. Yet the itch became worse. Now it felt like worms digging through and munching away at his flesh like rotten brussel sprouts (nobody liked those but starving worms and maggots, or goody-two-shoes nerds).

Puppy, Moonshine, his sweet, sweet Apple. His head screamed, ringing in the hollow his thoughts’ absence left. The ringing echoed in his bored ears that tried to stimulate themselves. Yes, Patton would know how to fix whatever this was. Patton, his rebellious little Teddy Bear, could— will fix him.

He didn’t dawdle— not even to acknowledge how funny the word dawdle sounded— sinking down, and rising up in Patton’s room.

The familiar effects of the room half-heartedly soaked his feet like a lukewarm, lapping tide.

“Hiya, Remus. What are ya doin’ here?”

The ringing dripped out his ears like water that had been trapped since he showered last. Basking in the melody of the words, observing the natural shape of the sentence. High pitched, bouncing and slurred, in a minor key. Remus didn’t realise how much he craved his voice until then. Muscles tightly twisted around his ribs uncoiled and he breathed deeply.

“Thomas is thinking about Guys,” Patton said, not knowing what else to say. Standing rigid, his arms tied to his sides, Remus said, “Oh.” Strangling the glass neck of a bottle half empty, Patton added, “And Dolls.”

“Oh,” Remus repeated dumbly. The simple syllable sat anchored low in his throat. “Oh…”

Shoulders hunched, trying to become small and narrow, Patton hugged the bottle to his chest— Then he shook his head, opening his arms and offered the drink. But Remus impulsively took his open arms as a different form of offering, crumpling onto his lap. He tucked his head under Patton’s chin like he needed him to hold his red blotched body, quivering from overstimulation after the fog of his mind cleared— together.

And Patton bundled him in his arms.

The room’s atmosphere was humid with longing, and thick with rejection like so much perfume it stings. Remus let his heavy lids fall, fisting handfuls of Patton’s polo shirt.

Patton gave Remus a small squeeze, then hesitantly peeled his arms away. Confused, Remus only frowned, and borrowed deeper into the embrace. Circling one arm around Patton’s waist, Remus’s other crossed Patton’s back to cling to his shoulder from behind. Their chests were brought flush together. Then Remus felt Patton’s hiccuping breath shivering through his frame.

“You’re not… lea-eav-i-ing?” Patton sniffled. Sheer denial kept Patton’s glass arms, shivering from his squeaky, muted whimper, hovering above the dip of Remus’s back.

“Do you want me to?”

Shallow shuddering breaths desperately tried to dry his tear-waxed eyes. “No,” he pleaded.

“Then no.” And Patton’s collapsed into cuddling the absolute shit out of Remus. Desperate fingers dug into Remus’s shirt. A pinky innocently wandered underneath the fabric making sure Remus was there, and warm, and real, and staying.

It was bizarre to be so close to someone in such an innocent setting, for Remus. Well, perhaps not bizarre, but he wasn’t familiar with it. He could get used to it.

“You have no idea how much I needed this,” Patton whispered, sighing as his tears evaporated on his cheeks and fogged his glasses. The hot puff of breath bussed the shell of Remus’s ear. “I think… I just really needed a hug, too,” Remus admitted, nuzzling him even further. Remus hid his nose in Patton’s shoulder, and Patton hid his in Remus’s hair.

“If you ever feel like this again, you can always come to me?” Patton offered, but it sounded mostly like a request. Cold water of dread splashed Remus’s face.

Did Patton always feel this way?

“Really?” Remus asked instead.

“I’ll always be here to give you as many hugs as you want,” Patton said, and Remus could hear his watery smile, “anytime.”

They stayed together for what could have been hours or days, for all they cared. Inevitably, Patton settled his thumbs into Remus’s back dimples— Yes, he was precious, and pliant, and staying. Remus experimented with the spring of Patton’s curls. Until—

Patton felt a pulse through him, like his stomach being pulled down in an elevator. Resisting it made the contents of his stomach slosh. He shuddered.

“R-Remus.”

Unwilling to bother with proper articulation, the contented bundle in Patton’s arms gave a tiny hum. Patton hugged Remus closer when his voice didn’t work immediately. Nose grazing Patton’s chin, Remus tipped his head up ever so slightly in silent question.

“They’re trying to summon me,” he finally gulped.

“Hmpf?” Remus simultaneously startled and wilted. He steadied himself on Patton’s shoulders. “You’re going?” Remus murmured, searching his eyes. Without realising, Remus shifted so his legs also hugged him close around the hips. A protective cocoon of limbs.

“I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”

Patton locked their eyes, and Remus wished his glasses weren’t in the way. He swept his fringe aside, and their eye contact broke only for Patton’s gaze to flick to Remus’s gentle hand and back. The space between seemed as far as the sun from the dark side of the moon.

And Patton slipped out beneath him as he sunk down.

Gracelessly, Remus belly flopped onto the bed without support. Patton’s shoulders were so sturdy, he noted… rather circled and underlined that already present mental note.

Not knowing what else to do, he curled up in the duvet. Aimlessly, he groped for one of Patton’s many stuffed toys. He desperately tried to retain the swiftly abandoning warmth with the fluffy substitute.

He understood, just… he was another kind of mess today.

(}ï{)

Remus had nearly fallen asleep when he felt the foundation of the room shift. It warped around, and Remus quickly checked his eyes with his phone’s camera in case he had gotten high and didn’t remember. Nope, the room was really changing around him and steadily settling into a reflection of the common room.

“Remus!” Patton popped up so quickly he overbalanced. “Puppy?” He sped across the room to see Patton’s eyes glazed like his favourite donuts— “What’s happening—”

“Shut up! You need to leave—”

“Wh—”

“The others are coming— no jokes no time— go go go quick!” He spluttered pressing on his shoulders so hard, the unstable room’s floor gave way, and he was rising up into his own room before he could wipe away the brimming, panicked tears from Patton’s reddening eyes.

They nearly got caught.

They… Thomas nearly… he hadn’t seen Roman since— What would Virgil— oh god— oh, Patton…

Remus could have ruined everything.

His itchy arms felt empty.

(}ï{)

Remus didn’t like Patton’s new cat hoodie.

(But it’s okay, Remus can learn to accept second place.)

Drunkiversary

December 25th, 2017.

I DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED.

Thump.

I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE.

Thump.

I JUST WANT YOU FOR MY OWN.

Thump.

MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER KNOW.

Thump.

MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE.

Thump.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU!

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Maybe if Patton tried hard enough, he could burst his assaulted eardrums and end his misery. All he needed was enough kinetic energy. He already had a wall to bang his head against, but maybe he should upgrade to a hammer— or better! A—

I DON’T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS—

Wine bottles littered at Patton’s feet (damn that weak, cheap, shit Thomas bought) obscured the plush carpet beneath that his toes curled and dug into. Their glossy surfaces glared at him. Patton would scream at Roman to shut the fuck up if he was coherent. (Whether he was incoherent from drinking or a concussion, it was a mystery.) As it was, all he could do was rip out the carpet fibers with his toes and—

SANTA CLAUSE WON’T MAKE ME HAPPY.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Would the thick glass bottles be more effective than the wall? Patton wondered, as he tried scrounging up the motivation to convince his arms to budge.

WHAT MORE CAN I DO.

Thump. Thump.

They were going to have a secret Santa together. Patton thought they were going to have dinner, complete with turkey no one actually liked, build gingerbread houses, open Christmas crackers, play card games and monopoly together. Patton thought they were going to drink eggnog together. Patton thought they were going to spend Christmas together.

They had a secret Santa.

And that was it.

LAUGHTER FILLS THE AIR.

Thump… Thump-p-p.

One last pathetic thump like a bouncing tennis ball losing momentum. Alcohol settling more into his system, Patton gave up. He slid down the wall like a hose with its water supply cut off. Screaming, that translated into a sad gurgle, tripped on his teeth.

“Oh, fu— Pat, buddy.”

THE ONE I REALLY NEED.

Bottles clinked together as Remus waded through them. Blasphemy and profanity squeezed betwixt his tense lips like lemon juice. To Patton’s ears, they tasted like the sweetest lemonade.

“Aw, big guy…” Remus murmured, surveying the damage. Patton made a vague noise of disagreement. Settling a hand on his shoulder, Remus crouched down beside him. “Yes, I know you’re short. Doesn’t mean you’re not big in other respects…” he teased with a weak grin. Patton made a louder slightly less vague noise of disagreement. “I’m not calling you fat, you know that,” Remus squawked like an indignant seagull. What an accusation— for Patton to think— what kind of friend did he take him for? A fraud? “Broad shouldered, sure,” he said. “Though, still, not what I meant. Anyway.”

Remus’s suffering smile slipped. Only the corner of his mouth hung on, leaving a minuscule smirk.

(Blearily, Patton noted how Remus was wearing a very amateur, very familiar scarf. That mental note fluttered from his grasp as soon as he mentally wrote it.)

“I got something for you,” Remus eventually said, presenting a blanket to him. The warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine.

In Patton’s floating mind, he forgot what colours were, but there were a lot of them. Lots and lots of colours and Patton called them all yellow, for now, since that’s all he remembered. All the many shades of yellow swirled together in intricate patterns, but his eyes were swimming too much to decipher it.

Suddenly, Patton was being swaddled with the blanket— Oh fuck, he realised, it wasn’t the warmest, fluffiest blanket he could imagine. No, it was incomprehensibly warm and fluffy.

Remus wrapped Patton in an extra layer, his amorous arms, and held him snuggly to his beaten, rickety chest. Excitedly, his heart nudged and poked at Patton’s tenderised head. “I’m here,” Remus’s voice was a wisp of steam from a marshmallow piled hot chocolate, “I’m here. You’re not alone, I’m here.” A sugar coated plume of fluffy steam, “See?”

Remus’s trembling tickled Patton as he gave him a grounding squeeze.

“D-don’t,” Remus stammered. Misty eyed, words drowning, “Don’t… don—” he expelled his shivering with a steadying sigh. “You’re not allowed to give up.”

Oh Remus, of course he was always there for Patton.

“I care. You hear me?”

Tears tottered over Patton’s eyelashes. He didn’t even have a Christmas sweater to give Remus.

I DON’T WANT A LOT—

Remus wasn’t exactly what Patton had expected to get— or, heck— fucking hell, deserved even, for a friend. But he was fucking grateful for him.

BABY ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU.

(}ï{)

The blanket didn’t have any yellow, Patton later discovered the next day. With his pounding heachache, he convinced himself it wasn’t worth it to facepalm. It was truly a water marble design of blues, greens, and grays. Patton loved it, and still couldn’t comprehend how warm and fluffy it was.

Next Chapter:

[badacts]

Dick and Jason Dick and Jason Dick and Jason Dick and Jason Dick and Jason Dick and Ja

this is pretty ridiculous, but so are dick and jason, so

also the premise of this is admittedly a little grim, but also it’s the two-dudes-and-a-baby trope ft. dick grayson: no idea about babies

Shooter versus pre-Christmas shoppers in an East Side mall. Civilian only, no masks. It’s a bloodbath, and Dick’s only here in time for the cleanup.

“O,” he says on the way down to ground level, “Send whoever’s free and whatever supplies they’ve got. I’m going to start triaging.”

The part of being a bat that goes without saying is that they’re also, when required, first responders. It’s not the first time he’s ever worked alongside GCPD during a mass casualty, and it won’t be the last.

It’s also the part of the job that gets the closest to turning his stomach. The screaming and the crying and the systematic first identifications of who needs help and who they’re too late for - it’s awful.

He gets to work anyway. 

The paramedics from the first ambulance on the scene take charge, arranging the transport of the worst-off victims and coordinating the further arrivals. Dick does as he’s ordered and works on stabilising some of the seriously wounded, working to keep them from going critical. He goes through his supply of wound dressings quick, nodding his thanks when an EMT shoves another pile onto him on her way past.

He’s not the only mask out: it’s a busy night in Gotham, but he catches sight of Batgirl across the roiling crowd as well as the shadow of Cass’s silhouette against the rolling blue-red-blue lights. The flash of a more vivid red in the corner of his eye makes him think, Red Robin, but it’s not the right colour, and definitely not the right shape for Tim. Jason, the sleeves of his jacket rolled up over his forearms and wearing latex gloves, is putting a pressure bandage on a teenager’s upper arm.

“Hi, Nightwing,” an unfamiliar voice says in a familiar I’m-here-to-take-over tone. “Hi ma’am. You’re up for a ride in the next taxi.”

His patient is most of the way unconscious, but she blinks at this in vague acknowledgment. She’s avoided a bullet, but broken her leg badly enough in the crush of the fleeing crowd to show bone. 

“There’s the leg, and I suspect some kind of crush injury to the abdomen,” Dick supplies, moving to make room for the stretcher. “I think she got trampled. Not very responsive either.”

“Any drugs on board?” The EMT asks, hands moving deftly.

“I don’t carry any.” And if he did, he would have used it all up about five victims ago.

“That explains a lot about you,” the EMT says. "We’ve got another two buses here to take the last of the seriously injured over to General, and backup from the GCPD. If you want to move onto patching the walking wounded, go ahead. Anyone who’s good with some disinfectant and a bandaid can head over to talk with the cops.”

Dick nods and gives the woman a last squeeze to her forearm before he clears out of the way. The walking wounded are congregated on the other side of the street, but he doesn’t go in that direction - his priority is still helping, but it’s amazing how even injured people get curious when faced by a Gotham vigilante in the flesh. That’s really not the way he wants to have his identity outed.

Instead, he heads over to Jason’s side where he’s handing off his own patient for transport, their thigh strapped tight with pressure dressings. Jason, standing and snapping his gloves off, says, “Old man.”

“Hood,” Dick says, but he’s thinking Little Wing because he always is when it’s the two of them. They’re drawing looks now even in the dim streetlights - probably Jason, all six-two of him topped with that stupid shiny helmet. “You sticking around?”

“If I -” Jason says, and then breaks off. At the same time as Jason’s head tilts, Dick hears it: a quiet crying, just barely audible in the din.

Dick’s ears are good, but Jason has to have the advantage of auditory enhancement in his hood because he zones in on the noise like a hunting dog. “I think that’s-”

There’s an alley with an access door at the end of it illuminated with a shitty fluorescent branching off the street. It’s otherwise dark as any other Gotham alley, crowded with dumpsters. It takes Dick a moment to pick the odd thing out - a crumpled figure hidden amidst the trash cans.

He makes it to their side first, finding a glaze-eyed young woman clasping something to her chest. The cognitive dissonance of her silence and the now-louder crying catches him out, but Jason catches on quick.

“-a baby,” he finishes, taking a knee on the woman’s other side. He moves as though to slip the bundle from her arms, but her arms tighten even as she hisses in reaction.

“It’s okay,” Dick says to her, “We’re here to help you both. What’s your name?”

She seems to come around a little, eyes flicking between the two of them. She stays quiet for a long moment, and then rasps, “Uh, Mira. You’re Nightwing.”

“Hi, Mira,” Dick says. “Are you hurt?”

“Oh, uh, my shoulder,” she says, and then her eyelids flutter like she’s about to pass out. Dick takes her pulse from her throat and finds it comfortingly strong.

“And your baby?” Dick asks. The bundle certainly sounds lively enough at this distance, but that doesn’t mean they’re not hurt.

“She’s okay,” Mira says, like she’s reassuring herself. “She’s okay. Can you?” 

Which is how Dick finds himself accepting an armful of bawling baby from a wincing, bleeding woman in an alley. “Oh. Okay. Sure.”

Meanwhile, Jason focusses on peeling Mira’s jacket away to reveal a nasty gunshot to the shoulder, high enough that it’s probably mostly missed her right lung but low enough to avoid rebounding off her scapula and bouncing around in her chest cavity. Non-vital, but bleeding badly. 

Mira watches Jason take out a patch dressing and seal it over the wound. She puffs, “I thought…you were…a bad guy.��

“I’m flexible,” Jason replies distractedly, taking out a roll of gauze and wrapping it tight around the shoulder for good measure. “You’re lucky. Little surgery, little hospital stay, you’ll be right as rain.”

That’s no guarantee - she could have more serious injuries than it seems, could get a secondary infection, could drop dead of a thousand different complications or unfair turns of fate in the next hour. However, Dick knows Jason isn’t the type to lie to anyone for comfort. If he’s saying it, he believes it.

Mira’s eyes bulge. “I can’t go…to hospital!”

“Sugar, the one benefit of living in Gotham is the rich folks like to pay hospital bills to assuage their guilt or whatever. Take advantage of that,” Jason advises, and then says to Dick, “Move.”

Dick steps to the side automatically, still holding his squealing burden. “What?”

“No, move. Babies like to move.”

“Oh.” Stiff-armed and feeling like the clumsiest man on earth, Dick sort of…sways. “Like this?”

“Oh my days, Nightwing,” Jason says, in the precise tone he’d usually say ‘Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Dick’. Apparently, he doesn’t deem that language appropriate for the baby. Or maybe Mira.

“I can’t,” Mira interrupts, “I can’t go. They - They’ll take her.”

Jason stiffens a touch in his crouch. Dick says, “Who?”

“The cops,” Mira gasps. “The - CPS. They’ll take her. I won’t get her back.” Her teeth are chattering - shock. 

“You got hurt,” Dick says, attempting a bounce on his toes. He feels a bit like he’s holding a small angry tiger. “This is Gotham. That happens.”

“No, you,” she says, and then closes her eyes and shakes.

Jason reaches across her body and takes her arm. For a moment Dick is dumbstruck, thinking he’s about to watch his little brother comfort someone who isn’t under the age of 15 or his family, but Jason is just turning her arm over to the light. The crook of her elbow is scarred up with pink-white marks.

Mira opens her eyes and stares up at Jason. For a long moment they’re caught in a tableau, her dead-eyed and patient, him silent and judgmental as an old saint.

Voice low, Jason asks, “You using?”

She shakes her head slowly, not breaking her gaze. “Not - not since before her.”

Dick says, more to Jason than her, “That won’t matter. At worst, the baby will spend a few days in respite-”

“Shut up,” Jason replies, and then says to Mira, “If you don’t go to hospital, you’re going to lose her anyway. Except it’ll be because you’re dead.”

“You think I…don’t know that?” she hisses back. “I don’t got family. Her dad’s a deadbeat. It’s just me and her.” The phrase I can’t lose her hovers, unspoken but clear as day in the set of her jaw.

Jason stands. Dick isn’t sure what he’s expecting, but it’s certainly not for Jay to walk to him and lift the baby out of his arms. He holds her the other way around from Dick, head to his shoulder and legs towards his belt, hand cupped careful over the back of her skull. He looks not only more capable than Dick with her, but more capable than anyone Dick knows.

“You got kids?” Mira rasps at him.

Jason laughs. “Christ no.” In his arms, the baby is quieting down, snuffling instead of screaming. She’s a red-faced scrap of humanity, no more than a few months old as far as Dick can tell. Sweet, in any other circumstance.

“Are you nursing or bottle-feeding?” Jason asks without looking up from her.

Dick makes a noise like a squeaky toy that’s been stepped. Thankfully neither of the others seem to notice. Mira says, “Bottle. I don’t - I don’t got the meat on my bones to feed her, I reckon.”

“I’ll do you a deal, then,” Jason says, and he reaches to the back of his neck and flicks the release on his helmet. It hisses slightly as he pops it off, leaving the domino on but exposing the clean human lines of his face. The move turns him from one of Crime Alley’s most fearsome denizens into a young man with truly terrible helmet hair. “You go to the hospital and let them fix you up. I’ve got a friend who fosters who’ll look after her until you get out, no questions asked.”

Mira stares at him for a long moment, and then carefully - and inadvisably - levers herself off of the asphalt to her feet. Then she says, “You do it.”

Jason’s face creases. “What? No. Definitely not.”

“You’re good with her,” Mira says. 

“I ain’t a babysitter.” It’s only partly belied by the ease with which he’s handling the baby.

“I don’t know your friend. I know you.”

“No.” Red Hood is Gotham’s third most stubborn person, behind their younger brothers. That’s infused in the single syllable. 

Mira sways, swallows. “Please.”

Jason looks at her for a long moment. Dick can’t really make out his expression under the domino, but doesn’t need to in order to know that it’s Jay’s particular brand of piercing consideration. Dick used to think he’d learned it from Bruce, but now that they’re both older he’s inclined to think it predates the Bat.

