#i would still hold him by the scruff like a kitten but he's not supposed to be pathetic

[encrucijada]

contrary to popular belief my oc most like adam parrish is actually ángel quijada

[vexcraft]

also on ao3 here!

special delivery

Pearl was fairly certain this was not in her job description. 

She supposed she had agreed to do special deliveries and while she would not necessarily count this as one because there was a permit for these kinds of jobs – though she figured that since there was no transaction involved she wasn’t breaking the law and then technically this was not necessarily a job for the man with the mob permit – this was still something she would have called Scar for. If he was available that was. Which brings her to the next problem.

Scar was currently very small, very grey, and a little feathery. And also in her mailbag.

Pearl did know a little about the vex thing. Not a whole lot, it didn’t really come up all that often, but at least she knew enough to realize that the little creature she had spotted inside one of the chests of the explosive firework shop was Scar. She had noticed the chest wasn’t properly closed when she had been restocking her flower truck and she would hate it if rainwater ruined the fireworks that from what she’d heard could cost Cub more to make than he was selling them for, so she had decided to help the man out and close the chest. Only to find a very small Scar in it.

She had no idea what to do with a vex though. Especially with a vex that seemed very much to be sleeping and showing zero signs of planning on waking up any time soon. So she had carefully picked Scar up where he had been curled up in the middle of the fireworks and gently placed him in her bag, glad that she had already delivered all the mail that had been there earlier.

She was also, for once, glad that her donkey was as slow as it was. It made the journey to the one person she figured could probably help her with this issue a little more steady. Steady was what she needed right now – she didn’t trust herself to fly or even run with a literal person in her bag.

The journey took a while, and every now and then she looked into her bag to make sure everything was alright. Each time Scar seemed just as asleep as the last time and she briefly wondered if he was maybe unconscious and not just sleeping – but he seemed to be tossing and turning a little so she wasn’t too worried. Surely Cub would know what was up.

Pearl couldn’t say she was surprised she saw sculk when Cub’s area came into view. The extent of it was mildly terrifying though, especially as he resided quite close to her, but she paid it no mind. She had more important things to worry about, like finding Cub (and maybe hoping that he was not covered in sculk). 

“Cub?” she called as she got off the donkey. She didn’t have a lead and there weren’t any fence posts nearby anyway – she would just have to hope the donkey wouldn’t wander off the pathway into the sculk. “You around here?”

She heard the sound of a firework going off and quickly a rather normal-looking (aside from all the dye stains) Cub landed before her. 

“Hey hey,” Cub greeted her. “What’s up? Good to see you, Pearl.”

“I have a special delivery for you,” Pearl explained, putting on her slightly more professional mail lady voice. 

“Hmm?” Cub hummed, obviously curious. “Intriguing. I don’t remember buying anything or signing up for anything.” 

“Yeah, about that…” Pearl opened her bag and held it out enough for Cub to be able to look inside. He took a few steps forward to peek into the bag and then let out a little amused sound.

“I see, I see,” Cub nodded, reaching into the bag. Pearl winced a little as Cub picked up the sleeping vex by the scruff of his neck like one might hold a small kitten – she was certain Cub knew how to handle a vex miles better than she did but after spending the better part of the last hour being as careful as she could it did catch her off guard a little. Scar didn't seem to mind, still deep asleep. “Where did you find him?”

“He was sleeping amongst the fireworks in a chest at your shop,” Pearl said as she watched Cub cradle the vex in his arms – or rather his arm, he didn’t really need both of his arms to hold something so small. “I figured that might not have been the best place for him.”

“Makes sense, makes sense,” Cub nodded and Pearl had no idea what exactly about this was making sense to Cub, but she was glad something was. “Thank you for bringing him here, I’ll take care of him.”

Cub looked like he was about to turn around and leave to do whatever one did to care for a vex and Pearl couldn’t stop her curiosity. 

“Cub? Can I ask a question before you go?” 

The man paused. “Sure, of course,” he replied. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry which did ease Pearl’s nerves a little. “Shoot.”

"Why?” she asked and it came out a little less polite than she was hoping for. “I mean, is he like, alright? I’ve never seen that happen before. Had me a little worried there.”

Cub seemed to either not notice her tone or simply not care. “Just means he’s really tired. Like really really tired. Nothing too serious, I’ll talk to him about it.” Scar turned a little in Cub’s hold almost like he knew he was being talked about. “It happens sometimes, every now and then.”

“He’ll just be back to normal once he’s rested?” All of this was raising more questions than answering them, but she didn’t want to pry. 

“Yep,” Cub confirmed. “He seems to like sleeping in chests, not the first time he’s been found in one. I’ve never tried to put him in a shulker box, do you think I could mail him?”

Pearl just stared at him. “Please do not try to mail Scar.”

[zalmoxis-the-great]

Meowcrontyr story

This is completely inspired by your cat lore @redsasexualdisaster

I had to make a Mhelob story ! I hope I didn't misunderstood the sacred incense thingy~!

Necrons are cats in this AU. Lol it is 4 am

--------

Mhelob was only twenty-eight days old kitten, and already treading the interesting expanse of the world around him.

He and his siblings spent most of their time around Orikan, their parent, who currently was luxuriously spread on the little bed in the corner of the garage. Their father, Trazyn, would visit them from time to time, bringing treats and shiny toys for them to play with.

But Mhelob was very special. He was the tiniest kitten.

Orikan told him so. He was the smallest kitten he ever made.

Usually, he would be proud of that, but right now, as his brothers and sisters were pushing, squishing, and kicking him out of his parent’s reach, he wasn't feeling too proud.

He meowed angrily.

There was no more space around their parents’ belly, and his stomach was rumbling.

He went to present his protests to a higher authority, by shoving his fluffy whiskers all in Orikan’s face.

The older necron cat listened to the concerned meowing of Trazyn’s spawn, and decided that it was a great opportunity for the kitten to learn how to solve his own problems. So he communicated that to him.

To the skitarii watering the plants outside, this all looked like a kitten went to Orikan’s face, and meowed, once, to which the bigger cat licked its face, once, and promptly went back to sleep.

Poor Mhelob was left to solve this problem all alone.

He decided that the best strategy was to summon more allies. With this in his tiny kitten brain, he went outside the garage they were sheltered by, and trotted straight to the back door that the grander skitarii forgot to close.

The house was supposed to be a space only for the necrons of the Nihilakh dynasty and humans. Orikan often warned Mhelob and his siblings against going inside.

But this necron was one determined kitten, so holding his tiny tail high, he marched inside.

At first, the strange space was spooky, but the weird smoke that seemed to come from little sticks burning at one end seemed to relax him.

He decided that walking inside the house was fun. He quickly learned that when he placed one front and back paw down simultaneously, it would make him bounce slightly.

This made every step a little jump, which brought him faster and closer to his goal.

Navigating with his nose was harder than usual, because of the thick smog in the house. It made his eyes water a bit. But he still could smell the faint trace of his father.

Soon he found himself in front of an open door.

Peaking inside revealed a long-haired cat

It was his sire, Trazyn the Infinite, and the current prize-winning cat of Belisarius Cawl.

The fluffy necron was busy jumping from shelf to shelf, from time to time, rubbing his nose, probably from the thick smoke in the house.

Speaking of.

Now Mhelob realized that his nose was itching too.

He let out a tiny kitten sneeze, alerting the bigger necron of his presence.

‘Who’s there?’, he turned, squinting at the kitten.

‘Mhelob?’ The necron jumped on the ground level. ‘What are you doing here?’

The tiny necron rushed to their parent’s belly. The sudden motion caused the big cat to place a paw on the kitten’s tiny head.

The kitten meow indignantly at the injustice.

‘I am not the right parent for this, child. ’Trazyn sighed. ‘Let’s get you to where you belong.’

After saying that, the necron grabbed Mhelob by the scruff of his neck and started walking with him toward the garage.

The kitten was calm while being carried outside the house, sneezing a couple of times on their way.

When they reached the outside, they noticed that the skitarii stopped pretending to water the plants, abandoning the still-open water hose next to the fuse box, to stare at the necrons on the cat-bed.

Trazyn dropped Mhelob and got close to a seemingly snoozing Orikan.

Mhelob trotted closer and noticed the lack of space.

He meowed loudly, prompting the skitarii to switch its focus on them.

Trazyn nodded, acknowledging his kitten’s complaint, and got closer to Orikan.

The single-eyed necron was still sitting comfortably, ignoring the both of them. The long-haired cat licked him once on his face, which was ignored.

Trazyn looked at Mhelob, winked at him, then shoved his whole face on the smooth skin of Orikan’s middle, blowing a raspberry.

The loud noise scared the one-eyed cat.

Orikan let out a yowl and jumped in the air, scaring the other kittens next to him.

When he fell back down on the bed, he raised his tail, letting out a threatening growl directed at Trazyn, only to be cut by Mhelob, who zoomed in on him, glad to see his siblings out of the way. The sudden interruption tempered Orikan’s anger.

‘So you were behind all this!’ He meowed angrily, his tail swooshing violently.

‘He complained that you were doing a bad job.’ Trazyn licked his paw, pretending not to hear the angry hiss coming from his mate.

The long-haired cat turned around, looking straight at Orikan, and blinked slowly at him.

The hissing stopped, and after a moment, Orikan blinked back at him.

Trazyn decided that now was a good time to take a catnap, after he moved the rest of the kittens in the bed before he curled in it too. After a moment Orikan lay down.  Both of them ignored the skitarii watching them, as well as the thick smoke coming from the now-wet fuse box.

[gaycrimesagainstmutants]

Oh yasss rottmnt!!! Btw drink some water my fella!

Anyways, I was wondering if you could do a Donnie x male reader where the reader has recently adopted a kitten who's very playful and tends to scratch a lot but is still an adorable sweetheart and when Donnie goes to visit him, the kitten immediately likes him? I've seen cats distrust and dislike people that aren't good for their owners so the idea of the cat immediately accepting Donnie would be super cute imo. You can skip this ask if you want lol ^^

Kitty Cat

Genre: Fluff

A/N: I'm prettyyyy sure Mnt. Dew has water in it, so I should be good! :) Haha, in all seriousness, ya'll stay hydrated! And thanks for the request. ^-^

"I seriously doubt you thought this through," Donnie said, tapping his foot as you fiddled with the door to your apartment.

"I did, Don. Trust me when I say that this was a perfectly thought out plan," You replied with a smile, cheering as you finally got the door open. Damn door and it's finicky lock, Donnie knew he'd have to fix it someday soon. Lest you break your hand trying to get it open.

When you had called Donnie a few nights ago, saying you found a poor little kitten in an alleyway, abandoned by it's mother, he had thought you would take it to a shelter. Or maybe give it to some extended family members. Not immediately get attached and try to keep it.

Not that he's surprised, you always had a bleeding heart.

Now, you had somehow roped him into meeting the thing. Something about how you wanted your two favorite creatures to get along. Donnie still thought it was a bad idea - you lived in a rinky dink apartment in New York, a city which had a new mutant or yökai or another odd threat every other week - but he couldn't judge. Your life, your choice.

So, as you two stepped inside your apartment and you went to go put up your belongings, Donnie decided to go searching for the little creature who lived in your walls. Didn't take him very long, the thing had somehow slipped behind the microwave and was meowing loudly for someone to come save it.

Donnie picked up the kitten by the scruff of it's neck and held it up, examining the cat with an analytical eye. The kitten was still young enough that there wasn't any clear way to tell their gender and from what research he did on cat species, they seemed to be a Ragdoll. "Intriguing," he muttered.

"Donnie, I swear, if you're expirementing on poor Crash," you said as you walked into the kitchen, gently scopping the kitten from his grasp and setting them back down to let them scamper off to go explore the apartment more.

"Crash?" Donnie asked.

"Short for Crashworth Cortex Bandicoot the First," you said with a shrug, before leaving the kitchen to go sit on the couch. Donnie paused for a moment, thinking about how silly of a name that was for a cat, before turning his attention to your snack cabinet.

----

After settling down on the couch next to you - granola bar and flavorless juice in hand - he thought that was the last he'd see of Crash for the rest of the day, besides the little bugger running into the living room to play.

At least, until he started clawing at the couch, meowing for your attention.

"Aw, come here baby," You cooed, picking them up and holding the kitten close to your chest. Donnie could almost wish you'd talk to him like that - so soft and full of childish love - if you didn't already do that, in front of his brothers no less. Oh well, it's onlt naturally for a kitten to want to spend time with it's owner.

Yet, the kitten kept meowing.

"What's wrong baby?" You asked, still using that cute baby-talk voice as Crash simmied out of your arms and leaped over to him. They circled around on his lap for a while, before laying down to rest, purring. "Hey, they like you!" You exclaimed, eyes shining with pure delight.

"I...suppose so," Donnie said, confusion laced in his tone. He knows cats can eat turtles - and that cats will, on many occasions - so he thought Crash would just see him as a gaint, walking tray of yummy turtle meat.

He supposed not.

Slowly running his fingers through the cats fur he was...pleasantly surprised. Normally, stuff like cat's fur would trigger all his sensory issues, but this nice and fluffy and didn't feel like a thousand ants trying to bury under his skin.

"You good, babe? You're zoning out," You asked, tapping his shoulder lightly with a concerned look on your face. Donnie cleared his throat.

"There isn't anything wrong, my dear. Let us focus on the show. Oh, remind me, what's it about again?" Donnie asked. The question sent you on a hyperfocused-induced ramble, which allowed Donnie a moment of breath and also to distract you from the rare pet name that slipped out in a moment of weakness or how he kept petting the sleeping kitten for the rest of the marathon.

[real-reulbbr-band]

Okay! I havnt been able to get your dog George hc out of my head since I read your post!! So I was wondering do you have other doggy hcs for him?? Like what bread he is or how other cats reacted when they first met him??

Thank youuu!! I appreciate that alot!!

(also just to be clear I didn't originate the george is actually a dog thing I've seen it floating around and I was just "yes" lol)

I'm gonna start with the questions you asked and ramble a little lol

I can't obviously go over every cats individual reactions but I think I'll categorize them so:

Skeptical and curious: Tantomile, Coricopat, Jemima, Victoria, Etcetera, Tugger, Asparagus and Cassandra.

It was pretty much a "who is this and why is he here?" thing for them and Etcetera in particular wanted to get up close and personal since she's never seen a dog before and figured he was a funny looking cat.

Wary/ on guard: Munkustrap, Demeter, Poncival, Skimbleshanks, Alonzo and probably Jennyanydots.

It's a dog pretty self explanatory, and judging by the way pollicles are reffered too I don't think the cats appreciate them very much. But they all warm up to him pretty much immediantly since this a really tiny pollicle.

Neutral: Bombalurina, Jellyorum, Tumblebrutus, Mistoffelees, Gus and Electra

It's like the situation happened so quick that by the time they found out it was almost over and it's like well....next. However Tumble was very insistent on meeting George and so Jellyorum had to take him to meet him, since Tumble was so sure he could Tumble better then a dog.

(more under cut)

George is an australian shepard! for refrence:

As for Doggy headcanons:

George really wanted to learn how to purr but it would always end up sounding like a growl or grumble so sometimes Tumblebrutus and Pouncival would assume he'd gotten mad out of nowehere or was just very hungry.

He did not appreciate the typical cat diet alot so he'd frequently rely on Mungo and Teazer (atleast when he was still a pup and couldn't hunt) to grab him something when they went out on a heist.

So many of jenny and Jelly's knitting pieces had gone to ruins because of George's high energy and playfulness.

Speaking of George's high energy he'd try to burn out most of it by doing tasks around the junkyard mostly helping out Asparagus.

George is deathly afraid of being sent to the pound since he loves being with the jellicles so much, so he's pretty much afraid of any kind of truck. like if he spots one or hears one his first instinct is to hide.

George isn't used to how cats carry kittens atleast when he first came to the junkyard, he thought holding them by the scruff was hurting them which led into him barking at Jelly for no reason lol. But hey it's how he met Plato and they're best buddies now. Jellyorum eventually taught George that holding kittens by the scruff was doing them no harm.

Speaking of Plato and George being besties, Plato got George to try catnip with him for the first time cause he was nervous and well it went quite well except when Asparagus caught the two giggling at nothing for hours.

Plato has lost so many naps to George, George can't help if he's bored and his first insitinct is if he can't find Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer go play with Plato. George would normally coax Plato awake by challenging him to a race or just repeatively placing a stick infront of Platoand wagging his own tail.

Though revenge is always in order and Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer will ocassionally distrupt George's naps by just bapping at his stomach or face just so he can chase them around liek old times.

George has gotten licked and groomed far too many times, mostly by Jelly or sometime Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer tag teaming. like it took the jellicle's an embarissingly long time to figure out that dogs aren't supposed to be groomed like that but by the time they did George had grown acustommed to it so they didn't really bother stopping they just introduced him to the concept of swimming more and called it a day.

[realisticjojoxreader]

getting a hug from star platinum🥰🥰

jotaro x reader, part 4, 1.2k

“What are you doing?” Jotaro asks, but when you glance up, he’s not looking at you at all, which seems kind of rude. You’re trying to seduce him, here. How is that supposed to work if he spends his time staring up at his stand instead of down at you? You even wore your nicest pants for this!

“Ora ora ora,” says Star Platinum, gesturing like it’s making some eloquent point. Jotaro blinks. So do you. “Ora ora!”

That’s when you notice that, for some reason, Star Platinum seems to be getting closer to you. “Do you, like, need something?” you ask it, taking a step back, rightfully intimidated. The damn thing is taller than Jotaro and Jotaro’s fucking massive. “I don’t speak Stand, I don’t know what you want.” You squint at Jotaro, who looks just as baffled as you feel. (Or at least he would, if he emoted in a normal way. As it stands, he just looks kind of constipated.) “Do you know what’s going on?”

Jotaro shakes his head. He’s lucky he’s hot as hell, because he’s definitely not helpful, now or in general.

Star Platinum turns away from you and starts doing some elaborate miming, evidently trying to tell Jotaro something too complex to be conveyed with mere ‘ora’s. You can’t see most of its movements, since all you can see is a broad blue-purple back and a—wait, what the fuck, is that a loincloth? It’s kind of hard to pay attention to the nonsensical charades when you’re just now taking the time to notice that Star Platinum is wearing a fucking loincloth, and the damn thing leaves very little to the imagination. It basically covers the crack and nothing else, which is distressing, to say the least. Why is its ass so square?

