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pastelsandpining · 4 years

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Girl Talk

I TOTALLY FORGOT WHO POSTED THE ORIGINAL POST ABOUT THIS IF YOU KNOW THE POST PLEASE LET ME KNOW THIS IS SO OVERDUE OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY

Words: 1248 - This was supposed to be longer but I just.. lost inspiration and it’s cut short. If there’s a demand for a part two then heyyy maybe I’ll write more

Summary: After Link’s heroic hand grab, Zelda and Impa can’t help but spend a while talking about it. You know, the way teenage girls do.

Totally Age of Calamity Zelink

Masterlist

With the day they’d had, she knew this was the last thing she should be worried about. With the amount of monster attacks growing nearly every week and how close they’d gotten to the castle today, on top of the guardian nearly shooting her head clean off, she should not have been concerned with something so trivial. Yet as soon as they were away from her father and in the safety of her bedroom with the door shut firmly behind them, Zelda dissolved into the giggling mess she’d kept hidden for hours. Impa too was laughing, giving her shoulders a gentle shake.

“Goddesses,” said the princess, burying her face in her hands.

“I’ve never seen him before!” Impa cried. “Is he new? He’s so young!”

“I don’t know! I don’t know every soldier in the army! That’s my father’s job,” Zelda argued, dropping her hands with a groan.

“Well, you should! He totally likes you.”

Zelda’s cheeks flushed quite furiously, and she was vaguely aware she looked like a fish with how she sputtered and scrambled for a reply.

“What? That’s utterly ridiculous!” she finally spat, gripping the blankets tighter. “He was simply doing his job-“

“Last I checked, the soldiers of Hyrule aren’t required to grab the hand of the princess!”

“He was guiding me to safety-“

“No one else did it! Come on, Princess, why’s it such a bad thing? He’s not bad on the eyes, and he reflected that guardian’s laser like it was nothing!”

Zelda grabbed the nearest pillow and buried her face in it, biting back the urge to scream.

“This is hardly appropriate,” she said, though it was swallowed by the feather stuffed silk. “It’s so improper.”

“No, what’s ‘hardly appropriate’ is not taking a blessing that the goddess is handing you on a silver platter.”

“He does not like me,” Zelda firmly stated, lifting her head at last.

“How could he not? You’re beautiful, you’re smart, you’re the freaking princess! And he didn’t have to grab you by the hand but he did and in anyone else’s world, that’s a pretty good sign-“

“This is the last thing we should be focusing on!”

“You are ridiculous, Princess,” Impa said, ripping the pillow from her hands and tossing it aside. “We’ve got the Slate activated, we’ve got the runes working again, and you’ve got your pilot contenders all lined up. You’ve earned a minute to think about something other than the Calamity.”

As proper and perfect she was supposed to be, Zelda was still sixteen and the thought of a boy liking her, or a romantic partner in general, made her feel giddy and excited. And with one of her closest friends by her side, encouraging her like a little devil on her shoulder, how could she not indulge?

“His name is Link,” she said at last, giggling into her hands like she was sharing some sort of secret. “There’s much talk of him around the castle. Even father’s taken a liking to him. He’s the youngest to ever be a part of the military, and all of the chambermaids think he’s, ah, how did you put it? ‘Not bad on the eyes’?”

“So you do know him!”

“Hardly! I know of him, though I suppose it’ll be very hard to not know him after he’s saved my life.” Zelda rubbed her reddened cheeks to try and push the blood flow elsewhere. It was a little embarrassing to say that aloud—to admit that she had to be saved.

“Well, if you don’t take him then I will.” Impa crossed her arms, but Zelda barked out a laugh at the idea of the challenge.

“He’s all yours,” she replied simply. “I’m lucky my father's allowing me to contribute to your research. If he found out I had some Hylian soldier on my mind on top of that, I’d sooner rot to death than get out of his lecture.”

“Your father can back off for a few minutes,” Impa muttered, and Zelda couldn’t help but agree.

“And besides,” the princess continued with a wave of her hand. “As soon as the Calamity’s dealt with, he’ll probably marry me off so I can prepare to be queen.”

“Then why not have a little fun now while you can?”

“You are a horrible influence on me. There should be a law preventing that.” Zelda fell back onto her bed, glancing towards her friend when she joined.

“A law preventing friendship? Now you really sound like your dad. Excuse me for wanting to make sure the princess gets to be a normal girl every now and then.”

“Fine, but you go first. I know you’ve met plenty of people outside the castle. Anyone special~?” Zelda asked, nudging Impa with her elbow.

“Well, not anyone in Kakariko,” replied Impa with a sigh. “There’s Robbie, but Purah’s called dibs from day one. And there’s this boy from Deya, but he’s got the brains of a Bokoblin. The best contender is this girl from Lurelin Village. I saw her spear a fish and that was it.”

“Not a bad choice,” Zelda said with a nod. “Girls who know their way around weapons are.. well, I love Gerudo Town for more reasons than just my godmother being chief.”

“A Gerudo, nice. Has anyone caught your eye there?”

“No,” she answered with a shrug. “I haven’t focused on anything of the sort in months. But if I had to, I’d say the court poet isn’t so bad.”

Impa made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Zelda fought to keep a straight face.

“There’s no way you’re telling me you’d consider court poet Pikh, who can’t hold a simple conversation without bringing up his talents, over Link.”

“At least he can hold a conversation,” Zelda replied with a huff. “I’ve yet to hear Link utter a word!”

“Oh no, a man who doesn’t give his unwarranted opinion, how absolutely disgusting.”

Zelda picked up another pillow and tossed it into Impa’s face, fighting the urge to giggle. She was right, really. For the moment, the princess did feel like a regular girl and it was nice. How she wished she could do it more often.

“Perhaps I can convince father to let me stay with you in Kakariko for a weekend. He won’t be thrilled of course, but he trusts you all the same. It could do me some good to get away,” Zelda spoke, working to twist her hair out of her braids.

“If you can convince him, I’ll escort you myself,” said Impa in response.

Though it wouldn’t be necessary because when the well-needed trip finally came around, who was assigned to help them reach Kakariko safely but dearest, talk of the kingdom Link.

As soon as the words escaped from the mouth of her father, Zelda shared a look with Impa. And once they were out of earshot, her dear friend nudged the princess and she had to grab her arm to hide it, fighting back a laugh. Poor Link was left to follow them confused as the girls whispered amongst themselves.

It carried on like that for a while. He was appointed as her knight attendant, which meant he was always on her tail—something Impa found hysterical. But it was an inside joke for them, a little entertainment in between the heavy preparations. And she couldn’t tell if she appreciated or hated having Impa accompany them too, because her dear friend used every opportunity she could to tease her mercilessly.

Goddesses, what was a girl to do?

#zelink #hwaoc #hwaoc zelink #this is so late i'm sorry #impa and zelda both said bi rights #i'm the author so i get to choose the lgbt #should i do a part 2 to this #i might #idk

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the-house-of-the-nine · 4 years

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In The Wake of her Shadow: Part 2

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“The sound. That awful, tapping sound. That driving, piercing, almost mind numbing sound of metal on metal, teeth to bone, what is that. Gods be damned. Its Rhythmic. “

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“Why does it mock me? Why is it there? Why wont it leave? Who is that!”

TAP TAP TAP TAP

“It is there again. What is it! Why is it there? Gods be damned why cant I see!”

TAP TAP TAP DRIP

Some sounds are often amplified by the extreme given the situation, the location and the amount of vibration echoing from wall to wall. The Oubliette down in the darkest regions of the Bastille was something that only those who were destined for great things would see.

Sound traveled forever here. Or to the mind of someone who had been secured there for several days without food or water; without anything outside of their own thoughts, to that person, Sound was the most terrifying beast in existence.

Strung by his arms; rusted links of saronite secured around each hand, there was a moderately handsome elf. Or at least he was at one point. He was chained to the ceiling, his ankles also secured to the floor. From what it smelled like; it was a dank sewer. The smell of musty water and iron were heavy here. Almost over powering.

The prisoner could not see. He was blindfolded and was only able to use his sense of hearing and smell to determine what was happening. Again, sound being the greatest ally, but also the most horrific entity ever known.

The tapping sound came from the rats that were gnawing at the other bones of victims in other cells. Their own chain links rattling against the bars where they had ultimately been left to rot. There was no shame in this. Dark actions meant dark consequences.

The dripping sound; well that was something entirely different.

The elven prisoner would start to feel an overwhelming sense of pain come surging into his body from the back; unbeknownst to him he had already had his clothing removed, there was a reason for the pain. A large series of stitch marks went along both sides of his spine and neck; someone had already operated and repaired the tissue.

“HELLO!”

He cried as his senses started to return to him.

“HELLO! SOMEONE?”

The response that would come was not only unexpected, but would also be dreadfully terrifying to hear.

“Good Evening Mister Morningstar, I trust you are beginning to regain some of the sensation to your brain?”

“Whose there! Who is that! What are you doing? Why am I---”

The voice again would shush him, softly; almost consoling him as if the current situation was nothing to fear.

“You will notice that your arms and legs are currently suspended from Saronite chains; you have been this way for over three days. You will feel nothing in them. Severing the nerves leading to your brain and spinal column, you have no sensation from your hips and shoulders to your extremities. They have already started to turn; the lose of blood to your arms and the tightness of the restraints on your feet. You will soon notice the flesh begin to blacken and die off. But you will not feel this.”

“What in the name of all the light are you talking about! HELP ME! SOMEONE HELP ME! GODS BE DAMNED HELP ME!”

Again the voice would silence the prisoner with a shushing sound.

“There are no mortals that can hear your cries Bartholomew. This is important so you should probably pay attention. The rats in this chamber do not get fed. They expect to be anytime there is a visitor. You will find that the severing of your nerves will be a good thing, but only goes toward. . .about here.”

The interrogator then reached out and lightly pinched the captive on his triceps, and again on his inner thigh.

“The sensation will begin to return the higher you go on your body. Your abdomen, penis, testicles, pectoral muscles and organs. These are still very much active and the pain receptors will register. You should know Mister Morningstar; my goal is and always was to kill you. I take great pleasure in this. Pleasure because you. . .sir, have decided that your own benefits of life outweigh that of the people you hunt. You’ve chosen to ally yourself with the demon of avarice itself, and will pay dearly for your mistakes.”

“I dont even know who you are, or what you are talk--”

“Raelyndia Duskhollow.”

There was silence again. The sound of rats gnawing on the last bits of flesh from another corpse could be heard only feet away from them. It drowned the sound of the chamber in its repetitive song. The name alone was enough to silence the swinging elven captive. The name was more than enough to enlighten him. It was the calling card of his death.

“You know exactly why you are here. You know what you have done. And you know that you have taken your last steps basking in the glow of the morning sun. Taken your last lung full of fresh sweet, autumn air in the gardens of Quelthalas. You. . . my dear Mister Morningstar. You have forfeited your life for hers. And as such; it has been claimed. And that debt is now ready for collection.”

There was silence yet again as the tapping sound of rats shaking chains consumed the elven mans mind. He snapped, panicking and shaking the chains he was suspended from.

“I dont want to die here! Please gods, by the Light I will tell you anything! I only wanted the perks! It was beneficial to my House! The Gallows, they promised me tha--”

The voice once again brushed across his mind as the hissing sound of his shushing came through once again.

“The time for talk is all but over, Bartholomew. While you were unconscious, I was able to dissect a portion of your memory from the hippocampus. Securing what I needed deep within receptors of your neo-cortex. You serve no purpose any longer. I have the locations I need. I have the names I have been seeking. And from here out; you. . .my dear friend, are obsolete.”

The chilling reminder that usefulness was only as deep as the information provided soon wrought its ugly head for the captive man. A sense of defeat, acceptance maybe?

“What will happen to me. . .”

Footsteps softly padded along the floor, dry and hitting stone at first, but soon masked in a soft squishing sound that would indicate wetness. Blood perhaps?

“Your cellmates will begin to devour the parts of your body that you currently have no feeling in. The blood that has begun to entropy inside of the appendages will sustain them for a moment. But the smell of rot will not stop them; but drive them further. You will feel them as they devour your thighs and biceps. As well as every other part of your body. They will tire eventually. Growing fat and full. The saliva within their jaws carries with it a very dangerous toxin. Most vermin have this. You will mostly die of blood loss, hunger, fatigue and the infection that will soon follow their biting. And after all of this, you will suffer for as long as it takes; you will die here. Alone, Cold, and aware that you have nothing left to give.”

The realization that there was no reasoning with this madman sunk in. But it was not enough to deter the man from whimpering.

“I--I am sorry. . .”

The prisoner was then grabbed by the face. Forefingers and thumb squeezing his cheeks closed as his head was steadied and the man who held him spoke.

“Do not patronize me with your pathetic attempts at redemption now. You cost the lives of hundreds. You cause suffering. You cause fear and pain. The blood of my people, my friends, my sister. . .is on your hands. There is not a single word you could whimper to me that would ever convince me otherwise that you are nothing more than a spineless maggot. And you would have gone on doing as you were; enacting and enabling those horrific acts to continue, had you not been caught red handed by me.”

“I don’t even know you. . .”

The elven man cried pathetically as he whispered out the fact.

Suddenly the blindfold was ripped from the mans eyes; the flash of fire that caught his pupils from the torch behind the captors face blinded him. When he focused his attention; a face of pale deathly white peered at him. Veins of sickening black venom spiderwebbing from his nose, eye sockets and mouth. They were accompanied by pits of empty blackness for eyes.

“Then let my name be the last thing you think about before you are consumed by your villainy.”

He moved in closely and whispered softly into his ear; the touch that was accompanied on his cheek fading as the terrifying face and body slowly vanished. It left the man speechless as the voice burrowed deep into his mind.

“I am Lazarius Kash’ebahl. . . and we have returned. . .We are The Nine.”

Silence, Terror, Echos of madness. Morningstar hung there in shock, his mind racing. There was little he could do. And as soon as he was alone; that familar sound returned. And he screamed until his vocal chords bled; trying to drown out that insufferable. . .

TAP TAP TAP TAP. . .

