#i will crack their spines i will scribble all over them i will dog-ear their pages!

[thebest-medicine]

Make 24. With Lee! Deku and Ler! Kirishima?

Prompt 24 - "Sounds like someone needs a visit from the tickle monster."

Explosively Ticklish [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7]

A/N: 'Wait!' You say, 'but Bakugo already got his revenge on everyone!' Yes...... but only the first round. Welcome to Part 7!!! This is the last I have planned out for now but who knows... may be continued further. He's got many more times to go and many more deals to make after all ;)

…

“Sounds like somebody needs a visit from the tickle monster.~” Kirishima sing-songed and bared his teeth in a grin as though a proud predator chancing upon their prey. 

The air in the room seemed to cool, sending a chill running down Izuku’s spine.

He was grappled in an instant. “Heh- wait a second– I hehe- Kirishihihima–” Midoriya whined, squirming as Eijirou wrestled his wrists into place next to his head. They laid there, locked in a brief stalemate, with Izuku against his mattress beneath his friend. 

“And you know…” Kirishima continued, “speaking of tickle monsters… I actually heard there’s one loose in the dorms..” Kirishima murmured, leaning in closer. 

Izuku giggled in anticipation. “Whahahat are you talking about?”

“In fact.. I think it might be close by…” He smirked. 

Izuku’s cheeks were blooming with red. 

Kirishima leaned in, breathing into the sensitive shell of Deku’s ear to make him squirm even more as he said. “You see… they can sense when someone really ticklish is vulnerable.” 

Izuku wailed, wishing he could cover his face. “Kihihihirishima stahahahop teasing!”

There was a knock–loud, more like a bang–on the door. 

“Oh no! Is that it?” Kirishima gasped, squeezing Izuku’s wrists for emphasis. “I think it is! The dreaded tickle monster!” 

He scribbled one hand down into Izuku’s belly for emphasis, making his classmate squawk out a laugh.

“Shuhuhut up!” Izuku snorted. “Whohoho is tha–AHHH!” He shrieked in horror as his door slammed open and a real life tickle monster appeared on the other side: a still-revenge-hungry, smirking Kacchan.

“—NONONO WAIT! KAHAHACCHAN? NO! KIHIHIHIRISHIMA! LEMME GOHOHO!” He was cackling madly, not even being tickled yet. He felt his chances of escaping this unscathed fleeting away. “Nohohot thihihihis! Not NOHOHOW! You tricked meheheheHEHEHE!” 

“Geeeez, giggles, get it together!” Kirishima teased him, poking one finger out to prod at his side. “Not even tickling you yet.” Izuku flinched away. “Save that laugh!”

“Plehehease!” Izuku gave him his best wide, desperate, puppy-dog eyes. Kirishima remained cold, unphased, and rock solid in where he held him down. “NohohohO DON’T! Don’t come any clohohohoser KahahaHAACCHAN!” 

Bakugo’d made his way over to the bed by now. He pressed his knees to the edge of the mattress and looked down, reaching out and starting to make quick work of the socks covering Deku’s feet. “NAHAHA!” Izuku squealed, unable to do anything as his ankles were quickly locked into Kacchan’s arms, whose fingers quickly began scribbling over Deku’s feet where they hung off the end of the bed. 

Kirishima relished the sight of Midoriya cracking instantly, not that he wasn’t already laughing in anticipation. It was less a nervous laugh now, though, more deep and desperate, somehow more jubilant, bubbly. He watched him carefully, then when he felt the resisting strength pushing against his hold faltering, he decided to make his move. 

Quickly, he shifted both wrists into one hand of his own, pinning them up and off to the side of his head. Midoriya blanched, shaking his head when he realized and beginning to plead anew.

Both of his wrists pinned by Kirishima, both of his ankles pinned by Kacchan–who also now seemed to be in the process of rearranging himself to sit over Izuku’s shins. Waist weighted down beneath Kirishima. Izuku’s insides twisted up in a swirl of conflicting emotion.

“Now, die you nerd!” Bakugo declared menacingly. 

Izuku all but wished he could.

Ferocious fingernails scratched up and down his soles, under his toes, along the sides and tops of his feet – they even squeezed up along the backs of his calves. And yet, that wasn’t even the worst of it! 

Kirishima took full advantage of the trapped, ticklish torso beneath him. He scratched his nails under each of Izuku’s arms, pinched his ribs and along his sides one at a time. He even scribbled his fingers over Midoriya’s belly and poked around his belly button, enjoying listening to his friend’s frantic screams of laughter. By the time Kirishima made it down to squeeze at Midoriya’s hips, he was barely able to do more than laugh frantically and squirm weakly.

“Hey, go pin those up over his head.” Midoriya heard Bakugo order, and then there was suddenly less pressure on his waist and legs, only to be replaced by weight along the tops of his thighs. Then, his arms were being tugged up. 

“Nooooooooooo..” Izuku cried weakly as Kirishima sat over his arms and effectively pinned his upper body, helpless and sensitive, between the two of them.

“Right, now, let’s really get to it.”

“NOHOHOHOHO! HEHEHEHEHEHELP!”

…

By the time they were done –or at least, giving him a break for now, as far as he knew– Izuku had lost his voice to laughter. He was hoarse, wheezing for air as he exasperatedly asked for water. 

Kirishima got up at once, grabbing him a bottle and helping him sit up a bit to sip on it as he held it to his lips. “Man, I thought you were gonna die for a second there… That was brutal.” Kirishima laughed lightly. “You’ve gotten tougher!”

“Yeah whatever, that’s what he gets.” Bakugo replied, the annoyance in his tone more fond and teasing than truly irritated.

Izuku chuckled hoarsely, laying back against the bed as Kirishima put the water down on the bedside table. He wheezed out his next question carefully. “Thihis.. heh- sihihince there’s twohoho of you… does *hic* this count as- hehe- two times?”

“No, stupid!” Katsuki shot him an angry look, shouting. “This was one time! Three left!”

“Whyhyhyhy not?” Izuku whined weakly.

“Do you wanna go back to four left?” He threatened

“Nohohoohoho…” Midoriya whimpered, covering his face with his hands and shrinking in on himself. “I’m sorryehehehehe…”

“Hey, come on Bakubro, are you trying to say I didn’t count?” Kirishima goaded, bumping Bakugo’s shoulder. “Trapped him here for you… Did a real number on him too, I’d say! You don’t think I helped at all?!” 

“What? No, you– we..” Katsuki tightened his lips, thinking for a moment.

Kirishima squeezed Izuku’s arm in support, hoping to help reduce his friend’s ‘sentence’ a little.

“Okay, yeah, whatever. I guess that’s true. You did a good job wrecking his shit, Shitty Hair.” Katsuki conceded with a grumble, complimenting his friend as he went. “This can ..count as two or whatever.”

Izuku’s breathing slowly returned to a semi-normal pace. 

Once Izuku was more calmed down and sure to be alright after the surprise attack, the other two got up. 

“Keep your eyes out for me, nerd.” Bakugo grumbled, stomping out of the door.

Izuku spoke up softly after he left and they were alone for a moment, giving the other student a thumbs up. “Thanks, Kirishima.” 

“Only fair. He gave me one off mine for helping him.” Eijirou winked. 

“Wait what–!?”

“–G’night Midoriya!” He finished, quickly shutting the door on his indignant friend. He stepped out into the hall to follow after his grumpy tickle monster of a friend, walking with a smile on his face.

…

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read this & further MHA drabbles on ao3]

[starrypawz]

Kiss prompt 34 “to pretend” – ship choice is yours

AO3 Kissing Prompts

There’s a part of Gerry that does wonder if he should be concerned about one: how easy it is to get into places he shouldn’t and two: how comfortable he’s become getting into places he shouldn’t. 

And tonight the place he shouldn’t be in and is far too comfortable about the fact he’s in somewhere he shouldn’t is a former English department building on a university campus that seems to have been commandeered by the drama society as surplus storage. There’d been a lock but it felt more from appearances sake with how easy it was to get past (There’s also a part of him that should be worried about how blase so many places seem to be about their security).

(And judging from the empty WKD bottle he’d nearly tripped over and something on the floor that looked suspiciously like a condom wrapper he had a good idea how else this building has been repurposed by students taking advantage of the lax security) 

He’s focused on a bookshelf hidden behind a couple of clear plastic crates which contain haphazardly shoved elements of costumes. (According to the label on the box these were from a production of Grease and well there is the arm of a pink satin jacket poking out of one of them so that tracks)

“Move the torch down?” 

Nemo does. 

“So what are we looking for?” 

“A copy of The Waste Land…” He pauses for a second, nearly all of these books are more than a little dog eared, cheap paperbacks clearly used and abused by countless students until their inglorious retirement, falling right into that category of books that are old but not actually worth anything.

 And that’s… that’s… Frost. 

“Let me guess… End?” 

“What?”

“Like… if it’s The Waste Land it’s going to be connected to The End right?” And then Nemo adds after a moment, “Or Spiral?” 

Frost… Frost… Fucking Frost. 

“Actually… Hey move the light to the right a little…” Nemo does, “It… It might be Buried?” 

“Huh…” Nemo feels an answering little drop in their stomach that they try to ignore. “There’s… not a lot about this one,” Gerry then finds way too many Wordsworths, “I mean it makes sense,” Gerry shrugs, “The Waste Land has themes of collapse and that is actually a feature of the Buried” 

“Right…”

He picks up on the twinge of discomfort in Nemo’s voice, “Nemo?”

“I’m ok…” Nemo sighs, “Just… you know,”

“Yeah…” Gerry sighs, and his thoughts drift back for a moment to that night in Camden “I know,” 

“I mean… at least I met you?” Nemo gives a soft chuckle,

“Yeah,” Gerry gives a fond sigh, “Romance for the ages right?” He skips over some Keats and Kiplings, “But yeah, Buried, just a hunch,” Still nothing, “There’s not a lot about this one, I think thankfully not many people have interacted with it,” He pauses as he checks a few more, no luck “Mostly heard accounts about feelings of doom,” 

Nemo snorts, “That narrows it down,”

Gerry laughs. He’s on the bottom shelf now but still no Elliot, looks over a few more books and. 

“Fuck,” He mutters

“No luck?” 

“Yeah,” Gerry sighs, he checks again and no. 

“Are you sure it’s here?” 

“Yes,”

And then he realises that came out way more terse than he intended and sighs, “Sorry,”

“It’s ok…”

“It’s just,” Gerry stands up, “It’s around here somewhere,” He pauses, “I Know,” 

An innocuous masquerade of an outmoded, long forgotten, battered, dog-eared paperback, spine cracked, black ballpoint scribble on the pale blue cover. Hidden amongst countless others in a former English department building a relic left behind after its replacement with a glass fishbowl. 

He takes a deep breath and focuses on that pull deep down, it’s always subtle but he’s found most of the time it’s in his best interests to follow. 

Entombed, lies in wait with those destined to meet their end. 

He starts to move and Nemo follows. Away from the shelves and to a corner and a stack of archive boxes that on closer inspection are marked To Be Pulped. 

Here. It’s here. Somewhere. 

Follow the pull follow follow and…

This One

He’s on his knees, and rifle through the box with gloved hands. The books in here have been placed haphazardly. And they’re even more battered and dog eared than the ones on the bookshelves. To the point he picks up one and the cover detached.

He puts his hand in once more and 

There.

“Got it!”

He holds the copy of The Waste Land aloft. Pale blue, dog eared and with a ballpoint pen scribble on the cover. It’s little surprise the contents of the box are dusty as dust motes float away caught in torch light, but this book is suspiciously so.

“You were right,” 

Gerry shrugs, “Just a hunch,” As he focuses on unzipping his rucksack and getting the book secured away in a heavy canvas bag. 

“Right,” He gives a sigh of relief as he stands up and shoulders his bag, “Let’s-” 

“Shit!” Nemo pulls (or at least does their best to do so and he follows) them more into the corner

“Nemo-”

“There’s… someone around-” 

And then he hears it. Echoing footsteps from outside the room, heavy ones that from experience he knows tend to belong to security guards or police. (He hopes it’s the former) 

“Shit!” Gerry echoes and tries to think. There’s only one door, and the windows are not an option (He had tested one on the way in and had found they’re that sort that only lets you open them enough to get a breeze in) 

There’s a flash of light through the glass and the sound of a door opening 

Maybe we could-

He loses that thought as he finds himself pulled down and kissed. He gives a muffled sound of surprise and it takes more than a moment for him to kiss back. 

This works

He gives a soft sigh as their positions change, Nemo now up on their toes and he’s not sure where to put his hand on the small of their back. And despite everything he feels himself start to melt into the kiss as he’s reminded yet again how Nemo seems to fit perfectly against him. And then Nemo’s hand dares to slip under the hem of his shirt (A recently broached frontier) and he shudders from both the touch of Nemo’s chilled fingertips (Not that he minds, if anything he’s found there’s something about the sensation against his skin he’s starting to crave) and how sensitive the skin of his stomach is anyway.

He feels his pulse kick up and he’ll take this reason for it kicking up rather than that ‘I am currently running for my life’ way he’s far too familiar with especially as it’s followed with that warmth from deep down that’s becoming a regular feature by this point and-

Suddenly, they're bathed in light. Too bright and even with his eyes shut he winces. 

There’s a part of his brain still working, not lost in the result of Nemo’s attentions that reminds him of exactly where they are and how this ruse might not…

“Bloody students!” Comes a brusque mutter before the footsteps pick up again. Whoever found them has probably, hopefully decided it’s not with the paperwork and the late night phonecalls. 

They probably could stop kidding once the door shuts. They probably should stop kissing but they don’t. They keep kissing even as the steps trail off into the distance. 

(They might come back? Better safe than sorry right?)

(At least that what Gerry tells himself, this is necessary for the ruse)

And then they pull back, both flushed and lightheaded (And Nemo looking more than a little smug) “Right…” Gerry waits for his brain to catch up, “Let’s go… Need to go burn this,” 

. And then he feels that warmth from deep in his core that’s becoming a regular feature and-

Suddenly they’re bathed in light. Too bright, and if his eyes weren’t shut right now he’d be wincing from.. And Gerry’s not so lost in Nemo’s attentions to totally forget where they are and how this ruse might not… 

“Bloody students!” 

Comes a brusque mutter before the footsteps pick up again. Whoever that is probably deciding it’s not worth the paperwork and the late night phonecalls. 

And they probably could stop kissing the moment the door shuts and the steps trail out of earshot. 

But they don’t. It carries on

. But they don’t, it carries on for longer than necessary to maintain the ruse (They could come back, better safe than sorry right?) before they both pull back more than a little lightheaded. (And Nemo looking more than a little smu

“Uh… let’s go,” Gerry manages after a long moment. “Need to burn this,” 

[starfleetshrimps]

yeah!!!

also plus in addition my books are so loved. and i dog ear the SHIT out of those pages. i fold over my favorite pages and i bookmark where i am with a little crease and that's fine. sometimes the pages tear if i leave them folded for long enough and that's fine too because it just makes it more permanent.

i'm cracking that spine like a fucking chiropractor. giving the books scoliosis. because i love them.

i'm scribbling in the margins. in PEN. and not even smart shit i'm writing dumbass "haha idiot" comments and drawing little reaction faces like /(0-0)\ at the good parts. i'm underlining silly dialogue and good descriptions.

my mother does the same. i was gifted on of her favorite copies of Mary Oliver poems for Hanukkah this year and im so glad i know what she was thinking when she read specific poems--i can tell which time she read it/when she wrote specific things based off the color/fade of the ink. i know her favorites bc they're bookmarked with folded edges or even TORN CORNERS.

this paperback has been left lying open face down for days at a time. it's been sat on. it's gotten all manner of things spilled on it because it's been read over breakfasts and lunches and dinners. i'm pretty sure there's a bloodstain on one page.

i would argue that this book is more visibly and tangibly loved and protected than a pristine new copy has any chance of being.

and i'm tired of bookish spaces on the internet being 'aPALLED' at my 'sacrilegious' treatment of my books.

they're books. they're meant to be read and enjoyed and loved. not burned, but warmed and used.

and yeah i'm gonna dog ear the pages fuck all the way off

Not expalining WHY bookburning is bad and WHAT books were targeted has left us with Bookworm uwu girlies treating any art project or act involving destorying/modifying any random ass mass printed novel as if it was a crime against humanity

[spiderrrling]

Eddie Munson Bookworm Headcanon

Summary - Just a headcanon about my new favorite bookworm Eddie Munson and his books

A/N - Yes he is a bookworm I refuse to accept anything else

Masterlist - Taglist - Requests are open

Eddie Munson is a massive bookworm, you cannot change my mind about this

You do not play dungeons and dragons and quote lord of the rings if you aren't a massive book nerd

Especially when he was younger Eddie would get most of his books second hand, as books are quite expensive

And also, he is not one to care about the condition of a book as long as it is readable

"Books are meant to be enjoyed and read! So why does it matter what it looks like?"

That is his philosophy about it

His books go through some proper wear and tear, as well as their fair share of abuse

Eddie does not own a single bookmark, anything and everything is a bookmark in his opinion

Random pieces of paper, receipts, a necklace, leaves, a ruler, random piece of string? Bookmark

The man also dog ears his books with absolutely no sense of conscience about it

If he cannot find something to work as a makeshift bookmark, he will just fold over that page

He also cracks the spines of his books; it does not matter to him what the condition of his books are in

A couple of them most definitely have some water damage to them

And covers are ripped, scratched, torn

While Eddie has a bookshelf, it is tiny and only holds a couple

The rest of his books are stacked on the floor in various piles

He doesn't own a ton of books, but he is very proud of the collection he does have

Eddie does not own collectors’ editions of books, they are too expensive and do not serve a greater purpose than the original

Because he got so many of his first books second hand through thrift stores or garage sales, he has read a lot of very different books

But he does have his favourite genera that he will always gravitate towards

Mainly being fantasy, science fiction and classical horrors or thrillers

An obvious is The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings

The Hobbit was absolutely the first book that made Eddie totally fall in love with fantasy as a genera and concept

Which of course was followed up by The Lord of the Rings

And even the Silmarillion

Eddie is a massive Tolkien fan

He has begrudgingly read all the books mandated by his high school English classes, and while he would never admit it out loud, he loved reading Jane Austen

Particularly he really enjoyed Pride and Prejudice, it has enough drama and flair while being well written enough that Eddie found it to be a good read

He had read at least the first five Dune books

When he was younger, he absolutely adored all of the Sherlock Holmes books and the mystery genera has a very special place in his heart because of it

When he was in his mystery book phase, he absolutely read his fair share of Agatha Christie books

He really enjoys a big fantastical and well thought out world that he can simply just lose himself to for hours

Something he can draw inspiration from for campaigns or for his own personal writing

Because Eddie Munson is absolutely an aspiring writer, he already has a lot of practice writing songs

And there are countless overstuffed notebooks filled to the absolute brim with notes of fantasy worlds and random sketches strewn about his room

He isn't picky when it comes to fantasy, anything to tidy him over for a couple of hours

Eddie does prefer the vaster high fantasy settings, but also greatly enjoys comic fantasy and he has a stack of Discworld books gathering in his room

However, Eddie can also appreciate the more classic literature books such as the Bronte sisters

But also, the classical nerdy books, Dracula, Frankenstein, Carmilla

His type of comedy books is quite specific, but he did absolutely love The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

Eddie owns a library card, it is always in his wallet and it has been used a lot throughout the years

The problem is that he just forgets to return his books

And he enjoys being able to scribble in the margins of his books

Or highlight his favourite passages

In conclusion, Eddie Munson is a bookworm and I love him <3

Taglist - @pastel-abyss-x @fayetheenthusiastast @obi-wanakenobi @starbemo @chloebeansack @a-villain-vying-for-attention @meganjm @prettytoxix @magicalxdaydream @ghoulsandgraveyards @munchabunch @kaydencegilr0y @eateraa @satorix @xbreezymeadowsxsx @hunnybunimdundun @eddiemunsfuturewife

Mutuals - @uglypastels @catastrofhe

[spxllcxstxr]

Yellow Sticky Notes • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Request: maybe an imagine where the reader is dating remus and puts sweet love notes into his books to constantly remind him how loved he is ���� — anon

Summary: Remus finds your lovely paper trail in his books while in the hospital wing

Warnings: mention of food, mentions of injuries, mention of full moon, Remus being a bit insecure, fluff

Word Count: ~1k

A.N: Do me a favor? Disregard the fact that Post It Notes were invented in 1980. Let’s just push that date back a tad...I honestly don’t know how I feel about this one? I love Remus so much so maybe that’s why I can’t seem to love the things I write about him because I feel I don’t do him justice. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Love you all ❤️

****

Remus sits alone in the hospital wing, all his friends stuck in class, while he’s forced to suffer in the all too familiar scratchy bed.

The full moon the night before gave him deep purple bruises all along his abdomen, a foot facing the entirely wrong way, and a brand new inflamed scar running from the bottom of his left earlobe all the way to the corner of his left eye.

When Madam Pomfrey reluctantly held up a mirror in front of him earlier in the morning, he almost snatched it out of her hands in a fit of rage and threw it across the room. He would’ve, if he wasn’t too weak to even lift up a finger.

But that was before James made his way down with a plate of breakfast, Sirius with an armful of jumpers, and Peter with a fluffy pillow from Remus’ very own bed.

You had come running down with his school bag filled to the brim with his favorite Muggle novels.

Just seeing them gave him the strength he needed to get through the rest of the day.

The four of them stayed as long as possible, but Slughorn made it very clear the last time they were late to class that detentions would be the least of your problems. He was threatening to write home, and no one wanted that.

You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before dashing out, his eyes trailing after your retreating form.

He sighs before picking up the novel closest to him on the nightstand. It’s one he’s almost done with, only a chapter or two left.

Remus opens to the dog-eared page, but notices something different about the paper.

Smack dab in the center of the page sits a pale yellow square, your elegant scrawl resting on top of it. Bringing the book closer to his face, he reads out your note.

Dear Remus,

Over the summer, Lily sent me a pack of these Muggle things called sticky notes. I think they’re absolutely fascinating, don’t you? There’s this sticky stuff on the back and that’s what makes it stick onto stuff. Sometimes I think these Muggles are geniuses! There’s one hundred in a pack and I’ve decided to use them all. Let’s see if you can find the other ninety-nine.

Love forever,

(Y/n)

Narrowing his eyes, he turns his head to look at the other books you brought down for him.

Slowly, he closes the book in his hands and grabs another one from his bag.

Sure enough, on the first page, there’s another pale yellow sticky note with your handwriting.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#46. You’re extremely kind and willing to help everyone. From helping first years with Herbology homework to quizzing me on History of Magic revolts because Merlin there are too many, you’re always happy to help. I don’t know how much you hear it, so thank you.

His thumb traces over the dried ink, soaking in the words. His heart swells as he bites his lip.

