#just two feral cats watching the sunset

[the-loveliest-lotus]

I got inspired yesterday and wrote this little interaction between @raddouchebag's OC Bastian Kitzler my OC Lucy Desmond (she has a sideblog now @lucyskyedesmond). These two have some kindred spirit vibes and I ran with it (and I adore Bastian). 🖤

Word Count: 1,676 words

Note: Has some potential spoilers for The Wicker Man (my mtl fanfiction), but super minimal.

~~~~~

Lucy was standing outside on one of Mordhaus’ balconies, watching the sunset. Normally she’d be up on the roof, but she wanted a change of pace and something in her intuition had told her to come down here tonight.

As if on cue, Dethklok’s new producer walked outside, lighting a cigarette and not quite paying attention. When he noticed her, he stopped, as if he was wondering if he should find somewhere else to have a cigarette. Lucy spoke up with a playful smirk on her lips, “I won’t bite you unless you ask me to.” Then she got slightly more serious, “Unless you were hoping for some solitude in which case I can go to my usual spot up on the roof.”

He debated for a second, trying to ignore how flustered the initial comment had made him, and then shook his head, “No, you’re fine. I just didn’t expect anyone to be here.”

She smiled a little, “Fair enough.”

He walked over and stood downwind of her so as not to get the cigarette smoke in her face. Lucy appreciated the little gesture. She raised her joint that she was smoking slightly, “You want a hit?”

They were done working for the day, so he figured it couldn’t harm anything. “Thank you,” he said as he took the joint and took a little hit. He held it for a second and exhaled, passing it back to her. Bastian felt an instant wave of calm wash over him. The weed was strong, but it was pleasant, like a heavy weighted blanket being pulled up over his soul.

She took another hit herself and offered it back to him, but he refused, “This is the perfect level for me.” He smoked his cigarette, wondering how she wasn’t on her ass with how strong that hit had been for him, but she broke the silence before he could ask about it.

“You know, I don’t think I could ever get tired of watching the sun set or rise. No matter what stays the same, no matter where you are, you never see the same one twice.”

Bastian raised an eyebrow at her, the thought was so much deeper than he had been expecting. From what he had seen of Lucy so far, she was very bold, a little brash, and extroverted to the nth degree. To see her so calm and enamored with something as simple as a sunset was surprising. “You watch them a lot, I take it?”

She nodded, “There’s something peaceful about it.”

Bastian looked at the small woman, she was so different when she was alone than when she was with the rest of the band. She seemed less intimidating like this. “You know, I’ll admit, when I first met you, I thought you were somewhat intimidating.”

She looked up at him with a little smirk on her lips, “Excellent, my façade is working.” Her blue eyes looked him up and down, “Really though?”

He nodded, but made a joke to keep things light, “Maybe it’s the jacket.”

Lucy smirked, she could tell something had happened to him in his past that was the real reason that he had said anything at all about her being intimidating. People always seemed to give her a flash of their cards even when they were the best of poker players. Even still, she barely knew Bastian yet despite having worked with him for a while, so instead of getting too deep, she said, “It usually disturbs people a little. That uncanny valley effect that the basilisk skin gives off does that.”

His eyebrows raised, “Basilisk skin?”

She nodded, “Perks to having the Blues Devil among my lovers. He has been very protective over the years, far beyond the duties of our initial contract. He wanted to give me a jacket that was almost like armor in case a fan ever tried stabbing me again.” Lucy looked at the jacket fondly, the rainbow iridescence of the scales glimmering in the fading sunlight. “Sometimes love is more about what they do than about what they say, you know?”

Bastian couldn’t help the little pang of envy, he had seen her throng of lovers. Even the ones that she was only intimate with on a more casual level seemed to care about her deeply. Though, something that he had wondered about stumbled from his lips before he could think much about what he was saying, “How do you handle not being some of their number one choice?”

Lucy looked back at Bastian, there was something in his eyes. Gods, this man just wanted to be loved and she could see it written on his face. He was pining after someone, and she had a good feeling she knew who it was, but she wasn’t about to get too specific. So instead, she answered honestly, “I’m my own number one. After I killed my abuser, I made myself a promise, and that’s why even with Pickles I put myself first.” She saw the face he made about Pickles and made a mental note of it, but continued, “People come and go. Life changes, and the only consistent thing we have in life is ourselves. I make me my priority. If people don’t like that, then they’re not meant for me. It makes life a lot easier to navigate.”

“You make it sound so easy,” he said, a sadness in his voice that she wondered if he was even aware of.

She shrugged, “I’ve had a lot of practice. Really, I was like this even with my abuser, it was just… a hot mess.” She had a bitter little smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes, and Bastian could see the pain on her face. It was a pain of sorrow where you wonder what your life would have been like if you had never met the person that caused you emotional damage. He knew that pain all too well.

He put a tentative hand on her shoulder, and he could feel her relax at his touch. It almost surprised him to see someone relax that quickly at his hand when they hardly knew each other outside of work. “At least he didn’t seem to dim that light inside of you.”

Lucy blushed a little at his words, a softer smile forming on her lips, “Your light is brighter than you think it is too, Bastian.” She turned back toward the sunset and leaned against him. Lucy could feel him tense up, but then he relaxed and put an arm around her, leaning back into her a little. It made her smile a little more. The man was like a feral and frightened cat, but he seemed willing to open up with a little patience and kindness. It reminded her of herself in some ways, even if she did express it differently than he seemed to.

They didn’t speak again until the sun was completely down. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something, by the way,” Lucy said, glancing up at him, neither of them having moved. He raised an eyebrow at her and she continued, “Would you sign my copy of the Play Girl that you were in?”

He chuckled, “I assume you got it for the articles?”

“Of course, I’m an avid reader of… Oh who am I kidding, absolutely not. I don’t have a whole lot of them by any means, but I collect the ones that really catch my eye, and yours happened to.”

That got a full laugh out of him and Lucy decided she liked that sound and wanted to hear more of it. “Only if you’ll sign my copy of the Play Boy that you were in,” he said.

She laughed a little, “Did you get that one for the articles?”

Bastian smirked, “Normally I don’t get them, I’m not really a fan of how they treat models, but it was an attempted apology from Murderface and Toki for something over the line that they said about a month ago and the photo set was pretty creative.”

“That sounds about right.” She would hazard a guess that Murderface had been an insensitive jackass and Toki had been along for the ride. The fact that they were using her Play Boy issue as an apology token was somehow fitting for them. “I’m surprised they still had a copy that was intact and not covered in questionable fluids at this point, to be honest.” Bastian made a face at the thought and she snickered a bit. “I’ll have to tell you all about the shoot. Charles negotiated full creative control within certain parameters for me, so I’m sure I didn’t have the usual shoot experience.”

“You’re lucky. My shoot…” He trailed off, “I have stories, not all of them pleasant.” Bastian changed the subject a little, trying to keep the mood light, “Believe it or not, I did actually read the interview. It was pretty good. The fire fans were a nice touch too.”

She grinned, it was nice seeing him slowly let his walls down, “Thanks. I loved being able to really express myself.” Lucy wanted to know a bit more about him if he was feeling open right now, “I’d love to hear some of your stories while you’re signing mine too, if you’re up for it, at least. Hell, doesn’t even have to be from the Play Boy shoot, I’d love to hear some of your industry experiences that don’t suck.”

Her good mood was shockingly infectious. Or maybe it was just the weed. ‘Maybe it’s both.’ “Alright, we’ll swap some stories,” he said, laughing again.

Lucy smiled at the sound. She was glad that they had an excuse to hang out tonight, she was hoping to hear a lot more of that laugh. “Why don’t you go grab your copy and meet me in my room?” she asked.

He looked down at her, a sparkle in his eye, glad that this night was taking such an interesting turn. “Sounds like a plan.”

[scary-lasagna]

Hello, I hope you’re doing well! I was wondering if it was okay if to request LJ, Bloody Painter, and Hoodie (separately) with a siren reader? Reader, in her human form, is slightly stronger, durable, and faster. However, in their siren form (which happens when they get submerged underwater) they have the typical powers of a siren, but they also have limit consciousness. What I mean by that is that they are a lot more feral in this form, and doesn’t really recognize anyone in that form, but like, around their partners, they’d sort of feel familiar to them, so reader in their siren form won’t attack them or anything. Hope this makes sense!

In my AU sirens can also transform into bird-like creatures! They have power over the sea and the air :] I decided to implement that as well.

Laughing Jack

Jack, as you know, runs an old, worn-down circus.

There are no more acts of beasts, or rare animals from the human realm, but more so of a retirement place for the creatures.

He basically bought you off of the black market, watching the algae float around the the cramped tank they kept you in.

There was no way he'd be able to sleep at night, knowing he could prevent another lonely night for you.

You got a lovely spot next to Snowflake, his prized albino Tiger, which Jack thought was so funny, because of the cat and fish dynamic.

But after research and asking around after taking care of you for a month, he concluded to take you out of the water.

He enjoyed that month of bonding and feeding you, and even reading you stories whenever you seemed bored with any enrichment toys and food he gave you. He wondered if you would even remember him.

But you did, and you thanked him profusely for rescuing you, even if he had no idea how much it cost or energy it took to rehabilitate a siren-like yourself.

And Jack was always willing to learn whatever you told him, even bringing up stories from your culture about how the sea will reach toward the moon in an attempt to reach its lover that flew too high.

And it took am embarrassingly long amount of time to realize that Jack's feathers were fake, simply a silly decoration he enjoyed.

But over time, you two grew close, and now you have a rather large tank full of a small reef and a complete array of fish to keep you happy whenever you decide to dip your toes.

Helen

Oh, Helen is just head over heels for you.

He thinks you're the most beautiful muse he's ever come across, and every time you step foot in the water you two fall in love all over again.

You actually almost killed him the first time you met. Both of you thought you were alone, and quickly realized the presence of the other.

He managed to squeeze you into his painting of the sunset, but before leaving, he gathered seashells into the tide.

You almost bit his arm off, and ended up getting a face full of oil paint. It tasted lovely, as you can imagine, (it tasted like you gulped down an oil spill).

As while busy gagging and attempting to wash your mouth out, and drink the sea water, which would make even the best of sirens sea-sick, Helen took charge and dragged you out of the water to help you.

And you hit it off since, and many of his paints of you have gained quite the popularity.

Brian

Not gonna lie, he thinks you are pretty terrifying.

The first time you went to the beach, Brian expected something like Ariel, or even the mermaids from Pirates of the Caribbean.

He was not expecting your true form in the slightest.

Your jaw unhinged and ripped your cheeks clean in half to reveal not one, but multiple rows of sharp teeth.

And he's seen many things and creatures in his career as a proxy, but a siren had not been one of them. Slender had mentioned staying away from them, especially as humans, you can be lured whenever they decide to be bored of you, and then drag you to the sea floor.

Or maybe they'll grab you up in their talons leading to sculpted human legs and drop you in a vat of bubbling acid.

Whatever the case was, it seemed as if it went into one ear and out with other with Brian, because he fell in love.

But damn, in the water you were hella creepy. And of course, you thought it was a game to scare this familiar stranger shitless since he seemed so keen on staying around you.

He managed to lure you out from the water with a little jar of "siren-bait" from one of the seaside shops. It didn't work as expected, but you really just wanted to see if it contained any edible food.

But he liked pruning your wings and picking off the casing of new feathers whenever they came in, and if he wasn't feeling too tired, he would give you a small massage to your shoulders after holding up your wings for so long.

[theicarusconstellation]

When did u first start shipping jegulus?

Jegulus headcanon that changed your brain chemistry?

Jegulus fic that changed your brain chemistry?

One thing that absolutely makes you wild about jegulus, like, you think about it and the next thing you know, you're howling at the moon like a lil feral child?

One thing that people MUST know about jegulus?

OOOO GREAT QUESTIONS

when did i first ship jegulus? — the thing is, regulus has always been a favorite of mine. when i was a little kid and read kreacher’s tale, i went 😟🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲 and latched onto him like a fucking leech. i was a literal child with zero internet access (yet), so i had no concept of fandom or anything, but i would go around yapping to people that my favorite characters were harry, luna, and regulus black. first started shipping jegulus the moment i heard about it tbh! it’s weird bc i never really shipped jily in the formal sense of the word?? i first read the books around age seven-eight, so i didn’t even know it was possible to “ship” characters with other people, but by the time i was old enough to care, i wasn’t compelled by the ship at all, so i had no interest in it. then, i found ff.net around age ten, and the very first fic i read (after a harry/daphne fic that still holds a special place in my heart) was a lilycissa fic. immediately hooked. instantly swooning. so much more interesting TO ME. i think i stumbled upon a jegulus fic a while later and fell in love.

jegulus headcanon that changed my brain chemistry — anything involving james helping regulus through a panic attack, sensory overload, or autistic “meltdown” (i hate the connotations around the word “meltdown,” but for lack of a better word…🤷🏻‍♀️). and regulus “cold-hearted sarcastic bitch” black’s façade slowly melting as he learns to accept the help and he shows that he really is just a softie lmao.

jegulus fic that changed my brain chemistry — cannot pick one, but inertia by @ninety-two-bees, whatever happened to the young, young lovers? by @georigas.k. (not on tumblr), and paint it black by @imdamagecontrol are definitely some that altered what’s going on up in here. also not to sound vain but i really do love my own fics😭especially atib.

one thing that makes me wild about jegulus — THEIR LOVE THROUGH PHYSICAL TOUCH!! touch-sensitive regulus learning not to fear touch and to feel comforted by it through james!! him latching onto james as His Person the one person who can touch him and craving james’ arms just to cuddle and feel comforted and safe!! james absentmindedly twirling one of regulus’ curls around his finger during a conversation!! they’re always all tangled up in one another, almost inseparable.

one thing that people MUST know about jegulus — hm…i guess that no matter if it takes minutes or centuries or even crossing dimensions, i believe they will always find one another <333 and you can find them in the smallest things. i find them in the way my cat watches the neighborhood stag cross my yard. i find them when it rains at sunset. i find them when the sun and regulus “meet.” they’re just stubborn lovers who cannot be apart.

[potatoes-is-are-food]

NEED NSFW HCS FOR DRIDER SHIGARAKI PLWEASE

Haven’t written anything in months but I’ve got a sliver of motivation and this ask really just made my day with the enthusiasm so here ya go <3 I wanted to add some cute stuff too so I did SFW and NSFW

~

Basically, you decided on the worst(read: best) day and time for a hike, having been talked into it by a couple friends and assured the trail wouldn’t be too harsh. When you stopped for a break, you went off into the trees away from the group to pee in a secluded area. The sun was high enough to give plenty of light, but the thick canopy of the forest left you in much darker light than your eyes were used to. You wrapped up your business quickly, nervous in the unfamiliar terrain, only to find that you couldn’t see the trail anymore. And it was steadily growing darker, much faster than a normal sunset.

~

SFW

- Drider Shiggy, much like normal Shiggy, has a very “I see it, I want it, it’s mine.” mentality. Only he has even less self control and no one to stop him.

- Naturally, he just used his ability to see perfectly in the dark and watched you stumble around for a while before he came in to “save” you.

- At first he just watches you. The way you stare up at him with big, terrified eyes and your shaking hands as you reach out to gingerly touch him the first time.

- You don’t speak the same language, but he knows just enough human words and behaviors to decipher important things. “yes,” “no,” crying, smiling, laughing, and a few others.

- Obviously, you eventually come to terms with the fact you’ll never be able to get away and you do kinda like him, so you accept it.

- He’s completely feral, but mostly he’s like a cute, exo-skeletoned cat. But over two feet taller than you and strong enough to rip you in half without exerting much effort.

- Extremely demanding. You will be forced to drop what you’re doing and snuggle him or do whatever else he wants at any given moment.

- He’s never had a mate before (female drider are dominant and it kinda scares him a little and he absolutely will never admit that) so he’s ecstatic to have someone, even if it’s hard to communicate at first.

- Every time he brings back stuff he’s’ killed for you he gets really chirpy and excited when you approve. He does not and will not ever understand why you’d burn it over fire before eating but he also can’t imagine you sucking all the blood out like he does, so he won’t judge.

- At night he sleeps on his back, the more spiderlike portion of his body curls up so he’s flat against the bed (a hammock made of silks) and he’ll have you lay on top of him, preferably straddling him for easy access in the morning.

- Sometimes he finds little presents to bring you. A fair amount of the time it’s a forgotten water bottle or some other garbage, but he just looks so happy and eager to please you can’t reject it. Occasionally he’ll bring you jewelry or a beautiful stone, though.

- His hair is long and he doesn’t take care of it, but if you sit behind him and tend to it and braid it for him it’ll be really silky and soft. He purrs a little at the contact and gentle attention, but if you try to call him on it he’ll pout and insist he doesn’t make such sounds.

- He’s not the best at actually making stuff with his silk, but he’ll give you as much as you want if you wanna make clothes or jewelry or anything else. And if he sees you making a lot of certain things, he’ll try to do it too and give it to you.

NSFW

- Drider don’t really go into heat or anything, but in the spring he gets excited a little more easily and any time he can smell your arousal it’ll send him into a frenzy. It’s not helped by the fact he touches you all the time, even just on the face or shoulder, but the contact sends shivers across your skin.

- The second you give him the green light to start having sex, be prepared to not walk much or leave the nest at all for weeks. He’ll pound you for hours, overstimulating himself until he’s sobbing but continuing anyway.

- He’ll still want to do it often after the initial haze, but he does calm down a lot. He gets overexcited most of the time, purring and drooling and filling you up over and over.

- He can and will use his webs to keep you still and tie you up into neat positions, vulnerably hanging like a ripe piece of fruit for him to devour.

- He’s overprotective, and if any of his drider friends come around and get too friendly he’s not above fucking you in front of them to prove a point.

- It’s not physically possible, but he will never stop trying to get you pregnant. He’s very convinced that if he fucks you enough eventually you’ll have a clutch of eggs and some little fluffy kids.

- He’ll shove his face between your legs and eat you out until you cry at regular intervals, but the idea of a blowjob is foreign to him until you wrap your lips around his leaking cock the first time. After that, he’ll want it pretty often and he’ll purr really loud if you kiss and lavish affection on it.

- After sex he gets more cuddly than usual and refuses to let you up from his embrace. He’ll lick you clean and if you’re insistent he’ll take you to a stream to actually bathe.

[nho-jungle]

this is my addition to the hermitcraft propaganda. this is focused at dsmp fans bc i am one. 

hermitcraft is a long running smp that started in 2012. it runs in seasons, with each season lasting around a year, often just over. they are currently on season 8, and started fairly recently. 

the players on hermitcraft tend to change each season, but i have compiled a list of who i think you might enjoy, based off of your favourite dsmp member!

(feel free to add ur own suggestions too!)

IF YOU LIKE... TOMMYINNIT- 

MumboJumbo: have you got ADHD? do you love how tommyinnit says Things and other people get confused? well then MumboJumbo is the hermit for you! he's absolutely absurd. a spoon. he's also over 6ft tall and built like a brick shit house. insane. this man is an enigma. he's also a cinematographer. who even is this guy. (he also does cool redstone builds and always sounds surprised when they work even tho he's been doing this since 2012.)

BdoubleO100: a rabid chihuahua in the body of a human. truly follows that feral energy that makes up tommyinnit. mans built an entire mountain last season and he's doing it again! crazy! he's also the king of sleep. night is a rare phenomenon on hermitcraft, since bdubs starts clicking his bed at the barest hint of sunset. gotta shweep!

Grian: the stereotypical pick. he's the prankster man, everyone seems to think he's pretty childish and he often has the younger brother role even though he's not the youngest on the server. has started/been majorly involved in two wars. had an alter ego called poultry man who would fly around dropping eggs and spawning chickens everywhere.

RANBOO-

Rendog: lore man lore man!!!! he has a bunch of fun and interesting characters and he puts a lot of thought into his episodes, from his builds to his mc skin, to make sure everything comes together perfectly. I don't watch his hermitcraft stuff but I've seen him via other hermit's povs and he rlly does pick a role and throw himself into it. it's amazing.

PHILZA-

EthosLab: do you like anime kinnies? do you like old gods of minecraft? well let me introduce you to ethoslab! i want to study him in a lab. he causes problems on purposes. he builds super random redstone things. he messes with noteblocks. he was head of shennanigans. his minecraft skin is kakashi hatake from naruto. there was a block named after him in the 2013 april fools update (the EthoSlab). who is this man. i think he also has the longest running minecraft lets play. what the heck.

Grian: bird man. good at flying. chaotic bitch. idk some of the vibes are there.

SAPNAP-

Tangotek: crazy redstone man. builds crazy minigames. idk there aren't actually many similarities here other than they're both often associated with fire in fanworks despite not actually having that much to do with it.

FUNDY-

EthosLab: aforementioned anime kinnie. crazy redstone. idk. Zedaph: in season 7 he built a cave of contraptions which contained these amazing redstone machines that found the most complicated and convoluted ways to perform regular tasks, just for the hell of it. what a guy! Iskall85: they're friends :3. that is all. (actually they both just have very similar Vibes. I have no other way to describe it. it's just Vibes).

SCHLATT-

Cubfan135: (specifically season 6). evil capitalist man (/lh). ran a big corporation with scar. they made profit from a war. idk i dont watch cub, thats all i could think of. GoodTimesWithScar: evil capitalist man with cub in season 6. in season 7 he got voted mayor and then started charging the shops to allow them to be accessed from the road. there was also a big "war" over mycelium. fun times. he's actually a very genuine and sweet guy. also his cat jellie is in the game bc he won a competition or smthin. idk man he loves his cat so much. you know what builds belong to scar bc there's just jelies everywhere.

TECHNOBLADE-

FalseSymmetry: okay listen the mcc teams are being announced as I'm typing this so my brain started thinkin mcc and basically they're both well known for being good at pvp. i dont watch false but i know she has a tumblr so i'd trust her with a knife.

Grian: thinkin mcc again. they teamed for mcc pride. you can go watch that if u want to get grians Vibes while still having a dsmp member present for some familiarity. idk.

NIHACHU-

GeminiTay: a lot of ppl say they like niki's streams bc of the comforting vibes and general chill atmosphere, and I think gem matches that pretty well. cy once said she sounds like fluttershy and tbh i sorta agree. shes an awesome builder and insanely smart and even though she's new this season im already incredibly attatched to her.

TUBBO-

Zedaph: aforementioned cave of contraptions rlly fits tubbo's vibe. i think he's going the mad scientist route this season too. Docm77: another mad scientist. already early on he made this super weird lighting farm thing? i dont even know but i've seen the clip and its MAD. even if you dont watch hermitcraft you should check out that individual clip.

FOOLISH-

literally any of them bc i genuinely belive wholeheartedly that foolish would fit perfectly on hermitcraft if he could manage not to swear. (altho maybe cub bc last season he build a giant pyramid.)

[ace-malarky]

The Pros and Cons of Catboys

Have some writing I meant to put up yesterday lmao

 I think possibly the first thing I wrote of Jasper n Llinos and Kaua? They’re all very ridiculous and I love them

~