When you finally stop freaking out about Star Platinum’s loincloth, you peek around its big (mostly naked) body to see how Jotaro’s reacting to all this.

He is, for some reason, bright red. It’s weirdly adorable. “Don’t you dare,” he growls, finger pointed at his Stand like he’s scolding a puppy and not a humanoid manifestation of his own soul. “I’ll find a way to punish you for this, I swear to fucking God.” Oh, now you’re just dying to know what Star Platinum wanted.

“Ora!” chimes Star Platinum happily, spinning back around to face you with the biggest, dumbest grin on its face. You can’t help but grin back. It really is like a puppy—its excitement is contagious.

“What’s up, big guy?” you ask it, watching as it gets closer and closer to you. For a split second, you’re afraid, because it could flatten your Stand in an instant, but you really don’t think it’s going to attack you. You’ve seen it fight. You’ve seen Jotaro’s rage channeled through it, and that isn’t what’s happening. It just looks… happy, in a way you’ve never seen Jotaro. Is his smile lopsided like that, too? Will you ever get to see it to find out?

When Star Platinum wraps its arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug, your legs wobble beneath you. Is this… is this what Jotaro wants to do, but won’t allow himself? Stands are the manifestation of one’s soul, after all. It would make sense.

Fuck, Star Platinum even smells like the shirts you’d lifted from Jotaro’s hotel room. Of course you hug back. You hug back with everything you have.

Star Platinum giggles and tightens its arms. The hug is so warm, so full of love, you almost want to cry, as overwhelmed as you are. Star Platinum giggles again and you giggle with it, still giggling when it starts spinning you around like you’re lovers being reunited in an airport. You’ve never felt so light.

It’s hard to believe that this is happening to you. You were so sure Jotaro didn’t feel the same way about you, that your feelings were one-sided. You’d tried everything to get him to notice you—including but not limited to bending over in front of him to show off your ass, using pickup lines every time he was within earshot, and dressing as skimpily as you could without getting arrested—but he never gave you the time of day, beyond asking for your help with Stand users. He’s easily the hottest person in Morioh these days, so you really didn’t want to just give up, but you were admittedly close to the end of your rope. There’s only so many times you can handle someone completely ignoring you.

But here he is, hugging you and spinning you around like he loves you. (Well, it’s Star Platinum, but as we’ve established, a Stand is the manifestation of one’s soul. So it’s still technically Jotaro, right? Right.)

Wrong.

“Found you, you piece of shit,” snarls Jotaro, running towards a bush and throwing himself at it. You and Star Platinum both freeze, still in each other’s arms, watching as Jotaro wrestles a small man out of the brush and onto the ground. Oh my God, was there a guy watching you from a bush? How long was he there? Fuck, that’s so fucking gross. What the hell is wrong with Morioh these days?

Eventually Jotaro stands, holding the guy up by the scruff of his neck like a naughty kitten. “Heyheyheyyy c'maahn I'm a little guy, I'm just a little guyy, noo, it's also my birthday, I'm a little birthday boyy,” croons the guy, wriggling in a way that is upsetting to watch.

Jotaro shakes him rather violently. “Undo what you did to my Stand or I’ll snap your fucking neck.” Goodness, you’ve never seen Jotaro lose his cool like this before. It’s kind of hot.

“I didn’t do anythingg, I’m just a little guyy, noo—” the guy’s vile warbling gets cut off when Jotaro punches him in the face, his nose breaking, you think, judging by the sound of it. “God, fuck, fine!” He snaps his gross little fingers and, almost instantaneously, Star Platinum blinks and shakes its head like a dog drying off.

“Did you really think that little birthday boy bit would work?” asks Jotaro, lip curled up with what you presume is disgust. It looks a lot like his confused face from earlier.

Groaning, the guy cups his bleeding nose. “It usually does,” he gurgles.

“Unbelievable. Get the fuck out of here.” With that, Jotaro kicks him, and the guy scrambles off down the street, crying. “And you,” snaps Jotaro, pointing at Star Platinum. “Get the fuck away from that weirdo.”

Star Platinum obliges instantly, pushing away from you with so much force that you go flying into the canal.

“Can you swim?” Jotaro calls to you, sounding bored more than anything, not even bothering to poke his head over the edge.

“Yeah,” you call back, unsure of what else you can say in the face of such utter rejection. He called you ‘that weirdo’. There’s no coming back from that, is there?

“Shame,” he says. “Stop stealing my shirts, freak.” And then he walks away, footsteps clear as day against the concrete sidewalk. Maybe it’s time you moved to a different city, one without crazy photograph ghosts or serial killers with catboy Stands or Kujo fucking Jotaro.

[jaskierswolf]

HERE FOR MORE KITTEN!FIC: something from kitten!Jaskier's POV? Does he understand the situation he's in, but is enjoying Geralt's soft attention too much? Perhaps he thinks he's in a very pleasant dream where Geralt returns his affections and cares for him? Geralt confessing his feelings for Jaskier to the kitten (like he talks to Roach). Geralt hiding the kitten under his cloak when it rains/snows. And of course Geralt's embarrassed/shocked reaction when Jaskier turns back!

Sorry it took a while! I got caught up with Christmas/Wintery prompts! So this is a follow up to this short drabble. This part is a tad longer at just under 900 words. No warnings apply. ___________________________ Buttercup purred and snuggled closer to the witcher’s chest. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that something wasn’t right. Cats didn’t like witchers but he’d been so lost and confused when his witcher, Geralt, had found him on the path. He’d bounded up to Geralt like they were old friends and Geralt had scooped him up so gently that Buttercup had forgotten why cats were supposed to be afraid. Geralt had only ever treated him with kindness, he’d even given him a name; Buttercup.

The witcher had been so sad when Buttercup had found him but it hadn’t taken long to coax a smile and even a laugh from Geralt. He was particularly fond of moments like this, when Buttercup was purring happily on his witcher’s chest as they settled down for the night.  Buttercup yawned, stretching as he dug his claws into Geralt’s shirt, and then settled back down, closer to Geralt’s head. He meowed, pawing at Geralt’s cheek.

“Would you stop that?” Geralt grumbled, still half asleep.

Buttercup let out a half purr, half meow and nibbled at Geralt’s chin before rolling onto his back and catching the witcher’s long hair in his paws. To his dismay Geralt picked him up by the scruff of his neck and dumped him back down on Geralt’s stomach, far away from Buttercup’s favourite toy. It wasn’t fair that Geralt had such fun hair and Buttercup wasn’t allowed to play.

He hissed at Geralt and flicked his tail, crawling back up towards Geralt’s neck.

“No, Buttercup,” Geralt growled but he scratched behind Buttercup’s ears. Buttercup closed his eyes at let out a long deep purr.

Oh how dearly he loved his witcher.

“You remind me of someone, little one,” Geralt hummed, absentmindedly scratching behind Buttercup’s ears. “His name was Buttercup too, guess I named you after him. You have the same eyes as him. He went by Jaskier though, probably thought it sounded fancier. He wasn’t scared of me either, just like you, and gods you’re both fucking needy.”

Buttercup opened one eye and glared at his witcher. He wasn’t needy, he just enjoyed Geralt’s company. He dug his claws a little deeper into Geralt’s chest and flicked his tail. Geralt didn’t seem to notice and carried on stroking his fingers through Buttercup’s fur.

“Guess he knew that I needed someone, before I knew myself. He was perceptive like that. I’m glad you’re here, little one. I fucked up. Thought I could do this on my own but… I don’t think I can. I’m supposed to go to Cintra to collect my child surprise but he won’t want to be linked to witcher. Jaskier could’ve helped. He would’ve wanted to help. He. He loved me…”

Buttercup raised his head and gazed at his witcher. Of course this Jaskier loved Geralt. He couldn’t imagine anyone not loving his darling witcher. He meowed and moved so he could nuzzle under Geralt’s chin. He didn’t like it when Geralt was upset. He’d had too much pain in his life already, he deserved to be happy, to be loved.

“Fuck,” Geralt groaned. “he loved me and I. I fucking ruined everything. I couldn’t find the words to tell him that…”

Geralt cut himself off with a sigh. Buttercup’s tail flicked and he meowed. He needed to know the end of that sentence. It was suddenly the most important thing in the young kitten’s life. He felt dizzy and could barely make sense of where he was anymore, it was only Geralt.

“To tell him that I loved him too,” Geralt finished, a whisper barely audible above the crackling fire place.

Buttercup’s whole world turned on its head. He cried out as bright light filled his vision, the potion’s effects reversing and he landed back on Geralt’s chest, still wearing the old red doublet from weeks ago.

“Oh bollocks!” Jaskier groaned and rolled onto his back, away from the witcher.

“What the fuck?”

“Ah… hello Geralt,” He croaked, giving his witcher a small wave.

Geralt was now sitting up, staring at him with a look of horror, a pale blush dancing on his cheeks. “Jaskier?”

“The one and only.”

“You were a kitten!”

Jaskier nodded. “Apparently so, I didn’t know exactly how the potion would work. I just. I wanted it to stop. Ah well, no matter. I’ll get out of your hair now. Sorry about all that by the way!” He smiled sheepishly and gestured vaguely at Geralt’s hair. “I’ll umm… just go.”

But Geralt grabbed his wrist, golden eyes staring up at him and fuck Jaskier was weak. “Stay.”

Jaskier swallowed and nodded, unable to tear his eyes away from Geralt’s. “Did you mean it? What you said?”

Geralt nodded.

Jaskier felt tears prickling in his eyes and he launched himself at the witcher, hands threading into Geralt hair as their lips crashed together. Jaskier wiped his eyes as he pulled away from the kiss. “I love you too, you bastard.”

Geralt kissed his forehead. “I know, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you.”

Jaskier laughed and buried his face in Geralt’s neck. “I’ll hold you to that, my dear. I want to be spoiled rotten.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s a yes.”

“We’ll see.” Geralt chuckled and pressed his lips to Jaskier’s hair.

[mowulf]

You Gotta be Kitten Me

CH 3: Rude!

“Is this… cat food???” Spy scrunched his face with a noise of disgust. “Look, I know we’re cats, but this is just insulting.” He arched his back at Medic and Engineer before he pointedly turned his back to them and sat down, nose up and tail curled around his paws.

Scout, too, made a face at the plates of wet food, though he was brave enough to scoot over and take a bite

only to immediately spit it out and wipe aggressively at his tongue. “Oh that’s wretched!” He looked up at Engineer, expression overdramatically betrayed, and sideways-angry hopped back. “I thought you liked me!”

Sniper cuffed him before approaching the food for a cautious sniff. “I doesn’t smell bad.”

“It don’t smell bad, but the taste…” Scout shuddered.

Sniper gave him an unimpressed look before leaning forward to give a quick lick at the food. He tilted his head, tail twitching, before he finally shrugged and took a seat by the plate. “Dunno what’s got you two so uppity. It’s not bad. Different, but not bad.” Scout scoffed while Sniper got comfortable and started eating.

Heavy hopped onto the table and sat next to Sniper, who acknowledged his presence with an ear flick. “Is good?”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘good’, but it’s not bad.”

“Hmm.” His flicked before he finally leaned forward to take a bite. “Is good enough.”

“That’s the spirit.”

The two biggest cats eating encouraged the remaining cats to approach the other two untouched plates. Soldier took a bite, decided it was edible, and began eating with gusto. Demoman ate slower, pausing periodically to make an unhappy expression or vaguely distressed noises. Engineer and Medic had to wrestle the sock off Pyro who then took one lick and, like Scout, angry-hopped away. Unlike Scout, though, they hopped sideways until they fell off the table.

Engineer laughed as he picked Pyro off the floor and set them back on the table with everyone else. “If you aren’t gonna eat with the rest, then you’ll have to hunt. Cats can’t eat table scraps and people food. Isn’t good for ‘em.”

Spy shrugged and made his way to the edge with a grace only he could possess. “Still preferable to that garbage.”

“Woah, hey, what? No. No! I ain’t eating no dirty-ass mice,” Scout snapped. “Doc, please!” He hopped over and pawed at the doctor’s jacket.

Medic looked him over before finally scooping him up. “Since you aren’t hungry, I suppose I can give you a quick health check,” he said casually, tightening his grip when Scout tried to wiggle loose. “Pauling said she’d come over tomorrow as soon as she could. Hopefully she has an idea of what’s going on.”

“Got it. I’ll make sure everyone’s accounted for in the morning.”

Scout made a few more attempts to get free but quickly gave up and got comfortable. Much easier to do now, given how small he was. He was just starting to get properly relaxed when Medic finally entered the treatment room and made a beeline for the desk. The smell hit him like a brick wall and he retched.

Scout had always hated hospitals. They stank of sterilization and fear. But this? This was so, so much worse. The chemical smell hit him first, burning his sinuses and making his eyes water. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the smell of blood mixed in with undertones of death and decay.

When he was finally set down on the desk, Scout stumbled and dropped to his stomach while he covered his nose in an attempt to block out the smell. It worked to an extent. Medic, meanwhile, either didn’t notice or didn’t care as he dug through the desk for Scout’s file. A clipboard was finally set on the desk with a sharp clack, followed shortly after by a scale normally reserved for weighing organs. It was the only scale small enough for the cats, unfortunately.

By the time Medic was ready, Scout had adjusted well enough to the smell of the room to start looking around. “Alright, Scout, let’s get your weight.”

Scout looked up at Medic, over at the scale, and back. His tail puffed and he folded his ears back as he silently dared Medic to even try.

Medic dared.

Medic lunged and Scout bolted, but Medic had cared for birds most of his life. Catching small, fleeing things was basically second nature anymore. Grabbing hold of Scout was painfully easy, and he dropped the howling, flailing mass of teeth and claws into the scale with ease. “Scout,” he snapped, grabbing the scruff of Scout’s neck. Scout went frighteningly still. “The sooner you calm down, the sooner we can get this over with and the sooner you can leave. Got it?”

He waited a moment longer before he finally released Scout. Scout whipped around and scratched him with a hiss before he could pull away and Medic hissed in pain. Scout hissed back and hunched on the scale and his tail whipped back and forth. Medic examined the fresh scraped and sighed. They weren’t too bad, considering the wounds he’d seen on the field. Still, they were deep and were he anyone else he would need stitches. Instead he pulled a jar of ointment from a drawer and smeared it over the cuts. It wouldn’t fix the cuts completely, but it would stop the bleeding and reduce them to minor scrapes.

“Now that we’re done with that, let’s get started.” A low growl was the only reply. Lord, Scout was going to be the problem child of the group it seemed. With only a brief pause, Medic grabbed Scout and resettled him on the scale. “Hm.” He knew Scout was small but… 12 pounds? He wrote it down anyway. “Okay, stand over here,” he said as he tapped the desk. Scout gave him an angry glare but obeyed.

“More manhandling,” Medic warned before he pressed his thumbs between Scout’s shoulders.

“Ow! Watch it!” Scout squirmed as he was poked and prodded. He didn’t make a fuss when Medic grabbed his wrist and shoulder and tested the range of motion, but he did take another swipe when Medic pressed his fingers hard to expose his claws. “Be gentle,” Scout growled before licking his sore fingers while Medic hissed and examined the new set of scratches on his knuckles.

“Note to self,” Medic growled, “Clip their claws.”

“Not a chance!”

“Now hold still.” The rest of the physical was relatively easy, though uncomfortable. Medic wasn’t gentle and more than once Scout had to smack him away when he dug his fingers in too hard. But Scout was ultimately healthy, from what he could tell. There were no stiff joints, popped sockets, or broken bones. None of the bones or muscles were malformed. For all intents and purposes, Scout really was just a standard house cat. Well, aside from the overdeveloped hind legs which seemed to be a carry over from when he was human.

Fascinating!

“Alright, Scout. Let’s take your temperature and then you should be good to,” Medic said cheerfully as he rubbed more of the healing ointment onto his hands. Scout perked up at that and trotted over to take a seat in front of Medic and opened his mouth. Sweet freedom at last.

Medic chuckled as he pulled out a thermometer. “Oh Scout. Cat’s don’t take oral thermometers.” Scout’s mouth closed slowly in dawning horror and he lifted an arm. Medic just shook his head. “Try again.”

[sopxhiea]

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: The ropes are tied on both ends after their last meeting and the infamous wild girl keeps tugging at them, until a sliver of vulnerability seeps through and Alfie sees her for who she is.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

“Am I in trouble?”

“You play so hard to get...Will I ever catch you?”

The marble walls are cold. It’s sometime in december, hard to tell since the days seem to be morphing into each other as the clock ticks. The sun no longer shows, and it’s faint when it does. One sound from the large clock on the hallway and it’s the end of the week, the passing of time seems to escape the months.

Although no one seems to care as they dance through the night.

It was put somewhere in the calendar by Annabelle, and you vaguely remember the fading lines of your uncle’s smile as he told you he’d be getting married soon. It was hard to care, even harder to remember why you were standing there, in the corner of the lavish room while the music boomed through the fancy building.

There were many things to be said, but you’d keep them to yourself for the day.

The bride was a sham, you could tell from the way she didn’t even smile at your uncle. He was somewhat of a rich guy, although you hadn’t experienced any of the said money since he happened to be greedy guy who just wouldn’t share what he reclaimed to be his.

Much to your luck, you had no interest in his money or any of his property but the new bride couldn’t disagree more. Annabelle had sent you off an hour before the event started and it was school policy to get in before midnight but you never did, even when it wasn’t someone’s wedding and just a tuesday night.

She’s not supposed to tell anyone of your whereabouts but a little green bill and Annabelle turns into a song bird.

You smile at the guests as they dance, hand in hand as the slow song fills the air. It’s rather strange seeing you like this, some think. You’re usually the source of trouble, the one causing the mess and not the quiet girl you’ve been since the wedding started but you figure you owe your uncle that even though he had forcefully sent you to a boarding school and didn’t send you anything on your birthday.

You don’t hold grudges, you say to yourself.

With the strange passage of time, sometimes you can’t quite pinpoint where the reality starts and the dreams end but you know he’s real. The way he tries to play your little game, where most of the men either failed or simply gave up. He’s been holding up his end, you conclude, after almost a month of spontaneous visits.