#thehouseofthenine #originalcharacter #WRARP #OC writing

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ill-skillsgard · 6 years

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Ascent - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Ascent

Warning: 18+ voyeurism/masturbation/language

Description: A collection of scents and scenes strung together by strange sequences of secrecy and surveyance.

A/N: DAMNIT YOU GUYS. This is my 3rd time posting this fic. It will no longer include the image of the sexy Bill look-alike wanking because wE cAn’T hAvE NiCe tHiNgS. Also, please don’t ask me to send the image because I can’t be sure of ages and I won’t be dinged for providing pr0nz to potentially underage people. I’m so sorry. I tried!

ISO: Quiet roommate; preferably female. Males acceptable too if you're cleanly. Split rent loft in quaint & upscale Rosewell neighbourhood with everything included. 1200 upfront first and last and then rent can be negotiated. E-mail. Do not call/text.

I only had 900 dollars on me but I figured if I e-mailed the person that had put out the ad and set up a time to meet the following week then I could earn enough in tips to cover the rest. Easy as that. Breathing became a little less laboured once I sat back on my futon and realized that I wasn't quite as fucked as I initially thought. Then I wondered how in the hell somebody could use the words quaint and upscale to describe the same neighbourhood. Which one was it? Quaint or upscale? How could it be both? All I was sure of was that I had to find a roommate quickly. The new landlord of my apartment building had decided that I had something to do with the junkies shooting up in the storage unit behind the building, as though I had knowledge of it the whole time and failed to make a report of it, therefore, making me part of the problem. But it wasn't just that; this guy was a jackass of ultimate proportions- a seedy little rich momma's boy that had inherited his parents' sense of self-entitlement and strings of real estate offices spanning across the city and surrounding counties. We did not click at all upon first meeting when he made his rounds to see exactly what kind of tenants he would be dealing with. In fact, the moment I opened the door to my apartment and he peered in to see the apparent cluster-bomb that had gone off in my bachelorette pad, he set his sights on destroying me, or at the very least, evicting me. If only I hadn't answered the door in my stained sweatpants and wrinkled t-shirt from a decade ago when my taste in music remained under-developed. If only I hadn't had the day's worth of crusted mascara stuck in the inner corners of my eyes like black boogers. If I had thrown my hair up in a semi-cute messy bun, rolled down the waistband of my stretchy pants and tossed on my only reputable sweater maybe things could have gone differently. But I didn't. Instead, I let him catch a glimpse into the trash-covered world of crooked posters, laundry and pizza boxes. His prissy, Gucci-wearing ass got one whiff of my body odour and my fate was sealed. Whatever though, shit happens. Even if Millennial pretty-boy newbie landlord hated me, I didn't quite hate myself. Sure, I had had better times in my life but there had also been much worse. I was just going through my annual depression when the Summer was long gone and the scent of leaves rotting in the gutters rang in the impending frost. Who wanted to do anything but sit around and play video games or watch TV for six straight hours after work? Certainly not I. I e-mailed the guy living in Rosewell because I had been through that area once or twice and remembered that it was one of the nicer neighbourhoods; its remnants of old city charm and decadent architecture still intact. That's when I gave it a second thought. 1200 for first and last month's rent was not that much, considering the location. My brain caught up with me and I recognized that there would probably be dozens of people replying to the listing and that my chances were diminished to almost nothing. Oh well, I read on and circled more potential ads with the tip of a fresh permanent marker that was starting to give me a headrush. By some grace of luck, I received an e-mail back the next day from the person that had put out the Rosewell advertisement. It dawned on me that I also didn't know whether he or she was a he or a she or a they. It seemed mundane to ask but the person didn't include their name in the reply and their email address was an obscure reference that I wasn't sure I understood. My imagination decided to take a jog and came upon the silly little notion that perhaps this was one of those things when serial killers lure in unsuspecting victims with promises of rent so cheap in a gentle neighbourhood where nobody would think to look for a body. It was classic of me but I couldn't pretend like I wasn't thinking about it. At least death would help put a stopper in my rut. I didn't know what to expect, walking up to the building with a face sectioned off into quadrants- each with their own tiny glass door and artful wrought iron laced balcony. What kind of a person lived inside? Was it a peppy university student with a small dog and a knack for pulling off an active-wear-is-all-I-wear look? Could it be another snotty, uptight rich boy like my fuck-bag of a landlord? Or perhaps it was a nice older lady that fancied her wine and lived in an effortlessly baroque den, lined with books and trinkets from her travels abroad. Either way, I just hoped they approved of me since I had taken the time to shower, put on a bit of makeup and dress like the clothes I owned weren't questionably clean or variably dirty all the time. The door was painted black and nobody could see through the glimmering panels of stained glass that made up an intricate checkerboard of red and blue with two cantaloupe roses coiling up and away from each other, petals agape and ready to fall. I gave the door a good look over with a smug grimace that was just a feint for my awe. The place was definitely too nice for me but I soldiered on and smiled when I heard the door being unlocked. A man opened the door and the scent of wood and something else immediately wafted out like a ghost casually passing by. Not only was he a man, but a looming sculpture dressed in a sagging brown wool sweater that threw me off from my rehearsed speech. He was tall, pale and had such striking eyes behind his glasses that I couldn't quite meet them without feeling some hint of discomfort. It was like somebody had tossed a limp rug on the statue of David the way his knitted sleeves hung loosely around thick veiny wrists. "Hi. Bill," he motioned to himself. "Won't you come in?" "Um, yeah. Sure." The mud room was painted in tarnished blood orange and was home to a wooden rack full of men's shoes. There were trainers with hints of dirt on the toes and soles, leather dress shoes with the fancy gold buckles on the front, more dress shoes, stylish suede ankle boots, and beaver fur lined moccasins. I could taste the transition from the cool Autumn air to the musky inside of the home. The floors were all wood, the banister leading upstairs was carved from another expensive type of tree and the shelving units were solid oak stretching from floor to high ceiling. Every wall was home to some kind of meticulously placed decorative object. But there were also family photos to lend the place a warm and happy glow. Or it could have just been how the sun shone through the clear bay windows. I was led through the house, past a large cupboard tucked beneath the staircase and a small writing desk that was home to a vintage typewriter cased in filigrees of polished silver. It was then I noticed all the framed book pages lining the walls. We entered a kitchen and I was blown away by how roomy it was compared to the tight, warm front that made up the mudroom and what I had determined was a living room that had been converted into a reading room. There was no TV but there was a chaise lounge with a stack of old books reaching up to a cascading hand-carved armrest. "This is the kitchen. The fridge will be mostly yours. I just use the bottom shelf and the crisper on the left. I just ask that you keep your section clean." "Right," I nodded. "The stove is gas, the fireplace is gas... Everything is gas in here. Um... It gets kind of cold in the winter because the electric baseboards don't really work. If you turn them on it makes the whole place smell like burning sawdust. So... You can use a plug-in heater in your room but... Just wear slippers on the floors." "Oh, okay. Good to know." "Uh... Yeah. The laundry room is through there. I also keep my bike back there. There's another rack mount for a bike if you have one." "No, just my car." "Hmm," Bill pondered with a grimace. I bit my lip and hoped that he wasn't biting his lip from derision. He took in a breath through one of the daintiest noses I had ever seen on a man and adjusted his glasses for a moment before pulling them off completely to wipe the lenses on the hem of his brown knit sweater. "Parking can be kind of a bitch around here," he warned. "Yeah, " I chuckled. "I probably pulled around the block six times before something opened up." "You'll have to get used to that... Or just get a bike like everyone else." With a forced laugh, I attempted to hide the odd sense of shame that he had instilled by suggesting that nobody around these parts bothered with silly things like motor vehicles. Fuck, that could mean he was some sort of health nut that would turn his nose up if he saw the types of meals I made for myself and how lazy I could get. Aside from his alarming curtness, Bill seemed to be calm and easygoing. The house was a wooden ladder of a place; stacked with his worldly possessions and Scandinavian accouterments. It was easy to conclude that he was a single man that kept to himself and I did my best to show him that I fit into the same category. Although, it seemed as though he had already decided that I was moving in. He referred to everything as his, mine or ours and led me through the rest of the house like both our minds were already made up. "Here's the room. It's right next to mine. You have an en-suite bathroom. Toilet kind of acts up once in a while and the shower drain is prone to clogging but it's all easy fixes. Oh... And the walls are kind of thin. I ask that if you have guests over in the evening to keep the socializing downstairs. I suppose I can't really stop you from having people in your room but... I do enjoy my quiet." "That's okay. I don't really hang out with too many people," I said. Bill strolled into the center of the empty room, the soles of his shoes hitting the floor echoed off the bright white walls. He had his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers as he spun on a heel to face me. His shoulders drew up to his ears and for the first time, he cracked a smile. It didn't last long and was accompanied by a shrug of closure. "What do you think?" He asked. "It's nice. I like it. A lot. It's very... Homey." Bill nodded, "yes. So will you take it?" "Uh... You don't have any questions for me? Or anyone else to show the place to?" His full lips set into another grimace as though my question scratched the scab off of a wound that had yet to close. Swallowing hard, I immediately began to regret my inquiry. I should have just been grateful that he saw fit to trust me without so much as delving into my history. "To be frank, I'm not really interested in knowing a lot about you. The less we know about each other, the better. I just need a quiet tenant that won't bother me much and you seem like a sensible woman with your own distractions." "Oh." "I don't mean to sound insensitive." "It's okay. I get it." "You have a job, of course?" "Yes." "Well, that's all I need to know. Just make your rent payments on time and we'll get along." "Not a problem. Sounds good." The entire moving process took a little over a month to complete. I gave my notices where they were due, rented a small truck to pack my things into and drove it across town after handing the keys to the fuck-bag landlord who seemed more than thrilled to watch me departing. Bill had already given me keys to the house and when I arrived the first of the month he was nowhere to be found. Luckily, my possessions didn't extend further than my bed, wardrobe, futon and a couple of side tables that had collected more dust than I thought. After hauling up the ripping black trash bags I had stuffed full of clothes, I tried to decipher a way to get my bed up the winding stairs without scratching the wood or getting myself stuck in a corner. It would have been easier if I had another set of hands and I wanted to clear the halls of all my things before Bill came home and saw the clutter in the front hall. Something told me he was not a fan of mess and I had left a heaving trail all over the mudroom, halls and stairs. With my bed frame already stuck on the first few steps, I decided to sit down and reevaluate my strategy. It was definitely a two-person job that I would not be able to complete on my own. "Fuck, " I cursed as I pulled out my cell phone to make a call to the only person I knew that would be willing to give me a hand; my cousin. On the third ring, I heard the sound of the door opening and footsteps coming through. I was sat on the stairs pouting, my cell clutched to my ear and my breath hitched in my throat. Bill looked up at me from the first-floor landing through the rails of the staircase and smirked at me. "Need some help?" He asked. I immediately terminated the call to my cousin before he could pick up. Shooting up from the fifth step up, I smoothed out the front of my shirt and tried to make it seem like I wasn't about to burst into tears of frustration. "Um, yes. Sorry. I thought I could do it by myself." "No worries," Bill said as he lifted the edge of the bed frame that was hanging off the first step. We dislodged the frame and slowly carried it upstairs but not without a few grunts of effort and sighs when we finally made it to the top floor. Bill's arms were bulging with the strain and when he helped me gently lay the frame down on the floor I couldn't help but stare at the muscles I never knew he had. We had only had a handful of encounters and each time he had been wearing baggy clothes that veiled the true form of his body. Bill helped me bring everything else I had upstairs and once the last of my belongings arrived he evaluated the mess that I would have to organize myself. Half my clothes were spilling out of bags and my furniture was yet to find a proper place. "Well, I'll leave you to it. Unless you have anything else?" "No. This is it. Thanks for your help." "No problem," he nodded with a small pointed smile that brought out a sweetness in his face before exiting the room. I heard the sounds of his footsteps drumming down the stairs but before I had the chance to get to work unpacking, Bill came back. When I looked up at him he had a peculiar look on his face that I couldn't read. It may have been a cross between uncertainty and embarrassment. "You um... These were on the stairs," he showed me what he had clutched in his hand and the moment I realized that the black material in his hand was a pair of my underwear, I paled. "Oh my god," I laughed uneasily. "I'm so sorry. They must have fallen out when I was dragging the bags up the steps. My panties looked crumpled and insignificant in his large hand as he dangled them between two fingers for me to grab. When I caught them I stuffed them in my pocket immediately and blushed even harder than I had when he had come home to see me flustered on the stairs. "It's all right. Could be worse things to find," he pointed out. "I guess so," I chuckled. Bill smirked at me, eyes darting to the pocket that contained the stray panties and gave me one last glance before leaving me to stew in my mortification. Once I was certain Bill was gone, I took the panties out to evaluate just how embarrassed I should have been. The last thing I needed was for my new roommate to have already discovered a pair of my dirty underwear on the floor. They were generic and made of stretchy faux lace that covered next to no ass cheek but I would have considered them to be a good go-to pair nonetheless. Based on visual inspection and a quick sniff, I was assured that everything checked out and Bill hadn't had the displeasure of picking up a pair of my period panties with the permanent stains in the crotch. If anyone had to have found a pair of my underwear I was glad it was a sexy pair and not ones that I had been hanging onto since high school. But because it was a man that had found them, I felt a strange yearning for approval. I thought about what he could have been thinking about for a long time as I set up my bed and unpacked my necessities. It was going to be weird having a roommate.