Then Jason sighs, and very obviously rolls his eyes. “Jesus, fine. On your freakin’ head be it, though.”

Mira’s eyes close as she lets out a relieved sigh. The swaying is more obvious now. Dick wraps an arm around her waist the split-second before her knees give out, swinging her up into his arms.

“I should give you my number,” Mira says into Dick’s collarbone. 

“You think I can’t find you?” Jason replies, disparaging. “I’m the Red Hood.”

“Let’s get her a ride out of here,” Dick suggests, before it can devolve further. Mira’s outlook is getting bleaker by the minute - they don’t really have time for her to change her mind now, and he knows if she does Jason will happily continue talking in circles until she makes a decision. 

The scene in the street is much the same, even though it feels like they’ve been in the alley for a thousand years. Dick takes her to one of the ambulances parked up on the corner, sending people scattering out of his way. 

“Her name’s Rachel,” Mira says faintly. “You’ll help him, right?”

“Sure,” Dick replies, and then to the waiting EMT as he deposits Mira straight onto her gurney, “Got another one for you. Gunshot to the shoulder.”

“Got it,” comes the brisk reply. Dick hovers for a second when he should be getting out of here, caught in the grip of uncertainty.

The subject of that uncertainty is currently being zipped into the front of Jason’s body armour. “Good thing she’s so little. Toddler would be a tight fit.” 

“Yeah, it’s great,” Dick mutters, noting the careful arm Jason curls around his chest to keep her steady. He’s got his helmet back on, at least. “Go.”

“Going,” Jason says, and melts away into the crowd like a guy his size definitely should not be able to do.

“Did he have a baby?” The EMT asks tentatively.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dick replies.

*

Dick catches up with Jason a couple of rooflines over. He’s not exactly moving as fast as he usually does. “Where’s your helmet?”

“Stashed it,” Jason replies easily. “It’s like a target. That isn’t the look I’m going for right now.”

Huh. Dick says, “Let’s take her to GCPD.”

Jason looks at him like he’s lost his mind. “What?”

“Social workers? People who know about babies? This ringing any bells?”

“Dick, I just promised not to do that.”

Dick sputters. “I didn’t think you were serious!”

“As death,” Jason replies, and smirks when Dick frowns at him. “Besides, didn’t you used to be a cop? They didn’t teach you anything about little kids?”

“Cops don’t arrest babies.” He can sense Jason’s judgment. “I only dealt with the ones old enough to talk.”

“Right,” Jason snickers, as though Dick’s somehow the weird one here. “C’mon. I’ve got somewhere.”

“I’m not coming with you.” Dick has better things to do. Also, he doesn’t want to. Jason might make him hold the baby again.

“You promised to help.”

“I didn’t pinky swear,” Dick grumbles, but he follows along anyway. After a couple of minutes of quiet he adds, “The care workers - they’re good people.”

“Lots of ‘em, sure,” Jason agrees. “I’d still have slept on cardboard in a back alley ten times over if it meant keeping myself out of the system, though.”

Dick doesn’t have much to say to that. His unfortunate childhood aside, he had his parents, and then he had Bruce, and then he was a legal adult. He never faced the threat of state care, or homelessness.

They touch down on the fire escape of an apartment building that Dick recognises but hasn’t been into. Jason one-handedly disarms what looks like a taser trap and then lets them in through the window, folding himself gingerly to get inside without squashing his cargo.

She lets out a little cry as Jason sheds his jacket and takes her out, little fists bunched and pulled tight to her chest. Jason says, “She’s cold. Grab the blanket off my bed.”

“Do you speak baby?” Dick asks, perturbed by the thought. 

Jason dumps off his domino, probably to give Dick the full force of his eyeroll. “Blanket, big bird.”

The blanket in question is a pretty quilt in shades of indigo, splayed across the unmade bed. Dick picks it up and brings it back out to the lounge, offering it to Jason.

“Good,” Jason says, wrapping her in it. “Sit down.”

“Huh?” Dick asks, though he does it anyway. The next thing he knows, the bundled grizzling baby is in his lap. “No!”

“Yes,” Jason growls, like he’ll pin Dick to the couch if necessary. “I need to make her some food. You just sit there and hold her up until I’m done.”

“Can’t she just lie on the couch?” Dick asks. She’s even smaller pillowed on his thighs, not much longer than a foot by the looks. 

“No.” Jason’s already in the kitchen, his voice half lost over clattering.

“Fine,” Dick says, more to the baby - Rachel - than to Jason. “Do you really keep baby food around?”

“Just formula and bottles,” Jason replies. “And some diapers.”

“Just in case you find a lost baby?”

“No. Because sometimes people need that shit, and they’re more likely to take it from the back of my pantry than if I offer to buy it for them.” More rustling. “Also, my neighbour’s a single mom. Sometimes I watch her kids.”

“Who’s your friend? The one who fosters?”

“Mind your own business, Grayson. I’ve just got to sterilise this bottle.”

Dick has a sudden mental image of Jason firing up an autoclave in the kitchen. He looks down at Rachel, who’s looking back at him. She has her fingers in her mouth. “How long do you think Mira will be in hospital?” 

“A few days, at least.”

“You’re going to look after this kid for days?”

Jason laughs. “Jesus, Dick, it’s not like it’s hard. She’s little. All they do is eat and sleep and make dirty diapers at this age.“

Now Dick’s imagining Red Hood patrolling with Rachel in one of those baby backpacks. Maybe one made of kevlar, though. “What about work?”

“A few days off never killed anyone,” Jason replies. “I’ll catch up on my shows.”

“His shows,” Dick mutters to Rachel. “Hey, you can’t eat yourself. Stop that.” He gently pulls her fingers away from her mouth, wincing a little at the slimy texture. Rachel, unperturbed, tries to put Dick’s finger in her mouth instead. Her eyes are huge and very blue, her hair fair and tufty where the blanket has ruffled it up.

“Here,” Jason says, waving a bottle in front of Dick’s nose. “She might want it warm, but try this first.”

“Oh, I can’t-” Dick manages to get out before Jason literally pushes the bottle into his baby-drool hand. “I don’t know what I’m doing!”

“She does, though,” Jason points out. “Relax, Dickie. Here.”

He twists Dick’s arm until the bottle is inverted and in the range of Rachel’s mouth. Dick notices that her concentration has shifted onto the bottle, her little mouth open like a baby bird. “Keep it tilted up so she doesn’t suck in too much air.”

She latches on and sucks. Dick, surprised, says, “Holy shit, look at that.”

Jason chuckles. “You got it. Now just let her do the work.”

Dick watches her guzzle the bottle. “She’s kinda cute. You know, when she’s not screaming.”

“Oh, yeah. You’re now enjoying one of the two tolerable parts of a baby at this age - eating and sleeping. The only times when they’re not crying.”

“You can’t find it that intolerable.” After all, no one’s making Jason babysit enough that he’s clearly more than just competent. 

“I got depths,” Jason replies with a shrug, as though Dick didn’t realise that. “Bottle up, pal. Seriously, you haven’t heard screaming until your neighbour wakes you up at 3AM to take a turn with a colicky baby.”

“Remind me to never, ever have kids,” Dick mutters. In his lap, Rachel has already almost drained the bottle. She’s slowed right down, her eyes nearly rolling in her head as she struggles to keep them open. “I think she’s tired.”

“Good. Now, put her up on your shoulder and rub her back a little.”

“Really?” Dick asks, awkwardly maneuvering her up his chest. She stretches a little when he makes circles on her teeny back. “Wait, isn’t this the part when babies-”

Rachel hiccups a little, and Dick feels a trace of wetness along the seam of his uniform around his neck. He sighs.

“Well,” Jason says, biting back a laugh. “Here, let me.” He lifts her away, easy as pie. “I’ll deal with the diaper situation. You get a clean shirt.”

“You’re too kind,” Dick says, and actually means it, “But you should know that I’m going to get you for that later.”

[justlightlysedated]

Start from Part One on AO3

part ten of eleven, for @bestillmyslashyheart so sorry for the long wait, i love you!! 🥰💖

*

Alex felt the excitement bubbling inside of him as he spots the Airstream and the truck both parked outside of the cabin, meaning that Michael has come back from his self imposed exile, to pack the rest of his thing, while Alex had been taking Buffy back to the Animal Shelter.

He had gotten a little upset when Alex had mentioned it two mornings ago, but they hadn't really talked about it. 

Alex hadn't mentioned that it was just temporary because he still hadn't been sure that the plans that he'd been making would actually come to fruition.

But after a phone call with a friend he had in Florida, and a visit to the travel agency that Isobel had suggested, he had everything figured out.

All he had to do now was tell Michael.

He turns the keys in the ignition and opens his door, dropping down to the floor and almost tripping in his haste to get inside.

It's only when he closes the door behind himself that he hears the argument.

"I'm just trying to look out for you!"

"Well, don't!"

Alex inhales deeply at the sound of Max's voice and as he gets closer to the cabin, he can see that Max's jeep had been hidden from him by the Airstream.

Alex just looks up to the sky, begging for patience not to punch Max Evans in the face, but all of that flies out of the window when Michael yells again.

"Then stay the fuck out of it!" He says, and his voice cracks a little, desperate and almost terrified, and Alex snaps, moving before he's even aware of it.

The door to the cabin opens with a slam before Alex even gets there, and he can hear Michael's voice again simmering with rage and pain.

"Get out," he says, voice cracking. "And don't fucking come back."

Alex appears in the doorway before Max can even move, and both brothers turn to him in one fluid motion.

Michael's eyes are bright with unshed tears, and his eyes immediately dart away from Alex. 

Alex feels a pang low in the pit of his stomach, but he'll deal with whatever is bothering Michael after he deals with Max.

Max's eyes are blazing with anger and his glare intensifies when Alex turns to him.

"Tell him," he demands, and Alex immediately bristles.

"You have no right to come into my home, start a fight with my husband and then demand something from me," Alex tells him. "I think you've overstayed your welcome."

Max just grits his teeth and takes one step towards Alex. "Tell him that you're leaving again."

Alex exhales roughly, "I already told you that that is not happening."

"I saw you at the travel agency and I talked to the agent who dealt with you and she confirmed that you booked a flight, so please tell me again, how you're not leaving."

Alex stares at Max for one single, stupefied second.

"Fucking unbelievable," he says, huffing out a breath.

He turns to Michael who is looking back at him, and he tries to telegraph with his eyes how wrong Max is, but Michael's brow just furrows.

"This is exactly why I hate living in a small town," he says, taking a step towards Michael, feeling relieved when Michael doesn't move back. "No fucking privacy."

Michael stares at him intently.

"So he's right?" Michael asks, voice wavering just a little, like he doesn't really believe that Max is right, but he needs Alex to confirm that he's wrong.

"Of course I'm righ-" Max starts and then shuts up at collective glare that Michael and Alex turn on him.

Alex turns back to Michael who looks at him expectantly.

Alex exhales and holds his hands out, not stopping the smile that spreads across his face when Michael immediately puts his hands into Alex's.

Alex squeezes his hands and moves in a bit closer, shaking his head a little.

"I'm never going to be able to surprise you, am I?"

Michael tilts his head at him.

"Yes," he says, after a few moments of silence. "I did go to the travel agency tha-"

"I told you so," Max interjects and they both turn to glare at him again.

Alex turns back to Michael who is still glaring at Max.

"The one that Isobel suggested that I go to," he continues, and Michael's gaze snaps back to him, and he can feel Max looking at him too, but he ignores that. "You know with the brochure that she gave us as part of our wedding present?"

Michael's entire posture relaxes and he tightens his hold on Alex's fingers.

There is a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are bright with excitement.

"I was thinking we start small," he continues. "Since you've never been out of the country. So I thought, Florida."

Michael furrows his brow, "Florida?" He asks skeptically.

Alex just raises an eyebrow and waits for Michael to get it.

Michael's face goes a little slack, and his eyes light up even more, and when he smiles, he looks exactly like the same boy that Alex fell in love with, and it makes a wide smile spread across his face.

"You don't mean-" he starts sounding like he's trying to tamp down his excitement.

"Yes, I do," Alex says, and his smile widens when Michael pulls him close, until their feet are overlapping. "I managed to get us a private tour, and while I know that you don't want to leave the planet anymore, they do have a simulator, and I'm pretty sure that together we can sneak out a few schematics just in case we would ever need to build our own spaceship."

Michael lets his hands go to drag him into a kiss that’s more him pressing their smiles together than anything else.

Michael pulls back, pressing their foreheads together.

“Have I told you that I love you today?” he asks rhetorically, nudging their noses together.

“Nope,” Alex says, wrapping his arms around Michael’s shoulders. “But I know.”

Michael hums low in his throat, and then pulls back like something just occurred to him.

“What about you?”

Alex furrows his brow. “I love you, too?”

Michael rolls his eyes and pushes Alex back a little bit, keeping his fingers wrapped around the collar of Alex’s jacket so that he doesn’t get too far.

“I mean this honeymoon is starting to sound a little one sided.”

Alex just tightens his arms around Michael’s shoulders pulling himself closer.

“Well, I’m gonna get to hack into a secure NASA database and there is a cabana right on the beach with our name on it, and,” he continues leaning in even closer and lowering his voice, until it’s barely a whisper. “I’m only planning on packing some sunscreen.”

Michael makes a low noise at the back of his throat and pushes in to give him a kiss when Max clears his throat loudly.

Alex shuts his eyes.

He had forgotten all about Max.

When he opens his eyes and looks at Michael, it’s to see that Michael also forgot.

They both sigh at once and then let each other go, turning to Max.

There is a look on Max’s face, as though he’s starting to understand something, which makes Alex defensive immediately.

"You were right," he tells Michael, who leans a little bit closer to Alex until their shoulders are pressed together and he can tangle their fingers together.

"I usually am," Michael says, with just a small hint of animosity.

Max rolls his eyes.

"About me never seeing you actually happy," he continues and both Alex and Michael freeze, staring at him with wide eyes.

Max just shakes his head. "I still don't understand any of this, but I don't want to lose you Michael."

Alex feels Michael tightens his fingers around his.

"You're not losing me," Michael says, finally. "You're my brother, and as much as I hate it, it gives you a reason to meddle and be worried, but there really isn't anything to worry about. I swear."

Max looks down at their joined hands and then back up to Alex's face.

"I'm beginning to see that," he answers.

Michael lets Alex go, and herds Max out of the cabin with one arm around his shoulder.

They talk and Alex watches as Michael leads Max to his jeep.

Max says something that makes Michael stop and dart his eyes at Alex, before looking back at Max and then pulling him into a hug.

Alex bites down on the smile that wants to spread across his face and just leans against the door jamb waiting for Michael to come back.

Max leaves, and Michael jogs up the steps and stops right in front of Alex lifting one eyebrow.

He seems to be lighter than he had been when this whole thing started and Alex feels happiness bubbling inside of him at the thought that things were turning around, at least where Michael's siblings were concerned.

"That went much better than my last talk with Max," Alex says, which makes both of Michael's eyebrows raise up.

"You had a talk with Max about us?"

Alex just gives him a winning, innocent smile, and drags him into a kiss when he just continues to look at him expectantly.

Alex manages to distract Michael enough that he gets them across the cabin and almost to the bedroom, when he trips over one of the squeaky toys that he forgot to pack for Buffy.

They pull apart as Michael steadies them, pushing his body flush against Alex's and pinning him to the wall.

They both look at each other, breathless and pink cheeked, and then look at the toy on the ground that squeaks as it inflates slowly.

"So, Buffy," Michael starts and Alex just smiles as he turns back to face him.

"I already filled out all of the paperwork," he says, reaching up and dragging fingers through Michael's hair. "And they'll have everything ready for her to come home with us once we get back."

Michael smiles, bright and happy, and Alex feels so happy he could burst.

"I love you, Mr. Guerin," Michael whispers, leaning in close, eyes darting down to Alex's mouth.

"And I love you, Mr. Guerin," Alex responds.

Michael seals the words with a kiss and Alex responds back enthusiastically, feeling like he's finally, finally home.

[blue-skeleton6289]

Okay uh just something I want to know--what would happen if when the skeletons came home and found that the reader wasn't there(also the reader is at the grocery store somehow, also pretend that they don't know that they have their phones) I want to see how it would go (if your okay on answering it)

Sure! Welp time to get emotional!

The whole house was neat and tidy!

"Good job Y/N a work well done!" You pat your back as you go towards the fridge, you were hungry all that cleaning and running around really made you hungry. Opening the fridge your surprised to see not much left. Some milk, still some veggies, afew condiments left, but not that much. You don't even see any eggs!?

"Well I guess none of us has gone grocery shopping. Guess I will just go! I bet Axe and Jupiter will be thrilled to see the fridge full and cabinets! Might as well stock up!" With that idea set in mind you ran upstairs to put on clothes that wasn't dirty or smelled like cleaning supplies.

You throw on a purple shirt with a cream half sweater and some high waist light jeans.

Grabbing your card you were pretty excited!

As you turned around you saw Joey sitting there waiting. TUGGING AT YOUR SOUL STRINGS!!!

"You wanna come?" You asked as his tail wagged more and he ran to his new leash handing it to you.

"Hehe, you pretty much are a service dog. Emotional support!! So if anyone asks you act like you know what to do!" You hold his big tan and black head, as his pink tongue sticks out.

You hook it on his collar and put on your gray ankle short boots. Running down the stairs with Joey.

Grabbing a car key you take Papyruses red ferrari. He gave you permission if ever needed.

Joey hopping in the back you drive off towards the store.

---

The house was quiet no noise at all, just the ticking from the grand old father clock.

Sans, Red, Stretch, and Fluffy called it a day early wanting to get home and relax. Be with you.

But when they all got home they expected Joey to be running at them or atleast barking like he usually does. At there arrival.

"where's joey?" Sans asked finding this very weird.

"probably outside or with dollface" Red waved it off its happend before.

Fluffy sniffed the air not smelling you in the house? Or Joey for that matter?

Fluffy went outside automatically, to not see a soul out there.

"she is not outside! i-her scent is kinda faint, like she is gone!" Fluffy was passing back and forth. Trying to calm down. Gone. Gone. GONE!

All the skeletons eyes go out. Now that they think about it your scent is alittle faded. Like you have been gone for 2 hours! Maybe more!

All of them look around the whole mansion. It was clean and like every time they come home to you being there. Giving them that happy sweet warm smile.

They can't find you... Calling their brothers in a panic. All trying to stay calm, they double check everywhere!

"why the fuck can't we find 'er!? wheres is 'er dog!? 'er room is still there everything is still fuckin' there but where is Y/N!?" Red is now loosing it.

As the others pull up they run to the house.

"WHERE IS SHE!?" Papyrus was so worried aa they all looked through the house as well.

"HOW COULD SHE JUST BE GONE WHERE IS HER DOG!!?" Edge screamed, looking for that you and that dog of yours!

"DID YOU CHECK THE LAUNDRY ROOM!?" Blue asked trying to think.

Everyone stopped at that. Teleporting to the laundry room or running.

As Error, Ink, Nightmare, Dream, Dusty, Axe, and Jupiter arrived home. Coming to this chaos.

Axe immediately started to go alittle insane. Dusty teleportinh everywhere with one thing on his mind. You.

Nightmare and Dream were both trying to look for your soul. You weren't in the house?! Or anywhere near the house?!

That got everyone to go either more berserk, sad, worried, confused.

"w-where c-c-could s-she h-have g-gone?!" Error was getting mad and more worried then he would have ever imagined.

All there souls were in a frenzy thinking the worse.

When Ink got struck with something...

"What if the machine took her back?" Ink asked as the words trembled out. He was...feeling something. Something he didn't like it was bothering him.

Everyone froze at that, Papyrus, Jupiter, Blue, even Dream. Were on the verge of tears. There soul was growing more sad.

They all took in thid information. All their souls were screaming in protest. No no that can't be!

"no, no that can't be we didn't fix it yet!" Sans voice was growing deeper. With worry of that possibility.

"but when she came here the machine was still broken. what if it was a glitch...she did come from a universe were we didn't exist... what if it glitched and sent her and joey..back." Dusty said, as his grin was growing so big as a maniac. Then it fell completely... Which made all of them uneasy except Nightmare, Error, and Axe.

She can't be gone!!

All there souls were screaming in protest. No nO!

They all got to the basement to see the machine like the way it was. No sign of being used... That DIDN'T help!

They all started to cry, little tears were streaming down there cheekbones.