Alfie, is his name.

You don’t call him that, although he insists but you enjoy the way his scruff covered face reddens way too much to do things the proper way. You hadn’t even kissed him yet, but he still came back for more. He was easily riled up by you and hated Annabelle and sou you figured, you wouldn’t drop this one.

It was easy, to get tired of men and it happened almost naturally for you. The first stages were far more than exciting, when you didn’t know anything about the bloke’s life or boring job he had but soon after that, reality would set in and you’d realise that the bloke you had your hands on was just another boring rich boy who was too good for you in his family’s eyes.

But not him, Alfie had proved to be quite the opposite.

There was blood on his hands and a weight that came with it, it was evident in the way he walked and spoke, he didn’t just do things out of spite like the young lads did. You didn’t even know how old he was, only that he was close to being twice your age as Ollie had told you one time without giving away too much but that didn’t bother you.

It bothered Annabelle, though. You could see it in her eyes.

Being the infamous wild lady had its perks and one of them was the way you had access to direct information on the town’s social climate. Sometimes it was a bitter, snotty girl telling you her best friend had gotten married to a bloke from Birmingham or the drunk lad you were dancing in the club speaking to you about the new club that was opening soon. It came in many forms but the most important part was that it was the voice of the youth around.

Apparently, Alfie’s gangster nature and piercing eyes had made him an attraction of sorts for the younger ladies. No one would say it except some of the girls you knew who worked in the brothel he had visited many times before. There was a line, the girl had told you under the dim light of the entrance, a line made of posh girls who wanted Alfie to fuck their brains out for the thrill of it.

It had almost made you smile.

You didn’t look down on any of the girls for the thoughts they were having, if anything you agreed but Alfie wasn’t just a bloke who lived around the corner from their posh apartments, you knew. He was in a dangerous line of business and very capable of snapping your neck in two if he wished to. It was thrilling, you would give the girls that, but he would need a lot of warming up to be the consistency you wanted him to be.

And that had been in the works, for the past month.

He was the one who came around, the one to seek you out and that put you in the higher hand when compared to him. You could say no, you wouldn’t but you could and Annabelle would just have to shoo him away with a regretful smile. There were a dozen girls worth half the trouble you were causing him but he liked the trouble, he had signed up for it when he brought you home the first night.

He and you had talked, answering all the questions this time but with a couple white lies here and there. You’d told him about your greedy uncle and about the paintings and he told you about his past and how he came to be the person he was. You’d lied to him when he’d asked you about the number of the guys you’d fucked and you’d amplified and multiplied it. He had just nodded and raised his eyebrows.

He’d lied,too, but you’d caught it.

He lied about before the war and the lost love he had but you saw it in his eyes. He lied about his family when you asked and also about what he did, at least some of the lines of business he was involved in but you didn’t push. He hadn’t shot you after pressing all his buttons and you didn’t have a death wish before solving the puzzle of Alfie Solomons.

You soon find yourself leaning against the exterior wall of the building, on the outside towards the street where there’s no one but you and a couple people walking by. The air is cold but you don’t seem to mind it after borrowing the bride’s fur coat, which she had no idea about as she danced inside. You’d return it when you went back inside but it felt warm against your skin and the material was pleasant.

Alfie thought you looked fucking beautiful.

Annabelle wasn’t supposed to give information about your whereabouts but all he had to was to shoot her an annoyed look and she would tremble under his piercing gaze. Her uncle’s wedding, she had said, she wasn’t so happy about it since the bride is just a little older than she is but she’s gone. Alfie had listened and furrowed his eyebrows before shouting at Ollie to drive to where the wedding was taking place.

And there you were, with rosy cheeks leaning against the cold wall of the building.

He didn’t know why he was there, he didn’t ask himself since he was afraid of the answer. He had felt something similar before, not quite the same but he recalled the pretty lass who’d managed to make his chest feel too tight for his heart.

He wouldn’t say it though, not to himself or anyone else.

He cleared his throat while you kept staring at your shoes. They were new, bought just of the occasion but they were damn uncomfortable so before he could utter a word. he saw you lean down and take the kitten heels off of your feet and step on the cold pavement of the ground. He chuckled in surprise which made you look up, he wondered where all of the hours of etiquette class had gone but he wasn’t complaining.

“Mr. Solomons.” you spoke in a breathy voice, a little less chirpy or seductive compared to usual and he saw it in your eyes too but you were far too quick to cover it all up before he could comment on it.

“‘ello, lass.” he spoke in his usual gruff voice and watched your pretty features scrunch up and stare up at him.

“It seems as though you always end up finding me.” you spoke, genuine suspicion in your voice and you continued with a smirk Alfie knew well. He was glad he had told Ollie to stay put in the car and was the only one to see you beaming up at him. “Are you having me followed?” you chuckled at the end of your sentence and he smiled at your words. 

He wasn’t, not intentionally anyway.

If he had been, you would’ve noticed. You snuck out nearly every night from the school and almost never got caught. Annabelle would hear things the next day if she was lucky but you knew the way the city worked, if someone had followed you, you would know.

“What brings you to this hellhole, then?” you spat out and saw the discontent in his eyes before he covered it up. 

He was almost as good as you in this game, almost.

“Just lookin’ to see the lass.” he spoke, eyes boring into yours as you stood in front of him, looking up since the man was twice as tall as you.

“Hm.” you nodded, looking at the familiar black car and then him. You knew Ollie was in there watching you and Alfie never just came to see you and leave, he was going to take you someplace like he usually did.

“’t’s not fuckin’ fun in there?” he spoke, signalling the large doors that opened up to where the wedding was taking place.

You smiled first and chuckled while you did so, it wasn’t the usual one but he’d take it. Looking at him through fluttered eyelashes, you spoke in a sweet voice that made him stay up all night dreaming of you.

“It’s not my cup of tea, Mr. Solomons.” you said in a breathy voice and he watched, just looked at you for a while.

“Ya’ wanna get out of ‘ere, lass?” he said, meeting your doubtful eyes which were often filled with nothing but trouble and he found that somewhere in there too but it wasn’t as obvious as the last time he’d seen you.

“Am I in trouble?” you spoke through a wicked smile, one Alfie knew well. Maybe too well for his own good, he thought.

“No, lass..” he spoke with a low grin, you could see the amusement seeping off of him. “You, yeah, are the fuckin’ trouble if ya’ ask me.” he spoke through his teeth and earned a wide smirk from you.

You were that, and both of you knew it.

“Well..”you spoke, clutching tighter to your new aunt’s coat as Alfie watched you through glassy eyes. “It’s a shame I didn’t ask.” you said with a lighter tone and it caused Alfie to chuckle loudly, which only made the corners of your lips twitch up in reaction.

You played the game too well.

“Where are you planning on taking me this time?” you spoke in a sweet voice, he saw you regain your usual attitude slowly after the laugh and he was glad it was coming back. He needed it to come back, even if he wasn’t able to admit that to himself yet.

He just shot you a smile and walked away after that, towards the big car where Ollie had been waiting for a while. You followed him, no questions asked or no feeling of fear in the pit of your stomach.

It took two to play this game and you had the upper hand, you always did.

----

It came as a shock to him.

The yards of soil coated in grass were now getting ready for the sunset. There were a few animals here and there, a horse and a group of cows that were nowhere near where Alfie was standing or the sign he’d told you to shoot. Ollie was left in the factory, Alfie had driven you all the way to the suburbs on his own and you felt like that wasn’t very boss-like but it didn’t matter.

“I know how to shoot.”

Your words echoed in his mind for a second.

You were half his age and size, he was sure you had been home-schooled or whatever the rich kids did. The posh people Alfie knew didn’t let their daughters within a one-mile radius of someone who had the possibility of carrying a gun let alone actually teach them.

“You fuckin’ what?” he spoke, a look of surprise coming over him which only made you smile at his expression in return.

Of course you knew how to shoot.

You were an expert at sneaking out and making trouble but that came at a price. Men liked to look at how pretty you looked while you danced but some wanted to touch as well, that’s when self defence became a priority. You could punch them or kick them in the nuts but some were strong so a pistol worked, or the small knife attached to your bra but you wouldn’t tell Alfie that.

“You really need to get your ears checked.” you said, visibly annoyed since he had done the same exact thing the last time he’d seen you. He scoffed at first and then walked over to you, slowly and you just watched.

You didn’t know who was the lion and who was the prey anymore. Not when you had a knife strapped to your bra and a gun in your hands.

“Where the fuck did ya’ learn how to shoot? A lass your age?” he said and you realised he was talking to himself and not you. You let him mumble away for a few seconds before stepping up and speaking. 

“Well, It seems as though I’m old enough for you to come looking for me every damn week so I assume I’m not too young....” you said, still pissed at his comments about your age. He had no problem fucking you with his eyes but brought it up when it had to do with a gun. “...and I learned on my own. For protection.”

He looked at you, from head to toe and nodded as his hands ran through his beard. The sun was slowly setting and the speckles of light caught his skin and beard, illuminating him in a way that you’d only seen in renaissance paintings before. You gulped but composed yourself quickly, you could show no weakness.

“I ain’t comin’ to look for ya’ every fuckin’ week.” he said and you smiled. Out of all the things you had said, he got stuck on the one thing.

“Why is Annabelle giving me so much trouble about your unannounced visits then?” you said, in a heartbeat and he smiled at you, just smiled for a solid second before turning away. You were quick to answer your question since you had found out that Alfie wasn’t a fan of doing that.

“Either she wants to fuck you or is genuinely annoyed.” you spat and he turned in one swift motion, facing you again with the ghost of a smirk you’d seen earlier.

“Eh?” he made a sound of encouragement mixed with confusion. Alfie was used to you being so forward but every now and then, it still caught him off guard.

You nodded as a way to confirm the first assumption and spoke again, you were walking next to him as he slowly moved towards the target he had told you to shoot. You looked too comfortable with a gun in your hand, he thought as he watched your lips move.

“You tell me which one, although I have a pretty good idea.” you spoke through a fit of giggles and he watched your features change under the afternoon light.

He was utterly fucked.

“Ain’t she a fuckin’ old maid?” he voiced his opinion and earned a sweet smile from you. You nodded again, a bit quicker this time and fought a fiddle of giggles before speaking.

“She is.” you licked your lips and spoke as Alfie stared at you under the setting sun. 

Your hair was all over the place, cheeks red due to the cold weather and he wanted to kiss your nose, warm you up but the game was still on so he composed himself, settled for the inappropriate dreams he’d been having for the past month since you’d been in his house.

“She’s about your age, I think.” you spat out without looking at him and he made a hurt noise, his way of saying that he was offended but the shocked face turned into a small smirk as he spoke, hand tugging at his beard like it usually was and for a moment, your eyes got stuck on his golden rings.

“I ain’t as old as you fuckin’ think I am, lass.” he spoke and you smiled at him. You knew he was significantly older but neither of you had voiced it before but you didn’t think it mattered. He could be as old as he wanted but he’d still be the only person who was able to keep up with you.

“And I’m not as young as you think I am, Mr. Solomons.” you spoke under your breath, eyes at your shoes as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. He wasn’t dangerously close but the warmth of his skin spread through yours.

He waited for a moment, looked at the delicate features of your face as you offered him a gentle smile, contrasting the cold air around. He knew you were older, you just looked younger and it didn’t bother him. If anything, he figured it was perfect since he appeared to be older than he was. 

The game was fun, he would admit. Like a breath of fresh air in the dull life he seemed to lead, although you would speak to differ since every act that came from the man was everything but boring. You licked your lips, ready to answer any question thrown your way with a bit of sass you carried around with you. He couldn’t figure you out for the life of him, it drove him mad to think about you yet it seemed to be all he was capable of doing those days.

“Ya’ play so hard to get...Will I ever catch ya’?” he sounded confused, convinced that it would never happen somehow but you would slow down at some point, he just didn’t know it.

Men liked chasing girls dressed in pretty lace and with bright, beaming eyes. You were that girl, had been chased by many but you’d never found it in yourself to stop and look back, none were interesting enough to do that. They wanted superficial things, a fuck or a dance or maybe the thrill of being with a girl every cockney banged on about but there was nothing real in those kind of relationships.

But you figured, since Alfie was proving to be nothing like those men, you’d slow down just a little.

Not now though, but sometime in the future.

“Maybe If your sciatica gets better, you might have a decent shot at it, Mr. Solomons.” you spoke through a beaming smile and the words and the redness on your nose caused Alfie to laugh. He still wanted to kiss you, he realised.

“‘s Alfie, luv.” he reminded for the countless time, but he knew it was useless. He liked the way you said it anyway, much better than anyone he’s heard.

“Sure it is.” you spoke through a half-hearted giggle and started walking towards the car.

He had brought you here to teach you how to shoot but you knew how to do it already, he felt an ease in his gut knowing that. Men around London were dangerous and although he’d speak to differ that you were more lethal than any man he’d seen, a woman could never be too careful. He knew.

He watched you get in the car without the usual help from Ollie, realised something along the way. If he were honest with himself, he had realised it some time ago but he wouldn’t admit to it, took all the fun in his eyes. He smiled at you before looking at the sunset one last time.

The thrill of this would pass but Alfie was sure it would leave a sweet aftertaste. The days were short now, the time washed over the clock like an unexpected tidal wave from a once calm sea. There was a siren calling out to him, enticing him with her words each time she spoke but the siren had no intention of killing him in a cruel way. She was too soft for that, although many saw her as a killer trap.

The siren was you, and you were so beautiful under the sunset as you waved at him from the car.

I might die, he thought. I might die and it would be because of her, he said to himself as he looked at your smile. He soon concluded that he didn’t mind that at all. He would prefer it to the slow bleeding of a knife wound or the quick and efficient house of a bullet in between his blue orbs.

That was how it started, with the handsome sailor ignoring all the warnings.

The amateurs didn’t see the warnings before the siren engulfed them, ate them whole and left no trace. The beginners would be fooled quickly but no, Alfie wasn’t new to this. He knew that the captains went to the sirens on purpose, not because they were fooled but because the siren was a new source of hope in a different world.

And the times had changed.

“Silly girl.” Alfie mumbled to himself after getting into the car. You were sitting quietly next to him, in an unusual manner where you were almost sulking.

You realised, once you sat in the car and gazed out the window to see the now fading orange sky, that until that very point it had always been Alfie who would seek you out. He’d mostly paid you unannounced visits at the school but sometimes, he’d catch you during your weekly shopping trips or even the library. Never during the nights when you’d sneak out to go dancing in the pubs.

Although he knew all about it, you knew the faces of his men by this point. The man who’d follow you in and out of school.

So you decided that it was time for a simple yet revolting change. You’d invite him out this time, in a less more proper manner than he had.

You had it all planned out and he had no idea. You let him drive you to the school, commenting on how boring his old man stories were and he just chuckled and mumbled something under his breath. You let him drop you off, a gentle kiss on your cheek and the cold feel of his rings against your hand as he whispered in your ear, “I’ll see you soon, luv.”. You waved at him as he left.

He had no idea of the hurricane that was about to hit him.

So you got ready, lace all over your body in a sheer dress. You wore your favourite kitten heels and just a simple lip just how Alfie liked it. It was time for a little play, something to tip his interest further. It wasn’t like you’d lost it but men were very easily distracted. So you’d created a masterplan to remedy the problem you thought you had. Your hair was let down, tickling your shoulders as you swayed your hips in the fur coat that had belonged to the new bride in your family but the wedding was long forgotten. 

You wouldn’t fuck him, you didn’t think.

Or maybe you would, you said to yourself as you approached his large house. The nerves were near but so was he and you had no intentions of fucking this up. He was an interesting one, one worth keeping and you would make sure of it.

Nine pm. The air cold around your shoulders as a smile graced your lips. You were supposed to be in the tea room, blocks away from where you were standing in front of a stranger’s door.

Well, not so much of a stranger anymore.

One knock, and then another.

His voice filled the other side of the door, a smile graced your lips and you braced yourself for the night, for the look of surprise that would surely be cast on his handsome features.

One inhale, one genuine smile and the swift motion of the door opening.

There he was, your handsome stranger.

And you’d kiss him that night.

-----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum @fuseburner​ @r-rose08​ @innerpaperexpertcloud 

a/n: They will kiss soon and do more stuff :) so stay tuned pls and lemme know if you liked the chapter!! This somehow ended up being a slow-burn type of thing but oh well :)

and happy new year, dear ones! I hope it’s a good year for all!

[drxwsyni]

Renounce︱Yandere Shouta Aizawa x f!Reader

Anonymous asked “If the prompts are still open I would love to see #21 with Aizawa!”

Follower celebration prompt: “Isn’t this better―you not fighting me for once?”

Bingo card prompt: Body worship

a/n: Here’s the first piece to my bookclub bingo card! I paired it with a prompt from the follower event, so it’s gonna be a little longer than a drabble. Here’s a link to the bingo masterlist! Also this is kinda a self-indulgent piece, I’m really sorry if it’s not something you can vibe with.

Warnings: yandere, nsfw, dubcon, poor body image, implied stockholm syndrome & kidnapping

1.5k words

You had to give it to him―Shouta was a very persuasive man when he wanted to be.

Not too long ago, your ability to be headstrong would be enough to thwart any full satisfaction he would receive in your presence. Now, this wasn’t to say he never got his way, but you wouldn’t make anything easy for him.

His patience was a curse for you and a blessing for himself. It was difficult when you had nowhere to go, and thus no plausible way to escape his relentless actions to whittle down your resistance bit by bit. He behaved as if all those spiteful words and aimless attacks against him never happened, choosing instead to focus on the here and now. And my god, was his focus ever trained.

That persuasion had been coupled with unbearable persistence in the recent days. Shouta knew you better than you knew yourself, meaning he was painfully aware of all the little qualms you had over your physique.

The stretch marks, rolls, how certain areas carried just a little too much weight for your liking. It was hard to let people get close to you when you felt so self-conscious, but none of that really mattered anymore.

There was nobody to see you except Shouta, and he would be damned if he didn’t pay as much affectionate attention to that as he did in every other aspect of your life. He loved you, after all. That’s what lovers do―help their partners when they can’t help themselves.

You were just stubborn is all.