~*~

Bill was a strange man. Bill had an office in his room and a writing desk stacked with papers and manuscripts. Bill was a writer. When I asked him if I could read something he had written he said nothing. He only peered at me warily over his wire-framed glasses. We were in the kitchen at the same time and I figured it friendly to strike up a conversation. I had seen all of his papers and looked at all of the stuff he had in the house by then and deduced that he had to have been a writer. All I got from him was a gentle shrug of his stately shoulders and a mumble that I couldn't hear. "You're a writer, aren't you?" I continued. "Yes. I suppose, in a way I am." "Ever had anything published?" Bill rapidly shook his head and muttered, "not here, no. Back home... In university. But not here." The subject of him being a writer seemed touchy so I left my line of questioning at that while I boiled water to make tea. I couldn't help but watch him on the other side of the kitchen preparing his lunch because he was comically lanky yet carried himself with graciousness and poise. His side profile was vexing to me as well. It was then that I realized that Bill was not just commonly handsome, but sculpted in a way that I wasn't used to seeing. With a cute boyish nose and arrestive eyes that shone light green through the lenses of his glasses, I felt that old familiar pang of a crush plunging its way from my chest to my gut and all the way down to my groin. He didn't speak much and I hardly ever saw him because he was always in his room with the door shut. I had a feeling that me bringing up his writing had alarmed him into keeping the door closed at all times. It must have been an adjustment for him to go from living alone to having somebody sleeping in the room right next to him. I tried not to make much of the crush but the times that I did see Bill I always tried to stare for as long as possible. He was a mystery to me; a person living in the very same quarters but with a totally separate life that I had no windows into. Bill had pictures of him and a lot of other people that looked kind of like him so I tried to piece together what his family was like without asking him personally. The family photos were all in chunky brass frames and placed in a strategically sporadic way on the wall shelf. There were many books and three different runs of encyclopedic information stacked side by side with their brightly dyed leather spines displaying a prestigious title and the volume number, but it was the pictures that intrigued me most. By the looks of it, Bill had a lot of brothers and a sister. The longer I analyzed each shelf the more I managed to paint a picture of him for myself based on his belongings. There was a photo of Bill next to some other men of similar heights and facial structures, all dressed warmly and huddled together, each with his own version of a charming smile on. It was amusing to see pictures of him smiling since he had hardly tossed more than a crooked smirk my way. I wasn't sure if Bill was standoffish or if he thought me a slob because of the first day I arrived. The house was cleaner than any place I had ever had by myself and I gathered that he liked to keep it that way. I remembered what it had said in his ad about cleanliness. Maybe I had disgusted him. He had been so sold on having me as his roommate but that was weeks ago and he hadn't tried to engage me much since. It didn't weigh heavily on my mind for long. After all, even though I was the crusty definition of a bachelorette, I could put it together that trying to fuck my roommate that I didn't know was probably a surefire way to complicate things beyond repair. And the place was nice. I wanted to stay and I wanted Bill to like me.

~*~

I walked into his room when I knew for certain that he was gone. I don't know why the sudden urge overtook me and steered me to his bedroom door. I opened it and a waft of his scent came over me. It was like fresh cotton and chopped wood or an old book that had been kept in pristine condition. His writing desk beckoned me so I went without hesitation to cast my eyes over the papers on its surface. There were some printed pages full of words with hand-written notes scribbled in the margins. One of the most eye-catching pieces was a mostly blank white page that had been the last of the bunch to be placed upon the altar of his creative expositions.

I can't get enough of the scent that she left behind.

After reading that one line, I snapped out of my mindless intrusion and left his bedroom at once. Why I had gone in there in the first place was a mystery and I was overcome with guilt that pushed me in the direction of avoidance. I felt somehow he would know that I had gone into his room without permission.

~*~

A man from work had asked me out on a date and I stood in the shower vigorously washing the shampoo out of my hair. I was already late and had to scramble to put together an outfit out of what little clean clothing I had. There had been no time for me to do any laundry so I made do with an old sundress that I had worn the shit out of the Summer before, a pair of black nylon leggings with a hole in the crotch and the only pair of underwear that I could find that wasn't stretched out from me wearing them. I had laid out everything on my bed and bustled around trying to find my good face moisturizer and the only high-end lipstick that I had been coveting for the better part of two years. When I got dressed, I had somehow lost pieces of my attire along the way and rushed around looking for the underwear that I had dubbed acceptable to wear out on a date. My phone went off with a notification from my date saying that he was circling around the block again because he couldn't find a place to park. I quickly messaged him back and told him I would be down in five short minutes. Forgoing the panties, I hiked on my nylons and hoped that the skirt of my dress would manage to cover me enough all night that I didn't accidentally flash my pussy while getting in and out of his car. The date was boring and I didn't find myself connecting with him as we had at work. Maybe it was because we were co-workers or maybe it was because he was smiling too much at me the whole time, but I decided to put an end to the night after a dessert and the last of a bottle of cheap wine. When I got home, I shut the door and pulled my vibrator out of my empty underwear drawer.

~*~

In the morning on one of my days off, I stood in the kitchen making myself a pathetic breakfast of two pieces of toast with a slice of tomato and chunks of a too-ripe avocado splattered between them. First I was focused and calm and then suddenly I felt like something had materialized behind me. When I turned around, I let out a gasp as I noticed Bill standing next to me with no shirt on, his hair a mess and his eyes half-closed. "Sorry," he breathed through his nose. "Need a glass, please." I got out of his way and watched as he opened the cupboard that I had been standing in front of and took out a clean glass to pour water into. My eyes were drawn to the burgeoning of hair from his armpits when he reached to the top shelf. Without saying a word, he filled his glass from the tap and then walked back upstairs casually sipping his water. I don't know how he had managed to sneak up on me without me hearing the floorboards protesting beneath his feet but it had happened and my heart continued to race until I heard him enter his bedroom right above the kitchen.

~*~

I had tossed my laundry into the dryer and let it run while I left for work. When I got home my laundry was all folded and put back in my basket. My jeans and work pants were on the bottom, my shirts the second tier and then several pairs of my panties had been folded neatly in halves and placed on top. "Um... Okay," I whispered to myself, lifting the basket off the dryer that was still rumbling full of Bill's laundry.

~*~

A nap was on the immediate horizon for me when I got home from work. I kicked my shoes off as soon as I got in the door and made right for my bedroom. Bill must not have heard me climbing the stairs as I hadn't heard him come up behind me the week before because his door was open and what I saw halted me in my place and robbed me of the abilities to breath or think. There he was, laying on his bed naked with his right hand wrapped around his dick. But it wasn't that he was stroking himself that caught me completely off-guard, it was what he clutched to his nose and mouth with his other hand; the pair of my panties that he had discovered on the floor all those weeks ago when I first moved in. Rooted with panic and intrigue, I covered my mouth and watched on from the third-to-last step at the man taking deep breaths of my underwear while he pulled on his cock and massaged his balls. When I heard a faint groan leave his mouth I felt my floodgates crashing open. The tingle I felt budding from my clit grew so strong that my hands went numb and my face turned red-hot. There was no way that Bill hadn't heard me coming in the door and ascending the steps. But if he knew that I was there watching him play with himself, he didn't acknowledge it. He was in his own world of pleasure, getting high off the fumes that I had infused into the fabric of the underwear he was meddling with his fingers. I wanted to watch him shoot his cum from the tip of his cock but I was so scared that he would see me that I cowered back so that if his gaze did travel beyond the walls of his bedroom, perhaps he wouldn't catch me staring. Another long, deep moan left him and the sound of it somehow filled every sense I had. It was as though I could smell what he was smelling, feel how he was feeling and the taste left behind in my mouth was wetted with saliva being over-produced by my own sexual appetite. I pictured him kissing my clit, pushing my legs back and using his tongue to bore into me, letting it run down, down, down so he could taste every inch of me. A gasp nearly escaped me when I saw him push the crotch of my stolen panties into his mouth. His head dropped back into his pillows and his slow, languid strokes of his cock turned erratic. "Fuck!" He emitted after spitting the panties out and dragging them down his body to wrap around the base of his shaft. "Fuck, fuck, fuck... Mmm, my god." After a minute of every muscle in his body flexing, it looked like he was inches away from coming and I leaned forward with my hand out on the last step to balance myself so I could watch the end result. It took a bit longer than I expected but I watched on unblinkingly until he finally managed to pump out an orgasm that ripped through his body and exited him in a glorious spurt of cum. Then there was another spurt and another, all landing in a perfect sticky mess over his stomach and chest. The sun coming in through his window glittered over his spackled body while a dryness hardened my tongue. I gawked as he moved to mop up his own mess with my black lace panties. What he was going to do next was as much a mystery to me as the last ten minutes I had spent as a voyeur. His cock laid over the top of his thigh and shrunk with each passing second while he rolled my panties up into a ball with his fist. All of his muscles relaxed and he sank further into the bed, closed his eyes all the while my stolen cum-soaked panties remained clutched to his chest like a cross. I could almost smell the musk permeating from the open door. Slowly, I descended the stairs one by painstaking one.

#bill skarsgård fanfiction #bill skarsgard fanfiction #fanfiction #bill skarsgård smut #bill skarsgard smut

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firehedgehog · 4 years

Text

Retconned: Chapter Fourteen: Connections

The first thing that they saw was darkness, above the purple lightning arcs of the retcons slithered over the sky.

Where was the building the meting had taken place, he’d aimed for it.

Doubt gnawed at him in this inky void with shattered rubble beneath his boots, maybe he had missed.

“Over there!” Palette cried, pointing a few hundred feet away.

Goth felt relief as he spotter his parent, Error, Ink and Dream.

He pushed back his tears, knowing that everyone else must have been Retconned already.

“Goth,” Geno cried spotting him, grabbing the smaller monster into a hug.

“Escaped the end again brat, try not to do that again,” Error said.

“Who’s this?” Dream asked, eyes sorrowful as Goth knew that Dreams’s Palette was gone.

“This is Shatter,” Goth said.

“Shatter huh?” Palette asked.

“Its the name embedded for your Multiverse codes,” Goth explained.

“That’s cool,” he replied, and it made sense.

“Please don’t do that again Goth,” Geno said unhappily “This is yours,” he said passing him his save lantern.

“Thanks, strangely with the retcons around me I’m not vanishing,” Goth said in relief, feeling the cool touch of the lantern in his hands.

“Why can’t you just stop existing!” a voice screamed in rage.

“Who’s that?” Shatter asked.

“The one causing the Retcons I bet,” Error snarled.

“If I can’t erase you, then I’ll erase you here!” the voice snarled full of wroth.

Darkness surrounded them.

OoOoO

Error came to feeling a noxious migraine, if skeletons had stomachs he would probably have been sick.

They were in a huge room of black stoned walls and floor, the only light a blazier blazing high with purple flames.

Like the retcon lightning.

He was not happy.

How was he suppose to keep the fragging balance, if there was nothing to balance.

There was relief, Goth was still alive somehow beat the odds again.

He hadn’t even known beings from other multiverses could cross over to there own.

If they survived, he would have to add more firewalls in hope to prevent such things again.

Slowly the others came to, getting to there feet.

Geno was somehow still having Goth in his clutches.

“Welcome, to your end,” a voice hissed, the same voice that had screamed earlier.

OoOoO

Reaper was a very unhappy death god.

His multiverse was vanishing as they stood there.

And he had no clue, on how to restore it or his eldest child.

He held his scythe tightly, ready to leap forward and dust whoever this was.

“To think you all escaped your fate,” the voice snarled, Reaper almost didn’t notice Error flinch at the word Fate.

“He feels horrible,” Dream said his bones almost grey, the retcon of his son and twin was too much... Reaper knew the Guardian of Positivity wouldn’t last long. One twin would always follow the other. “Such Rage... such sorrow.” OoOoO

“The end, isn’t it beautiful. Everything wile cease to exist, just like he did,” the voice laughed followed by a raspy cough.

“Show yourself,” Error said, and his voice didn’t glitch for once.

Shatter or one could say Palette wanted to scream, to cry.. to run away.

But he couldn’t, if he ran..

How many other multiverses would just vanish as if they never existed.

He would never forgive himself.

A figure slowly separated itself from the shadows, he summoned his roller.

Tall in ratty dirty robes, then they pulled there hood off there face.

A Skeleton was revealed, there bones were yellowed from lack of care with maddened eye lights,

Chipped, broken and missing in some spot.

In fact, bone rot had set in there body.

They reminded him of the walking dead, from a horror movie he’d accidentally seen once.

There was a shocked gasp, as they realized who thsi monster was.

A Papyrus.

The cause of this was a Papyrus.

“You may call me Lich, in the end nothing matters,” The Papyrus rasped.

With that, the survivors leapt forward.

OoOoO

Between on step and another, Goth switched to his Fel version as it was a better fighter for fights like this. His scythe sliced and diced a part of Lich’s robes, he skid back as the monster actually threw retcon lightning at him.

He actually had to toss his lantern to his mother after a bit, needing both hands and Geno could fight easily with one hand. That didn’t make him happy, he needed that to survive so eh hoped that once everything was fixed the lantern would still be in one piece.

Yet...

They were loosing badly...

Lich was too fast, even with the bad condition his body was in.

“Ink for brains!” Error shouted.

“What!” Ink called back from where he was.

“Remember that thing, I told you we’d never ever mention or do again when we did it by accident?” Error said, he was using his strings to stop himself from landing too far away.

“Of Course! It was fun!” Ink said, far more cheerful then he should be.. you know trying to stop the end of there multiverse.

“Lets do it here, this guys outclasses even us,” Error growled.

“Yeah!” Ink said and bounced over somehow avoiding attacks as he did.

‘And this lady and gents, is the creator god’ Goth thought sarcastically with a sigh.

Error summoned his strings, but instead of blue they were devoid of color. Ink smirked and grabbed the strings with his hands.

The world seemed to ring in his head as astral chains of paint seem to burst into the world from where the two concentrated.

Lich didn’t have time to dodge this time, as this was the power of the two gods power combined.

It... was actually kinda pretty.

In seconds Lich was tangled by the astral paint chains, unable to move or attack.

“Lets... hope.. we.. never do that again,” Error gasped out, boned grey from extreme magical exhaustion and Inks Bones were also grey.

“My head hurt,” Ink said.

“Nimrod,” Error said walking slowly towards Lich.

OoOoO

To think it would all end.

His great work.

To erase it all.

Papyrus smiled as he finished making spaghetti, he could hear Sans sleepily getting himself up.

“Morning Papyrus..” Sans yawned.

“Good morning Sans, your ready for another day on the glorious surface!” he said happily.

“For you bro, anything,” Sans said with a true smile.

The day went swimmingly, Sans was active and they both had fun.

This was there happy ending, as Frisk no longer had the ability to reset and Chara had moved on.

Of course...

He forgot...

Happy endings were just for children.

A monster hater struck his more fragile brother, Sans hadn’t even had a chance to dodge.

Papyrus screamed as his brother dust spread like a white puddle on the ground.

To him the world ended.

