#little guy who scrambles and skitters

[theramblingvoid]

Hallowrove kept the Singing Mandrake from Bag a Legend and carries it everywhere with them in their pocket. His name is Sneeve. He's good protection, in theory, that Dangerous score is no joke - he might be a singer but he still reverts to shrieking and biting most of the time. Primarily though, his uses are 1. As a distraction (throw him and run in the opposite direction) 2. As the regrettable opposite of a distraction (pet him the wrong way and now every monster, constable, and anything else you might be hiding from within a 10 mile radius knows where they are) and 3. As the eternal source of despair from friends who might prefer not to be in the company of a screaming vegetable. Still, as annoying as he is sometimes, Hallowrove really does love that thing. Sneeve sleeps in a bucket of fresh mud by the door in the swamp cabin. He's an intruder alarm and an alarm clock both. <3

What are some silly facts about your fl characters? I’m talkin the fun stuff! Stuff you don’t get to talk about! Stuff that seems inconsequential to others but you think are fun! Stuff you’re embarrassed to share because it’s “not important” ! Little things! Big things! Whatever you want to talk about but don’t get to!

[pucksandpower]

Puppy Love

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: you’re definitely not jealous of the tiny sausage dog who seems to take up every second of your boyfriend’s attention … but it sure feels nice when Leo decides he’s a mama’s boy and Charles gets a taste of his own medicine

You stroll into the spacious living room, eyes narrowing as you spot Charles sitting on the couch, a tiny dachshund puppy curled up contentedly on his lap. “Charles … what is that?”

He looks up with a sheepish grin. “Surprise! Meet Leo, our new puppy.”

You shake your head slowly. “Our puppy? I don’t recall agreeing to get a dog.”

Charles scratches Leo’s velvety ears, eliciting a blissful tail thump. “I know, I know. But look how cute he is! I couldn’t resist.”

Crossing your arms, you try your best to seem stern despite the puppy’s heart-melting adorableness. “We haven’t even discussed this. A dog is a huge responsibility.”

“I’ve thought it through,” Charles insists. “Leo is the perfect breed for our lifestyle — small, low maintenance, and they make amazing companions.” He holds the drowsy pup up with a beseeching expression. “How can you say no to this face?”

You bite your lip, wavering. The puppy really is criminally cute with his soulful eyes and ridiculously long body. “Well … I suppose we could give it a trial run,” you concede. “But you’re taking care of him.”

Charles beams. “Deal! You’ll fall in love, I promise.” He sets Leo back on his lap, rubbing the puppy’s belly. “Who’s the best boy? You are!”

Watching them bond, a prickle of jealousy stirs in your chest. Is this what you signed up for — playing second fiddle to a canine?

Over the following days, Charles is utterly smitten, devoting every spare moment to Leo. He takes the pup everywhere, cooing over him incessantly and showering him with treats and toys. Meanwhile, you often find yourself … ignored.

“Charles? Are you listening?” You frown as he doesn’t respond, too busy dangling a chew rope just out of Leo’s reach in a teasing game.

You huff out a sigh. “I guess I’ll just make dinner for one then.”

Finally, he glances up with a distracted, “Hmm? Sorry, what was that?”

Throwing up your hands, you stalk into the kitchen, simmering with a childish sense of being replaced in your boyfriend’s affections. Stupid dog ...

A few nights later, you’re getting ready for bed when Charles appears in the doorway, Leo tucked under one arm like a furry purse. “Hey, I need to run out for a bit. Can you keep an eye on Leo?”

“What? Why?” You pause in the middle of removing your makeup.

Charles grimaces. “ I … may have waited until the last minute to get his puppy pads and food refilled.”

You groan. “Fine, I’ll watch him. But just this once!”

“You’re the best, thank you!” Charles drops a kiss on your cheek before setting Leo down with a stern, “Be good for your maman, okay?”

He dashes out, leaving you staring at the puppy sitting innocently in the middle of the bedroom floor. Leo blinks up at you, tiny tail wagging.

For a long stretch, you simply regard each other in silence. Then, hesitantly, you sink down to sit cross-legged. “Well? What am I supposed to do with you?”

Leo waddles over, sniffing at your knee before clambering into your lap with surprising determination for such a little guy. You tense, unsure what to do as he turns in a few circles and settles with a contented sigh, warm weight pressing against you.

Huh … he’s actually kind of cuddly.

Tentatively patting his silky fur, you admit, “I can see why Charles likes you so much.”