Dusty was laughing as violet tears streamed down his face.

Nightmare was getting more and more unstable as his anger and negative feelings and emotions were taking over. As his cyan eye was dripping cyan tears.

Sans was crying, his face was in a alittle flushed as he was morning over you. As he fell to his knees.

Axe was crying as he was pulling at his empty eye socket. Hopeing if he did you would come, grab his hand gently with your warm soft one. And be there.

Papyrus, Jupiter, and Blue were already balling. All holding there brothers.

There souls were sad but not as sad as it SHOULD BE!

Ink was getting alittle emotional, but he didn't cry. He was frowning heavily.

Edge was turning around looking at his brother. Who was slamming shit against the wall red tears streaming down his cheekbones.

As he was feeling so...sad...that stupid HUMAN!! Didn't even... Didn't even... One little tear slides down his cheekbone.

Dream was even getting emotional and it wasnt happy...

Error was couldn't get a hold of his glitching. He was rebooting over and over like his already unstable mind can't handle this!

Stretch was holding his brother as little honey glow tears were streaming down his face.

Fluffy was howling and growling. NO! His ********can't be gone. Tears where streaming down his cheekbones, mouth wanted to release his blazing lasser energy.

Then like a miracle, they all heard the sound of shuffling and barking!!

They all immediately run or teleport upstairs.

All stopping when seeing you holding four bags of groceries in your arms. Two on each side.

"I swear Joey you better not make me regert getting you that squeaky toy!" You shout as Joey runs off squeezing it and running up to them.

You look up in surprise smiling that beautiful mesmerizing smile. That could beat the sun.

Then they watch you frown in concern.

"What happened are you guys alright!?" You put all the bags down. Then they all tackle you.

"Ahhh!" You fall to the ground as almost every skeleton is on you. Whats happened.

"don't ever leave ok" Sans mumbles into you.

"WE THOUGHT WE LOST YOU!!"Papyrus was squeezing you.

"NEVER LEAVE AGAIN WITHOUT INFORMING US!!" Blue sniffs and holds you tighter.

"you fuckin' scared the shit out of us!" Red said as he poked your cheek. Which you looked down at all of them.

Then you get taken into another skeleton love puddle. Dusty as squeezing you so tight like he was trying to stay sane. As Axe, Jupiter and Dream held youso tight. It hurt but you didn't care.

"ever leave again i'll have to kill everyone until i find you" Dusty whispers into your ear, a deep voice. As Axe nods agreeing with him.

"...even if we are wanted criminals." Axe said in

"Maybe not that-" they all glare at Dream.

"Okay so we might!" He said holding you.

"WE WERE SO WORRIED WE THOUGHT YOU GOT SUCKED INTO THE MACHINE!!!" Jupiter says as he hugs you,

"What!? No I was just getting grocery shopping. I got you all condiments and-" you were snatched again, to be with Nightmare who was holding you as close as he could.

"we don't give a fuck about groceries or condiments!" Nightmare held you super close. Not letting you go.

They were all so worried. You should have left a note. You feel so bad, you made them all so worried.

"I'm sorry guys, I should have left a note. I wasn't thinking i'm so sorry" you whisper more and more apologises.

Then your snatched again but this time it was alittle harder considering Nightmare wouldn't let you go.

"cloudy, cloudy its okay just don't leave us." Fluffy whispers wrapping his tail around you. As he was whimpering and holding you close.

"Yeah give us a warning next time. Everyone was crying like a-" Ink was cut off by Fluffy wacking him with his bony tail. Shutting him up.

Having Error laugh pointing at him.

Then Error snatched you from Fluffy holding you up. Stareing at you.

"i-if y-you do that again i will destory this whole universe and every one if i have to look for you," he then brings you closer and whispers. "darling" which makes you explode red. All of them saying they would look for you. Is bring you to tears and making you blush like mad. Error was just the last straw to make you explode.

"Okay! I wont, do that again! Please stop with all this loyal destroying killing for me. Its making me blush!!!" You scream your thoughts out loud again.

"Wait no that's not what I-"

Everyone is grinning like mad at you.

While you just explode into a bigger ball of red.

"aw, honey its okay at least your honest." Stretch pats your shoulder.

"Shut up! Go get the groceries!" You shouted pointing at the door. Face red and looking alittle mad but not mad mad. As your eyes were sparking in amusement and love for all of them.

"WHAT DID YOU GET!?" Edge asked as he was heading towards the car.

"Come follow me and you will see!" You get up and motion for them all to follow. Joey squeaking his burger toy.

Everyone follows not leaving your side.

"I might have gone alittle over board, heh." You said scratching your cheek.

They all seem confused until they saw the whole car loaded with bags of food. Top to bottem.

"alittle?" Sans, Red, and Stretch said at the same time. Making you blush in embrassment.

"LOOK!! There were deals!!! So MANY deals!!" You scream throwing your arms out towards the car like it would prove your point.

"WAIT DO YOU MEAN CLEARANCE DEALS!?" Edge asked, squinting his eye sockets down at you.

As you looked totally guilty. "Nooooo"

"OH MY GOSH!!"

"NO!!"

"Why we have the money!!?"

Alot of sales of disappointment

You run to the car hugging it and the groceries!! "They were calling MEE!! Look half priced and by one get one free veggies!!" You start going on a rant on all the deals you got. With a gaint smile on your face, making weird little faces at stuff you found odd.

As you did all of them were listening and looking at you with plain adoration, love, and there souls beated happily against there ribcages.

One thought entered there minds.

Don't ever go...

I hope you enjoyed it! This was made in the moment, I hope you still liked it! (:

[imagineredwood]

Tranq Loza NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

He’s the sweetest. Cleans you up, brushes your hair out of your face. He will almost always get you up and out of bed, into the shower or a bath. Tired or not, he wants you clean when you go to bed so you can get a good nights sleep. He bathes you himself if you’re too tired or worn out but he makes sure you're squeaky clean head to toe. He cuddles up with you and holds you, talks to you about his day and asks about yours. 

 B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He likes his hands. He’s comfortable in his own skin, but he doesn’t have a specific part of himself that he explicitly loves and finds as his favorite, but his hands bring you the love and pleasure that he knows you deserve so if he had to pick, that would be it. He loves how he can protect and take care of you with them and give you what you need.

On your, your ass is his absolute weakness. He loves the fullness and the way it looks in everything. He loves to look at it, to squeeze it, to bite it. He can never keep his hands to himself. All of you is beautiful, but your ass is what really does him in. 

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

Inside. He’s pretty old school, isn't all that into having it on you necessarily. He’ll do it anywhere that you ask him to, but his go-to is inside of you. He loves the intimacy of it.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He takes your panties with him on runs. He needs something to think about and have there when he gets in that mood. Pictures and your voice doesn’t really do all that much for him. He needs something closer, something that belongs to you.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

He ‘s got plenty of experience. He doesn’t sleep around excessively in what some people may think, his involvement with the club not giving him as much free time as the others get. He’s been around the block and has been with his fair share. He knows what he’s doing and he knows that women are different and need to have their desires tailored.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

Cowgirl. He loves having you where he can see all of you. He loves to look up at you and see you in all your glory. He loves to run his hands over your body, especially your breasts and grips your hips to keep you in place.  

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

Serious. He doesn’t make it a chore but he takes your pleasure and intimacy between the two of you very seriously. He likes to focus on you and doesn’t find much to goof around about.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Trimmed but still natural. He keeps himself together but isn’t all that into serious manscaping, just enough to stay neat.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

He’s very romantic. He loves intimacy and making sure that you feel loved as well as desired. He wants that no matter how rough or dirty things get, you know that he loves and respects you. The intimacy of being connected to the woman he loves is a favorite of his.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He’ll do it if the moment calls for it but he prefers not to. If he’s on a run or he’s totally desperate and you're not there, he’ll relent. But he much rather just wait until he gets to you so he can have you.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Bondage, orgasm denial

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

At home or anywhere that’s private. He’s not one for sharing, nor letting people see whats his. So he likes to be somewhere concealed that he can not worry about being walked in on. He wants to enjoy his time with you in peace and not be interrupted. In the house though, anywhere is fine. In the shower, in the kitchen, on the couch. Doesn’t matter to him.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing you in lingerie. Seeing you dance, either in private for him or at the clubhouse.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Sharing you, letting someone else see you, hurt you. 

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

God does he loves to give. The man is insatiable. He’ll give without any expectation of getting back in return, he just loves to make you feel good and know he’s the one doing it. Something about hearing you moan his name and feeling your thighs tighten around his head drives him crazy. 

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

More of a slow but hard type of guy. Takes his time, his thrusts are deliberate, but there’s force behind them and he makes sure you know he’s there. Even when making love, his strength and desire are on display.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He much rather have proper sex. He’ll take a quickie if he’s really desperate but he rather suffer all day and have his way with you when he finally gets his hands on you than to sneak off somewhere and rush to where he can’t fully enjoy himself or give you the attention you deserve.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) 

Not risky at all, but he does like to experiment. In today's day, there are so many new things to try and he’s more than happy to explore with you to find things that will bring you more pleasure. 

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

He’s not really a multiple rounds type of guy. he likes to take his time, draw it out, make you come a couple times before he’s even inside you. So one round is usually enough to satiate you both. But should you need more, he’ll always be there to go for a round two.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He loves them. At first the’s a little apprehensive because as far as he’s concerned, no way a little toy is going to do a better job than him, but once he gets into the mindset of that they’re there to assist and help out, he’s down for using them whenever even brings them home for you sometimes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He loves to tease. He loves to hear you beg. He loves knowing he holds the power to make you come and that he’s withholding it from you. Then when he finally relents and lets you come, he’ll usually overstimulate you. Either way, he loves to tease you.  

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

Relatively quiet. He rather hear you so he keeps his noises to a minimum. He’s not all that vocal in comparison but will definitely have something worth saying when he does. 

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He’s packin for sure. 

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Average. He isn’t craving it all the time, counting down the seconds until he can get his hands on you, but he does get ready pretty quickly and his libido definitely hasn’t been affected by his age yet. 

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterward)

He’s up for a little while. He has an entire routine he runs through with taking care of you and cleaning up so he’s up for a good while even after he gets back in bed. He takes time to cool down and relax enough to fall asleep. 

[baronessblixen]

Prompt. Set post-MSIV where Scully goes looking in the attic of the unremarkable house for the doll Mulder gave her in "Empedocles" for their new baby. As Mulder's family is completely gone, she wanted something of them to pass on to their child.

I know this has been written, but this is my version of it :) Thank you for the prompt. 

The darkness grins ather as another sleepless night finds her. Mulder is fast asleep, his warm presenceand even, deep breathing no longer enough comfort to lull her to sleep. Not thesedays, anyway. Her hand wanders to her stomach, an absent-minded motion. It'sstill flat and soft. No one but her and Mulder know she's pregnant. There's noone to tell. Except… it's been three weeks and she tries not to think about him,about their son. They lost William, again. She is not sure they'll ever get achance to get to know Jackson. Scully knows he's alive. She feels it, feelshim. The night she told Mulder, about her pregnancy, about Jackson, they heldeach other as they both cried until there was nothing left. He felt him then,too. A soft throbbing in her head that was not quite a headache. As if tellingher he was fine, asking her to give him more time. How much time, she wondersnow as she strokes her stomach. She wants to be happy, needs to be for the babyinside of her. And yet…

Trying not to wake upMulder, Scully decides to get up. It's 2 am and it's bad enough that one ofthem is awake. She avoids the squeaky stairs as she goes downstairs to makeherself tea. Maybe that will help. One of Mulder's sweatshirts is thrown overhis desk chair and she smiles as she picks it up. She takes a deep breath and revelsin his familiar scent. She puts the sweatshirt over her pajamas. In a fewmonths even this won't fit her. She knows she should think about buyingmaternity clothes; there are so many things to think about. Mulder has triedonce or twice. Has suggested a baby name, has shown her furniture in one ofthose awfully colorful baby store catalogues. All she can do is nod; she stillfeels numb, feels the unfairness of it all wearing her down.

The tea is hot buttastes stale. She wonders when Mulder bought it. Scully makes a mental note tocheck the expiration date on all his foods, all his supplies. Taking anothersip, she thinks of condoms. What a random thought. They haven't used one inyears and if they had that one time a few months ago… She remembers the firsttime when they were on the run. Mulder's incredulous look when she asked him ifhe had any. They took a chance that first night. When Mulder brought a box ofcondoms home from the pharmacy the next day, she didn't know whether to laughor cry. She feels the same way now. She should be happy, but. With them,whatever life throws at them, there's always a but and Scully is tired of it.She leaves the tea on the kitchen counter and trudges back upstairs. Thebedroom door is ajar because she didn't close it. There are no discerniblenoises so she decides that Mulder is still asleep and unaware of herrestlessness. She doesn't know what drives her when she goes up into the attic.Spider webs and dust greet her and she sneezes. The Christmas decoration is uphere just like the old ergometer neither of them ever used. The boxes she'slooking for are in the back. They're closed and wear a thick covering of dust.For a moment Scully can only stare at them. Each box is labeled; William'sclothes, William's toys, William's first Easter. It was also his last, shethinks now as she rips open another, smaller one. The one that has a simpleWilliam written on it in her mother's gentle handwriting. Scully traces thename, feels tears prick her eyes. She's looked inside only once before shetaped it shut again. Now she wonders if Mulder has ever seen it.

What she's looking foris at the bottom of the box. The light up here in the attic is dim, but shedoesn't need it for this. Her fingers close around the rugged fabric, squeezeit softly. Scully takes the doll out, traces the simple face, straightens thehair. She smiles through her tears. They don't have any pictures of Mulder'sfamily here in this house; she asked him about it once and he shrugged sayinghe didn't have any. There's the framed one of Samantha, a girl frozen in time.There are none of his mother, none of his father. No family portraits, nothing.Three weeks ago, Mulder shot the man who gave him life. A man he's never onceconsidered his father. A man who has taken so much from them, who has causednothing but pain. The only thing Scully wants her child, both their children,to know is that there was love once in the Mulder family. She wants Mulder toremember it, too.

"Scully?"His voice comes from downstairs, sounds drowsy and worried.

"I'm up in theattic." Scully says loudly, her voice close to breaking. It only takes afew moments for Mulder to come up. He coughs and swears; it makes her smile.

"What are youdoing up here?" His hair sticks into every direction. "At… whatevertime it is. I woke up and you were gone."

"I couldn'tsleep." She answers simply. "I was thinking about this." Sheholds the doll out to him.

"I gave you thatdoll when you were pregnant with Wil- when you were pregnant the firsttime." Mulder tentatively touches the doll's face then draws his hand backas if it were on fire.

"You did,"Scully says and takes his hand in hers, "Do you remember what I told youwhen you did?" They look at each other. He is the one with thephotographic memory but this moment when they sat on her couch is engraved inher mind. She sees it in bright colors, is certain she can almost touch it,taste it. Mulder remains quiet, but she knows he remembers.

"I thanked youfor giving me courage to believe. You still do that, Mulder. Without you…"She puts their entwined hands on her stomach, "I couldn't do this withoutyou, not again."

"You won't haveto." He whispers and Scully nods.

"I know. Buttonight, I needed a reminder. I want our child to have this doll, Mulder. Iknow it belonged to William, but…" He tilts her chin up.

"Hey, I can makeanother doll just like this one." He grins at her through tears and shelaughs, a desperate sound.

"I just want ourbaby to have something from your family. It's silly and-"

"It's notsilly," he leans forward and kisses her forehead, "I promise you Iwill tell our child all about Samantha and how she drove me crazy. I wantWilliam, or Jackson, whoever he wants to be, to be the same annoying bigbrother I was. I'll tell them both, Scully. About the bad casseroles my momused to make or how the sound of my dad eating sunflower seeds made me feel athome."

"Promise?"

"I promise."He kisses her again, on the lips this time. "But let's go back to bed now,huh? We need to get all the sleep while we still can." Mulder helps her upand dusts off a few more spider webs. "That's my sweatshirt." Hesays.

"I wascold."

"I can warm youup in bed. Come on." She is reluctant to leave the doll up here, butMulder takes it from her hand and puts it back in the box. "Courage tobelief, right? Believe me when I tell you that it'll all work out. You, me, ourson and this new baby. Believe me?"

"Always,Mulder." She takes his hand.  

[fluffandlove]

Demonic Solutions

Author’s note: Not a prompt but ahhhh, this fic’s been in my drafts for sooo long and I finally finished it! Another Kuroshitsuji fic because it’s been ages and I’ve missed writing these two  Merry Christmas, everyone!! Even though this is not a very Christmas-y fic it’s still fluffy 8) as fluffy as it can get between Ciel and Sebastian that is lmao 

Summary: Poor Ciel is suffering from the hiccups and can’t seem to get rid of them, so Sebastian comes up with a stupid solution: tickling.

Word count: 1,5k 

Hic!

If Ciel knew more swearwords he’d most definitely use them, but then again, there weren’t enough swearwords to voice his frustration at this point. He’d had the hiccups for a good fifteen minutes now or so, and was about to lose-his-mind. On top of that, it was almost 12 o’clock, which meant that Sebastian could walk in any minute with his lunch because he and his demon ass were always on time.

Usually, Ciel appreciated his lunch (read: dessert), but he really didn’t want Sebastian to see him like this. He’d probably burst into laughter at the mere sight and make fun of him by saying something as stupid as, “My, my, humans have the most interesting problems.”

A hint of red appeared on his cheeks at the thought of being found out so he slapped his hands over his mouth and nose, holding his breath for the umpteenth time. Though, with his nonexistent stamina and already weakened state, he could barely last ten seconds without losing that battle and slouching in his chair. He’d already gulped down three glasses of water and done a few other things he could think of, but that hadn’t helped either.

Hic! Sigh. Hic!

“Damn i— hic!”

Ciel had jumped up so high that his knee bumped against the desk and he cursed even more, groaning dramatically afterwards, laying his head on the surface, using his arms as a pillow.

It was a lost case. He was going to fucking die of hiccups.

“Young master?”

Excellent timing.

He had three options:

1. Yell at Sebastian to go back to the kitchen.

2. Die.

3. Flush his pride down the toilet and let him in. 

Option one wasn’t really an option as Sebastian always saw right through him and would become very suspicious.

Option two was very tempting but alas, Sebastian always sensed it when he was on the brink of death.

And then there was option three.

“It’s time for lunch, young master. You can take a break from work,” Sebastian called out because Ciel was in a heavy debate with himself while he kept his hand over his mouth to muffle the squeaky hiccups that kept escaping. His cheeks were red and hurt due to him clenching his jaw like no tomorrow in a desperate attempt to keep his lips pressed together.

Option 4: Climb out the window and—

… And risk falling down 40 feet, yeah, no.

Besides, it was cold outside.

“Young mas—”

“Yes, Sebastian, I heard you the damn first time!” Ciel barked back, hiccupped and covered his mouth again.

Sebastian was quiet for a good three seconds before he opened the door a tiny bit so he could peek in. “Are you quite alright, sir?”

Ciel glared at him menacingly as if the act of coming in would result in nothing but a slow and painful death. Any other person would’ve gone pale and left him alone, well, any sane person because those eyes were filled with nothing but hatred.

Of course, Sebastian didn’t even flinch and merely looked at him with a hint of concern. “Did something happen?”

Ciel hiccupped in response and shut his eyes, wishing he would just die on the spot. “Damn it.”

“Did you just… squeak?” It was one of those few times where Sebastian was very confused and blinked at him owlishly, pushing the door until he could bring in the small cart and stopping once he’d reached the desk. “Did you swallow one of those new toys we launched the other day?”

“No, you — hic!— idiot,” Ciel huffed and looked at him from the corner of his eyes. “They’re called— hic!— hiccups. Happens to everyone.”

“Ah, yes, I’ve heard of those,” Sebastian murmured in response and smiled sweetly as if he was very impressed with himself as usual. “Finny’s had them before. There are some ways to get rid of them. Have you tried drinking a glass of water?”

Twitch. “Of course I have, you dumbass.”

“Holding your breath?”

“Yes.”

“Coughing?”

“Yes.”

“Stretching?”

“Yes.”

It was like a tennis match: back and forth, back and forth, until Sebastian finally caught him off guard. “Tickling?”

“What,” Ciel deadpanned, hiccupped and rolled his eyes. “Never mind, it’s hopeless. Let’s just forg— hic!—et about it.”