There would be no more magical resets to bring back the lost.

Sans, his Sans was gone.

The one being that had loved him no matter what, the one being who called him cool and meant it.

He broke.

He left a trail or broken bodies and blood behind, he even killed Frisk when he tried to force there reset ability to return.

There was no return now.

This world didn’t have the right to exist if his brother was gone.

He vanished from the public that hunted him, they wanted him in jail for his deeds.

Ten years later he discovered it.

Retcons.

If Sans couldn’t exist.

Then no one else should either.

“How do we reverse the Retcons,” Ink said unhappily.

“There is no way for you to reverse the many Retcons, the way is lost,’ he laughed seeing there faces.

“There is always a way,” Dream said softly.

“You would have to have data from the multiverse from before the retcons, which doesn’t exist,” Lich laughed, it was a grand joke.

“There has to be a way,” the stupid bug Palette from the last multiverse protested.

OoOoO

Goth was exhausted and sore, and wanted to be anywhere but there.

This... utter moron was the cause of all his woes, but in a strange way the reason this version of himself existed.

“From before...” he said, going utterly still at what said.

“Ha ha ha, none of that data exists now,” Lich laughed.

“I was the very first thing retconned,” Goth whispered, he had known it from the very instant he woke up for real in the anti-void.

“Goth..” Error said in a strange tone of voice.

“Your a bane of existence,” Lich snarled.

“I contain all the codes from before, I never lost anything other then my place in this multiverse,” Goth said, he closed his eyes and felt tears gather,

“Gothy, whatever your thinking don’t,” Shatter begged.

Goth felt a calmness come over him, what was one compared to restoring to the lost.

Geno made a startled sound as Goth suddenly pulled the save lantern from his hand.

“Goth Stop!” Error shouted, but it was too late as Goth shattered the glass of the save lantern the glowing save star in his hands.

“Sorry, thank you,” Goth said with a smile.

The save Star Shattered.

The world exploded into light.

...

Goth blinked.

Shouldn’t he have stopped existing.

He seemed to be laying down, looking at a golden glowing sky.

“Time to get up sleepy,” a voice said, Goth quickly sat up and gaped.

For as far as one could see were Goths, Goths of every type.

In fact he could feel them, the Goths from his multiverse, from Shatters.. he could fell all of them.

He understood now, what would happen now.

He laughed as a button appeared in front of him.

Smiling he pressed the button, which was ‘Save and Reload.’

OoOoO

Everything was gone, they were floating in an endless sea of light.

“What’s going on?” Geno asked, as the flash of light faded.

“Everything is saving and reloading all the new timelines and those lost for all multiverses effected,” Goth said quietly.

“This will reverse time you realize,” Error said quietly. “You as you won’t exist.”

“This is goodbye... You probably won’t remember this reload. Shatter and Error will probably, but you won’t,” Goth whispered.

“No.. this isn’t right,” Geno cried.

“Retconned, this isn’t goodbye,” Shatter said, Goth.. no Retconned smiled.

“Its never goodbye, just a new hello,” Retconned laughed.

Then faded.

“Goth!” Geno screamed.

The multiverse shattered.

OoOoO

Shatter came to with a gasp, sand under his hands and broken stone.

Tears slipped down his face.

It had worked...

Everything was back.

Then he sobbed.

For he had lost a friend very few would remember.

Slowly he got up, he had time now with the reload winding things back. He had to warn the others of Nightmare Palette.

“Thank you Retconned,” he whispered.

OoOoO

Error ‘woke’ in the anti-void.

“Damn it kid,” he swore as his memories set in.

He knew it was real, not just the memories.

Because in the distance, Goth’s house still stood.

His soul hurt, after all he had just lost the nearest thing he had to his own kid.

#Retconned #goth #undertale #@afterdeath #goth @Nekophy #fanfic

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ashtheshortstack · 5 years

Text

Garlic in the Cauldron - Ch 2

Garlic in the Cauldron

Adrien Agreste learned from a young age that witches were the enemies to vampires. He was taught to kill on sight, drink them dry, and never look back… however, meeting a witch named Marinette threw his entire world off balance.

Ch 2 - Some Call it Magic

Read on ao3

<-Previous Chapter/Next Chapter –>

Hi, my dumb ass forgot to post this on tumblr last Thursday.

Sleeping was often a difficult task for Adrien, mostly because nightmares often plagued him. He’d often relive situations with his father, but his dreams would make them much more sinister and eerie. He felt a pain in his chest every time he’d awake from one of those intense night terrors. Sometimes he’d dream of witches capturing him and tormenting him, sometimes it was his father scolding him and leaving him to rot. There was no telling what type of torment his brain could concoct for him while he slept.

However, it had been a few nights since he’d met Marinette, and his brain had been oddly calm and kind to him. No vicious terrors or relived trauma for a few nights was a blessing for sure. He hadn’t expected to have a sweet dream of a giggling witch holding his hands with a faint blush on her freckled nose, that was for sure. But when he awoke with a smile on his face for the first time he could remember, he was thankful to have met her. He simply longed to find her again.

“Well, Romeo, that’s a love struct look if I’ve ever seen one,” Plagg teased as he hopped onto the bed beside the young vampire.

Adrien couldn’t stop the embarrassed flush that kissed his cheeks and the small smile that twitched its way to his lips. “Maybe,” he glanced out into the dark room. “It’s not fair. She shouldn’t be allowed to be so pretty.”

Plagg made a gagged sound. “Gross.”

Ignoring his familiar’s distaste, Adrien gaze a dream-dazed sigh. “You think I can see her again soon?”

The cat gave a hunched shrug. “Possibly. Your pops is going hunting again tonight, right?”

With an eager nod, Adrien beamed and checked the clock. He had about an hour before his father would leave. He hoped Marinette would be awake like she was the other night when they met. Maybe she’d be out flying again if he was lucky. He did worry about their sleep schedules being different effecting if he could visit her often. Witches may not need to be active at night like vampires did.

It was part of the life of being a “mythical” being. There was always a catch to their existence. For vampires, it was being allergic to many things, including sunlight. The one time Adrien even attempted to go out during the afternoon, he’d developed the worst rash of his life. Full of blistering hives and burnt skin. He remembered the pain and sobbing as his mother rubbed cream on the raw skin.

In retrospect, he really hadn’t realized how little he knew about witches until he started wondering how to maintain a friendship with one.

To his surprise, Adrien’s door creaked open and there stood Nathalie. Her arms were folded behind her back as usual, posture straight, and nose in the air. “Adrien, your father would like to see you.”

He tensed, sucking in a nervous breath. “May I ask what about?”

“I’m afraid I’m unaware of the nature of his request. I was only told to come fetch you,” she said with a shake of her head.

He slipped out of bed and paused, glancing down at his attire. “Should I get dressed?”

Nathalie gave him a pity smile. “I don’t think this is a proper matter, but he did sound urgent. Let’s go,” she said with a motion of her hand.

Adrien nodded, giving Plagg a quick concerned glance before following Nathalie out the door and down the halls. When she approached his father’s den, the crushing iron smell of blood hit Adrien’s nostrils. The scent was overwhelming to his senses, so much it almost gave him a headache. Adrien blinked away the watering in his eyes as Nathalie opened the door.

“I retrieved Adrien as you requested, sir.”

Gabriel spun in his chair, sitting straight with a whine glass full of bright red liquid that Adrien was positive wasn’t actually whine. His father’s elongated fangs protruded from his upper lip. Technically, as vampires got older, they could adjust the length of their fangs depending on the prey. Adrien just thought it was gaudy and something his father did just to appear more intimidating. Plus, he was still on the younger side, so Adrien wasn’t quite able to control his fangs yet.

“Ah, I see that Nathalie just woke you,” his father sounded a bit amused, however, his face didn’t show the same. His brows stayed straight; eyes still as cold as ever.

Gulping, Adrien gave a polite nod. “Yes, Father. She said it was urgent that you speak to me.”

“Yes,” Gabriel took a sip of his glass before setting it down on his desk. His father properly folded his hands on the table, keeping sharp eyes on his son. Adrien felt the stare ripple through him. “Nathalie tells me you haven’t been leaving your room much lately. I’m concerned that you’re not getting enough substance in your diet. Blood is an important part of your consumption, and I fear you’ll fall into a frenzy if you don’t maintain it.”

“Oh, I’ve been drinking blood, Father, I promise. I just prefer eating solid foods. If there’s anyway we can make the blood more tolerable, then I’m sure I’d… consume enough,” Adrien explained. He decided to ignore the tidbit about staying in his room. Of course, he was staying in his room more. Plagg was much better company than the servant members of their clan. Nathalie didn’t like to humor him often, and the Gorilla didn’t speak at all.

“Son, we’re not humans. Eating human foods is not what sustains us. I know you’ve always been hesitant about drinking blood, but it’s what we must do. If you’re so insistent on cutting down on blood, then maybe I should start reserving some witch blood for yo—”

“No!”

Gabriel looked aghast at his son’s sudden outburst. Adrien froze, eyes wide and shoulders stiff. He was surprised himself. He hadn’t meant to burst out like that, but the thought of drinking witches’ blood was a hard no for him. Especially since he had just met one who he wanted to befriend. That sounded… immoral.

“S-Sorry,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I’m just not interested in witch blood, Father.”

His father let out a hum, leaning over the desk. “I understand that new things tend to make you nervous. However, you will be carrying on my legacy one day, you realize. I suggest you get used to the scent and taste of it soon. Witch blood satisfies our thirst much longer than human blood does. It’s something to consider.”

Adrien swallowed thickly but bobbed his head in understanding. “Father, I don’t mean to disrespect you, but I’m still uncomfortable with the thought of hurting others in order to get their blood. I’m fine with getting blood already packaged instead of feeding.”

A chill went down his spine as his father snickered. “Adrien, don’t forget what you are. We are vampires. We are at the top of the food chain. Humans, witches, and all creatures fear us.” Gabriel tapped the table as he spoke. “That is a reputation I intend on upholding.”

“Yes, Father,” Adrien replied robotically. Licking his lips, he gained a breath. “I will make sure that I’m taking care of myself as well.”

His father smirked, fangs gleaming with pride. It made Adrien uneasy to see his father in this predatory state. He just wanted to leave. Wanted to run away as fast as he could.

“Good, son. I’m glad we understand each other,” Gabriel stood, grabbing his cup and gulping down it’s contents. The smell was so potent. That wasn’t human blood, Adrien knew that for sure. His father harshly plopped the glass back onto the desk. “I will be leaving to hunt. We found a new coven recently, and I intend to make the most of it.”

Adrien’s heart fell, but he hoped his face didn’t show it. He felt his throat tighten. Please, not Marinette’s coven. That’s all he wished. Not hers.

“I expect that you’ll drink plenty of blood this evening, correct?”

His body felt heavy. “Yes, sir,” he murmured.

Had he made her coven a target by visiting? Did he leave her scent for his father to track? Adrien certainly prayed that was not the case. His father bid him farewell, telling him to go eat and be more aware of his blood intake. Adrien followed him from the office and watched him conjugate with the fellow clan members in the foyer.

All eyes were on him. The high clan members stared him down. Their gazes unwavering as he started down the stairs. He was stunned, though, to see his childhood friend standing among the members.

“Chloe?” he asked, mostly to himself.

His eyes were wide as she gave him a smirk and a tiny wave with her fingers. She wasn’t allowed to leave the group, so Adrien approached her instead. “Hey Adrikins,” she cooed.

“Chloe, what are you doing here?”

The blonde cocked a brow at him. She scoffed. “What do you mean? I’m hunting with the clan. What’s it look like?”

Blinking, Adrien definitely wore his confusion on his face. “You’re hunting? We’re too young to join the elders for the hunt.”

Her posture changed, body loosening and her snobby posture changing to that of concern. “What? That’s ridiculous. We’re allowed to start hunting at sixteen.”

“Oh,” was all he could manage. His voice cracked a bit, his head hung low and the view of his shoes became a much better sight to behold than Chloe.

“Speaking of which, are you not joining us again this evening?” she asked as if she hadn’t just dropped an atomic bomb on him.

“I…I guess I’m not.”

He certainly recalled his father telling him that it would be years until he was old enough to hunt. Not that Adrien really wanted to, yet the fact that his father clearly thought so lowly of his abilities made him feel shameful. Swallowing, he gathered what little was left of his shattered pride. “I-I’ll see you later. Good luck.”

He left. Adrien started slowly, but once he was out of eyesight, he sprinted to his room. Slamming the door behind him, he leaned back against it, sliding down it slowly He groaned the entire way down. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion. All of it swarmed in his gut. Was he really that much of a wimp to his father? He could have started hunting two years prior and never was there even any mention of it. Was he a burden? A nuisance? His father didn’t want to deal with him on the hunt.

Gabriel lied to him. Constantly telling him he was too young. Too inexperienced. That couldn’t have been it at all. How was he to get experience if his father never let him leave the mansion!? How dare he!?

“Woah, Adrien, you okay?”

Adrien opened his eyes to see Plagg’s concerned gaze. At least someone in this place cared about him. In a way, he guessed he should be grateful for his father’s decision. He would’ve never met Marinette, and if he was just like any other vampire, then Plagg probably wouldn’t have stuck around.

“Y-Yeah, I’m okay. Did you know that vampires start hunting at sixteen? And I’m eighteen and my father has just… conveniently forgotten to mention it for the last two years?” Adrien said, curling his knees to his chest.

Plagg trotted into the vampire’s lap. “I can’t say I know much about vampire traditions, but I can say that I don’t think you’d be the kid I know now if you were like the rest of your clan.”

He couldn’t help but smile and give Plagg a scratch under his chin. The familiar let out a brief purr, soothing Adrien’s heartache a little. “Thanks, Plagg.”

Opening his eyes, Plagg’s voice went flat. “What did he want?”

Rolling his eyes, Adrien sighed. “The usual scolding of me living my life. Father can’t seem to accept I’m not a blood-thirsty monster like he is. He yelled at me for not drinking enough. He even offered me witch blood, but I said no.”

Placing a paw on Adrien’s shoulder, the familiar smiled. “I’m proud of you.”

Adrien grinned. “I knew you liked me! You just pretend to be annoyed.”

