#i rescue three kittens but i get severe cold right after?

[aboatwithnocaptain]

Please tell me you are indeed a King of Cats

TW: animal drowning (incomplete)

It happens some time after our lovely cat king and his immortal professor reunite at The New Inn and eventually decide they indeed are friends. Hob some time around Christmas walks around the lake nearby his flat and spots some man throwing a black sack at the water. Hob at first isn't sure what is inside it, but he knows that this could end really badly. So, just as he has gone through previous 600+ years, he without a thought jumps into the lake and gets the sack. When he opens it, he sees a bunch of rocks and three kittens. He curses and immediately starts praying to Morpheus on his way home. After all, if he is more than God, he could be prayed to, right?

*

"Uh... Dream? You indeed are the King of Cats, right? Please be. I need your assistance"

"Hob?" A black cat appears suddenly at his feet and wrap its tail around Hob's calf.

"Oh God, you're here. I immediately need a cat mother." He shows him, what he has in his arms. He looks utterly shaken. "They'll die if I don't help them. I cannot feed them like a mother! I-I-I..."

"Hob, focus. You are... wet?"

"I got them from a bag in a lake. The termophore is warming in the oven. Please help me save them."

"I have quite the cat. Just don't try to claim her. I'll be here in a minute." And just like that, he disappears.

*

Hob is waiting in a bathtub - he doesn't want to ruin his home completely. Besides, when the cat takes care of the kittens and feeds them, he will be able to finally bathe and redress. He will be sick, no doubt, but at least he won't die. He starts to shake, but he cannot regret what he did. Especially when he sees the kittens start to move and purr again. They are blind and still wet, but at least a little more warm. A siamese cat enters the room and Hob sighs in relief. She looks at him as to say, "don't you even try to pet me, mere human".

"Oh, thank goodness you're here. These kittens need you. Please, feed them. Take care of them, please." With still wet hands, he places the termophore on the floor and starts to undress. "I am sorry, Mother, but I really need to get a little more warm." She hisses, but at last she focuses on the kittens and feeds them and warms them with her body.

*

Hob is sick for the next two months, but he doesn't regret a bit.

"Robert Gadling, what were you thinking, you insufferable, incredibly insensible human being?"

Hob still cannot speak, so he writes "Well, I couldn't let them die."

"She will not let you keep them. Even I cannot order her to."

"Doesn't matter. They are safe."

"You are truly a wonder, Hob Gadling."

And so, Dream, without being asked, guards Hob in the Waking and when he isn't able to, he sends Matthew to do so.

"I'll manage, you know? You don't have to do this, Dream"

Without a word, Dream takes his pen and places it out of Hob's reach.

Right, I get the message.

Bonus: Although the Siamese doesn't like humanity, when it is necessary for her to stay somewhere and f.e. heal, she knows Hob will feed her and her maybe-children, too and won't harm them in any way and won't require anything in return. So she sometimes approaches him, silently demanding food. Hob, as always, sighs and let her.

"It was supposed to be my dinner, you know?" But, as always, he gives her the best meat he can get out of his fridge.

And maybe sometimes, sometimes, she lays beside him on a pillow.

[willowcrowned]

kit fisto carpet artisan

thank you for reminding me.

So, the important part of the Kit Fisto carpet artisan au is that he leaves the Order to make carpets. The going theory among the jedi is that he had an uncle on Coruscant that left him a carpet shop and he decided to stop being a Jedi to carry on the dying trade, but no one knows but him, and he’s not telling. He also takes Nahdar, his padawan, with him. If Nahdar knows why Kit left, he’s not telling anyone either.

So by the time Anakin is sixteen or so, Kit Fisto, ex-jedi and carpet maker extraordinaire, has a bustling business just outside the senate district— close enough for any of the Jedi to visit. And oh boy do they visit.

Typically, when someone leaves the Order, it’s something only spoken about in hushed tones. There’s no gossip, nor speculation, because Jedi don’t gossip, and besides, they usually already have the reason— while no one is obligated to give a reason for leaving, it’s considered polite to do so. It’s not... dishonorable to leave, but a certain distance inevitably develops. Once someone leaves the jedi, they’re leading a completely different life, and most leave Coruscant entirely.

Kit Fisto is not typical. There’s no warning— not a single inkling that he might be considering leaving the Jedi. One day, he walks into a High Council meeting, declares politely that he’s leaving and taking Nahdar with him, and tells them all they’re welcome to visit him at his new address. (He also makes a point of leaving several of his belongings in his apartment, to give the more decorous members of the Order an excuse to visit.)

Come Monday, Yoda is on his doorstep, probing for answers. Kit does not give them, but he does give Yoda a tour and some tea. When Yoda comes back, cackling and pleased, everyone else takes this as the go-ahead to visit. The jedi visit regularly— only when he’s closed, and only when he has time, but they do come.

This is where the fun begins.

Anakin Skywalker, seventeen years old, very moody and very angry, has an appointment with Palpatine. Anakin Skywalker, seventeen years old, very moody and very angry, has been banned by Obi-Wan from using any speeders, bikes or otherwise, by an exhausted Obi-Wan. (Nominally, it’s because he started a fight in the salles two days ago, but if it keeps him from seeing Palpatine, then so much the better.) (Anakin knows what Obi-Wan is doing, and is furious about it. While perhaps justified, this does not help his case.) So what does Anakin do? He makes his own speeder from old parts. (If he’d thought to call Palpatine, the man would have sent a car for him, but since last time that happened he got a two lecture from both Windu and Obi-Wan, so he’ll just have to be sneaky.)

The problem with speeders cobbled together from old parts is that they have a tendency to break down, usually at the most inopportune moments. For Anakin, this is on the edge of the Senate district, since he was taking a circuitous route to see Palpatine in the hopes of avoiding anyone else he knows. Fortunately, Kit’s shop is nearby, and he’s been with Obi-Wan enough times to know the way.

Anakin walks into Kit’s Artisan Carpets, sopping wet from the rain that just started and looking like nothing so much as a wet kitten. Kit, who has all the grace and wisdom of a jedi master, does not tell him this, and instead offers him a towel and the use of his speeder when Nahdar gets back. In the meantime, he offers, would Anakin like to come see his workshop?

Now, keeping in mind that I know nothing about carpet making, and even less about artisan carpet making, I’m going to say that Kit shows Anakin how to do something simple that’s carpet related. And Anakin likes it. Anakin really likes it. He already loves working with his hands, but this is different. There’s no thinking involved, nothing but the repetitive movement of his hands. Normally, he hates being quiet, being still, but he’s so cold and tired that he’s able to just... drop into a trance. Before he knows it, it’s three hours later and he’s missed the meeting with Palpatine entirely.

Kit sends him back to the Jedi Temple more relaxed than he’s ever been, finally having been able to achieve a meditative state, and with an invitation to come back and help again whenever he’s nearby. When he gets back, Obi-Wan is amazed at how calm Anakin is, and forgets to lecture him on leaving the temple. Anakin does his homework, goes to bed, and when he wakes up, he doesn’t feel so awful.

The next time he comes back from Palpatine’s, riled up and wanting to scream, he stops by Kit’s shop and helps out with some repetitive carpet-related task. The dull motion helps lets his mind wander, but not too far— lets him be still without his brain beginning to scream. For the first time, Anakin is able to meditate without trauma flashbacks or overwhelming, near-painful understimulation.

Once again, he comes back to the Temple calm and slightly better balanced, once again, Obi-Wan doesn’t lecture him. The pattern continues.

Cut to two years later, when Anakin is having nightmares about his mother. Helping out in Kit’s shop lets him meditate on the visions, and Kit has been, well, really great to talk to about attachment. Palpatine is nice and all, but he doesn’t really get the Jedi— has never understood Anakin’s desire to be one. Kit, who knows what is like and is still more Jedi than most Jedi, in Anakin’s private opinion, does. 

Kit talks him through visions, helps him articulate his fears, and sends him to communicate with Obi-Wan. When Anakin says that he’s having visions— not just dreams, but solid visions— Obi-Wan promptly requests a sabbatical, and they go to Tatooine.

Obi-Wan helps him rescue Shmi from the Tuskens, and since Shmi is still alive, Anakin has something to focus on instead of his own rage. No Tuskens get murdered— hell, Anakin is so worried about his mom it doesn’t even occur to him to go kill them until after she’s safe. By that point, he’s not in the thick of the moment, so he has time to imagine slaughtering every single one of them before he does it. He thinks of how good it would feel, yes, but also of the screams, of the feeling of their dying minds against his own, and recoils.

When they get back to Coruscant, new fence installed and comm numbers exchanged, Palpatine’s plan is ruined— Amidala already has a jedi protector, no one knows what to do with the dart, and Anakin is much more well balanced now that he’s seen his mother, knows she’s safe, and she’s talked him through his emotions in a way that Obi-Wan can’t. 

Does Palpatine give up on Anakin as a lost cause? Absolutely not. He does, however, adjust the plan, leaving an even more obvious trail to Kamino. Obi-Wan still ends up on Geonosis, only this time Anakin is there too, and Padmé isn’t. And, here’s the kicker— neither of them managed to get the message to the Jedi Council, so they’re stuck in their little rotating columns while Dooku stalks around and lies blatantly, waiting for them to be rescued and for the war to start. But the rescue never comes.

After the fourth or fifth day of this, Dooku realizes that if Palpatine managed to mess up such a simple plan, it might not be a good idea to follow his orders. He defects, exchanging everything he knows (which is quite a lot) for amnesty. Obi-Wan agrees to the trade, and the three of them escape Geonosis to go face down Palpatine.

Anakin is predictably furious about this. He doesn’t believe Dooku, of course, and he’s raring to kill the guy, but he’s also pretty sure he can’t take on both Obi-Wan and Dooku and win, so he waits until they get to Coruscant to comm the council. (Dooku lets him do it. The backup will be useful and he thinks he can time it so Sidious is throwing Force lightning at them when Yoda shows up.) (He can totally time it right.)

Yoda shows up just as Palpatine whips out a red lightsaber, since Dooku went straight for the beheading without letting him talk, and Obi-Wan was holding Anakin back to see what would happen. Palpatine could have beaten each of them on their own, probably even two at once, provided Dooku and Yoda didn’t team up— but against Anakin, who could probably vaporize someone with his mind if he tried hard enough, Yoda, who’s seven hundred years old and still wins the jedi parkour championships every year, Dooku, who’s the best duelist the Order has seen in a long while, and Obi-Wan, who, while not space jesus, a prodigy, or seven hundred years old, is no slouch in any jedi department, especially the ones that involve keeping Anakin from doing anything stupid? Yeah, Palpatine loses.

They all stumble into Kit’s Artisan Carpets an hour later, smelling of ozone and repressed emotions just waiting to come out. Kit looks at them all, makes a pot of tea, settles Anakin at his usual carpet-task doing place for some much needed meditation, and locks them in the room to talk.

“So,” Dooku says to Kit the next morning, once they’ve sorted all the politics and some of the emotions out, “what possessed you to take up carpets?”

Kit tilts his head, considering, and answers. “I just felt like it.”

(”Really?” Nahdar asks later. “You’re not going to tell them?”

“Well,” Kit replies, “would they believe me?”

“I guess not,” Nahdar says, “but time travel is hard to believe in.”

“It was more of a vision, really.” Kit huffs. “Besides, I did feel like it. Getting stabbed gives one new priorities.”

“Tell me about it,” Nahdar agrees. “Tell me about it.”)

[fuwafuwagem]

I have a favour ...

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Aizawa Shouta/Reader (gender neutral)

You leaned against the handrail, despite the chill it gave your back, and waited. It was too early to head into UA—those papers you had to mark could wait a little longer—and you wanted to enjoy the crisp breeze, the way your breath curled past your warm lips and drifted into the cold air like smoke, a little longer. You’d already greeted Principal Nezu, Hizashi Yamada, and several other UA teachers on their way into the school, but remained at your perch, unmoving. Though the clock counted down the seconds until your work began, you were determined to make the most of your free time.

Shota Aizawa finally made his appearance in your field of vision, the last teacher to arrive as he usually was, and also your cue to get ready for work. With a sigh, you pushed yourself away from the handrail, but that’s when you noticed that, rather than heading into the building, Aizawa was making a beeline directly towards you. He looked … odd. There was something off about his appearance that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. He looked as rugged as he usually did—attractively so, in your opinion—and his sharp eyes, locked onto you, made your heart beat just a little faster. And then he was there, standing before you. Aizawa cleared his throat.

“I … have a favour to ask,” he said in his usual gruff voice, though his expression was much softer than it usually was.

He was straightforward, as usual, but you were still surprised by him, and …

“Your … your clothes are … moving.” Your eyes followed the lump that was traversing beneath the layers of cloth he wore like a scarf.

He shrugged a little as the cloth that was slung over his shoulder shifted, and out poked a little orange face, its pink nose sniffing at the frigid air.

“That’s part of the favour,” he sighed. “While I was on my way here, I found–” He winced as a tiny black paw darted out from the folds of fabric at his neck and attacked the stubble on his chin. “–Kittens.”

“There are more?” you gasped, leaning in closer to inspect his outfit. “Do you have a full litter in there or something?”

“Just three,” he said, as a tabby tail snaked out from beneath his long hair. “I was planning to leave them; figured their mother would be nearby ... but then I found her.” His brow furrowed deeply as he dipped his view to scrutinise the ground. “They’re orphans.”

“Oh.” You didn’t know what else to say. The kittens looked so tiny, you didn’t blame him for wanting to rescue them; you’d have done the same. “So, this favour you want …”

Aizawa shifted his weight, his hand absently raising to pet the tiny inhabitants of his clothing. “Yeah … I want to take them to the shelter, but I didn’t have time to go there before my students arrive. I have classes all morning, but you–” Finally, his dark eyes lifted, his gaze latching onto yours with an intensity that locked your breath in your chest. “You’re marking papers. No classes. You could take care of the kittens until lunch, then I can take them to the shelter.”

You bit your lower lip as you took in Aizawa’s request. He seemed to have intimate knowledge of your schedule, and … kitten-sitting? It shouldn’t be too hard, right? It was an added bonus that Aizawa was the one to ask you. It wasn’t like you could say no to him. You didn’t think it was possible for you to ever say no to Shota Aizawa …

“I … I’ll buy you lunch,” he went on, “as a thank you.”

You couldn’t be sure if it was simply an effect of the cool air on his skin, but his cheeks seemed to flush a little pink as he made his offer.

“Lunch?” you asked.

“Or … dinner?”

This time you blushed; definitely not a side-effect of the outer temperature. “Umm, sure. I’ll look after them for you. And … dinner sounds great.”

Aizawa smiled; something he rarely did with such a pure expression. “I’ll bring them to the teachers’ lounge for you then.”

And just like that, he turned and left, leaving you with a giddy flutter in your chest and an incessant grin across your lips.

***

“Smooooooth, buddy!” Yamada yelled as Aizawa strode down the corridor towards him. “Y’know, you could have just asked ‘em out, no need for the accessories!”

Aizawa sighed, though his expression remained neutral. “The kittens needed help anyway,” he said, but then a small smile slipped onto his face. “We’re going to have dinner.”

“Dinner?” Yamada shrieked with enthusiasm. “Not just lunch? A romantic dinner for two?”

Aizawa rolled his eyes, but the smile remained. “Just dinner. But who knows what will happen on the second date.”

Yamada’s held his head in feigned shock. “Already planning the second date? You really are one smitten kitty-cat!”

Aizawa beamed, despite the trio of kittens clawing wildly at him from beneath his cloth. Today was a good day, and hopefully, it was going to get even better.

[slippinmickeys]

Of the Eight Winds, Part 6

This is part six in who knows how many from the prompt from @sunflowerseedsandscience : “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”

Links to parts one, two, three, four and five.

1

Mulder’s mother-in-law was sick. Terminal cancer, from what Scully gathered from the little he talked about it. He was gone a lot, accompanying Lauren back and forth between her parent’s house in Newport News and the hospital and home.

Their basement office felt cold, empty without him in it. She felt like every small noise she made echoed off the walls. One Friday, she left early, unable to stand it any longer.

She went home, but felt alone there, too. She drifted out into her neighborhood, the warm sun of the afternoon laying long shadows through the streets.

There was a farmer’s market set up a few blocks from her apartment— an entire block’s worth of a street closed off, with tented stalls lining both sides of the road, selling everything from fresh eggs to flowers to jewelry.

She was looking through the selection of breads and baked goods on the edge of one of the stalls when she felt a light tug on bottom of the sundress she had changed into. She looked down to find a small black feline paw had reached through the bars of the cage in the next stall and had hooked a claw into her dress. Her laugh alerted one of the women working the rescue group’s stall, who rushed over to help release her from the kitten’s grasp, with an “oh honestly, Trouble.”

“His name is Trouble?” Scully asked, laughing.

“Her,” the woman said, smiling at the little black fluff affectionately, “she’s sweet but has an excess of personality.”

“How old is she?” Scully asked.

“Ten weeks,” the woman answered, then narrowed her eyes, seeing a prospective cat rescuer suddenly in her midst. “Here,” she went on, handing Scully a feather-on-a-stick cat toy, “play with her. She’s a hoot.”

Scully bobbed the toy about Trouble’s head, who took one swat at it and then jumped into the air and caught it, growling like a dog. Scully laughed, delighted.

“She plays fetch, too,” said the woman, who was still hovering nearby.

“You’re kidding,” Scully said, tugging on the feather, which Trouble refused to give up.

“I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” the woman said, “wadded up paper ball. And when she brings it back, she drops it better than my retriever ever does.”

Scully was thoroughly charmed.

“You in the market for a new friend?” the woman asked with a smile.

“Oh! No, not really.”

“Well, we’ll be here if you change your mind. Our rescue group has a stall at the Farmer’s Market on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

Scully smiled at the woman and turned away, thinking of buying a bag of apples and a bouquet of flowers.

“Miss?” the woman said, and Scully turned back to look at her, “Trouble won’t be here long. The cute ones get adopted quick.”  

Scully smiled indulgently and walked on. On her return trip through the market to head home, carrying a bag of greens, two cartons of strawberries and a small bouquet of yellow calla lilies, she saw a small girl playing with Trouble and a slightly larger orange tabby kitten. The girl’s parents were standing a few feet away and the girl turned to them. “I want the orange one,” she told them.

Scully was insulted on Trouble’s behalf. It was no fun coming in second. She veered back toward the cage and stuck a finger through the bars. Trouble rubbed her face against her finger and sat down, purring.

“Can I get an adoption application please?” Scully said then, and found that the woman was already behind her with a clipboard and a pen. The woman winked.

Two hours later she tumbled into her apartment laden with her haul from the farmer’s market, twenty five pounds of kitty accoutrements and a cardboard cat carrier that had little black paws popping out of the holes in the top.

She opened it up and looked down at its lone occupant, who sat, looking back at her, as prim and proper as a posy. She looked like a ball of black puff with two green eyes, as round as the moon.

“We’re going to change your name, Trouble,” Scully said, “A friend of mine once told me about self-fulfilling prophecies.”

2

Scully didn’t go to Lauren’s mother’s funeral, but she did send flowers. She tried to strike the right tone with the arrangement, somewhere between work acquaintance and best friend, and leaned into one that was more on this side of ostentatious than not.

She got a thank you card from Lauren, but it was written in Mulder’s scrawling hand.

3

Scully had voiced a craving for a mid-afternoon latte, and the day was bright and clear, the first in almost a week. He volunteered to accompany her to a nearby coffee shop.

He waited in the back of the shop next to a stack of high chairs and a small creamer station dusted with spilled Sweet’N Low and cinnamon. He watched as she gave her order to the barista, laughing at something the girl had said as she handed over her money. Her face shone amongst the other patrons, brighter and clearer than anyone else’s. It was like she alone was in focus, everyone else in the world walking in an ill-defined blur.

Why had he waited so long, he wondered. Some misplaced sense of loyalty? Things with Lauren had always gone from bad to worse, waiting certainly hadn’t made them better. It wasn’t to spare Lauren’s feelings. It certainly wasn’t to spare his own.

Scully turned from where she stood in line and caught his eye. She smiled at him with a radiance that hit him square in the solar plexus.

How many years had he wasted? How many breaths had he taken, how many nights spent alone in a bed of two?

He smiled back at her, a delicious ache in his chest.

4

Their first meeting with Skinner after Mulder informed him of their relationship was a budgetary meeting. Kimberly smiled at them in a knowing way when they walked into the front part of Skinner’s office, at which Scully blushed. Mulder wondered vaguely how much Skinner and his assistant talked.

Just before Skinner adjourned the meeting of roughly ten people, he said “Please consider this a reminder to make sure your current address, emergency contact information, and any other pertinent personnel file data is updated and filed with Human Resources.”

Mulder shot a look to Scully, who shot a look back.

The skin at the base of his left ring finger was bare but indented with years long pressure.

5

One morning, Mulder woke up to find Blackwell sitting on his chest, the end of her fat, fluffy tail twitching slowly up, keeping time like a metronome. The cat regarded him coolly for minute, then yawned once and flopped down to lay atop him, purring gently.