A blink and then a smirk. “So, you haven’t, I presume? Maybe we should give it a try.”

Apparently Sebastian needed a very clear “No” but Ciel could only hiccup as his butler walked towards him, hands already reaching for his torso. His hiccups started getting more frequent, making him unable to speak coherently and so, unable to give Sebastian an order. He seriously tried to make a run for it, he really did, but his wrist was caught in a tight grip after he had jumped off the chair and was pulled back.

A gloved hand lightly wiggled its fingers against his ribs and Ciel’s froze on the spot, a half-laugh, half-shriek coming out of his mouth. He shut his eyes and bit his lip, not wanting to make any more embarrassing noises and hoping that if he didn’t give in, Sebastian would fuck off.

Ever since that one time Sebastian found out he was ticklish, he just couldn’t stop taking advantage of it for some stupid reason. Sometimes, luckily not often, Sebastian would take his sweet time dressing him, giving the back of his knees a quick scribble, or just accidentally touching his underarms so Ciel would jump away with a noise that was definitely not a squeak. He’d found out pretty soon after they started living together and it was basically another reason for Ciel to hate his ass of a demon butler even more than he already did.

Especially since he had started to find all of his weakest spots.

Like he was doing right now.

Ciel’s knees were becoming very useless, unable to hold his weight as he was slowly sinking to the ground, hugging his torso in an attempt to block Sebastian’s annoying fingers. A mixture of laughter, adorned with high-pitched squeaks, was all he could produce at the moment, stealing his pride.

“St—hic! Sebastian!”

“Still hiccupping, I see,” Sebastian mused, a smirk very evident in his voice. “I’ll have to take drastic measures then.”

That asshole wasn’t bluffing as he let his fingers crawl up to his neck and tickling so very lightly that Ciel literally screamed like a banshee and curled up. He could feel that his lips were stretched into an unusual grin, his cheeks red and endless giggles bubbling in his throat. Kicking his legs with the hopes of hitting Sebastian in the face, Ciel threw his head back and laughed like he didn’t have a single care in the world.

Obviously experienced, Sebastian knew he shouldn’t stay in one spot for too long so he decided to go for his underarms, which resulted in Ciel clamping his arms down and kicking extra aggressively.

“Ihateyousomuch,” was all he could bring out before he laughed even harder, realizing he could’ve used that breath to call out an order.

He was such an idiot. Rolling around on the floor like a dog and making the most inhuman noises every time Sebastian hit a particularly sensitive spot. He couldn’t even crawl away because his muscles had grown weak and, of course, Sebastian made sure to keep him in place with one hand while the other tormented the hell out of him.

“Let me g— Gah!”

“Let you what, young master?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Maybe he should’ve jumped out the window because falling 40 feet and ending up being buried under a pile of snow was better than being tickled to death.

Squeeze. Ciel gasped and covered his face, too embarrassed to face the world because Sebastian had found his sides and was now squeezing like crazy. “Sebastian! I’m not a damn to-toooy! Ah!”

“Trust me, I’m aware of that.”

Couldn’t he take that shitty retort and shove it up his ass instead of keeping him pinned against the floor? Nope, because Ciel literally shrieked as those nifty fingers found his abdomen and softly scratched at the fabric that was dangerously close to riding up, which it eventually did, giving Sebastian better access, and that was the last straw for the smaller of the two to completely lose his mind.

Instead of trying to push him off, Ciel tried to grab his wrists and roll away at the same time, but there was absolutely nothing he could do. Sebastian’s hands would simply follow him while avoiding his grabby hands, as if he could predict every movement.

His laughs were getting wheezy now and apparently that was a sign for Sebastian to stop, so he pulled his hands back and Ciel slumped against the floor, panting like he’d run a million miles.

“Uuugh,” he mumbled and tried to hide the redness on his cheeks. “You’re such a pain.”

“Pardon me, but may I point out that your hiccups seem to be gone?”

Ciel stayed silent for a few more seconds, testing it out and damn everything, they were gone. That bastard had actually been helpful.

“Well, now we know how to get rid of them!” Ciel looked over his shoulder at a beaming Sebastian who looked way too excited about this and now that he could finally coordinate, he kicked him in the shin.

“Asshole.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

[notapaladin]

that i will never leave your side

In which Acatl gets a puppy, because if anyone deserves unconditional love it’s this guy.

Also on AO3

-

Theoretically, the rainy season was almost over. Theoretically it should be getting cooler, or at least drier. The Storm Lord apparently didn’t care for theoreticals, because the sun on Acatl’s bare back was merciless and every deep breath felt like he was inhaling lake water.

At least there was a good breeze and better company. Teomitl had come to meet him for lunch, and it was difficult to be too surly about the weather—or indeed, about anything—when his lover was settling down next to him with that radiant smile and offering him tamales stuffed with greens and hot peppers. The breeze wasn’t enough to make holding each other comfortable, at least until the sun went down, but it was just enough for Teomitl’s fingers to tangle lightly with his as they ate. He found himself smiling.

I’m going to miss this, came the thought. He would. When the dry season began, the army would make their preparations for war in earnest, and he’d be lucky to see Teomitl at all before they left. And then...then there would be four long, cold months without his lover’s smile. He cast his gaze down to his meal. He’s strong and intelligent. He’ll come back safely, whether it ends in a victory or not. He has to.

Teomitl flicked a glance over to him. His own tamale was almost gone. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Mm.” He would have added more peppers, but it was still delicious. He gave Teomitl’s fingers a quick squeeze. “It’s not too spicy for you?”

He could feel his lover stiffening and glanced over to catch his glare. Apparently the question had affronted him; whether it was because he hated being the object of concern or thought it would make him seem weak, Acatl didn’t know. Probably both. “Never.”

Acatl raised an eyebrow at him and waited.

Sure enough, Teomitl’s shoulders relaxed, and he shook his head with a snort. “Just because your favorite meals come from Chantico’s own hearth fires doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t handle hot food.”

He thought about that. “...It’s not that spicy.”

“Remember when Neutemoc ate some of your food by mistake?”

He winced. Admittedly, watching his brother’s whole face turn red had been mildly entertaining, but the coughing and swearing and hopefully-not-serious death threats hadn’t.

“Exactly,” Teomitl said.

Seeking to cover his embarrassment, he took another bite of his tamale—it was almost gone—and commented, “I do know you like sweet things, though.” He’d discovered it purely by accident back when Teomitl had still been his student and a late-running lesson had resulted in them eating lunch together; he hadn’t known anyone could follow up a full meal with that much honey-drizzled fruit without the world’s worst stomachache to show for it. The thought of it still made him feel a bit ill, but even then the open and honest delight on Teomitl’s face had struck him to the core.

And now he had the pleasure of watching Teomitl turn very slightly red around the ears, which was better. “And?” he huffed. “Mihmatini is much worse.”

He smiled at the memory his lover’s words sparked. “Oh, I know. Has anyone ever told you about the time she tried to climb a cactus to get at the fruit? She was...oh, about eight at the time.”

Clearly, nobody had. Teomitl blinked at him, and Acatl watched as comprehension slowly dawned across his face. “She didn’t.”

Now he was grinning, and didn’t bother to hide it. It had been distressing at the time, but in hindsight he could admit that Mihmatini’s stubborn pout had been hilarious. “She did.”

Teomitl, to his credit, managed to hold in his laughter for one heartbeat, two—and then he cracked, shoulders shaking as he broke down in squeaky giggles. It was the cutest thing Acatl had ever heard in his life. “Oh, gods,” he wheezed, shaking his head. “I know I shouldn’t laugh—but I can just imagine her face—”

“Don’t tease her about it,” he warned. Not that he necessarily thought Teomitl would, but...well. I want him in my arms because he wants to be there. Not because his wife threw him out of the house.

“I enjoy having all my extremities attached to me.” Teomitl paused, studying the remnants of his tamale. “Besides, she has enough to worry about.”

A nasty chill oozed down his spine. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” And then he paused, glancing up at Acatl through lowered lashes. It was a sight that could have melted a stronger man’s heart; Acatl felt his own thump hard in his chest. He was always weak to that look—but then his lover continued, and the words jarred him back to reality. “She was wondering if you wanted a dog.”

A dog...? The words jumbled together in his head, and he had to take a moment to comprehend them. “As what, lunch?”

“As a pet,” Teomitl huffed.

Acatl blinked at him. “...A pet.”

Teomitl fidgeted, fingers toying restlessly with Acatl’s own. “The royal kennels are full of puppies this time of year. And she—I—that is...we’re planning on getting one for ourselves, too.”

“I’m not sure I...” He bit his lip, thinking. As a child, only a few families in his calpulli had been able to afford to keep dogs, and he couldn’t recall any of them being particularly sentimental over the beasts that kept vermin away from their turkeys. When he dealt with them now, it was invariably on the sacrificial altar or the dinner table. He’d never given any thought to having one as a companion. Wagging tails. Bright eyes. A warm and enthusiastic welcome home.

Teomitl seemed to take his silence as refusal, and pulled his hand away with a curt, “Forget it, then.”

Acatl twitched in surprise, lifting his head to watch the faint flush that stained Teomitl’s cheekbones. “No,” he blurted out—he might not be sure about the notion of a pet dog, but he was absolutely sure he hated the way Teomitl withdrew into himself when he felt hurt. Before Teomitl could pull away any further, he took his hand again. “I’ll come with you.”

Teomitl stared at him. “You will?”

He laced his fingers through Teomitl’s own, letting a smile tug at his lips. “I can see it means a lot to you.”

Now Teomitl was definitely blushing, and dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “...I don’t want you to be lonely while I’m away.”

He couldn’t stifle his smile anymore. “And you think a dog will keep me company as well as you do?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Teomitl muttered. “And if we both get dogs, they can play with each other, so they won’t be alone either.”

Oh, my heart. Acatl had to kiss him for that. It was a law immutable as the gods’ wrath. When Teomitl sighed and melted into it, not even the heat could stop him pulling the man into his arms.

It was some time before they managed to leave the courtyard.

The royal kennels were tucked away near the House of Animals. Compared to the extravagant enclosures for the rarer beasts, they were almost nondescript—a series of low, plain buildings with a strong smell of raw meat and wet dog. Acatl had never been there. He’d been half expecting chaos and noise, but the place was quiet. The slaves and servants moved with brisk purpose, one or two with medium-sized dogs on rope leads, and Acatl wound up gazing after them as they passed. They looked friendly, at least.

They made it two steps into a well-swept and almost aggressively clean courtyard before the kennelmaster appeared. His cloak was plain, but there were feathers tied into his hair and carved bone earrings in his ears. “Ah, my lords! How can I help you today?”

Teomitl stepped up, saving Acatl from having to put a sentence together. “We’re here to look at the most recently weaned litters.”

The man’s polite smile held a thread of real warmth. “Of course, my lords, right this way.”

As they followed the kennelmaster into the depths of the complex, Acatl drew closer to Teomitl’s side and asked in a quiet undertone, “Are you sure about getting one so young?”

He nodded. “They’ll be easier to train.”

Acatl thought about the small children he knew. At least when they needed something, they could tell you in human words. Puppies would just howl. So, not that much different from little Ollin, I suppose. “And needier.”

“Hm.” But Teomitl’s eyes were sparkling in a way that said he didn’t see this as much of a downside.

Acatl sighed, shaking his head. Teomitl had grown and changed so much since they’d met, but if his new hound needed to be housebroken or taken for a run around the main island, he would think nothing of delegating to a fleet of servants. Acatl would have no such safety net; he didn’t know what Ichtaca would think about him acquiring a pet, but he suspected it wouldn’t be complimentary. No, like as not he’d be doing all the work himself. He didn’t need the extra burden.

And yet...he thought about the dry season, and the cold, and four silent walls. He thought about affection that demanded nothing save trust. It was tempting.

They were coming to a long line of wooden cages, each filled with dogs. The Revered Speaker’s hunting dogs were long-legged creatures, most with short hair but one or two hairless. Acatl avoided looking at those; their wrinkled skin reminded him unpleasantly of ahuitzotls, and no amount of love for Teomitl would make that association palatable. The kennelmaster led them to the very end, where one cage—larger than the others—held several dozen puppies of all colors.

“Well, my lords, you may go in and say hello.”

He opened the cage. Teomitl went in, crouching down for a better look at a sleeping black-and-white one. For the space of a heartbeat, nothing happened.

And then one of the puppies yipped, and the rest swarmed, and Teomitl went down in a sea of wriggly, roly-poly bodies.

“Oof!”

Acatl all but scrambled in, reaching to help him up, but realized as soon as he did so that he’d miscalculated. Entering the cage put him and his sandal straps within range of sharp little teeth, and when they pulled him off-balance he had to sit down before he fell. “Teo—ack!” He’d seen puppies before, from a distance. A nice, safe distance. He hadn’t seen them like this, all wiggling excitement and fur as they clambered over his lap.

Teomitl was no help. He was flat on his back and clearly in his element, ruffling one puppy’s ears while seeming blissfully unaware of the one gnawing on his cloak. Even more were vying for his attention, and he chattered to them in a tone Acatl hadn’t even heard him use with Ollin. If he was feeling suicidal or felt like sleeping alone until the end of next summer, he might have described it as cooing. “Oh, look at you! Yes, hello—oh, no, I can’t pet all of you at once!” It wasn’t stopping him from trying.

Acatl was regretting having put his cloak back on. The extra fabric only meant more things for puppies to chew, sniff at, and get tangled in, and it was a struggle to remain upright with half a dozen tiny things all snuffling around him. “Excuse—no, do not chew on my hair!” Annoyed, he jerked his head out of the range of curious teeth, but even that didn’t help; the offending dog, a red-and-white female, seemed to view it as a new and exciting game. Another one took the distraction as a chance to bound into his lap and rear up on its hind legs, planting its slobbery tongue on his chin.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said the kennelmaster, who did not sound sorry at all. Acatl threw him a glare, but it was hard to summon up much irritation with a puppy licking his face; its tail was wagging so fast it was practically a blur.

Besides, Teomitl was delighted, and his joy was infectious. Acatl was more acutely aware of it than he’d ever been of his own heartbeat or of his patron’s magic. When a tiny yellow puppy shoved its nose into his ear, the reward was another one of those undignified squeaks of laughter that always flipped Acatl’s heart upside down.

Before he knew it, he realized he was smiling. “...You love dogs.”

Teomitl’s grin split his face. “Mm-hmm.” A mostly-white one started trying to gnaw his hair, and he gently shoved it away. “I always wanted a pet of my own.”

“I can see that,” he murmured. Teomitl had grown up like a wildflower under the eye of an assortment of nurses and tutors and older, distant relations. He doubted any one of them had looked at the lonely boy his lover had once been and thought to give him any sort of gifts, never mind a companion that would repay his care with unconditional devotion. The thought pinched Acatl’s heart.

But before he could get emotional over it, the dog in his lap was pushed off by its bigger sibling, who proceeded to stomp in an irregular circle—remarkably uncomfortable, that—and settle down to sleep without a single care in the world. Blinking, he looked down at it. It was mostly black with dark orange feet, eyebrows, and muzzle, and its fur was very, very soft. Its floppy ears looked even softer.

“...Oh,” he managed.

Teomitl pushed himself upright, dislodging a few of his own furry passengers. “I think you’ve been chosen.”

Carefully, he risked lifting one hand and stroking the puppy’s ears. It snored on, undisturbed, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “...Good boy,” he murmured. “Good boy.” Its ears really were very soft. It took a moment before he could respond to Teomitl’s words. “...Perhaps I have.”

Long ago, Teomitl had done much the same thing—had barged into his life and made a home for himself in his heart, standing on the steps of his temple in the setting sun. “I still need you” flashed into his head, followed a moment later by the just as devastating memory of another sunset on the temple steps, when a smile had reached into his chest and pulled joy from the depths of his own uncertainty. He gazed down at the dog in his lap. It wouldn’t be the first time someone else has chosen me, and look where it’s gotten me now. A joy I never would have known otherwise.

“Well?” Teomitl asked. “What do you think?”

He bit his lip, thinking. One of the dog’s hind legs twitched, as though it was running in its dreams. “...This one seems to like me.”

“He has good taste,” Now Teomitl was smiling; Acatl suddenly, fervently wished they didn’t have an audience. It was too easy to imagine himself leaning over and kissing that smile.

Before he could do anything reckless, he shifted his weight in preparation for getting to his feet, and immediately realized he had a problem. “...Ah. How do I...” He looked down at the dog again, which hadn’t even stirred...but which surely would, if he got up too quickly and startled it. He chewed his bottom lip again. Surely, carrying a puppy couldn’t be too much different from carrying one of his baby nieces or nephews, but it was so small.

“Like this.” Teomitl reached over and adjusted his hold, helping him settle the puppy—his puppy now—into his arms. As he’d thought, it was much the same as carrying a human infant, but the puppy had a wiggly body and dull little nails, and as Teomitl helped him nestle it against his shoulder it blinked sleepy brown eyes at him. He barely dared breathe.

A dog. Something to take care of. Something that will live by my side so that I won’t be alone. “I’ll take him,” he blurted out.

“Really?” Teomitl looked surprised, as though he wasn’t expecting Acatl to make a decision so soon.

Truthfully, Acatl hadn’t been expecting it either, but it felt good. It felt right. He thought of the long months ahead, of going home to an empty house at the end of the day, of eating his meals in silence. He thought about a cold nose tucked into the crook of his arm and little paws twitching in dreams. He even thought, briefly, of playing tug-of-war with the hound it was sure to grow up to be. Maybe he could sacrifice his formal cape to the cause. “Really.”

“An excellent choice, my lord.” Acatl twitched; he’d almost forgotten the kennelmaster was there. “Will you be needing a cage for him?”

Ah. Right. Dogs needed things like beds and chewable objects that were not his sandals, sleeping mat, or cookware. “...That would be appreciated, yes. And a leash, as well.”

As the kennelmaster left, presumably to find what Acatl had asked for, Teomitl beamed like the sun. “What will you name him?”

He hadn’t thought of a name, but one came to him anyway. “...Miton, I think.” Little Arrow.

Now Teomitl was blushing and swatting his shoulder, but it was worth it.

[helvetious]

“Home”

For the Linksona party. 

Thyme belongs to @takibert and Momo to @cockismybusiness

Mentions of Digger (@svynakee) and Bittersweet (@leslietries)

WARNING: Here we touch subjects like depression and self imposed isolation as a way to cope. Please watch out loves.

It was... a house? A shack made of old wood and some rocks.

It looked older than it should be, dusty, the front door wasn’t there and instead it was covered by a curtain. It had a small chimney but rocks from the top had fell off and it looked a little crooked from the outside. Or maybe the whole place leaned a little to the left?

Goddesses, the woods of the shack were as green as the forest. Momo would really get his ass lost badly if it weren’t for Thyme.

Momo drank up the sight feeling a little nervous but, the sweaty hand that held his let him know someone else was even more nervous than him.

He turned quickly to meet his beloved.

“So this is where you go when you need to be alone?” he asked.

Thyme didn’t answer, he just looked at his shack standing rigid, his whole body seemed to emanate dread.

Momo squeezed his hand. “Thyme?” he called.

“I haven’t been here in months” said Thyme. “It’s going to be very, very dirty. Uh-” he cleared his throat, “it’s not like I cleaned it much when I came here, either.”

Momo shrugged, “It’s okay”

Thyme turned to him, his voice incredulous. “You like to live in cleanliness” he said, “you clean your house everyday-”

“Thyme, it’s okay.”

“You change your sheets everyday-”

“--It really is okay.”

“And you take two baths a day. More if you’re upset about something.”

Momo let go of his hand and laughed. “Fine! I am so going to clean this place!” he admitted. “I hate wearing boots and I love walking around my house with my bare feet and I love feeling the fresh clean floor under my feet yes I am cleaning this whole place.”

“I knew it!” Thyme pointed a finger at him, laughing too. “I totally did not believe you when you equipped five mops and told me they were ‘your weapon of choice’.”

“They are my weapon of choice.”

They both laughed.

Momo hugged Thyme’s middle and kissed his cheek. “I like it.”

*

Thyme cannot remember when was the last time his shack was so full with noise. The rustling of leaves as the broom pushed them out the shack, the “clank” of his old cooking pots as they were rearranged and now held from one of the wooden walls. The sound of hammers as new shelves were being fixed to other walls and a new front door.

Momo’s singing.