“Ugh! Shut up,” Plagg pounced away and put a distance between the two of them. The familiar could pretend all he wanted, but Adrien knew he cared about him. “Anyway! Weren’t you wanting to visit a certain witch?”

Gasping, Adrien jumped to his feet. “Plagg! My father said he found a new coven! You don’t think I led him right to them, do you?”

Plagg hissed and started towards the window. “The likelihood is low. That’s the most protected coven in the area. We should check though. Your father should have left by now, so let’s go.”

Adrien watched the familiar shrink down small, taking his tiny form and floating towards the window. He followed suit by transforming into a bat, flapping his wings to catch up with the familiar. The two took off through the window. Adrien looked down and saw his clan marching off together in the opposite direction. He felt slight relief washing over him. If they were going a different way, then hopefully it wasn’t Marinette’s coven that they found.

________________________________________________________________

Adrien was thankful to see Marinette’s coven still intact when he and Plagg approached it. All of the witches still seemed carefree and happy with their families. There seemed to be a street market this that day. Witches were exchanging goods in carts. It was probably potion materials.

“They look fine,” he mused.

Plagg hummed in agreement. “Yeah. If you’re going to meet Marinette, you should probably find somewhere just outside of the coven.”

“You’re right, but I have to find her first.”

Plagg chuckled. “We already have.”

Adrien’s head shot up. The familiar was right. None other than Marinette was soaring on her broom again. Her familiar was perched on her shoulder as they flew. It appeared that they were conversing with one another. Adrien hated to interrupt… no. Actually. He didn’t. He was just too excited to see her.

Flapping his wings, he sped up to catch up to her. “Marinette!” he called.

She perked up at the sound of her name. The witch glanced around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Marinette!” he repeated as he finally fluttered beside her. She turned, making eye contact with him. “Hey,” he said.

Marinette shrieked. Her broom wobbled as she lost concentration. She leaned forward, gripping the broom as it began to sputter and fly back and forth in the air. His heart pounded. He hadn’t meant to scare her!

Granted, maybe approaching her as a talking bat wasn’t the best of ideas.

Her broom began descending quickly. Marinette wound her legs around it and pulled back on the handle in an apparent attempt to slow down the falling broom. It didn’t help much. She was dropping quickly towards a bundle of trees just outside of the coven streets. He couldn’t just let her crash into a tree! She’d be a witch pancake if she hit a trunk too hard.

“Hang on! I got you!” Adrien called as Marinette continued her panicked maneuvers.

Her broom caught between two branches, the momentum sending the witch flying forward. Adrien moved quickly, changing out of his bat form in midair, and catching Marinette in his arms. He clutched her to his chest as his back slammed on the ground. He skidded across the dirt, shoulders digging into the surface as his legs wound around Marinette, keeping her still. They came to rapid halt when Adrien’s back rammed into a tree.

With a grunt, Adrien grabbed his head. He breathed heavily, huffing to catch his breath. Cracking an eye open, he looked down at a flustered Marinette. Her cheeks were red, eyes wide, mouth agape. “Are you okay?” he asked.

She jumped off him, scooching away with arms held up in front of her. “Oh, my God! Are you okay?”

Adrien sat up with a chuckle, rubbing the sore spot on the back of his head from the blow. “I’m okay. Vampires are pretty sturdy.”

“I didn’t know you could turn into a bat!” she exclaimed, obviously still stunned by the whole ordeal.

With a nervous laugh, he looked down at his lap. “S-Sorry, it was an accident—”

“Well, you should be sorry!” her little bug familiar piped in. “She crashed her broom again and it was your fault! She could have been killed!”

Jeez. The little creature sure knew how to make him feel like shit. “I didn’t mean—”

Marinette sighed, snatched the red familiar away from him. “Tikki, lay off. It was my fault. I lost focus so my broom lost control. Leave Adrien alone.” She glanced at Plagg, who had returned to his cat form. “Why don’t you two go play nice?” Marinette smiled as she shooed her familiar over towards Plagg.

“Fine,” Tikki grumbled and began floating towards Plagg. “But I’m still watching you,” she finished giving Adrien one last glare.

Damn. That ice-cold look sent a shiver down his spine. He’d never felt so hated before. It wasn’t like Adrien didn’t understand. He did almost kill her owner twice now…

Marinette scooted closer, taking a seat beside him. He couldn’t help how his heart seemed to beat faster when she was around. Adrien glanced away anxiously. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” she said and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I understand.”

Adrien looked up, smiling slightly. Why did she make him so nervous? He couldn’t understand it. “Do you make it a habit to crash your broom often?”

She let out a sweet laugh shaking her head in earnest. “No, I only seem to do that when a certain vampire is around”

He couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out. “Maybe, I should leave you alone then?”

“No,” she said immediately. Marinette gave him a kind pat on the shoulder. “I think I’ll survive.”

Sitting up straighter, Adrien puffed up his chest. “Well, I did save you.”

She let out a snort. “Yeah, uh huh. We’ll call it even since you tried to drink my blood a few days ago.”

With a grimace, Adrien clenched his jaw. She didn’t have to remind him. He’d been living with the guilt ever since he did it. “Sorry about that… again.”

“It’s okay. It meant something to you. I was an easy target. Besides, I think it worked out the end for us, right? I made a new friend out of the whole ordeal,” Marinette chimed with a smile.

He didn’t deserve to be in the presence of such a kind heart. Adrien wasn’t sure how he got so lucky so meet her. Nodding, he agreed. “Right.”

There was beat of silence. Adrien wasn’t quite sure what to say. He’d been so excited to see her again that he hadn’t considered that the whole interaction might be awkward. He didn’t know what to talk about. She kept calling him a friend, but he wasn’t sure what friends did. Or how to interact. The only girl he’d ever spoke to was Chloe, and that was more him telling her what to do rather than a mutual friendship.

“Sooooo, um. I wasn’t really prepared on what to say,” she started, sucking on her bottom lip.

Adrien ruffled his hair at the base of his neck. “Yeah, me neither. I didn’t mean to make this weird.”

“No, no! You’re okay. Let’s try to make it not weird. Why not just… talk about each other’s kind? Obviously, I don’t know much about vampires since you’re the first one I’ve ever seen. I know the general look, the ears, the fangs, but I didn’t know you could turn into a bat.”

Adrien hummed. “Well, vampires have three forms. Our natural form is the one I’m in right now.”

“Huh. I didn’t know vampires had so many special tricks. I thought you guys just… growled and drank blood.”

He snorted with a grin. “I only growl sometimes. Anddd, I have plenty of special tricks. Like we have very good sense of smell and we can control our teeth.”

She cocked a brow. “Control your teeth?”

He nodded lifting his lip with a finger to show his fangs. “We can control our fangs eventually. It’s like an adjustment for the size of the prey. I’m technically too young to be able to do that yet.” Or so he thought. Could just be another lie made up by his father.

She looked at him with disbelief. “Huh. That’s… cool, I guess. Have yours ever, I don’t know, just popped out before?”

“I guess? Mine have only gotten longer when I drink blood or go into a frenzy.”

Marinette let out a nervous laugh, glancing away from him and rubbing her arm slowly. “Yeah, I’ve heard about those.”

Adrien did his best to comfort her with a small smile. “Don’t worry. I have a decent control over mine. It’s been almost a year since I’ve done that. As long as I maintain a good diet, I’m fine.”

“Oh? And what’s a good vampire diet consist of? Maybe, I need tips,” she giggled.

Needed tips? For what? She was beautiful.

He chuckled. “Oh yeah? Well, you may have to take a liking to blood since that’s mostly what we consume. But with a bit of human food. Like…” he paused to think. “You know the stereotype that human models barely eat anything? It’s like that. I only eat a small portion a day then drink blood the rest of the time. If I eat too much normal food, I’ll get sick.”

She seemed so genuinely interested. Marinette nodded in agreement, tapping a finger on her chin. “Oohhh. Huh. That must suck. I love eating sweets until I can’t taste salt anymore,” she replied with a giggle. She looked him over and smirked before tilting her head. “Witches eat people food, if you were wondering.”

“Really? And here I thought you guys ate rats you stewed in a cauldron. Sometimes human children if they stumble upon your secluded homes in the woods,” he mused.

He was worried that he had overstepped with that joke when she stayed silent for a moment. She stared at him as he gave her a simple hint of a smirk. Marinette sputtered before snickering behind her hand. “Oh, you’re joking.”

Barking out a laugh, Adrien grinned. “I was. Unless…”

She gave him a playful push to the shoulder. “Shut up.”

Adrien couldn’t help the joy the teasing and laughing brought to him. He paused, smiling at her as Marinette caught his gaze. Those bluebells sent him into a daze. She was so pretty. No one should be allowed to be so gorgeous. Her skin was like porcelain, the faint freckles that dusted her nose were too cute. His heart fluttered as her eyes bore into his.

Marinette’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly turned away. “A-Anyway, you were saying? About vampires?” she asked with a sideways glance.

“R-Right, um, yeah. Where was I?”

“Hmm,” she tapped a finger to her bottom lip. Adrien was ashamed to admit he tracked the motion, enthralled with how pink and pouty those lips were. “You were saying that vampires have three forms, right?”

“Oh! Yeah. So, this form, the bat form, and then… uh… the one that’s both? I don’t think we have a name for it, necessarily. It’s not used very often. I’ve—I’ve never actually done it before,” Adrien confessed. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea to tell her about the third form. It wasn’t known that vampires had the third form. Most people who witnessed it… didn’t live to tell.

“Wait, so… what is it? You’re vampire but a bat too?”

Adrien hummed in agreement. “Yeah, I’d look like this but with some added bat features.”

Marinette sat up, scooching to sit in front of him instead of to his side. She definitely seemed interested in his life. It was flattering to him. “Does that mean you sprout wings?”

“Yeah. We have wings and claws. I think fangs tend to get longer too. Plus, the red eyes,” he explained. He bit his lip to hide the chuckle from bubbling out. She looked so at awe at the information coming out of his mouth.

“Red eyes?” she asked.

“Yeah. Our eyes tend to turn red when we frenzy too… Or when—” he stopped, tongue heavy in his mouth.

“When…?”

“When vampires drink witches’ blood,” he finished reluctantly. The sorrowful look on her face didn’t help matters. He wished he hadn’t brought it up at all.

Marinette stayed silent, staring down at her lap. “Do you drink it too?”

“No!” he said quickly with a shake of his head. God, that was the last thing he wanted her to think. He’d never had it. Never wanted it. He saw how… eccentric it made the other vampires. It seemed like too much of a boost. He was afraid of it. The only reason he was going to drink from Marinette was to prove to his father he wasn’t useless. After the information he learned today, that effort may have been futile anyway.

“You don’t? You’ve never?”

“No, I’ve never drank it,” Adrien insisted. She still seemed wary of him, fiddling with her fingers in her lap and avoiding eye contact. With a quick glance over at the conversing familiars, Adrien gestured to Plagg. “Hey! Plagg can vouch for me. Have I ever had witches’ blood?”

Plagg shook his head. “Nope, never. His dad even yelled at him about it today. He came back to his room upset about it.”

Adrien gave the cat a flat glare. “All you had to say was ‘no.’ I didn’t ask for the details of my life to be shared, thank you.”

After giving the familiar a small smile, Marinette gave him a concerned gaze. “Does your father yell at you often?”

Giving a lopsided shrug, he glanced away. “It’s… just something he does,” he murmured. There was a beat of silence. He glanced up, meeting the troubled look that glowed in those beautiful blue irises of hers. He didn’t want this to become a pity party for him. He’d already dealt with him enough that evening. Sucking in a breath, Adrien popped up straight and forcing a cheerier tone. “A-Anyway! Is there anything I should know about witches?”

Marinette seemed to get the hint to drop the subject. She recollected herself, sitting up straighter. “U-Uh, well! We have lots of festivals. We tend to visit one another often. Covens are very close-knit communities that spend a lot of time together. We all have familiars, obviously,” she said gesturing to her grumpy familiar. Her arms flailed wildly as she spoke. Adrien couldn’t help but find all of her mannerisms to be super adorable. “We… don’t melt when you throw water on us.”

“Oh, good to know,” he snickered.

“Yeah, so if you were planning to off me by throwing me in a lake, you’re going to have to find another way.”

With a grin, he shook his head. “I would never,” he said softly. Her cheeks flushed a little as her mouth formed a small o shape. Maybe that was too sincere for a time while they were still getting to know each other. Clearing his throat, he fiddled with his hair. “I-If you were trying to get rid of me by shucking me out into the sun, I won’t turn to dust. I just get a rash. Like a bad sunburn. Makes me sneeze too.”

Marinette laughed. “ So, that’s why you come here at night?”

He nodded.

She perked at that, tapping her chin with a hum. “You know, there’s a lot of legends and rumors about what hurts vampires. What if you just correct a lot of those for me… like… a question lightning round?”

He snorted but didn’t hesitate. “Sure.”

“Hmmm… okay. Is a stake to the heart the actual only way to kill a vampire?”

“Uh, that’d kill anybody, Marinette.”

“Are you actually dead?”

“No, we have blood and we’re living. It just pumps slower because our chemical make-up is different.”

“Does that mean you live forever?”

“No. Just longer than the average human.”

“What? Really? Us too!”

“How old?”

“About to two hundred or so?”

“Huh. Vampires too.”

“Nice!” she held a fist out, gazing at him expectantly.

Adrien blinked before slowly lifting his fist to bump his knuckle against hers. She beamed happily at him, and he couldn’t help but find her smile so infectious. He laughed. A laugh of pure joy and happiness. Something he hadn’t felt since his mother was around. He’d hardly known this girl, but jeez she made him so thrilled to exist.

“S-So, uh,” he seemed to find his voice again, beginning to speak. “Got anymore juicy secrets about witches?” God, he just needed the subject off of him for a moment. A breather would be nice.

“Well, obviously, we live high class lives full of high-quality food stewed in caldrons. We also have professional broom riding,” she boasted with a puff of her chest.

Adrien leaned back against the tree, crossing his arms. “I take it that’s not your hobby.”

Scoffing, she feigned a hurt expression and pressed a palm to her chest. “Honestly, how dare you assume that. You don’t think I’m good enough to be a professional?”