Jasper was sitting against a tree, journal against his knees. He'd been sitting that way for a while, long enough for the sun to have set beyond the trees. The fire didn't give off enough light to see the page, but he just hadn't put the book away yet.

Llinos was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, cross-legged, shaping stones into arrowheads. The steady, gentle tapping was a comforting noise. Background ambience to all their campsites.

Jasper closed the journal, looped the ties about it, and set the charcoal pencil back into its pouch.

"If you bonded fully, you wouldn't have to stop writing with the sunset," Llinos said, not taking her eyes from the arrowhead forming in her hands.

"I'll add that to the list of pros," he replied.

 His lynx was sitting loafed nearby, eyes mostly closed but attention on the trees and the shadows they contained.

"I didn't have much to write, in any case."

"I'm sorry, are my teachings no longer good enough to write down for posterity?" Llinos grinned.

"Were they ever good enough?" Jasper smiled back.

Llinos' fox barked in clear amusement, and she shot him a dark look. "Traitor." But she scratched along the side of his jaw as he lolled against her side, putting away her tools.

"Why haven't you bonded fully?" It wasn't something he'd asked before. It was something he tended to avoid, actually. The subject wasn't taboo amongst feral mages, but it was personal.

"Hasn't felt right." Llinos shrugged, almost off-hand. "We quite like being in two bodies."

 Her fox yawned and butted his head into her lap.

 "We might some day," she said, playing with his ears. "When we're ready."

 Jasper nodded. "Got your own list of pros and cons?"

 Llinos grinned.

#

"Got another pro for you," Llinos said, leaning against the window beside him.

"Oh?" Jasper didn't look up from his journal.

They were in the small room that had been the only one left to rent in the inn. Two beds (which the innkeeper had given them a very apologetic look about), a rickety table with vanity and matching splintered chair, and a small window out over the courtyard at the back where the staff hung the washing.

"You might finally get a date."

"What."

Llinos cackled as he stopped writing, the pencil lead actually breaking as he pressed it to the page a little hard.

"Everyone loves a catboy." Llinos shrugged, still grinning.

She dodged away as he reached to hit her.

"You know I'm right."

His lynx, watching them from one of the beds, yawned and lowered her head onto her paws.

Llinos' fox was sitting upright on the other bed, tail thumping against the cover, jaws cracked open and tongue hanging out.

“No you aren’t.”

Llinos smirked.

“You don’t have any proof.” Jasper shook his head, leaning back in the chair, freezing when it creaked.

“You want me to get some?” Llinos yanked open the window and leant out. “Hey!”

“Llinos-” He lunged to grab her arm, to pull her back.

She pushed him back, laughing. “Yeah, mind answering a question for me?”

Jasper couldn’t see who she was talking to in the courtyard below.

“Thoughts on catboys?”

He heard the laughter though, that was for sure. Almost bird-like, but raucous and rough.

“Not a big fan of cats,” the person outside called up. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

“I think I can understand.” Llinos nodded. “But ah – Jasper, come here-” She reached out to grab his arm.

He struggled against her, of course, but then her fox got underfoot and tripped him into Llinos’ side.

“What if this became catboy?” She propped him up against her side, adjusting her stance so he didn’t topple her over. “Just as a purely aesthetic question.”

In the courtyard below was a bird who was a person. Or maybe she was a person who was a bird. Her feathers were iridescent in the sunlight, and there was a sword leaning against the well beside her that was almost as tall as she was.

She was watching him just as intently as he was studying her. “Maybe,” she said eventually.

“Big ol’ lynx, with long tufty ears, and toe beans,” Llinos said, tugging at his shaggy hair in an affectionate sort of way.

Jasper growled and grabbed Llinos by the waist, swivelling on his feet to unbalance her.

Llinos squawked and her fox yelped, darting back as Jasper’s lynx leapt from the bed to cut him off. “Hey-!”

Jasper tossed her through the window and onto the slanted roof.

She rolled gracelessly across the tiles and fell to the ground. Jasper watched long enough to make sure she got up alright, and then slammed the window shut.

His lynx placed a massive paw on Llinos’ fox’s head as he crouched into a pouncing pose, trying for a game, and pressed him further onto the floor until he relaxed his back legs.

Jasper returned to the seat and took up his pencil once more.

#

Llinos tumbled over the tiles, attempted to slow herself, realised it was a failed effort and settled for making as good a landing as she could under the circumstances all in a matter of moments.

She hit the ground in an almost controlled roll and fetched up against the side of the wall, her knees tapping against it. She hurt, but nothing seemed too badly damaged.

“Well.” She stared up at the sky. “Last time I try to help him make a decision.”

“Need a hand?” Feathers splayed across her vision as she squinted up.

“Thanks.” Llinos took the proffered hand and stood up. “Woah.”

The bird was strong; she’d pulled Llinos to standing like it was nothing.

Llinos glanced back up in time to see Jasper shut the window. “I hope he doesn’t think I’ll sleep out here tonight.”

The bird laughed and shrugged. “It’s not too bad under the stars, with the right company.”

Llinos turned to grin at her, stepping back a pace as she dusted herself off. “Llinos.”

“Kaua.”

“Where do you think I’d find the right company?”

“Well, there’s an inn full of travellers right there,” Kaua said, pointing towards the building in front of them. “But ah... they won’t know all the best places to go.”

“See, can’t trust travellers for shit.” Llinos leant back against the well beside Kaua. “So I need someone who lives here, right? Got any recommendations?”

Kaua eyed her, then dropped from the well to her feet. “I told you, I’m not much of a cat person.” She strapped her great sword to her back.

“That’s alright. Just Jasper that’s the cat person.” Llinos watched her, and heard the shouts of surprise and outrage coming from the door into the kitchen. “How do you feel about foxes?”

Rhydderch came racing out of the kitchen door, tail flat out behind him, and circled the well to stop beside Llinos.

Llinos scratched his ears as she waited for Kaua to reply, and gently pushed Rhydderch forward.

Kaua watched as Rhydderch stretched out his nose to her. “I think I know a place.”

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3.5: New Earth- The Aftermath

Attention! This is a sequel to my original remaster of new earth which you can find HERE!

Summary: The sick are healed. The Sisters of Plenitude are taken in for their crimes. But the master still has one very important person he needs by his side, and an enemy that refuses to die. Also known as “new earth part two- will he catch you if you fall?”.

Notes: somebody Seriously needs to teach me what ‘short means’... because this mini offshoot fic designed to answer the burning fainting question ended up almost as long as the original! once again, dedicated to the glorious living legend known as @plethora-of-imagines​ 👑 feedback is forever appreciated- I hope you all enjoy! 

"And now, Cassandra, it's time to deal with you."

The Master turned towards the woman standing behind him, head over his shoulder. He stood from his crouched position, shoes squeaking on the vinyl hospital floor, shoulders for once relaxed from their taught squared position they'd sat within most of the day. The ward was silent, the glass panelling thankfully one way as the shimmering perspex gave vision to the NNYPD, the New Earth establishment escorting the sisters from the premises. 

The Master scowled at the thought of any sort of authority, shoving his hands into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his purple tweed jacket.

The day had been long enough without yet another arrest on his record.

"Oh, can't you just leave me alone?" Cassandra sighed at the man before you.

"Look at the day we've had! Woohoo, we saved the filthy lab rats, exposed those flea ridden nurses, all had a head full of big face and none of us are dead. Can't we just leave it be, darling?"

The Master shook his head.

"You and I are not exactly exemplary individuals in the eyes of intergalactic law, Cassandra-" the Master spoke, stepping closer towards you. Cassandra folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

"And this hospital is crawling with officers who would love nothing more than to hand us over to the Judoon and ship us off to the closest Gulag they can find. And I've been in a Gulag on the first earth, so go knows how rough they'd treat you here"

"Then let me go!" Cassandra exclaimed, throwing her hands up at the man.

" Let's part on solid terms, shake hands and promise to never see each other again."

The Master chuckled, causing Cassandra to pause. You looked the timelord up and down, jaw clenched as he rocked on his heels. The last human pursed her lips, confusion rife within her as she fought to keep her composure. She needed answers, as per usual with the Master. The man confused her and slightly excited her to no possible end. But now was not the time for biting tongues and daydreaming.

"And what are you giggling about?"

The timelord quipped his laughter, head tilting towards you as he scratched at the stubble of his beard. He pondered for a moment, pushing back his hair as Cassandra waited for a response.

"It's funny. If this was any other day, any other planet- any other me really, i'd say yes."

The Master slowly began to walk across the empty ward, a languid step in his stride as he started to circle around the woman at his side. Each step was rhythmic, slow and calculated. Cassandra, for the first time in a very long time, felt a chill crawl up your spine. 

"I'd say sure, go ahead. Go wild.  Lets drive off into the sunset with a guilt free conscience and a fabulous story to tell the grandkids, or whatever Poor soul we decide to brag to next time."

His pacing was beginning to make Cassandra uncomfortable. She could feel herself shrinking in with her shoulders, the Masters demeanour growing darker by the second, his smile sick and domineering and his voice dangerously calm. It felt as if you were being circled by a predator, a feral cat waiting in the bushes to strike on the wounded gazelle. 

"But you still have something of mine, Cassandra. Something I most definitely won't be leaving without."

The Master paused, leering towards the frozen woman stood within his prowl. He narrowed his eyes, the silence practically perilous. Cassandra held her breath.

"Leave her body, Cassandra."

His voice was low and quiet, but each word screamed with murderous rage.

"Give my Y/N back to me."

Cassandra knew deep down she wouldn't be able to keep your body. You'd be an enjoyable yet unobtainable fling for a rollicking fun afternoon, like most of the plethora of pretty faces in her incredibly long life. And she also knew the Master would facilitate any method he could for your return.

After all, she'd been inside his head. It was hardly a secret to her now.

But leaving your body would leave her with nothing. Nowhere to go. The effects of the psychograft would enable her to hop from form to form, but in the air she'd be dead in a minute flat.

Cassandra could feel tears welling in your eyes.

"But… I don't want to die!"

The Master knew the feeling all too well. He was hardly a stranger to the theft of a body, the memory of Tremas of Traken vivid in his personality history. He'd enjoyed that stolen face for a long while. A memory: a memento of how he'd once again bested the universe.

But even that didn't make him feel pity for her. He was too focused on his own problem. The Master smirked, casually shrugging his shoulders.

"Nobody does. But that doesn't stop the universe arranging death for us all. It just depends on how smart enough you are to beat it."

Cassandra looked up at the Master with utter bafflement, opening her mouth to construct even a semblance of an argument against the Master.

"Oh, my Mistress!"

A sound the Master and Cassandra hadn't heard in a long time. One in a name, one in opportunity.

The half life boy Chip scurried out of the dark tunnel towards intensive care and into the blinding white of the ward. Scratches and scrapes littered the scrawls already etched into his ghastly white skin, his eyes alit with adoration as he locked eyes with your body.

"Oh Chip, my darling boy you survived!"

Chip preened under your praise, the Master's hand begrudgingly falling to his hip. He decided he seemingly had a problem with gatecrashers during his most pivotal moments.

The half life nodded, baring his palms towards you.

"For you, my Mistress. I kept myself safe for you!"

Cassandra paused, a plan forming rapidly within your brain as she traced her fingertip over the scribbles on Chip's open palms. 

"A body, minus some scrapes, kept safe… For me."

The Master pivoted towards Cassandra, watching the woman intently as she booped the end of her servants nose. Chip giggled, his Mistress following as the timelord stepped forward.

"Cassandra-"

"I worship my Mistress, I'd do anything for my Mistress."

With a confident grin, Cassandra turned to the Master. She gave a smug wink in his direction, pursing her lips to blow him a sarcastic kiss. The Master growled.

"How's this for smart?" Cassandra purred, before ejecting herself from your body towards her willing volunteer.

The piercing shrill returned to your ears, the white sheen of the ward drowning in the sudden pull of the dark. Like a cloth ripped from its tabletop the world fell from under your feet, the mountainous pressure on your skull dissolving into a numb puddle of nothingness. You felt your joints collapse into jelly, the support snatched from within your core as your senses and control of your body finally returned to your mind.

Your knees buckled under the ricocheting weight, the ground preparing to collide with your body.

But the Master got there first.

His left arm flung around your torso, his right palm moving to grasp the back of your head as the oxygen found its way back into your lungs. A gasp escaped you, gravity an enemy the Master refused to let you succumb to. 

In almost an instant the world came back into a hazing view, your lashes blinking weakly against your cheeks as his fingers snaked into your hair. The outline of the Master found its way into recognition, the fuzzy edges of your vision dissipating as he stared down at you with parted lips. He held you almost as if in a dance, your form dipped in a perfect flourishing bow.

"Master" you panted, gazing up at the man before you in amazement. The Time lord smiled, almost ready to let you stand on your own until your feet slipped from under you. However the Master refused to let you move, pulling you up to press tight against his chest as your fingers scrabbled to clutch onto the collar of his jacket.

Your eyes met, a silence falling between you as you caught your breath. Only this silence was caring, an easy sense of comfort between you. The Master's hand cradled the side of your cheek, eyes engulfing every detail of your face. The look in his eyes said everything the silence could and more- He would never let you fall. 

"Easy pet, i've got you."

You didn't doubt him for a second. A stray hair fell onto your face, the Masters fingers pushing it back behind your ear.

"How's your head, love?"

You smirked, pulling his face closer to your own by his jacket.

"I've not heard you complaining yet."

The Master laughed, a genuine smile spreading up his cheeks as you grinned from ear to ear.

"Good girl, there she is. My Y/N."

The distance between your faces disappeared in seconds, the Masters lips connecting with your own as your fingertips walked to cup the back of your Time lords neck. You hummed into the sweet taste of the Masters mouth, the kiss daring to say the words the Master would never give you the satisfaction of hearing. 

'I missed you' permeated his tongue, your mouth teasing his patience as you parted. But the stolen peck you shared afterwards certainly made up for the damage. You returned to the comforting silence, noses lightly bumping as you sent him a doting smile.

"Someone’s feeling sentimental." You teased, biting your lip. The Master tilted his head.

"You're making a habit out of falling for me, love."

“Careful Master, anyone would think you were fond of a human.”

“And we certainly wouldn't want that, would we doll?”

The blush filled giggle escaped you before you could stop it. The Master seemed awfully proud.

“Are you about done?”

Your heads suddenly whipped in the direction of the noise. Strong hands tightened their grip on your torso, the Masters glare narrowing to a steely gaze as the awakened Cassandra's words echoed your own. Chip stood with his hands perched gently on his waist, hip jutted out to the side as he stared you down with complete disdain. You frowned in return, joining the three man standoff as you inched closer to the Masters side. He seemed comforted by the move, hands working their way to position themselves protectively on your back.

“You need to stop this, Cassandra” you said, hand poised upon the Master's chest. His hearts rumbled like thunder under your palm.

“You’ve lived far too long. Life isn't meant to be so artificially stretched and preserved.”

“Neither were my forehead wrinkles darling, but several thousand facelifts later I certainly proved them wrong.”

The Master twitched with suppressed rage. His patience for her condescension was wearing dangerously thin- especially now he had you, the real you, back safe within his arms.

Cassandra smiled triumphantly, flourishing her hands out to the side as if presenting her brand new form. You felt pity in your stomach for poor Chip, the sentiment unable to extend towards the new inhabitant of his body. The satisfaction radiated from Cassandra's stance in droves.

“But now i have a new body! Smart enough to cheat death, smart enough to get out of this wretched hospital and back into the free world, a new woman! You both tried, Master- but neither you nor the doctor could kill me. You’re not the only ones able to keep going, you timelords- and now i feel better than ever, and positively NOTHING can stand in my-”

You watched on in confused shock as the strength in Chips knees vanished, the boy's body twitching and writhing as Cassandra collapsed under her own weight. A scrape and doodle covered hand flung to her chest, blue lips agape in a silent horror as the only noises that escaped were the desperate cracks in her throat. The Masters face was stern, expression unremorseful as Cassandra's chest began to heave. The woman's eyes met your own, and you knew the terror inside her was ripping her to shreds.

“What… i don’t understand… Master-”

“Smart enough to cheat death, are you Cassandra?”

Coldness burned throughout the Masters tone, his hold upon you unrelenting as you watched the cowering woman struggle for breath. You turned to the Master for answers, confusion rife as you scrabbled to figure out what was going on. His thumb softly caressed over your back, gaze unmoving from Cassandra's plight. Then you suddenly realised.

“You were so caught up in your own ego you forgot the limitations of your new body. Chip is a half life. And with the trauma you put him through, he wasn't going to last long.”

“No-”

“You deciding to leave Y/N and enter his body was too much of a shock for his system to handle.”

The Master flicked his wrist up to your eye line, curving his wrist to read the golden clock face that sat upon his wrist.

“I’d say you’ve got around two minutes before his heart stops completely. And you’re too weak to leave him now.”

“How.. what’s happening…”

“You’re past your expiration date.”

You nodded at the Master, his hand returning to rest upon your back as you stared down at Chip’s suffering body. You matched the Master’s narrow glare, a twisted sense of satisfaction within your gut.

“You’re dying, Cassandra. In two minutes you’re going to die.”

“No… no I can't… please, help me…”

The Master gave no reply. You didn't feel the need to dignify her one either. With a gentle push the Master guided you to leave, spinning on your heels as your hand carefully wound its way around his bicep like a cobra. Cassandra let out a panicked whimper, the sound a distant echo and the Master leant into your cheek. A small peck found its way to your temple, mocking bubbling under the surface of his lips as the choked cries of the last human melted into the garish white walls of the new earth hospital ward. The last thing Cassandra ever saw was the distant vanishing of her most resented shock of purple tweed, a strangled beg for mercy the last words ever spoken by the woman who lived far too long. 

The walk back to the TARDIS felt solemn. Death was familiar, a sight you encountered every day. But this felt different. A new breed of melancholy sat inside your chest. Cassandra had been so desperate to be loved, to live forever and never grow old or die. But you just turned your back on her as she died alone in a crime scene of her own design, taking the half life with her. You couldn't imagine how it felt to die with somebody else inside your head. You thought you were going to die earlier, when she’d first stepped inside your head. But you knew the man beside you would never let you die.

The Masters thumb cupped your chin, turning your face to meet his curious eyes. You were standing outside the doors of the TARDIS. You must have zoned out.

“I can hear the cogs turning, love. Talk to Master.”

You let out a sigh, falling into the Masters arms. He held you tight to his chest, enveloping you in an embrace that would be offered to no other being in the universe. 

“I missed you. That’s all.” you offered, resting your head upon the timelords shoulder.

“Never let anyone do that to you ever again. And that goes for kissing you and body snatching.”

The Master cupped your chin with his hand now, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he sent you an endearing smile. But his eyes shone with mischief.

“Wouldn't dream of it, darling!” he clamoured, voice thick with the poshest, most refined accent he could muster.

Your elbow swiftly found its way to the Master’s rib, his barking laugh still audible as the TARDIS doors slammed shut on New New York.

[hootsifertheobsessed]

Minors dni, 18+

not proofread or anything just thots to think abt

i'm sad and horny so i've been thinking abt homesteading off grid living outdoorsy! bakugou with his wife

he builds you a cabin in the woods by hand while you two live in a tent

once it's built you raise goats and sheep and chickens

you adopt a couple dogs and cats to keep the rider population down and help with herding

bakugou does some occasional hunting and preps all the meat

god tier cooking with this man 5 star michelin over an open fire

🤤🤤did i mention this man INSISTS on chopping wood shirtless in the summers

the way his back muscles ripple and his biceps work to swing that axe and the mf KNOWS you be staring at him

smug af is what he is

no running water in the cabin so you often go down to the the river nearby to bathe

bakugou mf katsuki refuses to have any sort of decency

pretty cock on display in the cold water acting like it's nothing. sir 😳

smug af x2. teases the ever loving shit out of you

oh but the shoe is on the other foot when you try to tease him

you decide to make breakfast over the fire outside to be nice since your son of a bitch lovely husband has been working so hard lately

the catch? you do it in only an over sized t shirt. HIS oversized t shirt. his favorite skull shirt to be exact

when i tell you that this man walks out of your little 2 room cabin - it's on sight

he goes feral. doesn't even take you back into the cabin. just marches over to you and plops you down onto his dick like you belong there

mans has spent the better part of his life scaling trees and tossing fallen ones around like they're feathers

he outruns his dogs and once he hiked over a mountain with an injured man on his back

stamina for days

sweetie you ain't leaving your assigned seat until your doting husband has lost count of the times you have come undone

if that wasn't enough, the delicious breakfast his wife prepared has burnt to a crisp. what will poor hungry bakugou eat now? oh what's this? bakugou's wife has already prepared another dripping meal for him to enjoy? itadakimasu!

when all is said and done bakugou likes to relax with a nice cup of tea and his little shit lovely wife while you both watch the sunset

early mornings together cuddled up in bed are also nice in his opinion

afternoon hikes where you gather flowers and herbs for cooking and herbal medicine

bakugou is always turning up with a new bruise or cut so medicine of all kinds is best to have on hand

it's a simple life but you both find your happiness in each other and the natural world around you

[peachyteabuck]

of freedom ~ act i, “if we ruled the world”

summary: a sort-of non-avengers au where everyone has their powers and absolutely no one is in a highly powerful mob (or, at least, that’s what the feds think). 

or, a commission in three parts for anonymous, who asked for a series about wanda x natasha x reader.

pairing: wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff x reader (focusing on wanda maximoff x reader)

words: 3,521

trigger warnings: wanda using her powers during sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamics, paranoia mention, 

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

“Baby,” you sigh. Your voice is slow, desperate not to scare her away – desperate to make sure she feels safe. If you spoke too loudly you’re worried she’d jump, skitter away like a feral cat in an alleyway – and just like when you’d try and trap one of the animals who roamed the streets of New York without a home, you have to coax her into her refuge under the thick, heavy blankets. Come stay with me, you want to whisper. I can keep you safe, protect you. Some days you’d try and be a little more aggressive in your efforts, maybe any other time you’d make kisses at her and try to entrap Wanda in your arms.

Today, though, you lower your voice and expose your tummy and pat the covers. Today, you lure her into the safety of your arms without becoming frustrated and giving up. Today, you don’t try to trick her. “Come back to bed.”

Wanda inhales deeply, still not meeting your gaze. She did wake up earlier than necessary, she’s got a good few hours before she has to leave. You know that, know her schedule better than she does. But, she’s also nervous for her meeting – and you know that, too. “I don’t know if I have the time,” she mumbles.

“Wanda,” you can see the muscles in her back tense with every inhale. It pains you to watch such a feeling course through her like that.  “Come back to bed.”

There’s a beat of silence, but then she gives in - sighs and slips back under the warmed covers with you. She’s only in panties – a soft grey pair from some designer you’d probably mispronounce if you tried to say it aloud. They’re high, framing her narrow hips and flat stomach. Bruises from the night before are becoming more prominent by the minute, the V you formed with your teeth and tongue nearly purple as night. Without a top, you can see where they trail between her breasts then up and long each collarbone but where, carefully, you stopped wherever her sweater can’t cover.

Memories from then flash in front of you as she curls her legs around yours.