Leo’s only response is a sleepy snuffle, lashes fluttering shut. Despite yourself, you can’t resist smiling at how peaceful he looks, tiny paws twitching as he dreams. Maybe this dog thing won’t be so bad.

That notion lasts until Leo startles awake with a high-pitched yelp, legs scrambling as he leaps off your lap and takes off running. “Leo? Leo!” You give chase, wincing as his claws skitter across the hardwood in his panic.

Finally, you catch up to him quivering under the living room sofa. “Oh no, it’s okay!” You stretch out on the floor, clicking your tongue soothingly. “Come here, little guy. I’ve got you.”

Leo whimpers, but after a few tense minutes of coaxing, he creeps out just enough for you to scoop him up. You settle back against the couch with him bundled in your arms, murmuring reassurances as he trembles.

“Shhh, you’re safe … good boy ...” You press a tender kiss between his floppy ears, stroking him until his quaking fades to contented wriggles. As your apprehension melts away, a fierce protectiveness blossoms in your chest. This precious little soul is yours to care for now.

When Charles returns, he pauses in the hallway, tilting his head quizzically at the sight of you reclined on the sofa with Leo completely passed out on your stomach. “Having fun over there?”

You glance down at the slumbering puppy with a soft smile. “Actually … yeah. I think Leo and I are going to be just fine.”

A delighted grin spreads across Charles’s face. “I knew you two would hit it off!”

Over the ensuing weeks, you find yourself increasingly enamored with your four-legged child. Leo shadows your every step, bouncing around underfoot until you inevitably scoop him up to snuggle close. You start pushing all the throw pillows together to create a special nest for him on the couch. Charles teases that you’re getting a little carried away with spoiling the pup rotten.

“Oh, hush,” you retort without any real bite, nuzzling Leo’s plush cheek. “My baby deserves nothing but the best, isn’t that right?”

“Baby?” Charles arches an amused brow. “I think someone’s going overboard.”

You stick out your tongue, cuddling Leo closer with a playful glare. “Don’t listen to your papa. He’s just jealous of our bond.”

“Hey, I’m not the one treating him like a literal infant!” Charles laughs, reaching over to ruffle Leo’s ears. But the puppy twists away with a protesting whine, burying his face against your neck.

Charles pauses, brow furrowing in a brief flicker of hurt. You think nothing of it until the same thing happens again at dinner … and on your evening walk around the block … and at bedtime when Leo kicks up a fuss about sleeping in his own bed instead of yours.

“Leo, come on!” Charles groans in frustration when the puppy darts under the dresser instead of coming to him. “What’s with you lately?”

He shoots you an aggrieved look, ruffling a hand through his tousled waves. “Ever since you started carrying him everywhere, he won’t leave your side. You’ve turned my own dog against me!”

You shrug innocently, scratching behind Leo’s silky ear when he peeks out to flash you an adoring gaze. “I can’t help it if he knows who his favorite parent is.”

“Favorite parent?” Charles splutters. “That’s my dog you’re talking about!”

You gasp in mock offense, gathering Leo up to press a loud smacker against his fuzzy head. “Don’t listen to him, baby! Papa’s just grumpy because I’m better at cuddles.”

Charles narrows his eyes at the giggling puppy now practically swimming in your embrace. “Is that so? We’ll see about that.”

He swoops in to snatch Leo away, cradling the squirming pup against his chest. “Who’s the favorite, huh? I’m the one who picked you out, you little traitor.”

But Leo simply strains back towards you, pawing at Charles’ arm with distressed whimpers until you take him back. He immediately settles with a contented sigh, licking your chin gloatingly as Charles gapes.

“Oh, that is war ...” Your boyfriend mutters, stalking away with hunched shoulders.

You blink after him in confusion before shrugging it off in favor of cooing over the dachshund. “Did mean old Papa try to take you from Mama? Don’t worry, sweetie, I won’t let him.”

From that point on, a constant battle for Leo’s affections rages between you and Charles. He’ll try enticing the puppy with treats or toys, only for Leo to bypass them entirely in favor of your open arms. You can’t help but preen victoriously every time Leo cuddles into your embrace with a sigh of pure bliss.

“You’ve turned him against me!” Charles bemoans one evening as Leo dozes contentedly on your lap, stubbornly ignoring the tennis ball being waved enticingly in front of his nose. “What’s a guy got to do to get some puppy love around here?”

You smirk, idly stroking Leo’s velvety ears. “Guess he just prefers spending time with his one true love.”