“Considering when I first met you, you crashed your broom on a clear night, yeah. I would assume that,” his voice oozed so much sarcasm.

Marinette cracked a smile. “Yeah, well, who needs professional broom riding anyway? I don’t see how they do it. Broom riding takes so much focus and energy. I can’t stay on one as long as they do.”

“It’s okay. I think that’s a special quality about you.”

Her cheeks dusted rose and she tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “You think so?”

Adrien sat up, smiling as he did so. “Yeah, one of many.”

Gazing at him with those blue eyes, smile turned shy. “I have special qualities?”

“Yeah, of course you do. Obviously, you’re brave and a little crazy for even wanting to talk to me after the whole… uh, incident. You’re pretty, charming, and funny. I like being around you. And—uh—I wouldn’t mind meeting up with you more. And learning more about you. So that I can find more special qualities to tell you about.”

Marinette nodded, the sweet expression never leaving her face. “Okay. How about we meet again right here tomorrow?”

“You… really want to?”

Smiling, a hesitant hand hovered over his shoulder to shyly pat him. Adrien pretended the slight, gentle touch didn’t send tingles through his skin to his chest. Her voice was soft, the tender gaze never leaving her face. “Yeah, I do.”

Her grin was infectious as Adrien couldn’t help the twitching of his lips. “I’d like that.” Pausing, he turned away from her for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. Leaning over towards her, he cupped his hand around his mouth in a mock whisper. “Between you and me… I don’t have any friends?”

Marinette let out an exaggerated gasp. “Really?” she asked, flopping her hands on her lap. “I really would have never known.”

Adrien laughed. “Yeah. What a surprise, right?”

“Well,” she said glancing away for a moment. “You do now.”

_______________________________________________________________

“See, Tikki, I told you,” Marinette boasted, puffing up her chest with confidence as she entered her room. “I knew I could learn about vampires by talking to him. And he didn’t suspect a thing about it. It was all just small talk.” She made her way over to her closet, opening the doors to pull out her pajamas for the evening.

Tikki crossed her arms giving her owner a flat look. “Are you trying to convince me you don’t like him or yourself?”

Pausing, Marinette turned to face her familiar. She tilted her head and cocked a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You like him. A lot.”

“Ha!” she let out a snort then snatched a t-shirt and polka-dot pjs out of the closet. “Yeah, right. This is research to defeat the Agrestes. Like learning vampires have three forms. That’s interesting, huh?”

Tikki squinted. “You told him he was your friend. Emotional manipulation of someone who is clearly lonely is cruel.”

“Stop it! I am his friend. He’s sweet, okay? If he needs me to be there for him then I will.”

“So, it’s not research?”

“It’s both!” she cried. Marinette groaned, stuffing her face into her change of clothes. “Tikki, stop hounding me about this. I don’t know what I’m doing!”

The familiar sighed, floating over to her owner with reluctance. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know… I do like him in a friendly way. He obviously has a bad life at home. I know vampires probably aren’t the most nurturing of creatures, but Adrien seems sweet enough. He’s been through a lot with his mother. I’m starting to think his dad isn’t the best parent from what Plagg hinted at today,” she explained.

“Speaking of Plagg, we did have a conversation about Adrien. He told me a little more about him.”

Marinette finally shucked off her shirt, tossing it into the hamper before pulling her large t-shirt over her head. “Really?” she asked as she popped her head through the shirt. “Like what?”

Tikki grimaced, rubbing a paw along her arm. “Well, you were right about his father. Apparently, he’s very harsh and cold towards Adrien.”

She felt her shoulders deflate. “He doesn’t deserve that…”

“No… he doesn’t. I know I’ve been difficult with him, but I’m just doing my job to protect you. Plagg said Adrien stays in his room most days to talk to him. And that his father keeps him sheltered away from the rest of the clan.”

Heaving a sigh, Marinette popped open the button of her jeans and slid them off her hips. Tikki’s words were heavy on her shoulders. No one deserved to be hidden away from the world. Not even a vampire. She stepped into her pajamas as tears bubbled in her eyes. Marinette quickly blinked them away with a sniffle. Adrien really did try. She knew he did.

It didn’t make any sense. Why was she doing this to herself? Marinette was starting to question her sanity. This was a vampire. The ones who hunted down her kind like turkeys for a Thanksgiving feast. The boy tried to drink her. And it had terrified her. But when she saw that guilt-ridden expression on his face when he pushed away from her, she couldn’t help but have sympathy for him. He was clearly a broken soul. His mom was killed by witches, which should have made him much more hate-filled than he was. Anyone raised to hate an entire race wouldn’t so easily give up those feelings. But he had.

She couldn’t help but wonder if this was really blessing of fate. Marinette knew her purpose was to defeat the Agreste clan. It was a prophecy assigned to her at birth. It was why she was gifted the earrings by Master Fu at her sixteenth birthday. And suddenly, two years later, a vampire practically falls in her lap. A vampire who has never killed a soul in his life? Could it have been destiny that brought Adrien to her? Who knew, really?

_______________________________________________________________

Adrien tip-toed into the kitchen. He knew he father and Nathalie were still out hunting with the rest of the clan, but the Gorilla was around guarding the house somewhere. He grabbed a ham and cheese sandwich with a glass of blood to go with it. The last thing he wanted was to accidently frenzy around Marinette, so he needed to keep up his strength. He noticed a block of camembert sitting on the counter. Plagg hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, and there wasn’t any chicken or fish in the fridge… he’d already checked.

With a lopsided shrug to himself, he cut two slices from the wheel. He plopped the slices onto his plate, careful not to get the stinky cheese on his sandwich. Adrien quietly snuck back to his bedroom. He scooted onto his bed, careful not to spill anything.

Plagg hopped onto the comforter, eyeing him. Adrien held up a slice of camembert. “There was no chicken or fish, so you’ll just have to go with this tonight.”

“Is that cheese? I’m a cat, Adrien. Not a mouse,” Plagg hissed. Adrien didn’t hesitate, just continued to hold the cheese out for the cat to take. Plagg glowered at his kindness. Leaning forward, he took a tiny bite. Adrien chuckled when the familiar’s eyes lit up, taking larger bites.

Adrien took his sandwich from the plate and pushed the cheese towards Plagg. Sucking the blood from a straw, he watched the familiar munch down on the camembert. He gazed up at Adrien with wide eyes. “Kid, this is the best thing I ever tasted.”

Adrien had to keep himself from snorting the blood from his nose.

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whimsicaldragonette · 7 years

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Romancing the Sorcerer’s Stone (Part 20 of 24)

Part 1~ Part 2~ Part 3~ Part 4~ Part 5~ Part 6~ Part 7~ Part 8~ Part 9~ Part 10~ Part 11~ Part 12~ Part 13~ Part 14~ Part 15~ Part 16~ Part 17~ Part 18~ Part 19~ Part 20~ Part 21~ Part 22~ Part 23~ Part 24~

-Chapter 20: Golden Snitches-

March 2004 — The Burrow, England

Harry sighs, slouching further down the sofa where he’d thrown himself after eating far too much at one of Molly’s Sunday brunches. “We’re not going to be able to do a lot of searching in muggle scuba gear. And Zabini will likely only give us one shot at it.” He rubs his eyes. “I wish we had a metal detector.”

Malfoy, sprawled on the couch next to him, raises a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s a metal detector?”

“It’s… well, I’m not sure exactly how they work.” He shrugs helplessly. "Anyway, they’re muggle things. They can find bits of metal buried in the dirt. People mostly use them to search for buried treasure, but honestly I think they’re kind of gimmicky. Dudley and Uncle Vernon got one, once, and I got to play with it a bit when Dudley got bored of it after he didn’t find anything after five minutes of wandering around the yard. Too bad there’s not a wizarding version.”

Malfoy scoffs, leans over to flick Harry’s forehead. “It’s a diamond, Potter, not made of metal.”

Harry can tell Malfoy is gearing himself up to launch into the standard ‘but you wouldn’t know that because you grew up poor’ teasing, and steels himself, but instead he stops, mouth part-way open, staring at him.

“Malfoy?” Harry waves a hand in front of his face.

Malfoy lights up, which, honestly, isn’t the reaction he was expecting.

“Harry!” he exclaims, eyes sparkling, “You’re a bloody genius!”

That’s really not what he was expecting. “Sorry, what?” He must have heard him wrong. Did he space out again?

Malfoy ignores him. At least that’s normal, Harry thinks, bemused.

“That’s exactly what we need! It won’t even be that hard; we’ll just have to… Pansy! Hermione! We need your brains!”

Bill wanders over after a few minutes, drawn by the intense discussion that’s taken over their corner of the living room, followed by the Malfoys and Arthur.

Ron, who’s been watching with a strange expression on his face as he rubs Hermione’s shoulders, breaks in suddenly.

“You don’t even need a physical device, though — you just need to modify a detection spell. Although… Having some way to trigger it when you can’t spare the attention for a spell might help…”

Malfoy stares at him in astonishment. “Ronald, I never thought I’d say this, but you’re brilliant!” He claps him heartily on the back.

Ron grimaces. “Just don’t call me Ronald ever again. I feel like I’m in trouble whenever someone does that.”

Molly and Hermione share a knowing smirk and Ron colors. Malfoy just laughs. “You prefer Weasel, then?”

“If I can call you Ferret in return.”

Malfoy snorts. “I don’t think I’m ready to call you ‘Ron’ yet, so Weasley will have to suffice for now.”

Ron looks relieved. “Good. Not sure I’m ready to call you ‘Draco’ either, Malfoy.”

By the time they leave, once brunch has stretched well past dinner, they’ve made a fair bit of progress. Stranger still, they’ve all got plans to meet up again the following week for further research. Molly doesn’t protest — Harry knows she loves hosting their gatherings, and he secretly thinks she would do it more often if she thought she could get away with it — and it’s so nice to see everyone getting along. Strange, but nice.

This ‘Dark magic detector’ is turning into a fascinating bit of spellwork, and he can practically see the wheels spinning in Hermione’s head as Ron helps her into her coat. Ron makes an exasperated face at him as he herds Hermione toward the floo. Harry knows she’ll be up all night researching, but he can’t find it in himself to mind.

That’s just how life works, he thinks vaguely, as he twists in place and feels the tug of apparition pulling him away from the cozy Burrow. Hermione stays up all night doing the research, and we take care of the adventuring.

He doesn’t notice that somewhere along the line, ‘we’ has morphed from him and Ron to him and Draco.

September 2004 — Somewhere in the Caribbean

Harry marvels at the shimmering, blue-tinted world around him. Fronds of sea-grass wave seductively off to his left; a school of tiny fish darts past him to the right, rainbow scales shimmering in the weak light. The fierce tropical sun is dimmed and filtered here below the water, only the tiniest fraction of light able to pierce the depths. It’s otherworldly. Beautiful.

A hand clamps down suddenly on his shoulder and he starts, turning abruptly toward Malfoy’s exasperated face. He can’t speak underwater, but his thumb jerks toward their goal, then taps impatiently at his wrist, where his air-gauge gleams faintly. Harry nods, chastised. They only have enough air for an hour - an hour-and-a-half, tops if they push it. He doesn’t want to push it.

He turns resolutely away from the beckoning alien world around him and follows Malfoy’s wetsuit-clad form toward the hulking shipwreck.

Malfoy looks even more dangerous in a muggle wetsuit, all gleaming black rubber and toothy grin. Harry feels a frisson of something unfamiliar running up his spine, and he looks around warily, scanning for danger. The ocean stares back at him, placid and opaque. After one last wary glance behind, he turns back to follow him.

They’ve kept this dive as secret as they can, even laying down a false trail in the American Southwest, but… he wouldn’t put it past Zabini to turn up here. The man has an uncanny knack for finding them when he’s least wanted.

Malfoy’s expression is hard to read as he waits for Harry to catch up, hidden in the shadow of the decaying mass of barnacle-encrusted timber. Harry wishes, not for the first time, that Snape had been able to teach him legilimency all those years ago. He’d give a pretty penny for one of the magical communicators Ron and George are working on, as Malfoy’s scowl deepens. His hand twitches reflexively toward his hip, where he feels the lack of his wand keenly.

The wreck just had to be in a strong magical dead-zone, didn’t it? Of course, that’s likely why the blood diamond hasn’t been recovered before now. For that matter, Harry thinks, eyes widening, it isn’t terribly unlikely that something in that wreck is causing the dead zone — maybe even the blood diamond itself.

Malfoy rolls his eyes and taps a button on his wrist.

“What on earth is wrong, Potter?”

His exasperated voice echoes suddenly around Harry’s skull and he jumps, then glares when Malfoy sniggers. He’d forgotten about the muggle communication device that’s built into their suits.

He presses the button on his own wrist. “Yeah, yeah, Malfoy, very funny. Let’s just get on with this, yeah?”

Malfoy studies him for a moment, frowning, then glances down at his air gauge and nods.

“I’m leaving the channel open, though. We may get separated, and the last thing I need is to have to rescue you because you’ve spaced out again. Follow me.”

Harry hates to say he loves it when Malfoy is bossy, but Merlin help him, he does.

Malfoy turns, kicking slowly through a gaping hole in the hull. Harry follows, using his forearm to brush away more of the sea grass that clings to the opening, kicking his feet and propelling himself past the rotting timbers — they don’t look even a little bit like teeth, he tells himself firmly — and into the darkness beyond.

Malfoy has already activated his flashlight, and Harry does the same. The twin beams of light dance crazily around the cavernous room, obscuring more than they reveal. Harry squints, looking for some sort of opening… There.

“Found it!” he calls, and Malfoy’s light swings around to join his. Together, they reveal that it is indeed a doorway with a set of rickety stairs leading down and to the right.

Malfoy shoots him a quick grin. “I’m going in. Light my way from behind, will you?”

Harry nods and follows him deeper into the ship.

It takes longer than they’d expected to find the right storage room, even longer to find the right crate inside it. But when they do…

“Bloody hell!” Malfoy whispers. Harry’s low whistle echoes over his words, and then he snorts.

“Been hanging out with Ron lately, have you?”

“Shut up,” Malfoy says, but his words don’t have the usual bite to them. “I’ve been going with you to the Weasley dinners for months now, you know. Years, even.”