Her pussy in your mouth with both her hands tangled in your messy hair. Her fingers deep in your cunt as you moan into her mouth. Her legs, shaking, as you came together for the fourth time that night. Deep pleasure you can feel in your muscles each time you move – moans that come from somewhere even deeper.

“You’re like a koala,” you whisper into her skin, smiling deep and wide. You kiss at where her hand intertwines with yours. It almost hurts – your heart and your lips and your cheeks. It almost hurts to be this happy and tender in a bed you share in an apartment you share with the woman you love. If the world outside was crashing, you doubt you’d make any move to safe yourself.

Wanda peppers tiny, featherlight kisses across your shoulders – you can feel her smiling, too. “And you’re like a stuffed animal.”

Silence settles over you both like the dust in the room settles on your windowsill – the one that has been superglued shut since you moved in (Wanda originally claimed it was because the burglary rate in the neighborhood was unnaturally high. Now, though, you know better).

Your lover can’t stay still, though, and soon she’s swirling a sunset of colors between her nimble fingers. It’s beautiful, the hues of pink and orange and hints of red and the yellow of the sun from the curtains making it even more so. It’s distracting, so much so don’t notice when you can’t move your hands.

You furrow your brow, thinking your arms had fallen asleep. It isn’t until Wanda flipped you on your back and was pulling a clean strap and dildo from your velour-lined sex toy drawer that you understand/

“Lay back, baby,” Wanda coos. You abide, even when she lets you go to pull the strap on over her hips and adjust it.

You’re still wet from the night before – how could you not be? – so while one hand keeps you still Wanda slips two fingers from the other into your dripping heat. All you can do is whimper, your throat sore for the same reason.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” Wanda moans, grinning when she finds that spot inside of you that makes you cry out. “You’re gonna soak my sheets, baby girl.”

“Our sheets,” you correct. A captain goes down with their ship; you will go down with a half-smile and a glint in your eye that shines brighter than a mid-day sun.

“Mm,” is all Wanda says back, smiling as she crooks her fingers in just the right way. “My apologies, darling. How will I ever make it up to you?”

You want to bite back with an equally sarcastic response, want to push her down and make her come until she’s begging for you to let up. You can’t, though, because even if you’re not leather- or rope- bound Wanda’s got you pinned to the bed. Stupid powers. You try and break out of invisible binds, do your best to squirm and fight and reach for the woman just above you.

It doesn’t work though, nothing works. A part of you you’ll never admit exists, a part of you that Wanda knows lives and thrives deep in a secluded corner of your brain, is glad you can’t break from your hold. What would the fun be if you didn’t try, though? What would this game be if Wanda couldn’t bite her bottom lip as she watched you struggle in her hold?

“Gonna ride you face, baby,” Wanda coos. “You want that? You wanna be a good little girl for me and make me come all over that pretty little face of yours?”

You mmm and nod, biting your bottom lip and beaming up at her. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Wanda smiles back as she crawls her way up your body. She stops next to your head, kissing your temple, your cheek, your lips. “Good girl.”

She swings her leg over your body and moves to straddle your face. Her pussy, likes yours, is absolutely dripping with her, with her thick, heady scent that makes you moan the second your tongue meets her center. You take long, deep drunk from her nectar as you trace over her folds.

“Fuck,” she gasps out, struggling to speak. “How are you so good at this? Fuckin’ love your mouth.”

Her deep accent, one that had eroded to a slight tinge overtime, coats her words like caramel over a crisp Granny Smith apple. It’s one of the best parts of having sex with Wanda: you love seeing the parts of her she’s hidden from the rest of the world. She has to be serious at her job, stoic and cold and controlling and conniving. Her literal job is to manipulate whoever her boss wishes, and (even though Wanda is very adamant about being very good at what she does) it can be quite draining. You can see it when she comes back after a long day, or even sometimes after a short one.

All of that seems to melt away when you’re with Wanda, as if within the four walls of your bedroom (or kitchen, or shower, or living room floor, or…) she can molt the snakeskin she has to rebuild every time she gets called in. Her accent – one she locked inside her long ago – is only revealed when the exoskeleton is left at the door.

You moan again, deep in your chest, when you feel your pussy being stretched and filled. You can see one of Wanda’s hands and the red-purple electricity swirling around her fingers, the other hand’s tangled in your hair.

Somehow, knowing it’s her powers that are fucking you makes it that much better, makes your pussy that much wetter as some phantom force rails you within an inch of your life. Each thrust into you makes you groan into Wanda’s pussy, which makes her hands tighten into fists and strangled moans leave her plush lips.

You’re close, and so is she, when Wanda pulls off of you and leaves you panting and empty. You’re about to whine and cry and beg for something, but then Wanda’s back on your face – this time, facing away from you. Before you can understand what’s happening you feel Wanda’s mouth on your own pussy, her own fingers (her real fingers and mouth) stretching you open. Your own hands, now free, grab at Wanda’s hips to hold her to you.

One of her arms wraps around one of your legs, letting her pin you down as she sinks two fingers into you.

You can practically hear her smiling, her fingers leaving you for a moment as she sits back up. You whine into Wanda’s pussy at the emptiness and she giggles, circling your clit absent-mindedly as she mocks you.

“Aw, don’t worry about it, slut, I’ll have you filled up soon, alright?”

You mmhmm into her sweet cunt, the noises quickly turning into deep moans when her fingers enter you once more.

It’s good, so good and you’re nearly bursting from the pleasure. Your heels kick, trying to find purchase so you can buck you hips. It’s impossible, though, Wanda sees all from her vantage point and makes it so your feet always just miss the sheets.

“Just give up, baby,” she coos. “You know how well I have control, how easy it is for me just,” she flicks her hand and whatever’s inside of you grows and pumps inside of you. She laughs as you cry out. “exercise how much dominance I have over you.”

You into her pussy once more before she starts to grind down on you. She nearly growls when she speaks next. “Now make me come.”

You take your order with valiance, tongue making broad, sloppy strokes against her pussy when you’re not panting and moaning desperately. Wanda takes pity on you, releasing one of your hands from her hold so you can reach up and sink two, three fingers in to her and curl them until she’s crying out, too, grinding against your face once more until your face is covered in her juices.

She continues to ride your face as the aftershocks of the orgasm flow through her body like waves, her hips moving in a similar fluid motion.

Wanda takes a moment to catch her breath, and to let you catch yours; when she moves to sit next to you – for a moment you think it’s over, you’re done, you’ve satisfied her.

But no, of course not. Wanda Maximoff, the woman you love, is never satisfied – especially not when it comes to sex with you.

Within the blink of an eye she’s staring down at you, wicked smile plastered on her face as she sits above you, hands at resting on her thighs while her powers pin you down and fuck into you.

“You like that, baby,” she asks, voice dripping with sadistic delight. “You like how I fuck you so well without even having to lift a finger? Do you like how good I can make you feel without touching you?”

You nod furiously, unable to form any intelligible words but still desperate to please her.

Wanda leans down to whisper in your ear, the feeling in your pussy never letting up. “Do you like how much power I hold? Do you like how easy it is to make you submit?”

You bite your bottom lip before giving a small nod.

Wanda grabs at your chin, making your eyes meet hers as she hisses through grit teeth. “Say it.”

“I love how power you have,” you nearly scream – a stark contrast from your previous silence. Wanda loves when you’re vocal – adores how loud you can get. She’s lucky the walls are thick, or else she’d be getting complaints from her neighbors at least every other day. Part of her, though, wonders if that’d be so bad…a wave of arousal hits her as she imagines claiming you knowing everyone could hear how good she fucks you, how loud you are. “I love how easy it is for you to get me under you!”

Wanda smiles wide as she stares down at you – skin covered in a thin layer of sweat as you moan and writhe on the bed. It’s the most beautiful sight she’s ever seen. Fuck all that high-scale art mob bosses love so much, those expensive paintings that are perfect for hiding bugs in, for covering up secret safes and whatnot.

Wanda could watch you groan and cry out around nothing for the rest of her natural life (and whatever comes after that). She has the urge to film it so she can watch it every day forever – but that would require tearing her eyes away for the few seconds it would take for her to find her phone. How could she waste these precious moments staring at you, admiring you, loving you? You come again, and again, and again just like that – under her spell or whatever it is she does with whatever it is she has.

Wanda lets up, eventually, gives you a moment – allows everything to recede. You whimper at the empty feeling in and around you and you don’t know why you craved being released from her grip for so long. Why did you ever wish to be free of her – even if it meant feeling like your body was a live wire? How could you have ever wished such a thing?

You’re still recovering, still waiting for your vision to clear up, when Wanda produces a Hitachi out of thin air and positions her hips just above yours. You moan when you understand what’s happening, the deep noise quickly becoming high-pitched and desperate at Wanda turns the vibe on. You’re already sensitive, like Wanda, and it only intensifies as you both begin to grind into the soft silicon. As such, it doesn’t take long for you both to come for a final time – room quiet except for your breathy moans and the vibrations.

Wanda collapses next to you, each of you panting heavily. She curls around you, pulling you to her so your back presses into her bare chest.

She leaves light kisses along your shoulder, the crest of your ear.

“You good,” she whispers. It’s not accusatory, not worried. Like many times before, she’s just checking in.

“Of course,” you say back – voice equally low. “You don’t have to worry, all the time, you know.”

Wanda huffs out a loud laugh. “Oh baby, of course I do.”

She eventually detangles her limbs from yours, the sun becoming too hot on her skin and the patience of her boss wearing thinner by the minute.

You don’t whine when she leaves you like you did before, understanding she really needs to go this time (like, for real), but you still sigh and roll over to her side of the worn mattress. When you inhale you can smell her – her deodorant, her body wash, her cunt. It’s heaven.

“Miss you already,” you say into the sheets, ready to return to sweet slumber once again – even if you have to do it alone.

Wanda laughs lightly, pulling on your least-dirty shirts, a dark pair of jeans, and a deep-maroon sweater. As she puts her hair up into a loose ponytail with one of the many hair ties littering the floor, you can see her looking for her shoes. You sigh and roll your eyes.

“Under the dining room table, babe,” you call from your incredibly comfortable position.

She scoffs, looking under the bed again with increased fervor. “Why would my shoes be under the dining room table? Who puts their shoes under the dining room table? Who am I? Not a person who puts their shoes on the dining room table, that’s for damn sure.”

“Babe, you didn’t ask me why your shoes are where they are-“

“I didn’t ask you where they are, either!”

You can hear her footsteps becoming quieter as she pads into the kitchen. Judging by her huffing and not saying goodbye before the door slams, her shoes were – in fact – under the dining room table, just as you knew they were.

You’re in love with an idiot. An absolute idiot. And, God, this is the happiest you’ve ever been.

Wanda’s present at the meeting…mostly. She checks the clock on the wall behind her boss’ desk once every, ten? Fifteen seconds?

The P.I. Natasha hired to track a possible mole doesn’t notice – something Natasha picks up on the fourth time she sees Wanda’s eyes flick three feet above Natasha’s eyeline. The woman makes a note on her desk calendar to fire the guy ASAP, and to more strictly enforce Natasha’s policy on hiring only women freelancers.

(This dude is supposed to be the best in the business and can’t notice that a woman literally two feet from him isn’t paying attention to whatever he’s saying. Jesus Christ, they’re giving licenses to fuckin’ anybody these days.)

The man leaves, eventually (though, much, much past when social convention would dictate). Once the door has closed and Natasha is sure no one can hear them, she questions the woman in front of her.

“Why in God’s name are you checking the time so often?” she inquires, eyebrows furrowed. “Is something wrong? Oh God, are you supposed to do a drop off? Is someone threatening you?”

Wanda’s wide eyes get even bigger, her hands flat out in front of her. “Oh no! Nat, what the fuck? Chill out. No, it’s just…”

Natasha relaxes a little (just a little), but still watches her friend like a hawk.

“Sorry, it’s just. It’s just my g-,” Wanda coughs and corrects herself, trying to pass off her actions as clearing her throat. Natasha sees this obvious remediation but does not comment. “I just promised a friend I’d see them today. At a coffee shop. Today. This afternoon. At a coffee shop. After the lunch rush.”

Natasha narrows her eyes and slams both her hands down on the dark-oak desk in front of her. “Wanda whatever-the-fuck-you-middle-name-is Maximoff, I swear to God if you have a girlfriend and did not tell me I am going to behead you.”

Wanda looks fearful for a moment, but then the widest smile breaks out on her face. “I am! She’s amazing! The best! We’ve been dating officially about six months but- “

“Six MONTHS!?” Natasha nearly yells, slamming her hands onto the desk once more.

“But we’re taking it very slow because she says she just got out of a relationship and stuff. Like, last night was one of the few nights she’s stayed over and didn’t run off before the sun rose.”

Natasha mms, nodding her head in understanding. “Is she cautious, or are you?”

Wanda glares at her boss-slash-friend, but doesn’t disagree with the thinly veiled criticism. “She’s great, though. Do you wanna see a picture?”

Natasha rolls her eyes and snorts. “Of fucking course I want to see a picture!”

They both giggle as Wanda pulls out her phone and scrolls through the less-than appropriate photos of you to find your date from yesterday afternoon – the one where you two got flatbread pizza and cheap beer and laughed so hard Wanda was sure she gained a six-pack by the time you returned. You’re smiling big, hair pulled back; dressed in a soft grey shirt Natasha recognizes as Wanda’s and black leggings and worn sneakers. That’s not all Natasha recognizes.

“You okay?” Wanda asks. Her concern is genuine, but so is Natasha’s fear.

Natasha nods. “Yeah, tell me more about her. What’s she like?”

Wanda’s eyebrows relax and she smiles again, flipping through photos and telling stories. The first photo is of Wanda and someone…someone Natasha recognizes? Somehow? She’s can’t place it, but – she swears she’s seen that face before, that smile, those teeth.

The next photo is Wanda and the same someone sharing a meal. The way the someone’s smile crooks, the way their teeth shine in the light and how their hair looks in a sleek bun…

The third photo is when it clicks for Natasha, seeing the someone and Wanda in coordinating outfits for a date to an art museum. It’s…shocking, to Natasha. This is the first time in a while, since the last time she saw that someone, that she’s felt like her world is crashing down around her. And that feeling – one of doom and disaster – is one she does not like.

It’s not too long after that Natasha finds a reason to cut the conversation short, showing Wanda out.

“I’ll see you later!” Wanda calls. “Oh, maybe I can introduce you!”

Natasha nods and smiles, saying something about “how that would be nice” and “I’ll see you later.”

There’s only so much she can do to avoid the judging eyes of her bodyguards, but she ignores them nonetheless. This is something she needs to think over alone.

✕✕✕

READ ACT II HERE

[itsmoonphobic]

𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖞 ☁︎

✞︎Sanctuary- refuge or safety from persuit,persecution or other danger

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐓𝐌𝐒 𝐚𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: @netherbricknick !! 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 & 𝐓𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐡𝐢𝐥! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐳𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐮 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!! 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐮𝐩 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤,𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐬!

☾︎ Make sure to check out Nick!They are so talanted and creative!I am in love with their work so go and shower them in love and affection!! ☽︎

The air outside was refreshing and calming.Peace and silence filled the small village located to the far south of the loud and vivid kingdom.Unlike the cozy hamlet tucked away under nature's wing the tavern was filled with people and life.Salesmen,soldiers,guards and mothers with their children occupied the cobblestone streets.Different shops and houses decorated the avenues,each one of them standing out in a unique way.Some were selling food and medicine while others focused on weapons and jewelry.

The residents who reside in the main town don't usually wonder of so far away to even get a chance to discover the petite village near the forest.People complained about unsettling feelings and experiences when they got too close to it so they mostly decide on turning back around and leaving it alone.The dark,foggy woods and wide,open fields surrounding and spreading all around the thorp could never be seen as intimidating and unnerving by the inhabitants but they sure were mysterious and full of old abandoned ruins from retired buildings that were once used as shelter and homes by many people.

Small critters and wild animals roamed the ground and claimed the wilderness as their home and safe space.From foxes to mice,wolves,bores and all sorts of birds could be spotted if enough attention is payed to the surroundings. The view from the top of the hill where the village was placed on and had written down it's history was stunning. Stargazing and sunset diving was something everybody enjoyed doing on long summer nights.Winter was usually cold and windy,so people stayed burried inside their homes warming up next to their fire places and baking bread.

One place stood out the most.A graveyard was located near the village.For such a small place the polished grey gravestones filled up quite the amount of space.Many names of people who suffored all sorts of misfortunes and unfortunate incidents were carved into the old stone.No one really liked the cemetery.Sure,places like that never gave welcoming and comfortable vibes but something about that particular graveyard felt especially unpleasant to everyone spending their lives there.

❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎

"Tommy wait up!" A boy with hazel hair shouted at his companion who was a few meters infront of him,running recklessly deeper into the forest.It had just stopped raining a few moons ago and the ground was finally dry enough to go and explore again!Tubbo,the brown haired fella,was currently chasing after his feral brother who was too stubborn and careless to ever lend an ear to his brother. The forest scared Tubbo,but he could never admit that infront of Tommy.He knew that his twin would most likely tease him about it and drag him out into the woods even more just to prove to him that there is nothing he has to be scared about.

"C'mon Tubbo!!Don't be such a party pooper!" Tubbo had tried convincing Tommy to turn around and maybe go to their parents music shop instead.But the hot headed blond wouldn't give up on his intentions.Tubbo sighed and came to a halt.His feet were burning and they were probably bruised from all the nonstop running.He placed his palms on his thighs as he breathed heavily.He dropped his head between his arms and concentrated on calming down his rapid heart beating.After what seemed like forever the small boy got up and averted his head towards the direction where he last saw Tommy,infront of him.

"Tommy can we please just go ho-Tommy?" Tubbo stopped mid sentence.Tommy wasn't there anymore.Where did he go?Tubbo looked around,his blue eyes scanning the area. But the blond haired boy was nowhere to be found.Panic started to rise in Tubbo as he began searching for Tommy around every single corner.Now he was really starting to freak out,sweat began dripping down his forehead while his heart beat increased,it felt as if his organs were mixing up with eachother.His hands were trembling and the poor boy was at the verge of tears.

"Tommy this isn't funny come ou-!" A loud scream echoed through the forest,Tubbo's eyes were wide with fear and shock- Tommy had jumped out of a nearby tree trunk that had crashed onto the ground after a heavy storm,and managed to scare Tubbo even more than he already is. Tommy was laughing,meanwhile the hazel haired brother was clutching onto his chest tightly,now his heart must have exploded without a doubt.But the confirmation of the swift and unsteady beating convinced him otherwise.

Tubbo glared at his laughing brother who still didn't stop his cackling even though the situation wasn't that funny. "That's not funny Tommy,I was really scared.." Tubbo informed his brother,twirling his foot in the dusty ground of the to be dark forest if they didn't make their return back to their village soon.Tubbo told Fundy,their babysitter,that they were only going out for a short time period and that he and Tommy would return shortly.Now it has been over two hours and Fundy must be getting worried about the two brothers for sure.

"You're such a scaredy cat Tubbo!" Tommy playfully punched his brothers shoulder smiling. "We can go back home now if you want to,I'm hungry anyways." Tommy reassured his brother who seemed to immediately realx and loosen up at the mention of their home way.Tubbo grinned,happily nodding his head:"Lead the way then!" Tommy nervously chuckled,scratching the back of his neck:"You see,there's only one teeny tiny problem-" Tommy locked eyes with his brother a shit eating grin on his face. "I don't remember the way back."

"You what now!?Tommy please tell me you're joking,this isn't funny anymore!" Tubbo practically yelled at his brother who has been messing with his head for far too long now. He knew Tommy was reckless and he knew that his brother never thought things threw before attempting them but every normal human being with a functioning brain could surely remember their way back home.Tommy shook his head,his grin faded as he realized the situation both him and Tubbo were currently in.They were lost.

The sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizons as the moon prepared to take on it's shift and rule the sky.Pink and orange ombres were fading into purple and indigo ones.Stars that shimmered like diamonds danced happily on it.The air was getting cooler and it began to sting their exposed skin as goosebumps quickly rose over it.Tommy silently sat down on the cold grass covered ground.Tubbo copied his actions,placing himself next to his brother.The two brothers shared one glance between eachother.Tubbo crossed his arms over his knees and layed his head down on them,the brown locks of hair tickling his pale skin in the process of doing so.The young boy was close to bursting out in tears.It was cold and dark,everything seemed even more scarier than during day time.

Tommy eyed his older twin carefully.A pit of blame and regret was growing in his stomach.He knew that Tubbo was about to cry,he knew Tubbo was afraid of the forest even if he never confirmed it out loud.He noticed the expression change on his face whenever he would mention going outside.Tommy picks up on the lame excuses Tubbo lets out just so he doesn't have to come along.Tommy felt awful he shouldn't have pushed him,he shouldn't have dragged Tubbo with him.It was all his fault,they were lost becouse of him.His pale blue eyes wandered infront of him.All the trees and shrubs growing and filling up the forest looked the same to him.There is no way they would find back home during night time.

"I'm sorry Tubbo." Tommy whispered,his voice trembling as he let out those simple three words.Tubbo's head perked up,his blue eyes searched Tommy's face for any other emotion than regret and sadness but failed.Tubbo knew Tommy better than he did himself.The fact that his younger twin genuinely apologized made Tubbo's heart soar in joy. He smiled softly at Tommy,sniffing and wiping away a stray tear that threatened to fall down his reddened cheek.

Tommy felt a pair of arms wrap around him and embrace him in a warm and safe hug.Tubbo burried his face in Tommy's chest and let himself be consumed by his brothers body temperature.Tommy looked at Tubbo with suprised eyes.He blinked a few times processing what's happening.Once his brain registered what's going on,a smile crept onto Tommy's thin lips.He returned the kind gesture,throwing his arms around his brother's shoulders. Tubbo's smile grew as he held on tighter to Tommy.The two of them shared a quiet moment of brotherly affection before Tubbo loosened up and removed his arms.

"It's okay Tommy,next time we shouldn-!" Tubbo suddenly screamed,making the blond hair boy next to him yelp and jump up in suprise.Tubbo's eyes were glued onto something behind Tommy's back. "Jesus christ-You need to stop screaming so much Tubbo!My ears hu-" Tubbo grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him towards him in a hurry before Tommy could continue his complaint.The poor boy was so confused by his brothers hectic antics.He watched as Tubbo's breathing became heavy and shaky and his hands started to tremble once again.Tommy lightly grabbed them in his and tried calming the older down.

Tubbo on the other hand had other plans.He pulled his hands away out of Tommy's grasp which in return made Tommy throw his hands up in playfull defense.Tubbo's eyes didn't move one bit the whole time.Tommy followed his gaze curious to see what was so interesting that his brother didn't pay attention to him.He was concerned after seeing that Tubbo has been staring at nothing but the shadowy silhouettes emerging from the tall pine trees and the pure darkness of the mysterious greenery.