Much to his appreciation, all that hard work had paid off. You’d spent far too long keeping yourself from feeling good due to the long adjustment process since...moving in with him, and his actions didn’t help in the slightest. Those lingering touches, low teasing remarks in your ear―it all served to rile you up to the point where you could no longer fight off his offers of assistance. He was good with his words, and even better with his hands. An expert in an area where you were but a novice, giving him an almost unfairly steep advantage in his teasing games.

It’s how you ended up in his bed, wrists tied to the headboard with no way of hiding your unclothed body from his eyes.

“The restraints are a precaution, I know how shy you can get after all…” Shouta was straddling your hips, his weight pinning your body to the mattress as he leant down to gently capture your lips in his. The hand that wasn’t positioned next to your head to hold himself up had lightly gripped your jaw, encouraging you to meet his advances.

At this point your rational inhibitions felt like a distant and non-important concern, the longing your body felt for any touch clouding your cautionary senses. He knew this just as much as you, and was prepared to take full advantage of it.

He nibbled your bottom lip, earning a small gasp that offered enough leeway for him to greedily deepen the kiss. You stayed complacent under him as his tongue continued to move against yours. Soon enough he pulled away from you, leaving a string of saliva connecting your lips.

Slowly, he trailed lightly feathered kisses along your jawline, moving down to your neck. “Isn’t this better―you not fighting me for once?” His tone had a hint of playfulness, but you knew that he was very serious at the thought of you finally letting up.

In a moment of semi-blissed thought, you responded. “Well...I think being tied down might have something to do with that.”

You could feel his breath against your skin as he gave a small laugh. Even now you were able to retain the energy to be just a little feisty with him, despite your predicament. But to Shouta, it was no more threatening than a kitten hissing. It was cute, and he ate it right up.

He placed an open mouthed kiss against your neck, earning a deep sigh from your touch starved body. His free hand wandered down, taking his time to give attention to everything in his reach. You writhed slightly underneath his calloused fingers, being unaccustomed to the sensation.

Shouta spoke while his lips were still ghosting your skin, his hot breath making the hairs on your neck stand up. “You look beautiful like this. I don’t care what you might think…” He paused, lowering his head further down your body, “...everything about you is perfect.”

Without warning, his lips closed around your pert nipple, tongue swirling around the bud. He cupped your other breast in his hand, kneading it before moving to pinch and toy with the nipple as well until it became a hardened peak. Your head fell back against the pillow, eyes shutting tightly at the sensation.

While your body was succumbing to the effects of his ministrations, your mind was in another place, fighting itself on how you should be reacting. You blamed him for how needy you felt, but also feeling too good with the way his mouth moved against your sensitive skin to care. In the back of your head, the notion of self-deprecating thoughts was swirling around. You’d lost track of the last time someone saw you like this, or if they even paid as much attention to you as the erasure hero was right now. Either way, the reality of being so exposed had an unfortunate effect on your psyche, taking away from what was supposed to be a pleasurable experience.

It was distracting―and of course Shouta noticed.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

For the first time that night, you met his gaze as he peered up at you through half-lidded eyes. Even when he seemed relaxed in the way he regarded you, there was still the air of authority that never quite dissipated in him. “I’m gonna ask you something, and you’re going to be honest with me, understand? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

You swallowed nervously, giving the restraints a barely noticeable tug―they didn’t budge. Reluctantly, you nodded your head, dreadfully unknowing of what he was about to say.

Shouta moved down your body while he spoke, leaving a trail of kisses against the soft skin he passed. “I see the way you look at yourself when you think I’m not watching. Tell me―what don’t you like about your body?

The question caught you off guard, a bud of anxiety growing inside of you. “I-I don’t know…”

You did know, you just didn’t want to tell him.

But something told you he already knew what your answer would be.

“Yes, you do. Try again.”

The scruff on his face tickled against your skin as he nipped at it, his hands wandering and gently massaging your plush hips. You desperately wanted to just relax into his touch and forget about any long conceived notions against the way you looked, but Shouta would never move on until you gave him what he wanted.

You sucked in a deep breath of air, trying to calm your heart rate that was slowly increasing. The faster you told him, the faster you could get this whole thing over with. You knew that, but the task of speaking your truth itself was what kept you back. And so you faltered, mouth opening to say something, but no words coming out. The admittance was too hard to voice.

Because it was everything. There wasn’t a single physical thing about your being that you really liked, so what were you supposed to tell him? If even you found the view pathetic, how could someone so physically well kept disagree?

A small yelp escaped your lips as his teeth latched onto the skin of your inner thigh, sucking at it so that it would inevitably result in a mark after the fact. His head was nestled in between your legs, still looking up at you and waiting for an answer.

“You know I’ll never judge you. Please, tell me.” You hated how gentle his tone was, lulling you into a sense of security for someone who’d done highly questionable things for you in the past. But you couldn’t stop that subduing effect from enveloping your body.

Disregarding his command to keep your gaze locked with his, you closed your eyes. It made it easier not having the visual stress of him anticipating your every move, and thankfully he let it slide.

Your voice was quiet, a barely audible whisper. “There’s nothing...nothing that I like.”

He detached his lips, but you were too caught up in your own feelings to realize. His response brought you out of your thoughts though.

“By the time I’m done with you tonight...you’ll forget all about those reservations.”

You shuddered at the feeling of his breath right up against your heat as he spoke. “Not because I’ll make you feel so good that you won’t be able to think―that’ll happen regardless.” Shouta gripped the backs of your knees, spreading your legs even further apart. “No, I’ll just keep telling you how perfect you are―showing you, until you finally start to believe it yourself.”

You were in for a long night.

[gendercraft]

Outlast: Revisited [Chapter One: Miles]

Synopsis: I’m rewriting Outlast where the first game and Whistleblower are combined, Miles and Waylon are more connected, and also they kiss

Mount Massive Asylum was a silhouette ahead of the setting sun. Against the red and orange and white in the sky, Mount Massive was all dark brick and covered windows. Half of the building had flickering light peeking out from slats and cracked curtains, and the rest was pitch black. 

    Miles opened the car door and planted one boot on the dirt, brows furrowed. He came with only his camcorder, a few spare batteries, a notebook, and the email he was sent: 

     You don’t know me. Have to make this quick. They might be monitoring. 

     I did 2 weeks of software consult at MURKOFF Psychiatric Systems’ facilities in Mount Massive. All sorts of NDA’s I am very much breaking right now but seriously, fuck those guys. 

     Certainly enough to grab Miles’ attention. When most people heard he was an investigative reporter, they treated him with what they thought was respect. All talking in circles and stepping over eggshells. This person emailing him—they had something to say and they were going to make sure Miles was listening. 

     Terrible things happening there. Don’t understand it. Don’t believe half the things I saw. Doctors talking about dream therapy going too deep, finding something that had been waiting for them in the mountains. People are being hurt and Murkoff is making money. 

     It needs to be exposed. 

     A fall breeze brushed by, making Miles shiver under his brown jacket. He flipped the collar up. 

    He was prepared for a facility up and running, for patients and orderlies to interview. This place looked abandoned. 

    Miles poked around the empty building where someone should be there to open the gate from, but the computer was frozen and there was nothing. 

    The gate—for humans, not cars—creaked as it opened. Securing his notebook and the hard copy of his email in the inside pocket of his jacket, he raised his camera and headed inside. Mount Massive loomed over him as he stalked towards the front entrance. Military trucks lined the walkway. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    He pulled out his notebook and scribbled a stream of consciousness: 

     I start feeling sick just looking at this place. Mount Massive Asylum, shut down amid scandal and government secrecy in 1971, reopened by Murkoff Psychiatric Systems in 2009 under the guise of a charitable organization. Cell phone reception cut off abruptly a mile out, more like a jammer than a lost signal. The Murkoff Corporation has a long track record of disguising profit as charity. But never on American soil. Whatever they thought they could get out of this place has to be big. Might finally be the story that breaks the bastards. 

     The front entrance was locked. He blew out a frustrated breath and looked around to find another spot in the fence, allowing him into a tiny courtyard with a fence and scaffolding up along the walls. He looked through his camera and zoomed in—there was an open window. He grimaced. 

    He didn’t want to go back to when he was a teenager, sneaking into empty buildings through crumbling walls and broken windows, but he didn’t see much of a choice. He had to get inside. 

    He got the same thrill he always had when he was younger to climb and leap over the scaffolding until he reached the window. The second his feet hit the ground, the light exploded. He gasped and covered his head as glass rained on the carpet. 

    Raising the camcorder, he flicked on the nightvision, then winced. 

    What the fuck happened here? 

    The room was empty, the furniture all turned over and piled up. Miles strained his ears, but the asylum was silent. He crept his way over to the door and peeked inside the hallway. Both sides were barricaded, giving way only to the room across the hall. This room was a bit more normal, lit up by the light streaming through the hall and the thin curtains. He looked around for any clue of what happened here, but nothing. There was a second door letting him into the hall past the barricade. 

    He was about to squeeze through a gap between the next barricade, when he faltered. 

    Is that fucking blood? 

    He pulled up his camcorder and zoomed in. Sure enough, blood splattered the wall and stained the carpet. There was no sign of a body. He swallowed and pushed forward. I have to find out what happened here. 

    In one of the rooms, he found a status report for a patient named Billy. Most of the words Miles didn’t understand most of the words, but he could connect it to the email; ‘lucid dream states,’ ‘the blood dreams of Doctor Trager,’ and something called a ‘MORPHOGENIC ENGINE.’ 

    Something Miles found interesting, part of an interview with the patient: 

        Billy asked about the status of his mother’s lawsuit against Murkoff and the asylum...catastrophic breach in security...all orderlies and security personnel must be questioned and video security improved…

        Signed ‘MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER

    MOUNT MASSIVE CO’ 

     The first sign of life Miles was given was a bathroom door shutting as he approached. He hesitated, then rapped on the wood. 

    “Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    No answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “Uh… okay then. I’ll be around if you change your mind.” 

    The next door was locked, but across the hall there was a small kitchen. He did a quick once-over, then stopped at the counter by the fridge—is that a fucking— is that an organ— is that a fucking organ on a tray? Right next to a fucking soda can. Miles’ stomach lurched. It was long and thin, flesh coloured, veins of blood smearing onto the silver tray. 

    I have to find out what’s going on here. I have to expose it. 

    The only way was up, into a ventilation shaft. As soon as he got inside, someone burst into the room, looked around frantically, and ran out. Miles barely caught them with his camera. His heart was ready to beat right out of his chest. 

    “Fuck,” he whispered, panting. “Fuck this.” 

    He got to the end of the shaft and paused. It dropped too far for him to get back up if he decided he had to leave. With the blood, the fucking soda organ, was it worth it? Was this worth risking his life? 

    What if he didn’t have enough evidence? What if he couldn’t convince the police to come? What if the public thought it was a joke? 

    Closing his eyes, he jumped down. 

    Creeping along to the first door, he threw it open and a body hung from the ceiling. He stumbled back with a gasp. It was bloodied and pale, and Miles watched, horrified, as it smacked to the floor. He covered his mouth and forced himself into the library, eyes burning. 

    Keep your camera raised. No matter what you do, keep your camera raised. 

    The library was a maze of pushed over bookcases, the righted ones holding decapitated heads. Their mouths were gaped open, eyes blank and bloodshot. He crept forward. In the light of a window, a body sat impaled on a pole, still slowing sliding down. Blood caked the metal. It smelled of rust and decaying meat, and Miles was quickly losing his resolve. He stepped forward and the body, the man, gasped and reached out, choking on his own blood. 

    “They killed us,” he gasped. “They got out. The… Variants.” 

    Miles watched with wide eyes. A few tears ran down his face, but he kept recording. 

    “You can’t… fight them. You have to hide… can unlock the main doors… from Security Control.” He desperately tried to crawl himself up the pipe. “You have to get the fuck out of this terrible place. Stay away from the north, it’s… it’s chaos.” 

    Miles dropped the camera and leapt forward to help pull him off, but the moment he pushed up, the man lurched, screamed, and fell dead. Miles stumbled back with shaking hands, his palms red and sticky. He wiped his face with the back of his hand. 

    He pulled out his notebook. 

     I’m inside. Bodies everywhere. Blood. Burn marks. Heads lined up like bottles behind a bar, Dead Murkoff scientists hung from the ceiling; their badges say “Murkoff Advanced Research Systems.” Murkoff’s longtime M.O. has been to profit off the exploitation of supposed charity. Fuck the third world and bankroll another billion. 

     How did Murkoff think they would make money off a building full of the mentally ill? 

     There’s some kind of tactical cop pinned like a pig on a spit. Tells me to get the fuck out then dies. Would have been a good thing to hear when I could still leave the way I came. 

     He lowered the notebook. His chest was tight, tight, too tight, he couldn’t breathe. He sucked in a deep breath. He hadn’t had panic attacks since he was a teenager, but he couldn’t blame himself, not this time. 

    He slid his notebook in his pocket and picked up his camera. 

    He left the library. The second floor of the Administration Block was an atrium, one floor wrapped around the carved out middle where reception was below. He got to the ground. He was not safe here. He couldn’t be seen. He switched out his battery and recorded himself moving forward. Another barricade blocked the hall, but there was a gap he could squeeze through if he could just… 

    “Little pig!” 

    A thick hand grabbed the back of his neck like someone picking up the scruff of a kitten. Burning pain ripped through his skin as a hulking figure yanked him out of the gap. Miles barely got a glimpse, but at first, he did not register it as human. His nose was smashed in, and there was a giant chunk ripped out of his forehead. He bared his teeth, a huge row of shark fangs, then threw Miles through the glass atrium. He smacked against the reception floor, and blacked out. 

    xxx 

    “And who are you, then?” 

    He blinked his eyes open, his head pounding, his entire body throbbing. A bald man in vestments stared at him, a flashlight blinding him. His face was full of wrinkles, with full cupid lips and wide set eyes. Miles groaned and dropped his head back to the ground. 

    “I… I see.” The man held Miles’ camera. “Merciful God, you have sent me an apostle. Guard your life, son, you have a calling.” 

    xxx 

    When he woke up again, the man was gone. 

    He tried hard to remember what happened between his blackout, but it was hard, like a dream he couldn’t quite get a hold of. He gripped his throbbing head. All he knew was he had to get to Security Control. 

    There was more carnage in the reception area. A handful of dead bodies absolutely eviscerated, their guts painting the ground. The smell was something worse than Miles had ever witnessed in his life. Some cops had told him you’d never smell anything worse than a dead body, or anything close to it. Miles knew now that was right. 

    It wasn’t until he had explored a little bit that he noticed the big letters written at the base of the atrium, over Miles’ head—Proclaim the Gospel. He hoped it was red chalk. At the receptionist’s desk, he found a document: 

     You are hereby required to grant M.H.S full access to all facilities and surrender complete authority to its agents. By acceptance of this document you (and any surviving relatives) surrender all claims of litigation against the Murkoff Corp. or its subsidiaries for the actions of M.H.S. or the circumstances which required their actions, regardless of responsibility. 

     A status report in one of the storage rooms, about a patient named Chris Walker, observed by Dr. Rudolph Wenicke. It mentioned more of the rumoured Morphogenic Engine. From the interview notes: 

     Walker was interviewed in restraints, following his self-inflicted mutilations. Restraint have had to be altered to accommodate his enourmous size...he claims the skin ripped from his forehead allows for a truer way of seeing...his predominant fixation, amplified by therapy, is a manic exaggeration of military security protocol. 

     It took Miles a minute to realize that was the big fucker who threw him through the window—Chris Walker, an abused patient. The rage in his stomach muted. Did he even know what he was doing? Miles shook his head. It didn’t matter. 

    Coming into the hallway, he stopped. A Variant sat in a wheelchair, staring at the floor. Miles cleared his throat and hesitated, before stepping forward. 

    “H-Hello? My name is Miles Upshur, I’m an investigative reporter. May I ask you some questions, please?” 

    The Variant’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he panted. Miles’ brows furrowed as he came closer. Like Chris Walker, this patient looked horribly unhealthy, and deformed. How many patients came into Mount Massive this way? Could this be a coincidence? 

    The man didn’t respond, so Miles moved forward. He came into a room with three Variants, all bald men, staring with dead eyes at a static television screen splattered with blood. Miles introduced himself again, and nobody answered. He pulled out his notebook. 

     A crowd of broken men watching a dead channel. They look like patients. They survived whatever happened here but nobody’s home. 

     He carried through the room and cautiously explored the Administration Block until he found the keycard for Security Control. He passed the Variant in the wheelchair, only to find his back smacking to the floor, reawakening the pain in his spine, the Variant screaming, “GET THEM OUT! PLEASE! THE DOCTOR IS DEAD! RIP THEM CLEAN! YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” 

    Miles gasped and shoved at the fucker’s chest, until he finally flew off and hit the ground. The man curled into a fetal position and sobbed into his arms. Miles panted, the anger in his stomach slowly subsiding. 

    “It’ll be okay.” He swallowed. “I’m here to help. Which doctor are you talking about? Rip what clean? How can I help you?”

    Miles raised his camera. The man refused to respond. Miles stepped back, covered in sweat. He hesitantly left as the man crawled away. 

    He made it to the hallway with Security Control, and as he stood at the edge, a Variant at the end of the hall ran forward and pounded into a door until it opened, then slammed it behind him. Miles sucked in panicked breaths. He thought of approaching, of seeing if he could get some information, but shook his head. Maybe it was better to leave the Variants alone, when he could. 

    He couldn’t help himself—he explored what rooms he could. He found several dead bodies, blood splattered almost excessively, and managed to scrounge up some batteries. In the bathroom, a clothed man sat on the toilet, dead and hunched over, with the word ‘WITNESS’ written in blood above him. His abdomen burning with anger, Miles hands trembled over his notebook. 

     I’m already beat all to hell, picking broken glass out of my scalp, coupole cracked ribs. Nearly killed by a deformed giant, looks like somebody tried to fuck-start his head with a cheese grater. He throws me through a wall, knocks me unconscious. 

        I wake up and some doughy old man with a face like an alcoholic kiddy fiddler in a homemade priest outfit calls me his Apostle. Not a job I asked for. 

        There are words scrawled in blood everywhere. I’m getting an ugly feeling in my gut that the priest is writing them, and for my benefit. 

     He kept exploring, looking for anything that could bring this place down, and grinned as he read through a document. 