Scully awoke about ten minutes later and cracked a sleepy eye to look at the domestic tableau before her.

She smiled.

“She likes you,” she said.

“I have a way with women,” he rumbled, scratching a nail under the cat’s chin.

“I’ll remember that the next time she needs her claws trimmed,” Scully said, stretching.

Mulder considered the animal.

“Why did you name your cat Blackwell?” he asked.

“Have you heard of Elizabeth Blackwell?” she asked back. He shook his head. “She was the first woman to graduate from Medical School in the United States,” she said.

He nodded, running his hand along the velvet coat of the black cat.

“Perfect,” he said. Blackwell purred. So did Scully.

6

He had dreams. Terrible dreams. He dreamt that he hadn’t made it in time to the top of Skyland Mountain. He dreamt that Melissa had been shot dead in Scully’s doorway. Dreams where he showed up at the hospital to visit Lauren’s mother and found Scully in her bed.

In the mornings, he woke to find Scully next to him and pulled her close. She generally woke when he did this, but never once complained.

7

Blackwell had stopped growling when playing with toys after a week or two of living with Scully, but would still occasionally play fetch. Mulder was so taken with the idea of a dog-like cat, he offered to open an X-File on her and swore he would teach her tricks.

True to his word, as the years passed, Mulder taught Blackwell several, including a high five, “speak” and a version of “play dead” in which he would pull an imaginary service weapon (complete with correct form and safety procedures) say “bang” and over she would keel. True her status as a feline, Blackwell would perform these tricks only five times out of ten, which Scully did have to admit, was pretty good.

On a lazy Sunday morning when Lily was nine months old, Mulder, Scully and their daughter were whiling away in their rumpled bed (Mulder with a book, Scully with a crossword, Lily with an orange teether) when Mulder set the book down on his bedside table and turned to Scully.

“Lily and I taught Blackwell a new trick,” he said.

Scully set down the newspaper and pencil where Lily couldn’t get to them and turned toward him.

“I’d like to see it,” she said, smiling.

“What do you think, Lil?” Mulder said to the baby who babbled a bit in response, a string of drool sliding down to soak into her already damp onesie.

Mulder nodded, pursed his lips and whistled.

A light tinkling sound came down the hallway, and Blackwell jumped up easily onto the bed and sauntered up to Mulder to give him a gentle headbutt.

Scully clapped softly.

“She comes when whistled for now? I’m impressed.”

Mulder pet the cat affectionately and then looped a finger underneath the cat’s collar to bring it up and over her fur.

“And check out the new accessory,” Mulder said.

Scully clicked her fingers and Blackwell walked over to her.

“A new collar, I see,” Scully, said, eyeing the new black collar with equal parts humor and distaste -- it had a repeating pattern of alien heads and ufos.

Mulder nodded as Blackwell sat in front of Scully and then he thrust his chin up and towards the cat.

“That’s not all,” he said, “check out the hardware.”

Lily made a grab for the cat, but was scooped up by her father who lifted her to his shoulder as Scully leaned down to take a closer look at Blackwell’s new collar. Where the bell usually was, hung a platinum ring with three diamonds and an aged patina. Scully sucked in a breath and fingered it, flicking her eyes to Mulder, who looked at her with affection.

“What do you think, Scully? Make an honest man out of me?”

Blackwell sat patiently as Scully unhooked her collar and slid the ring off of it. She held it in her palm, her eyes shining.

“Was this…?” she said, and Mulder knew what she was asking.

“It was the ring I gave to Lauren,” he said, “it was my grandmother’s. She returned it to me a few months ago. She thought you should have it.”

Scully smiled sadly.

Mulder rushed on.

“I understand if you would rather not wear it. I’d be happy to buy you a new one. But I wanted to give you the option. Mulder women have been wearing this ring for close to a hundred years. It maybe doesn’t have the best mojo, but…”

“I love it,” Scully said, as Lily reached up and patted at Mulder’s cheeks. Scully slid it over her finger and it seemed to fit perfectly.

“So is that a yes?” Mulder asked, nuzzling their daughter’s head.

“It’s a yes,” Scully smiled. “And Mulder?”

He looked at her.

“I don’t believe in mojo.”

8

They buried Blackwell under the dogwood tree in their backyard, eleven year old Lily crying into her mother’s shoulder. Eight year old William, who had inherited his mother’s stoicism and his grandmother’s stiff upper lip stood next to them, watching his father blankly as he patted the soil flat with the back of a shovel.

“She was good cat,” William said somberly, and Mulder reached out and pulled him into a hug. He could feel a wet spot start to soak into his shirt.

“She was, buddy,” he said, and swung his eyes to Scully, who was absently rubbing Lily’s back, her eyes still on the ground. “I think maybe we should celebrate her life with ice cream, what do you say?”

William snuffled loudly, wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Vanilla, dad?” he said on another sniffle, “chocolate is bad for cats.”

Scully finally cracked a smile.

“It’s what she would have wanted,” she said, and tucked a strand of bright red hair tenderly behind Lily’s ear.

A blossom detached from the tree and fell gently to the ground, landing softly on the freshly turned earth.

[splendidlyimperfect]

discord & dragons - chapter 10 [a daring rescue]

**link to ao3 is provided in the comments since tumblr has apparently been shadowbanning anything with links 🙄**

When a magical mishap transforms Natsu, Sting and Rogue, Gray finds himself responsible for a horde of dragons.

Chapter Summary: Gray gets captured by Vengeance Soul, and Freed and the dragons attempt a rescue.  

Relationships: Rogue Cheney/Natsu Dragneel/Sting Eucliffe/Gray Fullbuster, Laxus Dreyar/Freed Justine, Levy McGarden/Gajeel Redfox Additional Tags: Canon Universe, Fairy Tail Dragon Slayers, Magical Accidents, Spells & Enchantments, Transformation, Dragons, Fluff and Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, kind of, baby dragons are basically kittens, I make the rules here, Fluff and Humor, Cute, like super fucking cute, it’s just dumb and fluffy okay, Nonbinary Character, Freed’s enby, because i say so

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Freed tore through the forest, slashing away branches and leaping over logs as they moved deeper and deeper into the underbrush. Rogue and Natsu, who Freed had hastily tucked into their pockets, whined in confusion, and desperately tried to climb out. Sting squirmed in Freed’s grip, kicking at their arms and making soft, distressed sounds that increased in volume the further they got from Gray.

“It’s not safe,” Freed panted, keeping an eye on Laxus, who had barely figured out flying and was hovering awkwardly just ahead. Freed ducked around a large tree as they held Sting tighter against themself, heart pounding as they listened for sounds of being followed.

Laxus moved further away, then turned back to Freed and made a soft trilling sound. Freed could feel a slight tug in their stomach – the same feeling they got when Laxus asked them to trust him in battle. They nodded, kicking several dead branches out of the way as they followed him.

[link to chapter on ao3 in the comments]

Eventually the undergrowth opened into a small clearing, walled in on three sides by high stone walls. Freed exhaled in relief. Holding Sting under one arm, they held their hand out and quickly scribbled some runes into the air, pulling up a barrier that kept them both enclosed and invisible.

“Thank you,” Freed murmured as Laxus fluttered awkwardly down onto their shoulder, rubbing his face against their cheek and making a comforting sound. Sting squirmed out of Freed’s grip and immediately ran for the wall, pawing at it and making distressed sounds. Natsu and Rogue quickly joined him, whining and digging at the ground, then turning back around to look at Freed accusingly.

“I’m sorry,” Freed said, dropping down and leaning back against the stone wall. They ran their hands over their face, trying to catch their breath as their heart pounded in their chest. Sting scampered back over to them and hopped into their lap, standing on his hind legs and pressing his paws to their chest. “I’m sorry,” Freed said again, stroking Sting’s head as he chittered frantically. “We have to—I had to keep you safe. We’re going to rescue him, I promise.”

Natsu growled, headbutting the rune wall and scrabbling at it with his claws. He stood on his back feet, pressing both paws against the wall and staring out into the trees as if it would magically summon Gray.

“It’s okay,” Freed said as their breathing started to return to normal. Laxus made a comforting sound and cuddled closer to them, and Freed reached up to pet him as they continued to run their fingers comfortingly through Sting’s fur. “We can find him,” Freed reassured the dragons, reaching out and beckoning for the other two. Rogue slunk over reluctantly, but Natsu remained at the barrier, making soft whining sounds and pawing at it.

Freed unbuttoned their jacket and dug around in the inside pockets, eventually pulling out their communication lacrima and wiping the screen clean. They swiped their thumb across it to power it up, sighing in relief when they saw that it was still connected.

“Freed?” Levy’s voice came through, muddled by static but clearly there. “Are you all right?”

“Gray’s in trouble,” Freed said, tipping their head back against the wall. “We need to find him. Warren – his magic radar – does it still work? Can he find someone this far away?”

“It should work.” Freed winced at the way the sound warbled, and they were barely able to make out her next words. “I’ll---him, bu--take some t---call you back?”

“Yes,” Freed said, sighing and sending out a desperate plea to the universe. “Yes, I’ll wait for your call.”

~

The sound of people arguing dragged Gray from unconsciousness. He blinked slowly awake, wincing at the throbbing in his temples.

“We need to do it soon,” a voice said. It echoed, as if coming from far away, and Gray shook his head to try and clear his blurry vision and figure out where he was. The ground underneath him was jagged and uncomfortable, and when he pushed himself up, he felt cool rock beneath his fingertips. Gray stumbled to his feet, swaying and steadying himself against the wall. A faint green light shimmered nearby, and it took him a second to realize that it was some sort of moss, bioluminescent and lending a faint green light to the darkness of the room.

“He’ll wake up soon,” another voice said. It was deep and lightly accented, and Gray immediately recognized it as the man who had hunted them down last month – Siedge. A chill ran through Gray and he rubbed at the scar on his wrist.

The first voice sounded closer as it replied, “He should be out for a few more hours – the sleep magic is strong.”

“He’s stronger.”

The voices were now joined by footsteps and the sound of something jingling. Gray’s vision slowly adjusted to the dim light of the room, and he could just make out the shape of a door across from him. He stumbled over and pressed himself to the wall behind it, taking slow, even breaths and trying to push away the nausea that blurred his vision.

“Just bring him to the room,” Siedge said, and then there was the sound of keys in a lock as the door started to swing open. Gray curled his hands into fists, ready to summon his magic, and he was so surprised when it didn’t respond that he was taken aback by someone reaching out and grabbing his arm.

“Lemme… stop it,” he mumbled, bringing his hands up and scrabbling weakly at the person’s grip. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and the place inside him where his magic usually lived was like a void.

“Come with me,” the person said, dragging Gray forward and into the hallway. They were tall and beautiful in a cold, frightening way, and the Vengeance Soul guild mark took up half of their face.

“Where…” Gray tripped over his own feet, nearly falling into the mage.

“I told you.” Siedge’s deep voice was accompanied by a large, terrifyingly familiar man with long blond hair pulled into a braid. He grinned at Gray, showing off sharp teeth. “He’s strong.” He grabbed Gray’s chin, tipping his head up. Gray growled weakly and tried to struggle against the grip, but everything in his body felt like it was being pulled down into the earth.

“Fuck you,” he spat. “You almost killed Sting.”

Siedge laughed. “You escaped me last time, I have to give you credit for that,” he said, letting go of Gray and reaching up to touch the scar on his own neck from Natsu’s flames. “But you don’t have your dragon slayers to save you this time. They’re not quite as ferocious now, are they?” Gray glared at him. “I’ll admit, when Laka here suggested the spell, I didn’t think much of it, but it’s been surprisingly effective. And in your haste to discover its origin, you walked right into my trap.”

Laka tugged Gray backward by his arm and he stumbled after them, nearly tripping and falling to his knees. Whatever they’d used to put him to sleep still made everything hazy – and apparently blocked his access to his magic. The empty feeling in his chest expanded as he tried to awaken it again.

“Don’t bother,” Laka said, shaking their head. “Nobody can lift those runes except me.”

Gray frowned, then looked down at his chest. A mark was etched just over his heart – an unfamiliar rune that looked like it had been burned into his skin. It didn’t hurt, but he could feel the magic emanating from it.

The haze and confusion slowly receded as they made their way down a long, dark hallway – Laka in front, pulling Gray along by his bicep, and Siedge following behind. By the time they arrived at their destination, Gray’s head felt clearer and he was strong enough to walk without stumbling.

“Get him set up,” Siedge said, pointing to a chair in the center of the room. Magic bonding runes glowed around the arms and legs and Gray’s heart jumped as Laka shoved him toward it. He pulled weakly away from them, but the little strength that had returned to him wasn’t enough to break their grip on his arm.

“Why?” he asked as Laka shoved him down into the chair. “This is stupid. You can’t just take someone else’s magic.”

“Actually,” Siedge said, moving away from the chair and picking up a book from the desk along one wall, “I can.” The cover of the book shimmered faintly, and it took Gray a minute to realize that it was patterned exactly like the devil slayer marks. The faint hum of fear that had been coursing through him since he woke up solidified and he tugged harder against the restraints.

“Where did you get that?” he demanded, swallowing against the nausea that was starting to rise in his throat. The pattern on the book shifted in a sharp, uncomfortable way that made Gray’s vision blur. It was wrong – deeply, horribly wrong – and he couldn’t breathe.

“Irrelevant,” Siedge said, flipping the book open. A sharp flash of pain spiked through Gray’s temples and he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. The ache quickly spread, racing down his nerves until the marks on his arms felt like they were on fire. It hurt worse than any burn Natsu had accidentally given him – the searing pain was bone-deep, eating him up from the inside, clawing its way out of him and taking the magic with it.

“S-stop,” he managed, shuddering and trying desperately to slip his wrists free of the bindings. He couldn’t feel his hands. Someone was talking, and then something touched Gray’s forehead, and he was sure he was going to die, and then—

—then the pain stopped abruptly as something exploded.

Gray gasped as the devil-slaying magic returned to him, searing across his skin and slamming into his chest so hard that he could barely breathe. Siedge stumbled forward, cursing and dropping the book face-down on the stone floor.

“Gray!” Freed’s voice quickly followed the explosion, and Gray looked up to see them standing in the ruins of the wall with runes sketched in the air around them. Their right eye glowed purple, swirling with magic that made Gray’s markings pulse and ache.

“Freed, don’t—”

“I thought you said your barriers were impenetrable!” Siedge growled, whirling around to look at Laka. They were staring at Freed, who glared right back, rapier moving quickly in front of them to create more runes in the air.

“They should be,” Laka said, stepping forward and waving their hand in an attempt to dismiss Freed’s magic. Nothing happened, and before Laka could write any more runes, a burst of lighting sparked through the air and singed off a lock of their hair.

“What the—”

A flash of gold was the only thing Gray saw before Laka shouted in pain and started flailing, trying desperately to remove an angry Laxus, who was clinging to their arm and had his teeth sunk into their neck. Siedge moved to help Laka but was quickly stopped by a burst of fire that raced across the ground and hit him in the shins.

“Natsu,” Gray gasped as the tiny red dragon appeared between Freed’s legs, snarling at Siedge before darting across the floor. He scrambled up onto Gray’s lap and immediately started chittering as he pawed at the magic restraints. “Get out of here,” Gray hissed, tugging at the bonds again. “You’re gonna get hurt.” Natsu growled in disagreement and bit at the magic, hissing when it started to spark.

The ache from earlier still tingled under Gray’s skin, but it was quickly being overwhelmed by a protective fear for the dragons. He could see the other two out of the corner of his eye – a dart of black and a flash of white that came at Siedge from both sides.

“He’s too strong,” Gray said, trying to shift his legs so Natsu would jump down. Natsu glowered at him and clung to him stubbornly, digging in his claws. “Please, I can’t watch any of you get hurt again.”

A cry of pain filled the room as Laka fell to their knees, bleeding heavily from their neck. Laxus scrambled backward, spreading his wings and growling at them as electricity crackled around him. Siedge moved toward him but was blocked by a blast of magic that swirled together in black and white, hitting him in the chest hard enough to knock him onto his back. As soon as he hit the ground, Freed was standing over him, rapier pointed at his throat.

“Don’t,” Freed said as the tip of the sword moved quickly, creating a rune that hung over Siedge’s chest. He snarled at Freed, struggling against the magic that appeared to have paralyzed him. Sting and Rogue, who had been sitting near the door, scampered over to Siedge and growled at him, both of them humming with magic power.

“Are you all right?” Freed asked, glancing over at Gray as Sting clambered onto Siedge’s chest and bared his teeth. Laxus growled at Laka, who was still holding their wounded neck and glaring at Freed.

“Fine,” Gray said, exhaling in relief. “Just...” He nodded down at the bonds around his wrists that Natsu was still attempting to chew through. Freed made a quick gesture and the bindings dissolved, immediately lifting the pressure on Gray’s wrists and ankles. Another flick of Freed’s wrist dismissed the rune on Gray’s chest, and he exhaled in relief as the familiar cool sensation of his ice magic tingled across his skin.

“Thanks.” Natsu made a soft chirping sound and scrambled up onto Gray’s shoulder, rubbing his face against Gray’s cheek and purring happily. “I’m okay,” Gray murmured, kissing the top of Natsu’s head and pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. Frost covered up the devil slayer marks that quickly started to spread across his body, reacting to the heady demonic magic that emanated from Freed.

“You have to stop.” He squeezed his hands into fists as the magic tried to pull him forward, whispering, destroy it, destroy them, destroy the demon. “I can’t control it,” he gasped, trying to step away. Natsu made a concerned sound and nipped at his ear, and Gray tried to focus on that instead of the angry insistence of his magic.

Then Freed’s magic shifted, and their eye returned to its natural blue. The tense pulse of the magic in Gray’s arms quickly disappeared, and he fell to his knees, suddenly exhausted.

“Don’t even think about it,” Freed said, turning their gaze to Laka, who had lifted their hand into the air. Laxus snarled at them and darted forward, teeth bared and ready to pounce. Freed gave Laka one more disdainful look, then drew a quick rune and flicked it toward them. They fell unconscious almost instantly, slumping backward onto the floor. Siedge followed quickly afterward. Sting, who was still sitting on his chest, growled at him once last time, then looked over at Gray.

“C’mere,” Gray said, holding out his arms. Sting immediately darted over, followed closely by Rogue, and they stood on their hind legs, pressing their paws against his chest. Their distressed sounds quickly turned to affectionate purrs as Gray petted them. “I’m okay,” he reassured them, feeling the warm, familiar sense of calm flood through him at their presence. “It’s okay.”

Sting whined and wriggled up onto Gray’s other shoulder, anxiously nuzzling his hair, while Rogue clambered into Gray’s arms and continued purring so hard he was nearly vibrating. Gray sighed in relief, holding the three of them close.

“Thank you,” he said again to Freed, who was holding a smug-looking Laxus, still crackling with electricity. “He was—they were after the magic. Again.” Gray gestured to the book, which was still face-down on the ground where Siedge had dropped it. Looking at the marks on it made Gray feel nauseous again and he quickly looked away.

“I’ll take that,” Freed said. They leaned down and grabbed the book, studying it for a moment before sliding it into their jacket. “I’ll call the Council,” they said, pulling the lacrima out of their pocket. “It’s time to put these two away where they belong.”

[mischief-and-tea-by-the-sea]

First lines meme thingie

I was tagged by @mcfiddlestan, and I rarely ever get tagged for things.  So here goes.  

Rules: Post the first lines of your last ten fics read or written and then tag others to do the same.

10. WIP: From Chapter 5 of Mission (Part 2, of Hemispheres): 

"Oh.  You're back, Stark."  

Tony stepped up to the cell just as Loki's honeyed voice greeted him from the darkness.  Behind him, Fandral continued to use what Frigga had given him – more daylily, it seemed – to keep the guards befuddled and forgetful about their presence.

"I am, Bambi.  And I see...well, hear...you're still awake.  Which is good.  I'd hate to think I was disturbing your sleep," Tony retorted, the corner of his mouth quirking into that smile that let anyone know he was amused, especially with himself.  

Tony had actually fallen asleep after navigating his way back to his room and crawling into the orgy-bed.  It was Fandral's voice hovering right over him, followed by a hand shaking him that had jolted him from sleep.  He couldn't be mad, though.  After all, here he was again, in Loki's presence.  

Even if he couldn't see him yet.  

As that thought entered Tony's mind, a candle silently illuminated the cell, and Loki sat on the edge of the narrow bed, dressed for sleep, his hair down around his face but not tousled yet to indicate any sleep.  Those stunning green eyes pierced through the glass to stare into Tony's.  

9. From Chapter 1 of Mission; “A spirit with a vision (Is a dream with a mission)”; (Part 2 of Hemispheres): 

"Tony, this is madness."

Tony finished his third cup of coffee and poured another for himself.  He turned to offer Thor a refill, but the God of Thunder covered the top of his ginormous mug with his hand to politely refuse.  Buzzing from the caffeine and distracted for length of a cicada's wing-flutter, Tony tried to remember which one of them had taught Thor to be polite about coffee.