Tommy exchanged glances from that spot back to his brother.This went on for atleast five times until the baby blue eyed boy finally decided to get up of the ground and tenderly waved his pale hand infront of Tubbo's face.To his suprise his brown haired brother didn't move a muscle.He continued to stare down the spot where nothing was.It was very clear that whatever or whoever Tubbo was looking at didn't seem very appealing and calming to him.His eyes were filling up with that oh so familiar fear and panick.

"Tommy...What is that thing-?" Tubbo questioned Tommy pointing his shaky finger towards the spot he was staring down with his fearfull blue orbs,his head turned slightly to his brother's side but the direction he was keeping his eyes on didn't change.Tommy eyed Tubbo,his head cocking to the side in a confusing manner.There was clearly nothing there- Either Tubbo is scared and his imagination is playing tricks on him or Tommy is going blind.

"What do you mean?There is nothing there Tubbo." Tommy explained to his older twin,his eyes traveled to the spot once again but like the past ten minutes he wasn't able to detect any possible danger or person.

"What do you mean there is nobody there?Can't you see him standing over there?" Either Tommy was playing dumb which isn't the time for right now,or Tubbo was going crazy. "Oh my god Tommy now he is talking to me- Please tell me you can hear him!" Tommy was starting to freak out both over his brother and the fact that he started seing things and that Tubbo wasn't the one to play tricks like Tommy does all the time.Plus that scream and reaction definitely weren't fake,they were far away from fake.

"See who?Tubbo what the heck are you talking about?" Tommy inquired about the whole shenanigans that was being displayed infront of his own eyes.Normally Tommy would tease Tubbo and make it seem like he saw it to and joke around about it but this time everything seemed a little too sketchy and scary.Tubbo was rambling to himself,his whole system was breaking up and the fact that Tommy didn't see the wierd,translucent man was making him freak out even more.The poor kid was beginning to question his sanity.

"Tubbo calm down bro,what do you see?"

One harsh breath ended his waterfall of words and he seemed to start thinking of the best way to describe the see through man.It's as if Tommy could see all the cogs turning inside Tubbo's brain. "He has blond hair, a slight stubble growing on his chin and ehm,oh he is wearing a green cloak of some sort." Tommy nodded,the best thing to do,even if Tubbo did end up imagining it,was to calmly talk with the brown haired boy,his heart had enough near exploding experiences for today.

"You said he talked to you,can you talk to him?"

Tubbo looked at his brother,his breathing slowed down and he looked more awkward than afraid.Tommy watched as Tubbo shyly let out an experimental "hello?" after a few seconds passed Tubbo let out a soft "okay" and once again turned to his brother. "He can understand me." Tommy grinned,gently patting Tubbo on the shoulder and encouraging him to ask the strange man more questions.

"Can you ask him what his name is?"

"He says his name is Phil."

......

"Can you ask him if he's human?"

"Phil says that he's a ghost and he died.."

......

"Can he tell us how he died?"

"He says that he's not comfortable with sharing that information with the two of us."

Tommy nodded.So a ghost huh?The blond boy was confused as though why he isn't able to see and communicate with Phil.He stood next to Tubbo and listened to the one sided conversation between his brother and their new ghost friend.

"He asks what we're doing out here in the woods all alone at this time of hour?" Tubbo informed his younger twin about what Phil asked him.Tommy snickered:"Telk him we got lost while playing!" Tubbo gave one nod before turning his head back to where Phil was.The brown haired boy giggled:"He can hear you Tommy!" Pale blue eyes widened as Tommy happily grinned at the news that their ghost friend Phil could hear his voice loud and clear even if Tommy himself couldn't see or hear him.Tubbo started talking with Phil again his face lighting up as he let out a happy:" Really?!"

"Tommy,Phil says that he knows the way back to the village and he can bring us back home safely!" Tubbo enlightened his brother as he turned away from Phil to face Tommy completely.The blond boy's eyes lit up as he excitedly thanked the ghost and happily agreed to let Phil show them their way back.Everything was better,even if it's letting a wierd ghost they just met take them home,then spending the night on the cold forest ground.

❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎

The walk home was rather comforting and sweet.During their trip back to their village Tommy couldn't help but feel safe and comfortable in Phil's presence.Phil,the ghost the two of them met in the woods wasn't seen as dangerous or violent by both of them.Tommy was walking next to Tubbo while the older twin silently followed after the ghost since Tommy didn't posses the ability to see him.The two brothers trusted Phil and his promise to bring them home safe and sound,without a single scratch or splinter.

Phil didn't talk much to Tubbo along the way.But he would gladly answer any questions the two twins throw his way. The lights that shone through the different designed windows were coming into view.And soon enough the shapes of rooftops of the houses their village consisted of could be made out.

"Tubbo!Tommy! Where are you!?" The distraught shout of a man sprawled out through the late night air.Tommy and Tubbo quickly recognized the man to be none other than their assigned babysitter Fundy.Tubbo felt a ping of regret as he remembered that the brown eyed man couldn't see with his left eye and therefore it must have been hard to look for them during this time.Before the two of them parted ways from Phil to reassure Fundy that they are indeed okay and alive,they said goodbye to Phil and thanked him for bringing them home all the way out of the forest to their village.

Tubbo told Tommy that Phil said no problem an he's always around if they want to talk to him!After both of the brothers felt the exit of Phil's presence they ran towards Fundy who was desperately walking around with a lantern and even knocking on the neighbor's doors to ask if they have seen the two troublemakers around.

"Fundy!!Over here!We're okay!" Tommy shouted in Fundy's direction.The relief that washed over Fundy's face was enormous.He was glad that he didn't have to explain how he lost both of the kids while watching them to their parents.Even though Fundy was happy that they are back in his line of one-eyed sight he was also very mad and disappointed in the two seven year olds.The two of them promised him to be back by dawn before the sun sets and now ot was way beyond two in the early morning.

"Where were you two!?Do you have any idea how worried I was about you boys?" Tubbo and Tommy shamefully shared a look between eachother as they lowered their eyes and dropped their heads to look at the floor.

"We're sorry Fundy,we got lost while playing in the woods and we had trouble finding our way back home." Fundy's eye widened,he fixed his eyepatch and softly sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose. "You two are going to be the end of me one day,ya' hear me?" He ruffled their hair with each of his scarred arms.Tubbo and Tommy giggled as Fundy continued to mess up their hair. "I'm glad you two are back home safe,did you get hurt?" Tommy shook his head for both of them. "Nope!Phil helped us get home!"

Tubbo nodded confirming Tommy's bold statement.Fundy eyed them in confusion. "Phil?Who is Phil Tommy?" The story Fundy heard that night was something he never expected.

❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎

"So Phil's a ghost huh?" The three of them were seated at the dining table inside their house,Fundy prepared them hot stew and freshly baked bread he bought from the market today with the few silver pendants he had left. Tommy was stuffing his face with bread while he spoke: "Yeah!I can't see him but Tubbo can,and he's really nice to!" Tubbo nodded,joining in on the conversation:"He said that he's always around if we ever feel alone!" A smile formed on Fundy's lips as the man remembered the good old days of his golden childhood when he used to have imaginary friends.

He decided not to ask anymore questions about Phil as he watched the two brothers stuff their throats with the delicious food presented on the table.Fundy's eyes averted themselves to the fireplace which was producing a decent amount of fire in it.He observed each spark and each piece of ash that found their way out of the pile of wood and fell to the ground,instantly loosing their orange glow.After Tommy and Tubbo finished their meals,Fundy cleaned the table while the two of them took a bath.He could hear them laughing and splashing around in the water,once again a big smile creeping onto his chapped lips.

❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎ ¤ ❥︎

"Alright you two today's been a long day so keep those eyes closed when I blow out the torches." Tubbo and Tommy were tucked into their beds,shuffling under the white bedsheets until both of them found a comfortable position to sleep in.Fundy gave them one last smirk and blew out the torches as he quietly closed the wooden door behind him and let sleep take over the two twin brothers.

"Goodnight Tommy." Tubbo yawned as he stretched out his arms and turned his body over to the colder side of the pillow. "Goodnight Toby." Tommy softly spoke,closing his eyes and again feeling that comforting and welcoming presence next to him.

That night both Tommy and Tubbo fell asleep with a smile on their face,a light wind gust filled the room that fresh summer night,and it wasn't becouse of the open window :)

𝖅𝖍𝖊 𝕰𝖓𝖉 ☘︎

𝐈 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐤,𝐈 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐚𝐦 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢𝐭 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭! 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠,𝐈 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!𝐋𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 <3 𝐈 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 @netherbricknick 𝐚n𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭,𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭!! ❤︎

[whirlybirbs]

--- tenderly feral. 

summary: you’re used to being alone. daryl, somehow, changes that. rating: t for violence, references to murder/assault/loss, s5 spoilers, if that matters. word count: 3.7k a/n: this is set mid-season 5. right before alexandria. listen, i know, i’m catching up, okay???? anyways, i wrote for daryl when i was literally in high-school and i think this is very fitting. it all comes full circle. this will, no doubt, be a series.                                             ✘      next chapter.      ✘

You’re quiet. Mean lookin’ and awfully quiet.

Daryl Dixon reasons you’re a little bit like a feral cat - used to bein’ outdoors and used to bein’ mean, mean as can be. You’re not used to havin’ others around. It shows.

You don’t trust easy.

And that’s fine, because neither does he.

You’re with the group a little over a week when you finally speak more than a word -- it’s to Rick, saying you saw some formula and diapers and baby blankets in one of the neighborhoods South of Atlanta. It’s a metaphorical olive branch; offered in favor for the next-to-nothing meals and for the church roof over your head...

For saving your skin.

Your voice is a rasp, sounds like you haven’t used it in months. The words fall past your lips slow and sluggish.

(Daryl wonders if it’s from the bruises around your neck, from the hands that had been strangling you into the pavement with no remorse when he found you.)

You’re trying to say thank you. The words don’t want come out just yet. Daryl knows how that feels. So you offer a supply run instead. Risk your neck. Show your thanks.

You figure you won’t be around for long. Might as well make it worth it.

The archer squints into the evening sky as a sunset flare draws a halo around your head.

“Didn’t think t’ grab it, then,” you mutter, lips ghosting over the words as your worried eyes bounce to the cooing infant in the officer’s arms. You toe the dirt, “But, I could grab it now. She’s gotta eat.”

Rick doesn’t trust easy anymore -- not to say he ever really did before.

His eyes narrow, a blink of a microexpression that’s laced with skepticism and curiosity and a vague sense of doubt. Despite it, you stand unwavered as Daryl watches through the mousy strands of his hair from the front steps of the church. After a moment, Rick nods.

His eyes dart across the wooded horizon.

“Tomorrow,” Rick says finally, “Sun’s gonna set soon.”

Daryl watches as you nod, shuffle past, and retreat to the church. His stare follows the steps of your well-worn boots, blue eyes watching as you weave through the open doors to the Lord’s home silently.

You’re a feral cat tryna be an indoor cat.

But you’re tryin’.

Daryl guesses that’s all that matters.

✘ 

You prefer being alone.

It’s just... better that way.

You leave before sun-up and come back that afternoon with a carload of supplies -- Daryl isn’t sure how you managed to swing it, heading out to the ‘burbs with the van alone like that, but you do and there’s grub in everyone’s belly at the end of the night because of it.

It’s either sheer stupidity or pure survival and Daryl isn’t sure which one.

That night, he watches from a few pews back as you fork a can of brown bread into your mouth while you shake a bottle of formula.

In the lights of the candles, you seem softer -- maybe not so mean.

You present the bottle to Carl, lips quirked up into a ghost of a smile as the boy thanks you and bounces his sister on his hip.

(The boy reminds you of someone you knew once, then, and the formula hangs between your hand and his as a memory punches you in the gut -- you remember Boston, and Pennsylvania, and every loss along the way and Carl sees it before you can wipe it away. You try your best to distract from your gaping wound with a tight-lipped smile, but the burn of tears unfallen paint the boy’s face all sorts of guilty.)

“You okay?” he asks, eyeing the bottle.

“Yeah,” you whisper, ducking to the ground, “M’ fine.”

You ain’t. Daryl sees that.

The pew creaks as Rick settles beside the archer.

Silence runs like a river between the two men as you cross the church and settle back against the wall by the altar. They’re both watching, like wolves protecting their pack, and you avoid the weight of their gazes in favor of your canned bread and the small comfort of your corner.

You swipe angrily at the tears streaking your cheeks.

Daryl sees it. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he sees it.

This is why it’s better to be alone.

“If we’re gonna move soon, after we get Beth,” says Rick after a few beats of breath, “We need more supplies. Somethin’ t’ last us more than a few days.”

Daryl blinks into his can of beans, knee bouncing.

“Yeah.”

“She offered to show us the spot. Go with her tomorrow.”

Daryl nods, tipping back the can into his mouth as Rick pats his knee.

✘

“I’m comin’ with you.”

You go rigid, stiff as a board, when Daryl’s voice passes behind you. Swallowing, you bend at the knee and move to finish shoving a few balled up bags and some water into your camping pack -- when you stay silent, his boots carry him closer, and you’re left to eye the lopsided laces staring back at you.

“Y’ alright with that?”

“Don’t matter,” you say, words biting a bit more than you mean for them to; you’re quick to stand, hauling your pack onto your back, “... Does it?”

Suddenly, the world swings on a hinge and like a screen door slamming open, you’re locked in the orbit of Daryl Dixon. The shiner around his eye makes him look meaner than he is. Blue eyes are soft, betraying him even more. You stand straight, unwavering, as the archer wets his lips and breaks away. He toes the ground and swings his crossbow over his left shoulder as he squints along the tree line.

Mean, mean, mean. Ain’t you?

“No,” he breathes, “It don’t.”

✘

The ride to the South End ‘burbs is quiet.

You forfeited the keys without a fight, swinging yourself into the passagender side of the van -- your fingers had clawed at grime and scum lining the windshield only to yield nothing but smears. So, as the van rolls on, you opt to look out the window.

The view, however desolate and broken, is nice.

After a long stretch of road and a longer stretch of silence, Daryl finally speaks. Blue eyes dart to the curve of your face. They linger, following the column of your throat.

“... Those bruises are healin’ up good.”

He eyes the road with a noted sense of worry.

Again, you seem to stiffen and turn inward. Your hands fly to your neck, pushing the collar of your worn flannel up. The brush of your fingers spurs a wince that flashes into a snarl. Daryl sees it.

Mean.

You plant a boot on the dashboard and cross your arms.

And that’s that.

✘

You manage to stock up three bags of cans, water, and medical supplies.

It’s not much but it’s something, and as you drag yourself up into the van, you catch Daryl’s figure in the rearview. There’s a cigarette hanging between his lips, fingers prying at a bag in the trunk -- the smell of nicotine is better than that of the upholstery which has seemingly soaked up all the residue from it’s previous owner.

The stain in the carpet is big.

Your eyes fleet up from aforementioned stain, connecting with Daryl’s like keys fitting a lock.

He’s always watching.

You reason Daryl Dixon is a bit like a fighting dog -- nasty when he needs to be and fiercely protective. It shows.

He doesn’t trust easy.

And that’s fine, because neither do you.

(Even when if he is the man who’d saved your fucking life. Even if Daryl Dixon is the man who’d pried another living being off you -- even if he’d tackled that fuck to the ground while you gasped for air and stars swam in your eyes. Bloodied fingers clawed at the hot pavement and the world swayed, but you could breathe and you were alive, even if the sound of a tinkering belt and violent threats still sat in your ears.)

Trustin’ ain’t easy now-a-days.

✘

The dance of candlelight carves his face into something softer -- you swear you can see the play of a smile there when Carol talks; as the grey-haired women waves her spoon and shrugs, you find yourself missing conversation for the first time in a long time.

Maybe you have been alone for too long. It shows in moments like these.

You tuck your knees closer and fork the peaches in the tin can with an edge of frustration. In your corner, you sit, far from the lull of the group’s conversation.

But, it’s Tyreese who drags you up from the bottom of that pit of loneliness -- the deep baritone of his voice rouses your attention.

“... Where are you from, newbie?” he asks, words weighted with sincerity, “Where’s home?”

(You’re not a newbie. Maybe that lanky boy Noah is, but you’re not -- this is just something temporary between the running. This group... well, nothing is ever permanent anymore. Especially with the current state of things.)

The conversation holds itself still the lungs of those around you, stuck in their throats as Tyreese drives apart the sea and welcomes you in with a kindness unfounded.

Your eyes hit the bottom of your can. The sugar sweet peaches glisten like tears.

“Boston,” you muster finally, exhaling.

“Christ.”

A sea of murmurs. You can feel the distrust of Rick and Michonne in the tempered reactions -- as Rick bounces a cooing Judith, you’re suddenly feeling like the flame the moths flock to. You feel obligated to share this part of your story, after all isn’t that what people do?

You’re not sure. When you’re alone, you avoid the living like the plague.

But, despite your hang-up’s and hesitation, you nod again, move forward and sit up. You swallow and wet your lips.

“Been on the road for a long time.”

“How long?”

“Since it started.”

Daryl’s face flinches. You see it. He knows.

“Why?” asks Michonne with a pointed edge, “Why not... settle?”

“I did,” you say, “Tried to, at least. Then people died, shit fell apart, and... I kept moving. I had to.”

“Alone?” asks Rick, eyes narrowed.

You nod. Shame weighs your shoulders.

“Seemed like I was bad luck,” you chirp, “Real bad.”

“Well, you’re here now,” says Tyreese, “And we’re glad.”

You wonder if that’s a good thing, after all.

✘

“Here.”

You narrow your eyes.

In his hands hangs a tube. The label is faded.

You squint up at Daryl Dixon from your spot on the church’s steps as a mid-day sunray curls right around his head like a halo. His face is set in something awfully serious. Fiercely protective. Like a damn fightin’ dog. 

(You wonder who holds the choke chain, who yanks the leash.

Is it Rick?)

You take it, confusion flying across your face.

“It’s some cream,” he says, “Carol found it. Said it’s good for bruises.”

You see the way his eyes fall on your throat.

“M’ fine,” you croak, “It... It don’t even hurt.”

“Bullshit.”

“How would you know, huh?” you bite, lips snarling, “I’m fine.”

“‘Cuz I been choked out before,” Daryl snaps back, looming closer, “Take th’ damn cream.”

You do, only with a lasting look of irritation. The moment the tube leaves his hands, he relaxes.

Like that, the air dissipates into stillness.

Daryl’s eyes roam the steeple. When you speak, it catches him by surprise.

“... Thanks.”

You’re still feral. But you’re tryin’.

✘

You stay back -- you don’t know much about this mission to save one of their own, but you know you want nothin’ to do with the pigs in that hospital. You’ve met them before, out on the streets of Atlanta, and you have no intention of meeting them again.

The thought leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

And when there’s trouble with the walkers that crawl to the church, following the hysterical father, you barricade them in alongside Michonne without second thought -- but this turn of fate dredges up this gut-churning feeling of bad luck.

Bad, bad luck.

And then, a fire truck full of friendly faces plow into your concept of bad luck and compounds it with a lie about a cure for all this and a busted trip to Washington.

And then, when you all drag yourselves to Grady Memorial and Daryl Dixon hauls a dead Beth Hershel out those back doors in his arms? When Maggie, the kind woman with the kind drawl crumples at the sight? When Daryl wails and Carol tries -- god she tries --  to calm them both down?

You’re left to wonder if you’re better off alone.

If you and your bad luck is better off in the streets.

Mean and awfully quiet.

✘

The group finds two cars.

They park in the woods and bury Beth at sun-down under a sky of red.

You pass dirt along the grave and remember a prayer from long ago. It’s a croak on your lips but it means something to Maggie, who reaches for your hand and thanks you after it’s all said and done.

Grief sits heavy in Daryl’s gut.

He’s at the edge of the makeshift camp, nothing but a shadow. But, you find him.

In your hands is a can of beans.

You settle next to him on the log. The wood groans but Daryl doesn’t flinch -- his eyes art trained on the low fire that glows before his boots. The embers crackle. He inhales, sharp and fast, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s been crying.

So, you pull your knife from your boot and crack the top of the can open. You gesture it towards him.

“Eat.”

“I ain’t hungry.”

Your jaw tightens.

Silence draws itself up between you and Daryl and dances in the flames of the campfire. You bounce your knee and clutch the can. That suffocating silence swells there, finally bursting when you turn to eye him with a careful amount of worry.

“... Who was she?”

You see his mouth move. His brows knot, then his face falls.

“A friend,” he whispers, “Family.”

You wonder what that’s like -- to have both of those with the current state of things.

(You had it once -- before things fell apart and you started moving on your own. You had a sister and friends and people who had killed for you by your side. You’d killed for them, too. You would, again. Maybe you’d kill for Daryl, too. A part of you already feels like you owe him.)

“I know it’s not my place,” you say slowly, “But she’d want you t’ eat.”

Daryl’s eyes rocket upwards, catching your expression.

He knows your right.

He takes the can and your fingers brush.

“... Thanks.”

And that’s that.

✘

Tyreese.

You liked him.

You forgot how this felt. Loss. Grief. Death.

You stand shoulder to shoulder beside Daryl over a shallow grave.

And you cry.

✘

It’s bad.

You’re bad -- you’re nothing but bad luck and all this? This is how it’s gonna end.

A thousand miles, and for what? To starve on a Georgia highway?

Behind you, like a ball and chain, is a horde of walkers that snarl and gasp and trudge along, waiting for one of you to drop. You wonder if you’ll go first -- if your last meal will really be peaches. Canned fuckin’ peaches.

You swallow, swipe at your clammy skin, and keep moving.

For the first time in a long time, you’re tired of moving. Tired of running. Of being alone.

For the first time in a long time, you glad you’re not alone.

Daryl is lingering behind you. His steps are sluggish and his crossbow is slung across his waist, posed and ready. The vest around his shoulders is soaked, tattered shirt darkened with sweat. You’re no better. The hair along your neck clings with reckless abandon. You spare him a glance, then slow up to match his pace.

You’re quiet for a while, steps falling in with his.

And then you speak.

“I never said thanks.”

Daryl’s face gives nothing away. HIs eyes, though, dart to you for a moment. When you speak, your eyes are off on the horizon.

“That guy was gonna kill me over a can of soup,” you speak slowly, ignoring the garrish flashes of the scene that unfolds behind your eyes every-night, “And you stopped him.”

“... Had to.”

“No,” you shake your head, finally breaking to look at him, “You didn’t.”

He’s quiet for a few feet, then he sighs. “Jus’ ‘cause things have got t’ shit don’t mean people don’t matter.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I’m bad luck.”

“You’re not.”

“Ever since I joined up,” you drawl, movements sluggish as the horizon glimmers, “I... People have --”

“It ain’t your fault.”

His words are firm, backed by a rush of anger that knocks you for a loop. Daryl staggers along, face set in some unreadable way that leaves you wondering what he really thinks -- he’s like Rick and Michonne. Pointed and distrusting, but there’s something else there.

“Tell the others I’m goin’ t’ look for water.”

He dips into the woods and disappears.

Mean and awfully quiet.

✘

He doesn’t find water.

But when the skies split open and pour rivers of rain down on you all, you find yourself not caring. You lay in the street beside Tara and Rosita and you laugh -- peels of joyous sounds that mesh as the group scrambles to grab bags and bottles.

And when the sky roars, you and the group hole up in that barn down off the beaten path.

You curl up in a corner, far from the fire, as the come-down of the day seeps into your bones with the rain.

It’s Daryl who approaches, rousing you from a half-sleep.

He plops down against the hay bail, prompting you to stir.

You inhale and shift, rubbing your eyes. You blink at him, caught in the tired look on his face and the cut of his cheeks. He looks rough -- you haven’t known him long but you know this isn’t him. He’s a ghost of himself. Between grief and starvation, Daryl Dixon looks nothing like the man you’d watched nights ago back in the church, glowing in the light of prayer candles and good grub.

“You okay?” you ask softly, voice nothing more than a mere wisp.

“I wasn’t gonna save you at first,” he blurts, “Wasn’t gonna fight that guy, wasn’t gonna... stop him. Things have been bad and... I don’t --...”

His words die. Your chin drops.

“All this?” he gestures suddenly, “All this is just remindin’ me I’m alive, y’know?”