He repeats the process with another book.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#96. You never complain when I fall asleep after begging you to read to me in bed.

Remus snorts, remembering all the times you’ve begged him to read to you while cuddled up underneath a mountain of blankets and then hearing your light snores in the middle of the chapter. You liked to tell him it was because his voice was so calming, but he never really believed it until now.

There were four more books in his bag and he lifts the rest of them onto his bed as fast as possible. His body groans in pain, but that doesn’t matter to him.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#29. You are so strong. So much stronger than you believe. And your strength gives me hope every single day.

A blush runs up his neck, painting his face pink. Maybe because his emotions are running rampant, but he feels tears welling up in his eyes.

He swallows roughly, picking up the next book, it’s spine cracked from use.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#7. Your smile. The way it lights up the room. I know you don’t like it so much because your canines are tinted a bit yellow and your front tooth is crooked, but honestly, love, it’s beautiful. Every time it makes its way across your face I forget how to breathe and my heart skips a few beats.

Instinctively, said smiles grows wide. He must look crazy, sitting all alone, smiling maniacally at some novel but he couldn’t care less.

Excitedly, he grabs another.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#15. How on my bad days you’ll curl up in bed next to me and just hold me close to your chest. You’ll let me cry and make a snotty mess on your jumper. I swear I’m an ugly crier and yet you still look at me like I’m the most stunning person in the castle.

This note has a little heart scribbled in the corner, something he finds extremely cute.

He quickly flips open the cover of the last novel.

100 Reasons Why I Love Remus Lupin (even though the list is ever expanding)

#78. Would it be shallow of me to say that you’re extremely attractive? Because Godric, Rem, you are so fucking amazing to look at. Like a work of art. And I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking about your scars. Well guess what Lupin, those are beautiful too. It’s my mission to kiss every single one of those scars and I’m no quitter.

He brings his hand up to trace over the new scar, wincing. Before, he was feeling insecure about another white monstrosity ripping through his skin, but knowing that soon enough your soft lips were going to trace over said line, he felt a little bit better about it.

Though his smile has turned into a goofy grin, he’s saddened by the fact he has no more notes to look at. It’s probably for the best, so he can save them for another time.

You don’t get around to visiting your boyfriend in the hospital wing until after classes.

James and Sirius had Quidditch practice, so they dragged Peter with them so you could have some alone time with Remus.

You open the large oak doors quietly, hoping not to disturb him.

You push your way through the white curtains surrounding his bed, greeted by the sight of him surrounded by the books you brought down for him.

“How was class, love?” Remus asks, patting the spot next to him.

You take your seat, pressing your shoulder to his own.

“Quite boring, honestly—“

You’re cut off by Remus’ chapped lips connecting to your cheek. He repeats his actions, peppering seven kisses all around your face.

“What was that for, Rem?” You ask, your fingertips hovering over the spots he kissed.

“One kiss for every lovely note.” He replies, flashing you that bright smile that just makes your knees weak.

“Well in that case,” You smirk, gazing into his honey brown eyes. “I can’t wait for the other ninety-three.”

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

[switchypanic]

Sentence Starter: "I don't giggle."

Content Warnings: No warnings for this fic; just some harmless fluff between Hell's darling princess and her hotel manager.

Word Count: 865 words.

"I don't giggle, my dear." Alastor said plainly, his ever-present grin unchanged by the princess's sudden inquiry.

Charlie looked up at him with those big, doe-like eyes of hers, smiling kindly. "Well, I know you say that, but Husk mentioned that your laughter is different after you've had a few drinks. It's more...oh, what's the word he used...light? And airy? Now, that sounds an awful lot like giggles to me."

"Husk; what does he know?" Alastor huffed. While his smiling expression remained, his irritation at the other was clear in his tone. "Besides, I'm quite certain I know what my own body does and does not do, and it most certainly does not giggle."

The blonde haired demon stared at him for a moment before Alastor suddenly felt a finger prod at his side. Caught completely off-guard, the deer demon flinched away, eyes shooting over to Charlie in shock. The girl had a new look of determination on her face, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "Let me test it out." She said bluntly.

Alastor cocked his head to the side. "Pardon?"

Charlie took a step forward, more confident now. "Let me try and make you laugh! That way we can both see what it sounds like!" She urged. Alastor had to fight the urge to take a step back; a flight instinct his deer-like form unfortunately cursed him with.

"And how would you do that? Silly jokes?" He asked, raising a brow. "Parlor tricks?"

"Tickles!" Charlie said, excitement bubbling into her tone. "Comedy is subjective, tickles are universal!"

Alastor felt a nervousness stirring in the pit of his stomach. "I'm not too fond of being touched my dear, as you well know by now. Besides, I'm afraid such a childish thing does not work on me." He said, keeping his voice even and confident. His ear gave an almost unnoticeable twitch, the only tell that something was off.

"Come on, pleeease? It would only be for like, two minutes, then I'd stop! And if you're not ticklish, it won't bother you at all!" Charlie begged, lower lip jutting out in a small pout. She cupped her hands together, holding them up under her chin as if she were a dog begging for scraps.

Now, this was a predicament. If he said no, it would make it seem as though he had something to hide, and Charlie might just let his reluctance slip to other, more proactively annoying hotel guests (the thought of Angel Dust learning such information was nearly enough to send a chill down the overlord's spine). On the other hand, if he said yes, he was certain he would crack before the princess stopped her little experiment, and that would create a whole new set of problems. What to do, what to do?

"I'll make you some beignets? "

Now that caught his attention. Alastor looked at her, locked eyes with her big, pleading gaze one more time, then let out a small sigh. "I suppose I could humor you for a moment." He said, finally won over by the promise of one of his comfort foods.

Charlie squealed with excitement, bouncing on her toes as she took several steps closers. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She beamed, little fangs on full display. "Okay, I'm gonna start now, okay? If you reeeally hate it, just say...pineapple, okay?"

Alastor rolled his eyes. "Please, if I want to escape, I can easily do so. No safeword necessary."

"Well, it's there if you feel like using it!" Charlie said, raising her hands and giving her fingers a little wiggle. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

Charlie's hands darted forwards, finding Alastor's sides and beginning to scribble up his slender torso.

Alastor froze like a deer in the headlights, all energy going into holding still and keeping the small chuckle that nearly bubbled out of his throat suppressed. However, his smile took on a more strained quality, and it was clear her touches WERE affecting him to some degree.

Charlie's tongue stuck out of her mouth as she concentrated, fingers spidering up and down Alastor's sides as she watched his face for a reaction. "Nothing, huh? I guess I'll just have to try harder!" She said, ever determined, moving her touches to his stomach and hips.

The Radio Demon's breath caught in the back of his throat, the urge to genuinely GRIN and soft titters starting to rise within him. He bit down on his lower lip, eyes shutting as he tried to focus on keeping his breathing calm.

It wasn't working very well.

"Aaaaal!" Charlie sang, a little smirk playing at her lips. "I think you might be ticklish after all!" Oh, now that was just unnecessary! Alastor cracked an eye open, looking to shoot her a dirty look, but at that moment Charlie's gentle touches found his ribcage and he cracked like an egg.

"Ohohohohoo shihihihihihihit!" Alastor burst into titters, hands moving down to latch onto Charlie's wrists. "Chahahahahaharlotte!"

Charlie's grin widened, a few giggles of her own slipping out. The princess practically had stars in her eyes. "It looks like Husk was right, those are DEFINITELY giggles I'm hearing, Al."

Alastor was going to DESTROY Husk.

14 “I don’t giggle” with lee Alastor and ler Charlie?

Aaah, yes! Absolutely! 😁

[jay4firefic]

Hi! I’ve been reading through your Buckeride fics and I know this isn’t on your prompt list but I can’t get the idea of long-distance Kelly and 118!Buck where Buck sends him postcards like he used to do with Maddie. Like imagine a post card with a pic of Buck and the first baby he delivers, or Buck mastering a complex Bobby recipe or screenshots of a daring rescue. And Kelly peppering his locker with all of these.

So this is definitely not what you requested, but it's where my weird little brain took me. 1200 words, Buck x Kelly. Buck copes with losing Kelly by hiking across the country. Kelly copes with losing Buck by reading his postcards and sending replies in the form of books. Fair warning, I haven't read all of the books mentioned in this but I'll get around to them eventually.

The first time Buck drops a postcard in the mail to Chicago is a generic shot of the desert, picked up for 60 cents in a tourist trap not far from the head of the trail. Buck prints the address of Firehouse 51 carefully onto the back of the card and spends the rest of the night agonizing over what to write on the rest. In the end he scrawls a messy 2,653 miles to go, wish me luck, and drops it into the mailbox outside of his motel without a return address - he doesn’t have one.

The second is a black-and-white reproduction of Ansel Adams’ Monolith, the Face of Half Dome tucked inside the front cover of the artist’s biography and shipped together in a package from the same post office where Kidd mailed his latest resupply. Yosemite was too fucking crowded. Ansel Adams Wilderness was beautiful though. Did you know he did a whole series on Manzanar, the Japanese internment camp? He was an interesting dude. Hang onto this book for me if you can, please.

His next care package contains a book - Only What We Could Carry: The Japanese American Internment Experience - and even though he hasn’t factored an extra book into his pack weight, he tucks it into his bag along with everything else. When he cracks it open in the fading light of a high altitude sunset he nearly chokes on a mouthful of trail mix. There, on the inside cover, is a note in Kelly’s neat-but-cramped handwriting, just like in every other book he’s ever gifted to Buck. Why do you always pick the most fucking depressing topics to take an interest in? Tell Kidd where I should ship the other 3 books about internment camps when you get off the trail, I’m never going to reread them.

Buck closes his eyes and tips his head up to the sky, staring at the wash of red and orange the sunset paints behind his eyelids until the sting that threatens tears fades away. By then it’s nearly dark - too dark to read, but not too dark to thumb through the pages to find the ones that are dog eared, the passages with stars next to them, the notes in the margins careful never to overlap with the text or images. He doesn’t open it again for almost a week, spends another few days reading it slowly, savoring the notes in the margins and writing his own in return. It’s the continuation of a silent conversation they’ve been having since the first time Kelly picked up one of Buck’s dog-eared, highlighted, scribbled-in books off of the nightstand and returned it to him with three questions and an opinion Buck absolutely had to argue with scrawled inside the back cover.

Except this time...this time Buck can’t read his commentary aloud to Kelly at the end of the day, or ask him to expand on one of the thoughts jotted down at the bottom corner of a page. This time he can’t talk to Kelly at all.

Instead he takes a selfie with the PCT mid point sign and then backtracks to hitchhike into town. He celebrates with a motel room, a shower, and a night in an honest to god bed. Pancakes at the local diner taste like heaven in the morning, he calls Kidd from a curbside bench with a beautiful view of the mountains, and he’s in too good a mood to question it when his feet lead him down the street and into a shop advertising printing.

He has two copies of his selfie printed. One goes into an envelope addressed to 51, alongside a postcard of Mt. Lassen thanking Cindy for the cookies and Mouch for the hockey themed wool socks in his latest resupply. The second he addresses to his old Kelly’s apartment. Thanks for the book. I think I’m going to visit Manzanar after I finish the trail - it’s only a few hours from LA. Maybe I’ll climb Whitney while I’m out there. Hey, did you know Lassen and Shasta are part of the Pacific Ring of Fire? The volcanic landscapes out here are awesome.

Buck almost doesn’t put the second envelope in the mail. He almost puts the book in a box and sends it to Stella instead. But in the end he mails the card, tucks the book deep into his bag where it will sit undisturbed but impossibly heavy with emotion for most of the next two months, and hitchhikes back to the trailhead.

By the time he makes his first stop in Oregon there’s another package: food, socks, a newspaper clipping of Truck 81 saving a little girl and her dog from an overturned car, and a book. Surviving the Stone Wind, clearly purchased used, the cover fraying at the corners and the spine cracked. Inside, beneath a faded note indicating it was once a gift for someone else, Kelly has written Don’t get killed by a volcano. That would be a stupid ass way for a firefighter to go out.

Buck sends a picture of himself from central Oregon tucked inside the cover of the book when he returns it, his handwriting a barely legible scribble beneath Kelly’s sharp letters. At least if I die in an eruption it’ll be quick. I’ve been thinking - there’s a lot of time to think out here - about how we would survive if the Yellowstone Supervolcano ever erupts. The answer is that we probably won’t, but if we did, living through the endless winter afterwards sounds pretty nasty. You know how I hate to be cold.

I bought more hand warmers for the emergency kit, Kelly replies, weeks later, from between the pages of a book about Yellowstone. But I think you’re right. I’d rather go in the explosion.

Buck has another hiker take a picture of him on the Bridge of the Gods, smack in the center of the Columbia river, and scrawls on the back of two copies before sending them off in the mail. The Columbia used to have the largest Salmon run on Earth. I never realized how much we’ve fucked up the environment before spending all this time out in the middle of nowhere. Not that the trail is even the middle of nowhere - thousands of people walk every part of it every year. I wonder what it all looked like before we colonized the West.

The Organic Machine: The Remaking of the Columbia River gets to Buck when he’s a couple of hundred miles into Washington. He flips the cover open eagerly, touches his fingers to the only form of communication he’s had with the love of his life in months. Seems like people have been changing the environment out there since long before white colonizers showed up. They just made it a lot worse. This isn’t going to be one of your “if I had a time machine” obsessions again, is it?

If I had a time machine I’d only go back 10 months, Buck writes inside of the cover. He shoves the book deep inside of his pack, beside the first, and mails back a generic postcard of the Cascades instead.

[kaetastic]

SHIRT

pairing: Luca Changretta x Reader

summary: Reader falls asleep in Luca’s clothes [requested: @supermegapauselouca​]

warning: fluff and twinge of mild angst (if you squint)

word count: 2k

note: i’m so sorry for the late delay, i was feeling a bit drowsy lately and my naps are equal to an average sleep lol. i hope this is fine! thank you for the request! stay safe and take care!

Through the hazy glass panes, smears of silvery light seeped through as if they were blaring blades slashing through a colossal field of towering weeds. Flakes of dust danced in the air, swinging and tangling with the rays of the radiant moon; the night sky as their backdrop and faded noise of a bustling city as their record player.

Despite the trusty cleaners who have worked years for the owners of the house, there was always a crevice unseen to the human eye. Although their brooms might brush over the patent strings of clumped up clouds of dust, the civilians have remained in unseen valleys. Lingering in the air were particles of dust which swirled with the scent of liquors, which tangled with a coquettish grin.

Even though the moon was patent with its sombre rays of fluorescent light, chattering cars and sighing exhausts trickled in the night. Against the persistent alarm, the moon proceeded to imply and urge people to find warmth in slumber. With a croaked exhale, the light tickled her fluttering eyelashes; clearly winning the battle. The sheets that began to warm nudged her leg to caress against a colder patch as beads of glistening sweat began to smear against her body.

Although a major part of her had expected the other half of the bed to be frigid and empty, a tangle of hope had strung. The rope that used to be as colossal as those to hold the ships to port, had begun to loosen. A faint sigh of disappointment smeared against her lips when her hand was met with chilly air that curled the sheets into a clump.

Even though she had already comprehended the situation, her eyes fluttered open. To be met with the absence of her lover. Staring at the pillow he would use to sleep upon, her fingers brushed the indentation he had left from the early morning. He had yet to return. Luca might not be present, but his scent remained; although, it lingered a toned-down concentration due to his early rise in the bright sunrise.

A blurry haze of colours plastered at the back, on the wooden side table as if mosaic tiles, mismatched to concoct a palette. Finally mustering all of her energy she had regained from the deep slumber, she pushed herself to snatch the card that accompanied the bouquet of the pink flowers. As her eyes wandered over the scribbled words with familiar handwriting, her fingers brushed over the edges of the sleek card.

Better put these up on display. Matteo had to delay the closing of a florist. –Luca 

A chuckle echoed in the still air which seeped out of the minuscule crack of the door; into the hallway. Wrapped in a translucent beige tone of crêpe paper, a white string was wrapped around the neck of all the flowers, lazily, yet, it seemed intentional and perfect. The shy flowers were timid, their hands covered their faces. Stains and blotches of yellow-painted some frayed edges, while some remained innocently, pure pink.

Her eyes begun to adjust to the backdrop. Y/N’s eyes flickered to the streak of yellow running on the wooden floor, blaring to only caress a mountainous peak at the cupboard that sat oppositely to the door. It managed to tiptoe into the room from the corridor. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Who was here?

Being part of Luca’s life had offered its inconveniences that some could not be able to adjust to; however, she had learnt and forced herself to grow accustomed to these points. There wasn’t a second that had passed before her fingers had tugged the Luca’s drawer, to grip around a pistol. His Italian accent which swam in his English trickled in her ears as if silk. Use this, just don’t shoot me.

As soon as her toes had peeked out of the blanket, she was out of the comfort of the warm bed. All she wanted to do was bury herself under the blankets she found solace in from the lonely days. Her only constant and present accompany. Kisses of freezing snowflakes bit into the soles of her feet, numbing her towards the icy path towards the light as if a frozen lake.

Swirling around her exposed leg, the nightgown she had worn did not bother to cover much of her skin as the hem of the silky peach rested on her thighs if she was to tiptoe, the frigid air caused bumps to salute, greeting with discipline. With a faint, not so much, creak, the door cried as it tried its best to not confide her awakening presence.

After the soles of her feet could no longer pass the electricity stabbing of the frozen ground, her arms were agile to scour around the office as soon as she entered the room. There was no one. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she breathed in the calming signature smell of Luca’s office.

The mahogany table that resided in the middle of the room, over a rich, red, Turkish carpet, was surrounded by palatial bookshelves that had been filled with books that could kill with a hurl, Y/N was sure she had never seen the Italian graze his hand over a page. Not once had he bothered to read the books whose spines were as large as her palm. It was a method for him to intimidate guests.

The bookshelves towered until its head had brushed over the ceiling, just like Luca’s head at the low door at his mother’s house. Splattered against the table were sheets of paper while stacks of them had been piled in one corner; a random object of choice thrown over the stack to ground it.

She chuckled once she realized it was a small trinket she had purchased for him. It was a miniature ceramic cat whose tummy laid against the ground, stretching extensively. She had bought it while she had sauntered down the road. Although it was not on her list of things she needed, she had found it amusing. What a gift to give to the leader of a mafia. Y/N assumed the papers displayed on the desk were of no use as the man would not risk anything by doing such a careless act.

Her thumb snapped the lamp off, switching off the only available light source in the room. The smear of yellow that radiated the room was engulfed in pitch black with streaks of grey from the two windows. Sometimes, she wondered how he could tolerate the strain of his eyes to such low, dim light.

No matter how many times she had insisted or offered the idea to install better lightings, the mobster hadn’t budged. Days she would consider casual would be finding him perched on his creaking seat while his hands jotted down so quickly, it seemed as if the memory would spring out of his head.

Thrown over his chair was a plain dress shirt. It seemed he was in a hurry as the clothing was close to the edge to meet with the ground. As she chewed on her bottom lip, she contemplated if it was a good idea. The gentle cloth engulfed her fingers. It had still smelt like him. A linger of whiskey swirled in with the toned-down cologne he would spray an obnoxiously large amount onto himself. He wouldn’t mind, he has a sole closet dedicated to his dress shirts.

With a swift movement, the sleeves entrapped her arms, defending her from the cold breeze. A good few inches had elongated from her fingers, the hem stooped below her nightgown. The closest she’ll get with Luca for the night.

After she placed the gun back, she stumbled back into the heated sheets. Her eyes shut tight as the collar grazed over her nose. The smell of him was stronger on the shirt than that of the bed. If only he had been there.

The Italian let out a muffled grumble that had been a mixture of exhaustion and frustration. Although he had hoped the locked front door would block him off from all the pending works and meetings, the presence of his office had rested with stacks of vital work. All of them were equally important; he hated it.

As his hand ran down his face, he flicked the wooden match that had been chopped in his lips. The butt of the stick possessed permanent scars from his teeth that had bitten into it. Damn cops. It landed on the marble counter with a clash before the still air engulfed the sound.

Exhaustion drowned over his muscles, seeping through his tissues with dread, the need for sleep lingered in his eyes. It had been mentioned a couple of times. Scratch that, everyone had brought it up. From his mother to the bellboy.

Glancing at the window that towered over the rest of the city with its graph-like buildings, a smear of the sun against the blue sky teased him. It taunted him. It reminded him that he had not slept through the night while it did.

Without a second wasted, he yanked off his coat, followed by the jacket and his vest which had begun to suffocate him. Tugging his tie as he thought about the commotion that had happen on a port was enough to rip his neck, he hurled it haphazardly as if throwing a ball for a dog to fetch. Who knew where it had landed. The clanking of his shoes met with the wooden floor. A mess Y/N would scold him for; a mess he will have to clean up.

Passing his office, his fingers gripped around the wavy doorframe to gaze at the room. He rummaged through the tight pocket of his trousers to tug out a sheet of crumpled paper that had been given to him with importance.

Luca let out a scoff before hurling it onto his desk. Even though he had few dealings that need to be checked, most of them are minor issues, but here he was, having to be the one to handle the problem with infant gangs who had risen in the city of New York.

A battle in his head roared, his eyes grazed over the polished table that sang a voice in his head. He turned around. If he was to accomplish work and complete them with perfection because that is how he liked to do things, he would need sleep.

Dragging himself to his bedroom, his fingers rubbed into his eyes, stabbing the orbs back in its socket. He nearly stumbled on his steps when his eyes grazed over the resting figure that slumbered peacefully. Her shoulders heaved up and down, the previous dress shirt he had worn had been draped over her shoulder.

Taking the whole of the bed, Y/N’s head plunged in the middle of the two pillows. She had left him only a small amount of space to sleep, or curl in a ball. Although he knew that he should’ve jumped to the shower before jumping in bed, he didn’t have enough energy to even run the water.

After shoving his suspender onto his side table, followed by the clanking of his golden rings that had engraved an indent into his fingers, marking him, he finally could breathe as only one layer covered his body.

“I don’t have space.” Luca’s silvery words fell into her snoozing ears. As his fingers clutched around her silky nightgown under his shirt, his thumb caressed her waist. He assumed that she had fallen asleep, however, it was proved wrong once a vague ‘mhm’ was uttered out of her lips. Without disrupting her slumber, he laid beside her, legs weaved and tangled like an irritating lock of hair.

“You smell.” A chuckle fell off his lips, his large hand splayed against her back, pulling her into his arms. With his chin propped on her head, his arms around her waist, he breathed in the sense of ease. This is home.

“Want to get in the bath with me?” A series of giggles and laughter echoed in the rising morning as the two-paced their routine, not bothered to sync with that of the pacing world.

[fivegoldpieces]

"Do we have a deal?"

The hag leans forward and extends her hand, fingers hooked unnaturally as she grins. Saliva pools at the corner of her mouth, constantly dripping on the table.