"It's not madness, Thor.  I've just...had time to think about it, and...Loki should be here.  Not...wherever you put him," he hedged and tried to meet Thor's eyes.

"He threw you through the window of your own home.  He wrecked your city.  He killed..."

Setting the carafe back on its hot plate a little rougher than he'd intended, Tony took the three wide steps it took to land him right in Thor's space, and he glared up at him.

"And how many have you killed, Hammer Time?  You're the actual warrior, so how much blood do you have on your hands?  How much innocent blood, at that?"

Thor was taken aback by the acrimony in Tony's tone, the way those dark eyes flashed with a red-hot forge fire that burned the breath between them.  He lifted his cup between them, took a drink of what remained in it then set it down again.  He never took a step back or tried to push Tony away.

"That is not a discussion we're going to have, Tony.  You're upset with me, and I cannot fathom why," he told his friend, a hint of warning to his voice.  "The last I knew, you were glad to see my brother returned to Asgard for punishment.  You have nightmares..."

Tony stepped back of his own volition and waved a hand to dismiss the last thing Thor mentioned.

"You don't know anything about my nightmares.  They have nothing to do with your brother."  When Thor gave him a questioning eyebrow raise, Tony poked a finger into his chest.  "They don't.  Compared to what I saw in that wormhole, Loki was just a pissed off kitten."

8. From Part 1 of Hemispheres; Far away you were made in a sea just like me: 

It was the gray light that gently tugged him from sleep.

Tony squinted, and at first, he wanted to grouse and tell the cloudy morning to go fuck itself; he wasn't ready to wake up.  Especially when a warm body spooned against his, a creamy-skinned arm draped over his side, and the hand that belonged to it cupped his belly.  That was enough to make him smile and close his eyes again, his own hand slipping away from where it rested between his cheek and pillow to settle on that other hand.

This must not be one of his many flings that he picked up at a bar or conference because he felt no need to get out of bed and begin the Ritual of Escape.  He didn't have the urge to run and leave Pepper to 'take out the trash', as she so often explained it.

Wait.  Is that Pepper behind me?

Tony caressed the knuckles of the hand on his stomach, and while the hand was fine-boned and nimble, it was certainly not the hand of a woman.

Definitely not Pepper's.

Still, that body felt so good against his back; not bed-warm the way he would've expected.  It was cooler than most bodies, though not uncomfortably so, and Tony snuggled back against it all the same, feeling this lover's arm tighten against him.

He said fuck it to the outside world and responsibilities again, ready to drift off.  Ready to ignore the meetings lined up for him, the half a dozen projects in his lab, and the business luncheon he no doubtedly was supposed to attend that was Incredibly Important to Stark Industries.

"Mmm, if you keep squirming against me like that, ástin mín, you're not going to make that breakfast meeting you're supposed to be at in..."  Loki lifted his head to squint at the projected clock on Tony's nightstand.  "...an hour," he finished and took that moment to snuggle back down against Tony's back, rubbing his smooth cheek along that naked shoulder.

7. From Ghost of a Chance, a Steve/Bucky/Peggy prompt drabble.

December 1943; London, England

Scratchy tunes faded in and out from the radio in the training facility.  Bucky's eyes focused on the two men in the makeshift boxing ring, working in some training while the remains of the 107th continued to enjoy their break from combat.

Eventually, they'd have to get back in the fight.

Eventually, they'd follow the golden blond leader who barely matched the image Bucky went into combat with seared into his mind.

Eventually, he'd be chasing after Steve like he always did, but this time, they'd be equals against the mutual enemy.

Steve didn't even need him anymore, did he?

So, what the hell was Bucky supposed to do with himself anymore if Steve didn't need him?

"He's pretty amazing to watch, isn't he, Sargent Barnes?"

Bucky glanced over to see the pretty brunette whose heart Steve had managed to snag.  All on his own, too.  Bucky hadn't needed to set up a blind date or anything with this one.  He huffed and shrugged a shoulder.

6. From Behind Blue Eyes, Emma Frost/Loki.  With several twists.

Emma hissed as the cup burned her bottom lip, and she set it down with a scowl.  Yes, she’d wanted hot tea, but she hadn’t needed it to come out boiling or to bring back the moral condemnation that still echoed in her memories.  If Robert were here, she’d ask him to cool it down for her, but he wasn’t.  She knew what was in his thoughts, and she sincerely doubted that he would join her at a café for an afternoon drink.

Would any of them?

She almost laughed out loud to herself when she realized that one person who might was the one person who offered her some of the only comfort throughout the whole debacle.  Logan.  However, she was as aware as one of his claws punched through her chest that he was like the others, too busy wrapped up in a woman who could have prevented everything that had happened, if only she’d been thinking with her head and not jealous little heart of hers.

And everyone thought Emma was the ice queen.

5. From Supernaut; Eventual Loki/Tony but Loki + Nebula; Infinity War/Endgame Divergent.

Whatever pieces of Loki were left in the wreckage of The Statesman were intact enough that healing from death...again...took only as long as Thanos' snap that ended half of all life across the known universe.

Ironically, Loki didn't die in the snap.

He'd been cold after Thor's body floated to...wherever it had once his unconsciousness pried him from the Trickster's corpse.  Loki distinctly remembered that from his place at the gates of Valhalla; that alone told him that his death had come as an honorable sacrifice, and only after kissing his mother and father goodbye – for now – because he'd left unfinished business behind, did he wake up without Thor as his blanket.  

Through whatever grace of the Norns that still existed, Loki stood on that piece of the ship that had held his dead body.  He studied the stars, charted the constellations, found himself staring at Lokabrenna with a smile as it guided him.  It was difficult to breathe as if Thanos' hand was still around his throat, and it was good he didn't need to speak words right away to summon the pieces of the ship around him, soldering it together with what magic he could bring immediately to his fingertips.  His windpipe and voice box had been crushed, and it would take days to heal them unless he dug deep into the secret supply of golden apples he'd stored away ages ago in a dimensional pocket.  Or unless Eir could come to his rescue, but he didn't know where she was.  She and several chests of those apples had been on the escape ship with Brunnhilde, Korg, and half of the Asgardians.

Loki hoped they'd found a safe course and stayed out of Thanos' reach.

4. From We Were Never Boy Scouts; Loki/Steve Rogers.

*

A frost giant and a once-frozen centenarian walk into a bar...

*

That's where the joke ends.  That bar isn't really a bar.  It's the middle of nowhere in the North Siberian Lowland, and there isn't a structure or building or person in sight.

"Golly, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

Loki's eyes twinkle with mischief as he turns to see if his companion is as impressed by his Midgardian cultural reference as he is.

"I don't think we're anywhere near Yatutsk," Steve says.  He's braced his hands on his hips.  His breath forms ghosts.  The air bites his cheeks, nose, and ear-tips until they're red.  Loki's reference hasn't been missed by Steve, but he's not in the mood for a joke.  "I thought you could teleport us anywhere."

He closes his eyes.  Takes Thor's advice regarding a Midgardian calming trick by counting to ten.  Several deep breaths keep him from yelling at the good Captain.

"I can teleport us anywhere.  I did teleport us 'anywhere'.  But I'm not from Russia nor am I from your planet, so I can't get you to exact locations when I haven't been to them, especially not when they seem to be in the middle of Frost-Etin wastelands."

3. From A Warrior’s Wounds, a Kurt/Logan (Nightcrawler/Wolverine) ficlet part of a 130 prompt list, and the only one I actually managed to write.

In the near-two centuries since he’d been alive, Logan had been stabbed, sliced, gutted, burned, shot, survived grenades, canons, arrows, magic, inter-dimensional weaponry, Dracula’s bite, Sabertooth’s claws, Hulk’s smash, Black Widow’s knives, Cyclops’ eye-blast, Jean’s mind-punches, Hank eating his leg, Remy’s flying sparky cards, Rogue’s touch, Emma’s diamond slaps, Reed’s rubbery choke-holds, S.H.I.E.L.D removing his head, Mystique’s...everything, and sometimes, his own clumsiness.  

He’d endured just about every painful thing a body could endure.

And survived.

2. From Hey Jealousy, a Thor: Ragnarok ‘deleted scene’ short-fic; Loki and Bruce have a ‘conversation’ about Tony’s pants.

(skipping ahead from the first lines, which are replaying the canon lines from Ragnarok)

Before they split up to take care of their escape plans, Bruce tugs at the crotch of the pants again.

“How the hell does Tony wear these so tight?”

None of them notice the narrowed glare from Loki that could shoot magic daggers.

Instead, Loki changes his expression and speaks quietly, gently to the man who could rage-shift at any moment.

“Banner.”

The chains are off at last, and Thor’s busy staring at how much liquor Valkyrie keeps consuming.  Loki corners Bruce but in a not-as-threatening-as-it-could-be way.

“Just what are you doing in Anthony Stark’s trousers?”

Bruce stares up...and up...at Loki, his mouth quirks.  Eyes squint.

“What?” he asks, watching as Loki sheds the chains as easily as a snake sheds its skin.  “What does that even have to do with...”

Loki stares down into Bruce’s face, and there’s something in the Trickster’s eyes that gives away his disappointment.  His jealousy.

“What are you doing in Stark’s trousers, Banner?  Are you two...together now?  A...couple?”

1. From Sunset, an Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. ficlet during the Framework season of the series when the Framework is being shut down.

Radcliffe breathes a sigh of relief when Mack and Yoyo disappear from the Framework to return to the Other Side.

“Right then,” he says to no one.  “Time tae go.”

But first, he returns to the Triskelion.  There’s something he wants from Madame Hydra’s office.  Something he knows from Hydra-Fitz she keeps in there.

*

Tagging: @scottxlogan, @majorenglishesquire, @kleenexwoman, @mistressofmuses, @elvenferretots, @iamanartichoke, @gaslightgallows, @mypaopu, @jcrewguy, @mayphoenix

[whitetigerdemoness]

The epilogue! Just wrapping some loose ends up.

A fox will tell you a thousand lies without once saying anything that isn't true.

Master Post of All Chapters

“Today the most sensational trial of the decade concluded with a guilty plea from Gabriel Agreste, better known to most as Hawkmoth. Mr. Agreste has been sentenced to serve only ten years of prison time, a most controversial decision. One month ago his final akuma rampage killed no less than forty one people, this reporter included. By only one deciding vote the jury has decided ‘not guilty’ to the accusations as thanks to Ladybug no permanent damage was found to be done. Additional charges included-”

Nathaniel tapped the x in the corner of the video to close it and shut his eyes with a sigh. Nadia looked tense in the report, clearly not agreeing with the verdict, and he sympathized with her. That same sympathy was why the jury had voted the way they did. Mr. Agreste may have pleaded guilty, but he still had very good lawyers. They spun a thrilling tale of desperation and love, a man grieving his fallen wife (who had secretly been a superhero) and doing anything he could to revive her. The fact that Paon was now a public hero (the peacock miraculous being repaired) only helped matters for him. With Hawkmoth gone Paon was more of an everyday hero, using her sentimonsters to help with things such as construction and rescuing kittens from trees, but the city adored her. Knowing Mrs. Agreste personally Nathaniel knew she did it out of guilt for what Gabriel had done to the city to revive her. 

Speaking of heroes he knew personally, Marinette had been lightly hinting that he and Marc should come out with her, Adrien, and Luka on a double date. Nathaniel supposed being the embodiment of a luck based superhero was good for something. Nathaniel was felt he was lucky just to have one boyfriend. A boyfriend he was currently hiding on the school roof to avoid. Not that there was a problem with Marc! No the problem was entirely with Nathaniel, or rather his memories. In his final moments, Reverser had attempted to use his powers to allow Nathaniel to keep his memories of his time as an akuma. Due to the miraculous cure it had half worked. One moment he could be looking into Marc’s dazzling green eyes in the art room, and the next he would be looking into a different, otherworldly pair of green. His treacherous mind giving him flashes of warm lips and an even warmer body against his own. He was sixteen, male, and not at all equipped to deal with sudden feelings bowling him over out of nowhere.

So he did what any boy his age would do in that situation and ran away to hide on the roof in hopes that the cold air would help those ‘feelings’ go away. Why did his akuma self have to be so-so...bold! Penknight might have been able to just kiss his boyfriend whenever and wherever he wanted, but Nathaniel sometimes worried his heart was going to explode just holding hands. Sure, he was a little more confident in private, but a sudden urge to heavily makeout in the middle of a public space? Not possible. 

“Nath?” Marc popped his head around the corner. The sound Nathaniel made was not manly. The bastard had the nerve to laugh at him. Face burning, Nathaniel scooted back to where he had been sitting before Marc decided to jump-scare him halfway across the roof. Said boy sat down next to him, their shoulders touching.

“It happened again, didn’t it?” Marc asked, resting his head on his knees. “Judging from the look on your face before you ran I’d say it was a pleasant memory.” He teased.

“It um,” Nathaniel coughed to try and prevent his throat from closing up, “It was.” They both blushed and looked away from each other.

“...You know,” Marc began “One of these days you’re going to have to actually give me more details about what you keep seeing other than ‘hrk’ ‘gack’ ‘hnnng!’ and changing the subject. I mean, with how red your face goes I can guess, but it would be nice to have it confirmed if I still have my virginity or not.” ‘Hrk’, ‘gack’, and ‘hnnng!’, plus more were included in the intelligent reply Nathaniel tried to stammer out. His only consolation was Marc looked just as embarrassed. 

“We-” The redhead started, then took a deep breath for strength. “We didn’t go...that far. Hawkmoth was...watching.” Nathaniel left out the part where the villain had been gone for several hours, leaving the two to their own devices. He was in the area of 90% sure they hadn’t gone farther than making out, and fervently hoped he was right. If just remembering kissing sent him into fits, he would probably die if he suddenly recalled...other things. Time to change the subject.

“So um, you usually don’t come after me when I get overwhelmed from remembering stuff. What are you up here hiding from?” Marc had offered, when the flashbacks first started, but Nathaniel needed the time alone to sort out what he was feeling, after.

“Berger and his cronies are here.” Ugh, that man. 

“They really don’t seem to care about those restraining orders, do they?” Nathaniel sighed. “Who are they after today, Adrien, Lila, or us?” While Adrien still roamed the city as Chatnoir, only a select few knew who was behind the mask. The Wah Wah were more interested in him as the son of Hawkmoth and Paon. The interviews and public admissions to her identity the first time she had become Volpina had really come back around to bite Lila in the ass. She had been publicly declared innocent of any all and crimes committed while Volpina, as cured akumas were acknowledged to have no memory or control of their akuma actions, but the zealous Office of Akuma Affairs hounded her without mercy. Nathaniel had zero sympathy for her, as she had outed him and Marc as Penknight and Prism the first chance she got to try and take some pressure off her own skin. It didn’t work, and now all three of them had to deal with idiots stalking them.

“Anyone they can sink their claws in I guess. Principal Damocles was arguing with them by the entrance when Rose let me know they were here. I figured freezing my ass off up here with you was the better alternative than trying to sneak past them.” Marc grumbled, pulling his knees in tighter. Early March in Paris was not the best weather to be sitting around outside without a coat in. Nathaniel hesitantly put an arm around him. Marc snuggled into his side with a sigh. 

“Sorry, the roof seemed like a good idea at the time.” Nathaniel apologized. Marc didn’t reply, only scooting closer. “We could probably sneak into the library from here if you would like to go back inside?” 

“Oh my god yes. If I stay out here any longer I’m going to be a popsicle.” Marc wasted no time jumping to his feet and pulling Nathaniel along with him. Letting himself be pulled along, Nathaniel smiled, grateful that this entire ordeal had ended on a happy note.

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

“Thank you so much for letting me wait for Marinette! She’s been so helpful tutoring me.” Lila waved to Mr and Mrs Dupain-cheng, her smile fading as she climbed into Marinette’s room and out of sight. She didn’t know how it had happened, but after being cured she had lost her place as the class favorite to Marinette. She had tried every trick she could think of, saying that Nadia and Jagged had been forced by Penknight to claim not to know her. That Hawkmoth had manipulated her for his own ends. That she was just a poor victim in that awful fiasco, but nothing had worked. The class had neatly split down the middle between her supporters and Marinette’s. Heck, Nathaniel had been outright hostile to her.

She had used his animosity as an excuse to switch classes and while her new class was happy to give her the admiration she deserved, she could not, would not, accept that Marinette had beaten her. Glancing about the girl’s room she looked for anything she could use to incriminate her. To blackmail her. Hell, even to just plain HURT her. She picked up a ladybug bug shaped box on Marinette’s desk and looked for a way to open it. Figures the girl would be a Ladybug fan. Running her hands over the spots, she felt one give slightly. When she pressed again a compartment opened, revealing a silver and purple butterfly pin. 

The compartment came all the way out and could be folded over into a small box. Much more convenient than taking the entire thing. Lila pocketed the first box and reached out to touch another spot, only to hear footsteps coming up the stairs. Hastily, she set the box back on the desk just in time for Marinette to appear.

“What are you doing here?” Marinette growled. 

“Marinette! I came to apologize.” Lila turned up the charm. “This past month, in my new class, well some distance from the situation really made me realize how horribly I treated you and-” Marinette cut her off.

“I don’t believe any of that for a second.” She fumed. “What are you really doing here?”

“Marinette” Lila sighed. “Can’t we ever put all this passed us and be friends?” She smiled.

“Not until you prove you’ve actually changed. Sneaking into my room while I’m not here is a terrible start.”

“If we can’t have an honest conversation, I should just go…” Lila trailed off, schooling her expression into a remorseful one.

“Please do.” Marinette was not moved. She did hold the door open for Lila and walk her all the way out, no doubt to keep an eye on her. Lila didn’t mind. She might not have gotten anything world ending from this trip, but maybe she could at least pawn the pin in her pocket for some cash. The thing looked as though it was made of real silver, sure to be worth a good amount.

Oh yes, she had a good feeling about how this was going to end.

--------------------------______________----------------_____________-------

Well there you have it, that's it for Holloa. Will there be a sequel? Perhaps. It is canon that there is a Hawkmoth several years in the future. Not sure how I would go with making that Hawkmoth Lila without her knowing who Ladybug was, or at least where to get the rest of the miraculous since she picked up the Butterfly from Marinette. Oh wait I do have an idea....hm. Maybe. I'll think about it ok. Lila makes the most sense out of everyone to be Hawkmoth 2.0

[yurionice-secretsanta]

Bring Him Home

To  @rodiniaorzetalthepenquin From @kaleidodreams

Summary: During a snowstorm, Yuri worries when Otabek is late coming home from practice.

Rating: T/Teen and Up Audiences (Just for language, though, because Yurio.)

Message: I hope you enjoy gift, Rodinia! Merry Christmas and happy holidays!

         "Where the hell is he?“

         Yuri pulls his coat tight around his torso as he looks over the fire escape railing, down at the parking lot three stories below. The space where Otabek usually parks his bike is still empty, covered with a light dusting of snow. Snowflakes continue to fall from the sky, clinging to Yuri’s hair and shoulders. The weather can’t seem to make up its mind what it wants to do. One minute it’ll be snowing, only for the snow to turn into sleet, then right back into snow again in seemingly the blink of an eye.

         Yuri hates Otabek driving his bike in this kind of weather. He’s a great driver, but the roads are icy, and it won’t be long until the sun sets, the sky already turning various shades of yellows, oranges, and blues behind the clouds. He should had waited around at the rink until Otabek finished his session with Viktor – the two of them were polishing up the choreography of Otabek’s free skate before Four Continents next week – instead of rushing back to the apartment to start on a dinner that was fast going cold. If he had, he would have convinced Otabek to leave the bike behind and take the subway back home with him instead.

         Home.

         Yeah, six months later, and that’s still a little weird.

         Yuri fiddles with the simple black band adorning his right hand, the ring twisting easily due to the cold shrinking his already-slender fingers. Otabek had given it to him the night they moved into the apartment together, shortly before the current skating season started. A sappy gift, one that made Yuri cry ugly embarrassing tears when Otabek slipped it on his middle finger, but it means so much to him that Otabek accepts who he is, that he still loves him despite the fact that Yuri doesn’t have the same desires as him. Their relationship is unconventional, occupying some nebulous area between best friends and lovers, yet it works for them.

         Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he checks the clock for the third time since he came out on the fire escape. Shit, Otabek really is late; even with the bad weather, Yuri expected him to be home by now. He sighs, his breath visible in the freezing air. Should he call? He doesn’t want to distract Otabek from paying attention to the road if he’s driving, though.

         He settles for texting Viktor. It isn’t helpful, but at least he feels a little better after chewing Viktor out for allowing Otabek to leave on his own – never mind the fact that the snow didn’t start falling in earnest until after Otabek already texted Yuri to tell him he was about to leave the rink.

         If only he had been able to reply to the text faster…

         Yuri runs a hand through his hair, frustrated.

         He’s half-tempted to start looking for Otabek on his own, but he doesn’t own a car. Doesn’t even have a license yet. He keeps meaning to sign up for lessons; it’s just difficult to find the time between training, competitions, tours, and sponsorship obligations. Besides, he usually gets around the city well enough without one.