     The profit potential of PROJECT WALRIDER remains staggeringly high...four fatalities...PROJECT WALRIDER remains a dangerous initiative...certainly be further casualties...family and government interest in the patients is so low as to make any chance of legal actions vanishingly unlikely. Violence among patients is increasing as the Morphogenic Engine Therapy gets closer to producing working models…

     He pocketed the document and headed for Security Control. This is enough. I’m going to bring down Murkoff Corporation. 

    The reader beeped as Miles scanned the keycard and headed for the control panel. A security guard laid crumpled, dead in the corner. He ignored it the best he could and got on the keyboard, only for the priest to appear on screen. Miles watched with wide eyes, his heart racing in his fingertips, as the father yanked down a lever and the lights went out. 

    Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

    The screens had said basement. If he could get down there and restart the generator, he could get out. 

    He stood and headed for the door. His hand on the handle, he froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. 

    A familiar voice. “We have to contain it.” 

    Miles whipped around and looked in any place he could possibly hide in the tiny room. His heart raced, his breath short, his eyes landed on the locker. He sprinted over and crammed himself inside, slamming the door closed just in time for the room’s door to burst open. 

    Bringing his camcorder up, Miles pressed his free hand to his mouth to hide his breathing. Chris Walker’s own breathing filled the air, short and rabid, as he mumbled to himself. Walker looked around for around, checking the desk, circling the room, mumbling. “You were here, little pig, weren’t you…?” 

    The locker beside Miles creaked open. He bit back a whimper. 

    What do I do? What the fuck do I do? 

    Miles placed his hand on the cold metal, and prepared himself to run.

bls let me know what you think! and reblog <3 critiqued by @dib-leo-pard

[whumpqin]

👀👀👀👀?

You got it!

From these sets of prompts (which are Still Open, by the way, feel free to drop an ask!)

CW: drugging, multiple whumpers, manhandling, hallucinations, forced alcohol consumption, hand whump, stepping on a hand, broken bones, begging, hair pulling, brief emeto warning (gagging) (if there’s anything that I missed please let me know!)

He’s surrounded by monsters.

Nereus swayed back and forth, to the rhythm of the ship as she moved against the ocean waves. It was all that was keeping him up, his sea legs, granting him just enough to stay standing in the room that spun and swirled in on itself. All around him the laughing figures moved and slapped their knees as he splayed his arms out to have better balance. One of them pushed him by the shoulders, ruining the precarious balance he had and sending Nereus crashing to the ground.

A boot, squirming and shifting with the room, with claws and hooks on it, kicked Nereus in the side. He let out a choked cry as he curled in on himself, hands over his head and knees pressing against his chest to protect his extremities.

“Look at him. Trophy can’t even handle a drink!” One of the monsters jeered. Several others joined in on their hateful words, blurring together into a cacophony that was unbearable.

When he’d been invited to drink with some of the crewmembers, this wasn’t what he envisioned.

Nereus should have seen through it. The hushed huffs of laughter, the way they thrust a drink into his hand immediately and watched with bated breath as he drank. He should have known. But he had foolishly thought that it was because they liked him. That maybe they were finally warming up to him after several months at sea. But then as he drank and the room began to spin while the faces of the crewmen shifted into dreadful creatures - the ones he’d seen since he was young - Nereus knew it had all been a trick.

He unfurled slightly from his position on the floor, noting how they sort of seemed distracted in their drinking. Nereus moved to his stomach and began to crawl towards the door quietly. If he could escape and get somewhere safe maybe he could sleep off the drug and nurse his wounds-

“Where do you think you’re going, eh?”

Pain flashed through him as a boot stamped down onto his hand and he heard and felt a crack.

The scream that poured from his mouth was ungodly. The weight pressed down on his bones, smashing them into the ground and giving the more Nereus pulled away from the tall monster before him. His cries hushed into desperate sobs as he forced himself still, hoping that some sort of mercy would be given to him if he just listened.

His shirt collar was hooked upwards, dragging him back onto his feet as his hand was released. There several hands grabbed onto his shoulders to pull him back, holding him at such an angle that he couldn’t get his feet under him properly.

“Please, please just let me go,” he whined, tears streaming down his face. Nereus squirmed in the grip of so many, coiling around his arms and wrists and torso to hold him still.

“But you haven’t even finished your drink! Here, how ‘bout we help you out,” someone to his right said. He caught sight of something glass being passed down the long line of creatures and monsters, before a bottle was being pressed against his lips.

Nereus jerked his head away. “No! No, no no no, I don’t- I don’t want anymore, please-” His mouth opened in a silent scream as his hair was gripped hard, forcing his head still while the bottle was tipped up.

He was never one for this particular ale; its aftertaste was dreadful and he didn’t like to get drunk. Combined with whatever they put in it the drink was nearly unbearable. Nereus gagged and shook his head, spitting up and fighting against the monsters holding him still.

All the monsters did was laugh.

“And what the fuck is goin’ on here, huh?” A different voice cut through the crowd. Silence fell at its sound, and only the sound of Nereus choking on ale could be heard. “You’re gonna wake up half the bloody ship like this.”

Nereus squirmed out of the grip of the stunned monsters, taking advantage of their surprise to make his escape. He got his feet under him and moved forward, stumbling with little balance as he tumbled to the floor again.

A shadow loomed overhead. Tall and darkened even in the light. Nereus whined and curled himself in, hearing the mumbles and murmurs crowd inside his head and blurring altogether. It was beginning to hurt.

The shadow stepped over to him. It kicked into his shoulder and forced him to his back, and Nereus’ limp body rolled with it. He could barely move, barely fight. He was at their mercy and there seemed to be little reserves left. Nereus felt a hand lift his chin as darkness swam in his vision, curling and pulsing against the light as one of his eyes were pried open.

“Jesus. How much did you give him? Barely any color in his eyes,” the shadow angrily muttered.

“Not enough to kill him, Captain! He’s fine.”

“Think I’ll be the judge of that. C’mere, Roo. You’re too damn noisy with this lot.” The shadow pulled and tugged on his shirt, lifting Nereus up to his feet again. There, he swayed, back and forth, trusting in his legs that they knew how to move. “And throw that damned fruit away. Bad enough you kept it around long enough to spoil the rest of our supply.”

Nereus was dragged out of the room, whimpering and gasping as he continued to cry. His hand throbbed now, pulsing to the tune of his heartbeat. He stumbled forward, using the hand holding onto him from the shadow to stay upright.

Suddenly he was pushed forward, and with nothing to grab onto he once again crashed into the floor. Nereus splayed his hands forward to catch himself, hitting his injured hand just right to make him gasp deeply from the pain as the bones shifted entirely the wrong way. He curled inwards with a groan, a silent, pitiful sob wracking his body as he cradled his hand.

“...You’re so fucking pathetic, Roo,” the shadow said. Claws dug into the back of his shirt and Nereus covered his head. “Was it worth the effort?

He didn’t know what the shadow meant. Was he supposed to say yes, or no?

He was forcibly rolled over again, to look into the bright blues of the shadow as it stared at him. “I want an answer, trophy. Was it worth the effort?”

Nereus’ breath quickened, trying to focus on the shape of the shadow before it blurred and spinned. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his heartbeat thud as hard as a terrified rabbit’s. 

“I don’t, I don’t know, I don’t know please don’t hurt me please please,” he whispered, voice edged with desperation. He didn’t want to be hurt. He didn’t want to drink anymore. But then there was a sigh from the shadow and all Nereus could think about was how best to beg for mercy again, unable to stop the panicked words from slipping out. “No no please, please, I’m sorry, please, I’ll listen, no, no, no-”

His whines grew more high pitched and soft as a hand creeped up and clamped over his mouth.

“Shut the fuck up. God. You’re not making this easy, are you?” Something wrapped around his knees and held them tightly. “Just stay still and be quiet for fuck’s sake. Got it?”

The hand left as Nereus began to shake from terror. This shadow was much more intimidating than the other monsters, especially as it wrapped itself around Nereus and lifted him up into the air easily. It wanted him quiet and good, and that meant that he had no idea what it wanted beyond the hissed commands it gave. He curled, like a kitten held aloft by its scruff, keeping as still as he could. Little whimpers were breathed from every small breath like pants. It was all he could do as he was carried further down the long hall.

[the-holy-ghosted]

I had never known love

Statement of Hope, regarding the beginning of his relationship with Breekon.

this is an old fic too but shoutout to my mutual @skelelephant who sits and makes up insane backstories with me about b+h. what would i be doing without them

I did not know what love was. I never knew how it felt to gain something I didn't know I missed. But now that knowledge is with me always, and I suppose I shall share that knowledge with you.

It is only sensible that I start from the beginning. Yes, the annoying beginning. I don't care if you don't want to hear it; you asked for a statement so I shall give you one. I was hardly a tolerable child, just as loud and violent as I am so well known for now. My behavior only worsened as I grew, and oh did I grow. Even as a young lad I loomed over my peers. I was a snarling, feral thing, hungry to terrorize the innocent teenagers forced to be in my presence. But I mellowed slightly as I reached adulthood. The hunger was there, and I was still vicious, but I found I needed only to exist within the space to feed on their discomfort. However, there was then a new hunger. A hunger I could not name settled in my chest behind my heart. I did not think about that hunger.

I did not know what love was, then. I had never understood that warm softness others spoke so wistfully about. What I knew of the world was cold and mean, no room for comfort. I did not know of love, and I did not care to. Until he appeared. I never had a name for the hunger that lingered in my chest. It was not obvious, nor was it particularly strong. But the moment I laid eyes on Breekon I was all but starving. The man we worked for told me his name, though I can't remember it now, and said we were to work together. Partners, so he called us. Breekon had not said a word the entire time, yet he stared me down with the eyes of a hawk, and that hunger in my heart sang so loud.

Breekon was tall, nearly half a foot taller than me. I knew the only reason we were paired together was that they thought he was big enough to steer me out of trouble. He was the only person bigger than me, which you think would have intimidated me, as our overseers had hoped it would. It did not in the slightest, rather, it enraptured me. I was not used to people looking down at me, being stronger than me. It was a fun change. He was not a talkative man. For at least a week I had not heard him utter a sound, no matter how much I chittered or how many questions I asked him. The rabid desire I felt gnawing at my ribcage was maddening and craved his notice so desperately. I was greedy for Breekon's attention, so I would be as obnoxious as possible in the hopes of getting him to just look at me. I would make jokes, and sometimes I'd get a huff. I would get snappy at other people who tried to turn his attention away. I would get into scraps and shouting matches and he would yank me away like a mother cat grabbing its kitten by the scruff. It was childish, but it worked. And then one day he spoke. I was pestering him, as I usually did, but he was not having me that day. My focus locked onto some small, spiffy-looking gentleman, dressed nicely and looking like he was in a hurry. He bumped into my arm as he scrambled past, and I took it as an opportunity to let off energy and I snapped at the man. Asked him where he thought he was going, what he was in such a hurry for, did he think he could just push everyone out the way like that? The poor fool stuttered and apologized, but I was not satisfied. I grabbed him by the shoulder, prepared to break it if I so pleased when Breekon spoke behind me. "Enough." He said, in a growling voice deeper than my own. I stopped dead and turned around with wide eyes to see him staring knives into me. His eyes told me to let go, and I did. I let go of the small gentleman and walked wordlessly back to the carriage and he stared at me the whole way, silent and stern. He got back into the carriage and we wordlessly continued on. For the rest of the day, my heart was silent. Satisfied.

After that I began getting him to talk a little bit more. He still didn't say much, only saying a word or two at a time, but he always answered when I asked him things. I think he saw how it settled me, how I would stop fussing if he said something, and he figured it was better than dealing with my usual annoyances. I couldn't tell you when we started to become friends, but after a while, we were comfortable with one another's company. I didn't feel so ravenous, and he would speak in full sentences. We became a hard-working pair. Although I mellowed out, the hunger never ceased. In fact, it only grew, filling my chest with a deep ache that I could not understand. I was too afraid to analyze it, too afraid to become self-aware of how I truly felt. All I understood was that I felt better when I was with Breekon. I felt better when he was paying attention to me, speaking to me, listening to me talk. It felt so nice... so rewarding. Desiring his notice of me still led me to poor decisions. I would start trouble just to feel him fuss over me and call me a fool and insist that no, he clean my wounds because my hands were unsteady and I couldn't see my face. I lived for those moments, where he cared for me. I devoured them.

He cared for me like that often. It was my fault, of course; I would get into fights I knew I'd lose, and he would feign his concern as annoyance yet still insist I let him clean me up himself. It was almost routine, to be honest with you. His tenderness was what my heart craved so dearly, the feeling of his hands so gently tending to me felt divine. His doting came more often to me after some time. More often and more by his own free will. I think he had the same hunger in his heart, now that I think about it. He just expressed it differently. While I was persistent in getting his undivided attention, he did not beg for mine. Rather, he just stared at me, almost looking like he was trying to understand something, something he'd figure out if he just looked hard enough. He stared at me with such intensity, a gaze that spoke to me in whispered words I could hear in the back of my mind. I know he heard me say things, too. That became a phenomenon between the two of us. We'd move together wordlessly, already aware of what the other was going to do. At first, we didn't speak of it. We didn't want to have an awkward heart-to-heart and ruin what we had going on. But the whispers I'd hear in the back of my mind turned into clear, coherent words as we spent more time together. He heard them too, I could see it in his eyes. We would peer into one another, and we would hear the words, and we would both startle ourselves and turn away. We never spoke of it. There was something deeper, there. Within the words we projected to one another was a reason for the desperate aching need I had for Breekon that resided in my chest, and if I thought hard enough I could unlock it.

I did end up figuring it out, actually. It was quite funny in retrospect, I hit my head after getting my jaw punched out of place. I was in and out of consciousness and felt so incredibly far away from the world. My eyes were heavy and reality was blurry, but when I did occasionally open them, there were fuzzy visions of Breekon's face looming over me. It was not always his face, though. His face would melt into the face of someone else, a few times. In my dazed state, I did not consider it coincidence or just the concussion twisting my vision. I knew it meant something. My mind was full of incoherent thoughts and feelings and memories that weren't mine, suddenly placed in my head with no warning. Memories I had of Breekon, from someone that was and yet was not me. Not really with him, of course, but no matter the face he wore in these memories that were not my own, it was still him every time. My heart ached. It was pounding. It was throwing all these puzzle pieces at me, screaming for me to put them together. Screaming for me to understand, to remember for myself. To wake up. That last part was very clear. A voice echoed in my conscience to wake up. It was not Breekon's voice, though I could hear him speaking far off in the real world. The voice in my head was my own, but at the same time, it wasn't. It was my own voice from a separate entity, an entity that felt the same as the aching in my heart. It felt so angry, so tired, so brutally desperate for me to just wake up. I couldn't understand what it meant. The memories and screaming and feelings were too much to bear at once. I think I must've started to cry wherever my body was, I felt hot tears roll down my cheeks into my ears, I hadn't even realized they laid me down. Through the static mess, I heard Breekon's gentle coo and a thumb brush over my cheek. He hushed me quietly and I felt his breath in my ear. It was incredible how quickly I stopped shaking and quieted down. The voice in my head wanted me to reach for him, to hold him, but it hurt too much to move. I think I must have grabbed some part of him, his bicep or his leg, and I squeezed. He hushed me some more and comforted me in words I couldn't make out. The screaming was still loud, but whenever he spoke, his voice cut through and brought me ease. He must've understood, telepathically or not, and he kept reassuring me until I finally drifted away into sleep.

Can't say I remember much after that mess. I recall being told the guy I got pummeled by was found bleeding out in a horse paddock. It wasn't hard to guess who did it, especially when Breekon came to check on me with bandaged knuckles. He looked after me by himself for the rest of that week. Not a soul was permitted to bother me but him, a very strict rule that nobody was brave enough to disobey. I think I started feeling like myself again near the end of the week. I was throwing little quips at him again, teasing him about his busted hands, half-joking that I'd kiss them better for him. He let me, once. Sometimes I'd whine about him making my cut lip feel better. Usually, he'd just scoff and turn away. He did, though, sometimes. I remembered those.

I still didn't know what to make of my revelation, though. The voice in my head still screamed, still ached, still reached for Breekon, but there was no explanation as to why. It stressed me greatly, and he took immense concern about my behavior. What could I have told him? That I remembered him from what I can only assume is a past life? That something in my soul woke up and threw a fit over him? Would I have told him to wake up? I couldn't talk about it. He wouldn't understand. It was a few days after getting back into work that I realized I missed him. It made zero sense, and yet it was exactly how I felt. How I could miss someone when I spent every day with them was beyond me, and yet my heart cried it out with such confidence. It was sure. He would be right in front of me and still, I thought I missed him. He tried so hard to understand what little I could tell him without sounding insane, but he still couldn't grasp it. I think it hurt him seeing me so distressed but unable to understand why. The concept was so abstract that no amount of telepathy could properly explain whatever the hell was going on. However, I think he felt it too. Maybe he couldn't quite get it just yet, but something inside him yearned just as painfully. He'd hug me a little tighter, kiss me a little longer, search a little deeper into my eyes for some sudden explanation. He probably wouldn't get it unless he hit his head, though. I knew that, but I wasn't preparing to sock him just to activate what we were both looking for. Somehow, though, he figured it out. I don't know how he did it, he never told me, but one evening he ran to me and told me he loved me. He told me he understood, he gets it now, he knows what we are. "Soulmates" was the term I believe he used. I didn't care what word he called it, the screaming that filled my mind came to a crescendo, and I could think of nothing but to tell him I missed him. He understood what I meant, that time, and he missed me too. We spent that evening holding each other and whispering sweet nothings. I understood the gravity of love, then. Looking at Breekon made it make perfect sense.

We were a hell of a mortal duo for a while there. Absolutely nobody could explain our sudden inseparability, and it frightened them a little bit. We liked it when it frightened them. We started speaking in sync together, I would begin and he would finish as we so love to do now. Sometimes we'd go back and forth just to freak people out. They all wondered what went on between us, but we never told them. They stopped seeing us as two people together and instead as one huge, terrifying thing that came in the form of two men. The fear they emitted was intoxicating, and we took it all.