"Deal."

Soulless eyes pin the monk, but Beau doesn't flinch, not when she feels the leathery texture of too-old skin, not when fingernails dig into her bruised knuckles, not when shadows move towards her as she shakes the hand offered.

The hag reclines in her chair, head thrown back in satisfaction, a bark of almost-laughter pulling itself from her chest. She waves, and the monk hears the thud of the door open behind her, "Better start saying your goodbyes soon."

"How long do I have?"

The grin on the hag's face grows impossibly wide. "As long as I give you."

Beau says nothing, does nothing but turn around and walk out of the hut, jaw clenched and fists shaking.

---

She manages to ignore the burn at the corner of her eyes, up until she closes the door to the hut. She feels rather than sees the Nein - the prickle of attention on the back of her neck, the bated breaths as she turns to to them, the itch in her throat begging to be let out as she sees the fear on their faces.

She tries not to cry when she tells them, she does, really.

But Fjord is making the same face he does when he's about to collapse during their workouts, and Caleb is staring off into space - his hand twitching as if he's looking for her shoulder to hold onto, and Yasha has the same expression she did when she woke the day after they left Lorenzo dead, and Caduceus looks more scared than he had ever been on the Ball Eater, and Nott is looking at her with such loss and gratitude and pain, and -

Jester has drawn back, her tail rigid behind her, the tinkling of jewelry familiar to the monk's ear absent, her hands slowly curling into fists, her body shuddering with each breath as if she was being punched in the gut, her eyes full of hurt and confusion and anger, fangs almost poking out in a snarl, the ground below her starting to harden and freeze.

A sight to behold. Something she had hoped to see more than once.

Beau falters, lets whatever words on her lips tumble out into silence. She steps towards Jester, hand reaching out for hers -

Her hand grabs nothing but air.

---

Beau blinks and she finds herself standing in a room, boots tracking mud onto hardwood floor, hand falling limp by her side.

Her stomach churns and the room is spinning, so she finds somewhere to sit, let's her eyes jump around the room. In the corner, a large bed meant for a dog. Shelves all around her full of trinkets and books. A familiar statue tucked in between a book and a potted plant. Almost unnoticeable, if Beau hadn't been privy to how it was hidden.

She feels the tingle of magic climb up her spine and curl around her ear - Sending.

She sucks in a breath as she hears Jester, asking if she's alright, asking where she is, asking her what she did, sent one after the other.

"-don’t you answer-"

She tries to make a sound, a noise, something, but pain sinks its claws into her neck, chokes her until she can barely breathe, the voice in her head the only thing keeping the shadows of unconsciousness at bay.

"-love you so much, Beau, why-"

The tears come slowly, warm like the rain in Kamordah.

---

Reani finds her in the living room, hours later. Her delighted smile fades into worry at the sight of Beau: alone, freshly-bruised knuckles, scratches from brambles and thorns, clinging scent of swamp, eyes puffy. She sits down next to her - gentle, as if she's afraid Beau would run away.

Beau almost laughs. There's nowhere for her to go now.

---

Beau tells her the gist of what happened and Reani insists on letting her crash on the couch as long as she needs, says it’s the least she could do for a friend. Beau doesn’t know how to thank her, so she resolves to make herself less of a burden than she already is.

She may not be a monk anymore, not in name at least, but she'd always been quick on her feet and smart with her fists. The guard reckon her too skilled for perimeter watch, so they send her out with the patrol groups to fight dire wolves, wyverns - any creatures that get too close to the mountain.

Some days she visits the forge with Reani, learns how to communicate with her hands from Deilin, even picks up some smithing skills from Umi. Other days she finds herself deep in the stacks of the Vellum Steeple, reading anything and everything she could get her hands on. A couple of times she helps the archers with target practice - Fen always manages to land in a few good shots.

Days blend together. Umi doesn’t glare as strongly when she calls him Umi. Fen even shoots her a not-frown every once in a while. She falls into routine.

---

Early mornings she works out behind the house and tries not to think about tusks and the scent of seawater. She helps take care of the plants and tries not to think of carefully pressed flowers or the taste of freshly-brewed tea. In the Archive, she finds herself listening for the rustle of pages and the scribble of ink on paper to accompany her own. The thwack of arrows and bowstrings remind her of the thud of crossbow bolts and the swish of alcohol.

She refuses to set foot inside the bakery.

---

Everyday, magic crawls its way into her ear and whispers of what she gave up. Sometimes it’s Caleb, bringing updates about the war. Other times it’s Caduceus with cryptic messages that make her head hurt. Most of the time it’s Jester, talking about her day, who they saw, what they did.

Some days all she hears are snippets, their voices broken up like waves against rocks. Other days it’s as if they’re right next to her and she has to fight the urge to talk back, the pressure in her lungs growing unbearable if she even entertains the thought.

On those days, she finds herself wandering around the city. Every society has a criminal underbelly, and Uthodurn is no exception. Beau pieces together locations and meeting places from conversations she and Reani have over dinner.

She joins a fighting ring, let’s the crunch of bone and the warmth of blood drown the voices out. Afterwards, she steals mail. She never gets caught.

From criminal, to monk, to Expositor and hero of a nation, back to where she was before. She expected as much.

---

It’s almost impossible to see stars from the back Reani’s house, but if Beau presses on her eyelids hard enough, explosions of color paints the barren ceiling of rock above her. In a way, it reminds her of Hupperdook - this time, she doesn't have flower necklaces, but goodbyes she has plenty. 

She wonders how Kiri is, wonders if her and Luc and TJ would’ve gotten along.

Reani joins her sometimes. Sometimes they just stare at the ceiling, sometimes they talk. When they do, it's mostly Beau listening and Reani talking.

"Your friends are strong," she says one night, the light of her halo making interesting patterns in Beau’s vision, "The war is over now. I'm sure they'll find a way to break the curse."

If they still wanted to.

Beau bites her tongue until she tastes metal and stares up until the explosions blur together.

---

“Beau, I know you can hear me. I don’t know why you won’t answer, but I hope you’re okay, wherever you are. We’re trying to-”

“- find a way --- the hag --- traveling to ---”

“- be fine --- Just hold on, okay? --- you so much. I wish --- showed you --- I’m sorry.”

---

"You loved her didn't you?" Reani asks one night as they limp towards her house - dire wolves had caused trouble in the woods north of Uthodurn.

Beau pauses by the door, then bends down to unlace her boots. Distantly, she thinks of her first battle against a remorhaz - fists burning with each punch, taking note of the half-orc, keeping track of the tiefling in the creature’s grasp, ears tuned to the murmur of arcane magic, hardened bone sinking into her side, taste of metal filling her mouth, then warmth as her muscles stitched itself together, strong arms holding her, purple eyes full of anger directed at the slithering creature.

She pulls herself out of her memories, the weight of the Aasimar’s stare still trained on her making her shoulders tense. She places her boots by the door.

���Yeah,” Beau croaks out, coughs to clear her throat, turns and meets her gaze “I- Yeah.”

Reani simply nods, something akin to understanding in her eyes. She shuffles closer to Beau, lays a hand on her shoulder and pulls her into a hug.

---

The Sendings stop coming.

One shot becomes two becomes five becomes ten becomes twenty becomes more and yet the dullness doesn’t come, doesn’t drown the burning in her lungs nor the searing ache in her chest nor the tiny bit of relief that she doesn’t have to listen to her friends move on without her. 

A dwarf is eyeing her, brown eyes and light brown skin, smirk playing on her lips. Pretty. Beau smirks back.

She places a platinum piece on the bar, feels the confused stare from the dwarf as she leaves.

---

One hit against the jaw, two steps to the right, five jabs in a row, ten seconds to take a breath, twenty minutes deep into the forest.

She cleans her boots outside, leans them against the house to keep the floors clean. Reani is nowhere to be seen, but there's a healer’s kit on the table waiting next to a plate of food. 

She swallows down the scream in her chest and curls up on the couch until morning comes.

---

Reani tells her to wait at The Broken Stool, said she had something exciting to show her. Why she told her at the crack of dawn, Beau didn’t know.

She moves to drink her mug of ale when a hand yanks on her shoulder, bringing the tankard down to her lap. She swears, snaps her head up -

- but then -

The clink of jewelry. Strong arms around her shoulders. Rough pointed bone against her cheek. Cold weight on her wrist, hot tears on her collarbone, the scent of pastries and blood and sweat and smoke -

"Jes’?" Beau chokes out, muscles locked and heart pounding because this can't be real, "Is this- Is it really you?"

The hold on her tightens and Beau feels a nod, a horn jutting into her chin. The pressure in her lungs leaves with one breath and she melts against the tiefling, wraps one arm around her waist, runs her fingers against the base of Jester’s horns. One moment stretches into two, and the stares from the other patrons make her skin itch but she doesn't care.

Jester pulls herself from the embrace, just enough to be able to face her. Soft hands cup her cheeks, thumbs tracing the dark circles underneath her eyes. Purple stares so intensely, flit everywhere its gaze could reach - lips to chin to temple as if the tiefling was committing each shape and feature to memory, like she's scared Beau would disappear if she looks away.

Her lungs ache, breathless in the best and worst way, and she can’t stop herself -

"I'm sorry." 

The gentle strokes against her skin stop. She catches a flash of something in Jester's eyes, too quick for her to figure out but potent enough to make her shoulders tense. She averts her gaze, tries to chase away the sudden feeling of cold creeping into her stomach.

Silence seeps in, floods the space between them until she feels like a ship chasing the horizon. Beau finds herself eyeing the entrance, the windows, muscles locked and ready to flee but she doesn't want to leave.

A quiet sigh barely reaches her ears. She feels Jester's palms slowly drop from her face to her hands, their fingers intertwining.

"I was mad at you, you know?" says Jester softly, rueful smile tugging on her lips, "So so mad."

Beau tears her gaze away from the window calling to her and turns to Jester, slew of words ready to run out of her chest - apologies, explanations, neither. She meets her gaze, expecting to see anger, hurt, disappointment, all three even.

Yet all she sees is tiredness, a mirror to her own, and suddenly all the words on the tip of her tongue vanish.

Jester watches her own fingers trace circles on the back of Beau’s hand. “I think I scared the others a bit, how angry I was” she laughs, short and subdued, “I wish you were there to see it, you would’ve been so proud.”

“I’m still mad. And we still need to talk. All of us.” she looks up at Beau, gives her hand a squeeze, smile growing a little bit brighter, “But right now I’m just really glad you’re not like, dead or something. Like, the hag was saying all of these crazy things when we were killing her, like she was all like ‘she’s already dead!’ and we were all like ‘fuck you!’ and then she was like ‘her soul is bonded to me for eternity!’ and - ”

“Wait,” Beau interrupts, “You guys killed Isharnai?”

Jester rolls her eyes. “Well duh. How do you think we got to you?” her brows furrow, “We Sent to you like, right after it happened, did you not get it?”

“No. I got the other ones, and then they just kinda stopped coming, like a few weeks ago,” Beau shrugs, rubs the back of her tingling neck, “Honestly, kinda thought you guys were dead. Or finally got tired of me.”

Jester jerks back, sputtering, “Tired of you? Beau, we would never, we love you so much!”

Beau makes a noncommittal hum, shrugs again.

“We do,” she insists. “I love you so much,” Jester finishes quietly, blinks once, twice.

Beau feels dizzy, the somersaults in her stomach doing nothing to help. “I love you, too, you know that.”

“No!” Beau’s face falls, and Jester panics, lets go of Beau’s hand and waves her arms around, “Wait, no, I mean, yes! I know, you love me, but I mean -”

“BEAU!”

They jerk away from each other, the shout clearly heard over the din of the tavern. Her heart stutters - she knows that voice.

Nott bursts through the entryway first, almost unrecognizable to Beau in her halfling form, if not for the crossbow on her back and the jade bracelet on her wrist. Yasha runs in afterward, Frumpkin resting on her head, almost trips on Nott in her haste to get inside. Caduceus hurries inside, nearly hits his head on the door frame. Caleb and Fjord stumble in right on his heels, both of them out of breath.

Caduceus sees her first and begins to squeeze his way towards her, murmuring apologies to the bar patrons he jostles. Fjord follows suit, dragging Caleb by his coat sleeve. Yasha and Nott keep close behind them, Frumpkin slinking between a half-elf's legs. 

Jester pulls away from her, keeps a hand on her back and her tail wrapped around Beau’s wrist. The somersaults in her stomach are back again, except this time they’re jumping on her lungs and scratching under her skin and beating on her throat and -

She closes her eyes, imagines the resounding splash of breaking waves, gritty sand in her mouth, the blast of wind against her skin leaving goosebumps in its wake. She counts one, two and breathes a little more loosely.

Her eyes blink open.

Standing in front of her, panting, sweating, questionable stains on their armor, growing grins of disbelief - the Mighty Nein.

---

A second passes, then two, then more - no one saying anything. The longer the silence stretches, the more her stomach drops, the more the door calls to her.

"Um.” Better that it’s her who breaks the quiet, she figures. “Long time no see?" Her voice cracks, and her eye twitches, "Fuck, shit, I mean-"

Then. The shape of buttons against her calf. Calloused hand on her shoulder. Scent of incense and ink and saltwater and tea. Furry chin digging onto the top of her head. Strong arms around her. Mix of green, pink, white, blue, ginger, blurring together.

The tears are sudden, but she welcomes them all the same.

---

Reani arrives later, knowing grin on her face as she slides next to Beau at the table. The rest of the Nein waves, busy playing a Xhorhasian dice game Yasha was trying to teach them.

“Exciting enough?”

Beau snorts, nudges her on the arm with her shoulder. “You’re such an ass for not telling me,” she says, no actual malice in her voice.

Reani just laughs, shoves her back, Beau doesn’t even budge.

“Really though,” Beau says, tapping the table, “Thank you. For this. For everything. I owe you.” She coughs, rubs at the corner of her eyes.

Reani pretends she didn’t notice Beau’s voice crack, her grin settling into a smile. "We're friends. You don't owe me anything," she pulls Beau into a quick side-hug, lets go. "Just visit more often and take care of yourself."

They watch Fjord lose against Nott, cackling as he gets even greener, being forced to drink a mix of Caleb’s ale, Nott’s whiskey, and Jester’s milk. Nott slams her flask onto the table, flings the dice towards Beau. She catches them easily, rolls them around in her palm.

“I challenge Beau to this - Bunions and Dice? Whatever this game is called - and whoever loses has to pay for the drinks of everyone in this tavern,” the halfling gestures wildly, nearly toppling Yasha’s ale. Nott holds out her hand, eyes squinting, “Do we have a deal?”

Beau stares at the hand, smirks, and squeezes the hand offered to her.

"Deal."

[lokispettigerr]

To Summon a Witcher: Chapter 5- Geralt x Reader (NSFW)

Summary:  Reader lives and works in one of the most romantic cities in the US, Charleston, SC. However, because of the city’s colored past, romance isn’t the only thing that can be found there– it is said that ghosts, goblins, ghouls and the like make the city their home. When Reader meets one of these creatures she has to get the help of someone not quite so human in order to be free, but he frees her from much more than she ever expected.  

Word Count: 1,987

Warnings: Angry Daddy, Violence, Spooky shit that Daddy protecc reader from

A/N: So far, with the exclusion of chapter 1, this CHAPTER IS MY FAVORITE!

Taglist: In reblog

When I awoke Saturday morning I left my room to find Geralt laying on the couch. His eyes, as stunning as the sunrise, were already open.

“Morning,” I said with a yawn.

“Mmm,” he replied, his voice sounding rougher with the fading tendrils of sleep. I shuffled into the kitchen and started making breakfast. Normally, I wouldn’t eat breakfast. I wasn’t much of a breakfast person, or much of a morning person. I was certain my heavily muscled guest however, needed nourishment.

I put down enough slices of bacon to fill an old cast-iron pot.

The mapley, enticing scent filled the air as the bacon grease heated and popped. “Smells wonderful,” Geralt said. I jumped, turning to face him. How long had he been standing there?! “Timid, Enchantress?” He asked with a smirk. “Not usually!” I exclaimed. “Can’t you make more noise? How are you this quiet when you move? You’re huge!”

Geralt looked down at his waist. He shrugged, clearly indifferent.

“I can hum.”

I had a hard time imagining the aggressive Witcher of last night humming tunes as he walked about.

“Nevermind,” I snapped.

The bacon cooking was growing increasingly louder and I had a hard time hearing anything over it, but I was certain I heard him chuckle.

After I scrambled some eggs, buttered toast, and whipped up southern style grits, we sat down to eat. I had a cup of coffee, almost too hot in my hands. “Would you like some?” I offered. He hmphed and I took that to mean he did.

I drank my own coffee black and didn’t add anything to his either. If he wanted something, he could tell me-- though he didn’t seem to be particularly verbose. We sat in silence other than our utensils scraping the floral plates and the muted thump of coffee mugs on the wooden, four-seater table. I nibbled at a slice of crispy bacon then cleared my throat. “Well, I… I’ve had an entity attached to me, Witcher.”

“Hm…” He sipped his coffee, “Tell me about it.” I felt like I was about to tell my life troubles to a therapist. Perhaps I should go lie down on the couch and ask Geralt to put on some reading glasses while he looked over the rim of them at me and scribbled madly away in a leather-bound notebook. “A few months ago, during a storm, I walked home through a local cemetery.” He snorted, “Why would you walk home through there?”

“I wouldn’t have, had it not been for the storm,” I said, “I know I wasn’t alone there.”

“In the cemetery?”

“Yes.”

“No, you wouldn’t be,” he stated. “Something out there, made of shadow and chilled wind followed me home. It hasn’t left since.” “Why do you think it followed you?” The Witcher asked. I wanted to evade his question-- very few knew my secret. If people knew, they would think I needed to be hospitalized. But, if I wasn’t completely honest with Geralt he may not be able to help me, or things would go awry. “I see it,” I sighed, “I feel it.” He shook his head and took a sip of his steaming coffee, “You see things happening around you, inexplicable things?” He asked. “Well, yes. But I see the entity as well, Witcher.”

For the first time since his arrival, Geralt looked surprised.

“What you are claiming is extremely rare. During my time the ability was nearing extinction. I would imagine that during your time-- what’s the year now?”

“2020,” I answered. He paused, “2020 then. I would imagine that the ability does not exist at all.” “I’m not lying. I see it. It has pointed ears that sit on top of its head. Deep red eyes that look like clotted and cold blood. It’s hunched over with arms that near the ground. It looks perverse! This shadow thing! Like it should walk about on all fours, yet it stands on its hind-legs. “For days it will seem as if it has finally left me. Hope will begin to grow in my chest. But then, when the sun has set or is hidden behind the clouds, I’ll feel its frigid breath on the back of my neck. The noise it makes… A whisper of nails against a chalkboard or gravel turning under someone’s shoes as they run away from a murder.” “Take me to the cemetery,” Geralt demanded.

I nodded, though I had no desire to ever return to the graveyard, I knew better than to refuse his demand. I took one last nibble of bacon, finished my coffee, and told him once I was done washing up I would take him there.

My hands shook as I walked away from him. What had I gotten myself into now?

The sun shone brightly overhead. Though it was chilly out, walking under the rays of the sun made it seem warmer than it was. What few red and orange leaves were left on the trees clung desperately to the limbs, shaking and quivering like a death rattle.

Surprisingly, the french quarter was quiet with the exception of a few people walking their designer-suit-dogs and people returning from a stop at the local market, their arms hoisting bags laden with the freshest finds, aromatic baked bread, and carefully arranged bouquets.

I watched as any person passing by Geralt would cross to the other side of the street, giving him a wide berth.  

I sniffed. He didn’t smell bad, on the contrary, his scent was inviting-- like freshly crushed pine, saddle leather, and the smell of smoke still wafting from a campfire that had long been put out but still burned with hidden embers. I looked at the towering man walking silently beside me, at his hands that he held relaxed along his side, at the manly sway of his big shoulders, at the way the breeze twirled his loose silver curls, and how the sun glinting off his hair made him look like some cast down angel of destruction. Geralt must have felt me watching him, our eyes met briefly and I looked away. I pointed at the wrought iron gate before us covered in twisting vines, “It’s there.” The cemetery looked less threatening in the bright afternoon light. Birds flew from tree to tree, singing their gay songs and squirrels scampered up and down thick-girthed trunks whose roots came under the fence line and pushed through cracks in the cobblestone. In the summer, the smell of the magnolia blossoms and the honeysuckle would lay thick in the soupy air, but now it reeked of decay from the dead, molded leaves, mixing with the clay underneath. I moved behind Geralt, my fear letting me step back for the familiar stranger to take the lead. I fought the urge to reach out and grab the back of his graying tunic or to link my fingers in his. Instead, I crossed my arms under my breasts. Geralt looked back at me before opening the gate. “You’re cold, Enchantress?” He asked with a small smile. “I’m fine.” Geralt shrugged and pushed through the gate, the rusted hinges creaked loudly in protest. Geralt walked along the overgrown path and I followed in his footsteps. We traveled as far back as the south end of the graveyard. Geralt looked around us before stepping off the path and into a walled group of headstones, many of them dating back to the early 1800s. I wondered if he noticed the dates on the headstones and what it would feel like to see the dates of the dead from his future, but in his present, from the past. If he was disturbed or conflicted, his face did not show it.

He moved between the headstones comfortably, looking like death himself. He led us to a shadowed corner of the graveyard, compared to the rest of the graveyard this area was wild chaos. It was obvious, the place had been forsaken by the groundskeeper long ago. A stone crypt reached up toward the sky. A dog looking gargoyle stared down at us from above the door. It was a gruesome looking thing. Did it wake at night, wandering about the cemetery? I wondered if it would still be here if we were to come back tomorrow. The gargoyle seemed to hold authority both in its stature and in its gaze as if it held dominion over all the residents in the graveyard.

“Witcher,” I said, my voice wavering. “What are we doing here?” He turned and looked over my head, making sure we weren’t being watched. Though the door of the crypt was bolted shut and chained with aged links, with one shove Geralt opened the door.

For a moment, I thought about waiting for him outside of the crypt. A cloud passed over the sun, causing a chill to race up my spine.

I darted into the crypt after him.

In the gloom of the crypt, I could barely make out Geralt’s hard form. He stood still, not even appearing to breathe.

I heard rustling and my heart jumped. We were not alone!

“Come to me! Now!” Geralt growled, his arm reaching for me.

“But--.”

“Now!” He roared.

I leapt towards him, unsure if I was more afraid of whatever was in the crypt with us or Geralt.

His hand palmed the side of my hip and pulled me behind him-- blocking me with his body.

And, oh my, I was shocked at how tiny I felt up against him.

I peeked around his thick arm.

From behind a bolted sarcophagus, a huge, long-haired, black dog prowled.  His lips were drawn back to expose his pointed teeth and a snarl ripped from his throat. It was clear we were trespassing.