         Maybe I should try calling the local hospitals?

If something bad has happened… With shaking fingers, Yuri finds the number of the nearest hospital online. The phone starts to ring in his ear just as he hears the familiar sound of Otabek’s bike pulling into the parking lot.

         “Fuckin’ finally,” he says, exhaling in relief. After ending the call and sliding his phone back in the back pocket of his jeans, he leans over the railing and yells down at Otabek. “You’re late. Get your ass up here!”

         He isn’t sure if Otabek can understand what he’s saying from so far away, but he looks up at Yuri after he takes off his helmet, holding his hand up in a “thumbs up” signal.

         A grin tugs at Yuri’s lips despite himself. “Idiot.”

         He brushes off the snow as best he can, then climbs through the window to go back inside.

         Their apartment is in the loft of an old abandoned canning factory. Other than the bathroom, it’s completely open concept, with cement floors, exposed brick walls, and large floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the street view, letting in a ton of natural light when it isn’t so cloudy. It’s more Otabek’s style than Yuri’s, to be honest – Yuri likes silly things like drywall and ceilings that actually hide all the pipes and ductwork from sight – but his influence shines through in the pops of leopard print scattered around the room, from the throw pillows on the leather couch to the rug underneath their dining table to the duvet covering their king-sized bed.

         After shrugging off his coat, Yuri starts to sling it over the back of the couch when he thinks better of it, hanging it back on the coat rack where it belongs.

         Learning to live together has been a relatively smooth transition for the most part. He and Otabek enjoy a lot of the same things – the same foods, the same music, the same TV shows – and whatever differences between them tend to be complementary in nature. Yuri loves to cook; Otabek is a weirdo who actually likes doing dishes. Otabek’s better at keeping organized, so he makes sure the bills get paid on time and schedules most of their appointments. Yuri is an expert when it comes to bargain shopping thanks to his grandpa’s teachings, so he’s in charge of buying the groceries and other household necessities. They don’t argue about much, but Otabek’s annoyance with Yuri’s slovenly tendencies is their one red-button issue, a bad habit Yuri is trying his best to break.

         A couple of minutes later, Otabek walks through the front door. Yuri prepares to yell at him some more for worrying him so much, but the words die on his lips when he sees the long scratch along the side of Otabek’s cheek. It runs from just a little below his left eye to almost down to his jawline.

         “Oh my god, what the hell happened to your face?”

         Otabek flinches when Yuri gently presses a finger against the cut. “Oh, the cat got me,” he says. “It’s no big deal.”

         “What cat?” He couldn’t be talking about Potya. Yuri would have noticed the scratch earlier if that was the case. Besides, Potya isn’t much of a scratcher; he’s more likely to ignore someone altogether if he’s angry, swishing his tail as if he’s a king dismissing one of his lowly subjects.

         Meow.

         Yuri arches an eyebrow. “Did your jacket just ‘meow’?”

         Otabek unzips his leather jacket half-way, an orange tabby hesitantly poking its head out. The poor thing is wet and shivering, large green eyes taking in its new surroundings, and Yuri’s heart immediately fills with pity. Despite his tough reputation, he’s always had a soft spot for animals – particularly cats of all persuasions.

         “Stay here. I’ll get a towel,” he says, heading to the bathroom.

         When he returns, Otabek has taken the cat fully out of his jacket, its increasingly loud meows as it squirms in Otabek’s arms catching Potya’s attention. Potya claws at Otabek’s legs, letting out a few meows of his own as he tries to see what is going on.

         “Potya, down.” Yuri unhooks Potya’s claws from Otabek’s jeans, then gathers the skittish cat in the leopard-print towel he had brought with him, carrying it over to the couch.

         Yuri frowns as he looks the cat over. It appears severely underfed; he can feel its bones with only the slightest touch. He judges it to be around three to four months old, bigger than a kitten, but not quite full-grown. No collar to be found. It’s most likely a stray, but they would need to take it to the vet to check if it had a microchip to be certain.

         “Hey, where did you come from, little one?” he coos, rubbing the towel over the cat’s wet fur. The meows begin to quiet down, the tabby no longer trying to break free as it allows Yuri to dry it off.

         “You know that old maple tree where I usually park my bike?” Otabek sits down beside Yuri, slinging an arm over the back of the couch. “I was just about to leave the rink when I heard it meowing from up in the branches. It was too scared to climb down on its own, so I rescued him.”

         Glancing up, Yuri’s eyes widen. “You mean to tell me you climbed up a tree, rescued a stray cat, then drove all the way here from the rink in the sleet and snow with it stuffed in your fucking jacket?” He doesn’t know whether he wants to hug Otabek or smack him upside the head. Maybe a little of both. “Do you realize how dangerous that could have been?”

         Between the two of them, Otabek is supposed to be the responsible one. A stunt like that is more Yuri’s style.

         “What other choice did I have?” Otabek asks, scratching behind the tabby’s left ear. “I couldn’t leave it there, not when it was so cold and wet.”

         “Yeah, but –” Yuri sighs, bringing his hand to Otabek’s injured cheek. “You should clean that up and put some ointment on it.”

         “It’s fine,” he insists, brushing the hand away.

         “Beka, go get the first aid kit. It could get infected.”

         “Okay, okay.” Otabek heads to the bathroom.

         While he’s gone, Potya jumps up to take his spot on the couch, watching in curiosity as Yuri continues drying off the stray. “Hey, be nice,” Yuri warns with a wag of his finger. Potya isn’t accustomed to being around other animals besides Viktor’s and Yuuri’s poodle, Makkachin, but after sniffing the newcomer for a few seconds and letting out a hiss, he loses interest, hopping down to the floor with a flounce of his fluffy tail before climbing to the very top of his cat tower.

         Well, that went surprisingly…okay, Yuri thinks. Ideally, he’d like to keep one of the cats in a separate room for the time being, but in an apartment devoid of proper rooms, that really isn’t an option.

         After checking to see if the stray is a boy or a girl – definitely male – Yuri sets him down on the floor and heads to the kitchen, grabbing a can of Potya’s food from one of the upper cabinets. The stray follows after him, meowing at the top of his lungs as Yuri pulls back the tab on the can.

         “Hold on, just a minute,” he laughs, dumping the food into an old bowl of Potya’s and placing it down on the floor. “There. Hope you like chicken and tuna.”

         He does, if the way he chows down on the food is any indication, practically inhaling it. Yuri smirks, reminded of the way Yuuri always shovels bowls of katsudon in his mouth, and squats down to pet the tabby. It had probably been days since he had a decent meal. If Otabek hadn’t found and rescued him… “Man, you’re a lucky kitty,” Yuri murmurs.

         The tabby takes a break from eating, a loud purr vibrating through his emaciated body as he rubs his head against Yuri’s hand. Yuri practically dies from the cute, glad that Otabek’s not in earshot as he babbles high-pitched nonsense. Not that Otabek isn’t fully aware what being in the vicinity of an adorable kitty will do to him, but he likes to think he has some pride left.

         “Oh, gotta take a pic!”

         He pulls his phone back out and takes a few snapshots, choosing the cutest one to post on his Instagram. He captions it: Beka rescued this tabby from a tree near the rink. Nobody claims him? HE’S MINE!

         There, he’s done his duty to try to find the owner, although Yuri doubts he has one. If he does, then they’re obviously not a very good one.

         Leaving the tabby to continue eating his food, Yuri stands back up and sets his phone on the counter. Otabek still hasn’t returned to the living area, causing Yuri to frown. It shouldn’t take so long just to clean and bandage a scratch, should it?

         He knocks on the door to the bathroom. “Beka, do you need some help in there?”

         “No, I’m almost done. I’ll be out in a sec.”

         Yuri opens the door anyway. Otabek is standing shirtless in front of the mirror, applying topical ointment to the before-unseen scratches on his chest and abdomen. A gauze bandage already covers the one on his face.

         “Wow, Salchow really did a number on you,” Yuri says, leaning against the doorframe.

         Otabek meets his gaze in the reflection of the mirror, cocking an eyebrow. “Salchow?”

         “That’s what I decided to name him. It is a him, by the way. I checked.”

         “Good name,” Otabek says, smiling as he turns around, bracing himself against the vanity. “I guess that means we’re keeping him?”

         Oh, right, it isn’t just his decision anymore. Yuri forgot. Probably should’ve waited to post that picture until after they had discussed it…

         “I mean, do you mind? I don’t think he has an owner, and we can’t just let him loose again…”

         “It’s fine, but will he and Potya get along? You know how Potya gets around strangers…”

         Potya does tend to be wary when unknown people visit the apartment, although strangely enough, he had accepted Otabek almost right away. Sometimes Yuri suspects Potya even likes Otabek better than him.

         He pokes his head back into the living area, checking on them. So far, so good. Salchow is still chowing down on his food, and Potya has begun cleaning himself on top of the cat tower, completely ignoring the newcomer as he licks his paws. “I…think it’ll be okay?” he says, turning back around. “They haven’t killed each other yet, at least.”

         “That’s a low bar you’ve set for feline friendship.”

         Yuri rolls his eyes. “Whatever.  Here, give me that. You missed some.”

         Coming further into the bathroom, he takes the tube of antibiotic ointment from Otabek’s hand, squeezing a small amount on the tip of his finger and spreading it over a scratch located just above the waistband of his jeans.

         At his touch, Otabek’s breath hitches at the back of his throat.

         Yuri glances up. “Does it hurt?”

         “No.” He presses his lips together, eyes rolling up to the ceiling, and Yuri notices his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. “No, um, I’m just…sensitive…there…”

         It takes Yuri a moment to realize what exactly Otabek means by that. When he does, he jerks his finger away as if he had touched a steaming hot kettle. “Oh. Crap! Sorry.”

         Otabek chuckles. “It’s not like I mind, you know.”

         “Yeah, but…”

         Not for the first time, Yuri wonders if Otabek is really satisfied with their relationship in its current state. Whenever he asks, Otabek always assures him that he is, that he loves just being with him even if they never do anything beyond cuddling and the occasional chaste kiss, but sometimes it’s hard for Yuri to believe.   

         “It really was stupid of you to bring Salchow home with you on your bike, though,” Yuri says, changing the subject. He turns his attention to another scratch underneath Otabek’s ribcage. “If he had tried to escape out of your jacket and you lost control…”

         Yuri shakes his head, trying to force the image of Otabek’s bloodied body laying lifeless in the snow beside the crumpled metal of his motorcycle out of his mind. It doesn’t work. His eyes well up anyway against his will, and he sniffles, swearing as he swipes his hand over his face.

         This isn’t him. He’s the Ice Tiger of Russia – tough and fierce. But he can’t help it when it comes to Otabek. He loves him too much, even if it’s not the same kind of “love” that most people expect. Yuri doesn’t really believe in soulmates, but if such a thing really existed, he has no doubt Otabek would be his.

         “Yura…” Otabek places his hands on Yuri’s upper arms. “I’m sorry I made you worry,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Yuri’s.

         “You should be.” Yuri tries to glare at him through his tears, but it’s half-hearted at best, his anger swallowed by the overwhelming relief he feels that Otabek made it home safe and in one piece, minus a few scratches.

         Sighing, he wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist and buries his head in his shoulder. “You really did scare me,” he admits in a muffled voice as Otabek returns the embrace. “It was getting so late, and the snow kept falling, and…and… Well, you should have called me!”

         “I know. I’m sorry.” Otabek kisses the top of his head, hugging him even tighter. The front of his favorite sweatshirt is no doubt covered in smears of ointment, but Yuri doesn’t care, taking comfort in the warmth of his body heat. “My phone died right after I sent that last text to you. I forgot to charge it.”

         “Not an excuse.”

         Otabek laughs softly, but Yuri’s one hundred percent serious. He doesn’t ever want to worry about him like that ever again. “No more driving your bike in bad weather, okay?”

         “Okay,” Otabek says, not even putting up the pretense of an argument.

         “And keep your stupid phone charged, too. You’re usually better about that.”

         “Okay.”

         “And –”

         “Okay.”

         Yuri finally pulls away, looking back up. “You don’t even know what I was gonna say.”

         “'And don’t ever leave me alone in the world'…right?”

         Dammit, it annoys him when Otabek reads his mind like that. Is he really so predictable? “Well, I wasn’t gonna say it like that…” Shifting his eyes downward to stare at the tile floor, Yuri tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. “…but, um, yeah, that was the general gist of it, I guess.”

         Otabek brushes back Yuri’s bangs and kisses him on his forehead. “Okay, I promise I won’t die,” he says in a soft voice.

         If only it was possible to keep such a promise… Yuri wraps his arms around Otabek’s waist, allowing him to hug him once again. “Just… try not to get yourself killed,” he amends. “That’s good enough for me.”

         “Deal.”

         The two of them stay like that for a long moment, embracing each other  until a crashing sound followed by a stampede of tiny paws breaks the mood. Groaning, Yuri releases his hold.

         “I knew the peace was too good to last,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “Come on, Beka. Let’s round up the kids before they really do kill each other.”

[crackspines]

You Wanted Me Gone - Jason Todd & Damian Wayne Fic

That night’s patrol had not been kind to Damian. The diminutive Robin ran into two muggers, a pissed off Killer Croc, and prostitute fighting with her pimp in the course of a few hours. The various run-ins left him with several bruises, a headache, and an oozing head wound. After the blow to the forehead, he decided to, quite literally, hang up his cape for the night.

Speeding back through Gotham and towards the manner, Damian’s cycle skidded to a stop at a sudden red light, engine noise dying out. The sudden silence of the deserted, destitute part of town was sliced through by a couple of high-pitched cackles. The noise came from down an alley to Damian’s right, and he frowned.

That kind of unbridled joy in Gotham was suspicious. Technically, this wasn’t his territory, though. Todd unofficially owned Crime Alley.

Wiping off a bit of blood rolling down his face, Damian parked his cycle by the mouth of the alley without a second thought. No one would dare steal something from the heir of Batman and Ra’s al Ghul, and he didn’t answer to Todd.

The smell from a nearby dumpster, a hybrid of Thai food and methyl methacrylate, made the air thick. Just before the opening dead ended at the side of a warehouse, three teens in worn clothing crowded around a drainage pipe. One of them had a tire iron and was poking it into the build’s pipe while the others egged their friend on, giggling and hitting each other on the arm.

Maybe it was because Damian hadn’t hit puberty yet, but he couldn’t see the appeal.

Just when Damian was about to turn around, leaving Todd to his precious Crime Alley, a yowl sounded from the pipe after a vicious poke. The temperature of Damian’s blood plunged, and he saw in shades of pure rage.

There was an animal trapped in that pipe.

His justice was swift and violent. The first teen didn’t see him coming, and he crashed to the ground after Damian kicked out his knee. The other two gaped for a moment and then ran at Robin. Probable concussion or no, Damian made quick work of the other two with a series of painful jabs.

Only a couple minutes into the fight, the teens struggled to their feet and ran as fast as their off-brand sneakers could take them. Damian let them go with reluctance, knuckles turning white around his staff.

Once the three were out of sight, Damian crouched down next to the pipe, shining a gentle light inside. A lot of mud, leaves, and street gunk obscured most of his view, but he could make out a damp, dirty, and bleeding orange kitten. His little body was wedged far back into the pipe, and he was shaking--from cold or shock, Damian didn’t know.

“Seems like there’s one too many Bats in my territory tonight,” a familiar voice said from the fire escape above.

Damian rose, putting his body between the Red Hood and the trapped kitten. “Hood.”

Jason, full helmet on, jumped down to the damp concrete, boots hitting with an echoing thump. His body language was tense, ready for the fight that usually followed the newest Robin wherever he went. And far be it from Jason to pass up the chance to royally spank his little brother.

“What are you doing in my territory, babybird?” Jason asked with a growl.

“You have an agreement with Father and Grayson,” he said, bringing his staff out in front of his body. “Not with me.”

Jason would be doing Bruce a personal favor by handing this kid his ass and attitude on a plate. It takes a village and all that.

Bodies tensing for a fight, Damian brought his staff to an offensive position while Jason prepared his fists. The two were just about to start in on each other when the kitten let out another pitiful cry from the pipe.

Attention snapping to the pipe, Jason couldn’t help but blink in surprise when Damian stepped more firmly in front of the drain. The boy’s chin stuck out stubbornly, making him look like a mule. Or worse, like his father.

“This is none of your concern, Todd.” Ice sickles could have formed on his words. “I’ll leave your territory as soon as I’m done here.”

Instead of heading Damian’s unspoken command, Jason came forward and crouched in front of the pipe. After a brief examination, he looked up at Damian. “How were you planning on getting him out?”

“I’m more than capable of freeing one cat.”

“Easy, kid,” Jason said. “It wasn’t a criticism. I just wanted to know what our plan is.”

That statement brought Damian up short. He hadn’t spent much time with Todd, as he and his father weren’t on great terms at the moment. When he did come around to manner or they met on the streets, they mostly traded blows and insults. Why wasn’t he reporting his intrusion to Damian’s father? Why was he pretending to care about the cat?

When Damian did speak, his voice was refreshingly hesitant. “You want to help?”

Jason ignored him, fishing out a hand-held laser from one of his pockets instead. With Damian’s supervision, he cut through the excess metal about a foot from where the kitten sat, still shaking. The work was slow, because neither Bat wanted to accidentally hit the cat or let debris bury him before they could pull him out.

Once the cutting was done, Damian reached in carefully and pulled the kitten out, avoiding any claws or teeth the scared animal might try to use on him. Once the cat was exposed to the light of the moon, Damian could see that apart from a few cuts and a huge amount of caked-on mud, the kitten was unharmed.

Standing, Jason clapped him on the shoulder. Under his helmet, a wry smile spread across his face. “Don’t you just love a happy ending? We should get him to the humane society. They can fix him up and find him a home.”

Instead of moving with Jason as he made his way out of the alley, Damian pursed his lips, looking at the shivering kitten and then back at Jason.

“I don’t understand,” he said, clutching the kitten close to his chest. “You wanted me gone.”

Pausing in his stride, Jason walked back over to the boy. He sensed a serious moment coming on.

“Don’t ever be afraid to come to me. You’re my brother, even if your Dad’s an asshole. Even if you hate me. I’d help you rescue kittens and beat up teenagers all night long.”

Damian suddenly became very interested with his shoe laces. After waiting a moment for a reply, Jason continued.

“So what do you say? Fancy a trip to the pound?”

With less hesitation, Damian nodded and followed Jason to where his bike waited next to Damian’s. They found a place for the kitten in one of Jason’s compartments, wrapping him in a blanket to stave off hypothermia.

Once they climbed onto their respective bikes, Damian paused a moment before starting his engine. Quietly, he said, “I don’t hate you.”

Like this shit? Read more of my stuff here.

[orihara-infobroker]

35 for the prompts~

“I know it’s 3 in the morning but I can’t find my cat.”

Izaya knew something was wrong the moment he stepped in the door. His coat closet was wide open, several jackets on the floor. There were footprints on his tile floor. He continued into the apartment, knife sliding into his hand casually. The living room was untouched but his desk had been rummaged through. Nothing appeared to be missing, however, and the shelves of files were completely untouched. He tilted his head to the side, brows coming together into a frown. The first thing he would think someone would break in for would be his information.

He turned away from the desk and continued toward the stairs, hearing the telltale scratching of a cat trapped behind a door. He followed the sound to the bathroom, opening the door to have Tsuki burst out as soon as there was space enough for him to flee entrapment. Assumably the infiltrator had locked him in there but then, where was Haru? He backtracked, checking the spare room and his bedroom but there was no sign of either the iriamote or the infiltrator. The bedroom had been tossed but, once again, nothing appeared to be missing.

He went to the kitchen and did the one sure thing that would summon his cats; he opened a can of cat food. Tsuki came but still no sign of Haru. Could the iriomote have gotten out when they broke in? No, that felt unlikely since neither of the cats was inclined to run for the door and it stood to reason that they expected cats since they locked Tsuki up. He moved to his computer, pulling up the camera feed as he pulled out his phone. He chewed on his bottom lip as he waited for the line to connect.

“Izaya…” Shiki’s voice answered.

“I know it’s three in the morning but I can’t find my cat.” Izaya blurted out. There was an awkwardly long silence. “My apartment was broken into. Haru’s missing.” He added into the silence.

“Could he have gotten out?” Was Shiki’s tired response.

“He didn’t get out. I’m looking at the camera feed now. They took him.”

“Who is they?”

“I’m not sure. It looks like they knew where the cameras were so there are no face shots. Two people, male I think. Dark clothes, hoods and all that. You had a list, right?”

“What?”

“Of buyers interested in him.”

“Yes, but that was months ago,” Shiki replied and Izaya could hear the flick of a lighter. A pause as the executive took that first breath of smoke. “These were potential clients, I doubt they would stoop to catnapping. I doubt they would even know you had him, anyway. It wasn’t like I was going to tell them that my partner decided to keep the damn cat.”

“Well, maybe they hired someone to steal him,” Izaya replied. “If they’re willing to pay you to acquire him, I doubt they would shy from hiring someone else.”