You turn to eye him, then nod. “Yeah.”

His fiddles with his fingers. Silence creeps between you two and your chest aches with some sort of feeling you’re not too sure of. Maybe it’s dread? Maybe it’s regret or... distrust. You don’t know. But it’s not nice.

“I’d do it again,” he leans, “If I had to.”

“Do what?”

“Kill someone,” Daryl mumbles, “If it meant savin’ you. I don’t regret that.”

You think of the sound the crossbow bolt made when it passed through that man’s skull. You think of Daryl, scrambling to help you up as a group of walkers creep in -- you think of him and Carol, prying you out of the thick of it and saving your fucking life.

“You don’t know me,” you say slowly, “What if I’m not who you think I am?”

“I’d know,” he watches you and you feel like you’re stuck in cement, “Everyone would know. But you ain’t bad. You know that.”

Maybe you do.

Again, the quiet rolls in like mist in the morning. You’ve started to realize it’s a part of Daryl -- he isn’t a talker, not like Glenn or Eugene. He’s quiet and reserved and he picks his words; there’s nothing that doesn’t matter in the way he speaks. It’s all him.

He spins a piece of grain between his fingers.

Your head rolls. You trace his profile with your eyes.

“M’ sorry about Beth.”

“Yeah,” he breathes as he drops his head back, “Me too.”

“... Think we’ll survive this?”

“We always do.”

✘

His name is Aaron.

And you don’t trust him.

You wonder if it’s because you’ve met men like him before -- promising a safe place to rest your head. Promising safety and a future. Those men have all been liars, thieves, murderers.

(You wonder if this is how Rick felt about you. If welcoming you in with Daryl’s blessing was met with the same hesitation? Were you once nothing more than another Aaron?)

But... he’s not lying.

Rick notes your discomfort. He needs that. He needs the good and the bad and the ugly, the trusting and the distrusting. He’s a good leader -- you’re seeing that now in the ex-cop. 

That’s how you get shouldered in between Aaron and Michonne in the backseat of that shit-box Lincoln. That’s how you plow through the dead at 45 MPH, heart dropping into the pit of your gut as you haul ass out of the car and plunge your hunting knife into as many heads as you can. Your survival instinct is feverish and terrified and full of desperation; as you roar, Rick watches.

In a flash, something settles between you both.

You book it through the woods and hit Route 16 with no RV in sight.

No Carl, no Judith... No Daryl.

The moon casts inky shadows in your wake.

No time to stop. You all keep moving.

✘

Rick whistles. He gives a call.

There’s a response.

You carry yourself into a collision of an embrace -- Daryl curses, quietly, as he sways on his feet and grips your shoulders tightly. In the light of the alleyway, it’s just the two of you; the moment passes like a ship in the night and peel yourself away with a broken laugh.

“You okay?” he asks, stepping back and gauging you. The touch makes his skin hot.

“Fine,” you croak, “You?”

“Never better.”

✘

Alexandria is what they call it.

In the cramped back of the RV, you spare Daryl a look as the vehicle rolls to a stop and Abrahram announces the arrival with a measured level of reservation.

You can’t remember the last time you stopped running.

No better time than the present.

After all, you’re just a feral cat, tryin’ its best to be indoors.

[itstheinternetofthings]

snag

i stopped listening to music during the pandemic. i needed to hear voices talking instead, needed to feel as though i were in conversation, as though i weren’t three stories up in a studio apartment, day in, day out, alone.

this list is not very long, but it’s important to me: albums I have loved this past year or so. the sounds that have helped bring me back to life.

Glass Animals - Dreamland 

Liking Glass Animals feels so basic and non-ironic but here I am, loving every single one of their albums and listening to each late into the hot los angeles night.

Ela Minus - Acts of Rebellion

Even though I haven’t been to a club in years, this album reminds me of Mexico City and its pulsing brilliant youth scene. I want to speak Spanish fluently, I want to dance in scuffed shoes at 3am in a secret room.

Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher 

Soundtrack to my Christmastime. I know every word by heart. Phoebe who sings of Los Angeles, who gave voice to my melancholia. I listen to this and allow snippets of memory to surface - the Chinese Garden at the Huntington, the giant agave outside Erica’s AirBnB in Sherman Oaks, the drive through Culver City on the 10 West, looking down at all the strip malls and billboards and busted out cars with the brilliant sky stretching above us to the ocean - 

Waxahatchee - Saint Cloud 

Michelle was right, she does look like me. An eerie thing to watch her sing with my face. Listening to this alone in my studio apartment in lockdown, feeling that within me there is power and poetry. And also I just like that folksy white girl singer songwriter shit.

Aldous Harding - Party 

This album makes me feel like something left behind in a haunted house, and speaks to the creepy broken thing that lives within me, and needs a voice.

Lala Lala - The Lamb 

This will be my first live concert since the culling. I remember listening to this in the car at 11 PM going to pick up my birth control from the 24-hour Kaiser before we left for New York the next day. I remember too the drive to Laguna Beach where I met Nick’s aunt for the first time in her fairytale cottage on the hill, overgrown with flowers and herbs, paint supplies and fancy teas - the two cats climbing up and down the slope.

Doja Cat - Planet Her 

Never doesn’t hit. My first few months in New York. She is just the fucking shit.

Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia 

I finally got into this album recently, when Nick was gone for a week and I was a feral creature eating with my hands and speaking to animals. Beware, this album is a drug and you won’t be able to stop living inside of it for a long, long time. It's also fire for a workout.

Caroline Polachek - Pang

This is my favorite album of all time today. Reimagine pop music as poetry. Sing the songs of breaking out, of burrowing. I’ve listened to this so much I feel like I know her, and it’s hard to translate out of it back into my home space.

Tom Odell - monsters 

I was not in the mood for sad boy songs but actually this shit speaks something real and brutal and glorious, and makes the whole world come alive when it is after work and you are walking fast towards the skyscrapers under a late September sunset.

[iwhumpyou]

The Cost (Part 3)

Masterlist.  Wergild.

Taglist: @whumps-the-word, @swordkallya, @whumpy-daydreams.

Part 2.

~#~#~#~#~#~

It hadn’t even been a day and Jace was already displeased with the arrangement.

Not with Nerali – he’d seen her face relax after she’d drank some spring water, and he could see the gruesome edges of her wounds where the bandages didn’t cover them all the way, and he owed it to her.  She had given him his future back, and she deserved to have one of her own.

But Nerali being there meant that Mirai was following her around like an overeager duckling with far too many knives, and Jace wanted to have a talk with Nerali (the kind with him very slowly sharpening his sword in a dark room) but Nerali could literally not lay a finger on his sister right now.

But Mirai being on Nerali’s tail meant that Aidan was constantly lurking in the background, arms crossed and scowling fiercely as he glared at Mirai, at Felix, at Jace, at anyone who wasn’t Nerali.

Intellectually, Jace knew that Aidan’s powers were suppressed.  He knew that the key to Aidan’s cuffs rested around his neck (because he’d already checked it four times that hour).  He knew that Aidan had about as much chance of hurting Mirai as a feral cat, even if Mirai was still recovering.

But Aidan was very good at glowering and the lack of visible sparks did nothing against the countless memories of raging flames.

Aidan had always taken Clarissa’s friendship with Jace as a personal affront, and Jace was twitchy about having the man inside his compound walls, cuffed or not.  Aidan was dangerous and he ran on spite – where Nerali wanted to please her sister, where Clarissa wished to unite the forest, Aidan had only jealousy and rage.

There was a reason he would’ve rather had Clarissa’s youngest siblings accompanying Nerali, and the reason was that Aidan put everyone on high alert.

Jace (who had plans for the day that had not involved lurking just out of sight of his sister and his guests) spent three-quarters of his time watching Aidan, and being thankful that the elementalist was scowling in the sun instead of lurking in the shadows.

And then after dinner, when he could finally lead them to their rooms and post a heightened guard around Aidan’s, the insufferable elementalist had walked into the room he was giving Nerali, nodded, and proclaimed it suitable.  Jace had given it up as a futile argument and arranged for a second bed to be delivered to the room.

Jace had passed the room three times in the middle of the night to check on the guard.  He’d met Felix twice doing the same stretch.

Judging by Aidan’s dark circles and darker glower, Mirai and Nerali were the only two people who actually got sleep that night.

Jace glowered at Aidan, sneered at the return glare, set Felix on guard duty and swept away to get some actual work done.

He checked for the key seven times in the first hour alone.

~#~

“Where’s Nerali?” she asked when only Robin, Frances, and Davina showed up for lunch.

“With Aidan,” Robin answered, not looking up from her meal.  Clarissa pursed her lips and let it go.

She had seen Aidan’s face. He needed time to calm down, and if seeing Nerali in front of him, alive and well and whole, was what he needed, so be it.

(Clarissa ached to hold her sister in her arms and never let go.)

No one showed up for dinner.

After sunset, Clarissa went around the compound, a sliver of worry caught in her throat, and tried to find her siblings.

Robin was in the infirmary, counting bandages.  Frances was reading a book, his tone clipped and terse.  Davina had looked at her with a gaze full of contempt, as icy as the room she’d frozen over.

The next morning, only Robin showed up to breakfast.

“Where’s Nerali?” Clarissa asked again.

“With Aidan,” Robin responded, staring at her meal.

Clarissa took a slow, steady breath.  “And where’s Aidan?” she asked, unable to hide the edge to her tone.

Robin looked up.  Her expression was not reassuring.

~#~

Aidan shivered as cold winds tugged at his clothes, the wooden platform creaking.  Far below him, fires flickered and occasional snatches of conversation or laughter drifted up.  If he looked down, if he paid attention, he could probably pinpoint which one of them was his sister, moving awkwardly with arms that had only half-healed.

But he wasn’t looking down. He was staring up, at twinkling stars and a half-full moon, and letting the cold night air chill his frozen skin.

A raucous chorus of laughter burst out and he winced.  He squinted downwards, at the forest floor far, far below, and he could see a slim figure balancing on their hands, swaying like they were dancing.  Nerali was talking to a woman that was not Mirai, not that it mattered.  His little sister had taken very well to Jace’s clan – goodwill that was probably brokered by a combination of her sacrifice to break the curse, Nerali’s good nature, and the way Mirai became hilariously flustered every time Nerali decided to return her teasing.

Aidan got hostile looks every waking moment of the day, and he couldn’t even lurk in the shadows because he couldn’t bear to leave the heat of the sun.  He knew that he was being followed everywhere he went, and he was painfully aware that the moment he did something wrong – or the moment they said he did something wrong – he would be attacked.

Clarissa had made her stance on family members getting injured quite clear.  Sure, she’d get mad, but her precious peace was worth more than elementalist blood.  Aidan knew that.  Jace knew that.

The only thing stopping him from getting jumped was Jace’s honor.  And the thought was frightening, the same way a clawed fist around his heart was frightening.

He turned back to the sky. The platform was high and secluded and no one had stopped him from climbing the ladder to the top.  He needed a moment to think, to breathe without the weight of suspicion and resentment on his back.

The ladder creaked, and Aidan tensed.

He turned, the railing digging into his back, uncomfortably aware that there was only one path up to the platform and that it was a long, long way back down.

His mood worsened when Jace peered over the side.

Jace considered him for a moment, clearly calculating the distance between Aidan and the ladder, before pulling up the last few rungs and straightening up onto the platform.  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, crossing his arms and tilting back to stare at the stars.

Aidan cracked first.  “Are you allowed to be up here with me?” he asked, going for patronizing but ending up with uncomfortable.

“Am I allowed to be on my clan’s lookout post?” Jace blinked, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Aidan clenched his jaw. “Your bodyguard follows you whenever he’s not following me,” he said curtly, “And here we both are, with him nowhere in sight.”

The faintest trace of amusement crossed Jace’s face.  “Felix is having dinner,” he crossed the platform and motioned to the bonfires on the ground.  Aidan struggled to remember how to breathe – Jace wasn’t within touching distance, but he was significantly closer than he’d been on the other side of the platform.  “And I don’t need a bodyguard in my own compound.” 

Aidan wanted to press him on that, wanted to ask ‘are you sure?’ with a smirk and dancing flames – but he didn’t have the dancing flames.  He didn’t have his powers, and his sneers and glares felt like skin stretched thin, a mask twisted out of proportion.  Jace could break his arm with a barely a thought – Aidan was a trained fighter, but without his powers he was only human.

Jace – and Mirai, and Felix, and all the others – was not.  Not entirely, anyway.

“Why are you up here?” Aidan asked finally, his tone stuck somewhere between belligerent and annoyed.

“Wondering what you’re doing up here,” Jace said easily, and Aidan watched the lines of tension in his posture, the way his head was turned slightly towards Aidan even though he was staring at the ground, his stance careful not to lean too heavily on the railing.

“I’m not trying to spy on your clan,” Aidan scoffed.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“Like I care about your stupid compound anyway,” Aidan huffed, tracking Jace’s movements.  “I’m just here for my sister.”

“I’m aware,” Jace said, straightening up.  Aidan stilled, and watched as Jace crossed to the ladder.

“It’s cold up here,” Jace said, before he left.

Oh, he had no idea.

~#~

Part 4.

[justaghostingon]

Cogs in a Steel Heart

Chapter 2: Building Trust

Hugo struggles to adjust and Cyrus gets the tea. Aka. Hugo’s got a lot of complaining to do, and Cyrus is having way to much fun watching him struggle at the whole ‘teammates’ thing.

Link to ao3 version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24331849/chapters/59001811#workskin

The next time Hugo came to report to Cyrus, he and his new team had already completed the water trial. Now most people would be a bit more excited after completing an ancient trial that lay incomplete for centuries. Or maybe just twenty years? Cyrus wasn’t paying attention when Donella explained that. Point was, the way Cyrus saw it Hugo should have been happy, or at least proud.

He was not.

“It’s like pulling teeth with these people!” Hugo tugged at his own hair for emphasis. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive!”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow as the usually calm and in control Hugo proceeded to have as near to a tantrum as he’d ever gotten, ranting and waving his hands like a madman. It was almost...funny.

“The firecracker keeps interrupting me when I’m working, and posturing about catching me in my ‘evil’ scheme-” And heavens above, Hugo actually made air quotes. Cyrus hadn’t realized he even knew what those were, “-as if I’d ever be stupid enough to make something to defeat them in the middle of their camp, what kind of rookie does he think I am? All he’s really doing is getting underfoot when I am trying to help! I need this to work out too! He’s just...uugh!” He threw his hands in the air with such violence it sent him stumbling backwards into a tree.

Cyrus bit the inside of his lip as Hugo sprang back up to punch the tree and scream at it. Thugs don’t smile on the job, and never let it be said Cyrus was not a professional. But he’d never seen Hugo so completely frazzled by simple human interaction. It was karmic really, considering everything Hugo’s usual interactions with people.

Eventually Hugo’s strength gave out and he leaned his forehead against the tree, looking the picture of defeat. And really, if two kids was all it took to wipe him out, Cyrus should have recommended him for babysitting to his neighbors ages ago. Would be good for him.

Hugo let out a deep sigh as his shoulders sagged. “And then there’s Goggles,” he said as he turns himself around to face Cyrus. “He’s a whole ‘nother problem. Always trying to compare notes, talk about “how my day was,” showing off to the kid...” Hugo crosses his arms across his chest. “And he’s not even that good at it! Like half the things he makes blow up! But when I point out his errors, which could get us blown up mind you, he gets all passive-aggressive and tries to do it his way and like come on! I’m not going to die in an explosion because he’s too stubborn to take the help he obviously needs!” Hugo huffed and turned his head away.

“If they are such a hindrance, why not just take both the totems and complete the trials by yourself?” Cyrus points out. As much as he was loving this, they did have a schedule to keep, and the sooner they were done, the sooner they could both go home. He’d get to see Mona in person again, instead of the picture tucked safely against his heart and her daily letters.

Hugo shifted from foot to look, hugging his arms close. “They might not be completely useless in trials,” Hugo grumbled. Then jumped up. “Not that I don’t do most of the work! like 95 percent really, they couldn't do it without me at all.” He ran his fingers through his hair and refused to meet Cyrus’s eyes.

Oh no. Cyrus knew that look. That’s the ‘I screwed up look.’ But surely it couldn’t be too bad, the trial was complete after all.

“But they might have helped a bit at the end there, especially with the final test,” Hugo finished. “I didn’t see through the enchantment like at all, but Goggles,” Hugo sighed. “He pushed it off like it was nothing and dragged me and Firecracker out all by himself.”

Oh. That wasn’t so bad. Why had he been so upset about that? Donella had told him to infiltrate for a reason. His mind flashed back to the first mission he’d ever had with the kid.

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

“What did you do?” Hugo screamed in his face, half soaked and feral as a wild cat.

“My job,” Cyrus replied as he pushed the body out of his way in the rain soaked street.

“You ruined the job!” Hugo threw a hand down towards the body between them. “It took me months to get him to trust me!”

Cyrus crossed his arms. “He was about to kill you.” Kill didn’t quite cut it. Rip in half was more fitting, and much as Cyrus disliked the kid, the scene of the twig-like body struggling against an iron grip as the man’s expression twisted into one of sadistic delight...

“I had it handled!” Hugo snarled. “I could have stopped him in a hundred different ways!”  He shoved a finger in Cyrus’s chest. “Now we’ll never know where the supply was coming from, and it's all because of you!”

Cyrus slowly reached out and pushed the fingers down. Hugo’s expression tightened for a second under his grip. “My orders were to ensure that man was not a threat. He was a threat. Therefore, I did my job.” He let go and Hugo instantly jumped back, clutching his hand close to his heart and eyeing Cyrus with fury in his eyes.

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

“Hmmm,” Cyrus mused. Out of the corner of his eye, Hugo flinched at the sound. “Did you say thank you?” Cyrus asked.

Hugo’s head snapped up. “What?”

“When someone saves you, normally you’re supposed to say thank you,” Cyrus shrugged. “It’s polite.”

Hugo stared at him, mouth hanging open. “I-I totally forgot about that.”

“Might want to give it a shot,” Cyrus pushed off his own tree and started walking away. “See you next week!”

Behind him Hugo let out a very frustrated groan.

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

“And then he goes to the boss, whining about how trigger happy I am. Me!” Cyrus took a sharp swig from his drink, feeling the alcohol burn its way down. “After I saved his life!” He smashed the cup down on the table.

“Hey man, I get it,” Lester gives him a hearty slap on the back. “I served my time with the crazy lady and the brat.”

“He’s something else alright,” Cyrus scowled into his drink. “Like some kind of heartless machine.” He turned to look Lester in his slightly blurry face. “You know his eyes were completely blank when that guy was trying to kill him, it's like he wasn’t even there. Freaky.”

“Maybe the crazy lady made him in the back lab,” Lester jokes. “Explains why he never leaves.”

“Makes sense,” Cyrus’s grip tightened on the handle of his mug. “Robot designed to make thugs miserable.”

“Hey man.” Lester shoved him lightly with his shoulder. “You can always quit like I did.”

“Yeah,” Cyrus took another swig and sighed. “But winter is coming, and Mona and I can’t really afford me outta work right now.”

“That sucks man,” Lester took a sip of his own drink. “Hey!” he slammed the mug down so quickly Cyrus nearly fell out of his seat. “I think I know a guy who can help you!”

Cyrus shook his head as he righted himself on his stool. “You do? What’s his name?”

Lester went cross eyed as he tried to think. “No idea,” he said, and grinned. “But when I do I’ll let you know!”

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

Hugo’s team had barely crossed the border to the next kingdom by the time it came for Hugo’s next report, a fact that Cyrus hoped would mean it was mercifully short. He was wrong.

Hugo seemed in a better mood as he approached, arms loose and swinging. “I’ve got some good news for the report,” he said with a two fingered salute.

Cyrus grunted, and Hugo took that as an opportunity to launch into an elaborate story about him and Firecracker. Apparently Hairstripe, who Cyrus assumed was Goggles and not the donkey, had suggested Hugo and Firecracker go on an errand for “team bonding.” Hugo had added air quotes around the last two words, and heavens was that going to become a thing?

According to Hugo, the whole trip had been an absolute bore, in some nowhere town where the only building of consequence seemed to be the jailhouse, (A jailhouse Cyrus did not remember being there when he’d passed through) which had quickly turned into an unmitigated disaster when some noisy shopper had tried to steal their ingredient from Hugo’s hands.

“Well I wasn’t going to stand for that,” Hugo rolled his eyes. “But the shopkeeper was inhuman, I’m telling you. I couldn’t schmooze anything more than a promise not to sell it until sunset, and then only to the party with the most money by the end of the day.”

“How unfeeling,” Cyrus states dryly.

“I know right?” Hugo huffed as he placed a hand on his chest. “No one can resist my schmoozing!” Where was I? Oh yes. Then Firecracker insisted we work for the extra money.” He spat the word work like it was an insult. “Instead of just scamming some quick cash. I pointed out we couldn’t exactly get a job, and he said we could just sell firecrackers.”

Oh that’s going to make this story confusing Cyrus thought. Firecracker selling Firecrackers, it sounds like a kids rhyme Mona would read to the kids next door.

“Meanwhile our dear commentators were doing absolutely nothing with their time, even as we started getting quite a few customers. So naturally I schmoozed up to them to figure out what was going on,” Hugo flipped his hair dramatically.

Cyrus raised an eyebrow. Some confidence after it failed you so miserably earlier in the day, he didn’t say.

“But the blind fools were completely unimpressed,” Hugo pouted. “And then they tried to frame me for thievery. Me!”

The sheer look of outrage on Hugo’s face made the corner of Cyrus’s mouth twitch up. So much for schmoozing.

“I escaped, naturally.” Hugo waved his hand in the air. “But Firecracker got caught when they accused him of stealing their fireworks.”

At which point Hugo derailed the story to rant about how he didn’t really want to save the kid, really! But there was no way Hairstripe would let him stay if he didn’t bring him back, so he really didn’t have a choice, blah, blah, blah.

Honestly it sounded more like Hugo was trying to justify it to himself after the first thirty minutes, but who was Cyrus to judge?

“The point is,” Hugo said as he finally stopped ranting, “I went to the jail as the sun was rapidly sinking in the sky, certain we were going to lose. Only to see the jailhouse before me explode into a gazillion pieces as Firecracker came running out the side.”

That explains why I didn’t see the jail house, Cyrus thought, and why there was a burning pile of rubble while I was walking through.

“Firecracker was pretty happy to see me,” Hugo smirked. “Apparently he didn’t think I would actually come back for him. I asked how he managed to blow up the building when the police had taken all his supplies. Turns out exploding moss grows on old brick. Who knew right?”

“Who indeed,” Cyrus said.

“And this,” Hugo raised a single finger. “Is where I succeeded in forwarding my infiltration goal. You see, I proposed a fiendishly clever plan to get revenge on those who robbed us, and get the prize, and you know what? Yong actually listened to me! He totally backed me up when I told them the exploding moss was a rare alchemic ingredient, and didn’t even lose his cool when one of them held a knife to his neck and demanded we tell them how to use it!”

Hugo threw back his head and laughed at the memory. “The look on his face when it exploded in his hands is one I will treasure for years,” he gasped as he wiped away a tear.

“And exploding a rival helps with your infiltration how?” Cyrus crossed his arms.

“I’m building trust,” Hugo waved the question away.

“Blowing people up doesn’t seem like the most trustworthy habit,” Cyrus pointed out. Especially for someone who is trying not to get himself caught by unstable alchemists willing to destroy whole buildings.

“Oh please, the kid blows up everything in his path if he can help it. I’m just speaking his language. Besides,” Hugo’s shoulders straightened. “I can’t keep up the goody-two shoes act twenty-four seven. I’d go mad. But this way, I’m causing problems for them. So they’ll see me as an asset they can exploit and keep me around.”

Assets for exploitation weren’t typically sent on feel-good-get-along missions with teammates, Cyrus didn’t say. No one cares enough to try to make their work life pleasant. He should know. He had worked for Donella for six years. This Hairstripe, or Goggles, or whatever his real name was, seemed to genuinely want Hugo to feel at home, despite his less than stellar introduction.