Harry stares at him. It’s true, he realizes. After that first day, when he’d pulled him with him into the side-along apparition without thinking about it because they were in the middle of some argument or another, he has been going to Weasley dinners regularly. Now that he thinks of it, Astoria’s joined them lately as well, and Lucius, and Narcissa, and even Pansy has become a regular after that job in Florence. Huh.

“Potter!” Malfoy snaps. “Get ahold of yourself! You can go back to whatever identity crisis you’re having after we get this thing back to the boat.”

Harry blinks, then blinks again. “Ah, Malfoy… How are we going to get this back to the boat?”

He rolls his eyes. “Obviously, Potter, we’ll just cast a — oh.”

Harry snorts. Oh, indeed. He grasps one of the chest’s handles and tugs experimentally on it. Malfoy gets the idea and copies his movement on the other side. It doesn’t budge.

“Well, shit.”

They stare at it in silence for a moment. Malfoy frowns down at his air gauge, tapping it lightly and grimacing at whatever he sees there. “We’ll have to leave most of it here. Do you have that detector?”

Harry nods, fishing it out of the pouch at his waist, and passes it to him.

They find the diamond, eventually, with only minutes to spare. The needles on both air gauges are pushing disturbingly close to red — and they still have to get back up — when Malfoy lifts the umpteenth jewel and the dark magic detector goes crazy.

They eye one another, eyebrows lifted in surprise. This thing is dark.

Harry checks his gauge again and winces, hurrying to pull out the specially enhanced magic-dampening containment pouch — Charlie, Bill, and George’s contribution to the endeavor. His fingers, clumsy in the enhanced scuba gear, fumble for a moment as he tries to open it. The needle ticks over into the red.

Harry shakes the bag impatiently, finally wrenching it open. Malfoy drops the jewel in and Harry closes it, securing it to his belt.

He glances down at the chest regretfully, jewels winking temptingly back at him, then back at his gauge. Shit.

“Malfoy — we have to go, now.”

Malfoy sighs, but nods. “Right. Just let me…”

He draws out a second pouch and fumbles it open. The needle ticks again, and Harry can feel his anxiety rising. “Come on, Malfoy!”

Malfoy waves him off as he scoops a handful of jewels and coins into his pouch, secures it, and then nods. “Let’s go.”

Harry follows him from the room, rolling his eyes.

“Was that really necessary?” he gasps, once they’ve heaved themselves back over the side of the boat and discarded their oxygen masks. He rolls over onto his back, squinting his eyes against the harsh Caribbean afternoon sun.

He glances through his lashes to see Malfoy copying his movements; he flashes a quicksilver grin.

“I couldn’t just leave it all there. Anyway,” he says as he rolls suddenly, until he’s propped over Harry, muscles defined even though the wetsuit, “you like it.”

Harry stares up at him, blonde hair shining like a halo around his head, darker than usual and dripping water on Harry’s cheek, and he can’t find it in himself to mind.

“Like what?” he asks, voice coming out breathless, hoarser than he intends.

Malfoy grins his lazy, predatory smile, all teeth and charisma. “This,” he says, gesturing expansively at the glaring sun, the dazzling blue sea, himself.

“Adventure. Thrill. Danger.”

Harry tries to disagree but he can’t find the words. He stares, mouth open, at the light blush that dusts Malfoy’s cheeks. Then he rolls off him, breaking the moment.

“Come on, Potter,” he says, all business once more. “Let’s get back to shore. I want to get out of this blasted suit and back to London so I can run some tests on this before Zabini gets wind of it.”

A delicate cough sounds from the boat’s cabin. “That might be more difficult than you imagine.”

Their heads swing around in unison to stare at the interloper, and Harry thinks distantly that it would be funny, if not for the pistol pointed at Malfoy’s chest.

Malfoy stares blankly at the intruder. “Fucking Zabini,” he mutters. “What in Salazar’s name are you doing here?”

Zabini snorts, but the pistol doesn’t waver. “What do you think, Malfoy? Give it to me.”

Malfoy scowls and sets his jaw in the stubborn expression Harry has become intimately acquainted with in the past six years.

“No.”

Harry rolls his eyes but sidles cautiously to the left. If I can just get a little closer…”

He wills Malfoy to keep talking. Luckily the git’s stubbornness is something he knows he can count on.

“No?” Blaise looks pointedly at the pistol in his hand, and then back to Malfoy. “Do you know what this is?”

“I’m not stupid, Zabini. Of course, I know what it is.”

Just a little closer…

“Then you know what she’ll do to you at this range?” He pats the gun fondly; Harry grimaces. He’d never noticed how crazy Zabini was back in school. Malfoy, apparently, is thinking the same thing.

“Did Voldemort do something to your mind during the war, Zabini, or were you always this unhinged and I just never noticed?”

Zabini grimaces in disgust, and his face flickers with something that might be fear.

“Don’t say his n—“

Harry sees his chance, and, as he is a Gryffindor, he takes it without stopping to think. He launches himself through the air, hitting Zabini with a full-body flying tackle, sending them both overboard.

The sharp retort of the pistol echoes in the humid air and Harry fervently hopes that Malfoy had the sense to get out of the way. He can’t check, though; He’s too busy thrashing about in the water, trying to stay afloat and also get the upper hand.

And then Zabini’s hands are around his neck and squeezing, and the world starts to go dim and flickery around the edges.

There’s a deafening crack, and then Zabini’s hold loosens. Harry gasps in a breath that is more water than air and feels a hand snag his hair — none too gently — and lift him out of the water.

He finds himself on their hired boat once more, on his hands and knees on the wood planking of the deck, struggling to breathe.

Gentle hands support him, pulling his hair back from his face as he retches and coughs up the water he swallowed, then pressing his glasses into his hands.

“Thanks,” he rasps, when he feels reasonably sure he’s not actually going to drown.

The hands retreat, and Malfoy’s features resettle themselves into their familiar expressionless mask.

“Let’s go. Before he gets back.”

Harry scrambles to his feet. “What did you…?”

Malfoy’s mouth twitches into a reluctant smile. “Whacked him over the head with an oar. Not my most elegant move, but effective.”

Harry snorts, running his eyes over Malfoy’s form. There’s something— his gaze snags on Malfoy’s left arm, cradled at an odd angle against his side.

“Malfoy… is that blood? Did he shoot you?”

He scowls, turning away. “It’s nothing, Potter. Just a scratch.”

“It’s not nothing. Here, let me—“

Harry reaches for his arm, but Malfoy jerks away from him.

“I said it’s fine! Merlin! I’ll tend to it once we get back. I don’t know how hard I hit him, and that island’s just within swimming distance. I don’t trust Zabini as far as I can throw him.”

Harry nods, giving in, but quietly determines to keep a close eye on him until they get back. “Right. Let’s go, then.”

Some minutes later, a small, dark craft slips out from a sheltered cove, fishes a dripping, fuming Zabini out of the water, and follows..

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#drarry #drarry squad #slytherdornet #harry potter #romancing the sorcerer's stone #my fic #my writing #draco malfoy #harryxdraco

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xadoheandterra · 7 years

Text

Title: Don’t Write Me A Postscript Chapter: V (I / II / III / IV / VI / VII / VIII / IX / X / XI / XII / XIII) Fandom: Red vs Blue Characters: David Church | Agent Washington | Recovery One, Micheal Caboose | Agent California | Micheal-210, Church | Alpha Summary: He was all sorts fucked up and didn’t want to admit it. Being alone for fourteen months didn’t help matters--except, well, Church was tired of being alone. Tired of people leaving and dying--and he thought, no more. I’m done. I’m out.

Won’t Say You’re Sorry (I / II / III)

Do You Even Feel Compassion? (I / II)

There were a lot of things Agent Washington expected when he interacted with the Sim Troopers. A lack of fundamental understanding of how the army actually functioned, the realization that they weren’t actually in the middle of a civil war, or the knowledge that Freelancer’s where merely using them as training grounds. Wash didn’t anticipate running into a Sim Trooper like Caboose, who had team kills by the hundreds, who talked to vehicles as if they were alive, and who half the time made no sense at all until hours down the road.

Caboose actually reminded Wash a lot of Idaho. He missed the triplets. They used to talk and hang out a lot before he got bumped up to Alpha Squad—and before they went completely missing. Wash closed his eyes behind his helmet and rubbed at the back of his neck where his implants burned with psychosomatic pain. The real kicker though, after Kaikaina ‘Sister’ Grif and meeting the AWOL Captain of Red Team Sarge, was honestly Church. Wash eyed Caboose who stood in front of the base with his arms spread out wide.

“Fuck! I missed him!”

Wash watched as the bullets missed Caboose, sometimes by a hair, and yet the larger SPARTAN-esque Sim Trooper just stood there, happy. It defied logic and reason and Washington couldn’t understand it. Was there something in the water? He has to be hallucinating. That was the only thing that made sense.

Wash sucked in a breath. Breath, David, he’s a shit shot and you are fine.

“This is your friend?” Washington asked, and he felt a part of his throat tighten because what kind of friend fires live arounds at another?

Caboose lowered his arms and turned to look at Washington through his helmet and he sounded kind of exasperated as he said, “Yeah.”

“And he’s…shooting at you?” Washington asked, because he felt like he needed to clarify. Who thought shit like this was normal? Several more shots rang out, followed by ever increasing vitriolic curses, and Wash forced himself to breath. He counted back and muttered under his breath the exercises his therapist taught him.

Wash came back at the tail end of Caboose’s response.

“…something up about me killing him, but uh, that’s only the truth. Uh,” Caboose paused, then hastily corrected, “it’s a joke.”

I had to have misheard, Washington thought weakly.

“You can play along if you want!” Caboose chirped.

“That—that doesn’t—you did—you—killed him?” Wash squeaked.

Three more shots went off, and then Church actually popped his head up and shrieked at them and Washington wanted to bury his head and groan.

“Seriously! Get the fuck outta here!”

Maybe there was something in the water at Blood Gulch? Washington thought while Caboose yelled back—and then Church reached a pitch that went right through his brain and he rubbed at his implants again with a faint grown. Or maybe I’m hallucinating due to starvation or something. When was the last time I ate? That…ration bar? How long ago was that? Yesterday?

“What is wrong with you?!” Church shrieked again, and Washington decided he had enough. He stepped out from behind the rock, then quickly jumped back when a shot hit the dirt in front of him.

Wash raised his hands, sucked in a breath, and shouted, “Open the gate!” because fuck—he felt like he was in some weird film and his head hurt with forgotten memories.

“No can do!” Church shouted back down. At least, Wash noted weakly, he’d shouldered his weapon. “This here is a secure facility. No one in, no one out! So scram! Get! And don’t come back!”

Wash stared up at Church, then glanced over to the caution taped and marked off giant hole in the wall, and then back to Church. He wondered if he should even bother to deadpan a reply. They stared at one another for a moment longer, and Wash closed his eyes.

“You have a giant fucking hole in your oh so secure wall,” Washington said bluntly. “I could, of course, just walk in.”

A beat, a moment of silence, and then a loud groan and a growled response of, “Fine!” Washington waited for the door to grind open on damaged gears.

Caboose tore into the facility first. He practically bounced up to Church and squeezed him into a hug while Washington gingerly stepped along behind him. The place was an utter wreck. Vaguely Washington remembered pulling the files on Outpost 48—the two Sim Teams wiped one another out so completely that Command had issues in filling in replacements and repairs.

“Put—put me down! Caboose! Put me down dammit!”

Washington stared, watched as Church struggled in Caboose’s grip for a moment, and then sighed heavily. This was going to be a headache, he could already tell.

Thirty minutes of Caboose squeezing and chattering on about all that happened at Rats Nest and Church had, miraculously, guided them toward the decrepit kitchenette in the base. Somehow he got Caboose to sit still, and Caboose actually tore off his helmet when Church rummaged through the fridge—he grumbled something about how half the food was rotted and he’d need to put in a request again before he pulled out what looked like orange juice.

“Smell that for me buddy,” Church said and handed the cartoon to Caboose. “Let me know if it’s still good.”

Caboose cheerfully accepted the carton and twisted off the cap. He took a sniff and crinkled his nose before he tipped the carton back and began to drink. Church scrambled to grab the carton away and Wash watched it all with the fascination of a train wreck in progress.

“Goddammit moron don’t drink it! Fuck just tell me if it’s rancid—you’re going to make yourself sick you stupid—” Church wrestled the carton away and tossed it into the bin before he scrambled for a cup and quickly twisted the faucet for water. He shoved that at Caboose, along with what looked like some sort of pills, and quickly commanded the large man to drink.

“It was okay! Only a little bad!” Caboose said, but he drank as ordered and Washington felt like an outsider. “My stomach is lead-based. I’ll be fine, I think, won’t I Church?”

Church groaned and flopped down into another chair. Washington thought he mumbled something about how it was a miracle that Caboose wasn’t dead yet before he raised his helmeted head to look at Wash and somehow Washington could just tell the man was exasperated as much as he was happy.

“So,” Church said blandly. “A Freelancer Agent. Here.”

Washington blinked behind his mask. “Recovery Agent actually.”

“Even fucking better,” Church spat out and leaned his head back.

Washington wondered if he should just ask—the food was apparently rotted and as far as he could tell there was no one else in this decrepit, rundown base. He sucked in a breath and decided to just go for it. “Uhm, how—how long have you been here?”

Church rubbed at his helmet in the way one would rub at their hair and then glanced up at Wash tiredly. “What day is today?” Church questioned.

“Tuesday,” Washington said quickly.

“Fourteen months,” Church shot back just as quick and Washington wondered what the day had to do with calculating the length of time in High Ground. “To the day,” Church added, and Wash gaped.

“F—fourteen months? Alone? Here?”

“Yeah,” Church said tiredly. “Been great. Just…really fucking awesome.” Church glanced to Caboose. “Caboose, drink all of it.”

“Okay!”

Wash glanced to Caboose as well and watched the man tip back the glass and drank.

Church sucked in a breath and turned back to Wash and said blandly, “So, Recovery Agent, what the fuck are you doing here at High Ground?” After a second he added, “And how did you even know I was here?”