“Geralt! What is that?!”

Without thinking, I wrapped my arms around Geralt’s waist, it was like hugging solid steel. I couldn’t even clasp my hands together. He was huge and I didn’t think I would ever get used to it.

With a sudden and sharp movement of his hand, a wave of force emitted from his finger-tips.

Amazingly, it sent the ferocious dog flying back.

It hit the wall of the crypt with a solid thud and let out a frantic yelp. The dog got to its feet with its tail tucked between its legs as it ran from the crypt, out into the graveyard.

I let out a sigh and Geralt moved me around to face him.

He held me tight against his chest, my face buried between his pecs.

From beneath my waist, a solid thick poke stabbed into me-- must have been the adrenaline again. “Geralt--,” I started. “Are you alright?” His voice was filled with sincerity.

“I-I’m fine.”

He instantly let go of me as if realizing for the first time that he had been clinging on to me desperately, and tight enough to crush me.

“Come on, then,” he said in a hushed tone.

Geralt was silent as we left the graveyard. When we finally made it back to the house, the sun was setting in the sky.

“So…,” I said. “The entity following you is not just any entity, Enchantress. A Grim has attached itself to your soul. For why I do not know. It doesn’t make sense. But I am certain, none of this will end until it drives you to madness, or death, or both. It would cause your soul to be separated from your body, driven by insanity, making your soul ever restless.”

The words fell, heavy in the air and covered me like a net of fear.

Geralt must have seen the anxiety in my eyes and he moved closer to me.In a murmur that sounded like the most comforting of lullabies, he said, “Everything will be alright. I won’t allow that to happen. I swear it.”

And with that, I knew it would be. Everything would be alright.

[dailydianakko]

Ink Slinger- I just really need my textbook

Yes the title is a shameless rip from the song (highly reccomend y’all give it a listen) Anyway first chapter of the bookstore au! Next chapter is never. I hope you all enjoy it, it’s my longest work thus far! I wanted to challenge myself, and I think I succeded. A big thank you to all my beta readers who put up with my awful tangled words! Anyway, here is the first chapter. Also on AO3 Here.

Akko gasped as her feet hit the hard concrete of the sidewalk. The crisp air invaded her lungs with each gasping breath, making her throat feel raw and her nose run. Waking up late once again had sent her into a wild crunch for time. She had planned to stop by the bookstore Lotte had recommended she go to before class. The quiet girl had told her that it was really well stocked for a private store, and Lotte frequented enough bookstores to know what was good and what wasn’t. Her expertise was the sole reason to warrant Akko even making a trip like this. Her friend was practically a walking yelp review to most any store in the county, much less state. Lotte’s frequent searches for sold out Nightfall books had only added to her knowledge, and Akko would be forever grateful. After all, Lotte shared the spirit of hope that often accompanied the search for rare or out of stock books.

Akko was still stubbornly clinging to the hope that she might find one of the missing books in her Shiny Chariot collection. That or a replacement “Introduction to English Literature” book that had sadly bitten the dust earlier in the week. The freak coffee incident had really left its mark, both on Akko’s skin and on everyone in the shared school dorm room. Sucy still hadn’t managed to get the coffee stains out of her lab coat and Akko really hoped that she wouldn’t try to get revenge later. She really had no desire to be woken up at four in the morning with another chemical concoction being poured down her throat. Akko gave a hard swallow to try to erase that particular memory. To be honest, Sucy never really needed a reason to use Akko as a resident guinea pig; but Akko didn’t like Sucy having an excuse. Sucy was a master manipulator, and she had no qualms about using guilt to motivate Akko into being a willing participant. Maybe she should just skip town and change her name. Assume a new identity and hope Sucy wouldn’t find her. 

Akko slowed down to a jog as she started to weave around other pedestrians that were filling the streets. It was getting rather crowded now due to the impending lunch hour. Lucky her.

She began to check road signs. Lotte said it would be in this area. Keeping her quick pace, Akko began to scan the nearby buildings for the bookstore she wanted to visit before class. She needed a replacement book today or her professor was seriously going to have her head!

Akko skidded to a halt as she caught sight of the lavender building that had the sign “Quill and Crow” hanging above the entrance; with the emblem of a white crow behind the cursive lettering. The store looked like an old Victorian building, matching the rest of the old era stores on the street. Like many of the cafes and stores of the small town of Blytonbury, it had been a reconverted house with its own quirks and renovations to distinguish it from the others. 

Akko quickly crossed the street after checking and making sure it was devoid of cars. Getting hit now would definitely make her late for class. Stepping up onto the cracked sidewalk, she looked once more at the building. Particularly the porch. There were weathered wicker chairs that had small tables next to them, each with a potted plant. The flowers clearly had been tended with loving care and were blooming beautifully. The seating was scattered in various areas along the white wood of the decking. The seating was far apart enough to be comfortable, giving off the air that one could happily read while in the company of others and avoid the uncomfortable feeling of overcrowding.

It would’ve been nice to sit among the gerbera daisies and catch her breath, but Akko had things to do and a class she could not afford to be late for. She quickly hopped up the creaky steps and passed the chairs. She was proud to say that she only paused a second, glancing at the tempting chairs and the comfort and resting potential that they provided, before turning the brass handle of the door and stepping into the building.

Her first impression was that it was quite clean. The dark floor showed no sign of dust nor dirt and was free of scratches and scuff marks. If Akko didn’t know any better, she would have thought the cream walls had been freshly painted. The missing wet sheen told her that yes, it would be safe to fall into should she lose her balance. Either this store was brand new, which she doubted, or it was very well kept.

The floor plan of the building was fairly open, and had various helpful signs in flowing script directing her where to go. She walked up to a nearby chalkboard sign, stepping around a full umbrella stand, with its own little handwritten sign that said “take but return.” Akko read the board quietly to herself. The first floor was non-fiction, café/gift shop area, and educational books, whereas the second floor was fiction, a sitting area, and a book exchange shelf. Akko knew the first floor was where she should stay, but her adventurous nature made her want to explore the second floor. Perhaps she’d find the Shiny Chariot book in the exchange section. Also, the farther away from coffee she was, the better it was for her. The incident was still all too fresh in her mind.

Akko wandered through the shelves until she found the stairway to the second floor. She slid her hand along the rich dark wood of the thick banister. It was smooth and cool to the touch. She climbed up the slightly creaky steps hesitantly. The store was quiet and she had yet to encounter any workers, maybe it was closed. As she got closer to the second floor, the tantalizing smell of old books hiding among new ones greeted her. She took in a deep breath and let out a happy sigh. Akko always loved the smell of books, be it old or new. She allowed the smell to enchant her and forgot about her worries. Akko stepped lightly through the shelves, there seemed to be no concrete sitting area, save for a large table with comfortable looking chairs suited to gatherings. It seemed the owners had opted for having various spots to sit hidden among the bookcases instead, much to Akko’s approval. As her eyes traced the spines of the books, reading various new titles, her attention was grabbed by the book exchange area. Just what she was looking for! The sign indicating the exchange area was written in the same script as all the other ones that littered the first floor of the store. Underneath the words book exchange was the apparent rules to this area of the store. “Take a book, leave a book,” Akko read aloud slowly “Books that are unexchanged are 50 cents per book. Area is sponsored by Croix Merides, Dean of the Robotics Branch of Luna Nova.”

The books on this particular shelf looked to be old and heavily used. Spines of the paperbacks were bent and the paper was fraying with heavy use. Not only did these books contain tales printed in ink along the pages, but it looked as if they held stories of the lives of the countless people who had read them.  As Akko skimmed the shelf, one particular book stood out to her. She picked up the random title and glanced down at the cover. A dragon, regal and ancient, was illustrated; with the title in gilt lettering above it. “The Tales of Fafnir.” How interesting. She ran her fingers along the dog-eared pages and flipped through it. Some pages were marked with crayon scribbles, and an old library card codex was still lodged on the inner cover. It proudly displayed the names of those who had previously checked out the once library book. Akko felt her excitement bubble within her, and gently stomped her feet excitedly on the floor. She knew she was going to find a treasure here. Perhaps she’d find the missing book in her collection. “Shiny Chariot and the Tree of Life” had been quite elusive. No bookstores carried the titles after the author’s fall from grace, and whatever books that floated around ebay always exceeded the price range of a college student.

 A small beep and a bump against her shoes drew Akko out of her excited thoughts. A little Roomba buzzed against her, stubbornly trying to finish its job. A little medallion signified that it belonged to the store and that its name was Jasper. Akko lifted up her foot and watched the Roomba go along its merry way. Gripped by yet more curiosity, Akko put back the book she held in her hands and followed Jasper as it rolled along, making an occasional boop. She stopped in her tracks when Jasper rolled up to a blonde organizing the shelves. The little robot tapped gently against the blonde’s ankle and she bent down to give it a pat. It let out a contented beep and then the mystery girl gently pushed it on its merry way with a tap of her ankle. Akko swore her heart melted at the action. The girl was so cute, treating Jasper like an errant cat. Akko must have let out a small coo, because the blonde turned towards her with a start. The look of surprise quickly fled from her face as the girl adopted more of a schooled and closed off look. “May I help you?” the girl said with a touch of frost in her voice. Akko could’ve sworn that the temperature in the room went down a few degrees. Maybe this was why the bookstore was empty. As much as Akko wanted to bite back, she figured the girl was probably embarrassed and decided she should kill with kindness.

“I am Atsuko, but you can call me Akko,” Akko bounced slightly on her toes with nervousness. “I was wondering if you had any English textbooks. Mostly Introduction to English Literature? I need it for a class.” Akko looked over the blonde once more. Neat jeans, a crisp button up, and immaculate hair. She was really pretty. Meanwhile Akko was in a stained college hoodie, basketball shorts, and her hair was probably a nightmare from her mad dash to the store. She probably wasn’t going to make a good impression. Akko quickly stood to attention as she realized the blonde was talking. She tried to register whatever the blonde was saying after her sudden mental checkout.

“-Diana, the books you should be looking for are on the first floor. Would you like me to escort you?” Diana’s voice sounded less frosty and more professional. Akko gave a quick nod and stepped to the side, making space for Diana to walk by. Diana shelved the book in her hand and moved the crate that had been hiding behind her closer to the shelf so that nobody would trip over it. As she walked by Akko, the brunette picked up a flowery smell, like a meadow covered in the early morning dew. It was nice. Akko began to follow after Diana, much like a puppy. The blonde was moving quickly, and with a purpose. She was fast, but not so fast that Akko would lose sight of her or have a hard time keeping up. Diana must have been experienced in leading people. Diana led her back out of the book exchange area, past the solitary communal desk, and right back to the stairs. She let out a word of warning to Akko when they began to descend to the first floor. Akko walked down the precarious steps much slower than Diana. After all, she had a track record of falling down and she didn't want to crush Diana. Diana waited, arms crossed, as Akko walked down the last few steps. After Akko had her feet safely on the ground, she turned on her heel and resumed her fast walk. Once again guiding Akko to her much needed textbook.

 As they walked down what Akko deemed to be the textbook section, she marveled at the shelves of old college books that stretched on. Criminal Psychology, Introduction to Biology, Business Law, were all lined up. As Akko quickly read some of the spines, she quickly realized some of these textbooks were fairly old. Some of the editions even stretched back to 2007. It probably contributed to their low price. Without Akko noticing, Diana stopped abruptly having reached their destination. Akko stumbled as she tried to avoid hitting Diana. The blonde looked somewhat amused at Akko’s flailing limbs as she tried to regain balance and not fall over.

“Here is our shelf of older textbooks; I must warn you that older editions are usually outdated in information, and can conflict with current tests. Price tags are on the binding, and we do have editions that are loose and in binders that run cheaper in the back.” Diana ran a hand fondly along the shelf, and picked out a book. “This one is a 2016 edition of Introduction to English Literature, it’s the most recent one we have.” Diana quickly flipped through the book seemingly searching for something. Whatever she was looking for she must’ve not found, because she closed it with a jarring snap that made Akko jump slightly. Diana shoved the book into Akko’s direction, and despite herself Akko took the book in her hands. She figured Diana as a store employee would know which book would be the best one. Granted, Akko might regret her decision at the register, but she really needed an Intro to English Lit., lest her professor actually somehow get her expelled.

“Thank you, Diana.” Akko paused and shifted the book in her grip nervously. “Do you have any books by an author named Chariot, as in the Shiny Chariot series?” Akko probably was treading on dangerous territory now. There was a reason why it was so hard to find books written by Chariot du Nord. She had been blacklisted among the writing communities and fans. Chariot had been an innovator for an entire genre, but when it was revealed she had cheated her way to the top, she had fallen from grace very quickly. The Golden Quill, the competition that had given Chariot her  fame, was somewhat of a lottery where a participant was randomly chosen to have their work carefully reviewed by judges. If the author had been lucky enough to get selected, their book would be published and they practically had their pick of editors and publishers. Most of the lucky winners of the event had gone on to obtain prestigious writing awards. A sudden revelation among the judges years later revealed Chariot had hacked the system to delete all other participants, leaving her work as the sole entry. The media tore her reputation to shreds and her fans quickly abandoned her. Chariot had denied cheating, claiming that she had no idea such a thing occurred. However it was too late and the damage was done. Bookstores had slowly stopped carrying her books and publishers had shut their doors. The critically acclaimed series “Shiny Chariot” had been discontinued and forgotten.

Obviously Diana knew of Chariot’s supposed sin, and the shift in her mood after hearing Akko’s question was very noticeable. She had stood up to her full height while Akko spoke, and then had gone still. She was almost a head taller than the brunette. Akko cringed internally when she noticed that the fondness that had lit Diana’s eyes when she had looked at the books was gone. It had been exchanged for a more hostile look. Yup, Akko had totally made a mistake. “Unfortunately, we do not carry any of Chariot du Nord’s books here;” Diana practically spat the name out with tangible dislike and possible hatred “I am sure you are aware why, if you are looking for her books.”

Akko felt a shiver roll up her spine at Diana’s not so subtle anger. “I am allowed to like Chariot. She shouldn’t have been completely erased like that. I want to one day write as well as she did.” Akko said as she felt her hands clench. Just because Chariot might have done wrong, doesn’t mean she should have been completely blacklisted. She might have been innocent like she had claimed. Akko admired Chariot as a child. The author was genuinely good at writing, putting together stories that had filled Akko with wonder. Even if Chariot had cheated, Akko was always filled with nostalgia whenever she picked up one of the books Chariot had written. They were like magic, and Akko wanted to be a witch casting spells with her words and enchanting her readers, just like her idol. Akko inhaled sharply as she saw Diana’s eyes flash in clear anger. Akko should have stayed quiet, and not go around picking fights. Diana probably wouldn’t get physical since it might cost her a job, but she certainly looked like she would throw hands at any given moment.

The tension in the room grew thicker as Akko stared at Diana, waiting for her to speak. The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours, until a little chirp sounded off behind Akko. She gave a small scream that was also echoed by a strangled yelp of fright from Diana. Probably in response to Akko’s yelling. Akko dropped her book as she whirled around to check the source of the noise. Her legs tangled together from the quick turn and she fell to the ground with a thump. She heard Diana let out a quiet scoff, probably at her lack of grace. Akko let out a small groan and looked to see what had startled her and Diana out of their standoff. It was another Roomba. This one had a little nametag of Shark on it, as well as a little cardboard fin taped to its head. Endearing, if it hadn’t scared years off of Akko’s life. Akko watched as it turned around and rolled away. Jerk.

Akko turned her head back to Diana as she felt the blonde walk up to her. Diana crouched down and picked up the book Akko had dropped in fright. She brushed it off and looked it over for damage. The blonde seemed satisfied that the book was okay and looked at Akko. Of course the bookstore employee would care more about a book than a human. Diana offered her hand, and Akko stared at it confused for a second until she reached out and took it. Diana’s hands were warm, a sharp contrast to her cold eyes. “Thanks.” Akko said awkwardly as Diana helped pull her to her feet. Diana let out a grumpy noncommittal hum in response. Akko blinked as she realized Diana was staring at her. Then she realized that she was still holding Diana’s hand.

“You have really nice hands,” Akko’s words tumbled out of her mouth “they’re really soft. Smooth.” Oh no she was babbling. She still hadn't let go of Diana’s hands. Also she was rubbing her thumb over Diana’s hand. Akko’s gay was showing. She felt her face getting redder, and Diana also seemed to have taken on the hue of a strawberry. Akko dropped Diana’s hands like she had touched a hot stove only after the blonde cleared her throat awkwardly. Akko should really relearn her social skills. Trying  to get rid of the horrible awkward feeling that settled in her chest, Akko scrubbed her hands on her shorts. Yep. Her hands were sweaty. Diana probably thought she was a crazy person. A crazy person who started fights over children’s books and held random girl’s hands tenderly for long periods of time. She could never come here again. 

“Let’s get you get checked out, shall we?” Akko blinked as Diana practically shoved the English book into her hands. Diana was checking her out? Akko gaped at Diana until her brain connected the dots. Oh yes, she was buying a book. A book for a class. A class that she was totally going to be late for. Oh dear.

“Diana,” Akko said in a panicked tone, her voice raising a few octaves, “what time is it, exactly?” Akko felt her foot start tapping as her anxiety rose. If the time was what she thought it would be, then she was screwed.

“One-thirty.” Diana responded as she checked her phone. She was avoiding all eye contact, and had once again crossed her arms as if to avoid touching Akko. Akko honestly couldn’t blame her. She was a particular brand of crazy that most people could only take in small doses, and she had definitely overstayed her welcome. Akko began walking to what she assumed would be checkout. “Diana,” Akko liked the way Diana’s name sounded when she said it “I am about to be incredibly late for an English class that I need this book for. I gotta go. Like the ‘I should have left ten minutes ago’, gotta go.”

Diana rolled her eyes and walked by Akko, the smell of a meadow trailing after her. God Akko liked that smell. “Then I suggest you follow me, you were about to head in the wrong direction.” Though Diana was rude, Akko appreciated Diana’s quick pace as they walked through the store. Once more Diana was leading her through the winding shelves with a purpose. It turned out that the register was near the door. It was hidden from view from those walking in by a strategically placed bookshelf. Diana smoothly slid behind the counter and rattled off a number. Probably the book’s price. Akko didn’t quite hear what she said; she was too panicked, and simply threw four ten dollar bills at Diana’s face. She didn’t even bother waiting for her receipt or change. Akko threw herself forwards, sprinting to the door and fumbling with the knob. She didn’t even want to think about what Diana’s face looked like now, watching Akko flail around like an idiot. She managed to get the door open and resumed her mad dash once more, clipping an old lady with her shoulder on the way out. Both stumbled, but managed to recover. Akko ignored the irate calls after her. Gasping heavily, she began her mad sprint up the street and towards the college. If she took a shortcut through the alley and behind the old pizza parlor, Akko figured she could shave off a few minutes of time.

Covered in sweat, completely disheveled and probably wrinkling the pages of her new book, Akko was proud to say that she ended up only two minutes late. She was only scolded by Professor Finnelan for a total of ten minutes. All in all, a successful adventure.

[searchingwardrobes]

Sadie Hawkins Dance

Yes, I know it is Thursday, so don’t worry, I will be posting chapter four of Until the Day Breaks and the Shadows Flee. However, I couldn’t wait to post this because I first got the idea months ago, and it is a gift for a wonderful friend. @snowbellewells is like my fandom twin. We have so much in common, and we’re constantly saying to each other “me too!” when we chat. Marta, you are one of the kindest people I have ever met, and I wish I could send you a handsome pirate to feed you Hershey Kisses, but alas you’ll have to settle for this fic. But, my dear friend, you deserve all the best!

Marta, this fic was inspired by our conversations about term paper season as English teachers. Remember when I told you about rewarding myself with Hershey kisses every time I finished grading a paper? I stopped classroom teaching when I had my oldest, and since Luke turns eleven next week, that means I’ve been away for over a decade! It’s hard to believe, and I know that things have changed tremendously since I taught. However, my mom, my sister, and my cousin are all still teaching, and I know from them that kids now do almost all their work on laptops given to them by the school. When I taught I still used an overhead projector! Anyway, I tried to make this accurate, but I may have made mistakes, and I also know here in the States things vary so drastically state to state and district to district. My point is, I tried!

Also based on the song by Relient K. My husband was cleaning out his nightstand a few months ago and found an old CD Walkman. Inside was my old Relient K CD, and I have been on a kick listening to them again ever since.

Summary: English teacher Emma Swan and her fellow English teacher and best friend Killian Jones use Hershey Kisses and a bet involving their school’s upcoming Sadie Hawkins dance to motivate them as they grade term papers. But will this lead to kisses other than the chocolate variety?

Rating: G for tooth rotting sweetness

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging: @jennjenn615 @kmomof4 @kday426 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @whimsicallyenchantedrose @welllpthisishappening @thislassishooked @branlovestowrite @delirious-latenight-laughs @resident-of-storybrooke @ekr032-blog-blog @nikkiemms @shireness-says @ultraluckycatnd @optomisticgirl @distant-rose @profdanglaisstuff @gingerchangeling @vvbooklady1256 @wellhellotragic @ohmakemeahercules @hollyethecurious @cocohook38 So many of us love Marta, go give her some birthday wishes!

She said, “You’re smooth, and good with talking. Will you go with me to the Sadie Hawkins?” The Sadie Hawkins dance, in my khaki pants, there’s nothing better. The girls ask the guys. It’s always a surprise. There’s nothing better. Baby, do you like my sweater?

Killian Jones slammed down his red pen, then slapped his hand on the term paper he had just finished grading. Emma Swan rolled her eyes at his dramatics.

“Hit me,” he said.

Emma grabbed a Hershey Kiss from the bowl on her coffee table and unwrapped it. “Open up,” she told him.

She tossed the candy through the air, and her best friend caught it perfectly on his tongue. He relished the chocolate with exaggerated pleasure, winking at her as he swiped his tongue across his bottom lip. Emma rolled her eyes.

“You’re full of it, Jones, and a complete drama queen.”

He chuckled as he slid another paper from the three stacks lined up in front of him on the coffee table. Emma sat with her back against her sagging couch, her legs spread out in front of her beneath the well worn table. Her stockinged feet rested in Killian’s lap. He sat cross-legged on the other side of the table. His neat stacks of papers sat on one end, and Emma’s laptop on the other. Killian cocked his head at her, his pen tapping on the dented wood.

“A drama queen? You wound me, Swan.”

She squinted as she searched the screen for where she’d left off reading her next student’s paper. “Well you’re the one eating chocolate like it’s a sensual experience.”

“It is a sensual experience - meaning pertaining to the senses,” he argued. “I smell the cocoa, I taste the milk chocolate, and I feel the candy melting on my tongue.”

As if to prove his point, his tongue made yet another appearance. Emma glared at him.

“Okay, you make eating chocolate seem like an orgasmic experience.”