And then I got sick. Of course I got sick, we handled dead bodies, and I would play with and prod at them like they were rag dolls, like it was a joke. Of course I got sick. It felt cruel to kill me that quickly. We had only a few weeks completed together before I caught that dastardly illness. It was a peculiar thing, that plague. Constantly mutating and killing people in new, more disturbing ways. It certainly wasn't natural, what caught me. It was unlike any disease you've heard of. It did not behave like a regular sickness, putting terrible things inside of your body to kill you. It hollowed you. I remember so vividly ripping some poor dead peasant open to feed his pieces to the pigs, and the ax cut through him clean. No blood, no resistance. I pried him open and found nothing but an empty body and his skeleton. That disease was nothing normal, turning your skin thick and rubbery and carving you out like a pumpkin and ripping your vocal cords to shreds. It hurt, too. Oh, how it hurt. It was not a searing pain that causes you to whimper and wail, but a pain so seething and deep you can't even breathe let alone scream. Breekon did not leave my side as I withered away. I would have told him to save himself, but I knew there was no life for him without me there. He wouldn't have listened, anyway. Whatever time he didn't spend laying and suffering with me, he spent looking for a cure. There was none, of course, but that did not stop him. He was gone for a whole day, once. Wherever I don't know, but when he came back, he came back with a book. A hardcover leatherback, with uncomfortably thick paper and writing I couldn't read. To be honest, I didn't think he could read it either. He could, though, and he told me it would fix me, make me new. The only catch was that I had to die first.

Would any sane person have listened to him? No, of course not. But did I? Of course I did. I trusted him with what little life I had. He explained to me what the book told him and how he found it and how it would work, but I didn't retain anything. Something about a new face granting a new life, I didn't care. I let him talk and he gave me one last kiss goodbye, and finally, I died.

I don't quite recall what it felt like to be dead. All I remember is my body feeling numb, so wonderfully numb, and then I awoke. It wasn't sudden, I just woke up as if from normal sleep. My body felt hollow, as I suppose I should have expected. Breekon was sitting in a chair next to our bed, the book in his lap, a blood-soaked knife in one hand, and holding my own in the other. His head rested upon my thigh, and the dark circles under his eyes suggested I must've been gone for a few days at least. It was then I noticed my face felt strange. It felt like it... fit wrong. It didn't hurt, just felt too stretched out and tight. I felt refreshed, though, funny enough. Like a brand new man, if you will. I eased myself up with my free arm and stared down at Breekon. There was blood covering the floor next to his chair, and I think there may have been a human foot poking out from under the bed. My head was empty, however, and I had no mind for what atrocities he committed to bring me back. I reached my left hand over and gently pushed my fingers through his messy, unclean hair. I squeezed his hand to try and rouse him gently. He stirred, and I tried to speak. My throat was shot, and what came out of my mouth sounded raspy and hoarse, yet I still called him my love with as much tenderness as I always do. He awoke, and he turned his head up slightly to look at me. His face was struck with the most subtle horror at first, which concerned me a bit, but his horror turned to joy and tears began to well up in his eyes. We held each other for a little while. He wept into my shoulder and I realized I forgot how to breathe. I had no lungs to do so, so perhaps it didn't matter. Not many things mattered anymore, I was alive.

He told me how he spent three days looking for the perfect face. He wanted to find someone that looked nearly identical to me, to make things easier, and that I could pick out my own face after this was over. I had no idea what he meant, but I listened anyway. He taught me how to read the strange book he found, and how it gave me my life back. I took it in and read it over a couple of times while he slept next to me in bed. I was to replace his face, apparently. Not the most mortifying thing I've done, if you'd believe me, but certainly up there at the time. After a few days of scouting for a face that looked like Breekon's, he started to fall ill. I felt horrible knowing the exact pain he was dealing with, but being able to do nothing to ease it. I could at least soothe his worries of resurrection and tell him it wouldn't hurt. He seemed to take comfort in that. At last, I held him close to me as he took his final breaths and died in my arms. I shouldn't have cried, I knew there was no need. I knew I was bringing him back. I knew he died as comfortably as he could. I cried anyway. I hunted down his doppelganger and killed him quickly. It wasn't simple, dragging a huge, dead man back to our bedroom without anyone noticing, but nobody liked to question us anymore. The ritual I had to perform was simple. I would peel the face of the stranger, and place it over Breekon's. The passage I was required to read from was... quite vague and metaphorical, but in some strange way, it made sense.

He was corrupted. His body diseased and decrepit, eyes so sunken and lips so cracked and pale his face is unrecognizable. As his conscience fades out of existence, he succumbs to The Rot. But an unrecognizable face is not what The Rot desires. The Rot does not care about who you are and aren't. Instead, he shall never look like himself ever again. With a new face comes a new life, and with a new life, he shall take many faces. With a new face comes many new names, and with new names, he loses his real self to the nature of a Stranger, and all he knew will look upon him and say I Do Not Know You.

Somehow the wind was knocked out of me, even though I lacked lungs. I fell back on the floor, covered in blood, and looked frantically at Breekon. The stranger's face had melted with his, looking frightening and uncanny. I stared in awe. Somehow the divine powers of fuck all managed to fuse his face with someone else's. I kneeled in front of the bed and held his cold hand. He didn't move for a long time. It could have been hours, days even, and I stared at him the entire time. Sometime later, his eyes fluttered open and he appeared to be taking in the new sensations. He looked around the room, and his eyes fell on me. I greeted him with a smile, and a kiss hello.

If nobody could understand us then, they certainly didn't now. We walked out of our room however many mornings later and acted as if nothing happened. We knew they would remain confused and terrified, and we adored it. I'm sure you get it now. I became quite fond of changing my face; it felt liberating to look nothing like me. We gained knowledge of the fears but cared not about what gods there were to consume us with love. We loved each other, and that is all we desire.

I had never known love. I never felt the warm embrace of the being the other half of my heart belonged to. But now that feeling is with me always, and I wish nothing but to share it with you.

[serararku]

Dancing in the Sand Pt 2

Thalen had plans of his own out here, but what he didn’t realize was he would be Mizuna’s packmule. Up and down, back and forth, he had to haul all sorts of boxes, all while the tribe simply watched; not even Era lifted a finger to help, as she was too busy trying to get Vahli out of the barrow so Mizuna could get some work done without him breathing down her neck or worse-- ripping out Thalen's. By the time he had carried the last box from the back of the wagon, all the tribewives were inside, standing between the ‘scaleborn’ and their precious kittens.

"They ain't never gonna hand them babies over until it's far too late." Thalen scoffed in between huffs, choosing to plop down on a box to watch this disaster for himself. "Just look at em. They all want them kittens cured but none a'them are willin' to trust ya."

"Not even the older children want to get near me, huh?" Mizuna tried to hide her disappointment, but it was painted all over her face. Like spirits lurking within the edge of a haunted forest, the kittens stared at Mizuna from behind the legs of their mothers, curious, but overly cautious; they've encountered lizards before, but not ones that spoke in a foreign language and wore clothes. The protective tribewives weren't exactly making it any easier for their children to trust this stranger either.

So it fell to Yuun to once again demonstrate why she was the Favored Wife for over twenty summers, and why she would have continued to hold that title if she didn’t become a Matron. The woman gently yet firmly pushed through the group of women with her youngest and final daughter bundled in her grasp. She stared through Mizuna as if she was searching for any trace of treachery, but all she saw was concealed excitement and tension. The language barrier and stark difference in cultures made conveying her emotions to this scaled stranger difficult, but it wasn’t going to stop her; Vesri was just as precious as all of her other daughters, and if anything were to happen to any of them, there would be hell to pay. Yuun continued to stare into Mizuna’s eyes while she slowly offered the bundled infant, before muttering in her native language. The Raen woman turned to glance over at Thalen and asked, “What did she say?”

“She said every time she yelps in pain you’ll pay it back a hundredfold, Doc.” His words were… concerning. “Just be careful, aye? One word from these wives and both’ve us ain’t makin’ it outta here alive.”

Mizuna did her best to prove she meant no ill will to any of the children, and treating the youngest of the Zu Tribe would certainly help convince the others. Only the fat round face of the kitten poked out of the cotton blanket, her cheeks flushed red and her eyes and nose watery. She was so light and delicate… Mizuna wasn’t sure this woman was even handing her over until she took a step back to return to the other tribewives. Immediately she could tell the kitten was suffering from Crimson Flux, a serious and contagious disease, but one that was easily curable. Carefully she sat down next to her tools and tonics to begin returning their children to better health. The burden of proof that outsiders could help them was now sitting squarely on her shoulders.

But first? A bath.

Mizuna first pulled the infant out of her warm blanket and lowered her naked body into a bowl of cool water. She began to hum as she rubbed soft soap against her skin, and kneaded shampoo through her tiny silver tufts of hair. Vesri seemed to be enjoying it-- she even opened her bright orange eyes and reached up to grasp at Mizuna’s fingers. The bitter medicine was sweetened with blood strawberries, and it went down smoother than honey. Next came the soothing balm she spread over the baby's scalp; not only did the spearmint help cool her off, but the hair loss would be reversed in no time. Mizuna dried her off from ears to tail, before swaddling her with the blanket. The child wiggled and struggled in her cotton cocoon for only a few moments, before she slowly closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

“Thalen? Can you translate for me?” Mizuna asked, causing him to perk up.

“Hmn? Aye.”

“Their children have Crimson Flux. I can easily cure them with the medicines I have, but they will only catch it again if they continue to drink contaminated water. Their drinking sources need to be purified.” Thalen cleared his throat and began speaking that peculiar language; she hoped he was repeating everything she said verbatim, but given the shocked looks on the womens’ faces, whatever he was telling them was making them worried. The woman before stepped to Mizuna again and smiled when she gave her back the swaddled kitten. The tribewives began huddling around her as she slowly left the chamber, but once they all got a good whiff of the mint in the baby’s hair and saw how clean her skin was, it was over.

They swarmed Mizuna, picking up the bottles and prying open the crates she had set aside in search for more of that shampoo and spearmint; Thalen wisely rose from his seat and gave them a wide berth once they approached him and the other boxes. “Wait-! Ahck-!” It was no use! Once one of them found the case of spearmint, they all began humming and whistling at each other, squirting the contents into their hands to rub into their hair. To make matters worse, they began stripping out of their clothes to rub the shampoo into a lather on their bodies. Even the kittens reluctantly followed their mothers and joined in, and before long the soap that was supposed to be used to clean all the children was all over the place. “Thalen! Where did you-- Thalen?!”

But Thalen was long gone. He decided to make himself scarce once the commotion started; he wasn’t about to further risk the Nunh’s ire by staying in the same chamber with his now naked and soapy harem. He resigned himself to the back of the wagon, where he had 'acquired' a bottle from the estate’s private collection-- Black Galleon Whiskey, a forty-summer-old sour mash that ran almost a hundred thousand gil a barrel. Fortunately for Thalen it was already half-empty and gathering dust, and with luck it's absence wouldn't be noticed. Slowly he lifted himself up to sit inside the back, letting his feet dangle off as he popped the cork out and brought the drink to his lips.

"There you are… Tia." Thalen glanced up to find one of the tribewives headed straight for him. It was the one with the infant, though her baby was notably not with her. "Why have you come here? Were you sizing up your opponent… and the prizes for being victorious?"

"No." Thalen answered, glancing around nervously. There was nowhere else he could go-- not without pushing her out of the way. Only a fool with a deathwish would put his hands on a Nunh’s tribewife. "Just… paying off my debts…"

"He's not here. Vahli is currently being tended to by a few of his wives so the scaleborn woman can do her job." An amused grin spread across the woman's face as she took another step forward. "You're one of the oldest Tia I've ever seen. Are you some sort of hero in the tribeless lands?"

"I'm a lot of things, ma'am, but a hero isn't one of them." He scratched at the scruff on his chin, doing his damnedest to avoid looking at her; there was not a shred of doubt in his mind that this woman was Era’s mother-- they could almost pass for twins.

She took another step forward. "You stared death in the eyes. Vahli could have snapped your neck like a twig between his fingers, but you didn't even flinch. I think you're braver than you think." She glanced over her shoulder to check if anyone was close enough to hear them, but the warriors were out on patrol, the huntresses were guarding the barrow, and the other wives were busy indulging themselves;, they were both alone out here. "How did you come to know my eldest daughter?"

"She saved my life up in Mor Dhona." He explained, choosing his words carefully. "Without her searching for that poor bastard Tage, I would have bled out and died."

The woman's eyes flickered. "So your life belongs to Era, not the scaleborn."

"Yes… that's the truth of i-"

"But you mated with my daughter, didn't you?" Instinctively his ears pinned to his head when he was caught off guard, but she didn’t bother waiting to hear his excuses. "Vahli would leave your corpse for the carrion if he knew you were one of her partners. But not to worry…" She said with a devious grin. "Your secret is safe with me... for now. Lie to me again and I might go back on my word. So…" She stepped to him again, close enough to touch. "Why are you really here?"

It was blackmail of the foulest kind. Thalen swallowed dryly, his throat parched and his thirst ignited; the last thing on his mind was entertaining a tribewife, no matter how good she looked-- he didn’t come here and risk his life to sate his lust. “... my brother was butchered by Rarku Nunh twenty summers ago. I… wanted to reclaim his bones and give him the proper burial he deserves.”

Her ears pinned against her head, and her grin faltered. “I’m sorry to hear that… but if your brother passed away such a long time ago, his bones are either buried deep in the sand or ground into dust. It could take you time to find his remains… time you don’t have.”

Thalen knew the truth of it, but it still stung regardless; Nolas was just a boy when that grown man killed him like he was putting down a crippled animal. The sunken face of his half-dead brother flashed in his head and he was brought back to that terrible place all over again. Through labored breaths he blinked and forced himself to try to swallow back that panic, but all he could do was focus on the gargled voice of the greatest man in his life, screaming at him to run.

“You poor thing…” Yuun whispered, snapping him out of his trance when she brushed the back of her hand against his chin. “You were there… yes, I remember… that little boy my Nunh spared from that grisly sport. Twenty summers ago-- how old were you?”

Through a scratchy throat and a sudden headache Thalen answered with, “It was my sixth summer…”

“The bones may be gone…” She started, tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. “... but our Tia Keeper takes the weapons and armor after every battle to better train our boys. Perhaps he still has that small wooden shield?” His eyes lit up with newfound hope; even a memento of his brother would be good enough. Her grin returned when she saw his spirits lifted. “You can’t wander around the territory searching for him… Vahli is itching to find just one good excuse to take your head after that display of disrespect. But I can take you there myself. Would you like that, Tia?”

"Going out of your way to help a complete stranger like me?" Thalen huffed as he perked a brow. “I find it hard to believe this is coming from a place of charity.”

“How right you are.” Her hands reached behind her neck to tug at a few threads, causing her furs to cascade down her body. Thalen’s heart began to pound as she climbed up on top of him, using a hand to push him onto his back. “A favor for a favor… mate with me like you would if I were Era. I want to know what it feels like to be mounted by a young Tia again…”

“S-someone will hear us…!” He protested, placing a hand on her shoulder to get her to stop.

She leaned back just enough to grab the door and swing it closed behind her, plunging the inside of the wagon in darkness. He felt her press herself against his body, her hot breath tickling his neck and ear. 

“Then we better be quiet…”

[c-rose2081]

Dragon Afternoons

Love Like Dragons AU

Bevie | Jay & Lonnie | Mal & Audrey BROTP | Little Dragons

—

Evie was deeply flustered. Throwing another wadded paper ball at the overflowing trash bin, she missed and hit Mal - her five year old Isle Dragon - in the head. The mean eyed purple beast grunted unhappily at being woken from where she slept by the wall heater, and Evie lifted a hand to her lips with a little gasp.

“Oh, Mal. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you,”

The dragon snorted, as though saying ‘sure you didn’t’, and tossed her head slightly.

“I’m just so frustrated,” Evie said to her best friend, who stood and stretched with a gaping, toothy yawn, “I’m supposed to be designing these gowns for the Imperial Ball next month but I’m stumped. If I don’t come up with something soon I’ll miss my deadline!”

Beginning to worry, Mal leapt up from the floor and crawled onto Evie’s shoulder. Giving the woman a warm cheek bump as a form of comfort, the blunette chuckled weakly, “thanks M. But I’m not sure what to do,”

Mal, being a dragon, couldn’t answer with words. But she lifted her shoulders, as if shrugging in the face of Evie’s current predicament. After all, what did a dragon know about fashion or clothes? Sighing a bit in defeat, Evie rubbed the place between her brows with a thumb and forefinger. At this same moment, there was a loud THUNK as something rammed into the outside of her study door. Standing, Mal gave a little rattling question as Evie gently turned the handle.

Three month old Dizzy tumbled head first into the office, rolling like a pinwheel on her back before settling on her belly with a squeak and a huff. She had only been hatched a few months prior, but already was the size of a small kitten. Her paint splatter markings only seemed to grow brighter and more numerous as she grew, and her massive floofy lion tail was still as untamed as ever.

“Dizzy!” Evie exclaimed, squatting down to pick the dragonling up off the floor, “you poor thing. What are you doing?”

Dizzy gave a little squeak, and Mal snorted rather loudly on Evie’s shoulder to assert her presence as ‘Aunty Mal’. Shortly though, Ben appeared around the corner looking a tad flustered.

“Sorry E! I didn’t mean for her to get away from me,”

“It’s ok. But what are you doing?”

Passing Dizzy to Ben, who dropped her into the pocket of his jeans, the man smiled.

“Jay called; he wants to meet the dragonlings. And it’s such a nice day, I thought maybe some time outside would be good for them. And you, if you’d like?”

“Oh Ben, that’s so thoughtful,” Evie mumbled, “but I have this huge deadline and I’m so stumped,”

“Well, maybe a short picnic with friends will inspire you?” Ben suggested, quivering as Dizzy clambered back out of his pocket and up the side of his blouse, “you could use a break, love. You’re overwrought. And Jay wants to get to know you.”

“Jay. He was the best man at our wedding? The one with the long hair?”

“Right. He’s really cool, we played Tourney together in school. There’s someone else coming who I think you’d like to meet as well,”

“His girlfriend?” Evie asked, already turning off the light to her study. Maybe a moment outside would jog her poor, crazy brain.