But there was no sense pointing that out to Hugo, he thought as he watched the boy preen under the weight of his own cleverness. Not when they had a mission to complete. The less Hugo noticed, the less it would hurt when he inevitably had to leave.

[genuflectx]

Giant Moth/OC

Length: 9,680 words

Main Kinks: oviposition, fluff/romance, blood, giant insect, insect genitalia, cervix penetration,

Other Warnings: thunder storms, dubious consent to egg laying, larva, pain (neck + shoulder), third person writing, she/her pronouns, being torn up by a thorn bush, language barriers,

1/12/2020: THIS IS A REPOST!

All images in aesthetic board are labeled for reuse with modification or are mine.

Evening crickets sang away in the sunset. Dim, pulsing stars faded into the darkness of the upper sky. And Whisper, using the lowered temperature to get some gardening done, was short one crucial tool. She looked down at the pretty blue flowers resting in their biodegradable pots and dusted off her gloves. This would be easier with a trowel.

The twenty-three year old peeled off the leather from her hands and went around the house towards her storage shed. Her long, light brown pony tail bobbed as she strode with purpose, and her tattered denim short-shorts rubbed roughly together at the thighs.

She creaked open the rotting shed door from which dust and shadow poured out into the evening. Flecks floated across the seams of sunset. Inside the shed her eyes adjusted, and she squinted up at the feathery sound of wings. For a second there was nothing, but then, screeching in a panic, a barn owl swooped down from the rafters. Its wings hammered against the walls, missing the broken window by a few inches before successfully making it through. Feathers went askew and settled onto the boards below.

Whisper breathed out softly. Just a bird. She bent down a moment to collect one of the speckled feathers before searching for a trowel. The feather was placed on top of a worn table as her eyes grazed the scene. One day she ought to tidy the little shed up, as she was already having trouble finding her tools.

She wiped her glasses then began to plot out the rest of her night as she searched. Ultimately, she decided that after a bit of much needed garden time, she would get some actual work done at her computer. Working from home wasn’t just fun and games. She had to support herself and pay for her house after all, as the tiny inheritance from her mother surely wasn’t what kept her afloat. So; find the trowel, plant the flowers, work at computer. That would wrap up the night nicely.

She peeked around a pile of crumpled, damp boxes. Nothing. She ducked under the high, wide desk. Just junk. She eyed the hooks dangling from their holes. They sported an array of goodies but lacked the tool she needed.

Whisper sighed. She turned and zoned out a bit, thinking. Coming out of her short stupor, she noticed a sliver of thin green fabric across the boards, the rest hidden from view. It fluttered ever so gently with what Whisper assumed had been a draft. She didn’t recall storing old blankets or clothes in the shed.

“Hm,” she hummed curiously.

Without any reserve Whisper bent and grasped the tattered sliver and began to pull, and in a split second response the fabric pulled back. A screech. She’d been found!

A pile of junk clattered and fell, forcing a cry from a surprised and trapped Whisper. In a blur, something climbed away sending thick layers of dust everywhere. Whatever it was crossed the pile then clambered in a blind panic towards the open door.

Whisper kicked off all the junk and slipped backwards on her bottom, eyes wide and following the rapid abscond. What the fuck! Now THAT was not a bird! Had a rabid coyote taken residence in her humble little shed?

In no time she was scrambling to her feet and giving chase; no- not a dog- a human? Had there been some creep in her shed? But something about the figure had been wrong. She shuttered, horror chilling her blood.

Outside, Whisper saw nothing. No sign of the person- the creature- whatever it had been. She breathed heavily and shook. The thought to rip her phone from her pocket and dial the police crossed her mind.

The sound of urgent rustling and fearful clicking drifted to her ears. She looked this way and that, and determined it to be coming from the treeline near her house. Legs brought her forward on their own. She picked up a fallen branch on the way.

Then, there it was. She stood stunned, eyes glued to the scene and knees threatening to give out. A sort of giant insect was thrashing in terror and pain in the blackberry patch near the wood entrance. Its body and wings were ripping against the curved thorns in an attempt to escape. Even with such an expressionless mug, Whisper could sense the fear in the bug’s eyes and the urgency in the clicking of its strange mouth.

Two words flashed across her mind. It’s helpless.

Rearing her stick back she tread carefully forward, inspecting the situation.

It froze, panting desperately. Then, after but a moment of rest, it struggled again with all its might.

Whisper could see a hole tearing into the middle of a wing. She stopped again and stared, blood rushing to her head and cheeks. Among the shock, she was trying to think. How to get it out? What happened if it bit her and off popped her fingers?

Just then the insect realized it was being watched and yanked this way and that, before chittering in pain and ceasing to struggle for a second time. This time, it had given up. At least for a little while.

Whisper moved slowly closer, and closer, and closer. She met eyes with the insect and tried to look as non-threatening as she could. The stick dropped to meet the dirt gently. Unarmed, and moving with generous, open aired stillness, Whisper set about to releasing the creature.

It leaned away, huffing heavily with exhaustion and fear. Whisper persisted with the courage of a farmer releasing a coyote from a barbed wire fence. Her pupils shifted up for a wary glance, then back down to her nimble hands as she carefully pinched the bridge of a wing between fingers. The bug shuttered, wing quivering under touch.

“It’s alright,” she whispered gently. “I just want to help,”

With her other hand she steadily peeled back a branch of bramble prickling at the wing. Below, more thorns stabbed at the thin mesh, but with a quick flutter the one free wing saluted generally out of harm’s way.

Whisper freed the secondary wing, which pressed up against the first. Then, she circled around with the insect’s head following her the whole way, and picked at the other wings. Once more the wing shuttered against her fingers, though this time Whisper noted that the shake traveled upwards into the bug’s one good antenna. The other was broken a quarter of the way up. Her heart sank with sympathy.

And soon it was free. She bumbled backwards as the moth painstakingly let its body take the blunt of the thorns, wings tiredly at attention. It stumbled on through the rest of the bush to alleviate itself, before skittering away into the forest as if set aflame. It didn’t even look back. Whisper watched the pale green fade away into the thicket.

She stood there a while longer before wandering back to the house in a haze. There was mist over her mind, clouding her inner thoughts. She nearly ran into the door. Whisper found herself slumped into the welcoming embrace of a loveseat, head in hand, and brain trickling with unanswered questions.

The facts: it was a giant bug, it was probably a moth, it specificity resembled a luna moth, it was scared of her, it did not attack her, it was severely injured, and it had been living in her shed.

Whisper drummed her fingers on her chin.

The questions: where did it come from, how had it been injured, why was it so big, why did it not bite her, how could it walk, and was it even supposed to have a mouth?

By the time she had regained some of her wits, the sun had sank deep into the earth. She went outside to shut the shed, and then decided to sleep. Sleep decided it didn’t care. She tossed and turned in her king sized bed. The lulling crickets did nothing to sooth her whirring gears, so at around midnight she got back up to try and read.

What better literature to read on a night like this than literature on alien abductions? She’d read the book a hundred times over, and yet read it some more. The low light of her lamp brightened the red of her closed curtains and yellowed the pages of her book. It was about when she’d gotten to a section on lost time when she heard the distant creeeak-clank-clank of her shed door opening and shuttering closed.

Her blood began to grow cold, as if twisting right the hot-water valve of a bath to run cool. A peek towards the grandfather clock told her it was one in the morning now. She sat her book down and looked out of the curtains, but it was too dark to see.

She began to recall the feral cats of her childhood. Whisper retrieved a few slices of cantaloupe from her fridge, placed them into a bowl, and returned to the shed door with flashlight in hand. In a tediously slow act, she carefully grasped the handle, pulled it open just enough for the bowl, then placed the gift directly inside. Door closed, she went back to her cozy little house.

Feral cats, she remembered, could have their trust gained with the process of slow conditioning. Whisper had no doubt that the strange moth had returned. If it ate, perhaps it ate fruit? She was scared, but didn’t feel like she was in any danger. It was just a bug. A giant bipedal bug. With gnashing mouth parts. And, even if there was some sort of danger, it was injured and she was strong.

After setting out the bowl, sleep found Whisper and complied to her will. She drifted off into dreams, and awoke far too early. The book was where she left it on her bedside table, and her curtains were partially pulled back from the night before.

She went outside before the shed door and hesitated. When she eventually got her courage back she peered inside, down at the bowl. Empty. A stupid smile sprawled over her face against her will. Whisper was delighted. If the insect had any notion of finding a different shelter before, now it certainly did not. Feed a feral cat, and it would never leave.

Soon she was filling the bowl with strawberries, canned peaches, and mixed fruit cups. This time she’d enter the building. Inside there was no sign of the moth, but she knew it had to be there, hiding.

“I brought you more food,” she explained quietly.

Whisper left the bowl further inside, away from the door. She hoped to keep pushing her limits, and then maybe one day the creature would eat straight from her hand. Another grin etched over her at the idea.

Whisper worked at her computer all day, keeping herself busy. Sometimes she’d stare out the window wistfully, before snapping back to her work. At lunch time she wondered if it was cold in the shed at night, and if the moth would appreciate bedding.

She gathered up a quilt her grandmother had made and opened the shed, just to see the form of the moth fidgeting with the empty bowl. The movement of the door startled it, and in one swift movement the bowl clattered and rolled as the moth climbed over junk and sank behind some old storage tubs.

Whisper stood in the doorway, unsure what to do. After a few seconds the chill in her blood dissipated. “I thought maybe.. you’d like a blanket?” she peeped.

At the sound of her voice, a nervous moth poked its head around the pile of plastic. It watched her warily as she shuffled inside and slowly lowered the quilt to the dusty boards. They stared one another down until Whisper backed out, nearly tripping in the process.

She was gone again, the human was gone. She brought food, but what does she bring now? She crawled out of hiding into the middle of the room, lifting the ancient blanket close to her face. Soft, soft, soft. This is good!

The quilt was dragged away into the depths of the shed, patted neatly into a corner, and promptly settled upon. Soft soft soft. She liked soft. She did not like this dirty, damp, old shed. But she needed soft. She liked soft.

Her wings were tattered, her homing was screwy, and her belly was slowly growing heavy. The kindness of a terrifying species perplexed her, but for now she was alive. Alive was what mattered. Alive was what drove her. Stay alive.

With food in her stomach and blanket underneath, she stilled and dozed off.

A few days went by for Whisper. She had gotten very little contact from the creature taking refuge in her shed. She’d set out what she had to eat at least twice a day, and quickly found herself having to buy more fruit.

Days got hotter as spring slowly evolved into summer. Her guest, she fretted, may actually start to get too hot cooped up in there. She could try and run an extension cord outside and set up a fan, but then she got nervous that the moth would become curious and lose a finger to the blades. Whisper sighed. She’d think about it later.

Today, she decided, she would do more gardening. The front was lined with beautiful blooming blue flowers, but the back was pretty darn empty. Besides, maybe her new friend enjoyed flowers. She had grown wildflower mix, plus some sweet basil, indoors for a few weeks and was ready to set them outside.

Potting soil, check. Watering can, check. Trowel, missing. Right, she had never actually found what she needed the last time she had gardened. She’d just have to dig through all her garbage again in an attempt to find the miniature shovel.

The shed door squeaked and scraped as it swung carefully open, blowing out heated air into Whisper’s ruddy face. She fanned herself. Inside, her lungs struggled against the almost humid air circulating through the cluttered building. Being inside made her even more worried about the critter.

At the sound of footsteps, a certain someone showed her face. Whisper could see the twitching antenna before she saw the black, compounded, watchful eyes.

“Hello there,” she called quietly. “I’m just looking for something, it’s okay. I don’t have any food,”

So Whisper began, once more, to search. After a few moments of steady observation, the moth climbed atop of a stack of boxes, clinging to them with her six limbs. From her higher ground she watched her impromptu human-caretaker bending and shoveling and rearranging. She still didn’t totally trust this pink creature, but she did not feel threatened anymore. Instead, she was curious.

What was she looking for? Soon the beet red girl was akimbo and panting. The hairless face peered up at her and the moth flinched.

“Do you know where the trowel is?”

Silence.

The girl rubbed her chin, grabbed a crumpled piece of paper and a stick of square graphite, and scribbled unsteadily. Then, she lifted up the drawing into the light for the moth to see. She pointed at it.

“This. A trowel. Have you seen it? Can you understand any of this?”

The moth cocked her head and stared. Whisper sighed and dropped her arm. Then in one swift motion the moth returned to her hiding spot and started to rummage ruthlessly. Whisper, having not noticed, continued to look.

A few minutes passed, and Whisper was about to give up. Then a clink-clank clattered in the middle of the shed, causing her to start and jolt around. The bowl from which Whisper fed her insect friend wobbled, upset by the weight of the metal inside of its maw. The trowel!

She rushed forward and retrieved it from the bowl, looking up with a wide grin spread across her red cheeks. The moth stayed about a foot away and closed in around itself, her too-long wings swaddling her. Scared, but not absconding.

Whisper looked from the tool to her new friend, and in desire to show her gratitude, she slowly stepped forward. The moth lowered herself down even more, antenna back and eyes ever watching. When Whisper got close, she opened and snapped her vertical jaws in quick succession.

Clickclickclickclickclick.

The human stopped. She was giving the other time to dart away, but she never did. Whisper reached out a hand, prompting the insect to duck her head even further and to lay her antenna nearly flat against her cranium.

“Thank you,” whispered the grateful human.

A gentle hand just barely placed itself on top of the moth’s head. She affectionately moved her thumb across the dusty fur, before removing the appendage. She didn’t want to spook the thing more than it already was.

The moth looked up in awe. Whisper was already walking away! Encouraged and emboldened by the kind touch, the insect scrambled after her on her six legs. She stood up at the open shed door, watching from the frame as Whisper went back to her gardening, trowel in hand.

She put her gloves on, dug out a small hole with the little tool, and buried a biodegradable pot in the ground. Whisper loved wildflowers. They were so good for the local bees and gave nutrition to the soil. She smiled, and continued planting as sweat trickled down her face and arms. Her glasses slid down and she wiggled them back up by scrunching her sharp nose.

The moth glanced up at the hot sun. She shuttered away back into the darkness of the shed, but then found herself again suffocating in the confined space. She looked longingly again out at the back of the working human. She looked at the trowel in Whisper’s hand. She looked at the flowers. Then, she decided.

Whisper peeked over her shoulder when she thought she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She squeaked, falling on her butt. T-the bug! She was right there! She was all opened up, standing at her full five foot height, and eying Whisper with confusion.

Why fall over? wondered the moth. She wasn’t that frightening of a creature to have warranted such a response. In any case, Whisper had fallen out of the way. She left a lovely line to the freshly planted wildflowers that looked absolutely delectable. Fruit was good, but flowers were better.

She got down and crawled forward, maw parting to allow her long, curled tongue to slither out. Her antenna twitched as she poked at a pink clover. Yum yum yum! It wrapped tenderly around the stalk then retreated back into her mouth, taking it all with her. Her jaw snapped and crushed the tasty little morsel. She hadn’t had flowers in a while, and was tickled inside and out!

Whisper watched, dumbfound. Her guest began to munch away at everything she had just planted. Whisper looked horrified and rose her palms up.

“No! D-don’t eat those, it took a month to grow those flowers!”

The moth flinched, stopped eating for but a second, then snagged more clover. She chomped down, then sat on her bottom and stared at Whisper. She didn’t understand language, but she could certainly tell the other was displeased with her. It was hard to feel frightened or upset with a belly full of such wonderful treats.

With happiness, the moth tilted her head back and screeched, bottom limbs stretching as she expelled her excitement. Then she kept staring. How could someone who gave her something so nice be scary? This was a good creature. A very good creature.

A skinny, alien arm extended outward towards the fur-less animal. It touched Whisper’s head then returned to its owner.

Whisper took the gesture in. The other had… mimicked her. A smile slowly etched over her, and then she bore shining teeth. She couldn’t remain upset at the half eaten flower bed any longer. “Y-you’re… very intelligent,” she stated.

The moth’s jagged mouth was still grinding now and then, as if still processing the dessert. Whisper watched her a second more before sighing. She stood up and offered a hand down.

“Do you… want to come inside my house? Where it’s nice and cool?”

The other didn’t understand, but clasped the offering anyways. They stood, and Whisper lead her through the back door.

“You’ll be more comfortable in here,” Whisper smiled, closing the door behind them. “But if you make a mess… you’re going back outside,” she added.

Instantly the insect melted over the couch. Astounding. Ahhh, the air was so comfortable and refreshing, and this bedding was far more superior than the quilt in the hot shed.

She murmured and wrapped herself up in her long tattered wings. Her body was heavy and tired. She felt so weighed down, perhaps this was a proper place to rest. With her companion around she was safe, even if the area where she lay was open and exposed.

It took some getting used to have such a strange roommate. The moth napped often on the couch, and occasionally the rug, but had taken to nesting in her bathtub. The living room was a perfectly good place to roost, but when it became dark, or when the moth was left alone, she preferred to burrow into her ocean of blankets inside the curvature of porcelain. It made waking up to pee at one in the morning difficult.

Over the next few weeks, Whisper began to compile an essay inside her frenzied brain on exactly JUST how smart the bug was. The essay, however, was argumentative and addressed to herself. She was trying to decide what it was that this thing was, and why it was such.

At first she only seemed to understand pictures, but not words. If presented with the image of an apple and asked with a specific tone of voice, Whisper could urge the moth to fetch an apple from the kitchen. Just like with the trowel.

The moth learned quickly. After a few times, she understood what ‘apple’ meant. Whisper ended up doing this with several foods, until the creature could generally pick out ingredients from the kitchen with ease when requested. For some reason though, the moth apparently refused to understand 'cinnamon,’ or at least pretended to.

This was also the method Whisper used to give her a name. Clover. Green, pink, soft and sweet. Clover; the perfect name. She would always respond to the word with a twitch of her antenna and focused eyes on Whisper. It was endearing.

Despite decent memorization skills, writing was impossible. Upon attempting to teach her how to write out a-p-p-l-e, Clover became aggravated and all but ate the paper. But, when watching Whisper poorly draw an apple, she became compliant again and mimicked the shape well enough with her opposable tongue around a pencil. Clover could draw generally well if shown, but it did not come naturally.

So, as far as language went, the moth was certainly clever. Perhaps not on par with humanity, but self aware and able to understand. She was simply more visual than a human. Whisper couldn’t help but wonder if writing would be simpler to teach if the moth were young.

Clover had a sense of time. She has issues with individual numbers when written, however she started to understand the 'number’ of a time with tick marks and fingers. Like most animals, including humans, she was able to distinguish numbers when she saw them. Two fingers was two fingers. Two fingers means it is a specific part of the evening or morning. Though, unlike Whisper, she did not care for specific time and preferred her internal clock. Morning, evening, dusk, night. That’s all there was and should be. She didn’t like reading Whisper’s fingers.

And, perhaps Whisper’s favorite characteristic of the insect’s intelligence, was her emotional intelligence. Despite not being of the same species, Clover caught on to Whisper’s wide range of expressions within days of moving in. She easily understood Whisper’s tone. Most interestingly of all, the moth had once tried to comfort her.

It had been about a week and a half prior to the current essay Whisper was formatting inwardly. She had gotten a call from her father, who informed her that Whisper’s grandmother had passed. Though they’d never been terribly close, her grandmother was a sweet woman who babysat her often as a child. She had made her that quilt. There were fond memories.

So Whisper had been sad. Clover had sensed this in her voice and downcast expression. When Whisper let herself gently cry the moth had chittered next to her, stared as she was prone to do, and bundled her up into her long, soft wings. She had attempted to socially groom Whisper’s hair to bring the girl some comfort, and Whisper had appreciated it greatly. Then, the next morning, Whisper woke to Clover holding the half-empty bread bag at her bedside, wanting to feed her sad friend.

Modernly, Whisper was thinking in her chair. Or she was at least trying to, but the moth was apparently in a very pleasant mood and causing quite the distraction.

The critter was on all sixes on top of Whisper’s bed. She occasionally bobbed her head like an excitable lovebird and chirped at her. Her wings shook, as if preparing for flight on a chilly winter morning. Then, without warning, she flipped over on her back and kicked all the covers off the bed. Clover was bored.

Whisper sighed, slumping her cheek against her palm. She rose a brow.

“Think you’re done?”

Clover tilted her head back and looked at the human upside down. She clacked her jaws then turned to her belly and crawled off the bed. Soon she made it over and plopped her head into Whisper’s lap, big compound eyes shining up into Whisper’s neutral ones. Sometimes Whisper wondered what went on in the bug’s brain.

Their eyes remained locked until Whisper smiled softly. She forgot all about her internal essay and instead laid a hand on the mop of curly fur to finger through the wavy strands.

The moth relaxed, shoulders going slack. If she could shut her eyes, she would have. Yes, attention! Attention! She just wanted attention. It seemed like she always wanted attention. Lately she found herself moody and more affectionate. She just wanted to curl up and be petted, or to be laid back and hand fed sweet tasting flowers, preferably the ones of her namesake.

She cooed and rested her cheek against Whisper’s lap drowsily, energy expended. She had also been napping more frequently than usual. It was getting close to that time. Whisper didn’t seem to notice the rounder lower belly or the way her abdomen was starting to swell. She couldn’t sense changes in pheromones, the poor animal did not bare sensitive antennas.

The moth was pregnant, and it was nearing time to lay her fertilized eggs. Clover could imagine cuddling up to her larva and feeding them all manor of good food. Certainly here there was no shortage of it. Fruits, flowers, maybe she’d even go out and collect leaves. She clacked happily and nuzzled against Whisper’s soft, warm thigh.

She had also grown rather attached to Whisper. Her own kind could be dimwitted and selfish. They would leave you. But Whisper was smart and strong and kind. Whisper would protect her and the children. She hoped she never had to leave the safety of the confined, air conditioned spaces that smelled of her human’s skin and dander.

In Whisper’s lap was creation; the accumulation of generations. Evolution had somehow birthed this monster, who was sweetly snuggling up to her for a kind hand in her hair. The soft strands that fluffed up dust as she pet them comforted her. Her feral cat certainly did love touch. Whisper idly examined the head in her lap. She glanced over the hexagons of the eye, the slope of the jaw, and finally stopped over the broken antenna.

It was obvious it would never grow back, or else it would have by now. Whisper sometimes stared at it and felt her heart break, imagining how the creature could have possibly lost it. How dampened were Clover’s senses? Her hand traveled up and just barely graced against one of the shortened prongs.

Clover jerked in surprise, her head coming back up off the thigh. Click click. She studied Whisper, who was looking concerned.

“Does that hurt?”

She could sense that Whisper may have been worried that she’d been pained. Her head went back down to the inviting lap, showing she was perfectly fine. She’d just been surprised at the sudden touch was all. Whisper had never touched her antennas before. In fact, she wasn’t even sure if any other moth had either.