He laughed, scratching behind his ear, and Emma grinned at the nervous tell. She’d won this round of their usual flirtatious, slightly scandalous banter, and she inwardly exulted. She was well aware that most of the teachers and half the students at Storybrooke High were wondering when the Freshman English teacher and the Junior English teacher were finally going to get together. She hated to disappoint them, but it was never going to happen. Killian had started out as her co-worker, then had wormed his way into the friend zone, and the next logical step would be a relationship. Emma didn’t do relationships. One night stands, yes. Casual dates, yes. Neither of those were in the cards for her and Killian since they were permanent fixtures in each other’s lives, hence the friend zone.

“So, are you chaperoning the dance?” Emma asked casually.

“I would love to, but it’s a Sadie Hawkins dance, and no lass has asked me.”

Emma glanced up to see Killian giving her his patented adorable pout. Nobody did puppy dog eyes like Killian Jones. Emma rolled her eyes. Nobody did eye rolls like Emma Swan.

“We’re talking about chaperoning.”

“A man still likes to be wooed, Swan.”

Emma barked out a laugh at his ridiculous antics. She saved what was on her screen, entered the grade into her online gradebook, and slapped her hand on the coffee table.

“Hit me!” she said.

A Hershey Kiss went sailing through the air, hitting Emma on the cheek and bouncing onto the floor.

“Apologies, Swan.”

Emma scowled as she threw the candy back at his head. “You did that on purpose!”

He laughed as he unwrapped another chocolate, and this time, he aimed for her open mouth.

“That’s 14 down, 76 more to go,” Emma sighed. “How about you?”

“Ten.”

“You could go faster if you did it all online. That’s kind of the point of the kids emailing the links to their papers? You know, teaching in the 21st century?”

“I prefer the old fashioned way, love,” he argued splaying both hands over his perfect stacks before him, “I need to print them out, to feel them in my hands. I can also grade them anywhere, whether or not there’s wi-fi. And finally, I have a system.”

Emma shook her head as she chuckled. He’d given her a long, rather boring overview of his “system” before, one that he swore kept him from being too harsh on either the best writers or the weakest. He tried to be fair and to bring out the best in each student, so really, how could she fault him?

She could, however, tease him.

“Well, old man, I guess someone has to keep the red pen factories in business.”

“There are factories that only make red pens?”

“Someone makes them,” she mumbled as she forced herself to focus on a poorly written introduction.

“I’m fairly certain the adult coloring book trend will protect the red pen market.”

“I never got that fad.”

“It’s supposed to be relaxing, Swan.”

“What’s relaxing about coloring the same damn flower with a million petals for half an hour?”

Killian laughed, the sound of it free and easy. Their conversations were always this way. Mostly ridiculous, brutally honest, and always fun.

“You know,” Emma told him, leaning back against the couch as she worked the kinks out of her neck, “studies have proven that students get stressed when they see the color red on their work. Why don’t you use another color?”

“Like what?”

“Anything, apparently, remember the adult coloring books? Use . . . I don’t know, purple or something.”

“Then they’d just get stressed when they saw purple.”

Killian scratched a C- across the stop of the paper he was grading with a flourish, then slapped his hand down on it. “Hit me!”

Emma tossed him another Hershey Kiss, and then the two of them fell into silent concentration. Killian absentmindedly rubbed the bottom of her feet with one hand as he ran the end of his red pen along the lines in front of him. He started to chuckle after a few moments and lifted the paper for Emma to see.

“Do you know what this is?”

Emma smiled as she leaned closer to the paper. “A list?”

“Aye. A list of every short story F. Scott Fitzgerald ever wrote. With the year each was published and in what literary magazine it appeared.”

Both Emma’s eyebrows rose. “And what point font is that?”

“18 in verdana.”

Emma laughed. “Do they think we’re idiots?”

Killian shrugged as he scribbled a note in the margin. Emma spun her laptop around for him to see.

“A list of every agricultural export from Costa Rica. 22 point font, comic sans”

Killian quirked a brow. “Looks like Nicholas Zimmer takes the prize for best padding of a term paper.”

Half an hour later, the floor was littered with an obscene amount of Hershey Kiss wrappers and the tiny paper tails that Emma knew she would keep finding in her carpet for at least a month. Her vision was swimming as she tried to focus on her laptop screen and Killian was stretching the fingers of his right hand with a grimace on his face. Emma stretched both arms above her head and her spine cracked.

“25 down. You?”

Killian rubbed at his forehead wearily. “22.”

“I told you it would go faster on your computer.”

“Technically, I went faster. You completed eleven in the last half hour, while I completed twelve.”

Emma waved off his argument. “Short term gain, Jones.”

“Oh really?” he replied, leaning over the coffee table towards her. “What about a little wager, Swan?”

“I’m listening.”

“If I finish grading my term papers before you, I get to pick out what you wear for the Sadie Hawkins dance. If you finish first, you get to pick out my outfit.”

Emma narrowed her eyes as she crossed her arms. “No way I’m letting you pick out my outfit.”

“Scared?” he teased with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Of course! You’re a man! I don’t want to get fired.”

He splayed a hand over his heart. “Swan! Do you not trust me?”

“No.”

He chuckled, setting her feet on the floor so he could come around the coffee table and settle in next to her. “I just have a need to see you as a stereotypical schoolmarm. You know, tight bun, glasses, a tweed skirt.”

Emma snorted. “Let me guess, tweed mini skirt with my shirt half unbuttoned.”

“Nope,” he argued, popping his p, “I mean, full blown schoolmarm. Maybe even a cardigan and a string of pearls.”

“Okay then,” she told him, giving his tight jeans and blue button up a once over. As usual, the top few buttons were undone on his shirt to let his chest hair breath. “And if I win this little bet, I want to see you go full blown nerd. Khakis, a sweater, bow tie, the whole nine yards.”

Killian gave her a smug grin. “You’re on.”

They shook on it, and then Emma’s head fell to his shoulder. “I guess this means we should get back to work.”

“I don’t know about you, but I need a break.” Killian picked up her Roku remote. “The Musketeers?”

Emma pouted. “You know too many of my weaknesses.”

He waved the remote in her face. “Just a few episodes, Swan, you know you want to.”

She scowled at him as she snatched the remote. “One episode, then it’s back to work.”

He flashed her a toothy smile as he rose and pulled her onto the couch with him. She curled up next to him, grabbing a blanket from the arm of the sofa. One episode turned into three, which turned into both of them drifting off. The next thing Emma new, sunlight was filtering through her curtains, and Killian’s chest was rising and falling beneath her cheek.

So much for getting back to work.

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

Emma stifled a yawn as she walked up and down the rows in her first block class as her freshmen clicked away on their laptops to identify the dependent clauses in the list of sentences on their screens. She had a cup of coffee on her desk, but she was pretty sure it was cold by now. Her neck hurt too because Killian’s shoulder apparently didn’t make a very good pillow.

She paused just as she walked past Violet’s desk. The normally quiet and studious girl was laughing behind her hand, and was that the ding of an incoming message Emma had just heard from her computer? Emma spun back around, and Violet’s eyes grew large and round. The girl slammed her laptop closed, her face turning red and Emma almost felt sorry for her. She couldn’t have looked more guilty if she’d tried.

“I . . . finished early,” Violet stammered.

Emma held her hand out, “Let me see.”

Violet slumped as she turned the device towards her teacher. Emma opened the computer, and Violet’s grammar work was there on the screen. Yet down in the corner was the icon for the Discord app. Emma pulled it up and saw that Violet had been chatting with Grace three rows over. But one of her best students chatting in class in an app that wasn’t even supposed to be downloaded onto a school computer wasn’t what shocked Emma. What shocked her was the content of the conversation.

whiterabbit: saw somethin this morning

camelotgirl: what

whiterabbit: know how ms swan lives across the street

camelotgirl: yeah

whiterabbit: i saw mr jones leaving this am they hooked up!!!!

camelotgirl: no way mayb he was just givin her a ride

whiterabbit: no his car was at her place all night

camelotgirl: she does seem tired lol

whiterabbit: you know he wore her out 😜

camelotgirl: O.M.G

Emma knew her face was ten times redder than Violet’s. Which was saying a lot because Violet was currently the color of a tomato. Emma took a deep, slow breath, then released it and told herself not to panic.

“Violet, I would like to see you and Grace after class. In the meantime, you are to concentrate on the assignment and that is all.” Emma arched a brow at Grace, who also slumped in her seat. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Ms. Swan,” the girls murmured in reply.

Emma pushed Violet’s computer back to her, and forced herself to lengthen her spin and keep her voice calm. She finished the lesson, feeling relief surge through her when the bell rang. Grace and Violet, with heads down dejectedly, shuffled reluctantly to Emma’s desk.

“How did you girls get that app on your computers?” Emma asked. “You know social media of any kind isn’t allowed on school devices.”

She tapped her fingertips on the desk as she regarded the girls. Actually, the laptops were set up with all kinds of blocks and security settings, so whoever got around it was smart. Grace and Violet were good students, but they weren’t the computer hacker types.

“Do we have to tell you?” Violet asked, her lower lip trembling. “We don’t want to get him in trouble!”

Emma forced herself not to smirk. Violet had been dating Henry Mills for a few months now, and she had a strong suspicion he was the him. He was a good kid as well, but also entirely too smart. Not to mention his mother was the principal, which meant he had free rein of the school after hours. She’d also noticed him spending a large amount of time with Graham Humbert, the school IT guy. Emma had assumed it was because his mother had briefly (and notoriously) dated him, but it looked like Henry had other reasons for seeking the man out.

“No, you don’t have to tell me,” Emma said, leaving out the fact that she would be having a private conversation with his mother later. Violet visibly deflated. “But, you will be deleting that app immediately.”

She had both girls pull up Discord, and when their chat once again filled the screen, Grace turned to Emma.

“I only told Violet, and I promise I won’t tell anyone else. Your secret is safe with us.”

Emma let out an irritated breath before smoothing her features into what Killian called her “teacher face.”

“I appreciate that, Grace, but this illustrates why you can’t jump to conclusions. Gossip can do a lot of damage. Mr. Jones and I were grading papers together, that’s all.”

“Teachers pull all nighters?” Violet asked as her brows rose.

Emma chuckled. “Yes, sometimes. Term papers take a really long time to grade, so this is a very stressful time of year. That’s why I’m tired all the time.”

She gave Grace a pointed look then, and the poor girl turned a bright shade of red. “We’re sorry, Ms. Swan.”

“Apology accepted. Now, erase this app because if I see it again, I’ll have to write you up and send you to Mr. Humbert to get your hard drive wiped.”

She was fairly certain the threat of a hard drive wipe was more motivation for the girls than demerits.

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

Emma jumped when a to-go bag from Granny’s was plopped onto her desk. She rubbed her eyes wearily and blinked to clear the sleep from them. How had she fallen asleep so fast? It felt like the bell just rang to dismiss her kids to go to lunch. She looked up to see Killian standing there with a pleased grin on his face.

“Grilled cheese,” he told her.

“With fries?”

“Onion rings.”

“Good,” she said as she grabbed the bag, “I was just testing you.”

Emma bit her lower lip as she watched Killian pull up a chair and set his own Granny’s bag on her desk. School gossip had never bothered her before, but after the chat she’d read between Violet and Grace, she was tempted to ask him to eat lunch somewhere else. But how could she when he’d bought her favorite meal? Besides, it wasn’t the first time he had spoiled her this way. She’d completely taken advantage of his coveted third block planning period, yet he’d never complained.

“So how’s it going?” he asked, gesturing to her computer screen.

“It’s not,” she sighed. “I told you The Musketeers was a mistake. I’ve barely been able to keep my eyes open all day.”

He chuckled before taking a bite of Granny’s lasagna. She studied him as she dipped an onion ring in ketchup. If he was equally exhausted, he showed no evidence of it. His eyes were as bright blue as they ever were, his black dress slacks, collared shirt, and leather vest hugging his frame in a tasteful yet fashionable way. His hair was tousled, but artfully so, and she knew full well he’d spent time in front of the mirror to get it to look that way.

“What?” he asked after swallowing a bite of salad. “Do I have sauce on my shirt?”

She shook her head and smiled. “You just don’t look as tired as I do, that’s all, and it’s completely unfair.”

He shrugged and waggled his eyebrows. “What can I say? I’m devilishly handsome.”

Normally she would roll her eyes and throw him a witty retort, but today she was more aware of his flirting than usual. She glanced over his shoulder at the door that led to the hallway.

“Something is bothering you, Swan,” he told her seriously, “and it isn’t your fatigue.” He leaned closer. “You know you look lovely as always, right?”

Emma shifted nervously in her chair. “You probably shouldn’t say things like that at work.”

Killian’s eyes widened, but he quickly covered it with his usual charming smile. “Then I’ll just save it for tonight. I was thinking you could come to my place, and I could cook for you because God knows you need to be eating more than Pop Tarts and grilled cheese.”

Emma kept her eyes glued to her sandwich. “I don’t know. I was thinking I might just grade on my own tonight.”

Killian was silent for such a long time, that she finally lifted her gaze to his. There were times she got the uncanny feeling he could read her mind. Her heartbeat picked up, worried he would ask for an explanation, but instead he quirked his lips into a half smile.

“I won’t force feed you broccoli, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I just need to focus, that’s all,” Emma muttered before cramming another onion ring in her mouth.

“Okay,” he said slowly, “then how about you come over tomorrow night?”

Emma suppressed a groan. He was really going to make this difficult, wasn’t he? “I actually think we need to stop . . . you know, spending so much time together.”

Killian narrowed his eyes. “Where is this coming from?”

She let out a long, slow breath before telling him about the Discord chat she had stumbled upon. When she finished, his expression was unreadable. He just sat there, lounging back on that stupid plastic orange school chair as if she was an open book.

Oh, who was she kidding? He could always see right through her.

“Okay, Swan,” he finally said with a long, slow nod.

He rose from the desk and stepped right into her personal space, balancing both hands on the arms of the leather desk chair she had saved up money to buy herself. It was an extremely fancy chair that spun and rocked. Emma currently had it leaning back as far as it would go, and still Killian leaned forward, his nose almost brushing hers. His eyes, a darker blue than they had been when he first walked in, searched her face. His gaze flickered to her lips, and Emma wondered if he would kiss her. When he spoke instead, she was surprised at how disappointed she was.

“But the bet is still on,” he told her, voice low.

“The bet?” she winced when it came out high-pitched. Damn, she wanted to kiss him right now. What? No, he was her best friend! It wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that.

“The Sadie Hawkins dance?”

“That is a sexist and antiquated tradition.”

“Be that as it may,” he quipped with arched brows, “Storybrooke High is having one, and if I finish my term papers first, you owe me a schoolmarm outfit and a dance.”

“The bet was we had to wear whatever the other one chose. We never said anything about a dance.”

Killian leaned ever closer, turning his head to whisper in her ear. “I’m changing the terms. I want a dance.”

Emma swallowed, his close proximity sending a chill down her spine. “I am disinclined to acquiesce to your proposal,” she shot back, quoting one of his favorite movies.

Killian released the chair and stepped back, a crooked grin on his face. “We shall see about that. Good day, Swan.”

She sagged in her chair, her heart racing. It was as if she had thrown down a challenge, and Killian decided to rise to the occasion. No Emma, she admonished herself with a quick shake of her head, poor choice of words! She wet her lips, trying to calm herself down, but there was no denying it.

She had a thing for Killian Jones.

Which meant she had just lost her best friend. She turned to her desk with a groan and dropped her head to the hard surface.

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

Emma smiled when she saw the little bag of Hershey Kisses in her teacher box. She pulled them out and read the accompanying note:

75 down and only 15 more to go! I sense a schoolmarm outfit in someone’s future! Love, Killian

Her smile widened to a full blown grin as she dropped the gift into her messenger bag and pulled out her cell phone.

Thanks for the chocolate, Jones, but I see a sweater and a bow tie. 78 down. *mic drop*

Emma chuckled under her breath as she sent the text. She tossed her phone back into her bag and fished around for her keys as she headed down the humanities wing. She was surprised to see Violet and Grace waiting for her outside her door.

“What are you girls doing here so early?”

The teens glanced at each other nervously.

“We, um, wanted to talk to you,” Grace explained.

“Ok,” Emma replied as she unlocked the door. A tiny part of her worried that their private Discord chat had somehow become public, but she quickly pushed it away. After all, she had avoided Killian for a week now; their only interactions texts and the frequent chocolates left in her teacher box.

Emma entered the classroom, flipped on the lights then dropped her bag beneath her desk. She plopped into her chair and spun to face her students.

“I’m listening, ladies.”

“Well . . . “ Violet began hesitantly, “you see, we’ve been thinking, and . . . um . . . I mean, we noticed -”

“We think you should ask Mr. Jones to the Sadie Hawkins dance,” Grace blurted out.

Emma’s eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry . . . what?”

“It’s all our fault,” Grace hurried on, “that you won’t hang out with Mr. Jones anymore. I mean, everyone knows you’re together all the time - “

“- until now,” Violet put in.

“Exactly!” Grace nodded. “And Mr. Jones just hasn’t been the same. He’s really sad.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Girls, I seriously doubt Mr. Jones is pining over me or anything. We’re just friends. And I haven’t stopped hanging out with him, we’re both just busy.”

She pulled her laptop out of her messenger back and opened it up on her desk, expecting that to be it, but the girls lingered. She glanced up at them with raised brows.

“You’re wrong, Ms. Swan,” Violet said softly, “he really is sad.”

“How do you know this? You’re freshmen, he teaches juniors.”

“Henry said so.”

Emma frowned at Violet. “Your boyfriend told you his teacher is sad?”

“Well, yeah. Henry wants to be a writer, and he’s always hanging around after school because of his mom, so he’s gotten to know Mr. Jones really well.”

Emma bit her lip as she regarded the girl. She was well aware of the bond between Killian and Henry Mills. The boy had even let Killian read a few of his short stories.

“And everyone’s noticed the yearning looks and doey eyes,” Grace added with a smirk.

Emma scoffed. “I don’t yearn.”

“But he does,” both girls said at the same time.

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

Killian Jones was well aware of his tendency to brood. He used to argue when his brother Liam would accuse him of it, but now? Now there was no sense denying it. He was brooding, melancholy, angst-ridden, and a thousand other synonyms for dramatic and pathetic. He was a grown man acting like a teenager in a Disney Channel movie.

He threw his red pen down on his desk in frustration, realizing that his mind was a thousand miles away from Emily Dickinson and her dash-filled poetry. He was so close to finishing his term papers - just five to go - and he’d never wanted to win a bet so badly in his life. He’d missed Emma terribly even though it had only been a week. If he won the bet, maybe he could at least get one dance.

How many synonyms were there for pathetic?

There was a knock at his classroom door, and he wearily called out for the person to come in. He was thinking of leaving anyway. It was past five, and he obviously wasn’t getting anything else done today.

Henry Mills appeared tentatively in the doorway, and Killian grinned.

“Good afternoon, my boy, or should I say good evening? It’s late for you to still be around.”

Henry came closer to his desk with a shrug, and it was only then that Killian realized he was carrying a large shirt box.

“I went home, actually, but Violet and Ms. Swan asked me to bring this to you. Mom said you were still here, so . . . “

The boy trailed off as he set the box on Killian’s desk. Killian narrowed his eyes as he stood and regarded the box.

“Ms. Swan in league with your girlfriend? What’s all this about?”

“Beats me,” Henry said, “I’m just the messenger.”

Killian lifted the lid on the box, and inside was a pair of khaki pants and a gray cardigan sweater with huge brown buttons. Resting on top was a red bowtie and a note. Killian picked it up and opened it to find Emma’s messy handwriting.

90 term papers graded, Jones. I win. So will you go with me to the Sadie Hawkins?

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

“It’s totally unfair, you know,” Emma told Killian as she entered the gym on his arm.

“What’s unfair?”

“That you still look hot dressed like a nerd.”

“I told you,” Killian quipped with a waggle of his eyebrows, “I’m devilishly handsome.”

Emma laughed and smacked him in the chest.

“I have to say, Swan,” he said giving her an appreciative gaze, “you cut quite the figure in that dress.”

She was dressed in a much softer, feminine way than was normal for her. Her dress was pink with an A-line skirt that hit her knees. She had pulled her hair up into a ponytail that she had curled with a curling iron. To be honest, she had never had a date to a school dance before. So maybe this former foster girl was indulging in a childhood fantasy; at least she knew Killian could understand that.

“Why thank you,” she told him, a blush staining her cheeks. “You’re not disappointed about missing out on your schoolmarm fantasy?”

Killian grinned brightly as he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Oh, I have multiple fantasies, Swan.”

She was completely incapable of a come back when he looked at her that way. She bit her lower lip, her gaze drifting to his mouth.

“Oh for the love of God, just kiss already!”

The two of them jumped apart, faces flaming to see their boss Regina Mills standing there, her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. She had traded in her everyday sensible pantsuit for a sensible dress skirt instead. The two of them held their breath, worried they were about to get a lecture on school romances, but Regina just rolled her eyes at them.

“Just keep it PG, ok? Now get to the punch bowl already!”

Grace and Violet may have kept the topic of their Discord chat a secret, but they didn’t do the same about Emma asking Killian to the dance. All night, kids were coming up to tell them how cute they were together. Emma felt her face had turned as red as the punch.

Halfway through the evening, the DJ called them out by name to come out on the dance floor. The hoots and cheers of the students as Killian led her out to the middle of the gym floor was deafening. He rested one hand at her waist and clasped his other one with hers as Christina Perri’s “The Words” began to play. Emma breathed a sigh of relief when students drifted onto the floor as well.

“You don’t like being the center of attention, do you?” Killian teased.

“Not exactly,” Emma laughed.

“Well, unfortunately, you need to get used to it.”

Emma tilted her head. “Why?”

“Because there’s no one here as beautiful as you.”

As cheesy as the line was, for the second time that night, he had left her speechless. Emma’s only response was to release Killian’s hand so she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him closer. He grinned in response, wrapping his arms about her waist. The song was winding down, and several of the students noticed how they had drawn closer together. The hoots and cheers from earlier filled the gym. Killian arched a brow at her, and Emma’s eyes widened. What was he up to? She let out a small yelp when he suddenly dipped her, winking down at her. The cheers of the students grew even louder, and now many of them were chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Emma almost panicked when Killian pulled her closer when he lifted her back up. Yet the kiss he gave her was only a brief brush of lips against her cheek, and she sighed in relief. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to kiss him - God, did she want to! - she just didn’t want their first kiss to have an audience, especially an audience they had to see every single day.

So when the song ended, Emma tugged Killian through the crowd, away from the punch bowl. The dance committee had borrowed sets from the drama club’s last production of Oklahoma! for the night’s western theme. She yanked Killian behind a giant mural of a Conestoga wagon and beneath the bleachers.