“Sort of. It’s a surprise,” Ben insisted, wincing as Dizzy sat directly on his head, “and she’s on my head,”

“I got her,” Evie chuckled, taking the dragonling off her husbands hair with a little nose kiss, “she’s such a little dear,”

“If that’s what we’re calling it,” Ben huffed, mimicking Mal a tad as he straightened his shirt, “now, shall we go? You’ve got your sketchbook?”

“Always,” Evie laughed, tucking Dizzy into the pocket of her skirt where she curled up for a nap. Mal was a big help in wrangling Ceila, the eldest hatchling, holding her by the scruff. While Audrey — Ben’s Aurorian Dragon — had Carlos clinging to her back and snoozing away. Only when they were all in the car on their way to the park did Evie allow her mind to wander. Currently, all of her designs felt...wrong somehow. They didn’t capture the essence of royalty and grandeur that the Imperial Ball represented. And she wanted her designs to be exceptional, as Ambassadors from all over the world would be present.

It was a huge deal. And Evie was kinda freaking out over it.

As they neared their destination - the same park Ben and Evie first met - the young couple began leashing up the dragonlings. Though Mal and Audrey were sure to stay close by, Dizzy and Ceila would definitely run off. Carlos was still much to small to run away on his own, and Evie was certain he wouldn’t stray far from mom. As usual, Ceila was a bullet right out the gate, followed closely by Dizzy as the two were usually partners in crime. Mal and Audrey sat on their consecutive owners shoulders, keeping an eye on the little ones from above.

Still thinking about her designs, Evie almost missed the flash of green, red and gold in the trees.

“Evie, look up,”

And she did, and her breath was stolen instantly. A beautiful, absolutely gigantic serpent ran above them. Plated in metallic, colorful scales, the monster was the most elegant thing Evie had ever seen. It ran on the wind itself, wingless but still somehow flying. It’s face was like a lion, with large golden cat like eyes, and floating tendrils of black fur which rippled like water on the breeze.

“Oh my...”

Evie, still astounded, jumped as the creature dove suddenly. Twisting its long body around, it caught a flying frisbee in its square jaw. It then flew back towards the ground where a young man in a tank top happily took the disk, and gave the dragon a pat on the head.

“Jay!” Ben called out, “over here!”

“Ben! What’s up, man!”

Jay was tall and muscular, and had Evie not already been married, he was certainly dating material. His smile was boyish and innocent, and he happily took Ben’s outstretched hand before pulling him into a ‘guy hug‘, “glad you could make it out. It’s been forever,” Jay spoke, “hey foxy lady. I hear life’s been good to you, huh?”

Audrey trilled happily as she let Jay gently tickle the underside of her chin, preening at the touch.

“And Evie,” Jay said, turning to the woman with a grin, “nice to see you again. And who’s this?”

Motioning to Mal, who looked severely unimpressed by Jay, Evie chuckled. Dragons had been prohibited at the actual wedding ceremony, despite having snuck in away. So Jay hadn’t technically met Mal yet, other then a possible glimpse.

“This is Mal, she’s...” Mal snorted at Jay, “difficult,”

“Nah, no worries. Lonnie is the same way, I totally get it,”

“Lonnie?”

“Yeah, my favorite lady. She’s over there...probably destroying that frisbee. Hey, Lonnie!” Jay gave a sharp whistle with his fingers as the massive serpent like dragon lifted her head. She still had the disk, but looked close to destroying it with massive teeth, “don’t eat that! Plastic is bad for you!”

The dragon gave a low rattle of annoyance before returning to her play time, and Jay shook his head, “sorry. She’s been cooped up while my parents are visiting. They aren’t big fans of Dragons. So, introduce me to the little ones,”

Kneeling down to where Ceila and Dizzy were running around Ben’s legs, they immediately came to investigate.

“This is Ceila and Dizzy,” Ben insisted, pointing to each Dragonling, “and then Carlos, the little brother.”

Gently picking up the runt from Audrey’s back, Jay laughed happily as he was placed within cupped palms. Evie’s heart melted at the sight of such a tough man holding such a tiny creature. It was very attractive.

“He’s so small,” Jay commented, “and no colors or anything?”

“His egg fell out of the nest and developed a crack,” Evie explained, swatting at Mal who was getting a bit agitated at just standing around. She always was the impatient one, “Uma thinks it’s a mutation,”

“Ah. Well, Uma is the dragon expert,” Jay nodded, giving Carlos back to Audrey who whistled in thanks, “well, come on over and meet Lonnie. And then we can eat. I brought takeout!”

And so they did, approaching the serpent dragon as a group. Up close, Evie could see now she had both fur and armored scales, her face surrounded by the softest looking white plumes. Her head was significantly larger then her body and square in shape, while her four legs had viciously sharp white talons.

“She’s beautiful,” Evie breathed, feeling Mal’s claws dig just a bit tighter into her skin. After all, unlike Audrey who Mal was only slightly smaller then, Lonnie was the size of a Great Dane, “what breed is she?”

“Imperial Dragon,” Jay answered, “got her from a breeder not to long ago. She’s a show Dragon. Catch and release, but also a bit of agility,”

“Catch and release?” Evie asked, grappling already for her sketchbook.

“Yeah. It’s a game to test a dragons ability to hunt. You release a clay pigeon on a fast track and let the Dragon go after it. It’s really fun to watch. Lonnie here is a world champion,”

Lonnie grumbled a response, and Evie glanced at Mal curiously. Other then the rats in the shed and the laundry on the line, Mal didn’t ever show much interest in hunting. She mostly played with her food before becoming bored and moving on to something else. Maybe she needed to give this catch and release idea a try?

“Think it would be ok for the little ones to meet?” Ben asked, keeping Ceila and Dizzy’s lines short, though they were already moving closer to the larger dragon in curiosity.

“Oh yeah. Lonnie is a big softie really. She just looks scary,”

And so Ben very carefully let out the lines. Evie glanced at Audrey, but she didn’t appear to worried and was actually checking out her claws. Mal was back to being vaguely annoyed with the whole thing, yawning and laying across Evie’s shoulders in the sun. Lonnie, who had now noticed the little dragons coming closer, dropped her frisbee. Evie, enamored, happily captured her long thin body, shimmering coin like scales and wavy Raven fur on paper.

The beast bobbed sideways for a moment, turning her head this way and that to have a better look. Her golden eyes widened into moons as her long furry tail flicked back and forth. The bells acting as her collar jingled as the little ones were finally upon her. And Evie, for a tense moment, thought she may leap for them. But instead she dropped to the ground, chin against the grass and nostrils flaring with happy play. She rolled onto her back as the baby dragons clambered up onto her underbelly, sliding down the ridges. Dizzy even managed to sit on her flat muzzle, staring the great beast in the face.

“Awe,” Evie crooned, “so cute. Ben take a picture,”

“I’m already on it,”

“Ah see, nothing to worry about!” Jay said, waving to the place where he’d set out a rather large blanket and boxes of takeout, “now how bout lunch. I’m starving.”

And so three adults, and six dragons all sat down for a meal together. While eating, Evie continued to color and make patterns. She smiled as the dragonlings slid down the serpents back like a slide, or when Mal got brave and batted at her ridge only to be easily pushed over by a gentle but playful paw. Audrey just napped in the sunshine, happy to get a bit of rest while holding little Carlos close to her to keep him warm.

“This has been a perfect afternoon,” Evie said when their food was nearly gone, and the fortune cookies were cracked and read aloud. Mal was currently eating a strawberry from her hand, content back on her shoulders, “and Lonnie is welcome at our house anytime. I’m sure the little ones would enjoy a visit from their second Aunty anytime,”

“Any more dragons and we’ll have to get a bigger house,” Ben complained to his wife as she beamed.

“You know I’m a dragon mom, Ben. Don’t even tempt me with that idea,”

“You walked right into that one,” Jay laughed, tossing a coconut prawn to Lonnie who caught it easily. Laughing easily, Evie glanced down at the sketchbook in her lap.

“Think you have enough to get those gowns done?” Ben asked her, leaning back on his hands and stroking Audrey’s head gently.

“I think so,” Evie answered, closing the book and tucking it back in her bag, “But we don’t have to go quite yet. I think I’d like to see some of that agility Jay was talking about.”

“That’s if we can find where Lonnie buried the frisbee,” Jay complained, causing more laughter. And as the sun began to set, Ben, Jay and Evie watched as Lonnie performed daring acrobatics for prawns, and the little dragons — tuckered out from a day of excitement — slept peacefully in pockets and bags.

—

A/N: And Lonnie and Jay are officially in the story! Make sure to ping me with other characters you may be interested in seeing :) Evie does need a bigger house...maybe a Dragon sanctuary *eyebrow wags*

[lightshadowverisimilitude]

The Uncle Trap

@sassassassins is phenomenal and has sent me so many pretty screenshots for my episode summary project!!

As a thank you: Post-cannon, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng forced to cooperate to rescue their disaster!nephew, with guest appearances from Lan Wangji, Sizhui, and a very startled troll. 

~*~

The inn was neither the worst nor the best he’d stayed in during his travels. The wine was better than that sour swill from the last place, but, of course, it had nothing on Emperor’s Smile. The food was edible, the floor in his room was clean, and the table was not sticky. It was as much as he could ask for, and better than he had most days. 

He was eating his way through a plate of greasy spiced chicken when a commotion at the door caught his attention. He blinked at the figure silhouetted against the last of the light. For one chest-compressing moment, he thought it was Lan Wangji, but then the figure moved, too animated, too quickly for Lan Wangji. 

“Lan Sizhui?”  

“Wei-qianbei!” He darted in between tables, gracefully avoiding hitting anyone, even when other patrons turned around quickly to see what the fuss was about. 

Wei Wuxian watched, bemused, as Sizhui came to a somewhat messy halt in front of him and offered a quick salute. 

“It’s Jin Ling,” he said in a rush that caught Wei Wuxian’s heart somewhere between his breastbone and his voicebox. “We were on a night hunt - it was supposed to just be a simple haunting!”

Keeping the rising panic off his face and out of his voice, Wei Wuxian pressed, “What happened?” 

“It was so fast - something took him. I heard him screaming, and then he was gone.” Sizhui looked up at him hopefully, as though Wei Wuxian might snap his fingers and pull Jin Ling out of thin air. He filed that thought away - maybe he could do that, with the right set of spells - and stood quickly. He scattered a handful of coins on the table, probably too much, but he didn’t want to take the time to count them out.

As they ran out of the inn and down the street, Sizhui gave him a rundown of their hunt, the hungry ghost they’d dispatched, and the blur of motion that had snatched Jin Ling, screaming, from the back of their party. Wei Wuxian cursed again at his inability to fly, and made no protest whatsoever to jumping up alongside Sizhui for the trip. It would be quick by air, but convincing Little Apple to get him there any sooner than next week would have been a nightmare. 

“Go to Cloud Recesses,” Wei Wuxian ordered, hopping down when they were a few feet from the ground in the last place Jin Ling had been seen. If there was some kind of junior-cultivator eating monster up there, the last thing he needed was having to keep an eye on Sizhui while he was hunting for his disaster of a nephew. 

“Wei-qianbei!”

“Go tell His Excellency that the Jin sect leader is missing!” Wei Wuxian ordered. “I’ll probably already have him before you can duck around Old Man Lan to get to Lan Zhan, so just go.”

Face twisted with worry for his friend, Sizhui finally nodded and took back to the air. Wei Wuxian was vaguely surprised that he went so quickly, but, then, he must have been terrified for Jin Ling, and, of course, he would want Lan Wangji. Perhaps the greater surprise should have been that Sizhui came for him first, though that might have been only a matter of proximity.

It was full dark by then, but Wei Wuxian lit a fire talisman and did his best to search the area for any clues. Unfortunately, it was a crossroads, and well travelled, so he couldn’t pick out any footprints. He ventured a little ways off the road in the direction Sizhui had indicated, but he was worried that he might destroy some vital clue in the dark, and was forced to stop.

Sitting cross-legged against a tree, he pulled Chenqing out and cautiously played a few notes. His stomach twisted in knots as he did. What would he do if Jin Ling’s corpse came shambling out of the trees? In any event, he didn’t have to find out. He was playing softly so he didn’t accidentally summon a whole army, and the only dead he would summon would be those very close by. One lone spirit did manifest, a man dressed in ragged homespun with a gaping mouth. He wasn’t even strong enough to speak, so Wei Wuxian couldn’t ask him if he’d witnessed anything at the crossroads. After a few minutes of listening to him moan piteously, Wei Wuxian sighed and put him to rest. He continued to play, but no other spirits came to investigate.

As soon as the sky was light enough to make out the details of his own shoes, he was back on his feet and combing through the underbrush. A short distance away from the road, he found a tangle of golden threads caught on a tree branch, and some fifteen feet further on, a snapped branch even higher up. Whatever had taken Jin Ling, hadn’t carried him on the ground. It narrowed down the list a lot, but not enough to know what he was walking into. 

“Hey, you!” 

Wei Wuxian froze at the familiar voice and turned only reluctantly to see Jiang Cheng wading through the underbrush with a look on his face to make thunderclouds cry. He stopped when he recognized Wei Wuxian. Around his wrist, Zidian spit and crackled purple lightning. 

“What the hell are you doing here? If you-”

Wei Wuxian interrupted him before he could finish that accusation and force Wei Wuxian to punch him in the face. He knew it would take a long time before they would have any real trust between them again, if ever, but if Jiang Cheng could suspect him of hurting his own nephew, his shijie’s son, Wei Wuxian wasn’t sure how they could come back from that. 

“Sizhui brought me last night,” he said, turning away so he didn’t have to watch Jiang Cheng’s response.

Jiang Cheng grunted. He was silent for a moment, and then offered, “Ouyang Zizhen made it to Lotus Pier in the middle of the night.” He glared at Wei Wuxian, but jerked his chin up to indicate the fluffy bundle of gold threads in Wei Wuxian’s hand. “What did you find?” 

Handing it over, Wei Wuxian returned to the trail of broken branches. Muttering under his breath something about how he would cut his nephew’s legs clean off this time, Jiang Cheng followed after him. Wei Wuxian glanced back at him as they drifted apart to look for further clues. Jiang Cheng looked pale and drawn, his mouth tight with anxiety and brows pulled together like they’d been sewn that way. He probably hadn’t slept any more than Wei Wuxian had the previous night. 

“Anything?” Wei Wuxian called back when his scant trail of broken branches dried up and there were no more convenient wisps of fabric to go on. Couldn’t the boy at least have managed to drop some beads or something? He owed Jin Ling a lesson on how to be inconvenient to captors and make a good trail for his uncles to follow if he ever got snatched again. They had to get him back first. 

“Nothing,” Jiang Cheng said after a tense moment. “Ouyang Zizhen said he was screaming murder like he was being eaten alive.” The last came out in a small, worried voice. 

“No blood,” Wei Wuxian said, though the lack of it was not really a comfort. It had been raining the day before, hadn’t it? When had it stopped? He thought it had still been drizzling a little when he’d gone into the inn late in the afternoon, and Jin Ling would have already been gone for hours by that time. He was being dragged away screaming murder while Wei Wuxian was eating greasy food and congratulating himself on having enough money for an inn with clean floors and wine that wouldn’t burn through his stomach. 

Sizhui wouldn’t have known exactly where he was, though Wei Wuxian did his best to make sure Sizhui had a general idea of his whereabouts in case he needed something. It had been maybe five hours of hard flying straight from the inn to the crossroads, so if it had taken a few hours on top of that for Sizhui to find him, and presumably some time trying to find Jin Ling himself, then whoever - whatever - had Jin Ling could be half-way to the moon. 

They doubled back to make sure they hadn’t missed anything, and then turned without discussion for the road. There was a village a short way up the hill. With an angry huff, Jiang Cheng unsheathed Sandu and stopped in the road, glaring at Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian just stared back incredulously. 

“Well?” Jiang Cheng demanded after a minute had passed in awkward silence.

Jiang Cheng couldn’t possibly mean for them to fight right there! Even if Wei Wuxian had taken Jin Ling, what good would it do for Jiang Cheng to kill him in the road with no idea of where he was being held? Wei Wuxian wanted to call him an idiot for it, but he also didn’t want to fight about it at all, he wanted to find Jin Ling. Wei Wuxian put a hand on Chenqing, but Jiang Cheng just rolled his eyes and held out his left hand impatiently. The gesture startled the breath out of Wei Wuxian’s lungs when he realized what it meant.

"It's too slow to walk," Jiang Cheng said ungraciously, but his eyes went left and right and his sword hand moved unconsciously over his stomach. 

Wei Wuxian rubbed the back of his neck. Even though Sizhui was so much his junior (depending on how one counted years, they might have been about the same age) and his adopted son, it hadn't felt awkward to be carried by him. Jiang Cheng though…

Sighing, Wei Wuxian took Jiang Cheng's hand, and they jumped up on Sandu together. Jiang Cheng pulled Wei Wuxian against his side to make him as manageable a package as possible, but his hand was fisted in Wei Wuxian’s robes like his grip was the only thing holding them both up. Wei Wuxian almost laughed, remembering how impressed he'd been when Lan Wangji had carried him and Su She together on Bichen. Back then, Lan Wangji had carried him by the scruff like he was a naughty kitten. Jiang Cheng glared ahead as if daring Wei Wuxian to say a single word to him. 

Because Wei Wuxian never had been able to let a challenge go unanswered, he made a loud noise and asked, “Can’t you go faster?”

They were too close together for Jiang Cheng to give Wei Wuxian the full benefit of his glare, but he still turned his head with his teeth clenched tightly together. If they hadn’t been going after Jin Ling, Wei Wuxian thought it was very likely Jiang Cheng would have thrown him off right then. Without even meaning to, he clutched Jiang Cheng tighter, just in case. The last time he’d been thrown from a sword in flight, the Burial Mounds had reached up and grabbed him out of the air, and things had gone sideways afterwards. 

“Hey, hey, I’m kidding!” Wei Wuxian said, but Jiang Cheng still dropped him the last six feet when they came to the village. Wei Wuxian thought it was only polite to stumble and run headlong into a fence post, since Jiang Cheng had gone through the effort and all. 

Looking pleased with himself, Jiang Cheng descended with something like grace. People were already starting to gather, since they had been seen while they were still in the air. It was a small village of only maybe two dozen houses clustered around a pair of roads with a single crossroads. Being so far up a mountain not known for anything in particular, they probably didn’t get a lot of visitors. 