Caboose answered for him before he could—and he looked rather sheepish about it all too. Washington was reminded how Caboose explained that he snuck a look at the transfer papers and how Church hadn’t really wanted him to know.

“Oh that’s my fault,” Caboose said. “Agent Washingtub wanted people who dealt with Omega and you dealt with Omega the most and I knew where you were so I said I’d lead him here! And here we are!”

Church turned to Caboose. “Caboose,” he said, and the words were ground out with frustration. “It was supposed to be a secret.”

“But what if you were in trouble, Church?” Caboose whined. “What if I needed to rescue you?”

Church sighed again and turned back to Washington. “Does Command know you’re here?”

Washington blinked. “Not yet. I haven’t updated them to the situation. Which reminds me I should—”

“Wait, wait! Don’t call Command yet!” Church scrambled across to grab Washington’s hand like that would stop him from activating his radio. He listened, however, curious as to what the man wanted to say. “This is about Omega?”

Washington said slowly, “Yes, and no.”

Church scowled beneath his helmet. “That is not a fucking answer!”

Washington opened his mouth to respond when Caboose started speaking up again. “Church. Church.”

“Oh my god Caboose finish your water,” Church ground out—he didn’t even bother to look at the other soldier.

“But I did. I finished the water. But, uh, my tummy feels a bit weird?” There was a pause, before Caboose continued, “Uhm, yeah, I am going to be sick.”

Church groaned, held up a hand to stall Washington, and quickly started leading Caboose out of the kitchenette.

“This is why you don’t drink spoiled food, rookie!” Church snapped out while he walked away. Washington wondered how he was going to survive being surrounded by morons. Was this divine punishment? Washington wondered, for a long moment, if he really was suffering from some sort of fever dream brought on by hunger.

“Oh my god Caboose in the toilet! In the toilet!”

Wash dropped his head to the table and wished for simpler days.

They left Agent Washington for thirty minutes, and part of that was because fuck did Church miss this, and fuck did Caboose miss this too. After the mess in the bathroom Church helped Caboose out of his armor—minimal help needed, the man knew how to get his own armor off he just liked to get Church to help him. Church discarded his own armor, resolved to dump them off to get clean later because right now he just—

(his caboose)

(he came back)

—just wanted to rest. Caboose wanted to cuddle. They made the best of the mess and settled down onto Church’s rarely used bed, Church with his back to the fortified wall and Caboose half in his lap, face pressed to his lower stomach, arms wrapped tight around him in a hug. Church sighed and let it just be. Subconsciously his hands stroked through Caboose’s hair, and they rested there for a half hour.

(he came back)

When thirty minutes ticked over Church nudged at Caboose.

“Buddy I need to go and get our armor situated,” Church said.

“Dunwanna,” Caboose mumbled.

“I get that,” Church replied calmly, “but if I don’t dump them into the tub to get cleaned they’re going to smell like vomit forever.”

“I dun’like vomit,” Caboose mumbled again. “I’sucks.”

Church snorted. “Of course it does. Should’ve just did what I said rookie and not drank the damn thing.”

“Jus’a little.”

“Nope, we are not doing this,” Church nudged Caboose a bit harder. “Come on. You dragged a damn Freelancer agent into my base. We left him alone for thirty minutes, and our armor stinks.”

“S’nice,” Caboose mumbled. “’Ashingtub.”

“Yeah, yeah I’m sure he’s a real peach,” Church drawled, “but I don’t trust him.”

“’st’me?” Caboose shifted, tightened his grip. Church sighed, his fingers in Caboose’s dark-wheat-like hair, and they tightened slightly.

“Yeah, buddy,” Church mumbled. “Of course I do.”

For a second nothing happened, then Caboose sighed and shifted off of Church. He grabbed at the pillow and buried his face into it, and Church relaxed just a bit.

“’Ome back,” Caboose said, and he shifted to look at Church with one pale blue eye.

“Of course. Just gotta take care of shit,” Church said as he got up from the bed. “Just relax. I’ll get you some more water too. If you have to throw up, for the love of god make sure you get it in the bucket.”

“Kay.”

Church rubbed a hand over his face and resigned himself to having to clean up vomit if Caboose did have to throw up again. The man lived to try his patience sometimes. With a huff and purpose Church strode out of the room. He headed first to the bathroom, thankfully he couldn’t smell, and gathered up the soiled bits of armor.

This particular base had an automated system for cleaning armor. When Church first discovered it he’d stared and wondered why. At Blood Gulch if the armor got dirty they had to clean it themselves. This was higher tech than any Sim Outpost should rightly had. Not only did it clean the armor, but it helped removed unwanted smells that Church and Caboose and Tucker otherwise had to live with when they cleaned their armor themselves. Sure it took longer to work but the benefits outweighed anything. Plus, Church really didn’t want to clean up vomit off of power armor.

Once he’d dumped the armor into place, wiggled and finagled the power to actually get the machine to work, Church headed back to the kitchenette. Agent Washington was not there, and Church cursed loudly. Just fucking perfect. Now he had a Freelancer Agent, Recovery Agent or not, wandering around High Ground unattended. He didn’t like the itch he felt with that. He didn’t know Agent Washington.

(he should be dead)

(he is dead)

(who is this?)

He didn’t know this Agent Washington. Church felt something was off, something was wrong. He hissed a breath and turned on heel. He needed to find the Freelancer, and now.

#rvb #red vs blue #agent washington #leonard church #caboose #alpha ai #fanfic #fic: don't write me a postscript #oh look we're getting into plot #had this actually mostly written after i finished chapter 2 #so yay #agent california #alpha church #sickness #vomiting

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ckyking · 7 years

Text

a date for a debt

something silly for the next one, with ardyn, the long-suffering uncle figure and noct, his stupid-in-love apprentice. clearly there is a reason why nothing ever gets done around their shop.

“Ardyn.”

The man in question didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge the buzzing sound at the edge of his perception. Laid out as he was on the sofa taking up nearly an entire wall of his shop’s main room, one would think that he did not have a job to do.

“Ardyn.”

Still no answer. Muttering under his breath, the immortal’s apprentice gave up on subtlety and decided that that he was not awake enough to deal with this.

“Wake the fuck up.” And with this, Noctis plopped himself on his back, sitting squarely in the middle of it and punching the breath out of the suddenly awake man who did not quite gasp but still let out a disgruntled sound that pulled a laugh from the youngest’s lips.

“My dear,” Ardyn started lightly, “Pray tell, what exactly do you think you are doing?”

“Waking your lazy ass up. You would think that after two thousand years, you wouldn’t need as much sleep.”

“I enjoy the finest things in life.”

“Yeah, well, the finest things you have to take care of right now are me and the shop, in that order. We have rituals to prepare.”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“If I don’t, nobody will.”

“Oh really? How about that boy working in— “

“We do not bring that up.”

“My, have I touched a nerve?”

“Oh, go back to hell, master.”

“I’m sorry to tell you this, my dear, but hell is not a place, and I’m looking right at it.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“I know, but thank you for the compliment.”

“This shit right here is why we get everything done at the last moment.”

“Is that so? I thought it was because I was saddled with such a troublesome apprentice.”

“I’m so very sorry, master, how could I ever make amends to you?”

“Ask the boy out and stop pestering me with your relationship problems, or lack thereof. I can only deal with so much in one day.”

“Fuck you.”

“Sorry to break your heart, my dear, but you are really not my type.”

“…Please stop talking, I think I’m going to be sick if you say something like that again.”

“Happy to be of service.”

By now, Ardyn’s head was comfortably nestled in his arms, propped up on the armrest, eyes closed as he looked at Noctis through the wards he had woven himself to keep everyone but those he approved of out of his property. After all, he had no need for money anymore, but keeping his skills sharp was as interesting a pastime as any, especially when he could rile up his adorable apprentice in the process.

His infamous smirk made an appearance when a familiar signature appeared at the edges of his property, waiting for an instant before venturing closer to the shop, keeping to the main road all the while. Without even looking, Noctis twisted a strand of reddish hair around his fingers and pulled lightly, bringing Ardyn’s attention back to him.

“Whatever is making you smirk now, I want it gone. It’s never a good thing when you do.”

“Oh, could you tell? You cannot even see me right now, what with how busy you are trying to drown your sorrows in coffee.”

“Yes, I could. Just like vultures can sense rotting meat from miles away.”

“I’m hurt.”

“Good.”

“I’m certain you do not want it gone this time around, I assure you.”

“…What are you planning?”

“Oh, nothing. It’s so much better when I don’t have to lift a finger for things to go my way. And Noct, really, you really should have made yourself more presentable.”

Whatever Noctis was about to say was cut off when someone knocked at the door firmly, eliciting a mix of yowls and screeches from the backrooms as the newborn daemons awakened from their daytime nap.

“Ardyn, Noct, you there? Delivery for you!”

“Come in, Nyx, the door is open!”

The following laughter was muffled when Noctis frantically pushed Ardyn’s head down into the cushions in his attempt to jump off the couch and go find something more appropriate to wear.

“Wait, no, don’t!” Noctis yelled over the noise before turning back to his meddling master.

“I’m going to set Gladio on you, don’t think I won’t!”

“Which one now? And this reminds me, did you ever tell your friend that you named a Red Giant after him? Or a tonberry after the prim and proper one? I knew you had no creativity, but this is going too far, even for you.”

“I didn’t, and you won’t either if you want to continue sleeping. I still have those spells Luna taught me.”

“Oh my, threats? So early in the morning? I’m so proud of you, Noct, my influence is finally starting to show.”

Noctis’ face twisted at the praise and he let out a disgusted noise which only heightened Ardyn’s amusement.

“Alright, coming in!” Nyx’s voice snapped the youngest back to reality with a start, the sound of the handle being turned sending him running for the stairs hidden behind the counter.

Just as the fabric of Noctis’ oversized sleepshirt disappeared around the corner, the Galahdian entered the shop, picking his way cautiously through the shelves just in case a cranky daemon hid behind one of them.

Ardyn did not hide his smirk at the dissapointment in his blue-grey eyes when they swept the main room and did not find what they were looking for.

“Searching for someone, hmmm? He went upstairs to change, if you wanted to know. Why am I even asking, of course you do.”

“Thoughtful as always, Ardyn.”

“It’s so draining being as kind as I am, but I make-do. Now, what do you have for us today?”

“Bones, feathers and skins. Crowe and I went hunting, so they’re as fresh as can be.”

“What a professional you make, little Ulric, I never thought I would see the day. How does it feel to come into this place by the front door after sneaking in for so long?”

“That was years ago and you know it.”

“As you say, it was years ago, but you do know how I can hold a grudge.”

“…What do you want now? Free supplies isn’t enough for you?”

“I might just put this incident behind us if you do one thing for me. Truly, I cannot stand this situation any longer.”

“Is it going to end up with me in the hospital?”

“Oh, I think not, except if this is what you want. Whatever you do behind closed doors is of no interest to me. No, I want you to take my apprentice out on a date.”

“You want me to what?”

“Come now, I know there is a brain hidden under this thick skull of yours. Anyone with eyes can see how you two look at each other, even if I dearly wished that was not the case. A date for a debt, it is a fair deal, yes?”

“…He said no.”

“What was that?”

“I said that I already did and he told me no! There, you happy!?”

“…That stupid boy. What exactly did he tell you?”

“That he didn’t imagine he would ever have enough free time to leave the shop for more than a few hours.”

“And you asked…?”

“If he would be interested in learning more about Galahd one day.”

“Galahd. Galahd who is an entire day journey away from here.”

“Yes..?”

“Generally, asking someone out for a date is more…straightforward, shall we say. Coffee, for example. Or dinner. And not, oh, an offer to visit someone’s homeland.”

“I didn’t ask him to come to Galahd with me! Just, he seemed interested so I thought he would like it. And I couldn’t ask him out for dinner because, well, he doesn’t need to eat…”

“Even if neither Noctis nor I need food as sustenance, it does not mean we do not enjoy it. Keep that in mind for next time.”

“Next time?”

“Gods help me, you clearly deserve each other.” Ardyn said as he rolled his eyes. “Noctis, would you come down for a second?” He asked evenly, knowing that his voice would reach his apprentice with no problem.

The sound of hurried steps echoed through the shop as Noctis ran down the stairs, slightly disheveled from the speed with which he had changed. Though clearly, he didn’t have time to finish as the half-done buttons of his jeans and the sliver of creamy skin revealed by his rucked-up shirt attested to. Nyx certainly seemed to enjoy the sight, with how his gaze was glued to his apprentice’s waist, but the boy himself did not notice, too busy looking around for a threat, and avoiding the embarrassment of blushing in front of his crush.

“What happened now!? Do I need to call Uncle Cor again!?”

“Nothing of the sort, though attempting to give the Immortal a heart attack is always a delight. Here’s your next assignment.” The declaration was punctuated with a lazy wave in Nyx’s direction, whose face was caught between incredulousness, embarrassment and glaring at the lounging immortal. Noctis did not fare any better, his face beet red as he stared at the man he had sighed over for what had seemed to be years in Ardyn’s opinion.

“What the hell did you just say!?” Both voices melded together in their expression of incredulousness.

“See? You are truly made for one another. It is sickening. Now, go and be awkwardly cute somewhere else, I have sleep to catch up on.”

Seeing that none of them were moving, Ardyn sighed dramatically and snapped his fingers.

“Clearly, I have to do everything myself around here.”

In a flurry of activity, the shop rearranged themselves around them, forcing Nyx and Noctis together and stopping them from fleeing like they – or rather his apprentice – always did. A second gesture sent them both flying out the door, the youngest holding onto Nyx’s shirt for dear life, the man’s arms wrapped protectively around his slighter frame.

“Don’t bring him back too late, or you will wish I had killed you instead, little Ulric. And Noct, my dear, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Oh, and of course, have fun.”

He ignored the sounds coming from outside as he laid an arm across his eyes, sighing at the peace he would get for a few glorious hours.

“Children these days,” He sighed to himself, “You have to teach them everything.”

#nyxnoctocalypse #nyxnoctweek #nyxnoct #nyx/noctis #noctis lucis caelum #nyx ulric #ardyn izunia #final fantasy 15 #my fic #they are ridiculous #but the banter is gold

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