“So you’re going to what, question a bunch of old, rich guys at three AM? How did the catnappers get away?”

“A van. I only got a partial on the plate though. Running it now.”

“Better lead than the clients.” Shiki pointed out. “When did they break in?”

“Around midnight but it looks like the van was parked there for a while. They must have been waiting for me to leave. I think I have a hit. The partial and the model of the van matches one Omori Shotaro. He has an apartment in West Ikebukuro.”

“Address?”

“3 Chome-16-13 Ikebukuro.”

“All right, I’ll meet you there.” The executive hung up before Izaya could say anything else.

Izaya was out the door shortly after, heading for the apartment building. Shiki had beat him there and was leaning against his car, smoking and looking like he’d come from work, not home. Izaya eyed him with amusement as he approached.

“All dressed up just for me?”

Shiki arched a brow. “Quality part of town. Bet these guys are nothing but small time delinquents. Is that the van?”

“Looks like it. Shall we pay them a visit? Rescue poor baby Haru?”

“Baby? Your cat is larger than some small dogs. He is definitely not a baby.” Shiki followed as Izaya headed up the steps to the second level apartments, stopping in front of the door and knocking.

“That was quick.” He heard a male voice approach the door. A young man opened the door and, upon seeing Izaya’s grinning face, immediately tried to close it but Shiki stepped forward and planted his foot against the door, shoving it open. The man stumbled back in surprise. “Shit.Ohshit. How the hell did you find us?” He babbled in surprise.

“Well, frankly, you’re not bright. Your methods are subpar. Honestly, you couldn’t even hide your license plate from the cameras?” Izaya responded derisively, sneering at the man as he stepped into the apartment.

“Hey, Shotaro, what’s going on?” Another voice called from inside. Shotaro stumbled backward as Izaya moved forward, into the living room. Izaya’s gaze shifted from Shotaro to his partner in crime who, to his delight, had quite a set of scratches on his face and arms. He appeared to be in the middle of disinfecting them.

“Look, Shiki, Haru did a number on his captor.”

Shiki snorted at the sight. “Hellcat, just like his owner.”

“Where is my precious kitten?” He asked, scanning the small room until his eyes settled on a cat carrier sitting on a chair from which a low growling could be heard. He began to walk toward the cat grinning.

“Fuck that shit!” Shotaro spoke up. “That cat’s our cash cow! The client’s already on the way to pick him up!” He tried to grab Izaya but the raven merely sidestepped him while Shiki stepped closer, grabbing Shotaro by the back of his neck, pulling the young man’s head down while he brought his knee up. There was a satisfying crunch followed by a wail of pain as Shotaro slumped to the floor, lifting his hands to his very broken nose.

“Couple of punks with no understanding of just whose cat they stole,” Shiki commented, taking a drag of his cigarette as he turned his gaze to the other young man whose eyes were as round as saucers. “Messing with family, no less.”

“F-family?” Shotaro stuttered, staring at Shiki with confusion. “It’s a fucking cat, dude.” Shiki’s gaze shifted back and he leaned down, grabbing Shotaro’s hair and dragging his head back.

“You saying cats can’t be family, kid?”

“N-no, sir!” Shotaro stuttered, cringing.

Izaya was opening the cat carrier at this point, coaxing the very angry iriomote out. The cat peered out at Izaya, spotted Shiki and bolted straight to him, making a rather impressive leap onto the executive’s shoulders. Shiki grimaced as Haru dug claws in, thankful for his suit jacket. He let go of Shotaro, shoving the young man away as the cat growled.

“Look, Shiki, Haru missed you,” Izaya observed as he walked over to give the iriomote an affectionate chin-scritch.

“Yes. Great. Are we done here?” Shiki replied with a sigh.

“I’m good. Unless you want to break the other guy’s nose too?” Izaya asked hopefully, earning a flat look from Shiki. “No? Well, I suppose those scratches are punishment enough.” He ceded, heading for the door. Shiki dropped his cigarette, grinding it out on the floor, giving the young men one last cold glare before following Izaya. As they walked toward Shiki’s car, Izaya glanced at the executive with a grin. “Family, Haruya?” He teased.

“Are you going to deny it?” Shiki asked with an arched brow. “You spoil them rotten and treat them better than your own sisters.”

“Oh no, I was just thinking that maybe you think of them as family.” He replied with a smirk, his eyes drifting to Haru who was quite content to lounge on Shiki’s shoulders as they walked. “In fact, I wonder if I should be jealous of how much my cats seem to like you.”

Shiki snorted in amusement. “Jealous of a cat, Izaya? Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favourite stray.”

“How sweet,” Izaya replied as he carefully lifted the iriomote off Shiki’s shoulders and slid into the passenger seat. “Don’t worry Haru. He loves you too. He came all the way out here to rescue you after all.”

Shiki rolled his eyes at the raven as he closed the car door. “Three in the morning for a damn cat.” He muttered as he walked over to the driver side.

[annakie]

A Post about Patchy

Hey would you like to read a lot of words about and see some pics of this cat?  Because I’m going to do that below this cut.

Don’t worry, longtime followers, this is a happy post.

Those of you who have been following me since 2014 or before may remember Patchy.  I don’t talk about her much on the blog, but I think it’s time. 

If you were worried this may be a post-mortem post, don’t be.  She’s happy and healthy.

The pic above was taken in October 2010.  It’s the earliest picture I have of Patchy.  By this point I had already known her for about a year.

Back in like 2009, around the time I got Cebu, when I started actually looking out in my backyard, I realized that there were several cats who hung out back there at night.  I just have a chain link fence in my yard so it’s not surprising they could easily jump it from the alley or side yards, and I have a pretty large patio with some comfy patio chairs, so I guess it seemed like a good spot for them to hang, since I wasn’t out there much. 

I wouldn’t know that TNR was a thing for awhile, and since I have a soft spot for cats, I’d leave them out some kibble, I’d just buy a bag of the cheapest stuff at the grocery store and throw a cup out a night to keep them from starving to death back then.  There were often 5 or so cats back there, and if I’d have known then what I know now, I would have started TNR way earlier. 

The cats would come and go, and there were so many that I just called them by identifying characteristics.  “Brown-nosed tabby” and “Tuxedo” and “Orangie” or whatever.  So this Calico just became “Patchy” since she has patches of color.  For awhile, she was just one of that gang.

Cats would disappear, new ones would show up.  Patchy and Moustachio, a shorthaired B&W cat with a mustache, were around the longest.  I’m not sure what happened to most of the other cats, I’m sure they got hit by cars and picked up by the pound and other unpleasantness.  I had to dispose of a few myself.

Patchy, somehow, kept surviving.  Although there were a few times when she’d disappear for weeks at a time and I guessed that was the end of her, but she’d show up later all skin and bones, and then I’d switch her to my cats’ expensive, grain-free food and even give her wet food to get her back on her feet.  Once she even showed up bloody with a very scary gash on her head.  Not being able to touch her to put like, neosporin or something on that was killing me and I did what I could to help her recover, which was mostly just making sure she had plenty of good food and water.  She made it.

And in these first few years, several times, kitten litters showed up in my backyard.

Cebu... get out of the way.  (He was always real good about knowing exactly where to be for being in the way.  I miss him so much.)  (Pics taken in May, 2013.)

Ah, yeah, there’s Patchy with two litters of kittens, one of which was hers and the others were her own grandchildren.  I rescued two out of those eleven and still kick myself for not doing more.

After having to clean up a few of her messes and over a few years saving over a half dozen of her kittens, and not saving many more, I decided it was time to do something about this.  I started by getting her to trust going into my house.

My master bedroom has a sliding glass door to the patio.  (The door you see there goes into the garage, sliding glass door is to the right.)  So I started trailing food into the house and into the master bathroom to get her to explore there, and under the bed so she saw a safe place to hide.  I’d then hanging out in the bedroom reading and letting her come in to explore the inside.  I got her to understand there was food and clean water, and shelter there.  

I thought I wasn’t far enough along with trusting me when she was pregnant once again in spring, 2014.  But one night she did run right inside the house when I opened the sliding glass door to let Cebu out, climbed into the lining that had been ripped out a bit under my bed, and set up camp.  For the next few months, she lived there.  I contacted a feral rescue group in my area who agreed to let me foster the kitties and they’d get them adopted, then loan me a trap to get Patchy TNR’d.  So that was a relief.

Also?  Patchy picked the spot where she wanted to “go”, and after I cleaned up that first mess I put a litter box there and she took right to it, have NEVER had a litter issue since.

The long, and complete story about the next few months can be found on my Rescue Kitties tag, with many many pictures and updates.  But I’ll still post a few, and a summary.

She never came out from beneath the bed if I was in the room, but I would go hang out with her when I got home from work every day, lay on the floor and sing to her and talk to her, give her yummy wet food, and sometimes, if she felt frisky, she’d play laser pointer with me when I would lay in bed before sleeping at night, always on the floor, never daring to get on the bed.  That’s fine.

In April 2014 one morning I awoke to kitten noises.

She was such a good momma to those kittens.  After the first day & night in the birthing box I set up for her, and she did even let me change out the towel (but got real mad when I tried to move the food bowl slightly away), she brought the babies back under the bed and I’d have to peek and use my camera to even see them.

Eventually, they got old enough to get curious, they came out to play, and she let me play with them and socialize them. 

And after a few more weeks, the babies went to the rescue group, and found their forever homes. 

It took TWO MORE WEEKS of making Patchy very unhappily live inside before I could get her into a trap, so she could be TNR’d.  Although she was OK with me touching the babies, touching was strictly off-limits for HER.

But hey!  We did it!  She went and got TNR’d, got a clean bill of health... and went back outside.

I didn’t see her for like two weeks, and when she came back she was skin and bones, and decided that maybe it was OK to be back here and let me give her food again, after all.

And then for the next year or so, well, if it were really hot or cold or storming outside, when I’d let Cebu out before bed, maybe she’d decide to spend the night under the bed, after all.  But she wanted to go back outside during the day.  That’s fine.  The other cats hated being locked out of the bedroom sometimes, but they got used to it.

Slowly, throughout 2014 and 2015 her inside stays got a little longer and a little longer.  It was too hot or too cold out for days at a time, then weeks at a time.

The worst part about this time is that she’d get fleas.  And then Cebu would get fleas, and then Jim, Leela, Fry and Pemily would have fleas.  And then I’d have to do an expensive round of flea meds on all 5 of the inside pets, and not being able to touch Patchy to give HER meds was a problem until I found some like, garlic pills online that I’d mash into her wet food and give to her.  Luckily, between that and flea-powdering (the vacuuming) the carpets, the fleas would be taken care of.  I think I went through this three times.  Eventually I just started giving her a flea pill once a month.  I didn’t love doing it because apparently some cats have bad reactions, but it was that or... stop letting her into the house because I couldn’t keep exposing the rest of the pets to fleas.  Luckily, it worked.

Of course when Cebu died at the end of 2016 I had a lot less reason to ever go to the backyard, so, she had a lot fewer chances to try and go outside, anyway.  But it’d been awhile before that since she’d go out.  I used to leave the door open enough for Cebu to go out and come back in during nice days, and she wouldn’t bother most of the time.  And usually, even when she did, she’d be back inside for bed.

She did get out for like two minutes once last year, but she made it to the end of the backyard, saw I was going back inside, and ran back to me and inside all on her own after that.

She’s at least ten years old now, I think she’s happy to be settled.

I feel bad that she lives her entire life in one room.  I’ve tried a few things to see if she wants to integrate.  Pemily is my most social and outgoing and friendly cat, and also she is literally Patchy’s granddaughter, and several times Pemily has managed to sneak her way into the bedroom, she’s very wiley.  Patchy DOES NOT LIKE IT.  Usually within 10 minutes there are growls, spits and hisses.  Once or twice Pemily has made it into the bedroom without me noticing, and I’ll find her sitting by the door VERY READY to leave when I go back in.  Patchy and Fry would never get along, and she’d probably bully Leela, so... she’s a bedroom cat.

We still play laser pointer, I made sure we has a few hunting-type toys, which are the only thing she responds to.  I’ve tried several “enrichment” toys that the other cats like, stimulation toys, hiding toys, a mini-cat tower that she only uses the brush on, special places to lay down... whatever.  I also bought her a life-sized stuff cat for companionship and NOPE, she hissed at it.  I left in in the room just in case she gets used to it and she ignores it. She doesn’t really care. She likes to hunt fake mice and the laser pointer, everything else is “Meh.”  

She used to dump her water out all the time and I realized she likes to drink moving water, so I put Cebu’s water fountain in there and she loves it.  She has the view of the backyard from the sliding glass doors she spends a lot of time looking out at.  She has crunchy food always and gets some wet food when I get home from work, I spend a few minutes with her when I come home from work every day and at least an hour hanging out in bed watching shows and playing laser pointer... and she seemed happy.

In January, 2016 I woke up one night and found a warm lump next to my feet.  

It may have been a little earlier than that, but not much.  Patchy figured out that it’s more comfy ON the bed (well, she had been sleeping up there when I wasn’t in the room before then, but never while I was there) and hey, humans are warm!  Actually now that I look at it, I think this pic was taken in the afternoon, so maybe this was one of the first times she came onto the bed when she knew I was awake.  (Hey, I’m big on weekend afternoon naps.)

Further strides.. were slow, but measured.  The first time she’d come up on the bed while I was sitting up.  The first time she walked on me when I was laying on my side.  The first time she walked on my stomach and smelled my face.  Figuring out that sleeping higher up on the legs is even warmer.  Figuring out that purring and making biscuits on the human’s leg was really nice.  Oh man, I cried the first time she made biscuits and I heard her purring.  That was probably early 2017.

I had a few aborted attempts at trying to touch / pet her, including thinking she was Pemily while I was still half alseep.  These always lead to setbacks that took awhile to get that trust back.

After awhile, she’d sometimes even do stuff like... this.

This was a huge deal because it was the first time I had even thought to record her and she just came right up and said hi, and she laid there for like 20 seconds while I talked to her.

And then I asked her if she wanted pets, and she immediately backed off.

But hey, she backed off to go do this...

So it wasn’t so terrible.  A little biscuit making before settling down to hang out.

I decided about a year ago, that to move forward, what I needed was to get her used to my hands. So I began Operations: Hands are OK!  For literally the last year, every day I just try to spend a few minutes with my hands somewhere near her when she settles in.  And I started trying TINY PETS on her paws when she was relaxed.  This was a gamble because most cats hate having their paws touched.  But she could see my fingers touching her paws, and tiny gentle paw strokes that did not hurt were something she could control, and remove her paws from.  Which usually she did, and at first she’d get up and move, but eventually, she’d just tuck her paws under.

Sometimes... even something like this would happen...

See?  You can touch MY hands, too!  It’s OK!

I also let her sniff my hand any time she was close enough, and she got used to that, I started using it as a greeting.  She was totes OK with touching any part of me that was covered up with a blanket at this point.  So I’d also put my hand under the blanket sometimes and then under her paws or side.  She didn’t like this much, either, but would tolerate it in small bursts. 

I was patient with her and tried to not push her boundaries too much.

The thing is, though, she has not been to the vet since getting TNR’d in 2014, and she’s now at least 10 years old.  I don’t want to take her if it’s going to set her back, and I don’t want to someday have her be sick and still terrified of my hands, of touch, so... I pushed forward.

The last few months... I started feeling like she knew she wanted something else, but she didn’t know what she wanted or how to ask for it.   So I went for pets with the back of my hand a few times, slowly, letting her know where my hand was at all times and she’d... run away after a short brush.

She’d hang out... close, like this, though.  Looking at me like... “I need something.  What is it that I need?”

Less than two weeks ago, on June 12, I had to wake up at 4am for a work thing, made it back to bed at 6:15ish, then woke up, oops, an hour later than I meant to around 9am.  I really needed to get up and get to work, but woke up to Patchy laying with me, then when she saw I was awake she climbed up to my stomach, purring.

“Okay, we’re gonna try pets again,” I said to her, and showed her the back of my hand.  She sniffed it, then I lightly brushed it against her side.  She didn’t move.

“Okay, we’re gonna do that again,” I said, and for 4 or 5 strokes, she let me.  So I got bold, and went for the regular front-hand full body pet down the spine.

She let me.  I held my breath and looked at her and she didn’t move.  I tried again and she let me.  And after a few seconds... I was just... petting her.  Like you would any other cat.  I literally got teary eyed as I told her what a good girl and brave girl she is.  She... leaned into it.

After about a minute, I got really bold and tried a neck scratch.

SHE.  LOVED.  IT.

This was after about five minutes of neck-scratch / body pets switching.  I grabbed my phone off the nightstand to capture the moment, and she was totally cool with staying still while I shifted a bit to take the pictures with my left hand.

I probably hung out with her for ten or fifteen minutes and actually had to push her away to get up and run into work and not miss a meeting I was supposed to run at 10.  I’ve been so. damn. happy. about this.

It took ten years you guys.  Or damn close to it.  A decade of knowing this cat, of getting her to trust me bit by bit.  

And now, when I hop in bed at night, whenever she’s ready she’ll jump up and hang out.  A few nights ago she even let me pet her while she was standing up and I was sitting up for a moment, and once while I was sitting up and sitting cross-legged, she laid down on the pillow in front of my legs and just let me pet her that way.  

She even woke me up in the middle of the night last night going “Uh, hey, that thing you do now?  Do that some.”  She lays there and purrs and lets me pet her for a long time.

She still mostly runs under the bed if I’m in the room and not on the bed, but the last year or so she’s been lazy about it, instead of jumping up terrified and running under the bed it’s more like “Oh... you’re here.  Ok.”  More like a routine than a necessity.  The last few days she may even be outside of the bed under the nightstand or just... NEAR the bed if I’m walking around, but I haven’t pushed that boundary yet.

My goal is now, by the end of the year, have her tolerate me picking her up, or at least pushing her around.  Get it so I can get her into a carrier and... if I’m real lucky, get her to the vet before 2019 is over.  We’ll see.

Maybe, but not likely, someday I can open the bedroom door again, sleep with the other cats (I do occasionally sleep in the guest room so they can hang out with me, but that bed is nooot as comfortable.)  For the last few years I was doubtful we’d ever get this far.  So who knows.

Thanks for reading this far!  I have been wanting to just record this story for awhile and made myself sit down and do it tonight.  I’ll post further updates if warranted. :)

[the-council-of-new-york-vampires]

I'd be interested in you writing another fic on Priya's past, Admin go for it! Priya is like the only council member character in the bloodbound series that we don't know about before meeting the council, much less who turned her? if it wasn't Gaius, all we know is she dated Adam in the 1920's.

Out of Character:

“The 1920s” are in fact 1924. 😉 We know she came to America in that year, too, but we don’t know why or where she was before… 🤔 That’s not what my fic is about, though. 😅

BUT I HAVE A HEADCANON FOR IT THAT CAN BE A WHOLE NEW FIC. 😍

I went back far more to write a past for Priya’s past. :D

It’s kinda triggering, like the first one, but there is no NSFW in it. Enjoy!

Three figures were standing in the kitchen.

“Priya, give me the rice,” was an order from the oldest.

The six year old grabbed the rice-filled pot. She had lifted it up from the table, but it was heavy and her hands were tiny. She tried her best to hold on, but her strength wasn’t enough: the pot slipped out of her fingers and fell onto the ground, covering the floor in rice!

“Priya!” her grandmother cursed.

“I’m sorry! I couldn’t hold it!” she whined.

“Can you do anything right at all?” the old woman barked.

Priya’s older sister bit her lip. “Grandmother… Please don’t be so strict with Priya… She is only six…”

“I was managing the whole household on my own when I was six!”

“But-”

Tolerating no such accidents, she turned to Priya and cursed, “Out!” Her arm outstretched, she pointed at the door. “Out with you!”

Priya obeyed, quickly leaving the room. She stayed outside, walked around her neighborhood, played with friends, kept herself busy until dusk, when it had gotten dark and cold. The little girl knocked at her house’s door to get back in and waited.

Her grandmother opened. Immediately, she shouted, “I told you not to bring strays home!”

Wearing a sad face, Priya pulled the rescued kitten in her arms closer to her chest. “It has no home.”

The old woman grabbed the cat - and threw it down to land on its feet! “This is not a place for strays!” She then reached out for Priya and pulled her inside.

Being reminded of her own house’s warmth, Priya wished that no living being had to suffer in the cold…

“As you have made a mess in the kitchen today, it serves you right to clean it up,” the old woman stated sternly.

Priya nodded. Looking up to her grandmother with big eyes, she asked, “Is there food left?”

For a single moment, she seemed to be sad. Then, the woman pulled herself back together and answered, “Of course not. The only thing we had was the rice that your brothers had to eat filthily, because you let it fall!”

“I’m sorry…”

Pressed onto each other, her wrinkled lips formed a line. “…It’s fine. Please clean the kitchen. I’ll be sewing in another room.”

“Alright.”

On her way to the kitchen, Priya walked past the bedroom - and couldn’t overhear the sound of… crying. She held on for a second… and realized that she didn’t want to ignore this. Opening the door slightly, she found a loved one sobbing.