He would mop the floor and shake his butt to his own songs, spin around holding his mop like he would a dancing partner. Thyme watched with appreciation, until he dropped his broom and took Momo’s hips, had him turn to him and pressed their chests together.

“Dance with me instead” offered Thyme.

“You don’t like dancing” Momo laughed.

“Oh I do.”

Thyme kissed Momo’s cheek, then his jaw and lower, to his neck. Momo had always been ticklish, but a good suck over his pulse always had him shiver a little. Especially if accompanied by Thyme’s hands squeezing his butt.

Cackling, Momo tried to push him away playfully. “What you want to do is not dancing.”

“It is a form of dancing” Thyme said, “and I am really good at it.”

“You are” Momo laughed and patted Thyme’s shoulders until he was let go. “But I have to shower first and I won’t shower until I finish cleaning-- as a reward.”

“I thought your reward would be to have sex with me” teased Thyme.

Momo turned back and leaned down to pick up his mop, purposefully sticking out his butt knowing Thyme would appreciate the show.

A low hiss let him know that Thyme indeed was.

“That is also my reward” said Momo.

*

After a long day, dinner and a good bath, they finally readied to sleep.

“A clean house is a happy house” said Momo cheerfully. If Thyme could roll both his eyes, he would.

“How do we sleep?” asked Momo.

“Well uh-” Thyme coughed, “usually I just throw some sheets at the floor near the fireplace.”

Momo gave him a look, Thyme just looked at everywhere but his lover.

“We just washed all the sheets and they’re hanging outside” Momo said.

“And the bear pelts?”

“Also put to clean” Momo said with no guilt, then walked to where his bags where and started looking around. “I brought clean sheets. And pillows.”

Thyme crossed his arms, and chuckled. “You have an issue.”

Momo didn’t listen, returned with the items, and the sight of them made Thyme gasp.

“It’s the soft purple sheets” he breathed.

“Your favorite sheets!”

Thyme never thought, in his life, that he’d have favorite sheets one day. But then again he never thought either, that he’d fall in love again. Or that of all people, he’d fall for a loud, baby faced person who somehow also shared his goddesses sent, terrible fate as chosen hero. And more importantly, he never thought that he’d trust someone enough to have them in this place.

The moment they lied on the floor atop the soft purple sheet- the moment Thyme’s face hit the pillow, he fell asleep. 

*

Cleaning the house again the next day was easier, there was barely anything to fix. It went much more quickly- although they wasted enough time teasing until Momo finally admitted that he indeed, had an issue with dirtiness.

Then came clearing outside, cutting the grass, fixing the cooking pot and cleaning the old ashes from where once were bonfires.

“My stays in this place are always uneventful” confessed Thyme as they outside on the grass, for lunch break. “It’s quiet and lonely, here. I come when I need it- but sometimes, especially if I stay here for a long time, I forget how to make myself leave this place.”

Momo put his spoon of curry back in his plate, and placed a hand on Thyme’s thigh. Thyme turned to him with a smile.

“Once I ventured out and found a korok, but I guess I looked way too gloomy and shaggy because it ran away from me” said Thyme.

Momo blinked, and his hand went straight to his mouth and his eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“He tripped over a twig and fell face first, wrinkled his little mask” continued Thyme.

“Aw, a baby” said Momo, voice muffled behind his mouth.

“And then he cried.”

“Awwww, a baby!”

“I laughed so hard” Thyme chuckled.

“Thyme!” but Momo was laughing, too.

“Guess I was isolated for way too long because it shouldn't be that funny right?” Thyme’s voice shook with amusement. “I laughed until my stomach hurt, I laughed for days. I would remember about it and laugh- I am laughing right now.”

“Please tell me you helped him?”

“Yes... but I was still laughing stupid, which of course could only further his humiliation, making him cry all the more- and making me laugh all the more.”

Momo had to leave his food on the grass to dry his cheeks and eyes, cackling. He then grabbed Thyme by the collar of his shirt and kissed his lips.

“You’re horrible” he teased against their kiss.

“He sounded like a very annoying squeaky toy” said Thyme, and gave his lover a playful peck.

 *

 Night fell- while the forest was so thick daylight barely passed through, it managed to get much darker when the sun set. They were tired enough.

Thyme eyed his handiwork- their improvised bed. Clean bear pelts and sheets spread on the floor, right before the fireplace, oh they would sleep very warm and comfortable today. Or not sleep, Thyme wouldn’t mind that either.

He turned to see his lover stand before the windows.

“Faeries came” said Momo softly, then turned to him with wonder in his eyes. “They really do follow you everywhere.”

Thyme chuckled. “Close the window, don’t let them in tonight.”

“But--” Momo was about to protest when something in the way Thyme said that stopped him. He closed the window and walked towards his beloved. “Do they come inside sometimes?”

Thyme nodded. He could already sense Momo’s amusement and his lips twitched upwards.

“Do they sleep with you?” asked Momo.

“Sometimes.”

Momo gasped, “that is so cute.”

Thyme shrugged, and took Momo by the hips, pulling him close. “I know what you’re thinking” he said, “We can’t let them in to sleep tonight.”

Momo pouted and wrapped his arms around Thyme’s neck. “And I know what you’re thinking.” He could feel hands sliding down to his butt, and then some soft, playful gropes.

“It’s okay” Thyme allowed himself to pinch a buttcheek and chuckled at Momo’s little whine. “We can feed them breadcrumbs tomorrow.”

“We can do that?” Momo asked with a trembling voice. “They eat breadcrumbs?”

“We are not letting them in tonight.” repeated Thyme, rubbing his lips to Momo’s chin.“We can’t let my fairy wives know of our affair.”

Momo laughed. “So I am your mistress?”

“The homewrecker, yes” Thyme kissed his face, as Momo’s laughter grew loud. “Lie with me.”

Momo was still chuckling, let Thyme put him in bed, take off his clothes and lie atop him to kiss his face and neck, while scarred calloused hands caressed his sides with a tickling touch. Laughter turned into sighs and moans, the pats on Thyme’s back became scratches. They were both panting when Thyme pulled away for just a second to admire his lover below, and he saw beauty.

The dying fire on the chimney provided enough light for him to see. Momo’s skin under the light looked more delectable and welcoming than usual. His flushed, smiling face, his blue eyes filled with adoration as he looked up at Thyme, and reminded Thyme that he was oh so loved.

Thyme realized then why suddenly this shack felt so cozy now, and homely. He’d probably feel lonely and sad even in their lovely hut in Lurelin, if Momo wasn’t there.

As Momo cupped his face and brushed his hair away with his fingers, Thyme realized that his real home was a person.

And that was a scary thought.

“Are you okay?” asked Momo, his smile growing tender as his fingers traced the lower part the his scar that crossed his right eye.

Thyme’s voice shook as he said, softly. “I love you.” And he leaned down and kissed his lover, before Momo could reply and say it back. He already knew how Momo felt- and a tug on his heart warned him that if he heard it right then, he would cry.

They made love over and over, until Thyme forgot his fears and his own name.

 ***

 It would still happen. Perhaps not as often, but it would still happen.

Thyme hoped it wouldn’t, because it was unfair. He was happy now, he had so much love, and friends. He ate well, he slept well. He rode his horse and sparred with Digger, hunted with Laurent. Watch Momo cook.

He was supposed to be happy.

But as frustrated as he felt with himself, he knew that just wasn’t the way things worked. His hands would itch and food tasted the way the color gray looked. He would space out from conversations that he was even interested in, his mind would wander away from Momo’s voice, to emptiness.

Everything would feel numb, even Momo’s touch, a pinch on his chin to raise his head.

“Do you need to leave?”

Momo already knew, like he never expected for this to cease all that easily. There was only patience in his voice- no hurt or accusations, nothing Thyme’s mind could cling to in order to feel guilty, so he could say-

“I’m so sorry, Momo.”

It came out regardless.

Momo shook his head, and smiled. “There’s nothing to apologize for.” He kissed his cheek and took his hand and they walked back to their hut. It might not be so good to miss dinner at Bitters and Digger’s house without letting them know, but Momo would charm his way out of it- the way Digger taught him, himself.

They took a bath together- the second one of the day, because Momo liked sleeping fresh and clean and Thyme started to get used to it.

And then they went to bed.

By early morning, Thyme was ready to leave. Momo gave him a bag of vegetables, fruit and prepared meals for him, the weight of all this food felt reassuring on his back.

He stood there by the front door, and sighed.

“What is it?” Momo asked, placing a soft hand on Thyme’s back, who sighed again.

I don’t know, is what Thyme did not say. It wasn’t like he wanted to leave, he just felt he couldn’t stay.

Since Thyme didn’t answer, they both stood quiet for a minute, until Momo let out a small “Oh!” and went away to look for something.

Thyme turned just in time to see him return, hands hiding behind his back.

“It’s dangerous to go alone” said Momo, smiling. “Take this.”

And he gave Thyme a mop.

Thyme said nothing for another hot minute and then, he laughed. Hard. Bent forward to cackle loudly even though it wasn’t that funny- even though he was pissed off at himself and leaving Momo was killing him. Even though the tears that stung his eyes weren’t of laughter. Goddesses, was he thankful for his long bangs that covered his face.

Momo chuckled softly and pressed the mop to Thyme’s chest, and kissed his jaw. “You’re going to be okay.”

Thyme nodded, took the mop with a small smile and a sniffle. His voice came out thankful, it cracked a little when he said, “I’ll come back soon.”

Momo stood up on tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. “You will.”

Thyme knew he would.

He would come back home, soon. 

[we-are-monk]

Two Things

Hempen rope wrapped the wooden post to soften it. By now, bone had built up on her slender shins to harden them. A dull thud echoed through the room every time she swung a round kick into the wooden dummy. She chanted a mantra. A word to each kick, and an elbow to the dummy’s wooden limbs for every three kicks. There was no need to go fast. Over and over again, like the spinning wheel of life and death. She whirled on her planted foot to drive her heel into the dummy’s center - and lost her place in the chant.

Hanako growled under her breath, smoothed herself, and began anew. A thread of frustration had worked itself into her routine, and she resolved herself to chanting and striking until that, too, had passed. Serenity was within her grasp... Maybe. She paced for a moment around the small training hall. It was out of the way, dust collecting on the kettle bells, the ropes, and the weighted training weapons that hung on the rack. There was a single window, casting diffuse light through the room, and carved masks leered down from the walls, all covered in dust. It was lonely, abandoned, perfect for Hanako’s purpose.

The chant resumed. She sank into a lower stance and struck, pivoting her waist and hips to swing her arms in powerful blows. Right, left, punch downward, bringing the feet together. A bell rung out for... something. Was she supposed to be in the garden? At prayer? All Okuribi Temple moved to the rhythm of the bells, but not all in unison. Not with the Nagats'ii Library to be tended, the Immortal Fox to be venerated, and training and meditation to do. Hanako knew that her teacher, Master Yixin, was in the Grand Training Hall teaching the Hakkyokuken martial arts form. She could go join the other acolytes in their practice, but she wanted to be alone. "Onee-san, onee-san," called a small, squeaky voice.

Her elbow broke the dummy's wooden arm with a crack, and the smell of cedar filled the air. A child squealed. "Quiet!" Hanako thundered, whirling to face them. They flinched back from her sudden anger. They were three little initiates, their heads shaved bald and their faces earnest. One was kitsune like her, his eyes golden and his furred ears folded back against his smooth head. Like her, he wore his human-like face, but his vulpine nature was not completely hidden. The other two were human, little girls who looked as if they wanted to hide. Hanako composed herself, again. "Forgive me. Are you looking for someone?" "Are you today's teacher?" the first little girl blurted. Her eyebrows were incredibly thick, and Hanako, who didn't know the latest litter of young initiates, made a note of this. "No, I..." Hanako began. "Is Master Yixin sick?" she interrupted. "You broke the wooden man," the fox boy said helpfully. He was clinging to his own fuzzy tail like it was a stuffed toy. Hanako snatched up the broken rod and tried to fit it into its slot, but she'd snapped it off. It fit back in crookedly and would surely fall. "That's fine..." Hanako began edging towards the door. The little girl without the massive eyebrows grabbed her tail. "Onee-san, why do you have two tails? Why do you have hair?" "Are you going to teach us the flying side kick?" asked Eyebrows. "Will the masters be mad you broke it?" asked the fox boy. Hanako ran her hands through that hair. It was tied, tightly, in a little ponytail. She felt crowded, even though she could easily push past the children. "Older acolytes are allowed to grow hair-" She did it because she was vain. "We train to master ourselves, not to defeat others-" She knew she craved a good fight.

“And…” She squirmed, irritated, and glanced again at the broken dummy.

“You’re gon-na get in trou-ble!” His voice was singsong. Hanako had had enough.

“Leave me alone!” She hissed at them, teeth bared, and once again the initiates cowered.

“I had thought this room was empty,” came a voice. Hanako was bristling with energy. Her belly was aflame, anger twisting her ki into angry knots that worked though her fists and made her skin crawl. Her weight sunk onto her back foot and she…

Turned her back. She could feel the energy of the initiates, ki flowing in and out with every breath, haphazardly through their untrained flesh. She tried to shut them out, to focus inward and above all, to not allow herself to think of them as victims.

“Acolyte Matsubi?” The voice was elderly and sounded faintly amused. Hanako soothed the feelings inside herself and at last was able to turn to the elder with some measure of herself in check.

“I was trying to steady myself, and these acolytes mistook me for a teacher.”

This was Master Kazumi, a withered old crone with the wicked eyes of a fierce debater. Hanako groaned, internally. Master Kazumi had little need for the Eight Extremes Fist when she could pierce hearts with a single stroke of the tongue. She used her staff as a walking stick and as a lecture pointer, jabbing it at her targets to punctuate her words, which were the real threat.

“How old are you, Acolyte Matsu… Hanako, is it?”

“Hai. I am nineteen years old.” Hanako felt wary, but the old woman was blocking the entrance.

She could probably leap over her stooped head to pass the door, but she’d regret that sooner or later. She’d have to resign herself to suffering.

“Why then, with your experience, are you unable to teach these youths?’

“I was unprepared. I do not wish to teach them incorrectly.” From the look on the master’s face, it seemed like Hanako had stepped into a trap of some sort.

“Are you an initiate, Acolyte Hanako?”

She betrayed some impatience, to her misfortune. “You addressed me as Acolyte. You must know already.”

“Then you have learned something these younglings have not, am I right?”

Hanako was suddenly on the same side as the three little initiates, who had not the physical presence nor the rhetorical backing to face off against this metaphorical titan. Hanako attempted a counterattack.

“When I was an initiate, I was given teachers who were great. Even now, I am not equal to who they were then. Should I not do these kits the same courtesy and let them learn from masters?”

Was the master pacing? She was stalking, like a predator. Hanako considered her exit again. She even glanced at the narrow window, wondering if she could squeeze her body through it, but that was a mistake. Master Kazumi’s eyes were locked on hers, and she had seen the fear.

“You had your elders as example. If they completely neglected you, their failure is not yours to pass on.”

A tense silence reigned. One of the children made a whimpering noise, and finally, Hanako felt compelled to speak up.

“In Master Hirohiko’s Unusual Journeys, it is said that all students will meet the right teacher when the time is right, not before,” Hanako quoted.

“Remind me, are you a warrior, or a librarian?”

Hanako was suspicious. “Both. Master Yixin is my martial teacher, and Master Jin is my teacher of the scholar’s arts.

“Are you aware that your presence on this mountain is a gift? How you have the Goddess’ own luck to be allowed training with that power of yours.”

“Master Yixin says…”

She bulled right over Hanako. “And you were training here, instead of with him, why?”

“Martial meditation.” Hanako knew her tail was bristling up with irritation with every question. And she knew it wasn’t helping her case. But there was nothing that could be done. “To help control my problem.”

“Meditation? You don’t seem calm.” The master jabbed at her with her words and eyes, entire body leaning into the rhetorical attack.

Her energy threatened to move through the wrong channels. What should have been cool mental focus became an uncontrollable urge to scream. And what should have been a passive flow of ki through her hands became… foxfire. Her hands burst into flames.

“It looks like you’ve failed the test.”

“I know.”

The children fled to the room’s corner. Master Kazumi’s walking stick flicked out at Hanako’s head.

She slipped it, of course. Without thinking - she supposed she could have taken the blow if she’d wanted to, but it was too late. She’d already begun to dodge. Her muscles moved like water through a channel, a path traced so many times that it was the easiest way to flow. She countered, reaching for the arm. Not the face. With a twist, she put pressure on the master’s forearm and predictably, the staff clattered to the ground before Master Kazumi would let her twist her arm. She remained in contact, and Hanako could feel Master Kazumi’s energy flowing alongside her own.

Hanako let go. Hanako had been able to extinguish her hands before she’d grabbed the master’s arm.  And she hadn’t manipulated - stolen - Master Kazumi’s ki. Perhaps the elders would not treat it as an attempt on the master’s life.

Master Kazumi picked her staff up, rubbed her wrists and stared at Hanako for a long moment. The scales of deliberation tilted to and fro in her eyes. “I appreciate not being set ablaze, or... whatever else you were considering. Control your animal powers, Hanako. The fox is not sacred when she acts like a beast.”

Hanako was suddenly, unexpectedly, out of breath. She fell to her knees. “Forgive me, master.”

“It appears we have both learned something. You require more training to master that problem of yours, and I must keep my guard up. I will speak with Master Jin about your lapse.”

Hanako gasped. She had been making progress. Master Yixin was speaking on her behalf. And if Master Kazumi trashed her reputation in front of Master Jin… She’d work in dusty room somewhere until she died.

The little ones came to her, after Master Kazumi had left. They poked and prodded at her, when her face wouldn’t leave the little cocoon she’d made of herself.

“Onee-san, are you okay?

“Are you crying?”

When Hanako didn’t respond at first, the initiates, blessedly, fell silent. There were little bald children snuggled up to her for what felt like an hour, and then, Hanako was able to make herself stand and wipe her face.

“Arigatou, young ones.”

“So when are you gonna teach us? asked the eyebrow girl, audaciously. Hanako turned to the broken wooden dummy and, checking to make sure Master Kazumi was truly gone, relented.

“I suppose… do you know your stances?”

They nodded, raggedly bobbing, and Hanako decided to err on the side of gentle mistrust. “Well, let’s review. Turn your knees out, and horse stance?”

“Hai, Master Hanako,” called the fox boy.

“Chigaimasu, no, don’t call me that. Sister is fine,” Hanako protested. The last thing she needed was for Master Kazumi or Jin to arrive and declare her arrogant as well as emotional.

It turns out the children were honest, albeit not as perfect as any of the masters would like. So she moved on, first through some basic warm-ups, and then through a shaky, halting version of the Five Stances Punch form.

Repetition, like the turning of the wheel. Stances flowed into each other, first with pauses, and then smoothly. She added the blocks and strikes that went with each step, slowly, because she could feel the energy of each child waver and eddy as they lost focus. When the children tired and began to complain, Hanako herself was entirely centered. “Oh… you are all correct. It is time for a snack.”

Hanako walked the children around the winding mountain path to the dining hall, feeling for all the world like a mother hen. The cool air was unexpectedly soothing after the heat of training in the small, musty hall Hanako had found for herself. Her little charges began stomping about in the snow, enjoying the fresh air. Even in the spring, it was chilly up here. The paths over the mountain of Okuribi-san were narrow and winding, with a lantern or a statue every dozen paces to keep monks from losing the way in rough weather. The temple complex spread over Okuribi-san’s peak, the different buildings ringing the peak  like mushrooms. With the skies as clear as they were, Hanako could see all the way down into Kayou village, at the mountain’s foot. She marveled at the infinite energy of young people, as one of the little girls, Yaahl, climbed up onto a sacred statue, a fox wearing a colorful carved mask.

A man stepped out from behind the statue, grabbing the girl by the collar. He was large, wearing ragged robes and a scarf knotted around his entire head and face. To protect from the mountain winds, Hanako hoped. Okuribi-ji sometimes had supplicants, travellers and scholars seeking the Nagats'ii library, or pious folk looking to pray to the Fox Immortal.

It was possible this man was one of them. Hanako inched closer as the little girl dangled from his grip.

“Put Yaahl down!” the eyebrow girl, Yuuki shouted. He ignored her.

“Excuse me, are you a master?” asked the disheveled man, turning to Hanako. He sounded ill. She worried about him - Okuribi-ji had healers, but it was not a hospital.