“A cultivator has gone missing,” Jiang Cheng said with no preamble at all. He glared around at the gathered villagers, already cataloguing them in his head like they could possibly be suspects. “What has been happening on this mountain lately?” 

No one answered him immediately. They shot him a lot of nervous or annoyed glances. It was still early enough in the day that not everyone had left for the fields, and there were a dozen or so men and younger people sprinkled in among the old folks and children. They had started to mutter amongst themselves - who did this guy think he was, just making demands like that? Just because he was a cultivator and wore fancy clothes, he thought he could order them around? 

“Ah!” Wei Wuxian said, dusting himself off and strolling over to lean on Jiang Cheng’s shoulder. He patted at Jiang Cheng’s chest, which got him a nasty glare, and continued, “Sandu Sengshou didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. He’s a bear early in the mornings! See, the cultivator is our nephew, and we’re worried, you know?” Jiang Cheng pinched him hard, but Wei Wuxian didn’t budge. 

Sympathy rippled around the gathered cloud. An old granny even reached out to pat Wei Wuxian’s arm. 

“Lots of folks going missing on this mountain,” she said. She only had maybe three teeth left, but her smile was kind. “Just last night, the woodcutter’s boy gone.” 

Jiang Cheng stopped subtly trying to pinch the life out of Wei Wuxian’s side and they exchanged worried looks. Most creatures didn’t take a new victim until they didn’t need the old one any more. They had to hope there was more than one monster, or maybe Jin Ling had managed to escape and that was why it had gone after another snack in the night. 

They questioned the villagers more in depth, Wei Wuxian letting Jiang Cheng go so he could help the old granny to her chair in the shade. There were ten small villages on the mountain, and this one was neither the biggest nor the smallest. No one could even agree on a name for it, but there were a dozen stories of children, mothers, fathers, old men, and young women going missing. A lot of it had to be an exaggeration, or there would be no people for a hundred miles around with how many folks they claimed had gone missing. 

Always at night, they said, some giant shadow would swoop down and then the person would be gone, screaming high up in the air. The sound of their screams always went higher up the mountain, and thunder followed them. According to the villagers, no one had ever been recovered, and theories ran the gamut from an angry mountain god to wild, flying dogs. Wei Wuxian really wouldn't be able to handle it if he found a wild flying dog. It was bad enough that they ran so fast on the ground, giving them wings just wouldn’t be fair. 

Wei Wuxian frowned as he listened to another such story, this time a whole village just vanishing overnight. Jin Ling had been taken in the morning, surely, and from a group of cultivators. The juniors were young, but they were a promising bunch, and a few of them were quite strong, even considering their youth. Sizhui, Jin Ling, and Ouyang Zizhen were already on their way to fame. 

“Thank you, granny,” Wei Wuxian said. He helped her peel an orange and handed her a section to suck on before turning the task back to the woman’s youngest granddaughter and meeting Jiang Cheng in the middle of the road again. 

“Could have been a hungry ghost,” Jiang Cheng said as they turned to walk shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Sizhui said they found and suppressed one. Could there be more?” 

Jiang Cheng hesitated. “It’s a small area for two hungry ghosts that strong.” 

“Hmm,” Wei Wuxian agreed. He took Chenqing out and spun her idly between his fingers while he thought. It was unlikely that they were making up all the stories wholesale. All legends started from some kernel of truth, and there were too many people reporting missing loved ones, and not just that they knew someone who heard once that so-and-so’s husband’s great uncle saw something. 

“What has that fool boy gotten into?” Jiang Cheng gritted out. He unsheathed Sandu again, and Wei Wuxian didn’t even hesitate to jump up alongside him. 

~*~

They did find another hungry ghost, just not a very hungry one. It looked like it had been a young girl in life, but it was barely even corporeal and its voice sounded like it was very far away. She couldn’t have been dead very long, and Wei Wuxian doubted she’d had any victims yet. If they let her go about her business, in maybe a decade or so, someone would come to the mountain to hunt her. 

Where was Lan Wangji with his guqin when they needed to talk to a muttering spirit, anyways? Wei Wuxian put a hand out to stop Jiang Cheng from suppressing her. He put Chenqing to his lips and ignored the way Jiang Cheng’s own lips narrowed down into a disapproving line that reminded Wei Wuxian a lot of Madam Yu. 

Still, Jiang Cheng didn’t try to stop him, just huffed out a breath and spun away. Wei Wuxian played, but softly, just for her. She hadn’t even really noticed them before, but after the first couple notes, she turned to face them. Her head dropped down toward her shoulder and she opened and closed her mouth a few times. Very faintly, Wei Wuxian heard a click-click-click noise, the memory of teeth. 

He didn’t want to stir up her resentful energy anymore than it already was, so he just plucked at the ragged edges of her form with the music, nudged her along, suggested to whatever passed for a mind in a hungry ghost to take them to someone hungry like her. There was still something on the mountain grabbing people, and most creatures didn’t grab people except to eat them in one way or another. 

She made an unhappy gurgling noise and fought against him, but finally relented. They followed after her. She was most visible in shadow, but the sun was bright, and they often lost her when she moved out from under the trees. The only way Wei Wuxian still knew to follow her was the tickling pull on the back of his neck. 

Without making her into a real monster, they had to follow at her pace, and she hadn’t been dead long enough to realize that she didn’t have to walk like a human anymore. She was also a weak spirit, and it was difficult to hold onto her attention span enough to keep her going in the right direction. 

Still, his playing called other spirits, and Jiang Cheng was kept busy fighting them off. 

“Even like this, you have to be a nuisance,” Jiang Cheng complained, flicking the lingering resentful energy off his blade. It spattered black on the ground and started smoking in the sunlight. 

Wei Wuxian couldn’t stop playing or he’d lose the hungry ghost, so he manfully ignored the comment and continued up the path. She led them up some steep switchbacks, and then onto a plateau densely covered in pines. Once there, however, she stopped and gave Wei Wuxian a baleful look, refusing to go any further. 

Not breaking the song, Wei Wuxian stepped sideways and nudged Jiang Cheng with one elbow. He nodded toward her, and Jiang Cheng stepped forward with a grunt to suppress her. Wei Wuxian was probably imagining her accustory shout, but it wasn’t his fault, really. He wanted to tell her that being a hungry ghost wasn’t any fun, and to hurry up and reincarnate into a better life. 

“What good are you?” Jiang Cheng asked. “We wasted a lot of daylight and cleared out a few decades of haunts, and Jin Ling is still missing!”

“There’s something up here she was afraid of,” Wei Wuxian said, massaging his jaw. They had walked for hours, and it was harder to play soft and sweet and keep it so focused than it was to call up an army. He probably could have woken up every corpse and ghost on the whole mountain and not been as sore. 

Jiang Cheng scoffed. “Hungry ghosts don’t fear anything.” 

“Everything fears something,” Wei Wuxian told him softly, and then pointed toward the trees. The wind was picking up hard, and Wei Wuxian’s hair was whipping around his face like a flail, lashing at his cheeks. 

They moved into the cover of the trees, but they had only gone maybe fifteen minutes before they heard a whistle. Wei Wuxian recognized the tune and sighed aloud. At his side, Jiang Cheng went tight with blossoming irritation, and sped up his steps. 

Jin Ling was sitting with his back to them, tossing seeds up into the air and attempting to catch them in his mouth. He missed three, and stopped to whistle another few notes of one of Wei Wuxian’s own songs. If he’d put any power into at all, he’d probably have a few hungry spirits of his own crawling up to him. 

“You little shit!” Jiang Cheng snapped. 

The seeds went flying into the air and Jin Ling jumped about three miles straight up. He held his sword in front of him, still sheathed, as if it would be any impediment to Jiang Cheng’s wrath at all. Wei Wuxian tried very hard to school his expression into something stern and disapproving, but the quick succession of expressions marching across Jin Ling’s face - shock, fear, stubbornness, back to fear - was just too much, and he had to hide his face in his hand. Relief poured through him in waves that almost came out as laughter, but then Jiang Cheng would probably turn on him, and he didn’t want to die. 

“I should break both of your legs!” Jiang Cheng shouted, grabbing Jin Ling by one arm and giving him a good shake. “Do you know you’re a sect leader? I had two dozen disciples following after me! They’re crawling all over this mountain by now looking for you, and probably as many Jin disciples too!”

“Uncle! I can explain!” Jin Ling tried, but didn’t get any further than that before Jiang Cheng was shaking him again. 

“I'll teach you to explain!” Jiang Cheng roared, somewhat nonsensically, but the effect was carried if Jin Ling’s wide eyes were anything to go by. 

Unable to hold back any longer, Wei Wuxian burst into laughter. Both of them turned on him at once with identical expressions of outrage. It made Wei Wuxian laugh even harder. Zidian snarled as it lashed out at the ground, and Wei Wuxian jumped, holding both hands up in surrender. 

“Alright, alright!” he called, dancing out of range of the whip while Jin Ling shoved at his uncle’s arm. 

“Don’t attack him, he didn’t do anything!” Jin Ling said.

“How are you taking his side?” Jiang Cheng demanded, going splotchy with anger. 

“I’m not! You’re being a bully!” Jin Ling returned. 

“Okay, okay, no one is taking my side!” Wei Wuxian said, interrupting them before they started fighting for real. “Jin Ling, where are you keeping the woodcutter’s boy?” 

Mouth already opened to shout at Wei Wuxian, Jin Ling stopped. His expression twisted in confusion. “What woodcutter’s boy?” 

“You must have him somewhere, so people would think there was still a monster up here kidnapping people,” Jiang Cheng prompted. “Where is he? If you took him from his village, I will string you up by your ankles and leave you there until your head pops up!”

“I didn’t!” Jin Ling said. 

Wei Wuxian drew in a breath to speak, but a sudden explosion of noise sounded deeper in the trees. At once, they pulled together. Suihua and Sandu came out with twin chimes, and Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng stepped apart to put Wei Wuxian between them. Eyeing the trees distrustfully, Wei Wuxian put Chenqing back to his lips and waited. 

Another great crash sounded - certainly the thunder the villagers had reported hearing - and somewhere the splintering crack of a tree coming down. With a roar, a troll burst into their clearing. It was twelve feet tall at least, face more closely resembling the rocky mountainside where it made its home, teeth like broken stones in its mouth. It bellowed at them so loudly that Wei Wuxian could feel the wind of its rancid breath. 

Before Wei Wuxian could get a single note out, the troll abruptly stopped. It made a peculiar choking noise. 

“Did it swallow a bug?” Jin Ling asked incredulously. 

“More like a bird,” Jiang Cheng answered.

The troll groaned, and then toppled over dead. 

For several long seconds, they all three just stared at it in dumb silence. Jiang Cheng turned to give Wei Wuxian a suspicious look, but Wei Wuxian just shrugged at him. He hadn’t done anything, he’d barely even got a breath in. 

“Uncle…” Jin Ling prompted with the same suspiciously narrowed eyes. 

“I didn’t!” Wei Wuxian insisted. 

“It didn’t just die on its own!” Jiang Cheng snapped, rounding on him. 

Wei Wuxian thought about letting them think he had somehow killed a mountain troll with the power of his thoughts alone, but he didn’t trust Jiang Cheng not to take that seriously and start some new crusade against him. He was only just starting to get to the point where he could give out his name in a new town and not get mobbed by angry townsfolk. 

The decision was taken from him shortly in any event. The distinctive song of a sword being dropped into its sheath had them all turning back to the trees. Lan Wangji stepped out from the shadows like a ghost himself, dressed splendidly in blue and silver, with only the smallest touches of white at the collar and the detailing on the breast. 

“Excellency!” Jin Ling stammered. 

“Excellency,” Jiang Cheng said flatly, glaring at Wei Wuxian. 

“Lan Zhan!” Wei Wuxian chirped and enjoyed very much the look of utter disgust on Jiang Cheng’s face. 

“Mmn,” was all Lan Wangji had to offer. 

“That damn Sizhui!” Jin Ling exploded before he could catch himself. “He was supposed to keep Hanguan-jun away, not invite him over!” 

Jiang Cheng cuffed him sharply, and he ducked, already complaining at the treatment, and didn’t Jiang Cheng think that was too much, striking another sect leader when their sects were in good standing? 

“The day I can’t cuff my own stupid nephew is the day I will take YungmengJiang to war against you!” Jiang Cheng said. He lifted his hand again, but he didn’t take another swing and Jin Ling, who danced out of his reach anyways. 

“The Jin sect would grind you into dust!” Jin Ling declared boldly. 

Jiang Cheng’s eyes widened. Wei Wuxian hurried to put a hand on his arm. “Don’t kill him. He’s my favorite nephew.” 

“I’m your only nephew,” Jin Ling reminded him somewhat peevishly. 

“Maybe if you two are going to go around declaring war, you should do it out of His Excellency’s hearing?” Wei Wuxian asked with a laugh. 

Jin Ling looked smug at the suggestion rather than rightly terrified. “That wouldn’t be enjoyable at all!” 

Of course, once Lan Wangji had stepped into conversational distance, he was quick to give his bows and put himself behind his uncles. Wei Wuxian laughed at the color spilling hectic-hot across Jin Ling’s face as Lan Wangji observed him with what must be the expression he gave all the sect leaders when they came to him with their problems and petty disputes. 

Slinging an arm over Jin Ling’s shoulders, Wei Wuxian tweaked the boy’s ear. “Oh, what fun we had together, right, Jiang Cheng?” He winked at Jiang Cheng, who gave Lan Wangji a sideways look before apparently deciding not to respond. Wei Wuxian patted Jin Ling on the shoulder. “You ever do anything like this again, and I’ll hold you down so your Uncle Cheng can do a good job breaking your legs, got it?” 

“I only did it so you idiots would talk to each other,” Jin Ling muttered, but he ducked out from under Wei Wuxian’s arm and edged closer to Jiang Cheng. 

“What a story they’ll make of this!” Wei Wuxian laughed. “A troll so big and powerful it took two sect leaders and the head cultivator to take it down!”

“And you,” Lan Wangji added. 

“Ah, well, what did I do? Maybe I’ll be the one who writes the story about His Excellency sweeping in to save the defenseless Yiling Patriarch,” he suggested, peering at Lan Wangji sideways and laughing when he only nodded. 

Making loud groaning noises as if they might fall over dead themselves, Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng retreated from them at once. Jiang Cheng had Jin Ling by the arm, but Jin Ling wasn’t fighting at all. 

Jiang Cheng stopped a short ways into the trees and turned back to point at Wei Wuxian. “Come to dinner,” he said, but as if it were a threat instead of an invitation. Next to him, Jin Ling beamed.

Wei Wuxian stared at them both blankly. “What?” 

“Don’t sneak through my territory like a thief anymore! Next time you come to Lotus Pier, come to dinner like a normal person and tell me you’re there to my face. Stop disrespecting me!” 

As roughly as it had been delivered, Jiang Cheng’s cheeks were touched with pink as he stared Wei Wuxian down. Wei Wuxian had crept through Lotus Pier or the surrounding territory a few times since he’d taken to the road, following night hunts, and maybe, maybe, missing the taste of roasted lotus seeds and the floral scent of the lakes when the lotus were in bloom. 

“I will,” Wei Wuxian said. What he didn’t say was that he thought he would never be allowed to walk upright into Lotus Pier again as long as Jiang Cheng was alive, and the notion was at once terrifying and filled him with smothering longing. Wei Wuxian didn’t trust himself to say anything other than that. 

Glaring at him a moment longer just for good measure, Jiang Cheng turned away again. He could be heard lecturing Jin Ling halfway down the mountain, apparently intent on making him walk all the way back to Carp Tower. 

“Lan Zhan, you saved me from an evil mountain troll.” 

Lan Wangji hiked an eyebrow at him, but he was quick to reach out to catch him when Wei Wuxian fainted dramatically into his arms. 

“You have to carry your damsel away now,” he prompted.

He didn’t have any right at all to be surprised, but he still was, just a little tiny bit, when Lan Wangji nodded and swept him up like a bride. Wei Wuxian laughed and squirmed to be put down, but Lan Wangji had decided on carrying him, and Wei Wuxian lacked every necessary kind of the strength it would take to get away. 

Without even doing Wei Wuxian the courtesy of pretending to struggle with holding him, Lan Wangji carried him back through the trees, bypassing the massive body of the mountain troll. He did finally set Wei Wuxian down on his feet when they found Sizhui waiting somewhat sheepishly deeper in, a rawboned teenager sitting dazed at his side. Presumably, he was the woodcutter’s boy, and immensely lucky that Jin Ling had gotten his friends involved in such a ridiculous farce.

“A-Yuan!” Wei Wuxian said, putting both fists on his hips. “Who taught you this kind of mischief, hm?” When Sizhui only flushed and looked down, Wei Wuxian sighed longsufferingly. “Well, I guess you’re my kid anyways, huh? You’re lucky there really was a troll.” 

Lan Wangji made a noise in the back of his throat and Sizhui flinched as though he'd been struck. He made a bow to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian, and then, more deeply, to the traumatized boy. 

"Young Sir, please accept my deep apologies. If we had completed our investigation more thoroughly, you would not have been taken."

The boy looked up at him as though seeing through him. His mouth moved soundlessly. 

"You will return him to his family and remain there for a span of three months," Lan Wangji said. "You will be helpful."

"Lan Zhan," Wei Wuxian protested. "Three months?"

Lan Wangji met his eyes evenly. Wei Wuxian wasn't used to that immovable expression being turned on him anymore. He suddenly felt a lot of sympathy for those sect leaders trying to wheedle favors out of him.

Sizhui broke the tension by bowing again. "It is too lenient," he said.

"There will be more," Lan Wangji assured him. He turned away without another word, and Wei Wuxian slung an arm around Sizhui's shoulders. 

"I'll work on him so you aren't copying lines until you're forty. Tell me you won't do it again."

Sizhui swallowed hard, but nodded. "I won't do it again."

Craning his neck to make sure Lan Wangji was out of immediate hearing range, he set his forehead against Sizhui's. "Thank you."

Sizhui sucked in a quick breath and pressed tight to Wuxian's side. 

"Ah! Enough, let's get this poor boy home." He gave Sizhui a shake. "And get you settled in your new life chopping wood!"