“…Mother?”

The woman looked up in shock. “Priya! Do you… need something?”

Priya allowed herself to walk inside, close the door for privacy and approach the bed on which her mother was sitting on. “Why are you crying?”

“I…” Her face tear-stained, she tried to form a sentence, establish eye contact with her daughter… but it was too difficult. Covering her face, she broke down once again. The only sentence hearable was a pained, “I’m sorry…” that got repeated many times…

Feeling her mother’s emotional pain, Priya reached out and stroked her back while simply being there to listen. “Why are you sorry?”

“You wouldn’t understand… Please… Please leave me alone…”

Even though she knew that it was right to give her mother space, Priya left the room feeling devastated.

When entering the kitchen, she found her two older brothers sitting at the table, reading. Usually, she would have asked them questions about school, about reading and writing, about all the things she wasn’t allowed to experience. But this day was different.

Unafraid to interrupt, asking for help in a very subtle way, Priya stated, “Mother is crying.”

Looking up from his papers was Priya’s brother, a few years older than her. “It’s because of our sister,” he said.

Priya’s sister was her role model, her favorite person. “Where is she? What happened?”

His eyes widened as he recalled the mental image, stating, “Men came here, and they took her away.”

Priya gaped. “What?”

Her brothers were quiet, but the sadness surrounding them was an obvious and loud scream.

In disbelief, she asked again, “What happened?”

It was then that Priya’s oldest brother looked at her, his eyes dead as he explained, “Mother sold her.”

-

“Priya?”

“Yes?”

The toddler giggled. “Have you ever kissed your boyfriend?”

Priya looked up from brushing her little sister’s hair and grinned. “I’ve done more than that with him.”

The little girl gaped. “What have you done?”

Priya’s grin got wider. “I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“You’re too young.”

“I’m not! Tell me!”

Priya laughed, entertained, but she didn’t plan on giving an answer. Her mother would kill her if she knew of this at all.

Suddenly, the little girl giggled. “Will you marry him?”

“I have no idea…”

“How tall is he?”

“Your hair is done. It’s time for bed.”

The toddler sighed, but let her older sister pick her up and place her in bed.

Priya lied down next to her sister, as there wasn’t enough space in the house or money in their pockets to afford several beds. “More gossip tomorrow,” she promised, grinning.

This morning, rays of sunlight shining in Priya’s face were what woke her up. That was highly unusual, as she was normally woken up early. She turned to her side, to find her sister gone, the room in the state they had left it.

It was then that the door opened, revealing Priya’s mother who stepped inside, wearing a sad smile. “Good morning, beautiful.”

“Good morning… Why didn’t you wake me up?”

She approached and sat down on the bed to continue the conversation with her daughter. Letting a hand run through Priya’s full, wavy hair, she stated, “I wanted you to sleep in just this once.”

Priya’s eyes widened, she didn’t understand. “But… My chores…”

“Your sister has finished them.”

The young woman scowled. “She didn’t have to. You could have woken me up.”

After looking at her for a few moments, Priya’s mother simply bit her lip. “Would you come outside with me?”

Immediately, Priya thought that something had happened. However, she complied and followed her mother through the house. They stopped when reaching the door.

“I’ve… packed a few things for you…” she said, pointing at a bag by the door.

…Was her mother throwing her out? Had she found out about Priya’s boyfriend? Was her sister a snitch?

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door.

It was then that Priya’s mother got hysterical. “They’re here!”

Priya gaped. “Who’s that?”

Her mother placed her hands on Priya’s shoulders and pulled her into a hug. “Priya, I am so sorry. Never forget that I love you! I swear that I will do anything in my power to get you back out!”

As Priya realized what was happening, she felt a feeling she had never felt before. Shock, fear, sadness, confusion - all mixed up inside her, urging her to scream, to run away, to break down and cry…

The knocks got louder. Someone was banging on the door! “Open!”

Seeing that her mother was moving towards the door, Priya reached out for her arm, nails digging in! “Mother, no!”

“Please don’t make this more difficult, Priya,” she said, tears welling up in her dark brown eyes. “We will meet again, I promise.”

“You… You can’t do this to me! Am I a piece of shit to you?!”

The tears started rolling. “I don’t want this family to starve. Your siblings, they’re… They’re so young… You are so grown, Priya. You can do this. Someday, I will get you back out even if it’s the last thing I’ll ever-”

“Open!”

Realizing that another wave of violence would surely break the door, Priya’s mother was about to let the men enter.

Her daughter’s eyes were set on her. “If you do this…”

“Priya… I’m sorry… There’s no other way…”

“No other way?”

Her mother was sobbing. “No… And you know there isn’t…”

“Open the door!”

“…Mother?“

“Yes, my dear?”

“Burn in hell.”

-

Her hand grabbed by a sweaty man, Priya walked through a dimly lit hallway. They passed rooms from which she heard women crying, screaming… moaning.

The man brought her to a shabby room that contained nothing but a bed, claiming, “You won’t need any more than that.”

Priya turned to him, having just a single question. “How do I get out of here?”

“I wouldn’t try escaping, unless you want to get beaten.”

“…You can’t keep me here forever.”

“Why not?”

She looked at him, her eyes dead… and knew that he was serious.

“You, princess, have sold your soul.”

-

From out of her bed, Priya watched the sunset. Still, even after this day, she was in a state of disbelief.

On one side, she felt betrayed, worthless, stabbed in the back. On the other side, she wondered how in the world she couldn’t have guessed this would happen, what a fool she was to believe she had been born into a safe environment.

She thought of her mother, her siblings, her boyfriend… Would she ever see them again? Did she even want to? Hell, would she survive this?

Her bleeding nose because she had resisted… The bruises on her skin because they had gotten their way anyway… The constant feeling of disgust because she hadn’t consented… The reminder that the people she loved had done this to her… All this was proof to Priya that hell did exist… and she had booked a lifelong ticket.

-

Priya didn’t know that she would in fact not make it out alive. She didn’t know that she would someday run away and digest her trauma. She didn’t know that she would travel to New York, and meet a man that would change her world the way she knew it.

But she did know one thing: Priya knew for sure that she would never be the same again.

[nerianasims]

penig replied to your post “Personal”

This sucks so hard. Dean Koontz's solution was to shove his dad into a care facility, pay the bills, and refuse to see him or to discuss his problems with staff. But I suspect you don't have as much money as Koontz. At least if you have to kick him out onto the streets, he won't freeze in Florida. And you can't be expected to accept responsibility for someone who never took responsibility for you.

Dean Koontz was obviously also able to afford a lawyer to get his father declared incompetent. That’s what we’re looking into now.

My father’s got excellent insurance that would pay for extensive rehab or a nursing home, but of course he claims he’s given up drinking! He will say to my face, while he’s so drunk he can’t stand without leaning on a wall, and just after my husband took a garbage bag of empty vodka bottles out of his room, that he quit last year. He’s lying to all of his friends too, of course. He’ll go a few hours without drinking once every other week or so, during which he’ll talk to all of them on the phone and tell them how well he’s doing. And they can’t tell he’s drunk from short little Facebook posts about dogs or 1960s TV shows. He actually got his brother believing him -- which makes me feel a bit less bad for also believing him before he moved here.

Kicking him out on the street entirely isn’t happening. There are things I can do and things I can’t do, and that’s a thing I can’t do. I can’t forget him doing things like making up a song for me to remember all the Canadian provincial capitals in 4th grade, or rescuing a kitten who ended up rescuing me, or switching from Republican to Democrat after a conversation I had with him when I was 12. Florida’s not cold, but his health issues are severe and he would die horribly immediately. (As opposed to dying horribly slowly, which is what he’s doing now.) I’m afraid that he’s going to hurt someone else in one of his two to three daily drives to get vodka, and that’s my main impetus for trying to figure out how to get him declared incompetent now.

julsfels replied to your post “Personal”

You are absolutely right. I´m gonna send you all my best wishes.

Thanks!

[freedom-shamrock]

Jingle My Bell

Happiest of holidays to @rescue-satellite!  I’m your @mlsecretsanta secret Santa and I have some love squarish fluff for you Also posted to AO3 if that’s easier for reading.

"Evening M'lady," Chat said, landing lightly on their designated rooftop for the evening.  He caught her hand as he bowed, dropping a light kiss on her knuckles as he gazed up at her through his lashes, still coated with mascara from today's shoot, he realized.  

A hint of pink kissed her cheeks and she smiled at him.  It was only recently that she'd stopped passing his more overt affection off, and he rather liked the change.  The blushing was new, too.

"Good evening to you my Kitten."  She reached out and tapped the bell at his neck, making it ring.

He grinned.  "Bug, you totally ring my bell."

For some reason, she found this absolutely hilarious, and her laugh devolved into snorts that sounded oddly familiar.  "Yeah," she said, when she could finally talk around the giggles.  "Well you knock my spots off."

It was always nice when she was in a playful, punny mood, and now that he thought about it, that had been her tendency the last few months.  He couldn't chalk it up to anything specific.  They'd been partners for nearly four years.  Their team expanded about three years ago, which took some of the pressure off, but she was still the most intense and serious of them.  They'd all grown up a bit, sometimes as a result of horrible experiences fighting Hawk Moth's increasingly violent monsters of the week.

"You're happy," he said, leaning onto his staff and relaxing.  "It makes me happy."

The blush was back and she tried to look away before he could see it.  It didn't work, of course.  His night vision was too good.  "It's Christmas," she said.  "While I could do without being cold, I really love this time of year.  It's always seemed magical, even before I learned magic was real."

Chat Noir nodded.  His Christmases had been decidedly less magical in the last five or six years, but becoming a superhero and going to school helped make that a little less of a downer.  "I have your gift," he said, wiggling his fingers.  "Would you like it now, or are we going to run first."

She reached out and gently booped his nose.  "You're going to have to work a bit to find your real gift," she said.  Her other hand held out a small white box tied closed with a green ribbon.

He plucked the box from her hand.  "What's this, then?" he asked.

"Your first clue," she said, alternately bending and straightening her knees in a way that made her whole body wiggle.  How could she go from sexy to adorable like that?  She was giving him whiplash.

"My.  First.  Clue," he said slowly.  He shook the box, surprised to hear a muted jingling within.  He raised an eyebrow at her.

Giggling again, she leaned forward and dropped a loop of braided black yarn loosely about his neck.  It hung to the center of his chest and there were a number of shiny silver rings embedded in the braid.  "This will make it easier for you to collect all the clues."

He looked over the rings, not bothering to count them just now.  "That's a lot of clues, My Lady."

"The last clue will direct you to your real present."  She straightened up, clearly very pleased with all of this.

"Did you do this with your gifts for everyone else?" he asked, suspecting she hadn't, but wanting to be sure.

Ladybug shook her head.  "Of course not."  She shrugged.  "They're wonderful.  But they aren't you.  You deserve special treatment, and… I thought maybe you could benefit from a little fun this time of year."

"You know me too well," he teased.

"No," she said quietly.  "But I hope to know you better."

"I have a gift for you, too," he said.  "But I didn't bring it tonight."

She lightly booped his nose again.  "If your clues take you close to home, you can pick it up and bring it at the end.  Or we can meet another time."

"You're not coming with me?" he asked, puzzled.

"Nope.  I have to get things ready at the end."  She leaned in to whisper, "but you're a clever kitty, and I'm sure I'll see you soon.  Happy hunting!"  She spun away, her bandalore already soaring into the air.

Chat Noir watched her depart.  Any opportunity to watch His Lady was a good opportunity, really.  Once she was gone, he tugged carefully at the ribbon with his claws.  Inside the box he found a replica of his bell, roughly have the size.  It hung from a loop of red yarn and was adorned with a green bow that matched the ribbon he'd just untied.  When he held it up, he could see red embroidery on the ribbon's tails.

#1 Where I first fell for you

His sweet Bug was sending him on a scavenger hunt to find bells, and this was his clue.  He grinned and tied the first clue to one of the rings on the braid she'd draped over him.  Where she first fell for him?  Since he wasn't entirely sure she really had fallen for him, it must be a joke.  An idea sparked in his mind, and he scrambled across the rooftop, eager to reach the place where they'd first met.

Hanging from the top curve of a lightpost where Ladybug had first crashed into his life, he saw a glint of bronze.  A controlled ascent with his staff allowed him to quickly confirm it was another bell.  This one with green yarn and a doubled red ribbon with four tails.

#2 I was ready to give up You inspired me to stay Ladybug

Warmth blossomed in his chest.  They'd been partners for two years before she told him about this.  It had been during their first akuma, after they'd made mistakes.  She'd not been confident in her ability to truly be a superhero and planned to give up the earrings.  But something he said as they stood facing the anger of the police, with Hawk Moth at their backs lit a spark in her.  They were close friends by the time she shared this, and she'd picked a time when he'd lacked confidence in himself.

He happily pounced and bounded over to Trocadero.  He made sure to approach from the side where the police were lined up.  Sure enough, up on another lightpost, hung another bell, again with a green ribbon.  HIs Bug had a pattern.

#3 Pigeons are nothing to sneeze at unless you're a green-eyed blond with allergies

He laughed.  Mr. Pigeon was still one of the silliest and creepiest akuma.  He tried the park first, where they'd had their first stakeout.  Nothing there.  So he headed off to Grand Palais, where the final fight had taken place.

Getting in through the roof was easy for a superhero, and after a few moments his keen sight caught a glint of the bell hanging from the filigreed arch over the Great Staircase.

#4 In stormy weather I realized I will trust you to guide me, always

He tied the bell next to the others, all on one side of the braid.  It made for an odd necklace, and it slipped bell-heavy side down.  She was focusing on their early akumas, and this one was at the TV station.

He didn't find anything on the roof, and he rethought the clue.  She'd trusted him to guide her… oh.  He could see in the dark.  He once again found easy access from the roof, which took him right into the stairwell.  They'd had several chases through here, and he wondered why she'd picked this particular one.  Something about the line on that third tail stuck out to him.  This suddenly felt like she was making a point.

Down a few landings, he found it tied to the railing.  Glancing up and down, he smiled.  This was very likely the landing where she initially thought she'd be fine on her own, reconsidered, and let him take the lead.

He untied the red yarn and looked at the ribbon's three tails.

#5 I'm so sorry I scared you but I learned something important you give the best hugs

That one was easy.  He still had nightmares about her leaping into the mouth of a tyrannosaurus rex.  Sure, she'd done even scarier things since, but there was extra terror that first time.

The bell hung from one of the upper branches of one of the small trees across from Marinette's family's bakery.  The storefront was dark, and when he looked up, the only light came from her bedroom.  He smiled.  She was probably up late designing something amazing.  For a black cat, he was actually incredibly fortunate to be blessed by two such amazing women in his life.  While neither seemed romantically interested in him, their friendships were too important to risk pushing for something else.

#6 You've scared me, too. I still have nightmares where you vanish and I can't bring you back

Ouch.  That stung a bit.  But at the same time, it really spoke of how much she cared for him.  During the fight with Timebreaker he'd been so focused on the ridiculous joy of having two Ladybugs at his side, and to be fair, they'd featured strongly in a few of his fantasies.  But later… he'd remembered what it felt like to have his life force sucked out of him.  He'd ceased to exist, effectively died.  With time, and help from Plagg, of all people, he'd stopped having panic attacks every time he saw inline skates.

He made his way back to Trocadero, the other side of the tower this time.

#7 While some may try the best they can do is mimic I will always know which cat is mine

She'd never been duped by Copycat.  Though she'd asked questions to be certain, he'd always suspected that was more of a diversion than a real need.  The fact that she'd known he wasn't the thief when his doppelganger strolled in to steal the Mona Lisa meant the world to him.  That she chewed out the police over it still made him happy.

The Louvre was closed, and he wasn't ready to risk their security system, so he started out at Theo's studio.  Just outside, he found the next bell.

#8 You're an excellent gamer almost as good as me With your Catouken and my Tatsukitty we'll be an unbeatable team

He'd been surprised how well she could drive the mech.  It was like she'd been born to do it.  The next bell wasn't in the park where he'd rescued Marinette and met up with Ladybug.  He traveled their path from the battle as best he could from memory, eventually ending up at Parc des Princes.  The bell was dwarfed and tough to spot, hanging from the roof ring between two pennants.

He waited to read the clue until he was up on the roof.

#9 It may not have been memorable but it was my first kiss, too

He'd found out about the kiss later.  It had been bad enough that he'd been turned against his Lady on Valentine's Day, that he'd tried to use Cataclysm on her.  He shuddered.  But then to find out she'd cured him with a kiss?  And he didn't remember.  He wondered why she hadn't tried that technique for getting him out from under akuma control since?  Though to be fair, he'd learned to shake it off in the last year and a half.

The ribbon had four tails, but only two were embroidered.  As he ran his fingertips over them, he realized she'd used green thread for almost hidden embroidery on the other two tails.  He tilted them a bit.

I'm willing to try again if you're interested

He stared at the green ribbon, his eyes wide and an almost painfully huge smile on his face.  Apparently he'd been mistaken about his Lady's feelings toward him.

He laughed as he practically danced across rooftops on his way to the fountain, where he was certain the next clue waited.

#10 I'm sure you've realized I'm not 5000 years old We were born within months of each other

His breath caught as he read this one.  The last two lines were a little worrisome.  They roughly knew each other's birthdays, down to about a week.  But this… this was less about the day and more about the year, which really, neither of them should know.  Sure, he suspected she was around his age, but her words were so certain.

He took a breath and focused on the rest of it, trying to find the clue.  The only way he was going to get answers was if he followed this through.

It came back now.  The history book and the Egyptian exhibit.  Apparently the Louvre was still an option.  Fortunately, the bell was perched on the top of the glass pyramid, easy enough for him to get to.

#11 Your puns are no knightmare my father will wish to match wits But they may stand out when spoken by the other you

Again, this one suggested knowledge of him that she shouldn't have.  He didn't pun as often as Adrien, but it wasn't like he avoided it completely.  Nino and Marinette loved his sense of humor, though Alya merely put up with it and Chloe groaned in objection noting it was his one flaw.  Apparently Ladybug's father was keen on wordplay as well, and he wondered if he dared hope he was going to get to meet him.  Someday.  Soonish.

This clue took a little more time to work out, since it seemed to be isolated to the first line.  He was also not doing his best thinking now that it seemed his Lady knew who he was and might be willing to consider kisses.

The bell hung from the flagpole at city hall, and it was his third guess that took him there.

#12 You had a chance to see me But respected my wishes I know how hard it was to close that door

This one he knew right away.  He closed his eyes and recalled how it had felt.  Facing Alya as an Akuma had been hard, and of course she was brutally tough.  At the end, Ladybug dashed into a closet to hide when her miraculous timed out.  He was sure she'd meant to fully close the door, but it hadn't latched.  Reaching for the lever, he was struck by the strongest temptation to pull the door open.  To dart in after her.

Instead, he'd respected her words.  She'd share her identity when she was ready, and he could wait.  It had been hard to push the door closed and leave.  And she'd known and understood that made him understand better that it wasn't so much about what she'd wanted to do.  She just wanted to keep them safe.  To protect their families and friends.

He made his way to Le Grand Paris.  Fortunately he was a familiar enough face, that his arrival was not unusual.  Apparently Ladybug had spoken with the front desk staff, so they were also expecting him.  They smirked and wished him luck.

The bell hung on the lever to the very closet Ladybug had used.  It was the last one he had room for on the increasingly jingly necklace he was wearing.

#13 Visit your princess for your favorite pastries And receive the only gift worthy enough for you

Princess and pastry.  That was obviously Marinette.  He'd always had a vague suspicion that Ladybug knew Marinette, and apparently she'd left hisgift with his good friend.  He wondered what gift she could possibly be referencing.  Seriously, pastries and her time were all he wanted.  Okay, so maybe he wanted cuddles and kisses, too, but he had to be realistic here.  Maybe she'd commissioned Mari to make him something.  That would be awesome.  Marinette made the best clothes.

With jolting footstep and every leap, the bells over his chest rang and clashed together.  He rather thought he sounded like a whole team of reindeer all on his own.  Before long he'd reached Marinette's balcony.  Her fairy lights had been joined with decorations of holly and ivy made out of fabric.  The effect was festive and cheery.  Over her skylight a banner had been hung.  Red and green ribbons had been cut and sewn to spell out "Kitty Door."

Grinning at the clear invitation, he reached down and lifted the plexiglas cover.  "Hello, Princess?" he called softly.  It was late at this point, probably past midnight, and he worried about waking her or her parents.

Marinette popped out from under her bed and beamed up at him.  She was wearing black and green fleece pajamas.  "Chat Noir," she called happily.  "Come in.  I was beginning to worry."

Careful not to drag his feet over her bedding, he dropped in and came down the ladder.  Her room looked so different, which was strange since he'd been over just a few days ago after school.  The lighting was low and soothing and more red and green decorations adorned her walls.  In front of her chaise, she'd set up a small table with a plate of the bakery's best treats, in his opinion, and two steaming mugs of cocoa.