“No. I absolutely cannot claim that title,” Hanako declared, her tone unyielding. “If you follow me, I can show you to one.”

“This will be easy, then,” he said, and his weapon arced across at the side of her head. He’d concealed a wide-bladed northern dirk in his robe’s long sleeves, and strapped to his back was a animal-headed club. Hanako couldn’t imagine how he intended to fight dangling a child from his free hand, but his confidence was evident in his stance.

She’d slipped the dagger just as she had Master Kazumi’s walking stick. However, she hesitated, rather than trap the arm - after all, the sword was sharp. It flicked out at her eyes, and she leaned, way, way back to save her face. The ruffian swung Yaahl around as easily as a purse, albeit one that shrieked whenever he moved. Hanako snapped a kick straight up at his wrist, but he turned his oversized pommel down into her foot to block.

She yelped, pain seizing her foot. She switched her stance, putting the afflicted foot behind her. “Please release the child.” Part of hiding the pain was keeping her voice level and calm.

Wordlessly, he dropped Yaahl into a hardened, powdery snowdrift. Soundlessly, he sank into a stance, his back leg holding his weight with his front foot pointed out.

Hanako lunged, raising a knee. He kicked with that front leg as she anticipated, and she guarded. He snapped the foot out higher, and she turned, using her elbow to stop it just before the man could kick her ribs in.

Next, Hanako exploded in, driving forward with an elbow. He caught her arm and tried to wrench it, but she planted her foot in his stomach and drove him back into the blessed statue.

Yaahl pulled herself out of the pile of snow and Hanako stepped over her, stance solid and grounded despite the slippery, narrow path.

“If you touch these initiates, I shall kill you.” Her ki flared, unevenly, threatening to break loose from her control.

Eijiro made a weird fox face and added a raspberry noise and Hanako struggled to look as deadly serious as the situation required.

The interloper turned and dropped his weight, turning his elbows out to guard his head. Hanako turned and did likewise.

“You won’t surrender?” Hanako made her tone harsh, though she was losing confidence by the second.

The man grinned. His rags were filthy and his beard ragged, but his teeth were incredibly white. He charged suddenly forward, arms and blade swinging with terrible power. She deflected his arms up with her elbows again, but it hurt. Even when the dirk didn’t cut her, the arm holding it battered her fiercely. She seized his waist, shuffling her feet through the snow to try and trip him. But his grounding was too strong - he wouldn’t budge. She drilled her arm into his belly instead.

“Mistake.” His voice was gruff, hoarse, even.

Hanako yipped in pain as he seized her arm and shoved her shoulder straight down. Desperate, she rammed herself into his side. Her arm drew free. She seized the hilt and his shoulder and shoved his arm down, twisting it in the same way he had done to her. Touching him made his ki a temptation, but no. She focused on the technique, locking the bones of his arm.

“Now, you will-” she began.

He struck her with his shoulder too, and with his weight, it staggered her. They had been standing side to side, and when he pivoted, it was a half turn that brought his hand into her groin like a swinging iron bar; it felt like he’d broken her pubic bone. His leg rose, and he stomped down at her knee - she hooked a hand and raked it aside before he could cripple her. His blow to her crotch had put her on the defensive. His elbow rose again, just as hers had, but not to deflect. He struck her chin with enough force to make her head snap. Suddenly, not only could she not feel his ki, but her own seemed to have fled, replaced by a dull buzzing feeling.

She grew dizzy. Her hands rose. He still had the blade...

She fell to a knee, the snow scraping her skin.

“Are you prepared to die, fox?”

Hanako whimpered. “Your style… it’s ours, is it not? Who taught you? What are you after?” Her ears were ringing.

“Who asks questions with steel at their throat?” The vagabond placed his dirk at her neck, ominously.

“A librarian,” Hanako replied. Her tail’s fur was standing on end, though her face and voice were still.

“An excellent answer. Why do you not fear me?”

“I am exerting all my strength not to scream,” Hanako replied. If she was to die, she may as well not die with lies on her lips.There was, she noticed, an animal’s face on the pommel of that dirk. It was a dog, or something. Dogs scared her. The man flicked his blade out and tossed it into the snow.

“Huh?” Hanako’s heart was beating loud enough to drown out sound.

He threw back his filthy head-rag- it was Master Jin. Somehow, he’d stuffed half his beard into the wrappings and stuffed the borrowed robes with enough padding to hide his figure.

“I had wished to see this temper of yours in action. Why did you not try to slay me?”

Hanako shook her head. “I did. You had Yaahl, and Eijiro was getting scared. I wish you hadn’t done this.”

“Master Kazumi told me-” he started.

“Please. You shouldn’t have done this to the children.” Hanako felt like she needed to lie down, but that wasn’t what Master Jin wanted to see, she thought. She wasn’t going to blow up in front of another master. Twice in one day and they’d toss her down the mountain to roll back into her parents’ barley fields.

“They will be fine. Little enough blood was shed, and you were training them as warriors, were you not? This was… almost… what warriors look like.”

“I didn’t know you were a warrior,” Hanako said. Eijiro and Yaahl watched him. Yuuki and her eyebrows had gotten bored and wandered off.

“I am...well, I was. I find the library far more beneficial to my spirit and mind. I advise you to decide likewise. One such as you is not meant for battle.”

Hanako was confused. Her head was still spinning, so she sat down in the path, ignoring the damp that seeped into the seat of her kimono.

“I want… I need to get out. I can’t stay in the monastery. If I don’t change something, I’ll surely stray from the path.”

“Walk with me.” He scattered the children like seeds in the wind and drew Hanako in his wake like a cloud.

“I don’t believe you are fit to be a warrior. You-”

“I can control myself just as well as any human,” Hanako said, tasting sour. She could believe that, maybe.

“You are meant to be a scholar. Your potential is much greater with me than with Master Yixin. Reconsider leaving the mountain.”

Hanako shook her head, still foggy. “I can be a scholar on the road. I’ll find manuscripts, and help the Library.”

“Such a paradox for a monk to travel, I have always thought. We leave the world to perfect ourselves. Does that not mean the world causes imperfection? And you are so far from balance…”

Hanako shut her eyes and tried to sort through his words. She didn’t want to hear any of them, but… Masters were supposed to be wise, right?

“I can be two things, a fox and a woman, a monk and a warrior. Am I not a shapeshifter?” Hanako was hesitant. Master Jin had walked her up to the High Shrine to the Fox Immortal, but led her, not into the hall, but into a smaller meditation chamber.

“You cite Meditations on Huxian, by Li Cheung. He was very willing to link the nature of your fox-people to the fox goddess’s divine nature. A very Wuxingi theological argument.”

He took a moment to scoff at the foibles of southerners and pushed open the heavy door to a back chamber he was leading her to. “I disagree. I think it is dangerous to let your tail, or tails in your case, make you think you are divine. Worse, I feel the lack of focus will destroy you. But perhaps the Supreme Master will say otherwise.”

The day got worse. Grandmaster Higashi was seated there, in a meditative posture. Acolytes and above could wear their hair if they wished, but the abbot chose to shave himself bald and dress in the simplest of robes. He was even said to skip meals, the better to commune with the Nine-Tailed Immortal. His bald head and exposed arms bore tattoos, lotus patterns and flames that swirled and seemed to glow in the dim room, lit by lanterns that spiraled out - the whole room was patterned like a great lotus, with the brazier at the center. Thick smoke, incense, hung in a dense cloud, cloying to Hanako's inhuman nose.

Master Jin stroked his beard, his personal concession to vanity, and sat across the brazier from the Grandmaster.  "Sit, Acolyte Hanako. The meeting will commence shortly."

Hanako folded her legs, but apprehension and fatigue felt like a weighted net over her. "I wasn't prepared for the Grandmaster, Master Jin," she whispered, directly into the curséd old man's ear.

"You are in luck then. You're not here to speak to him." A musclebound human brother came into the room from the other door, walking backwards. Hanako was confused, but then she realized he was carrying a moving shrine, with the largest tengu brother she’d ever seen holding up the other end, his feathers sticking up like a fan from the effort. On the shrine, under an elaborate gabled roof, was a desiccated corpse.

It dawned upon Hanako “Oh, you… you said the Supreme Master. The late one.”

The corpse sat, folded legs, hands curled around a large orb of some sort. Prayer beads roped around its arms, faded tattoos traced sutras on the withered skin, and white, nearly translucent hair ran down the mummy’s chest.

“Ahh…” Hanako was offput, to say the least. If it weren’t for the droning chant of the Grandmaster lulling her into a sense of calm, she’d probably be shaking in her sandals. She remained seated, instead, and joined the chant, to at least pretend she was a monk.

“Breath deep. You may experience some pain.” The grandmaster spoke in a near-whisper. Master Jin handed her a tiny vial of some crimson oil.

The smoke swirled in a sudden gust. In a room with two closed doors and one window. Hanako’s senses were keen. She could hear better than a human with her long pointed ears, smell the incense and oil and sweat and strange mummy odors with her nose, and her spiritual senses let her feel the living ki in the other monks.

“Don’t spill,” the Grandmaster whispered. He guided Hanako’s hands to the oil, and then to her eyes. Under his guidance, she rubbed the oil around her eyelids, like makeup, and then, into the eyes, like medicine. She felt her eyes dilate from slits in the light to wide, dark spheres.

She took a deep breath. And experienced some pain.

“Do not touch your eyes.”

Hanako’s eyes were burning, her nose was burning, her lungs were burning; insanely, even her tongue was aflame. She bit her lip, fangs drawing blood, and tried not to scream. When she could open her eyes, a woman was sitting serenely over the brazier, a foot or so above the smoking coals.

“Higashi-kun, open thine acolytes’ eyes before thou summonest me. I care not for watching them squirm.” Though she looked little older than Hanako herself, her voice was that of an old crone. Framing her entire body, waving like trees in a gentle breeze, were her tails, nine of them. It was then that Hanako noticed the tails coiled beneath the mummified body

Hanako’s senses were keen, but she’d never seen a spirit before.

“Su...supreme…?”

She gave a wicked laugh. “Thou hast brought me a little vixen. Warmed, my heart is, to see thee.”

“Hello..?” Hanako was incredibly uncertain, but she bowed respectfully and tried to treat the Supreme Master like yet another elder, albeit a transparent one.

“Welcome…” The Supreme Master turned to Grandmaster Higashi. “Hanako,” he filled in.

“Welcome, Hanako. Thou hast sought my counsel?”

“Well…”

“Nay, twas… I mean, no. It was I,” Master Jin interrupted. “This student has become unsure of her path. Should she become a librarian, or a…” He scoffed, “mendicant? We disagree on which.”

“I am good enough to leave the mountain. I’m sure.” Hanako was not sure. “Master Kazumi likes to win more than she likes to be correct,” she said, slightly more sure of that.

“Are we gossiping? I shan't gossip in front of acolytes. It makes me seem less august,” the Supreme Master said, a hint of a cackle still in her voice.

“Gomen nasai. I just feel I was treated unfairly,” Hanako replied through gritted teeth.

“Thou hast sought counsel from beyond the veil. Sooth, I know thee not, Acolyte Hanako. If thy wish is to cloister thyself in the library, thou shalt please the Immortal. If thou cravest the road, be stalwart, and thou please the Immortal. I know not what is best for thee.”

Master Jin looked annoyed. The Grandmaster remained dispassionate. Hanako stood, suddenly.

“Chigao, no! I must be allowed to travel! I won’t be able to… If I stay here, I won’t… I am good enough.”

Master Jin grabbed her robe and pulled her to the ground. “Show respect! I can’t take you anywhere... You lack sufficient discipline! You lack control over your little problem!”

“But she has passion. Boldness. Mayhap that can work. Others of her kind have succeeded, after all,” The Supreme Master rubbed her ethereal tails, pointedly.

“That doesn’t matter… ahem.” Master Jin’s own composure shook. “A mind like hers is wasted down there in the world. She is brilliant but unfocused. The distractions there will make her lose her way.”

“A mendicant was I, many decades and several tails ago,” the Supreme Master said. There was a rush of air that Hanako heard, but didn’t feel. And suddenly the spirit was behind her. She had a kindly smile, empty eyes, and her tattoos seemed to shift the longer Hanako looked. Hanako’s fur stood on end as the Supreme Master’s ghostly fingers trailed just over her tails without making contact - or perhaps they couldn’t. “Perhaps you might develop a greatness of spirit, in time.”

“And Master Yixin believes the road, laymen, drink and battle, will temper her rather than break her,” the Grandmaster murmured.

“I did say that I know not Acolyte Hanako’s strengths. Mayhaps she will return to me, nine-tailed. Or die on the road, a bandit’s doxy. I will remain here, a witness.” She began to fade, her spectral form aging, withering, and vanishing back into the shrunken corpse.

Hanako blinked at her. The strain of seeing the unseen was on top of a long list of stresses for the day, and she wanted more than anything to sleep through every bell for the next two days.

“Well.” Master Jin stood as soon as the otherworldly feeling left the meditation chamber. “I suppose I lose a good student.”

Hanako nodded. She had something to say about collecting tomes and scrolls on the road, and a librarian’s… ...duties… She really needed to sleep.

It was a little after midday, from the looks of it. Hanako stuffed herself with as much smoked salmon and steaming buns as would fit inside her. She packed food for the journey, as well, but she could find something to eat in Kayou village, and she wanted to be down the mountain before the weather could change. So she packed light. A meditation crystal, the miniature of the Supreme Master’s mystic orb. Some camping gear, the essentials, of course. A climbing kit she hoped she wouldn’t need on the trip down the Okuribi path. A gourd of plum wine that she crept away with - it helped with keeping calm, she reasoned. Two pairs of good sandals, one for her dainty fox paws and another for wider human feet, when she could hold a human form stable enough for such. And a sensible robe suited for travel, bearing the flame-lotus symbol of Okuribi-ji and a flower pattern that she thought was quite cute.

“I pray you’re not leaving without this,” Master Jin said. He held a cedarwood box, carved with another lotus design and smelling of rich wood, incense, vellum, and thick inks. It was a handsome scribe’s kit, ink sticks, spare parchment and rice paper, and brushes tipped with Hanako’s own spare fur all neatly set into watertight compartments.

“And this…” He handed her a small stack of well-thumbed-over codices, bound books with bestiaries of common monsters, some of the less-valuable maps, and guides to animals and herbs. “Oh, and of course,” He added to the overloaded pile in her hands a large scroll case, bound with ropes to strap to the body and as well protected with charms and oils as the scribe’s box. “Keep a journal, or I will drag you back up the mountain, Lady Immortal bite and curse us both.”

Hanako bowed deeply.

“I am grateful for your tutelage, Master Jin. And I will return with new knowledge for the Nagats'ii.”

“You leave today, Hanako?” Master Yixin asked. His face was usually gentle, but today he wore the heavy brows of concern. “Don’t forget what you learned. Don’t forget to relax your shoulders. Make sure to wrap your hands. Each foe is practice. Don’t forget to practice.” Hanako nodded in between each piece of advice. Unexpectedly, he drew her in for a hug. “Do well.”

And finally, the abbot. Grandmaster Higashi was quiet, as usual, forcing Hanako to swivel both ears in to hear him whisper.

“Bring us knowledge. Serve the goddess. Wiser, stronger, sharper, faster. Return here, greater of spirit- or fail, and do not come back.”

He gave her a silk embroidered pouch. “Some coin. The pouch is also charmed.” She bowed, deeper still. She’d make much greater time with a magic pouch to carry all her books. And so Acolyte Hanako became Sister Hanako, warrior-monk and scholar. She shouldered a much smaller burden and set off down the path at an easy trot.

Her parents were down there, somewhere, lazily growing barley and plums, drinking during the day, and telling anyone who would listen about their two children. Simple folk. She supposed she’d have to speak to them on the way into the world. She smiled. At least she couldn’t disappoint them. To them, she was a monk, but also their beloved daughter. It didn’t bother them that she was both, like it did her. One thing she could learn today.

[marypsue]

Raising Stakes 23 / 24

Part One / Part Two / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten / Part Eleven / Part Twelve / Part Thirteen / Part Fourteen / Part Fifteen / Part Sixteen / Part Seventeen / Part Eighteen / Part Nineteen / Part Twenty/ Part Twenty-One / Part Twenty-Two / Part Twenty-Three / Part Twenty-Four  

Well, I split the last chapter. Again.

I’m also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The postcard was pushed under his door one morning.

It was nothing more than a simple rectangle of card paper, with a glossy picture inscribed with the words ‘Gravity Falls’ on the front and three words scrawled on the back. Stan stared down at it, turning it over and over in his hands until the two sides blurred together. 

He wasn’t sure how Ford had gotten his address in the first place - after all, it'd been nearly ten years since they'd last spoken. But their Ma always had had her own mysterious ways, and now here the postcard was, in Stan’s hands. 

Saying “Please come!”

Stan didn’t need to reread the words. He’d memorised them. But he still couldn’t tear his eyes away from Ford’s scrawl. 

“Please come!” And Ford’s name. All in quick, sketchy capitals. Like he’d had no time to write anything more. Or been too scared to write anything more.

"Who's it from?" Jimmy asked, leaning over Stan's shoulder, and Stan instinctively pressed the postcard against his chest. He felt a little stupid about it, but - Ford didn't belong in the funhouse Stan's life had been since their dad had thrown his duffel bag on the sidewalk at his feet, and Stan planned on keeping him well out of it.

"Nobody," Stan muttered. "Old friend. Well, used to be a friend."

Jimmy quirked an eyebrow, but he backed off. "You tell me if you need help with any 'old friends', all right? Old friends got a way of becomin' new enemies."

Stan couldn't tear his eyes from the postcard.

"Don't I know it," he muttered, under his breath.

...

Stan spun around.

Ford was still lying in a heap on the concrete floor. He hadn’t moved. But, as Stan watched, the trenchcoat started to shift, rising and falling in time with Bill’s harsh laughter, and Stan realised Ford’s shoulders were shaking. 

In the shadow of Ford’s collar, half-hidden under the flop of Ford’s bangs, one eye snapped open.

It glowed a sickly yellow.

It felt like Stan’s feet had been nailed to the floor. He couldn’t have moved even if he’d wanted to as Ford’s body slowly unfolded from the floor in front of him, rising like a ghost from a graveyard, Bill’s awful jack-o’-lantern grin splitting his face nearly in two. 

Bill gave Ford’s chest an inquisitive pat-down with both hands, before clapping both palms to his cheeks, one hand crawling up his face into his hairline and dislodging his glasses as the other crept down towards his neck. “Hah! Wow, that was easier than I thought! Fangs for the upgrade, Ace! Now I’ve got all your perks and a body with some actual brains -”

Stan punched him.

It was a good punch. Bill didn’t seem to see it coming at all. Stan’s fist collided with the side of his head, knocking Ford’s glasses to the floor and wiping that stupid smile clean off his face. A scowl started to replace it, but before Bill could say another word, Stan socked him in the stomach with his other fist. 

Bill doubled over, coughing. 

“Shut it down!” Stan yelled, over his shoulder, at Fiddleford, who was looking shellshocked, and Susan, who was still frozen in the doorway. “Shut the portal -”

The rest of the sentence turned into a strangled yell as Bill gripped him around the neck with both hands and squeezed. Stan met Bill's eyes, and reached out, grabbed Ford's body by the shoulders, and drove his knee up.

The noise Bill made sounded almost exactly like a broken squeaky toy somebody had stepped on.

“Stan!” Carla shouted, gripping her crossbow pistol in both hands, jabbing it in Stan’s direction. “Out of the way, you’re blocking my shot!”

Stan ignored her. As he hauled Bill up by the collar to his feet, lining up for another punch, Bill started to laugh again, loud and grating and obnoxious.

"Yeah, Stan! Out of the way! Isn't that what you wanted? To get me in an undead body so you could stake me?" 

"Shut up," Stan said, shortly, and punched Bill in the stomach again. 

Bill wheezed, again, but this time he didn't stop laughing. "Oh! Oh, this is priceless!" He thrust his head forward, until his nose nearly brushed Stan's, one too-wide yellow eye peering expectantly into Stan's. "Tell me, Fangs. What're you gonna do if I don't?"

Stan wrapped his hand tighter in the collar of Ford’s shirt, expecting Bill to try to pull his disappearing act again, but Bill just stood there, his face too close to Stan’s, grinning. 

“Well?” he demanded, and Stan gave him a shake. Bill burst into another fit of laughter. “Hey, careful! Don’t wanna hurt your brother!”