“Yeah, yeah ...” Charles grumbles, but you catch the fond curl of his lips as he watches you fawning over the pup. He flops down beside you with a theatrical groan. “Unbelievable. Replaced in my own home by a hairy sausage.”

You gasp in mock outrage. “Don’t call my baby such things!” Scooping up Leo, you pepper his fuzzy face with smooches until he squirms happily. “Did you hear what Papa said about you? He’s just jealous!”

“I am not jealous!” Charles protests, even as his gaze tracks the gentle way you cradle the puppy. There’s a wistful edge to his voice when he murmurs, “Remember when you used to look at me like that?”

You pause, registering the plaintive note. Slowly, you shift Leo into the crook of one arm so you can reach out and cup Charles’ cheek with your free hand, thumb stroking over his cheekbone. “Aww, my poor baby,” you tease gently. “Don’t worry — there’s enough love to go around for both of you.”

Charles leans into your touch with a huff, darting eyes betraying how much he misses your undivided attention. “I’m starting to doubt that.”

“Well then, let me remind you ...” You lean in until your lips are a hair’s breadth from his, holding his gaze as you murmur, “I happen to have the world’s biggest, most annoyingly persistent crush on this one race car driver.”

A shiver ripples through Charles, his breath catching. Before he can respond, you close the scant distance in a searing kiss, lips molding hot and desperate as you pour every ounce of adoration into the embrace. Leo gives a disgruntled squeak at being squished between your bodies, quickly wriggling free to skitter off with an offended sniff.

You hardly notice, too busy mapping the contours of Charles’ mouth with hungry sweeps of your tongue, muffling his delicious groans by deepening the kiss. By the time you finally break apart, you’re both left panting harshly, gazes locked in a blissful haze.

“Still think I only have eyes for the dog?” You rasp, relishing the way Charles’ pupils are blown wide.

He swallows thickly. “You make a … convincing argument.”

“Mmm, I try.” You lean in to nip at his kiss-swollen lower lip with a sly grin. “But I’m more than happy to keep making my case ...”

Charles growls low in his throat, hauling you forward until you’re properly straddling his lap, bodies flush. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Breathless laughter spills from your lips as he surges up to capture them once more, hands roaming eagerly over your curves. In that heated moment, the puppy is forgotten as you pour all your focus into worshiping each other, affections firmly realigned.

Well … until a tiny bark sounds from nearby, followed by indignant grumbling and the patter of tiny paws. You reluctantly break the steamy kiss, rolling your eyes fondly as Leo hops up onto the couch to shove his way between the two of you.

“Easy there, troublemaker,” you chuckle, stroking the puppy’s silken fur as he clambers between you and Charles, yipping happily now that he has both his humans’ full attention. “See, baby? I told you there was enough love for all of us.”

Charles chuckles ruefully. “It’s a good thing he’s cute.”

You grin, leaning in to rest your forehead against his as Leo snuggles down with a contented sigh. In this perfect cocoon of warmth and adoration, you can’t imagine anything better.

And if the three of you stay snuggled up on that couch long into the evening, trading lingering kisses and delighted giggles as Leo’s little tail thumps happily … well, no one has to know.

[writtenjewels]

Piano Man part 4

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

Jason tried to be careful as he held the flower. He didn't want to crush it with his trembling fingers. It was so stupid, but the moment he saw it on his table and confirmed that no one else in the lounge had one, he hoped it came from Salim. It didn't make any sense—why would Salim give Jason a flower? The guy had enough to focus on with his music; he probably didn't even know Jason existed.

And yet he hoped. Jason looked Salim's way and for a moment their eyes connected. Salim smiled at him, making Jason's heart race. The older man leaned forward and Jason took a step forward, thinking Salim wanted to talk to him. But then Rachel got Salim's attention. I shouldn't bother him when he's working, Jason decided, sitting down instead.

The songs seemed a little more energetic and uplifting than usual. Jason didn't have a great ear for music, but it definitely sounded different from the usual mellow tones. He always watched Salim but tonight, it felt like Salim was watching him, too. Whenever Salim wasn't playing—and even sometimes when he was—he would look Jason's way. The first few times this happened, Jason didn't think anything of it. But it kept happening, and it made his heart skitter every time.

Finally the last set was over and the last few patrons got up to leave. Jason took his time getting up from his chair. He watched Salim close the piano lid and turn Jason's way. His face lit up seeing Jason there. After a quick glance to check what Rachel was doing, Salim climbed off the stage.