Her antenna were very sensitive instruments. They collected information about smells and sounds, and were immensely delicate. Perhaps their sensitivity to touch was comparable to a soft caress against one’s fingertips, or to the fleshy skin of the lips. To that knowledge, Clover’s antenna tingled.

Having returned to her position, Whisper assumed Clover was giving her the okay. She relaxed again, reaching out. The back of her fingers brushed against the prongs of the broken antenna, and Clover’s wings shuttered. Whisper felt her heart thump too hard.

Clover rolled her head, placing her whole face against the lap so that both of her antenna were exposed. She was opening them up to touch. Giving permission, Whisper thought. She didn’t know why it made her blush, but it did.

She held her hand palm up, and brushed it with the utmost care through the underside of the longer antenna. She went from base to tip, prongs flicking against fingers like a stick to a fence, and this time Clover’s whole body shook. Whisper swallowed thickly and returned to petting Clover’s head instead. The shaking stopped, and Whisper noticed that Clover released the tension she’d apparently been holding.

Feeling somewhat uneasy, Whisper let a hot breath slip from between her thinly lined lips. “It’s late, we should rest,” and knowing that Clover likely understood very little besides 'rest,’ added “Let’s go to sleep,”

Sleep, she understood sleep. Clover’s face lifted and she leaned away, thinking. Then, after a twitch of the antenna, she stood and patted Whisper on the head twice and left the bedroom. Sleep meant bathtub time.

With the moth gone relief washed over Whisper. Whatever had been ailing her recently felt much like a coiled spring in her gut, and it only released when she found herself alone. After a few weeks watching, talking to, and caring for Clover, the coil had begun to form. Specifically, it seemed to have started the day Whisper wandered into the kitchen to find that Clover had attempted to make her breakfast. Breakfast naturally consisted of buttered bread, two gooey eggs in a cold skillet, and a bowl of soggy cereal.

Whisper peeked out from behind the curtains. No moon or stars. The woods were pitch black, and she couldn’t see her shed at all. In the far distance, she saw the faint flicker of light against the sky. The summer storms had started. She hoped her outdoor plants could hold their own, and hoped with all her heart that Clover could too. It would get loud.

With that final thought, Whisper turned out the light and got cozy under the covers. Sleep washed over her like a crescendo of crickets and frogs. In her deep sleep she was not awoken by the cackling thunder that shook her walls. She was not awoken by the abduction-esque flicker of bright light through her curtains, and she was not awoken by her bedroom light being abruptly switched on at three in the morning. She was, however, startled quite awake when Clover screeched into her ears and shook her violently.

“Clover, Clover! Whhh- it’s oookay!” she slurred, brain still fogged over despite the adrenaline quickening her pulse.

She had just barely sat up in bed before Clover had attached herself to her body. Colors swirled in her vision and she struggled to slow her heart, but eventually her eyes focused again and calm breathing settled her heart.

The human rubbed Clover’s shaking back as the poor thing tittered. Those were the most pitiful sounds she’d heard in her god damn life.

“Shhhh, it’s just thunder and rain, you know what thunder and rain is,”

Clover squeaked and pressed her face tight against Whisper’s neck.

“Clover,” Whisper said. “Clover, dear, you’re going to choke me to death. Death, Clover, I said DEATH,”

She let up, but only enough to release her upper set of arms from around Whisper’s constricted body. Now they were face to face, and Clover was staring at Whisper for guidance.

Whisper wanted nothing more than to wrap her wings around the scared moth, just as she had done when Whisper was sad. She simply had no wings to wrap. For a long moment they shared eye contact, before Whisper patted the bed.

“Come up here,” she said calmly through drowsiness.

Clover obeyed and skittered up, but she remained pressed hard against Whisper’s side. With some fussing, Whisper got Clover under the blankets and bundled the softest one around her shivering body. Whisper’s comforting presence and the confined weight of the blanket alleviated some skittishness, but Clover was still very much on edge.

Whisper petted her and watched her body language as they sat silently in bed, listening to the rumble outside that knocked a stray branch against the roof.

The moth wished she could communicate better. If only humans could detect the subtle changes in air borne pheromones or the variance in jaw clicking, then Whisper would understand her gratefulness.

She’d gone to nest easily, then at some point a massive beast battered the house and lit the small bathroom window. Clover has held out as long as she could, but her instinct to flee overcame in the end. That’s how she ended up in Whisper’s surprised arms. That’s why she was swaddled so carefully.

“We should go back to sleep,” mumbled Whisper, eyes barely open.

Clover scooted closer, her pathetic keening over. She trusted that she would live, so long as Whisper was not afraid. But she refused to leave.

Whisper gave a half yawn and wrapped her arm around Clover, holding her tight as she said “Alright, you can sleep with me tonight, just don’t wake me up again. I mean it. Please,”

So she turned out the light and climbed back into bed, forcing Clover to lay down and be still. Clover pressed taut against Whisper’s back, all six of her limbs holding on for dear life.

Whisper grumbled. Her body was flush against the feeling of being spooned. She figured Clover would stay close, but she was neither prepared for her internal reaction, nor the air being squeezed out of her. She squirmed and plucked at the two-fingered hands. Clover got the message and loosened up.

It was hard to fall asleep now. She was hyper aware of every slight move Clover made. Clover, too, appeared to have difficulty resting with the ear shattering rain flooding against roof tiles. After an hour, Whisper noted the slackness of Clover’s body against her own. She was asleep. Whisper smiled grimly. Clover found it easier to sleep through the terrifying sound than Whisper did with Clover touching her. That coil curled around her belly again, like butterflies flapping their wings in preparation to escape her throat.

Her back started to ache from laying so stiff. With much anxiety, Whisper slowly turned to her back, adjusting bug arms as she went. Clover stirred, and rested her forehead against Whisper’s cheek. For a moment Whisper worried that she’d woken her, but all she did as she shifted was slip a hand under Whisper’s gown and over her stomach.

Shitshitshit! Whisper stared at the ceiling. Her face wasn’t the only place radiating warmth. However Clover was still fast asleep, and Whisper was too stunned to dare remove the hand from her bare skin. It took her another hour and a half before she calmed herself enough to fall asleep, and by then the raging storm had slowed to a gentle downpour.

Whisper woke first. She’d slept an hour more than usual, a testament to her late slumber. When her eyes opened they met the lifeless ones of a still dreaming Clover. Seemed they were facing each other. The important thing to note was how Clover’s jaw was slack and drool was pooling on the pillow. Whisper carefully sat up and away from the cold damp stain before her ear got wet.

When Whisper went to her computer to work after breakfast Clover was still fast asleep. It was late in the evening before she barely stirred from her position in bed.

“Good morning sleepy head,” Whisper smirked. “you slept straight on til five!” she held up five fingers.

Clover chittered at the edge of the bed. She counted the fingers and rubbed her belly thoughtfully, before bolting up and skittering off to the kitchen for some dinner. Wow, she really passed the fuck out. Whisper had just been so warm! Her presence had worked magic and placed her into a deep, deep sleep. She felt so refreshed! So full of energy! So hungry!

Whisper stood against the mouth of the hall and watched a ravenous Clover rummage around for fruit. She ended up munching on a bag of grapes and nearly devoured half a watermelon. Whisper actually had to scold her, as Clover had bit straight into the rind instead of having the human slice the melon open. There was a bit of clean up.

The moth ended up sitting hunched on the couch, belly bloated from eating too much too fast. Whisper rubbed slow circles over her back while idly watching the television. Nothing was really on, so she casually listened to the gentle voice of a narrator walking her through a cheetah stalking its prey.

“Serves you right Clover,” Whisper tisked. “That rind didn’t go down easy did it! I bet none of the other mysterious giant insects are like this,”

Clover gurgled a pathetic response. She leaned against Whisper affectionately, making Whisper blush. The human continued to watch T.V. until the end of the documentary, and by then Clover felt better.

The moth wandered over to the window by the T.V. and poked her head around the curtains. She was satisfied to watch butterflies floating by and bees stopping to sample Whisper’s handiwork. But then on the bird feeder a disturbance caught her energetic attention. A squirrel! It was attempting to swipe bird feed for itself!

Clover tapped the glass, but the feeder hung far enough away from the house to not bother the rodent. The moth looked back at Whisper, who was flipping through stations randomly. Then she once more turned back to the squirrel. Clover bristled. In a flash she was at the front door, throwing it wide open and making a fuss at the fluffy thief.

It froze, swinging gently on the feeder. Clover stomped forward, wings held high and battering together. The great four eyes across the plains appeared to blink and flash at the innocent animal, effectively frightening the shit out of it. It fled to a tree with a warning cry.

Success! Perhaps she made for a better guard dog than feral cat. Clover stood under the humid gray sky, hands on her hips.

Whisper giggled from the concrete porch, and was replied to with a twitch of the antenna and a gleeful click of the jaw. Clover pointed at the feeder and looked between them excitedly.

Whisper giggled again. “Yes yes, I saw, you spooked the bejeebers outta that poor squirrel,”

Clover then simply stood there staring at the bird feeder. Eventually she tip-toed closer to the tree in the middle of the yard, examining the bark and looking up high into the oak branches. Her antenna perked up, dropped, then perked up, as if combing for information in the air.

Soon Whisper came out to her. She stood casually under the tree, watching her friend have her fun. Clover scrambled up onto a branch with ease and began collecting sun-soaked oak leaves, rodent forgotten.

“Whatcha’ doin’?” asked Whisper, amused.

Clover didn’t understand, but responded with little clicks anyway. Then she went still, antenna stiff. Whisper called to her and got no reply. She furrowed her brows. Suddenly Clover screeched, dropped her sizable collection of leaves, and clambered as fast as she could down the trunk. When a warm raindrop plopped against Whisper’s cheek she understood why. It was beginning to rain.

“Guess we’d better-”

SCREEECH!

Clover grabbed Whisper’s wrist and started to tug her away, but just as they’d barely stumbled from out under the tree a crack of thunder roared through the sky. The moth let go, nearly leaping a foot in the air with fright, then fell painfully onto her bottom. She whimpered.

“Come on come on,” fretted Whisper, pulling the poor thing up. “quickly, before we get electrocuted!”

Then the rain came down, down, down, with absolutely no regard for dry humans or moth dust. Summer storms sucked! Whisper thought the rain wouldn’t be here for at least another two hours, but the weather wasn’t always so easily predicted.

Whisper pretty much had to shove Clover on to get any ground covered, despite the fact they were just a few dozen feet from the door. The door was shut and locked, downpour content to rage on without them.

When Whisper turned with a sigh to address Clover, she found herself to be alone. Clover wasn’t in the living room. The wet trail of rainwater gave her a pretty good idea of where to find her, though.

She followed the trail down the hall, which turned off into the bathroom. In the middle of the bathtub was a shaking lump of blankets. Whisper flicked the light on and sat on her knees in front of the tub.

“Clover! It’s alright! No need to hide,”

Clover poked her head out at the voice, antenna laid back. She looked soaked; the rain had significantly dampened her fur. She felt gross and heavy. The quilt around her slacked as she reached out and hugged Whisper around the shoulders with her upper set of arms.

Whisper rubbed her back, but was gravely upset to find bits of fur rubbed off against her hand. No wonder why Clover was so terrified of storms! She sincerely hoped that grew back.

Thunder rumbled the house and the lights flickered then promptly went out. Clover clacked in response and stared at Whisper with uncertainty until Whisper climbed into the tub.

She found herself holding Clover gently while trying not to make any more bald spots. Despite the circumstances, Whisper was learning to accept the steady beat of her heart every time she had Clover against her body.

Clover had her head against the crook of the human’s neck. She was sitting sideways between Whisper’s legs, blanket against her back. She was in a calm, warm nook. It soothed her greatly. Then she jerked with surprise and shuttered; the familiar softness of Whisper’s fingers brushed against her intact antenna.

Whisper was slow and careful. She didn’t want to scare or upset Clover any more than the storm had. At least petting the antennas would not make fur rub off- that was the excuse she gave herself when she did it. The vibration against her skin nearly stopped her breathing. The reaction her body gave her made Whisper feel nothing short of guilt.

When Whisper stopped, eyes falling, Clover’s head nuzzled into her still lingering palm. She wanted her to continue. Whisper swallowed, letting her pointer go along a prong.

This time Clover’s hold tightened around her, her two-fingered hands clenching and unclenching. Thunder shook the house, and Clover didn’t even notice. She simply couldn’t help it. She was due any day now, and her poor swollen abdomen was aching to lay soon. The stimulation she’d been receiving as of late was begging her to do something. It was obvious to her that Whisper reciprocated, even if Whisper couldn’t tell there was anything to reciprocate to. Should she act?

Whisper’s hand stroked down the antenna, then down the broken one, and she whole hardheartedly wanted to kiss Clover on the side of her head. She took in a strained breath, then released it like a sigh. The thick atmosphere simultaneously put her systems on edge and made her want to fall into a nap with Clover in her arms.

“There, there,” she whispered. “are you feeling any better?”

Clover squeaked. It made Whisper grin and giggle. The grin quickly flipped to surprise as Clover’s second set of hands shifted down to her inner thighs. Whisper’s instinct was to jump away at such a bold touch, but the back of the bath held her firmly in place. Her hands went down and grabbed Clover’s wrists.

“C-Clover!” she stuttered, eyes wide. “Careful, we don’t… you don’t touch down there,” Whisper informed, assuming Clover was none the wiser to human anatomy. The moth obviously didn’t mean to act suggestively; she just didn’t realize how close she was to… Whisper’s face was beet red.

Of course, Clover’s senses were far better than Whisper’s. She knew what she was doing. She pulled her head away to look Whisper in the eyes, jaw making small chewing movements like in thought. Whisper eventually let go of her wrists, so Clover allowed them to remain planted motionlessly on the thighs. She didn’t risk moving them any further, even though she could pick up that Whisper was beyond flustered and accepting.

Clover kept her antenna low, and produced a quiet, comforting purr from her throat. It wasn’t exactly like a cat, but it was no doubt a purr. She parted her jagged jaw and lolled her insect tongue, which swiped across Whisper’s neck.

This time Whisper shuttered. She grimaced, legs subconsciously parting further, her hands to Clover’s slim hips. She already felt the throb between her legs, and felt terribly exposed with Clover there between them. She still had guilt, but there was also a part in her mind that was absolutely thrilled at the premise of being with anything non-human. Clover was no alien, but she was.. well, she was Clover. Adorable, compassionate, somewhat frightening Clover.

Clover leaned in again and licked her neck a second time, nice and slow. In response Whisper tilted her head, hands gripping firmly around Clover’s hips. Whisper could feel the sharp edges of Clover’s 'teeth,’ wrapping around her delicate flesh. She gasped when pressure was applied.

Now that Whisper was giving off more submissive vibes, Clover let her hands finally move again. The second set roamed down around the soft, fatty inner thighs, following the warmth to its center. Whisper gasped again, her grip on Clover’s hips becoming almost painful.

She purred more, the rumble moving through her teeth against Whisper’s neck. Relax. The hands rubbed at her crotch, then a finger poked at it. The moth was thoroughly annoyed that humans wore an outer skin. She took her teeth away and chittered, pulling at the edge of Whisper’s shorts.

Eyes half-lidded and lips parted, Whisper eventually helped to remove her shorts. It took a bit of re-adjusting in the blanket nest of the bath. She was fully giving into this. She was actually going to let Clover do- whatever it was Clover was going to do. How DID a giant insect have sex? She began to worry that they weren’t compatible.

Clover was satisfied with pressing her palm underneath the fabric of Whisper’s panties. They weren’t much of a hindrance, so she didn’t bother with attempting to yank them off.

The two sat on their knees, Whisper removed her glasses and leaned on Clover for support while Clover palmed at her wet folds. She pressed a finger to the entrance, not even trying to stretch her or wait. It didn’t come naturally to her kind to do 'preparations,’ it generally didn’t hurt and went quickly.

Whisper held on, head to her shoulder, while Clover probed her. Those teeth went to Whisper’s shoulder in turn, nuzzling her shirt away, and- and ow! Whisper lifted her head and hissed. She felt liquid run down the curve and stain her shirt’s collar.

“What the fuck Clover?” she chided.

Clover smacked her jaw and licked away at her stained mouth. She didn’t seem bothered at all that she’d just imprinted her teeth straight into Whisper’s flesh. Her tongue lapped over the wound, dragging blood into her mouth like a cat to the water bowl. She suddenly curved her finger and Whisper’s breathing hitched in surprise; the jolt of pleasure shot through her gut while her shoulder ached and oozed.

Then the hand was taken away. Clover roughly twisted Whisper, turning her around and pressing her to her hands and knees.

“I-” Whisper laughed dryly “-didn’t know y-you could be so.. imposing,”

Clover pressed her chest to Whisper’s back, nuzzling up against her affectionately. She cooed, her tail-like abdomen twitching. With the help of the tub and Whisper’s back, Clover all but held over her human caretaker, abdomen between her bottom set of arms like a scared dog. The swollen furry lump brushed against Whisper’s lower back and rear.

Whisper looked upside down between her arms, brows knitted. “So how are you going to… o-oh!”

A semi-prehensile ovipositor emerged from the tip of the abdomen.

“That’s how!” Whisper buried her face in the quilt below her. Grandmother forgive her for fucking on top of that lovingly handcrafted blanket.

The ovipositor struggled for a bit, poking at the damp panties before Whisper held them out of the way. She shut her eyes and took a breath. It pressed snug to her entrance and started to sink inside. Whisper let the breath slowly escape her lips as it filled her pussy. She ached a bit, as despite not being extremely thick, it had to have been at least nine inches long. Only about seven fit.

Clover seemed pleased. Her claws gripped Whisper tightly, holding her firmly in place as she started mating. She moved slightly, abdomen lifting a little then pressing back in. Clover kept an easy pace. Not too slow, not too fast.

Whisper hadn’t had sex in years, so her poor needy pussy produced more than enough lubricant for the deed. It clenched and unclenched around Clover’s ovipositor as she fucked her, drawing it in deeper whenever it plunged in. Clover made a low sound Whisper hadn’t heard before, prompting a smirk from the human below her.

“Is that good?” panted Whisper.

Clover clicked her jaws, thrusting in particularly hard and prompting a quiet groan from Whisper. After a few more lusty thrusts Whisper wiggled and urged Clover to move. Clover, annoyed and confused, complied with some loud complaining. She didn’t want to stop! Whisper was just being mean.

Whisper had Clover lay back, head and upper body cradled by the curve of the bath. She straddled her and then without any warning Clover pressed inside again, just as Whisper barely got situated. Whisper sighed, sitting down on it as far as she could. It was strange trying to ride an ovipositor that extended from the abdomen, but it felt great. The position hit a wonderful angle. Clover almost ceased moving all together while Whisper pleased her.

“Ahhh,” Whisper keened. She leaned, one hand propped against the bath rim and the other reaching out to stroke an antenna.

Clover’s whole body shook, and she started thrusting up again. She was erratic, barely able to take the stimulation of both forms of pleasure. Her first and second set of arms wrapped tightly around Whisper, dragging her down against Clover’s chest while she did the rest of the work. It didn’t take more than a few seconds more before her rough, deep thrusting halted inside of the human, and Clover’s mouth gripped a second time around Whisper’s exposed neck.

Whisper held deathly still, almost frightened that Clover would accidentally kill her. She felt the teeth press harder and harder against her neck, and she shut her eyes. A bit of blood dribbled, running down her collarbone, but it wasn’t significant enough to kill her. Sure did sting though.

Clover jerked. Another inch slipped in; eight wonderful, cervix penetrating, pulsating inches. Whisper was sore. What sounded almost like a relieved sigh escaped Clover’s clamped jaws as she began to finally deposit her eggs.

Whisper’s brows lifted and she struggled in the grasp, confused at the sensation of a hard lump passing through her canal. Clover, however, held on tight. Her jaws put down more pressure, keeping Whisper in place. Another puncture made Whisper hiss in pain. A second sliver-thin stream of blood pooled downward, joining the steadily drying blood on her collar.

“What are you doing, Clover?” whispered the human, throat in pain. “A-ah!”

Multiple eggs passed into her warm womb. Through the ache her legs shook, clit throbbing with desperate need for stimulation. She could feel the weight as it rounded her lower stomach with each intruding deposit.

With some careful, leisurely re-adjusting, Whisper slipped a hand between their compressed bodies without getting a fuss from her partner. She rubbed herself slowly, wrist rather tight on space to move.

Clover jerked again, and Whisper gasped, gritting her teeth. The last inch of the ovipositor slipped in. Inside, the appendage pumped three more fist-sized eggs through her pussy, each one rubbing along the tight inner walls. They pressed against the propped open entrance to her cramped womb, causing a small blockage.

The teeth around her neck let up, and Clover lapped the blood into her drooling maw. She laid her head backward into the curve, jostling her abdomen just-so in an attempt to cram the blockage in where it needed to be.

Whisper laid her head against the other’s shoulder, tired body twitching as she let herself come. Her walls tightened and un-tightned as white light flashed over her vision. “Ahhh f-fuck! Clover,” she bit her lip.

The last deposit squeezed into her waiting uterus. As soon as Clover was done, she pulled out.

The removal hurt, leaving Whisper with a dull throbbing ache. The two laid lax in the tub, and after a moment of rest Clover wrapped her wings protectively around Whisper. Whisper smiled, nuzzling against the side of Clover’s head, and gave it a kiss.

“You made me bleed you dusty asshole,”

Clover didn’t even have the energy to click her jaws in reply.

Outside the storm had since softened, rain quietly beating down against the roof tiles. In the distance a muffled grumble thrummed the belly of the storm. It moved on in search of new light to eat.

EPILOGUE

Much to Whisper’s dismay, it turned out that the larva would either die inside of her or attempt to rip their way out of her womb if she went with live birth. Instead, after a few days of wonderful internal incubation, Clover had aided Whisper in laying the unhatched clutch. They rested inside the bathtub, all cozied up and warm inside the blankets. Today they were hatching.

The two sat at either end of the tub as the blankets stirred. Clover wiggled and cooed and waited intently.

Whisper lifted up the edge of the blanket and peeked inside with a curious gaze. One of the eggs stirred, and Clover wiggled again.

“Look,” Whisper removed the blanket on top of the clutch. “It’s finally happening!”

The egg broke, a piece of the brown outer shell opening up. Out wiggled a green-ish, fuzzy caterpillar half the length of Whisper’s forearm. A few more eggs began to jostle. Soon the clutch was covered in curious, hungry larva, all wriggling about looking for something good to eat.

Clover clicked down at them affectionately and leaned over the edge of the tub. She dropped bright blue flowers and sweet smelling clover down onto the babies. They happily munched away at their first meal.

“Never thought I’d be mothering giant worms with.. well, you,” Whisper smirked, cheek against her fist and elbow on the side of the bath. She idly pushed her glasses up with a knuckle.

Clover was so pleased! This was her first clutch in a long while. With Whisper beside her, they were all sure to grow to maturity and move off into the world. She didn’t expect to lose a single larva this time. Suddenly something caught her compound eye. There was a single unhatched egg among the clambering children.

She reached down and picked the egg up. Maybe, she admitted with some sadness, she would lose a larva after all. Had this one been blank, or had the baby died inside? She stared at it longingly for some time. After a while something inside moved. It cracked and the fuzzy head of a larva poked out shyly.

Clover tittered, body full of love and excitement. She picked the baby up from out the egg and looked it over. It seemed sluggish and smaller than the rest, but it was alive. She held it out to Whisper to see.

Whisper took the larva in her arms and it wriggled slowly, if not restlessly, on her arm. The baby smelled food and was starving! Whisper giggled and lifted up a few clovers that had been left. The caterpillar took hold of the blossoms with its mouth and nibbled away. Whisper, too, couldn’t help but feel excitement and, if she were honest with herself, love.

[ace-malarky]

So there was a post going around recently that I can no longer find but anyway it prompted this piece of writing so that’s excellent

But yes. Catboys.