For a second, Stan felt like he’d been frozen solid from the inside out.

“You mean he’s still -” Stan stopped, shaking his head. “You’re just saying that to get me to lay off you, right? Ford’s dead. You killed him and took his body.”

Bill drew back, just enough to get a good look at Stan’s face, his eyes sweeping over Stan’s expression with obvious glee.

“Guess you two are more alike than I thought!” he said, brightly. 

Stan narrowed his eyes, but Bill’s smile didn’t waver as he leaned slowly back in to uncomfortably close range.

“I mean, not to tell instead of show or anything, but you know that’s exactly what Sixer here thought about you when you showed up, right? I mean, you seem like a guy with a sense of humour, you’ve gotta appreciate the irony!” Bill’s nose was nearly touching Stan’s again, now, but Stan didn’t dare move. Couldn’t move. “So! I’d be careful how you handle this meatsack! Who knows, your brother might want it back! Better not go breaking it!”

Stan curled his fists into the lapels of Bill’s coat. Behind him, he heard a sharp intake of breath that was almost definitely Carla's, but he didn't take his eyes off of Bill, who smirked back from an inch away.

“I’m not,” Stan said, shortly, and then hauled Bill up off the ground and flung him into the shutter covering the huge viewing window. 

Bill looked shocked for about half a second before his back collided with the metal shutter. There was a horrible shriek as the metal crumpled around him, and he slumped forward. 

Before he could move, Stan leapt up after him, slamming him into the metal shutter with enough force to make the whole thing shiver and shake.

“One nice thing about being undead,” Stan started, drawing back his left arm as he pinned Bill against the shutter with his right, “You get a whole lot more durable.”

Bill opened his mouth, and Stan slammed his fist into his face.

There was a crunch, and something gave satisfyingly under Stan’s knuckles. Bill howled, and spun, shoving Stan away. Stan stumbled back, his foot slipping against the edge of the desk they were standing on, and before he knew what was happening, he was falling. He slammed into the concrete floor ass-first, the breath all knocked out of him in one explosive burst. 

The portal’s hum was nearly deafening now. Stan could feel it vibrating up through the floor, thrumming in his chest almost like a heartbeat. 

“Shut it down!” he yelled over at Fiddleford, who was hovering by a wall of flickering coloured lights and buttons that looked like some kind of controls. “Sometime today would be nice!”

Fiddleford gave a frantic tug on one of the few tufts of hair remaining on his head. “I - I - I know I built mosta this, but I cain’t remember how to work the consarned thing!”

“Well, figure it out!” Stan shouted. He started to push himself up from the floor, but before he could even straighten up, something slammed into his back and he was airborne. He could hear Carla yelling, Susan’s scream, and saw the Ford-shaped indent in the metal shutter speeding towards him before - 

Stan shut his eyes just before he collided headfirst with the shutter. 

The noise the shutter made as it tore was almost deafening. The glass on the other side actually hurt more as it shattered, shards piercing into Stan’s face and shoulders as Bill shoved him through it. Stan ducked his head as best he could, silently begging for no shards of jagged metal or broken glass to stab him in the eyes. 

They burst out the other side in a spray of metal fragments and splinters of glass. Stan hit the ground first, skidding along the concrete on his chest. Thankfully, the polished surface didn’t scrape him too badly, but the impact drove the shards of glass deeper into his chest and upper arms, and his jaw cracked against the concrete so hard that he saw stars. 

A sliver of a second later, Bill landed like a sack of bricks on his back.  

Stan lay flat for a long moment, trying to catch his breath, get his bearings, muster up the energy to try to shake Bill off. There was a sharp pain in his right side that felt suspiciously like it might be broken ribs, his head was still throbbing from when he’d cracked his jaw, and all the little cuts and scrapes on his face and shoulders were starting to burn. The brand on his right shoulder was stinging again, reopened by all the punching, and the bone-deep throb in the muscle of his shoulder hadn't stopped.

“Wow, you’re right!” Bill crowed. “You really are more durable!”

“I’m gonna fucking kill you all over again,” Stan managed, around his closed jaw. 

Bill just laughed. 

There was a pop, a swish, and a thump, and Bill’s laughter cut off abruptly. Stan felt his spine suddenly freeze, thinking of Carla's crossbow pistol, but then Bill cackled again. "Gonna have to do better than that, Pansy! Though I guess I oughta thank you for taking care of this sweatervest for me! Whoof! Ol' Sixer here could really use a personal stylist, am I right?"

There was another pop and a swish of displaced air, but this time, Stan felt Bill’s weight on his back lift, and something clanged against the face of the portal. The sound it made was like someone striking a gong, deep and sonorous, cutting through even the rising whine of the portal powering up.

Stan didn’t waste any time pushing himself to his feet. His ribs and his right shoulder burned, and he nearly toppled right back to the floor when he spun to face Bill. 

Bill’s fist collided with Stan’s face like a wrecking ball. Stan stumbled backwards, his jaw lighting up in pain. Before he could find his footing again, Bill was there, with thick dark blood already crusting in a stream from one nostril down over his upper lip and an expression like murder if murder had an extremely punchable face. Stan threw another left hook, but his form was sloppy, his intent too clear. Bill just leaned out of the way, before stepping in close, pressing a hand against each of Stan's shoulders, and giving him one sharp shove backwards.

Stan took two unsteady steps back, trying to find his footing, but the worn-down sole of his sneaker slipped against something sticking up from the floor, and he tripped. His feet left the floor, and he sucked in a breath, expecting it to be knocked out of him when he wound up flat on his ass on the concrete again. 

He didn’t. 

Instead, his feet left the floor, and didn’t touch back down. Stan flailed, but only succeeded in spinning himself in midair, turning a helpless somersault. The ceiling flashed past underneath him, the floor whirling overhead - with a yellow-and-black-striped band across it. He’d seen it before, when he was untying Susan, but he hadn’t really noticed it. 

He realised, as his spin gradually slowed, that it was probably a warning not to get too close to the portal in case exactly this happened.

Stan couldn’t hear Susan’s yell over the roar of the portal. But he could see her, over Bill’s shoulder, mouth working silently, as she shoved past Carla and out into the lab. She seemed...shorter, somehow. Or just...farther down.

So did Bill in Ford’s body. And the yellow and black line.

Oh, shit.

The sound of the portal was deafening, now. Stan could see his shadow, stark and black on the floor below him, outlined in the brilliant blue light spilling from the portal behind him. 

He could feel it now, too. Not just the strange weightlessness, like falling in reverse, but a pull, dragging him slowly but inexorably backwards no matter how much he kicked and clawed at the air. Stan watched his own shadow inch backwards, over the black and yellow line, as the floor got farther and farther away, his own shouts drowned out by the thundering noise of the spinning machinery behind him.

The vicious smile on Ford’s face glinted sharply in the portal’s blue light. 

And then slipped off of his face again when Susan ran up beside him, breathing hard, and scooped the extension cord she’d been tied up with off the ground in front of the portal. Stan barely caught the sound of his name as she yelled up at him, and then swung the end of the cord over her head before throwing it at him. “Catch!”

Stan scrabbled for the end of the cord, only succeeding in flipping himself into another midair somersault. The plug thwacked him sharply in the back of his head as he tumbled by, and Stan shouted a curse that even he could barely hear over the portal. 

He saw everything in blurry flashes as he spun - the ceiling, the floor, Bill and Susan wrestling over the other end of the extension cord, the ceiling again, the huge accusing eye of the portal, outlined in a frantically whirling ring of white light, and in its depths, in the darkness in its very centre, something sparking to life - 

The extension cord wavered into his vision again, and Stan reached out and grabbed at it. This time, somehow, his hand closed around it. 

Stan latched onto the cord with both hands, pulling himself down along it. It was hard work - somehow, over the last handful of seconds, the pull from the portal had grown so much stronger, like its own upside-down gravity. The rising whine he'd heard earlier was piercing, now, rising over the rumble of the machinery. The extension cord burned the bare skin of his palms as the portal sucked Stan back, and he heard Susan yelp as the cord snapped taut.

Stan clung to the cord, but his grip in his right hand slipped, the muscles still weak after the burn to his shoulder, and he slid backwards, sucked in towards the portal. He could feel something through the toes of his shoes, a strange feeling that almost wasn’t a feeling, like if an electric shock had somehow crossed with the feeling of his foot falling asleep. He glanced back over his shoulder, and saw the centre of the portal filled with blue-white light. 

The tips of his sneakers were just starting to sink into it.

Stan yanked on the extension cord, trying to pull himself away from the portal, but when he turned back towards Susan and the others, the bottom of his stomach dropped abruptly to the concrete below. 

Susan was on the floor, curled up like a caterpillar clutching her stomach in obvious pain. And holding the other end of the extension cord, grinning like he was a cartoon cat and Stan was a mouse he’d caught by the tail, was Bill.

“You know, Fangs, I really shouldn’t keep stringing you along like this!” Bill cackled, and let the extension cord slip through his hands. Stan was sucked backwards, a scream tearing out of him before he was abruptly jolted to a stop when Bill grabbed onto the extension cord again. “Whoops!” 

“Let him go, you big meanie!” Susan yelled, throwing both her arms around Ford’s legs and - Stan blinked. It looked a little like she was trying to hug him into submission. 

“Susan, don’t,” Stan groaned, as Susan’s wording sank in. “Don’t ask him to let go!”

Bill flashed a big, innocuous smile down at Susan, before turning Ford’s head slowly, slowly, back to face Stan. 

“Turning down help, Ace? Might wanna rethink that! Cause it looks like you’re getting pretty close to the end of your rope -”

“Bill!”

Stan’s head snapped up at the sound of the muffled shout. So did Susan’s. Bill kept staring at Stan for a moment longer, his smile slowly dipping into a confused frown, before he turned to look behind him.

The crash test dummy tackled Bill around the waist.

Bill staggered forward, letting out a frustrated snarl as he tried to push the dummy off of him. The dummy clung on grimly with its single arm, wrapping both of its legs around Bill’s knees, and Bill stumbled - right over the black-and-yellow warning line. 

Both Bill and dummy left the ground, rising quickly towards Stan. For one heartstopping moment, the extension cord went slack in Stan’s hands, the portal dragging him back. Then Susan jumped to her feet and snatched the cord out of the air where it was flapping, loose. That strange electric numbness flickered at Stan's spine as Susan teetered on the edge of the warning line, the very tips of her toes brushing against the floor. “Stan! Hang on, I’ve got you!”

“Okay, but who’s got you?” Stan yelled back. 

Bill pressed one of Ford’s hands against the top of the dummy’s head, six fingers splayed, and shoved it away from him. The dummy spun backwards, its arm and legs flapping wildly, sinking down through the air towards Susan even as Bill tumbled in the other direction, heading straight for Stan. 

Stan tried to brace himself, but Bill still slammed into him like a rebounding punching bag. The impact nearly jolted the extension cord out of Stan’s hands, wrenching his shoulders in their sockets. 

For a terrifying instant, Susan slipped, skidded across the black and yellow line. The cord started to go slack in Stan's hands, and he nearly let it go. If he was falling through that portal into who knew what, then at least he wasn't going to take Susan with him.

But the cord snapped tight again as Carla ran up behind Susan and grabbed her around the waist, dragging her back across the black and yellow line. She looked up, and met Stan's eyes, giving him the tiniest of nods and just a hint of a reassuring smile.

Stan ground his back teeth together and clung grimly on.

Bill’s laughter rose from Ford’s body, and even though his back was pressed against Stan’s front, Stan could all too easily imagine the expression on his face. His shoulders shaking nearly made Bill slip away, out of Stan’s grip and into the portal’s pull, and Stan sucked in a breath before letting go of the extension cord with his right arm to wrap it more securely around Ford’s waist. Maybe his brother wasn’t in it right now, but that was his brother’s body, and there was no way he was letting it go. Ford would probably want it back.

The dummy let out a frustrated yell, kicking its legs to try to spin in midair to face Stan and Bill. “Let him go, you idiot!” it yelled, or seemed to yell, at Stan. “Send that monster back to the dimension from which he came!”

Even though it didn’t have a mouth to move, the voice seemed to come from the general direction of the dummy’s head. And though it was disembodied and strangely muffled, Stan would’ve known Ford’s voice anywhere.

Bill’s laughter only got louder. “That’s the Fordsy we all know and love! Even when you’re fighting for your life - or should I say unlife, now? - you still waste your time on grammar!”

“Ford?” Stan asked.

“Yep, that’s your brother, piggybacking off of your great ideas for once! How’s that role reversal feel, Fangs?” Bill twisted Ford’s head sharply sideways, grinning manic into Stan’s face, before wrenching it back to face the dummy - Ford. “But this little self-sacrifice act is getting old, Sixer! Giving up your body to trap me in the Nightmare Realm forever? Booo-ring!”

“Oh, good, the demon guy’s talking again,” Susan moaned, from somewhere below. “Who let him talk?”

Bill’s eyes narrowed, but his smile remained dangerously sharp. 

“Let’s make this a little more interesting!” he chirped, ignoring Susan, and snapped Ford’s fingers. 

Then he blinked, and looked over at his own raised hand as if he’d never seen it before. He was moving slower, too, like he was a stranger to his own body, and as he half-turned towards Stan, raising his other hand, Stan caught a glimpse of his eyes.

His normal, brown eyes, which widened in horrified realisation at the same time as Stan’s did.

From below them, Bill’s laughter rose again, terrible and echoing. Stan and Ford both turned to look down at the dummy, at the slash of red paint across the huge eye sketched on its face. As Stan watched, that eye flared a glowing, hideous yellow, and turned up towards them.

“Well, Pines brothers, it’s been fun,” Bill’s nasally voice crowed from the general vicinity of the dummy’s head, “but the party’s over!” His voice sank through several octaves until it was a booming bass that Stan could feel vibrating in his chest. “See you on the other side.”

“Shit!” Stan shouted, and grabbed at the extension cord, just as the dummy reached out with its remaining arm and yanked the cord out of Susan’s hands. Susan wailed, falling over the black and yellow line as she tried to keep hold of the cord. If gravity had been normal, Stan guessed she would’ve skidded flat on her face. As it was, she turned a slow somersault in midair, head over heels.

Bill raised the dummy’s hand, and waved.

Ford was shouting something in Stan’s ear, some panicked babble about what they should do, what they could do, how they couldn’t let Bill destroy the universe, but Stan barely heard him. There was a little bubble of stillness right below his ribcage, and even though he could feel the strange electric void of the portal licking at the back of his neck, all he could feel was perfect, unshakable calm.

He’d done this before. Maybe Ford knew about monsters and demons and things that went bump in the night, but this wasn’t about magic and mystery anymore. Now this was about some powerful, evil asshole trying to kill them. 

And that, Stan knew how to deal with. 

Before Bill could open his hand and let go of the extension cord, Stan looped his end of the cord around his left hand and yanked. It must have been part Stan’s own strength, part the portal’s pull, part weak gravity, but Bill shot straight toward Stan and Ford like a bullet out of a gun. 

Stan watched as that glowing yellow eye drew closer, and closer, Bill’s scream of rage trailing after it. At the last possible second, when it looked like the dummy was about to smash into both of them, he let go of the extension cord and shoved Ford to his right as hard as he could.

Bill never stood a chance. The dummy flew between Stan and Ford and straight into the heart of the portal, trailing extension cord as it vanished into the blue-white light, Bill’s scream fading slowly after it. The end of the cord whipped through the air as it was sucked through after the dummy, and then it, too, was gone.

“Stan,” Ford laughed, his face crumpling in a way that could have been either laughter or tears as he reached out across the threshold of the portal to Stan. “You idiot, you - you stupid - why did you come back?”

Stan shook his head. The blue-white light of the portal was so close now, nearly swallowing everything. It wouldn’t be long before they both passed through it. He could barely see Ford, there was no way Ford could make out the expression on his face.

“I am your brother,” he managed, and somehow even mustered up a smile.

Ford said something, but it was swallowed by the sound of the portal. That strange feeling of nothingness was spreading, up Stan’s waist and chest, and he couldn’t see anything for blue light.

But he felt it when Ford grabbed his wrist, and when Ford pulled him forwards - not out of the portal, but just enough to make the nothing-feeling retreat a little - and wrapped both arms around his shoulders. Stan froze, not sure what was happening, but all Ford did was hold him, like that, pressed against his chest. It was with mingled horror and something...else, something soft, that Stan realised his shoulder was quickly getting damp where Ford’s face was pressed into it. 

The portal gave one triumphant roar, and Stan shut his eyes.

And then his legs were on fire with the worst pins and needles he’d ever felt, and the blue light vanished, the portal clunking and shuddering through a series of ominous mechanical noises as its whine slowly trailed down through the octaves. Stan hovered for a moment, before gravity seemed to notice that he and Ford had been thumbing their noses at it and rushed in to make up for lost time. 

Both Stan and Ford crashed down onto the concrete, with a jarring thump that made Stan’s teeth rattle in his head and all of his burns and scrapes and involuntary piercings suddenly sit up and make themselves heard. He lay there, for what felt like eternity, with his brother’s arms around him, listening to McGucket hooting and hollering from the control room. 

“I done it! I dadgum done did it! I remembered how ta turn th’ thing off an’ I done it! Glory be!”

The portal was shut. Bill was gone.

Stan leaned into Ford’s shoulder, and slowly, gingerly, brought his own arms up to wrap around Ford’s waist. In response, Ford squeezed Stan’s shoulders so hard that the burn on Stan’s shoulder screamed in protest, digging his fingers into Stan’s back hard enough to leave bruises. 

Even though everything hurt, Stan couldn’t help but smile.

[jellyryans]

it’ll be fine, as long as your hand’s in mine

Pairing: Azumane Asahi/Nishinoya Yuu

No warnings, just good old fashioned coffee shop pining. 1647 words. 

The bakery supply closet became his own personal sanctuary, a place at work where Asahi could retreat when he needed time alone, or when things got to be too much.

Things. Or people. Or just one person.

Happy Haikyuu!! Holidays to @gabberwockywrites as part of the @haikyuuwriters secret santa exchange! Hope you enjoy! Fic below the cut.

The sounds were muted, but Asahi could hear everything. A milk pitcher hit the floor with a sharp metallic crack. Steady footsteps trod by, up the stairs, past the door, behind the espresso bar, into the cafe. The main door opened and the bell chimed, followed by an unfamiliar chortle.

He could hear everything, but nothing couldn’t touch him where he sat, nestled uncomfortably on a person-sized bag of flour in the dark, on the other side of the heavy closet door.

Asahi often wondered why it seemed like he was the only person to hide in the bakery supply closet. It was slightly obscured by all the doors, nooks, and crannies of the old building, but it wasn’t hidden. It was possible that everyone else simply knew better. He could hear Daichi scolding him for contaminating the dry ingredients, that he should get off his butt and go back to work already., but no one had found him yet, and no one had ever said anything.

The bakery supply closet became his own personal sanctuary, a place at work where he could retreat when he needed time alone, or when things got to be too much.

Things. Or people. Or just one person.

Asahi started to groan, then slapped his hand over his mouth before the noise could fully form in his throat. He sat completely still, not even daring to breath, until at least a minute had passed without someone barging into the room with pointed fingers. He rolled his neck on his shoulders in a sad attempt to release the tension that racked his body.

He might’ve been hidden from the forces outside the room, but he was never safe from the terrifying weight of his thoughts.

Asahi recalled the first time he met Nishinoya Yuu. He had burst into the café for his first shift, vibrating with energy at four in the morning, and Asahi didn’t manage an actual greeting until hours later, halfway through their first shift together.

Nishinoya was one of the best baristas Asahi had ever seen. He was there when you needed him, always ready to talk to customers, had a smile that somehow transformed the air around him, was willing to switch shifts to make everyone’s lives easier, and would make any drink on the menu without complaint.

The issue was that he was so much more than just an amazing co-worker. He was a good mentor to younger baristas, a good friend, a good person.

Even though it had taken months for Asahi to translate the butterflies in his stomach, deep down he knew had been a goner since the moment Nishinoya bounced into the café like there was nowhere else he would have rather been and smiled at Asahi like he was the only guy in the world.

Asahi screwed up his face, guilt coursing through his veins. The issue wasn’t really Nishinoya, though. It was him.

He thought of the day when he wore a new headband to work, how Nishinoya had to stand on toes to touch it, how he called it a “string” and said it was the “coolest thing he’d ever seen!” Asahi had to hide for twenty minutes before his face returned to its normal hue.