“Making out under the bleachers, Ms. Swan?’ Killian admonished with an exaggerated frown. “I’ll have you know I’m a gentlem-”

Emma cut him off, yanking him forward by the front of his sweater, and crashed her lips into his. He was clearly surprised at first, but he caught up quickly. Kissing him was just as good as she had always imagined, his lips soft yet firm, and one of his hands tangled in her ponytail. Emma tilted her head, deepening the kiss, and she swore his tongue tasted like Hershey’s chocolate.

They could have stayed there behind those bleachers, kissing until their lips were swollen, but they both knew they would be missed. And getting caught making out would definitely not be PG. So she and Killian made their way back to the punch bowl, their fingers threaded together, sharing ridiculously sappy smiles.

The rest of the night was like one of those teen rom-coms Emma used to hate. Killian draped his sweater over her shoulders as they walked from the gym to his car, and her foot might have popped like Mia Thermopolis when he kissed her goodnight at her door. Despite kissing under the bleachers, he hadn’t been kidding. He was a perfect gentleman. And Emma literally swooned against the door after telling him goodbye. She waited for the fear to grip her. Fear that she’d let him in too fast. Fear that he wouldn’t stick around. Fear that their friendship would be ruined. But the fear didn’t come.

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

“Hit me.”

Killian Jones grinned, unwrapped a Hershey Kiss and tossed it into Emma’s open mouth. She ate it with an exaggerated moan, then licked her lips suggestively. He leaned across the coffee table and captured her lips in a deep kiss, tasting the chocolate on her tongue.

By the end of the night, there was an obscene amount of foil wrappers littering the living room floor, and Killian knew they would be finding those tiny paper tails in the carpet for the next month.

But that was okay. He and his wife did this every year. Kisses were the best way, after all, to get through term paper season.

[spookyblackwidow]

Fanfic request: Natasha's having nightmares and is getting super sleep deprived and it's kind of making her sick, and Clint notices and confronts her about it?

Author’s note: Nightmares are literally one of my favorite things to write about?? BLESS YOU. This is way longer than anticipated, but I hope you enjoy!

Weakness

2552 words

Natasha jolted awake, sweat beading on her forehead, a gun clutched in her hand, trained on an imaginary threat. The fear faded, slowly, as she became aware of her familiar surroundings, the antique furniture of the bedroom in her primary safe house just outside New York City. She shook off the dream and forced her ragged breathing to slow, an attempt to counteract her racing heart. It was just past 2 a.m., and, although she hadn’t been asleep long, she had enough experience to know she’d be awake for quite a while.

The glow of streetlights seeped through the blinds, softly illuminating strips of laminate beneath her feet. She made her way to the kitchen, resisting the innate urge to flip on lights and ensure her safety, certain enough of her movements and the reality that the danger she’d just emerged from would remain firmly in her mind, unable to creep out into existence. Realism and denial were programmed into her, a staunch refusal to take things at face value ingrained over years of reprogramming, the aliases and brainwashing that never seemed to end, no light at the end of a labyrinth. Tunnels were too linear, too neat, too easy to navigate. Her life had been a messy nightmare she couldn’t quite shake, no matter how much time had passed since she’d defected, since she’d last been unmade.

The kettle whistled, an agonizingly sharp whine burrowing its way into her exhausted brain. She swore under her breath and turned off the burner, annoyed she’d gotten so wrapped up inside her thoughts she’d lost awareness of her surroundings. Something wound through her legs, further startling her, the black shadow begging for attention, acknowledgement, anything.

“Fucking hell, Liho,” Natasha grumbled into her steaming mug of tea, her perpetually icy fingers clutching the ceramic, greedily absorbing its warmth. Carefully stepping around the way-too-fucking-alert cat, she settled into an oversized chair and clicked on a lamp, the pale light fighting against the encroaching darkness an all too familiar sight.

She picked up a book, its spine cracked, the edges worn and faded, a relic from a previous life, from back when she could dissociate enough to get lost in a story. It was one of the few things she’d carried with her into the Red Room, always safely stashed away under a mattress, stuffed in a threadbare pillowcase, buried within a carefully carved hole in the wall. She wasn’t quite sure how she’d managed to hold onto it through all the identities she’d been given, and whatever original meaning it had held was gone, but she liked the idea of having a tangible reminder of the innocent girl she’d once been. She’d tried night after night for years, but she couldn’t bring herself to read it, opting instead to study the dog-eared corners, the inked drawings scattered throughout, mostly doodles scribbled by unknown hands, each an everlasting mark of the book’s history.

Natasha paged through it, seeing but not comprehending the Cyrillic characters of her native tongue. This had become her nightly ritual, a way to detach from whatever horrible vision had awoken her, actions that would hopefully calm her enough to be able to sleep again, although it was never for long. How many years had she been sleeping so fitfully? Her whole life? Or maybe just the last several identities? She’d lost too much time, too much trust in reality to ever be sure. She closed her eyes, but she knew there’d be no more rest before sunrise.

Morning crept in, sunlight inching its way in through the windows, a warm hue that she might’ve derived pleasure from if this hadn’t been the eighteenth morning in a row she’d sat in the same chair, agonizingly awake, witnessing the same dreadful reminder that she’d soon be expected to do things. As it was nearing six, she figured she had just enough time to shower, get dressed, and wash her mug before the first message from Nick would arrive; after so many years working together, he was aware that she was typically an early riser, a fact he took full advantage of. Sure enough, she was placing the mug back in the cupboard when she got the call to come in.

She considered making breakfast, but her stomach turned, the mere idea of eating seemed revolting. The dull ache behind her eyes reminded her that skipping another meal was definitely not what she should be doing, but the food aversion won out, a side effect she’d mentally catalogued and shoved aside long ago.

Her debriefing was short—a routine tracking job, a potential hit, more busy work than anything. Nick handed her a new identity to become familiar with in the event she was cornered, along with one for Clint; it was officially a Strike Team: Delta mission, not that she needed the help, although she would be grateful for the company. As always, they’d improvise, no overly complex maneuvers, no extraction plan. All she needed now was her dumbass best friend to show up on time.

Nick left her to wait in his office, which, under normal circumstances wouldn’t bother her, but the leather chair and wide windows felt too much like home in the most literal sense, and she was getting restless. She stood—too quickly, she soon realized—and paced, her empty stomach complaining, small bursts of light dancing in her peripherals. She blinked away the spots, certain they’d been gold, although they’d simply been white earlier, as they should be. No, they shouldn’t be there at all.

Clint entered as she returned to her seat, physically drained, her head fuzzy and aching. His smile was exuberant, but his eyes flickered with concern, a quick once-over confirming that something was very much not okay with Nat. He shot her a knowing look before pasting the smile back on for Nick’s benefit; Clint acted like an idiot most of the time, but he knew better than to let anyone else worry about his best friend.

Natasha let her eyes track the birds flitting past the windows, slightly iridescent rock pigeons swooping about, bouncing across various ledges and sills, their feathers ruffling in the breeze. She was only faintly aware of Nick droning on in the background, her mind miles away, drifting somewhere among the birds. Clouds of smoke billowed up outside, the thick grey choking out parts of the city, flooding her vision until she could see nothing else. Her muscles tensed, heart rate steadily increasing, the flood of cortisol effectively convincing her this was how it all ended. She closed her eyes, anticipating a flash of heat, pain, and then nothing.

“Nat?” Clint placed a hand on hers, the rough pad of his thumb gently rubbing circles across her white knuckles, a familiar and instinctive action they rarely let others witness. She could hear the strain in his voice, thinly disguised as annoyance, nearly every part of their lives some sort of act, a far cry from who they were together, who they wanted to be. Having felt no other change, her body still intact, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking away the previous fogginess, restoring her sight to normal.

“Sorry, I got a little lost in thought there.” She smiled weakly, just enough to shake off concern, but not too much to raise suspicion. “Where were we?”

“Reviewing your identities. I shouldn’t have to remind you that being well-versed in your backstory could make the difference between life and death,” Nick said.

She struggled to focus through the rest of the meeting, her mind straying to the horrors that had been keeping her up at night, the visions that she knew would never truly leave her, rather mutating into increasingly unsettling versions of themselves, morphing with other memories and fears. The red in her ledge had merged with her vivid imagination, creating monstrosities she didn’t care to reveal to anyone, as letting them out of her mind, giving voice to the atrocities, would only spread the nightmare, infecting her most trusted friends with the concepts, irreparably contaminating their thoughts and dreams. She knew he would ask, as he always had in times like these, but she wouldn’t share, couldn’t willingly harm him. The secrecy would hurt him enough, he didn’t need to allow her worst fears to become his own.

He waited for the elevator doors to close before confronting her, one hand wrapped firmly around her bicep, the other pivoting her shoulder so she’d face him. Normally she’d fight back, at the very least pry his fingers off her arm, but fighting this seemed pointless. Instead, she fought the resurfacing image from the night before, the pain of Clint following through on Loki’s promise. They stood in silence a few moments as he studied her.

“You’re not sleeping, are you.” It was not a question but a final conclusion, spot-on, as always.

“Not for lack of trying.” She shrugged as much as she was able to in his grasp, which had let up only slightly.

“Nightmares again?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“Not really. My bad dreams aren’t really your concern.”

“Of course they are! Do you think I like seeing you like this? My best friend, sick, practically a zombie!” He finally released her arm to run his fingers through his hair in exasperation.

“For fuck’s sake, I’m not a zombie, I’m just tired,” she scowled.

“Jesus Christ, Nat.” He watched her thin fingers tap restlessly against her thigh, a telling tic she was too weak to suppress. “Have you even eaten today?”

“Not hungry.”

“Bullshit. We’re getting food in you.” Clint pushed the button for the main floor, and they descended in tense silence. She closed her eyes again, ignoring the spots in her vision, focusing solely on keeping her breathing steady as another nightmare returned to rear its head. Memories of who she used to be, the torment she suffered at the hands of her superiors, the unspeakable crimes she’d committed. Mangled screams, her hands red and bloodied, endless lists of her victims, the names half-remembered at best.

He shoved her through the lobby, down the street, and in the closest door advertising food. It was a cheap pizza joint, one he frequented after missions, usually while intoxicated, but it was the quickest option at the moment. She opened her mouth to protest, to argue that her standard of living was above eating at dollar by-the-slice pizza places that were a far cry from anything resembling a restaurant, but was immediately met with a stern glare.

“Eat.” Clint shoved a paper plate into her hands, a greasy slice of pizza covering most of it. She grimaced and took a small bite, fully aware he wouldn’t let her leave until he’d decided she’d eaten enough. It had been a few months since they’d last gone through this routine, but his food choices had not improved.

“You couldn’t have taken me some place a little nicer? I though you knew how to show a girl a good time.”

“I’ll buy you a proper meal when you learn how to feed yourself. You know, most people gorge on junk food when they’re sleep deprived.”

“I’m much more familiar with fasting.” She set her crust down on the plate, unable to force herself to finish it. “Besides, caffeine is a wonderful appetite suppressant.”

“It’s also a stimulant that can prevent you from sleeping.”

“That’s not about the caffeine, and you know it,” she snapped.

“Then tell me about it! And don’t give me some bullshit about protecting me, I’m not falling for it. You need to work through what’s keeping you awake before it kills you.”

“What part of my hellish life isn’t coming back to haunt me?” she scoffed. “My past, present, potential future. It’s all fucked, Clint, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“You wanna bet?” He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Clinton Francis Barton, what the hell are you planning now?”

…

Later that night, Natasha sat staring at her book, gently stroking a very happy Liho who was curled up in her lap, anxiously waiting for Clint to arrive. He’d refused to tell her anything—claimed it was better if she didn’t know—and now he was late, despite the fact that he had set the time. The clock in her kitchen seemed louder than usual, the incessant ticking of the second hand stabbing at her aching head. She was moments away from breaking it when the doorbell rang. Clint was smiling, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Clint.”

“My stuff. I’m spending the night.”

“Like hell you are!” She started to close the door, but he braced himself against the doorframe and caught the edge.

“Hear me out, Nat. Please. You owe it to yourself to try.”

“Why on earth would you think this is a good idea?” Natasha crossed her arms, but she stepped back, allowing him into her safe house.

“You trust me—don’t even try to argue with me on that. Your unconscious mind is playing off your deepest fears, and you have no method of self-assurance that you’re not who you used to be. But if we trust each other enough to be openly vulnerable, how could you still be that girl? There’s also the added bonus of having an actual Avenger to protect you.”

“I hate you,” she laughed softly and smacked his arm, “but you have a point. One night, that’s it. And you’re sleeping on the floor.”

…

“Nat, please, I know you’re in there somewhere.” Clint was lying at her feet, bloodied, bruised, a blade pressed to the soft flesh beneath his jaw, the knife clutched in her hand. She scanned the room, taking in the lifeless forms of Steve, Sam, Nick. This was her body, but it was full of someone else’s idea of who she should be, the brainwashed identity pulled from the depths of her mind.

“Fallaces sunt rerum species,” she hissed. With an expert flick of her wrist, she severed his jugular and watched him bleed out.

“Nat? Nat!”

She woke in a cold sweat to find Clint, alive and well, shaking her shoulders. It was dark, but the panic was clear in the shadowed lines of his face, and, after a moment, she realized she’d been crying.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s over.” He laid down next to her and gently wiped her tears, his voice low and soothing.

“I—I killed you,” she whispered.

“Then I guess I’m the zombie now.” He grinned and instinctively flinched, expecting her to hit him.

“You’re an idiot.” Despite her best efforts, she smiled back and hoped he wouldn’t see. She cared far too much for this particular idiot, but letting that show was dangerous, a weakness she’d been trained not to let slip. But moments like these, when they were alone, allowed to be themselves, were treasured memories, the things she longed to dream about instead.

Natasha would never admit it, but Clint’s presence was comforting, so she let him stay in her bed. Curled up in his arms, her head resting on his chest, she let the steady rhythm of his heart lull her into the best sleep she’d had in weeks.

[txladyj-blog]

This Time Around - Chapter 1

This is posted with permission from @xmistressmistrustx, the amazing writer who helped me bring a story I had in my head into the world.   She’s been an inspiration and has become a dear friend, one I hope to meet in person someday.

A Daryl Dixon x OFC collaboration written by @xmistressmistrustx​ by request of @txladyj-blog​

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Daryl Dixon/Original Female Character

Tags: Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Awkwardness, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Crush, Fluff and Humor, Angst and Humor, Mild Smut, Strong Language, Eventual Sex, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Canon Divergence, Some Canon Scenes and Dialogue

Chapters 23/?

Screaming. High-pitched, desperate screaming, piercing the air and echoing all around, bouncing off the trees like rubber balls, ricocheting and growing louder with every thud of her boots on the dry, cracked ground. Or, was that her imagination? Her heartbeat thrummed in her head as she sucked in breaths to try and propel herself forwards, her chest burning with every gasp and her feet aching after each rapid step. She scolded herself for every single excuse she’d thought up to stop herself from going to the gym, or for a jog, or to the tennis courts. She really wished she wasn’t so inclined to sitting inside and gaming or reading. If she’d known she’d need such stamina to save herself from the jaws of another human being, she’d have jumped on a treadmill occasionally.

Twigs broke under her boots as branches snapped at her sweat covered face but still, she pushed on, further into the woods, away from the screaming. The snarling grew quiet as the inferno in her lungs grew hotter, her breathing became labored and she stumbled, her hands shooting out and grabbing at a nearby tree. Bark and dirt filled her mouth and obscured her view. She blinked, only to find her vision blurred by mud. It took a few precious seconds for her to realize that she’d fallen before she quickly hauled her body upright and carried on along her jagged path through the woods.

She thought there had to have been at least ten people behind her when she had flown off into the tree line from the highway, all terrified with eyes bulging and hearts hammering. Now, her surroundings had fallen quiet and it occurred to her that she was wandering alone in the thick darkness, meandering between trees with no weapons or idea where she was headed. She stopped in her tracks, leaning against the trunk of a tree and trying to catch her breath. Her ears strained to hear the slightest sounds around her so she could sprint off at any hint of danger. Her hands found the straps of her back pack, tugging it from her shoulder and swinging it around to her front. Inside, she selected a torch and quickly flicked the switch. A bright, beam of light shot through the velvet dark, illuminating her surroundings and proving that she was now alone. She swallowed hard and gradually edged around the trunk, shining the torch between the surrounding trees and listening, above the sound of her own breathing for the slightest snap of a twig of a distant groan.

She was walking the highway after being unable to drive any further. The city saw thousands upon thousands of people flee when the chaos hit and spread like wildfire. She watched from a distant hill as the roads filled up with panicked, angry refugees that were offering each other money and all manner of expensive and luxury items for passage out of the highly populated area that had fast become a death trap.

After losing her companion shortly after fleeing into the woods, she was forced to shake off the shock of what she had witnessed. Her best friends throat ripped out in a split second, a river of crimson blood flooding over his bright, white clothing, the contrast somehow making the horrendous scene even more macabre. With no time to cry, no breaks in which to grieve, she raced off with blurry eyes into the night with her friend’s assailant hot on her heels, snarling and snapping its jaws until the sound was gradually replaced by the terrified screams of others, dotted about in the trees around her.

She kept walking until her heels ached and her knees grew weary and her stomach grumbled so loudly, she wrapped her hands around it to muffle the sound. Knowing she had to get some rest, she chose the sturdiest looking tree she could find and began to climb, her hands gripping the harsh bark and heaving her weary body up the structure until she was perched on a thick branch that was wider than her own body. She settled against the trunk. The contents of her backpack dug into her spine but she cared little for anything except being able to rest someplace that meant she wasn’t about to be consumed by what once was somebody’s son or daughter, somebody’s husband or wife. Now, just a ravenous, monstrous shell of what they were.

When she awoke, light shone through the trees, a slither hitting her face and heating up one cheek. She blinked and shook her head before leaning over the edge of the branch and checking it was clear to climb down. Finding nothing, she was soon ambling back over the leafy ground in search of some semblance of shelter.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Carol watched as her young daughter gently plucked at the fabric of her doll. Such delicate fingers poised over the cloth face of an effigy she’d become attached to ever since she was a baby. She was a quiet child, even more so since they’d arrived at the camp. She’d seen things no one of her age should have, the same things that other children across the world had now seen. Not to mention the violence she’d witnessed before the turn. Violence at the hands of her own father. Carol’s heart hurt for her and not only the memories she would have to carry, but the new, even more brutal things she was unavoidably going to have to endure in her bleak and uncertain future.

Her dirty blonde hair glistened in the sun and her skin, still so young and flawless, had yet to display the pallid gray that some of the others had. Her freckles were still noticeable and each one reminded Carol of the times when she’d cradle the girl in her arms, counting the subtle dots across her nose and smiling to herself.

“Mom?” Sophia squeaked from the waters edge.

The quarry boasted a deep, teal body of water that provided the camp with a means to wash clothes, bodies and was a much-needed source of drinking water once boiled of its impurities. The blazing sunshine, intense temperatures and picturesque view from the top made it the ideal place to set up and stay for a while and most of the camps population had no designs on moving anywhere.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Carol cooed back.

“There’s a woman up there.”

The small girls tiny finger extended, pointing out a lone figure stood, buckled over at the top of the quarry. A red backpack was hanging from the woman’s shoulders and she used the front of her black T-shirt to wipe sweat from her forehead, exposing a pale stomach. Carol squinted and slowly got to her feet, shielding her eyes from the sun in order to gain a better view. Her brow furrowed and her heart began to race in her chest.

“Shane!” She suddenly shouted, her voice thrown around the quarry and traveling up the hill to the main camp. “Come on, Sophia. Come with me. We have to go and get Shane.”

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She had been at the camp for three days before she summoned up the courage to talk to anyone. An introvert by nature and traumatized by her experience, she chose to retreat into her tent and sleep while others went about their daily tasks. She ate alone, sat alone and read her books alone. Carol was the woman that first approached her at the top of the quarry, flanked by a group of four men. She didn’t remember the names of any of them at the time, only Carol’s as she backed away like a frightened deer. Coaxed along to the camp on the promise of food and a tent, she hadn’t breathed a word then and still hadn’t as she sat, hugging her legs and peering up at everyone on the third evening.

She flinched when a man crouched down in front of her and offered her a square, metal camping bowl of food. She didn’t care what it was, her stomach protested loudly at its emptiness and she slowly took the bowl from his hands. Carol had been the one to make sure she ate, it was always Carol. Nice, non-threatening, motherly Carol. Now, it was this man with his sunken eyes, dark, military haircut and thin lips.

“How you doin’?” The man asked.

She half shrugged, not able to manage much more for fear of having to get into a conversation.

“I don’t know if you remember, but I’m Shane. Over there…” He pointed to a man dressed in a sheriff’s uniform. “…That’s Rick. Then ya got T-Dog next to him and then Glenn. That’s just some of us. You’ve been pretty quiet; just thought I’d let you know who people are. You need anything, just ask anyone, OK?”

She nodded a thanks and leaned forwards, taking a small sniff of her food. Some kind of meat stew, laden with herbs. It was the most amazing thing to grace her nostrils in four days.

“You got a name?” Shane asked.

“J-Jess.” She uttered through chapped, cracked lips.

“Well, Jess. I know you’re scared n’ all. We all are. But you’re safe here.” He assured her.

“OK. T-Thank you.” She stammered, picking up a spoon from the bowl and beginning to stir her food.

When Shane left her, she hungrily demolished the stew and picked up her journal from beside her. She knew she’d soon run out of ink for her pen and resigned herself to the fact that she would at some point, need to ask someone to fetch her a new one from one of the supply runs they seemed to frequently go on. As she scribbled, jeering from the other side of the camp caught her attention and she glanced up to see two more men emerge from the trees, one was carrying a crossbow, his sleeveless arms shiny in the light as he approached the glow of the fire with a string of squirrels hoisted over his shoulder. He wore a leather vest and his expression was sour, despite the cheering and jokes being cracked by his companion. The other man was visibly older, bald  and also wore a leather vest, he swung a dead opossum by his side as he walked, soon throwing down in front of the fire with a dusty thud and laughing.

“What would y’all do without us, huh?!” He cried with a voice louder than any of the others Jess had heard so far. From his body language and his attitude, she could tell this one was going to be trouble.

Jess saw Shane get to his feet and whisper to the man to keep the noise down, but he was met with nothing but a snarl. The man with the squirrels was already stalking over in the direction of Jess’s tent, suddenly veering off and slamming the dead animals onto a makeshift table and propping his crossbow against the structure at his feet.

“Merle, get ya ugly ass over here. I’ma get to skinnin’ these.” He announced.

Jess retreated back into her tent in an attempt to stay out of the sightline of both men, judging them both to be the kind of people she would have steered well clear of before she found herself running through the woods for her life.