"Hmmm," he said, taking in the snacks.  "You must have had some warning for those to be hot."

She grinned, totally smug.  She was up to something.  She and his Lady loved elaborate surprises.  "Please have a seat."

He sat down at the table.  "And will Ladybug be joining us this evening?"

She giggled.  "You could say that."  She sat beside him offering him a plate.  When he took it, her hand reached out and ran over the bells he'd collected.  "It looks like you found all of them."

"All thirteen," he agreed.

"Were they too hard?  Too easy?"

"Just right," he said quickly.  How much had Marinette been involved in this project.  Now that he was thinking about it, the embroidery looked like her work.  "They reminded me of a lot of important moments."

"Did you have fun hunting for them?" she asked, smirking over the brim of her mug.

"You're mighty pleased with yourself this evening, Princess," he said.  "You're toying with me."

She giggled again, a sound she'd heard a lot this evening.  "I've learned from the best."  She set down her mug.  "But I'll stop now.  Just tell me what you're here for.  What did the last clue say?" she prompted.

"It told me to visit you for pastries and a gift," he replied, feeling a bit like playing with her now.

"What kind of gift?"  She spoke as if wondering aloud, her fingers drumming on her chin.

Chat Noir shrugged, making his bells jingle.  "I have no idea, though it sounded pretty impressive."

"Ah, yes," Marinette agreed.  She leaned forward to reach under the chaise.  She came up with a stiff green piece of paper in one hand and a gift bow in the other.  She looked at the bow for a moment before slapping it on top of her head while holding out the paper.  "Here's the tag."

He stared at her, puzzled for a moment before reaching for the oversized tag.

To: Chatdrien With love from: Maribug

He gasped, his breath wheezing in audibly.  His eyes flicked back up to her face.

"Hi Kitten."  She waved at him.  A little red being, smaller than Plagg, but clearly a kwami zipped out from hiding and landed on her shoulder, beaming at him with big blue eyes that matched his Lady's.  Marinette's.

He pointed at her for a moment, waiting for his mouth to come back on line.  Marinette was his Lady.  She was his precious Bug and she'd just revealed herself to him and…  "You… you know!" he blurted.

Her hand reached out for his cheek.  "I do."

"Is that why you…"  She cut him off with a shake of her head.

"I've known for a while."  She glanced away.  "I probably should have told you, but…"  She sighed.  "I'm sorry.  It wasn't right of me."

"You've nothing to apologize for," he said.  "God I'm dense.  I can't believe I didn't see you."  He caught both her hands in his.

"It was miraculous magic, actually," her kwami assured him.  

"It's just… there were too many coincidences and the glamour… for lack of a better word, broke."  Marinette shrugged.  "This is Tikki."  She scooped up her kwami and held her out toward him.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Tikki," he said, hoping she could see that he meant it.

Tikki let out a high giggle. "You're such a sweetie, Chat Noir.  You might be my favorite of Plagg's kittens yet."  She dropped down to a small cushion he hadn't noticed on the table, and picked up a macaron.

"You didn't tell me because you felt guilty, did you?"  That would rank near the top for awful reveals.

"Absolutely not."  Her voice was firm.  "I wanted to get you something you really deserved, something you wanted and needed, but… nothing was good enough.  You've always wanted to know who I am.  Without the masks in the way, maybe I can take care of you like you deserve."  Her cheeks went a delightful pink.  "I know you like me as a friend, and Ladybug as a bit more than that."

He snorted.  "I like all of you a whole lot more than that."  He ran one claw over his bells until he found the ninth one.  "This one turned me into a puddle of sheer joy on the roof of Parc des Princes."  He leaned in to press his forehead to hers.  "The sheer idea that you might be open to a real kiss, made me completely stupid."

She sighed, looking relieved.  "Yeah, well it's only fair.  You and your…"  She leaned back and waved at him with both hands.  "Everything, make me a mess.  You have no idea."

He let out a laugh, suddenly more happy than he'd been at any point in his life that he could recall.

"I know you're home alone for Christmas tomorrow," she said, reaching under the chaise again.  "How about you detransform and put on these nice jammies I made you."  She dropped a pile of black and red fleece in his lap.  "You're staying over.  It's a Dupain-Cheng family Christmas for you," she said firmly.

He gawked at her.  "R-really?"  He held up the pajamas, Ladybug themed to match her Chat Noir set.  He glanced at the shirt hem and, sure enough, found her sneaky little signature.  "Won't your parents find it odd to wake up and find me here?"

"Marinette told her parents you were going to be alone," Tikki said.  "They practically demanded that she invite you over."

Marinette's smile went shy.  "I was hoping tonight would go well, and you'd be happy enough with your present that you'd want to stay."

"I love my present," he said softly.  "I'm keeping it forever."

[fortheloveofspencerreid]

Seasons - Spencer Reid x OC - Chapter 2

A/N - thanks to everyone who read the first chapter! Here’s a little more for you :) Let me know if you would like to be tagged.

Seasons - Chapter 2

Somewhere over the East Coast - BAU Jet

‘Garcia?’ Hotch frowned at the laptop situated on the table on the jet as the tech analyst’s image froze for a second. The agents watched and waited until she started moving again, animatedly as always.

 ‘My lovelies can you hear me? I think we’re having a slight technical glitch!’ Her voice chirruped through the tinny laptop speakers.

 ‘Technical glitch? I didn’t think you knew of such things baby girl.’ Morgan chuckled, moving into view.

 ‘Oh my beautiful chocolate man, such things do not exist in my world. But you should consider springing for a better Wi-Fi plan for that fancy pants jet.’ She winked.

 ‘Garcia please?’ Hotch spoke again.

 ‘Sorry boss, what can I do for you?’

 ‘JJ has sent you a list of victims’ names, I need to know everything you can find on them. And I mean everything.’

 ‘Given a little time I can tell you what they had for breakfast and if they were polka dot or stripes kinda gals. Tech kitten out.’ She smiled and then her image disappeared from the screen. Hotch closed the laptop and looked over the faces of his team members.

 ‘It says here there was a sole surviving victim?’ Reid looked up from the case file he’d been reading. Hotch opened his tablet and frowned a little, he’d scanned the notes, he hadn’t picked up on that.

 ‘Yeah her name was Leona Harrison.’ JJ nodded.

 ‘How did she escape? We’ll need to talk to her.’ Rossi spoke up in his deep, thick voice.

 ‘Cops found the unsub’s location and raided the place. They found one dead woman, Anita Callahan and Harrison who was barely alive. There was a shootout, some cops didn’t make it but somehow the unsub got away.’ JJ sighed. ‘As for talking to her, I’m afraid that’s not possible.’

 ‘It says she didn’t make it?’ Reid ran his fingers over the words on the page while the others followed along on their tablets. Reid was a technophobe. He had an ancient phone and preferred to have copies of case files rather than reading them on a tablet.

 ‘She passed away in hospital a few days after she was rescued from injuries sustained from the unsub.’ JJ told them all sadly.

 Hotch locked his tablet and looked at his team. 

 ‘When we land, Morgan and Reid I want you to go to the ME’s office and find out what you can on our latest victim.’ 

 ‘Roger.’ Morgan spoke up and Reid just nodded.

 ‘Rossi I need you to go to the home of the first victim. Find out what you can about her. Prentiss go to the home of the latest victim.’

 ‘Got it.’ Prentiss nodded.

 ‘All over it.’ Rossi agreed.

 ‘JJ and I will meet with Detective Doherty at the station. We’ll meet there later for a briefing.’ 

 The agents all nodded in agreement and went back to looking over files in preparation for their new case.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Unknown Location

 Her screams penetrated the air around them. He didn’t care if she screamed, no one would hear her. He’d gone to great lengths to make sure no one would hear them.

 The room was a little cold and smelt like mildew. The girl strapped to the chair felt goosebumps rising on her skin and a shiver pass down her spine. Her body was clad only in now dirty underwear, she’d been wearing them for three weeks since the day she’d woken up in a tiny cell stripped to her bra and panties. The cell was barely big enough to sit up in let alone stand and her body ached. But the ache was the least of her worries. There had been one other woman in a cell adjacent to hers but they couldn’t communicate as the cells were sound proof. The other woman had since gone and she knew what that meant. The other woman was dead. And she would be next.

 She screamed, tears streaming down her battered face.

 ‘Please!’ She croaked, not recognising her own voice. ‘Please let me go!’

 He didn’t look at her. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even acknowledge her pleas. She didn’t think he would. He never had done. She knew what was coming but she had by no means resigned herself to her fate.

 Every day for the past twenty two days she had been removed from her cell for a various period of time, brought to this room and tortured. The torture varied but it was always excruciating. She would be thrown back in her cell afterwards crying and in so much pain. Always wondering why this psychopath was doing this to her. Why her? What had she done to deserve this? Was her boyfriend looking for her? Were her parents? When was she going to die?

 He picked the implement up from the steel table with gloved hands and that’s when he finally turned to face her. The knife caught the single lightbulb hanging over head and glistened. She screamed. It didn’t help. He advanced. And all she could do was cry. 

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Brooklyn PD

 The knock at her door startled her a little, not that you would be able to tell by her unwavering composure. She shook it off and cleared her throat.

 ‘Yes?’ She called from where she sat. The door opened on her colleague and one of the only other people to know about the feds presence, Detective Matthew Lent.

 ‘The uhm...consultants are here for you.’ He told her. She nodded and motioned her hand to send them in. She stood from her chair and smoothed down her powder blue shirt. Matthew disappeared and then a male and female agent entered her office.

 ‘Please, close the door.’ She came around to the other side of her desk.

 ‘Detective Doherty?’ The woman stepped forward. She was blonde with large blue eyes and a friendly smile. ‘I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau, this is unit chief Aaron Hotchner.’ She introduced them.

 ‘Thank you for coming.’ She shook Agent Jareau’s hand and then Hotch’s. ‘Lennox Doherty.’

 ‘Our other agents are already at work.’ Hotch informed her as he started looking around the room.

 ‘Brilliant.’ Lennox nodded. She followed Hotch’s gaze as did JJ. There were boxes piled up in one corner of the room and on the other side were two boards covered in photographs and hand written notes relating to the case.

 ‘Wow you’re prepared.’ JJ motioned towards the boards.

 ‘I’ve been chasing this guy for five years.’ Lennox simply told them. Hotch went over closer to the boards and started scrutinising them.

 ‘He clearly has a type.’ He looked over the twenty small photographs of the unsub’s victims.

 ‘Yeah. All between the ages of twenty and thirty. All brunette, all fairly athletic, in shape. They were all very career focused women.’

 ‘Any theories as to why he keeps them for thirty days?’ JJ leant on the edge of Lennox’s desk.

 ‘Kind of. My assumption is that maybe he spent a small amount of time in prison or a psych ward, thirty days of torture. Maybe it has some symbolism for him. Although I lean more towards prison.’

 ‘Why so?’ Hotch looked away from the board to Lennox.

 ‘Well,’ she sighed a little. ‘He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who would need to spend time in a psych ward. He’s never exhibited any behaviour that would suggest he was mentally unstable. I believe this is a man that hates women. I believe he is cool, calm and calculated. He can go months without killing if he has to. He doesn’t need to kill. He enjoys it. He takes his time, he plans every last detail. He probably had a bad relationship with his own mother, maybe she left; maybe she beat him. Maybe an ex, but he definitely doesn’t hold women in high regard due to something that happened to him in his past. If he did spend thirty days in prison, maybe it was a female guard. He’s never sexually assaulted any of his victims and I believe that to be not because he’s impotent but because he hates women so much he can’t bring himself to be intimate with them. He’s probably in his thirties to forties, well-educated but probably a loner. He slides under the radar. People don’t even notice him. He has a rouse to get them to pull over, the one surviving victim said something ran out in front of her car. I believe he planned that. All his victims were found with taser marks on their backs, it could be part of the torture but I think it’s more likely that’s how he stuns them once they get out of the car. His dumping patterns suggest he moves around a lot, we haven’t been able to get much from the Geographic’s. He dumps bodies all over Brooklyn. It’s like once he’s done with his torture he doesn’t care where they end up. He just likes getting us to run around the city after him.’ She paused to take a breath realising she’d been rambling. She got like this when she spoke about this guy. He got under her skin, she felt hot all of a sudden like someone had just turned up the heat. Hotch and JJ’s eyes were on her and that didn’t help. They eyed her up for a moment or two before briefly looking at each other and then back at her.

 ‘You’ve already profiled the unsub?’ JJ raised an eyebrow at her.

‘I don’t know if I’d call it profile.’ Lennox shrugged feeling suddenly shy. Here she was ranting and raving and, yes, profiling the guy when she had the best profilers in the world stood in front her. She felt stupid.

‘I would.’ Hotch stepped a little closer to her, his facial expression illegible but she would come to realise it always was. ‘And from the files you sent over I would say you are right on the mark.’

Lennox rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

‘I was a criminal psychology major and after I joined the PD I took evening classes in behavioural science. I always wanted to be a profiler.’ She shrugged, turning away from Hotch’s intimidating gaze. ‘I’ve also read all of Agent Rossi’s books and been to several of his lectures.’

‘I’m impressed.’ Hotch nodded to himself.

‘What made you become a detective?’ JJ asked her, ever personable. She liked getting to know people, even if it was people she wouldn’t speak to again when the case was over.

‘The legacy.’ She smiled a little sadly turning around and motioning to the three framed photographs on the wall behind her desk of three men in their police academy uniforms. ‘My dad, grandfather and great grandfather were all detectives at this very PD. I never really had a choice to do anything else.’

Hotch thought after that profile she’d just delivered that she was wasted here. She was the kind of mind he needed on his team. He’d have to keep an eye on her.

‘Anyway,’ Lennox spoke again. ‘Do you want to start looking over my files until your team gets here?’ she motioned to the boxes. Hotch nodded and stepped towards them.

‘Can you tell me who else is aware we are here? I’d like to brief them on the importance of keeping our presence low-key.’ JJ spoke to Lennox.

‘Of course Agent Jareau, follow me.’ Lennox led her towards the door leaving Hotch to start on the boxes.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York – Medical Examiner’s Office

 ‘Wow, this unsub really did a number on her.’ Derick Morgan looked down at the body of the unsub’s latest victim, Melody Franks, on the steel table.

‘She was almost entirely eviscerated.’ Reid stared at the scar the coroner had stitched across her abdomen.

‘She would have bled to death.’ The coroner, an elderly man that simply told them to call him Doc came over with the victim’s chart. ‘If she hadn’t been strangled first.’

‘Is that how all the victim’s died?’ Reid looked up from the woman’s cold dead body to Doc. He nodded.

‘Manual asphyxia. He strangled them with his bare hands. It wasn’t quick. Judging by the marks on her neck I would say he strangled her four or five times, brought her to the brink of death only to stop right before she lost too much air.’ Doc flicked through his notes. ‘This guy’s real sadistic. She had a broken arm in two places, a fractured skull, and shattered optical bone amongst dozens of other minor injuries.’ There was nothing minor about this woman’s injuries but some were more minor than others.

‘She’s young.’ Morgan sighed.

‘Twenty three.’ Doc confirmed.

‘That’s no life.’ Morgan shook his head.

‘What else did you find?’ Reid stood up straight after being bent over the body to his full height. Doc looked down at his notes.

‘She had ligature marks on her wrists and ankles, no defensive wounds. Her stomach was almost completely empty, he was damn near starving her as well.’

‘Is that consistent with the other victim’s?’ Reid clutched the strap of his messenger bag as spoke.

‘Every last one of them.’

‘Even the first?’ Morgan confirmed.

‘Even the first.’ Doc closed his file.

‘That sounds too clean, too controlled to be a first kill. Most first kills are messy, it takes some time for them to figure out their groove.’ Morgan mused, more to himself.

‘There must be other bodies we don’t know about.’ Reid agreed. ‘Thanks Doc.’

The two agents headed to the door and exited the morgue. Reid rubbed his arms with his hands trying to warm up. Morgan already had his cell in his hand and it was ringing.

‘Queen of all that is technological. How can I be of assistance your handsome-ness?’ Penelope Garcia’s infectious voice bounced around the empty corridor as Morgan put the phone on speaker.

‘Hey baby girl, I need you to look into unsolved murders in Brooklyn from five years ago or longer. Young, female vics with signs of torture. Let me know anything you can come up with.’

‘For you my darling I will put it to the top of my pile.’ She flirted, Reid could hear it in her voice. She and Morgan always flirted, Reid didn’t get what was going on there. But then again Reid never did really get things like that. He was intelligent, a genius really, with an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and he could read 20,000 words per minute. He could speak multiple languages but one of those languages was not the language of love. He could profile anyone in a matter of minutes of meeting them but personal affairs were not in his realm of knowledge.

‘Thank you my tech goddess.’ Morgan smirked as he spoke.

‘Toodles my hunk of burning of love.’ She hung up and Reid just stared at Morgan as they headed down the corridor.

‘What?’ Morgan asked, feeling the younger man’s gaze on the side of his face.

‘I don’t get it.’ Reid shook his head. Morgan reached out and squeezed Reid’s shoulder.

‘You can’t have everything kid. Imagine being as smart as you and being a lothario, the women wouldn’t stand a chance.’ Morgan chuckled as he picked up his pace. Reid pouted a little. He didn’t want to be a lothario. But being able to talk to a woman might make a nice change.

——————————

Brooklyn, New York - Brooklyn PD

 Hotch spent the next few hours going through files after files on their unsub. All the files we’re extremely well organised, He was becoming more and more impressed by Detective Doherty. JJ briefed the few insiders and started helping him go through the files while Lennox was on hand to answer any questions they had.

 It was late by the time the other agents made it to PD. Lennox gathered them all in a meeting room along with the other ‘insiders’ as her office was too small to accommodate everyone. Introductions were made by JJ.

 ‘Everyone this is Detective Lennox Doherty. Detective this is the rest of our team, SSA’s Derick Morgan, Emily Prentiss and David Rossi.’ 

 Lennox stood forward and one by one shook their hands, feeling oddly star struck when she shook Rossi’s hand. Rossi was one of the reasons she’d wanted to be a profiler, she never thought she’d actually meet him. 

 ‘Where’s Reid?’ Hotch asked with his trademark frown.

 ‘Little boy’s room.’ Morgan smirked. 

 ‘These are the only other people that know about the FBI involvement. This is Detective Matthew Lent, Detective Carlo Sanchez and PD’s Bruno Carter and Brian Flannigan.’ Lennox introduced the other cops in the room. 

 Suddenly the door flew open and a gangling man with long hair practically careened into the room. Morgan sighed heavily.

 ‘Reid, firearm! We had this conversation in the car!’

 Reid looked down to his very noticeable weapon on his hip. He blushed a little, unstrapping his holster and moving it to a more discreet location so it was hidden under his sweater vest.

 ‘Sorry.’ He shrugged.

 ‘Lennox Doherty, this is our resident genius Dr Spencer Reid.’ Morgan said the word genius as though he didn’t quite believe it at that moment in time. 

 Lennox stepped closer to the young man. Their eyes met, her blue ones and his deep hazel ones. She felt a sudden shiver pass up her spine.

 ‘Genius?’ Detective Lent spoke up thankfully because Lennox found herself at a loss for words. Reid tore his eyes away from the woman.

 ‘Well I don’t know about genius.’ He shrugged. ‘I mean I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and I can read 20,000 words per minute...’ he trailed off feeling all the eyes in the room on him. ‘Ok so I’m a genius.’ He swallowed and Lennox watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down under the sensitive flesh of his neck. She couldn’t quite get over how beautiful his eyes were, how beautiful his whole face was. She would have been less surprised hearing he was a male model than a doctor. Lennox didn’t find herself very often getting lost in someone’s looks, in fact she never did. But looking at Spencer Reid her throat felt dry and her palms sweaty. She tried to ignore it. She had to ignore it.

 ‘...so the fact you are FBI stays inside these four walls.’

 She tuned back into the conversation as Lent was speaking with the agents JJ hadn’t already briefed. She took a few deep breaths and her eyes followed Reid as he walked over to the far wall and started inspecting the pictures that hung there. The Brooklyn PD’s wall of fallen heroes. Under the photographs of their lost officers was a wall decal that read ‘Fidelis ad Mortem’.

 ‘Fidelis ad mortem.’ Reid spoke to himself but Lennox heard him.

 ‘Uhm yeah it means-’

 ‘Faithful unto death.’ Reid cut her off. 

 ‘Did he not mention all the languages he speaks?’ JJ laughed a little. Lennox looked over her shoulder at the blonde woman before looking back at Reid as he went over the photographs. 

 The final photo on the wall was a chiselled cop with dark hair and features. Reid thought his eyes looked warm, friendly. 

 ‘Maxwell Doherty, 1978 - 2013.’ He spoke out loud. He suddenly turned to look at Lennox, his facial expression curious. ‘A relation?’

 Lennox swallowed, feeling his profiler eyes all over her. She was glad for her poker face right now.