~~~

Jasper was sitting against a tree, journal against his knees. He'd been sitting that way for a while, long enough for the sun to have set beyond the trees. The fire didn't give off enough light to see the page, but he just hadn't put the book away yet.

Llinos was sitting on the opposite side of the fire, cross-legged, shaping stones into arrowheads. The steady, gentle tapping was a comforting noise. Background ambience to all their campsites.

Jasper closed the journal, looped the ties about it, and set the charcoal pencil back into its pouch.

"If you bonded fully, you wouldn't have to stop writing with the sunset," Llinos said, not taking her eyes from the arrowhead forming in her hands.

"I'll add that to the list of pros," he replied.

 His lynx was sitting loafed nearby, eyes mostly closed but attention on the trees and the shadows they contained.

"I didn't have much to write, in any case."

"I'm sorry, are my teachings no longer good enough to write down for posterity?" Llinos grinned.

"Were they ever good enough?" Jasper smiled back.

Llinos' fox barked in clear amusement, and she shot him a dark look. "Traitor." But she scratched along the side of his jaw as he lolled against her side, putting away her tools.

"Why haven't you bonded fully?" It wasn't something he'd asked before. It was something he tended to avoid, actually. The subject wasn't taboo amongst feral mages, but it was personal.

"Hasn't felt right." Llinos shrugged, almost off-hand. "We quite like being in two bodies."

 Her fox yawned and butted his head into her lap.

 "We might some day," she said, playing with his ears. "When we're ready."

 Jasper nodded. "Got your own list of pros and cons?"

 Llinos grinned.

#

"Got another pro for you," Llinos said, leaning against the window beside him.

"Oh?" Jasper didn't look up from his journal.

They were in the small room that had been the only one left to rent in the inn. Two beds (which the innkeeper had given them a very apologetic look about), a rickety table with vanity and matching splintered chair, and a small window out over the courtyard at the back where the staff hung the washing.

"You might finally get a date."

"What."

Llinos cackled as he stopped writing, the pencil lead actually breaking as he pressed it to the page a little hard.

"Everyone loves a catboy." Llinos shrugged, still grinning.

She dodged away as he reached to hit her.

"You know I'm right."

His lynx, watching them from one of the beds, yawned and lowered her head onto her paws.

Llinos' fox was sitting upright on the other bed, tail thumping against the cover, jaws cracked open and tongue hanging out.

“No you aren’t.”

Llinos smirked.

“You don’t have any proof.” Jasper shook his head, leaning back in the chair, freezing when it creaked.

“You want me to get some?” Llinos yanked open the window and leant out. “Hey!”

“Llinos-” He lunged to grab her arm, to pull her back.

She pushed him back, laughing. “Yeah, mind answering a question for me?”

Jasper couldn’t see who she was talking to in the courtyard below.

“Thoughts on catboys?”

He heard the laughter though, that was for sure. Almost bird-like, but raucous and rough.

“Not a big fan of cats,” the person outside called up. “I’m sure you can understand why.”

“I think I can understand.” Llinos nodded. “But ah – Jasper, come here-” She reached out to grab his arm.

He struggled against her, of course, but then her fox got underfoot and tripped him into Llinos’ side.

“What if this became catboy?” She propped him up against her side, adjusting her stance so he didn’t topple her over. “Just as a purely aesthetic question.”

In the courtyard below was a bird who was a person. Or maybe she was a person who was a bird. Her feathers were iridescent in the sunlight, and there was a sword leaning against the well beside her that was almost as tall as she was.

She was watching him just as intently as he was studying her. “Maybe,” she said eventually.

“Big ol’ lynx, with long tufty ears, and toe beans,” Llinos said, tugging at his shaggy hair in an affectionate sort of way.

Jasper growled and grabbed Llinos by the waist, swivelling on his feet to unbalance her.

Llinos squawked and her fox yelped, darting back as Jasper’s lynx leapt to cut him off. “Hey-!”

Jasper tossed her through the window and onto the slanted roof.

She rolled gracelessly across the tiles and fell to the ground. Jasper watched long enough to make sure she got up alright, and then slammed the window shut.

His lynx placed a massive paw on Llinos’ fox’s head as he crouched into a pouncing pose, trying for a game, and pressed him further onto the floor until he relaxed his back legs.

Jasper returned to the seat and took up his pencil once more.