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In the time it had taken for Carol to persuade Jess to emerge from her tent and meet some of the others, her presence at the camp was now being noticed by just about everyone. She had briefly conversed with the younger members of the group; Carl, who was Rick and Lori’s son and Sophia, Carol and Ed’s daughter. Children were altogether less intimidating and energy draining than adults could be to Jess, especially in such a setting, where noise and rigorous activity needed to be kept to a minimum, as were the rules.

There were two other girls of Jess’s age which she deliberately steered clear of without hesitation, Sarah and Jodie. Initially met with outwardly false smiles and raised eyebrows, the transparency of the two females that peered back at her was evident and enough to make sure she knew her place was not with them. Her history with female friends not being one to shout about, other women never seemed to take to her due to her obscure and nerdy interests and quiet nature. Constantly a source of ridicule at high schools she'd attended, she kept herself to herself and spent her free time at comic book stores and conventions with her handful of close, male friends she would undoubtedly make eventually. All of which were now dead.

The loud man from the previous night, whose name she had learned was Merle, had already proved that her suspicions about him being trouble were correct. Jess always knew to trust her gut; it hadn’t let her down yet. Walking past her as she hurried along behind Carol, he slowly looked her up and down, running his tongue along his bottom lip and rubbing his chin. Beside him, was the other man in the leather vest, his younger brother; Daryl.

“Ain't she a meaty one? Lil’ more cushin’ for the pushin’, huh, Daryl?” He sneered.

His brother merely glanced up and caught Jess’s eye as she passed, his blue irises flashing before her. She had never seen such icy blue eyes before.

“Shut up, Merle” She heard him mutter in response.

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Since arriving at the camp, Jess hadn’t seen any of the dead ones. She figured she’d wandered so far up the mountain, that hardly anyone alive, let alone dead would be likely to follow her. She noticed that they had coined the name ‘Walkers’ by those around her and felt safe in the knowledge that no one had seen one enter the camp for weeks due to the surrounding makeshift alarms comprised of tin cans and other noisy materials. Whispers around the campfire had indicated that the city was full of them and they were now starting to run out of food and disperse into the surrounding areas.

Sat in her usual spot just inside her tent, she jotted down what she thought was the date at the top of the next page of her journal, although she couldn’t be sure if it was correct or not. Giggling in the distance caused her to look up, where she clocked the unmistakable sight of Sarah and Jodie making fun of her from across the clearing. Jess couldn’t help but lift an eyebrow in disgust at the typical nature of their body language. Hands deliberately blocking mouths as they spoke, eyes intermittently locking on her and childish giggling that she expected from the likes of Sophia or Carl, but not from two women in their twenties. She shook her head and sighed, turning her attention back to finishing the date on the page when her eyes lowered further, to the extra flesh around her middle, her thicker thighs than the other girls, even her fingers. Bigger, softer. She flattened her hand on the page and sighed. Then, screaming rang out across the camp.

Everyone seemed to move simultaneously, grabbing at everything that could be used as a weapon. Jess froze to the spot until she saw Carol making her way towards the children with several others and whisking them away. Curiosity fueled her to move and find out how high the threat was, knowing she needed to keep a safe distance but still get close enough to see what the fuss was about.

Just inside the tree line, Dale, owner of the groups RV and resident, straw hat lookout was busy beating the hell out of a single Walker with Rick and some of the others with blunt objects, bats and even a broom. Jess looked on in disbelief at the Walker that had eventually fallen to the floor and quietened, beside it, lay a deer with an arrow in its rear end and a myriad of bite marks taken out of its side. The small huddle of people exchanged glances, their chests all rising and falling.

“Never seen them this far up the mountain before” Dale commented.

“Well, they’re running out of food in the city” Carol remarked to the cluster of concerned and sweaty faces.

“Son of a bitch!” Came another, angry voice from further back. “That’s my deer!”

Daryl emerged from the bushes, crossbow in hand, sweat beaded on his chest and forehead, yet more dead squirrels thrown over his shoulder and ripped the crossbow bolt from the deer’s rump with one swift movement.

“Look at it, all gnawed on by this filthy, disease-bearin’, motherless, poxy, bastard!”

With each new word, his boot collided with the Walkers body on the floor, Jess sidestepped slightly to gain herself a better view of him in his entirety through the bushes.

“Calm down, Son. That’s not helping” Dale scolded.

“And what do you know ‘bout it, ol’ man?! Why don’t you take that stupid hat and go back to ‘on golden pond’? I been trackin’ this deer for miles!”

As he finished his sentence, the Walker at his feet began to writhe and gnash its jaws. Jess felt her throat constrict at the thought of it not being dead and wondered just how the hell they were meant to be stopped if gunfire emitted too much noise.

“Oh my god” Glenn groaned as he resumed beating the corpse with a stick.

“C’mon, people! What the hell?!” Daryl exclaimed as he aimed at the Walkers head with his crossbow and pulled the trigger. A neon bolt embedded in its skull and instantly, the threat was eliminated. “It’s gotta be the brain. Don’t y’all know nothin’?”

Retrieving his bolt from between the Walkers eyes, he huffed and threw everyone an exasperated look. Before she could even think, Jess found herself face to face with him as he stormed through the brush, unexpectedly running into her. She quickly stepped back and tried to drop her gaze, but his stare was so intense that she found herself rooted to the spot while he paused to take in the view of her. She swallowed hard and finally managed to step aside and let him pass. When he did so without a word, she almost tried to blink the shock from her eyes as she turned on her heels and made her way back to her tent.

That night she braved sitting around the campfire with everyone else at dinner, although she sat further back than the rest. Nibbling on strips of squirrel, Jess didn’t follow any conversations that were taking place. Opposite her, sat even further back than her in the shadows, was Daryl, who had just finished up licking excess meat from his fingers and was now watching her over the flames, his arms draped over his bent legs. She was aware that his attention was firmly fixed on her and grew increasingly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. Why was he looking at her like that? Why was he looking at her at all?

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After another two days, Jess was still finding it hard to settle in amongst the masses at the camp. Only speaking briefly to a handful of people, she decided that Carol was the easiest person to converse with, except Rick, who never seemed to give her a choice but to answer when he asked after her welfare. Her days were spent reading, writing or tagging along with Carol by the water and helping with the laundry. Her knowledge of certain historical periods meant she knew how to wash clothes without the aid of a washer dryer and was able to lend a hand in getting through the huge piles of dirty clothes that appeared in the crate at the start of each day.

Carol wasn’t shy about encouraging Jess to learn new skills and on one particular occasion, caused a great deal of anxiety when she handed her a knife and a pile of dead squirrels and told her to start skinning them. Before Jess could protest or express her ignorance on such a subject, Carol had vanished from sight, summoned by her aggressive and overbearing husband, Ed. Her hand shook as she looked down at her fingers clutching the knife, Daryl’s presence on a rock behind her niggling away in her mind. If anyone knew how to skin squirrels, it would be him. She turned her body slightly so as to block his view and began prodding one of the small animals with the sharp end of the knife.

Daryl, able to see over her shoulder from his higher vantage point, furrowed his brow and threw his smoke away. He climbed down from the rock and approached her.

“Kinda shit show is that? Give it here.” He snapped, reaching for her knife. She stilled, wide eyed and tried to focus on what she should say.

She slowly looked sideways at him with the squirrel in her hand. She still gripped the knife and he beckoned with his fingers for her to pass it to him along with the dead animal. She gingerly handed him him both and stepped aside, letting him take up her spot. Before he set to work, he noticed her discomfort and awkward expression.

“She uh-she left before I could tell her I have no idea what I’m doing.” She said quickly.  

He grunted and turned his head to see Carol with Ed, whose voice was raised and echoing around the quarry. Shane stood nearby, arms crossed, keeping a very close eye on the arguing couple. Ed’s arms were flailing in the air as Carol stood meekly in front of him. Daryl bit his bottom lip for a second and decided to leave them to it, getting involved in other people’s drama wasn’t something he made a habit of. He turned his attention back to Jess.

“What exactly do ya do around here?” He asked her.

It was a good question and one she didn’t have much of an answer to. Since she’d arrived, she slinked about in the shadows, folding her collectible superhero T-shirts that she happened to have bought on the day the world went awry and scribbling in her journal. She’d only recently started to lend a hand with the laundry but other than that, she could honestly say she’d been nothing but a leech.

“Um… I got a pretty loud scream. It’s like a…Walker alarm. Just haven’t used it yet.” She said with a small smile.

He huffed, unimpressed and figured she would be even more useless unless he showed her what to do with the knife and the squirrel.

“Pay attention.” He mumbled, motioning to the animal with the knife. “Gotta start right here, cut up to the tailbone”

As he spoke, he physically showed her what to do, pointing out each part and showing her exactly how to angle the knife in the process. Jess winced at the sound of the knife slicing through the flesh and tried to act as though the blood didn’t bother her. But she was never a good liar and her stomach flipped at the sight. Her face paled and she took a deep breath.

“Then, down each leg. Gotta make a flap of skin on each. Can grab it and yank it right off, cut as ya go.” He explained, focused on his task and missing Jess’s pained expression. He ripped the skin from the animal and tossed it aside before holding the bloodied knife out to her and finally noticing her pallid skin and sweaty forehead.

“R-right.” She stammered, slowly taking the knife from him.

“Practice. Make ya self useful.” He said, his tone now less antagonistic and more akin to someone with a helpful suggestion.

“Right. Yeah.” She mumbled, taking the knife back and dragging the back of her wrist across her forehead.

Relief washed over her when he finally departed, leaving her to her task. While it took her probably double the time it would have taken Daryl, she eventually finished it and cleaned up with a sense of pride and accomplishment welling in her chest.

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'I'm not entirely sure I’ll ever fit in with this group. I know I don’t really fit in anywhere else either, but no matter how hard I try, I always seem to get left behind. Since I’ve been here, I’ve been thinking a lot about mom and dad and my asshole brother who I miss so much. Seeing people that still have their families, I hope they know how lucky they are. I know I never really fit in with them either, but they were my blood.

It’s a miracle I survived on my own, I see that even more now I’m around people with actual survival skills. There are fighters, hunters, people that are good with weapons, even people that think more strategically than me. I feel kind of useless. I’m slower and a liability compared to these people. A guy called Daryl had to teach me how to skin a squirrel today. I almost hurled on the table in front of him and I felt like an idiot at first but at least he took the time to show me instead of making fun of me. If I’m honest, I was really expecting the latter.'  

She closed the journal. Shoved it back in her bag and slung it over her shoulder. Then, she picked up the bunch of skinned squirrels and made her way to the top of the hill. The heat from the sun was starting to lessen and she was grateful for it, she wasn’t used to building up much of a sweat, so her new surroundings up in the sky, a top a mountain had been a shock to the system. People wandered about the camp and children played quietly as the fire in the middle started to intensify, ready to provide warmth from the sudden cold snap that came as soon as the sun vanished below the horizon.

Jess spotted Merle on the outskirts of the group. He sat with a tree stump in front of him and a large knife, dissecting meat and driving it onto skewers for cooking. Jess took a deep breath and made tracks towards him, passing the RV in the process, where Daryl sat on the roof, watching her. She kept her head up when passing Sarah and Jodie, Sarah brushing through her blonde hair with her fingers as they ambled along.

“Better get in quick before she eats every scrap. Girl definitely isn’t starving.” Jodie whispered to her friend.

The comment hit Jess’s chest like a bulldozer but outwardly, her reaction was minimal. She carried on walking and handed the squirrels to Merle wordlessly before turning on her heel and stalked off back to her tent. She could hear Merle chuckle to himself behind her but paid him no mind. He wasn’t the one that could stamp on her feelings so easily. It was other girls. Always other girls.

Daryl was noisily chewing on some beef jerky when he heard Jodie’s scathing comment and saw Jess hesitate as she walked, her head dropping and her shoulders slumping. Sarah and Jodie rounded the RV on their random path and as Daryl looked down at them, his eyes fell on a cup of water set down on the roof of the RV, near to the edge. The temptation proved too great to ignore. Dale must have left it there. Convenient. He kicked the cup, sending water flying over the edge and onto the heads of the two girls below.

“Hey! Watch it, Redneck!” Sarah shrieked as she flicked her hands out, ridding herself of any water droplets. Jodie merely stood there and seethed, her jaw clamped shut and her eyes narrowed up at Daryl. Her sweater was splattered with a dark and no doubt, cold stain.

“Sorry” He smirked.

Rudely awoken by a cooking pot being thrown against the side of her tent just before sunrise, Jess startled and considered herself lucky the foreign object that had collided with the canvas had missed her head by inches. She crawled out of her sleeping bag and poked her head out of the zipper to the sounds of Merle and T-dog shouting obscenities to each other and brawling in the middle of the clearing. Curse words were yelled and a plethora of racist remarks left Merle’s mouth as he swung another punch in T-dogs direction. Jess winced at the sound of some of his comments and thought herself grateful she’d been brought up in an accepting and open-minded family and didn’t have to endure the seething hatred Merle seemed to feel every time he set eyes on someone that didn’t share his skin color.

The two men wrestled on the ground, dust kicking up and clouding their air as more and more people filtered out from their tents to observe the spectacle. Jess could hear the moment T-dog’s fist collided with Merles face, a kind of sickening thud followed by a loud grunt and a roar as Merle launched himself up and ran at his assailant. Bowls and utensils flew through the air as they thundered through a nearby table and took out the peg of a tent in the process. The shelter sagged and Jess felt a stab of panic as they neared her. She stepped back in an attempt to put some space between her and the fight as Daryl shot out of nowhere and drove himself between them, taking a hard right hook from Merle that made Jess jump with the loud crack that it made. But Daryl simply emitted a loud grunt and shook it off and she suspected that this was far from the first time he’d been punched in the face.

“Back up! C’mon! Back up, Man!” He instructed, hovering in front of his brother with his hands on his chest. Shane arrived seconds later, just in time to catch T-Dog and pull his hands behind his back in true cop style. Jess raised an eyebrow.

So much drama. She thought.

“Leave it. Just leave it. What the hell is wrong with you?!” Daryl was now hissing at Merle, who was desperately trying to skirt around him. But wherever Merle was, Daryl was firmly in front of him. “Let it go, Merle.”

She bit her lip as she witnessed Daryl manage to de-escalate his brothers rage and she knew that no one else in the entire group would have been able to handle him in quite the same way. His leather vest flapped at his sides in response to him shifting all of his weight into his muscular arms in order to hold his brother still. With one leg placed in front of the other, he leaned forwards, a stable grip on each of Merle’s shoulders. Shane was busy dragging T-dog off and whispering in his ear when Glenn’s voice startled her, snapping her away from an image that had suddenly become a little easier to look at.

“You alright?” He asked. If he’d been there the entire time, she had no idea after having completely missed his presence. “Thought you might have gotten hit in your tent.”

“It just missed my head.” Jess replied with a small smile. “Just.”

“Lucky.”

“Yeah. Just glad I wasn’t up and sitting by the fire.” She expressed.

“You and me both. Those two have been gunning for one another for days now.” He told her.

She responded with a thin smile and turned her head back to where Daryl was now shoving Merle towards them. As they passed her tent, Daryl’s eyes managed to meet hers. He looked furious, unsettled. Uncomfortable. Taking it as her cue to make herself scarce, she climbed back into her tent.

It was almost a ritual now, everyone sat down to eat at the same time, like a giant, dysfunctional family. As far as altercations were concerned, everything was usually forgotten about in time for dinner, food being on the top of everyone’s list of priorities. It wasn’t surprising to Jess to see Merle and T-Dog sat in the same vicinity after such a violent fight, both of them seeming content enough with devouring their food than having any more fights. Merle had situated himself slightly further back than everyone else and made a few un-classy remarks under his breath that had so far been ignored by everyone. Jess heard every word but pretended she didn’t as she finished up her meal and made her way back to the cooking pot. Spooning the rest of the stew into a bowl, she dunked a plastic spoon into it and set off to find Daryl, who was the only one absent from the dinnertime ritual.

Sitting far away from the group, on a fallen tree on the edge of the woods, Daryl could hear both Jodie and Sarah making fun of Jess as she passed. Anger simmered in his chest and he grit his teeth at the sound of their incessant, immature and annoying giggling.  

“Here”

Jess’s voice cut through his thoughts and he peered up at her with suspicion. He threw the piece of bark he was picking at on the floor in front of him and locked his gaze on her.  

“You haven’t eaten. Your brother has. So, I took this before he noticed there was seconds.”

“Why?” He grunts.

She licked her lips and exhaled, her shoulders sagging.

“Saved us all from getting caught in the middle of a pretty nasty fight earlier.”

A grunt was all she received in response. Expecting him to react in any other way would have been futile, it was written all over his face that he was not in the mood to socialize.

“How’s your face?” She asked.

His right eye was beginning to swell and she knew that by morning it would be fully blackened. She wished she had a bag of frozen peas or an ice pack to offer, but figured it would only be met with a snappy remark or shrugged off anyway. But Jess wasn’t one to give up easily on something she believed in and in that moment, she believed that Daryl could use a distraction from his bad mood. Shoving away her doubts and shyness, she kept her eyes trained on him.

“Had worse.” He mumbled.

“You should eat, here.” She offered him the bowl again, telling him in no uncertain terms that she was not about to give up. After a small huff, he looked back up at her, slowly dropping his vision to the steaming bowl of food before eventually taking it from her.  

“Thanks.” He grumbled, taking hold of the spoon and shoveling stew into his mouth without any regard for manners or decorum. Jess sat next to him and ripped up a handful of grass from the ground, gradually picking through the blades and discarding them in the breeze.

“Actually, it’s you that deserves the thanks. You hunted the food and then showed me how to skin it instead of just doing it yourself or showing me up in front of the others. So, thanks.”

“Ain’t nothin’.” He dismissed with his mouth full of food.

“Don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Jessica.” She told him.

Why didn’t I just say ‘Jess’? No one calls me Jessica. What am I doing?!

“Jess. You can call me Jess.” She corrected.

He turned his head, quickly scanning her from head to toe and swallowing the contents of his mouth.

“Daryl.” He stated.

“S’nice to meet you. I mean, as nice it can be, What, with corpses wandering around trying to eat us. That’s not exactly nice. But, there’s nothing like an apocalypse to bring out the best in people. But then again I guess some people are just crappy by nature.” She rambled.

He stared at her for a moment before shoving more food into his mouth. He was animalistic, almost feral somehow and he had an aura of unpredictability that made Jess nervous. Like a lion that appeared tame and calm but just below the surface lurked a danger that she didn’t want to see.

Jess was by all accounts, a self-declared introvert that didn’t actively seek out social interaction and felt the need to withdraw from situations or people that sapped her energy. Daryl was obviously not like everyone else and she would have hazarded a guess at him also being introverted, which meant that they possibly had something in common. It was unheard of that she made a marked effort to talk to someone that appeared so outwardly hostile, but the end of the world had brought with it a new found attitude in Jess; Just try it. See what happens. It was a philosophy that had kept her alive so far.

“It’s cold tonight, huh? I mean, I have enough blankets and stuff but it still gets through. It’s like ever since the world went to shit the nights have gotten colder” She expressed.

He finished up his food and dropped the bowl on the ground between his bent knees.

“Ya always talk this much?” He asked.

She wasn’t expecting such a question and didn’t know if she should be offended or amused.

“Uh… yes? No? I’m not sure.”

And she wasn’t. Not anymore. Now everything had changed and apparently so had she. If someone had told her she’d be sat beside a violent redneck and attempting to make nice during the apocalypse, she’d have laughed in their face.

Remaining at his side for half an hour more, she’d refused to move partly out of defiance. She braided grass into patterns and watched Carl and Sophia play at the side of the group while Daryl smoked and sulked, about what, she wasn’t sure. But he hadn’t got up and left, nor did he ask her to leave and she took that a small success.

Since she was a child, Jess always poured her deepest thoughts and feelings into a journal. Each entry left her feeling like she’d been cleansed and was ready for whatever the next day held. Sometimes, if she wasn’t in the mood to write huge paragraphs, she’d write, poetry, haiku’s or draw simple pictures in biro. Even with everything else destroyed and gone, Jess still made sure her journal was not neglected.

That night, in her tent. She opened up the thick, black leather-bound book and began writing.

'Daryl intrigues me. He has a brother that made himself known to me way before Daryl did. In fact, Merle leered at me as I walked by and told me I had ‘more cushin’ for the pushin’.” He’s vulgar and rude. I’m pretty sure he’s a raging racist too from what I’ve seen. I’m not sure Daryl is like that although there is a possibility. He just seems quieter, more thoughtful somehow. He’s kind of cute. In a dangerous kind of way. He broke up a fight between Merle and T-dog today. I have no shame in admitting I was impressed by his courage, even if he did get punched in the eye. I took him some food and tried to talk to him but he now just thinks I talk too much. I don’t think I said too much to him though, he’s just super quiet. Or did I? Oh god. I don’t know.

I’m not sure about everybody else. Rick seems like a nice guy; he’s checked in on me a few times. Shane too, although he’s a little… odd. I think there’s something going on between him and Rick’s wife. I keep catching them whispering to each other. But I shouldn’t make such assumptions. I could be very wrong. I like Carol, she’s the safest person to be around and I think I trust her, when she’s not with Ed. I don’t like him one, little bit. He’s a bad egg. I can tell. Rick’s kid, Carl is pretty cool. He sees a lot more than people give him credit for and he’s smart. He reminds me of me when I was his age.

I’m making an effort to stay away from Sarah and Jodie. They don’t like me and I don’t like them. My fat offends them. Good. I hope it makes their empty heads explode. It seems that no matter what happens in the world, those types of girls are everywhere. Like a disease or a bad smell that won’t go away. When they’re around, I just feel like I’m back in high school and I wouldn’t go back to high school if I was paid.

I could be in worse places. I could be dead. But I can’t shake this overwhelming urge to just be alone. I know it’s not safe and I know it’s not wise. I thought maybe if I talked to someone, tried to gain a friend, it’d help. So, I’m trying with Daryl. Out of everyone, I think he and I might be similar. What am I even talking about? The world ended and here I am, worrying about my social anxiety.

I should sleep. I rarely sleep more than a couple hours at a time now. I can’t stand the nightmares anymore.'

NEXT CHAPTER

[harveywritings92]

Bad Wolf: Werewolf! Jason Todd x reader ch 2

The following is a non profit fan based story Batman, Red hood, Nightwing etc. belongs to DC Comics please support the official release.

_

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs  and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

It had been a month since whole Red-hood thing the h/c hadn't seen hide nor hair of the vigilante since, Currently Y/n was sitting on her buildings roof looking through the job section of the paper, She grumbled to herself nibbling on the back of her pen as before scribbling down a number. 

"How goes the job hunt, Love?" the Irish voice of Riley her uncle's old secretary before he died, one wouldn't notice by looking at him, but the brown haired Irishman was actually 64 years old! Yet, barely looked a day over 25, Vampires always youthful folk aren't they? something to be envious of...