Then there was the time that Nishinoya burnt himself on the steam wand and had requested that “only Asahi-san” tend to wound. Nishinoya sat on the sink of their cramped employee washroom and Asahi stood between his legs as he touched Nishinoya’s skin. Asahi shivered at the memory. Nishinoya’s skin was so soft and he was so terrified that Nishinoya would be able to feel how fast his heart beat in his fingertips as he smoothed down the bandage.

Asahi had barely made it to the supply closet before his knees gave out, and he stayed hidden for a whole half hour, practicing the breathing exercises that his mother had showed him.

That hadn’t been the first time they touched, and it wasn’t the last.

Nishinoya gave high fives like they were an extension of his being. His hands shot up when they finished a particularly long line of drinks at the bar, or when Asahi finally managed to get the perfect laurel on top of a latte, or when Asahi made it to work in a giant snowstorm that had frozen public transportation.

Asahi’s throat went dry and he looked down at his palms. He willed himself to think of anything else, anything other than time that Nishinoya raised his hands for a high five and didn’t let go.

He had twined their fingers together, palms lowered but still in the air. Nishinoya had looked up at Asahi and there had been something soft in his eyes, something that made Asahi rip his hands away. He had turned before he could see Nishinoya’s reaction and sprinted to the closet, where he had hid his face in his hands and lost track of time.

It wasn’t just the two of them anymore, either.

The week before, right in the middle of their busy afternoon shift, out of the borderlands between absolutely nowhere and Asahi’s worst nightmare, Suga had asked him when the hell he was going to man up and ask Nishinoya out.

Daichi had appeared next to Suga and nodded his approval. Hinata had come out of the woodwork and screeched. Kageyama’s head had almost snapped on his neck when he glared at Asahi.

Even the customers in line agreed with Suga. Iwaizumi, a regular, told him that “it was about damn time already.”

Asahi didn’t sleep for days, worried that Nishinoya had somehow overheard despite not having been there, or that someone would tell him when Asahi wasn’t around.

But those sleepless nights paled in comparison to that morning.

Nishinoya was scheduled later than usual and was bundled almost appropriately when he came into the café for his shift. He waved to Asahi with a swish of his puffy sleeves and his greeting was muffled by the scarf wrapped around his neck. Asahi’s heart skipped a beat, as it usually did, and he waved back.

Just as his heart settled, Nishinoya came out of the locker room, and Asahi’s mouth fell open.

His hair was tall and wild, finally free from the confines of his beanie, and the skin over his cheekbones was pink from the howling December wind. His apron was haphazardly tied but it was snug around his slender waist.

Asahi was well aware of how gorgeous Nishinoya was, but nothing could’ve prepared him for the shirt he was wearing.

Nishinoya had on the standard uniform polo, but it wasn’t the one he usually wore. This one must’ve been at least three sizes too small, because Asahi saw every line of defined muscle, the slight bump of his pecs, and the sharp outline of his collar bone.

And if that hadn’t been enough to bring Asahi to his knees, the sleeves were short and tight on his arms, exposing a generous swath of skin and muscle that tensed and relaxed as he moved.

Asahi had run off without saying a word.

His feelings for Nishinoya were obvious to everyone before, and if they weren’t obvious to Nishinoya then, they certainly were now. Asahi was caught short of breath, even in the solitary dark of his sacred spot, and hiding didn’t seem like enough anymore. How could he possibly face Nishinoya again?

The solution was as obvious as it was painful. He had to quit.

But no sooner had the thought materialized, than the door flew open and exposed Asahi. He brought his arms up in defense and tried to hide himself as much as possible while blocking the light.

Asahi’s heart pounded against his ribcage, and braced himself, but nothing happened. He lowered his arms and squinted at the figure in the doorway.

“Asahi-san!”

Asahi jumped at his name, away from the person in front of him. “Nishinoya? How did you, me? Here?”

He grimaced at his own pathetic attempt to initiate conversation, but Nishinoya wasn’t fazed. 

“The supply closet’s a good place to be alone, I get it! Plus, I looked everywhere else.” He laughed. “You ran away so fast that I thought you might’ve teleported away or something!”

Asahi forced a laugh in response, but it sounded more like the sad wheezing of an broken squeaky toy, and he averted his eyes. “No, um, sorry. No teleporting, just… yeah.” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, but his hand shook so badly that he brought it back down and sat on it. “Is it busy? Do you need me?”

“I do, but not because it’s busy.”

“Okay?” 

Dread settled in Asahi’s stomach and he ran through the possibilities. Someone was hurt. They were getting held up. Something had broken. A customer had slipped. Nishinoya didn’t seem bothered, leaning in the door frame with an unreadable expression on his face.

“I just missed you.”

Asahi blinked in surprise. “You... What?”

Nishinoya smiled so wide that Asahi thought it might escape his face and swallow the café. “I missed you, Asahi-san.”

He reached out, but Asahi just eyed Nishinoya’s hand, wary that he was imagining it all and desperately afraid that he was. Nishinoya took another step forward and grabbed Asahi’s hand, pulling him to his feet, confirming that everything was real.

“And I might’ve told Daichi-san that I wouldn’t work another second if you weren’t there.”

Asahi yelped, squeezing Nishinoya’s hand on instinct. “Nishinoya, you didn’t!”

Nishinoya squeezed back, looking over his shoulder as he lead Asahi out of the bakery supply closet. “I did, so let’s go back together, okay?”

He looked down at their hands. It didn’t feel like Nishinoya had any intention of letting go, and Asahi was tempted to pinch himself as Nishinoya lead him back to the espresso bar.

He was still in that tiny shirt, and it was still very distracting, but Asahi was more entranced by the way their hands fit together.

“Okay,” Asahi whispered. “Together.”   

Maybe he wouldn’t have to quit after all.

[artificialqueens]

Katya and the Space Barbie 2 (Trixya)- Squeaky

Katya lands on Mother Ship to find that all hell has broken loose. Who’s going to kill her first- the space zombies or her girlfriends?

(AN: I wasn’t planning to make this a series but y’all liked the last one so….expect a couple more chapters of space shenanigans.)

“This is the Sputnik requesting landing? Do you copy? This is Sputnik requesting-”

“Yeah, we got it,” came a disgruntled voice. “Fucking over.”

Katya tries to place it. She vaguely remembers a frumpy blue haired girl in the back of her class in a My Little Pony tracksuit. Pheebia? Phi Phi?

Katya presses the com button: “What’s going on, Pheef? Usually I get permission immediately, but we’ve been circling for an hour now and-”

“The plague.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf as well as dumb now, Captain Zamo? We’ve got zombitches everywhere. Hungry for flesh. I’m not a fucking scientist, but I’d classify that as a plague.”

“Uh, are you telling me I left for a month, and the apocalypse broke out?”

“Mhhhm, but flesh hungry corpses are the least of your problems. Hope you’re ready to deal with your girlfriend. Alaska’s been in one of her bratty moods ever since you hung up on her and zoomed off to planet Booberella to, like, reenact the human centipede or whatever. Classic Katya.”

That’s not what Katya remembered happening. All of this is so much to take in, and Katya hasn’t eaten anything but dehydrated fruit for the last week. She twists around to check on Trixie, but the blonde doesn't seem bothered. Wait, zombies don’t eat plastic…do they? Guess it’s safer to be Trixie right now than Katya.

When Phi Phi puts down the shields for them to land, Katya takes a deep, calming breath. She’s always known some crew members were blood sucking sacks of corporate shit but now they literally were. Oh well, if she does die, Katya won’t have to pay any taxes…right? The morbid thought helps her to relax even as the space pad is slowly pulled into a blinking red recon area.

Trixie walks over to rest her hand on Katya’s shoulder and stare out at all the other ships around them: “This is where you live, Captain? In a parking lot?”

“Uh, no, I live down in my cube, but I don’t think they’re going to let us leave until they come to inspect the ship. With the whole plague crisis,” Katya pauses and clears her throat. “Uh, so technically, I’m not allowed to bring another person with me….maybe you could somehow shrink back down and-”

“I am not going back in that box,” Trixie snaps, grabbing Katya’s shoulders and shaking for emphasis. Her eyes are wild; Katya shrinks back a little. They’ve been together for a week now, and Katya’s still learning to deal with Trixie’s moods. Trixie goes from sweet to horny seductress to murderess in the blink of an eye. If Katya had any common sense, she would have been scared.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

“Whoooo is it?” Katya calls as she stands up on her toes to look through the peep hole.

Detox’s unimpressed face glares back at her. Katya isn’t sure why anyone would want to be a safety inspector unless they were a nosy gossip. But that’s what makes Detox perfect for the job. According to her dating profile Detox is “half-cybernetic, half-woman, and a full time snitch.”

“Hello, officer,” Katya awkwardly begins as she tugs on her tight uniform. Detox taps her pen against her clipboard and nods up at Trixie-

“Hey, who’s the plastic bitch? You stop by Planet Fake for a rebound?”

“Speak for yourself, Robocop” Trixie scoffs as she takes a step forward. “My name is Trixie, and I’m a sentient woman. Are you?”

Detox pulls out her laser rifle, and Katya jumps between the two.

“Woah, woah! Let’s not go zapping anyone into oblivion before we make proper introductions. Trixie, this is Detox- she’s a cyborg. T-trixie’s…well, she’s not exactly a person. I mean in her heart she’s a person, but, uh, yeah she’s technically a doll.”

“A doll?” Detox repeats, incredulous. She still has her lazor pointed, and Katya curses her luck. Why did she get stuck with the world’s most trigger-happy-inspector?

“Sex. A sex doll from, uh, Planet Booberella.”

The still fleshy part of Detox’s face contorts into a smirk: “Ha, so she is fake.”

Katya sighs in relief as Detox lowers the gun and nods.

“I’m gonna mark that you brought back an alien sex toy, Katya, which is only a Class D offense. As a favor to my girl. If you don’t talk to Alaska by tonight, I will re-classify this Tracey Martell thing as dangerous.”

They’re escorted into another holding area where Detox instructs them to change out of their clothes into “protective” yellow rubber suits. How rubber is supposed to protect them from zombies is anyone’s guess.

“You called me defective,” Trixie whispers under her breathe as she changes, rubbery breasts bouncing under the dim lights. Katya bits her lip as she takes in Trixie’s perfectly molded body, and the way it gleams under the dim lights. Ok, now is not the time to get horny.  

“But you…are? I mean that’s what you called yourself.”

“God, Katya, for a human you can really be insensitive sometimes. You know that?  Like I may be a plastic bitch, but I don’t appreciate Detox calling me one. Especially considering more of her’s fake then me. And I mean…after all we’ve been through…how can you still call me defective?”

They’d only known each other for one hot-sex-filled-week, but Katya bites her tongue. After years of courting Alaska, Katya knows better than to correct her, especially if she feels wronged. Katya apologizes and loads her gun.  

Then they’re shoved out into zombie-land. It’s not everyday you get to fend for your life. Trixie and Katya are back to back, circling around each other to make sure they’re not ambushed.

“I just feel like we have a connection, so when you call me defective or tell me to go back into my box? I feel-”

“Shhhh!”

“Don’t shush me!” Trixie snaps like they’re strolling through a meadow and not over blood and guts. Katya trips over a severed head, and Trixie grabs her hand.

They’re only one hallway down when a horde attacks with a deafening hiss. Slime oozes out from their eye sockets. They’re fast, crawling out from the darkness.

Katya panics and starts shooting, but the noise draws more.

One leaps out of the corner, and it sinks it’s teeth into Trixie’s chest-

“Ugh, that’s my tit!“

Trixie bashes it over the head with her rifle like it’s nothing. The rubbery yellow suit has saved Trixie’s breast from going down with the undead. Katya’s heart is beating hot and fast. Feet frozen.

Trixie goes out in front of them and fearlessly beats the zombies with her rifles until the yellow is covered in red. Katya’s still petrified, but she manages to take a couple down.

By the time Katya presses her hand against the ID Scanner, they’re both panting, exhausted. Normal ships got mice infestations. Mother ship? Zombies.

The cube door behind them. Katya applies all the security locks.

“Well, well,” Alaska lying on Katya’s bed in a bathrobe, cradling a bottle of wine to her chest. “Look who the corpses dragged in.”

Katya’s kind of traumatized and covered in guts, but -yeah!- let’s have couples therapy. She collapses to her knees, unable to keep her shaking legs upright as the door closes behind them. Trixie squeezes her shoulder, bends down, and wipes the blood from her cheek. Katya presses their foreheads together even as she feels Alaska’s eyes hot against her.

“Word from Detox is that you replaced me with a sex robot?! I get that space is lonely, but you couldn’t have just gotten yourself a vibrator?”

“I can vibrate,” Trixie says, eyeing up Alaska with suspicion. “And I can talk, so if you have something to say, say it to my face.”

Katya really can’t deal with these two right now. She’s back on her feet stripping out from the stained uniform. It’s damp and gross, sticking to her skin like a glove.

“Alaska meet Trixie. Trixie meet Alaska. And she’s more like a sentient doll-”

“A SENTIENT DOLL?”

Trixie throws her hands up: “Standing right here!”

Alaska jumps to her feet and slaps Trixie across the cheek.

“If you’re sentient, I can hate you for fucking my girlfriend-”

“Your girlfriend? She looked pretty single when she was between my thighs,” Trixie screams as she grabs a fistful of Alaska’s hair, and they’re down on the floor, clawing and kicking.

“Ok, I’m just going to put it out there that none of us are technically dating? Okay? Can I just put that out into the universe?”

Trixie and Alaska both look up at her, mid fight, and say at the same time-

“Fuck off, Katya.”

They look back at each other and laugh. Great. Now, they’re bonding over their mutual hatred for her. This is going from bad to worse to EVACUATE; Katya’s trapped with her fuming not-girlfriends. In the middle of the zombie apocalypse! Can this get any more dramatic?

“Okay, so I’m just getting the vibe that you two need to fight this out, so I’m gonna shower,” Katya mutters and slams the door shut. She takes off her bra and panties, moaning as she steps under the hot spray. Katya presses her face to the glass and closes her eyes. When she opens them, she’s staring straight into Trixie’s dark eyes.

“Is that your girlfriend, Katya?”

“No.”

“Am I?”

“No.”

“Then we’re all sexually free and available?”

“Technically.”

“Threesome?”

“Just…close the door, Trixie. Please,” Katya groans as she squeezes her eyes shut and stands under the hot spray. There’s the squeak of the rubber suit being stripped and then the shower opens.

“You didn’t say which door,” Trixie quips, a little too smug as she bumps Katya’s hip.

It’s so strange to see her completely naked. To see the lines between her joints, the curve of her heavy breasts, and the smoothness between her legs. Katya sometimes forgets when she’s clothed how alien she looks naked.

Trixie squeezes shampoo into her hands and leans in to rub Katya’s breasts. The combination of Trixie’s rubbery skin, the soap, and the water causes Katya’s nipples to harden.

“Nothing gets me in the mood like killing zombies,” Katya grumbles and weakly tries to push Trixie off.

But Trixie is insistent, pressing her up against the cold tiles of the shower wall. Then her lips are pressed against Katya’s, her leg between her thighs, and her hands around her wrists.

“Let me take your mind away from it,” Trixie begs.

“You don’t have to,” Katya tells her softly.

“Bitch, I want to.”

Trixie runs her fingers down Katya’s abdomen. The hot water’s running down them, pooling between where their breasts are pressed flush together. Katya relaxes into her touch.

“How are you so amazing all the fucking time? It should be a statistical anomaly to be that awesome. What’s your secret?“

“I’m a Barbie girl,” Trixie says with a wink and steals a kiss.

“In an intergalactic world?”

“You can touch me there, kiss me everywhere,” Trixie sing songs. “Life in plastic…isn’t it fantastic?”

“Hello, Barbie,” Katya giggles against her lips as she squeezes Trixie’s ass. Then she pushes Trixie down onto her knees, so face is between Katya’s naked thighs, and says-

“Let’s go party.”

Trixie laughs, and then her laughter turns into steady vibrations. Oh, she was not lying about that vibrate feature, huh? Trixie’s tongue is rough and wet, and Katya wraps her fingers through Trixie’s blonde hair, pulling her closer. Oh god, how does she manage to fuck Katya up so easily?

Then Trixie’s on her feet and turns Katya up against the cold wall, so her breasts are pressed against the tiles. Katya wriggles in Trixie’s rough grip, unable to break away even if she wanted. Katya loves how helpless she feels under her.

The wet water caresses them as Trixie slowly rocks the length of her toy cock between Katya’s parted legs. Katya’s trembling as she whimpers Trixie’s name.

“You’re such a good captain,” Trixie whispers in her ear. “But now you need someone else to take care of you…don’t you?”

“Ah, yes,” Katya gasps as Trixie lines up the tip of herself against Katya. Oh, Trixie needs to roughly push inside. Take her.

“I want to hear you, Captain Zamo,” Trixie insists as she slides herself against Katya’s wetness, teasing her.

“But Alaska’s right outside?”

“This isn’t her cube,” Trixie leans in, so her voice roughly rumbles against Katya’s ear. “Let her hear you.”

“You d-dirty dolly,” Katya loudly moans as Trixie -finally!- pushes her cock inside. Oh, it’s so long and fills her up so nicely. Trixie still has Katya’s wrists pinned down, and she’s fucking her in slow, steady thrusts. Katya arches her back, toes curling on the wet tiles, as Trixie’s strapon rubs against that spot.

Katya tightens her fingers into fists, face contorting in pleasure. She moans, loud and slutty, unable to keep quiet. Trixie chuckles in her ear.

“There we go, cap,” Trixie teases as she speeds up her pace. “There we go.”

The water outlines the shape of their bodies. The wet slap of plastic against flesh echoes in the bathroom stall.

“T-trixie!” Katya’s voice breaks as she orgasms, thighs shaking. Trixie kisses her neck as the liquid spills down her already wet thighs. It’s washed away.

Afterwards, they rub themselves clean with towels. Katya does feel much more relaxed as she presses a grateful kiss to Trixie’s cheek.

“Is sex therapy a career? Cause it should be yours.”

“Yeah? Is there a big, gaping opening in the job market?” Trixie giggles as she fluffs Katya’s hair.

They make their way back into the Cube, and Alaska’s curled up in Katya’s bed. There’s an empty bottle of wine rolling on the floor. Katya’s stomach twists with something- guilt? Or maybe that’s just the decomposing zombie smell getting to her.

“Hey,” Katya whispers as she shakes Alaska awake. “I’m sorry-”

“Ssssory for what?” Alaska slurs. “That you didn’t invite me? It’sssss fine. I like masturbating alone. It'sss my pity party.”

Trixie slips into the bed: “I suggested the threesome, but she wasn’t down.”

“Ssstupid. Both of you. Zombies shoulda eaten you out,” Alaska hiccups as she kicks Trixie’s naked thigh. Trixie tries to push her off the bed. Alaska retaliates with a nipple pinch. Then they’re rolling around again, straddling each other . Naked this time.

Katya rubs her forehead: “Next one to throw a punch is sleeping on the floor.”

Alaska narrows her eyes and slumps back onto the bed. Trixie huffs and pinches Alaska’s nipple eliciting an ‘ow’ and kick. 

Katya curls up next to Trixie. Alaska scoots over so she’s pressed up next to Katya. With both the girls arms around her, she starts to drift to sleep, but the announcements jolt her back awake.

“This is your Captain Ru, Mother of the Mother Ship, speaking. I’d just like to wish everyone alive a wonderful evening. And if you’re dead…remember, you can still be drop dead gorgeous…oh my, well, Visage has just informed me that we’re going to self destruct in t minus 12 hours. Have a magical night aboard the Mother Ship!”

“We sssshould get outta here,” Alaska realizes and drunkenly points at the bathroom door.

“Sleep,” Katya yawns. “Escape plans in the morning.”

“Wha’ if we die?”

“No need for the escape plan then.”

Alaska starts to cry and Katya rubs her back until she falls asleep. Trixie, who doesn't need to sleep to recharge, is watching them with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh, and I’m the defective one?“ Trixie mutters as she scoots closer to bury her face in Katya’s chest.

Katya falls asleep to the soothing hiss of zombies scratching at the door, and the comforting thought that they’re surrounded by infinite space. What are they going to do? Where are they going to go? 

Most woman have dreams, Katya just has deep, existential dread.