 ‘Nope.’ She shook her head. ‘There’s a lot of Irish-American’s around Brooklyn. Doherty’s a common last name.’ She shrugged turning away from Reid. Reid rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. She didn’t give a lot away, she was hard to read even for a seasoned profiler but he swore he saw a brief flicker of something in her eyes. Hurt maybe? A secret? 

 ‘I recognise those names.’ Hotch pointed at the end three photographs, Max Doherty included.

 ‘The three of them were three of the cops who found the Butcher’s hideout last year. The son of bitch killed them.’ Lent informed them. The room was silent for a moment as they remembered those they lost that day. Maxwell Doherty. Evan Schapiro. Megan Ludwig.

 Lennox was the one to finally break the silence. 

‘Right well it’s late so why don’t we call it a day and pick up again tomorrow?’ She addressed the room, clapping her hands together. The rest of the room made noises of agreement and one by one they left the meeting room. Lennox dragged herself down to her office where the boards were now covered back up. She slumped into her chair and ran her hands over her face. 

 The door was open so he tentatively knocked on the door frame. She took her hands away from her face and looked up, straight into his hazel eyes.

 ‘Not going home?’ Reid half-smiled at her.

 ‘Not just yet.’ She shook her head before rolling her shoulders and clicking her neck. He saw the brief swell of pain spread to her eyes.

 ‘Everything ok?’ He nervously stepped further into the room, taking in all the details of her office. She kept it dark and the temperature down. 

 ‘Are you trying to profile me Dr Reid?’ She folded her arms across her chest as she watched his eyes move about the room. He was trying to size her up.

 ‘I don’t need to try and profile you.’ He looked back at her with a slight smirk.

 ‘I suppose a genius such as yourself doesn’t have to try at much.’ She hadn’t meant that as harshly as it came out but Reid didn’t seem to mind, he just shrugged.

 ‘Are they family?’ He pointed at the photographs on the wall behind her desk.

 ‘My dad, grandfather and great grandfather.’

 ‘They must be proud.’ He stopped a few feet from her desk.

 ‘I guess they would be if they’d lived to see my making Detective.’ She unfolded her arms. ‘What is it you want Dr Reid?’ She stood up now, not liking that he was towering over her even though he was nowhere near her.

 ‘Statistically New York’s homicide rate is the lowest it’s ever been.’ Reid told her, as if she wouldn’t already know a fact like that about a city where she was a detective. ‘Even with this unsub roaming the streets.’

 ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ She folded her arms again and raised an eyebrow at the young doctor. He shrugged. Talking statistics and quoting facts was the only way he knew of trying to cheer someone up.

 ‘I’m just saying you shouldn’t beat yourself up over the fact he’s still out there. The number of serial killings that go unsolved is-’

 ‘Dr Reid,’ she cut him off before he could spout another statistic. ‘With all due respect facts and figures aren’t going to make me feel any better about the fact this guy has gone without capture for five years. On my watch.’

 ‘I was only trying to help.’

 ‘Why? You don’t know me. Why do you want to help?’

 He could tell her back was up. She glared at him and he felt a knot in his stomach. She was incredibly beautiful, something that kept taking him off guard.

 ‘I thought that’s what we were here for. To help.’

 ‘To help catch the unsub yes. Not to help me through whatever it is you think I need with help with.’ She unfolded her arms and sat back down. ‘Now if you don’t mind I have some paperwork I need to finish.’

 Reid nodded, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden. He hadn’t meant to offend her, nothing of the sort. He’d just felt drawn to her for some reason. He knew she had a story to tell and he thought maybe he could be the one she told it to. It had been stupid really. 

 He adjusted his messenger bag, the new position of his weapon digging into his lower back.

‘Sorry to have disturbed you.’ He spoke quietly. She didn’t look up from her desk. ‘See you tomorrow Detective.’ He sighed a little and turned to exit the room. 

 Lennox looked up as he was leaving. His long hair grazed the tops of his shoulders, his tight sweater vest creating a visible bulge where his firearm sat. She watched him go without saying a word. She wasn’t always so hostile, not always. Only on the very rare occasion she met a man who made her feel the way Reid was making her feel. Giddy, as though she were a teenager with a high school crush. She couldn’t work with feelings like that. She didn’t approve of them. She scalded herself as she looked down at the ring on her right hand. She twirled it around her finger a few times feeling guilty. She knew she needed to keep herself distanced from the devilishly handsome and somewhat gawky Dr Reid. 

 It had been a year. Why the hell did she still feel so guilty when she met an attractive man?

 Tags - @stunudo @veroinnumera @cynbx

[killergirlfuria]

Idk I had this thing written a while back as my reaction to episode 13, aka what Erika should have done or at least considered.

It’s a one-shot, and I do have a follow-up in progress, but I don’t know when - or if - I’ll have it done. You be the judge. Annd, ah, it’s un-beta’d. Sorry for any and all mistakes streaming from my laziness.

Important info; Erika is some 23 y/o, her familiar is a Crialak named Catnip, and she’s 1/8 fae. Her mom is 1/4, grandma 1/2, great-grandmother was the fairy - fae - whatever. Not quite important now, but will become relevant later.

Buut, without further ado!

price too high

All she can do, is tremble with fury and try, very much in vain, to stop low, choked growls coming out of her throat, as she hastily trots, almost breaking into full run, towards the corridor where her room is. Her palm stings with the force she used to slap Miiko, but all she can think is regret, that her hit was not stronger, that she did not send her flying.

It doesn’t hurt that much anyway. Not compared to the pulsating, blunt, hot-cold pain that spasms in her chest with waves so strong that she has to lean on the wall to not to fall face-first onto the ground. She feels like she’s choking, and her eyes burn, but not a single tear falls down. She clenches her fists, so hard that her nails dig into her palms and she feels blood trickle on her fingers. It’s a testament to how the pain that blossomed in her chest blinds her, that she realizes she dug her nails into the flesh of her palms only after she sees blood drop onto the floor beneath her feet.

She will not cry. She will not. She will not cave in to that suffocating urge to scream her throat raw, to claw at her eyes, at her neck, before all they are is just a bloody mess.

She just lost everything. To her own stupidity. Everything she was, everyone she had – gone. Even if she made it home, nobody would remember her.

Mom, dad ��� I’m so sorry.

She nearly choked on another spasm that had her sliding falling to the ground like her legs became jelly mass. She closed her eyes, and clenched her fists, grinding her teeth together so hard that had she been any more capable of logical thought, she’d fear crushing them with sheer force.

You’re an idiot, Erika, her mind whispered at her, and gods above, it was right. She was such an absolute and utter idiot to trust Nevra, to even help him with that potion and now-

Now she feels so dirty. Under all that righteous fury over entirety of her life, she nearly forgot just how disgusting the culmination moment was. Nevra, that bastard...! Oh how she would love to rip his face off right now. How dare he. How dare he! How dare he kiss her without her permission! It was assault, nothing more, nothing less.

She saved him. She saved his life.

Now she wishes she hadn’t.

So, so much. From the very bottom of her broken, bruised heart.

Erika takes a shallow, shaky breath through her clenched teeth and pushes to her feet, as if fueled by determination and fury alone. They, the guards, have cost her everything. Her life, her friends, her family – and after she did so much for them, tried so hard! After she had been so selfless!

...

But that’s the point, isn’t it? She allowed this to happen because she constantly worried if she wasn’t being selfish – and ended up too selfless.

As if wanting to be reunited with family, to return home, to a safe place, to people she know that loved her, to be far away from this dangerous, broken world was selfish. And it cost her everything. Entirety of her life.

Erika howls.

It’s a loud, furious and purely inhuman sounds that feels like it’s shattering the Headquarters building to it’s very core. She brings her fist onto the wall sideways, and doesn’t care that the force of the hit makes severe cracks where it hit, or that her nail wounds bleed more.

She just doesn’t care anymore.

All she is, is fury. At them. At her. At everything she did for them.

She didn’t even say goodbye. She just vanished. First from their lives, then from their memories.

Didn’t her feelings even matter anymore?

Maybe they never did.

She burst into her room slamming the door behind her, and Catnip meows meekly, looking at her master from under the bed, where she must’ve ran to. Erika looks down at her Ciralak familiar and gives the three-headed cat a week, watery smile that’s more of a grimace. Catnip is perhaps the only one not at fault, and Erika, however enraged she isn’t, doesn’t want to project her rage onto the cat.

(She always loved cats. Snowy was old Turkish Angora who passed away at old age of twenty, few months back. Erika finally managed to get mom to agree to get another cat, and they were going to the shelter next week to pick up a rescue, just like Snowy was-)

She can’t breathe.

Clawing at her throat, Erika falls to her knees, eyes wide, red claw marks blossoming at her pale skin, but she doesn’t care-

She.

Can’t.

BREATHE.

The scream that pierces the air is blood-chilling, long and equally as inhuman s the howl that shook the building to it’s very core.

Catnip presses her ears to her skulls, lowering all three heads down, and looks at her mistress with three pairs of yellow, frightened eyes, letting out small, pathetic meow. She doesn’t understand why, but her mistress appears to be in a great peril, and Catnip doesn’t know how to help. She’s afraid that even approaching would end bad, and she doesn’t like it.

She barely even recognizes her mistress, her kind, soft-spoken Erika who saved her from drowning as a kitten in this kneeling, screaming person on the ground.

And Erika screams, long and loud, until she can’t scream anymore, and if she sounds like a mortally wounded beast crying out in pain, so be it for all she cares! There might be pounding on her door, but she ignores it completely, hoping that whatever that is, the door will just remain closed and hold off whoever that is who wants to enter.

They do.

And Erika screams and screams and pounds the floor with her fists until there are holes in it, filled with the blood from her ruined, ruined hands, and then pounds some more, and before she knows, the blood is mixing with hot tears streaming from her eyes, and all she can do is weep, in sadness and pent-up fury.

She trusted them, and they betrayed her. In the worst way imaginable.

Her breaths are shallow, wet, and they somehow rattle in her lungs. But, at least, she isn’t in danger of suffocating anymore. And the pulsating pain in her chest is a little bit less vibrant. She doesn’t know if it’s because she let some of her emotions out by beating the floor raw, or because she’s getting used to it.

But she can form semi-logical thoughts now, through the clouds of fury and sadness. And all she wants to do, is get away. She doesn’t care where.

Just away. From them. From everything. Anywhere is good. Anywhere far away.

Erika springs to her feet with speed that startles Catnip, and fights dizziness and budding migraine, as she nearly tears her closet open, throwing a bag out onto the floor, and every article of clothing she possesses onto the bed. She doesn’t notice that she’s bleeding anymore, or that her hands, instead of being torn open, bloody and raw, are covered in soft, new, pink skin as she goes through the clothes she has. Realistically, she can’t take everything, it would be too much. And besides, during her stay in Headquarters, she acquired few articles of clothing that were simply pretty, but otherwise useless. Among the things she bought and those Catnip managed to drag from god-knows-were, she packs fast.

There are torn pants Catnip brought, few pairs actually, that she patched when she was bored. She folds pairs that have more earthy colors, and presses them into her bag, with exception of one pair which, after removing her rather tacky garments that Miiko gave her (she should burn them) she pulls on. Same with red, sleeveless turtleneck she pulls over her head, all the while bemoaning her idiocy at, while having two of these, they are either red or bright blue, instead of a more toned down color. She has a green bra-shirt-thing that she throws into her pack for hotter climate she might encounter. There are two-color tops, all flowing material, and she takes two-tone brown and gray-green ones, and a green, short-sleeved top with holes where shoulders are. There’s an armor breastplate that Purral gave her for few goods that covers only left half of her torso, but it’s the best armor piece she has, so there’s not much of a choice. There are two pairs of shorts with leaf-like buttons to the side, one green and one pink, and Erika promptly discards the pink, folding brown ones with sharp, fast movements and pressing down into growing pile of clothes in her bag. There are coats, that remind her of lab-coats, also from Purral, she thinks, as she kicks yellow one away in favor of grabbing the brown one and throwing it over her shoulders. There’s a crudely sown blouse from faded brown leather and pants to match, and-

Erika clenches her hands on black-and-blue cape to match the outfit Miiko gave her once, low growl budding in her throat that she doesn’t stop. She grabs shoulders of the material from the both sides, and yanks it forcefully apart, and the fabric gives in, splitting the coat in two pieces that land in different parts of the room.

Rest of the packing is very much a blur she watches from behind tears of renewed rage, as she folds quickly everything she has that might be useful in the life gods-know-where but definitely far away from here. Anything brown or green or gray, some blue things, some even red, fur-lined cloak and boots. She pulls dark, a bit worn, fingerless gloves over her palms and fastens dark boots that nearly reach her knee, and sighs. It’s late already, she concludes looking out of the window. Should she wait, or should she go now?

No. She should wait, she concludes, as she kicks remaining clothes, a kaleidoscope of color and soft fabric, onto the ground, laying her bag and sword on the soft surface. She sighs then, looking at the green-handled sword she got from Jamon. The big oaf will probably be one of the only she’ll remember fondly. Him and Mery, maybe Chrome and nobody else, maybe save for trade cats. But she has a feeling that she will run into Purral no matter what – that cat seems to be everywhere. It’s still not enough people to count on her fingers anyway.

Catnip jumps onto the bed, meowing at her softly, and Erika smiles crookedly, patting each head few times as in apology, not trusting her voice yet. What she has to do now, is sneak into the pantry, steal enough food to last her a longer while, and then sneak down to the Market to Purreu, to spend all her remaining currency at food for Catnip – and, after that, get the hell out of here.

She should perhaps feel bad for stealing food from them, but somehow she can’t really bring herself to care. If they can truly waste resources to let Karuto ‘experiments’, she’s not quite inclined to believe that their food has truly lost its nutrients. That, and it simply doesn’t make sense – she’s seen animals during her wandering around! In the forest, she seen squirrels and birds, and maybe a glimpse of a fox, when they were returning from Jade Coast she and Chrome swam with shoals of fish.

She’ll be fine.

She takes her hair tie, the one she came here with from home which she opts to not to think about, otherwise risking another breakdown, and ties her hair up in high, long ponytail. She clenches her hands, and looks at the door, nibbling at her bottom lip.

It’s risky, she knows, but she irks just to leave, and it’s about to be dark soon anyway. Taking deep breath, Erika moves over to the door, hands still shaking from rage she still feels burning in her stomach but not enough to cloud her judgement fully anymore, and steps into the corridor. Swallowing soundly, she closes her door and prays, to whatever would listen.

Don’t see me. I want to vanish. Make me invisible.

The first person that passes her, one she doesn’t recognize, doesn’t notice her at all. They just pass by, and she’s right there, and they don’t even glance at her. Erika stares after them, and then at her palms, and then forward. The walk to the kitchen is fast, and every person she passes completely and utterly ignores her. She doesn’t know how, or why, but it doesn’t mean she isn’t going to take complete advantage of the situation.

She brings almost more than she can carry, carefully selected to not need overly long or complex preparations. That, and a knife she wraps with straps from one of her discarded outfits and slides into her shoe, and a sharpener for it. Having pushed everything into her bag, Erika takes it and motions Catnip close, before picking up the cat, too.

“Sit on my shoulder, okay? And hold on tight,” she says, and her voice breaks in very pathetic manner, and she feels like crying again, but she takes few shaky, shallow breaths and blinks tears away, before opening her window. It’s a high drop, and it will be hard on her knees, most likely, but she can’t find it in her to care. So she heaves her legs over the windowsill and drops down, turning in mid-air, catching the windowsill back with her hands in the last moment, dangling from it, before letting go again and landing in crouch, about three times her height below her window. It’s not as bad as she thought it would be.

She looks at the sky painted in palette of oranges an purples, and casts her eyes down, onto the Market, before taking off in that direction in fast-paced trot, Catnip dutifully behind her. It doesn’t take long to locate Purreru.

He also doesn’t seem to notice her, until she actually approaches him. Huh.

“Hello Erika!” he says happily. “Is there anything you need? You don’t look to well, shouldn’t you go to infirmary?” he asks in concerned vice. Erika’s sigh sounds more like screech of un-oiled door as she shakes her hand, and points at Catnip.

“Oh, you want Cady Corns? How many?”

Erika takes out her coin purse and completely empties it on the counter. Purreru blinks owlishly at her, before huffing.

“I don’t know what you’re plotting, and I don’t like it, but I like you, and I know you need it,” he says, grabbing the money and showing it into his finance box, before retrieving a rather large bag from the back of his shop. “Here, there should be enough for four moons for your pet. Five, if you’re careful.”

Erika nods gratefully, accepting the bag, because she knows that with her savings, she could’ve afforded about two months’ worth of food, if that. She appreciates gesture. She’s about to leave, but she stops, and looks at Purreru, who looks back. Erika sniffs before kneeling and hugging the cat tightly. He pats her on the back, somewhat awkwardly.

“I’ll miss you,” she manages to choke out in breaking voice, before grabbing her bags and sword and breaking into run towards the Grand Gate.

She doesn’t go there. While she didn’t manage it before, she knows she won’t be lucky with the door this time, so she makes detour to the fountain, where she tried to climb up before, when she was still... Attracted, by Yvoni’s call. She looks up at the wall, white marble standing out starkly in very rapidly darkening atmosphere. It doesn’t frighten her. She moves one leg back, hunches forward, gripping her bags slung on her shoulder, and breaks, nearly instantly into full sprint, scalding the wall with ease, running to half of it and then digging into the stone deeply with her nails, climbing to the top. Sometime during it, Catnip pounces at her and gets dragged up, handing from Erika’s brown coat.

She stands on the top of the wall, looking back at the starkly white building of the Headquarters, and sighs. It’s, most likely, the very last time she sees it. There’s no place for her here, that much she realizes. Except, she thinks bitterly, they could’ve told me I’m not wanted here, instead of wiping memories of everyone I knew and loved to drive me away.

“Erika?” she doesn’t bolt towards the forest, but it’s a near thing. Instead, her entire body stiffens, as she looks down at the fountain, and surely enough, Leiftan is there, looking at her with worry in his eyes.

She liked him. She liked most of them, but he stood out the most. She might’ve been developing crush on him, even. It was dangerous, but it could’ve made her stay here. If she had someone to stay for – because she had great many someones to go back for. And now it all was ruined. Broken. She couldn’t stay here. And even if she returned home, nobody would remember her. It was lose-lose situation.

“So I am remembered,” she sneers bitterly, and her voice doesn’t break. “If I only was by those who matter.”

“Erika, please-“

“Oh do be quiet!” she scoffs, clenching her fists. “You succeeded. I took the potion. Everybody who cared for me, everybody who mattered – for them, there’s no Erika anymore. I have nobody to go back for. And you’ve finally made it clear – that I have nothing to stay here for either! Really, was it so hard to just tell me to get lost, go and die in the forest? No, you had to ruin my life!”

At this point she’s yelling, but she doesn’t care. If she attracts other people – doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore, not really. Leiftan looks at her for a moment, eyes wide, as if shocked, and then there’s sadness in them, borderline grief, and it makes Erika almost feel bad for him. Almost.

“This is not what we wanted,” he says, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side. He looks miserable, but she can’t bring herself to care.

“It isn’t? Because I got a feeling that this is exactly what you wanted,” Erika snarls, pacing back and forth on the top of the wall like a caged predator. “What do you want.”

“You don’t have to leave-“ Leiftan tries, but Erika cuts him off with a laugh. It’s raspy, sharp and so very, very bitter.

“And what, remain here? Surrounded by traitors who will do as they please, even if- Especially if it means erasing over two decades worth of my life? Who will treat me like an object almost, a slave – keep secrets from me, make my life decisions for me?” she snaps. “I do admit it’s partially my fault. Especially for being dumb enough to trust you lot in the first place, but I was lost and confused, and you extended a hand, yadda, yadda. Honestly, I should’ve left the second I got out of the dungeon! Hell, I would have, wasn’t I so confused!”

“That’s not true!” the man argues, and Erika scoffs. “You are liked here! You do have friends! They care!”

“LIAR!” she screams hoarsely. “Liar, liar, liar! Lies! When people do care, they don’t ruin lives of those they care for! They don’t betray their trust in the worst way possible! They don’t keep disgusting secrets from each other! Not secrets like those!”

“I care,” he tries weakly, and Erika bristles, both at him and her memories, flashing before her eyes. When he saved her from drowning, or all the times they talked, the times she got him to blush, or that time when his Panalulu ravaged her room and he was so adorably apologetic-

No.

She can’t. Not now. Not ever.

The bile in her throat never tasted so bitter.

“Well, I don’t,” Erika scoffs. “I do hope Miiko was sufficiently amused by ruining my life, and having her pet vampire assault me in order to have me ingest the potion. I sincerely regret saving his life. Also I sincerely regret not breaking her jaw when I had occasion. Goodbye.”

And with that, she grabs Catnip and drops down on the other side of the wall, instantly taking off towards the forest in full sprint and paying no heed to Leiftan crying out her name.

What will she do, she doesn’t know. Right now, she doesn’t care. All she wants is to get away. Being here has already cost her too much. It was a price too high to pay, and it broke something in her, deep down.

The pulsating, suffocating, hot pain in her chest still won’t go away.