"Not good so far..." The only up side about working at that hellhole was no one ever asked for a high-school diploma or a degree, it might as well have been an over paying call center. "think I should start going to actual school." She hummed frowning as she scratched out another option, The vampire snorted at hearing that. 

"Oh? And who woulds the young lass be paying for said schooling?" The h/c sucked her teeth she hadn't thought of that! her rent for next month will be payed on fumes and her food was running low...She was in the dog house if she didn't find work soon!

Riley watched the cogs turn in Y/n's head she was bloody lost! there was only one way to help the e/c girl out of this rut and Y/n hated that idea, she tried so hard to put that life behind her. Helping Red Hood was the crucible that set the fragile house of cards she had built up ever so carefully crashing down on her and Riley knew this, Riley knows everything.

"Well, if you're really that strapped for cash...I might hav-"

"No..." Y/n did't even look up from her paper, Riley pouted.

"Aw, c'mon love a least hear me out, it pays 5,000 cash up front."

"...ah, Alright what's the job?"

The h/c sighed as the brown haired vamp smirked smugly as the girl got up from the ledge and followed him down the fire escape, not noticing the tall figure watching from the building across the road. "By the way did one of your neighbors get a dog?" Riley asked looking around her apartment confused as he sniffed the air. "No, this building doesn't allow pets." the vamp frowned looking very unnerved "...It's faint but, your place smells like wet dog."

The h/c was lost on that, as she got change into her 'work' clothes impressed they still fit. " That's probably Pretzel's tears you're smelling, his mommy was squeezing him pretty hard." She heard the vamp chuckle as she came out of the bedroom pulling on the white trench coat, "So, gimme the details what am I looking at?" A drive and drop Y/n sighed Riley wouldn't say who hired her, but they needed person A to destination B and it needed to be done tonight.

The h/c pulled the surgical mask on looked around the alley, before ducking behind a wall when a cop car drove by, her brows furrowed as she reached the garage to see the car was waiting. 

She walked in and e/c was greeted by gun barrel to the face and nervous man behind the trigger. "Unless you got an invitation I suggest you turn around right now..." he growled as Y/n just wave him off, "Easy there, I'm your driver for tonight." the man swallowed lowered the gun and unlocked the car door.

"Please tell you got another set of wheels, this ones shot to hell!" He cautiously looked out the back window then ducked when a zeppelin searchlight shined in through the garage window. "Nope, your car. my rules. that was the deal." the man cussed under his breath as the h/c girl got in the driver seat. 

"Now shut up and duck when I tell you." She ordered as the guy laid down in the backseat. it was a tense drive for Y/n she was held her breath as she turned down an alley and killed the engine, she watched as another cruiser passed by and quickly start up the the car.

and drove across the street into a underground parking Garage before emerging on the other side of the block and gunned towards the docks, when she pulled into the dark warehouse Y/n felt her stomach drop when she saw two of Black-mask's men waiting. The h/c was silent as the man in the back thanked her for dropping him off and said they should get a drink sometime.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the guy got out. Y/n felt her heart her slam against her rib-cage as she watched the three talk, the drop off handed one of the men a USB drive, not noticing how the first guy nodded at his much taller friend. the h/c felt er breath hitch when the tall Black-mask thug pulled a knife out grabbed the guy behind while he was distracted with the other man and slit his throat.

She watched the drop offs body fall to the ground, and then the two men looked at her, the one who was given the USB pulled a gun out aiming at the e/c girl. 

Y/n felt her heart sink, But the oddest thing happened... the guy aiming the gun at her must have gotten a call on his ear piece, he looked at his feet then lowered the gun and nodded at her leave.

The h/c didn't hesitate she backed up the car and got the fuck out of the docks after 15 minutes of driving she turned into a junk yard. and just sat down to breathe "What the fuck...?" She croaked still trying to understand what just happened, Why didn't they kill her? She just saw them ice someone!? 

why the fuck did they let her go? after a few minutes of panicking and running through every possibility in her head. Y/n was lost and just accepted the fact that she did a good job and look the type to keep her mouth shut. (which she was.) But even that seemed too far fetch'd.

The h/c girl got out of the car walked up to the crane, Riley said his friend left the keys for her, she hummed finding them on the treads and got in the cab and started the demolition process, she picked up the car and dropped it in the crusher and watched the flattened heap of metal be rolled out into an incinerator. then she shut everything down and began her trek home.

Stupid especially at this time of night in a remote area, but anyone in Gotham knows that thieves and creatures no matter the variety usually stick to the alleys, bars or the Rose corner, [Monster district.]

 if they did go this out far they were usually to bust someone out of Arkham or Black-gate and those were miles away from the scrap-yard, the likelihood of her running into escaped inmates or patients was still high, but when has that ever happened? Well, the universe decided Y/n was gonna be it's bitch today!

While she was walking on the shoulder of the road the h/c felt a chill go down her spine, she whipped her head around her eyes surveyed the darkness, silence ans stillness greeted Y/n was sure she heard something, and whatever it was. 

is watching her... then she heard it the whistling in the trees, the h/c mouth felt dry there was no wind, whatever was hunting her was trying to fool her into thinking it was the wind making the noise.

The pattern was too interval and candid to be natural...And it was getting closer! She remembered her uncle had a safe bunker he used to spy on the prison and asylum, It was hidden in the woods she knew where ...if she can get to it, she'll be safe. Y/n slowly backed up towards the edge of the field careful with her movements, when her boots hit dirt instead asphalt she broke into a run.

The thing hunting her was hot on her trail, Y/n could hear it screeching behind her. she could hear it jumping from the trees at alarming speed something hit her shoulder, hard. causing Y/n to lurch forwards and roll several times before crashing painfully into a tree! 

The h/c girl struggled to breathe as the wind was knocked out of her; she felt sharp rocks dug into her back and her head was spinning, pain bloomed in the back of her skull blurring her vision as the h/c looked to see what hit her.

She felt her stomach curdle when the emancipated body and freakishly elongated limbs of a Wendigo came into view, What the hell was it doing so close to Gotham? 

Don't they usually avoid large cities!?...Y/n stood stock still as it looked around the clearing for her, It's common knowledge that Wendigos have motion blindness. She should be save if she stood still...

Then she realized it was getting closer to her, confused Y/n very slowly shrank back only to feel a sharp stabbing pain in her left shoulder and something wet and sticky flowed down her back. The e/c didn't need to check to know it was blood the wendigo could smell it. 

and she was gonna die here eaten by cannibalistic monster, she looked up at the monster looming over her, it's bloody maw stretched almost as if it was smiling, before leaning into her face and screaming. Y/n grimaced from the smell of rot on it's breath. "I am soo gonna haunt Riley for this..." she thought waiting for the thing to kill her...Then she heard a twig snap.

It all happened fast one second the Wendigo was in her face the next, Something tore it away from Y/n and whatever that something was...was big, furry and mad...the h/c though it was wolf at first from the growls and snarls, but wolves aren't almost 8ft tall and stand on their hind legs...or wear Tactical pants! 

Y/n watched the two monsters fight it out, the wendigo swiped it's claws at the new monster who managed to dodge and duck it's strikes in almost showboating manner.

The wendigo didn't like that, it didn't like that it was interrupted by this intruder or that it's prey was being kept from it, they screeched and lunged for Y/n only for the wolfman to snarl grab the wendigo's leg in his large hands and started swinging and slamming it's body into trees,rocks and the ground like it was a pillow. Y/n flinched hearing the monster's bones crack and thought she saw a few teeth fly out of it's mouth.

The wolfman started spin and threw the wendigo up against a tree finally letting go of it's very broken leg. it screeched up at black furred monster who in turned forced it's hands into it's screaming maw and started to pry it open wider...And wider, till finally the werewolf tore the Windego's jaw right off...he dropped the monster's body to the ground threw his head back and howled.

That the last thing Y/n saw before passing out, when she woke up the e/c was temporarily blinded bright light it took her a moment for her to realize it was the sun shining over the trees, The h/c blinked a few and looked around she was in a campsite laying on a foam pad, and noticed she had a familiar leather jacket draped over her, it's faded red bat symbol made it clear who it belonged to...

she looked around for it's owner and saw Jason a few feet away cleaning a gun and glaring down at his feet, she went to lift herself up but hissed in pain, his green eyes met hers and immediately Y/n could see anger, suspicion, relief and fear in the almost glowing orbs. he put the gun down and walked over to her crouched down. 

"How are you feeling?"

"like I got run over by Semi..."

"Yeah I figured, stay down I didn't patch you up just to redo it all over again."

"Not to shabby Red..How badly was I hurt?"

Jason looked uncomfortable "You don't want to know." he huffed pushing her back down on to the mat, Y/n looked around started noticing the tiny details she missed, she saw a water bucket with a bloody cloths hanging out of it, her bloodied jacket was hanging off a wire along with her ruined shirt and muddy pants a few feet away, 

she winced and  looked under Jason's jacket she looked like a mummy in skull and crossbones panties. She heard Jason cough and looked up at him, as he glared at her tiredly "So..what I'd like to know is how the hell an office chick got mixed up with black mask?" Y/n arched a brow.

"I don't know Jay, how does random one off, turn out to be a werewolf?" She jeered the vigilante let out a sharp breath. "Answer my question..and I might tell you." he growled keeping his eyes trained on her. 

"I don't know, a guy who used pick up jobs for my uncle, Hired me out to someone...never said who." She sighed glaring up at the sky thinking about how she was gonna get Riley back."But, of course you know this because you were following me."

the h/c watched his jaw set unsure if he should believe her or not, after all they let her leave that warehouse without a bullet between her eyes. "I don't know why they let me go either, if that what you're worried about..." Jason eye twitched she didn't smell nervous or agitated...She seemed to be telling truth, but that didn't put his suspicions at rest. 

Black Mask spared Y/n and he was gonna find out why...He brought out by his thoughts by Y/n who looked up at him expectantly, He had some explaining to do...

Jason told her about how he used to be Robin, how the joker killed him and a group of assassins brought him back via a Lazarus pit, But not before injecting his body with lycanthropy venom to give him a little more bite to his bark, what they hadn't expected was for Jason to go feral and AWOL,

 When he finally got back to his senses he traveled the world for while, learning different skills and deadly tactics he bided his time planning and eventually returned to Gotham after five years...to get revenge on Joker and Batman. In the end things didn't play out like he had pictured it... And now He patrols and keeps the gangs in check.

"That bullet I pulled out of you when we met, It was silver shouldn't that have killed you?" Jason snorted as that was the question a select few that knew about him always asked."That's just Hollywood bullshit, like just how crosses and sunlight doesn't do jack-shit to those damn leeches, anything could kill me." 

He spat annoyed having to compare him to those snooty vamps, Y/n frowned judging by Jason's tone he must've had a bad run in vampires at some point. She gets that, Riley scared the hell out of her when she was younger [still does.], the way he was able to sneak up on her, the few times she's walked in on him with a Scarlet* who was nearly drained. And the blood-rages those were the worst...

She wondered if Jason was subjected to that too."We should probably get you to that place you were looking for last night.." Said man interrupted her thoughts "How did you." he cocked brow...right giant dog, he could smell a steak cooking forty miles away and tell her in it was over done or not. "It's faint..but, you still go there sometimes." He said helping her sit up being careful not to agitate the cuts on her back.

Jason helped readjusted his jacket on the y/h girl it was fricken huge on Y/n stopping above{passed} her knees the tips of his ears turned red as he watched the way it framed her breasts as she zip it up. He swallowed a got to cleaning the campsite while mentally berating himself. 

*that was one time thing!...and even if it wasn't she too hurt for it.* he took a sharp breath dumping the bloody water in the bucket over the fire pit and tossed her bloody clothes into garbage bag and left them in the back of his jeep, Jason would occasionally shoot daggers at Y/n if she tried helping him. He let put her boots on after she was insistent that she wasn't gonna burst into flames for tying a shoelace!

Jason backed off and gave her space, Last night He actually hadn't planned on seeing Y/n, he was originally was headed out here to wait out his transformation, But he then had the sudden urge to check in on the h/c girl, he heard conversation on her roof, It irritated him to hell knowing that leech was able to manipulate her into a dangerous situation...But, the fact that she sounded used to it, left a bad taste in his mouth. 

Jason made a note to start looking into Y/n's uncle, something wasn't adding up...He met the guy a few times as a kid. The old man kept never really mentioned having relatives, then again like anyone in the narrows he mainly kept to himself. The only person he ever really talked to was the same vampire Y/n talked to last night...

After helping Y/n into the jeep they made the trip to bunker in no time, it looked like a set of basement step dug into the side of rocks, It was nice set up steel walls, heavy doors and a military grade surveillance system, Now he really had check in on Y/n's uncle.

he was supposed to be a retired army doctor who gave cheap medical check-ups to the people living in the Narrows, But this says he had more then just medical training under his belt this bunker says vigilante or merc for hire...And if that's case then just who the hell is Y/n? was she really his niece?...or did he obtain her through other means? 

"Jason?"

"Hm..."

"Are you alright? you look stressed."

"Yeah, just thinking..uh, would it be okay I stayed in this bunker...I for y'know" Y/n stared him down causing Jason to wonder if she saw through him, the h/c hummed handing him back his jacket "Yeah that's fine just don't break anything." the raven haired man relaxed then noticed her clothes or rather scrubs wouldn't be his first choice but, it was better then nothing.

He took his jacket back and put it back on ignoring the fuzzy feeling he got smelling the way her scent from it mingled with his, it made his beast want more from the h/c girl who obliviously felt nothing.

"...Probably fucking that Irish bastard anyways." Jason muttered not realizing he said it out loud till Y/n sneered in disgust at the mere thought. "Che..Yeah, He wishes." Jason's eyes widened and looked at her gobsmacked "Yes, you did say it out loud." she smirked the vigilante felt his face heat up. "And you'll be happy to know that you achieved something Riley been trying to do for years and will never get chance to."

she says winking at him, Jason couldn't help but feel a small bit of pride at hearing that...and without really thinking he smirked "I wouldn't mind doing it again, just to piss him off." he quipped Y/n face turned pink, and the raven haired man blanched "I..didn't mean..." the h/c waved him off "No, no it's fine I wouldn't mind...Just make sure we're both sober this time." She said seriously Jason coughed. 

"I'll make sure on that, ...But, just to be clear this thing is just sex alright? I'm not really looking for a relationship." He said keeping his distance as h/c contemplated this. "Okay, deal and if we both find someone we go our separate ways..." She held her hand and Jason seem to be thinking it over too. "Deal." He said shaking her hand ignoring the way the tightness in his chest and the way his stomach flopped.  

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

Just the notes ma’am:  [Scarlets or rather Scarlet harlots: Are women who purposely let Vamps drink from them in exchange for. Money, Drugs or Sex. They're basically prostitutes who cater to Vampires, It's not uncommon to find a Scarlet pregnant from one-night stands or dead from over drain.]

[brushlesprouts]

Sir Rathus Kaine Returns

Inspired by reading Seven Blades in Black by Sam Sykes, I made this while trying to emulate the style. I highly recommend the book. Please enjoy my brain nugget.

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“Great General Baltha!” Said the messenger, running frantically into the office. Bethany Burlesque Baltha spared an irate glance at the frantic messenger.

“Yes?” She said, voice creaking from the remnants of a cold she was battling. The stress of running the Palace of Great Deeds had been ruining her sleep schedule which had made her condition rather worrisome. But she couldn’t let down the Glorious One, or more importantly, Abigail. She pushed the thought away from her mind. She realized she hadn’t been paying attention to the messenger.

“Uh, what was that?” She said, “Catch your breath and start over.”

The messenger seemed thankful and took a few deep breaths before speaking again. “Like I said, the Crypt of Kings was found open this morning.”

“Grave robbers?” She said and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I wouldn’t think a General would have to instruct her forces to hunt down bandits.” She paused as a cold chill passed down her spine, “Unless there is more to this story?”

The messenger, steadied himself on a chair in front of her desk. She motioned for him to take a seat. He obliged and took another breath.

“We thought it was stranger for bandits to get this far into the Palace of Great Deeds without anyone noticing. So we went into the crypt and found there was only one tomb disturbed. One that we have all been instructed to stay far away from.” He paused as the realization sunk into her. She rose from her desk, her eyes deadly serious and focused on him.

“Show me.”

The Glorious Empire of Divinia held a great deal of the western continent with its heart beating in the capital city of Falk at the top of Mount Spire. Surrounding allies all held an important part of the Glorious Empire. And in Velkinrath, they had the Palace of Great Deeds. A glorified cemetery for the great martyrs and pillars of the nation. Though, that was just on the surface. Deep beneath the polished marble floors, a series of chambers held dire secrets. And among them was the body of the true pillar of the Glorious Empire.

Sir Rathus Kaine. First of the Glorious Empire. The Hero who sacrificed everything for the benefit of The Glorious One. He was buried in a very prestigious place, behind several layers of protective barrier. The scraps of which lay in shattered flecks around the feet of Baltha. She gazed, a pale expression of unrest sitting uncomfortably on her face, into the gaping maw of the opened crypt. The messenger stayed at the door behind her as instructed, but for a fleeting moment she really wanted to have another body there as a shield. Or better yet, she really wanted to turn tail and run back up to her desk and dive underneath and snatch that bottle of aged whiskey for a long and comforting pull. But this would demand a report. And she would need to add a very important detail. One that Abigail would be looking very keenly for. And one that, should she leave out, would reflect poorly on her maintaining the loving relationship her neck had with her head.

She steeled her resolve and pressed onward. The echoing sound of her boots in the stone corridor emphasized the feeling that she was alone in the tomb. And hopefully, that was true.

She reached the remnants of the chamber door leading into the tomb. There were large gashes on the metal door that had severed the layers of locking mechanisms. She felt a cold wind on the back of her neck, she fought her urge to cry out, and simply turned around slowly. All she saw was the messenger standing at the entrance, dutiful and at attention. Poor soul must have been anxious as hell. Seeing his superior meekly stumbling in the dark towards a room he never had any knowledge of. She cleared her throat and called out to him.

“Seems like the grave robbers were using some impressive tools.” She said, and to her credit, she almost believed it. But the gouges in the door were clearly rend from the inside of the room. The messenger nodded from his vantage point far away from her.

She turned back to the door and the room beyond. A cold sweat had begun to bead on her forehead. One last thing to check. Just a quick peek will do the trick. Then she could leave and file a report that there was just some burglars that need apprehending and she could go back to trying to drown troubling memories and nightmares.

She slipped her hand between the cracks in the door and felt for the special switch that deactivated the traps within the room. You could conceive that these traps were built to discourage the incredibly dedicated thief, but she knew there was another being that it was actually designed for. Several layers of powerful and painful magic pointed at the sarcophagus at the center of the tomb. To be fair, it was a rather splendid piece of work, that regal coffin. Draped in the wonderful colors of the Glorious Empire and sealed with hundreds of pounds of inert stone, sculpted to look like the late Rathus Kaine. Or at least, it would, were it not for the gaping scar that tore through the length of the elegant confinement. And by all accounts, that kind of rupture did not appear to come from the outside.

“Oh no,” Baltha said to herself. She began to contemplate her options. She could bring this intel to Abigail, now would be fine. But she knew the question would come.

“And the body?” She would ask. In a voice like honey. So sweet. So viciously sweet. You wouldn’t notice the poison until you were already a blue and bloated corpse.

So, with her fear of the known overpowering her fear of the unknown, Baltha tipped her head forward and looking into the regal coffin’s wound.

Within the sarcophagus, wrapped in the regalia he wore in life, lay the late Sir Rathus Kaine. Eyes closed gently as if in peaceful rest. Hands holding onto the sword given to him on the day his life was taken by an enraged elemental and he passed away for the benefit of the Glorious Empire.

She closed her eyes let out a heaving sigh of relief. The body was still there. Still dead. Whatever had happened here was very strange, but at least she could end her report and Abigail would not come after her.

“Did you miss me?” A voice said.

Her eyes snapped open, Kaine was looking up at her. His eyes open wide. Bright and filled with a light that was not human, or divine, something else. She felt the would fall out beneath her, dropping to her knees and scrambling back to the entrance to the tomb. There came a blast of wind as Kaine stepped beside her. The edge of his sword found its way under her chin.

“After all these years, you never visited.” He said, his voice was distant but she could feel it pounding in her head. “I guess I can’t blame you, what with these magical traps. Did you make these, Baltha? Traps always were your specialty.”

She swallowed hard, the edge of the blade biting gently into the skin of her throat. Her body trembled as she tried to lift herself away from the blade. She was so close to the door, to the trap switch, she could still make it out alive. She just needed to buy time.

“Please don’t kill me.” She said, choking back a sob. “I don’t want to die.”

The pressure against her throat lessened. “Oh dear, Baltha. I am not going to slit your throat.” He said and slipped the blade into the sheath at his side. “You’re just following orders.” His eyes danced with fire as he looked down at her. “Another dog of Abigail.”

“Yes,” She said, stumbling to her feet and falling against the door frame, “I was just a pawn. A tool.”

He tipped his head to the side, “Baltha, what are you doing?”

She jammed her hand into the door crack, “I’m putting you back in your box, Kaine!” She shouted and flicked the switch. The magic in the traps began to hum back to life.

“Aha, I see.” He said and smiled. “So that’s where it is.” The hum of the magic traps began to change tone to a rhythmic pulsing in and out. It sounded like a grumbling, gravelly echo. Like someone…snoring?

“You know Baltha,” He said, his form shivering and fading away to show her still standing over the sarcophagus, asleep on her feet. “You really should get more sleep. You’ll get nightmares.” He said and clapped his hands.

Baltha woke up with a start, standing in front of the sarcophagus, looking down into the gaping wound. The empty box presented the lovely interior of the royal coffin. She turned back to the door, to find Kaine standing there. His hand was slipped into the crack in the door.

“Goodbye Baltha.” The clock of the switch rang in her ears before being drowned out by the roar of the magical traps.

At the end of the corridor, the messenger barely had time to dive away from the blast of powerful magic that ripped out of the tomb. He scrambled to his feet and looked down the glassed corridor.

“General Baltha?” He called out.

There came no answer, but there was a whisper that came from behind him.

“You’re a messenger, right?”

The young messenger spun around to see an emaciated and ashen body wreathed in the scraps of tattered regal clothing, a dangerous blade hung at his hip. He placed a hand on the weapon and cleared his throat to insist a response.

“Y-yes, sir.” He said, fumbling to pull a notepad and everink quill out of his pockets.

“Good,” The shambling corpse said, his smile causing cracks to form at the edges of his face, “Tell Abigail I’m coming for a visit.”

The messenger scribbled on the pad. At the bottom of his notes, a flourished blank patch begged a name. He looked up to the imposing threat before him.

“Uh, who–“

“Me?” Said the crackling creature. It’s eyes flashed with a sickly light and his grin peeled back to reveal sharpened teeth. “I’m the Boogeyman.”