Oh, shit. Is he...? Jason's heart went wild, his face feeling hot. Yes, Salim was headed his way. Jason's mind scrambled, his limbs locked, his lungs barely able to take a breath. Salim made it to his table and gave a warm smile. That warmth slid all the way down to Jason's toes.

“Hello,” Salim greeted. “We haven't met yet. My name is Salim. Did you like the music tonight?” Jason's mind was blank so all he could manage was a nod. “I'm glad to hear that. I, ah... I was feeling inspired.” Salim's expression turned shy.

Say something, you fucking moron! Don't just stand there! Jason was furious at himself for freezing up. This wasn't like him at all.

But Salim... The softened lines of his face, the way he seemed to glow when he smiled, his dark eyes so pretty they could be jewels, the pleasantly low timbre of his voice... And his outfit. He wore a dark collared shirt and dark pants to help him blend in and not take attention away from the singer. The clothes looked good on him, flattering his broad figure. There was a hint of color—a gladiolus tucked in the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Jason. My name.” Holy fuck, that was awkward. “Nice flower,” Jason blurted out.

“Thank you.” Salim touched the flower, his smile soft as he looked at Jason. “It was from a secret admirer.”

“Who told you that?”

“No one.” Salim's tone turned lighter, almost teasing. “But the only ones who got flowers had admirers, and this one had no note or message. I just assumed.”

“Huh.” Jason was very glad that the low lighting and his baseball cap shielded his face enough to hide the blush. He twirled the lily around by the stem. “Guess I got one, too. Found this at my table.”

“It's lovely.” Salim's smile was growing. He tilted his head to one side. “Who do you suppose gave it to you?”

“I donno.” He bit his lip, swallowing down his nerves. “You, uh... you got any thoughts on who gave you that flower?”

“Just one,” Salim answered. “I thought if I reciprocated, he might--”

“What?” Jason's head snapped up. “You thought it was from me?” He could feel the blush spreading down to his neck now. How had Salim known?

“I hoped it was from you, Jason,” Salim corrected, and Jason swallowed. “I always see you,” Salim continued, “and... I... it feels like you're the only one who sees me.”

Jason reached out to him on impulse. He touched Salim's arm, pulling him a little closer. The idea of being seen, even in a dark space where attention should have been elsewhere, made him warm all over. Jason reached up to push the brim of his cap up, letting his face be more exposed.

“I see you, Salim,” he said softly. “You're the only one I see.”

Salim leaned into him, nudging the hat until it fell off his head. Jason didn't even mind. “I see you, Jason,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down his spine. He tilted his head up, pulling Salim close.

When he kissed the man's lips, he felt an excited burst in his chest. Salim tugged him forward, molding them chest to chest. The kiss continued, their mouths shaping against each other, exploring and tasting. Jason finally broke away to breathe.

The rest of the room seemed blurry, but he could still see Salim, the man's face glowing and his eyes fixed on Jason. Neither could imagine looking anywhere else.

[the-and-sign-anon]

Stationary Shop

Word Count: 931

BSD Masterlist

Ranpo was one of your dearest friends and he knew exactly how to take advantage of that. Whenever he was bored around the office, you were the first one he’d bother. He took to asking you riddles, playing games, or seeing how quickly he could set you off on a tangent. 

Kunikida tried to discourage him from this behavior, but the young genius didn’t tend to listen to anyone. You didn’t mind most days, having adapted your schedule to work around his wandering attention. It surprised you to some degree then, when his habits changed.

Ranpo certainly wasn’t leaving you alone, but now he tended to try to entertain himself during work hours, then stuck to your side as soon as you stood up to gather your things. You would lead him along the streets and go your own way at one particular street corner. He insisted you didn’t need to accompany him from there, so you listened. 

Ranpo knew he couldn’t keep his two friends apart forever. Poe was an engaging young man who reveled in his attention. You were an absolute sweetheart who practiced nearly endless patience with him. Unfortunately, Ranpo also knew, in his infinite intelligence, that the two of you were sure to hit it off and he couldn’t risk the idea of becoming a third wheel. He treasured you both too much to let you form some kind of relationship that didn’t involve him and end up alone again. 

Like all good things however, it came to an end eventually. You were in a little store you loved visiting intending to get more of your favorite pens. Dazai teased you for being picky, but you had a reliable type of pen and preferred to stick with it. The best place to get them was this very store, so you stopped in to pick up more and got to chatting a bit with the cashier. 

She was just leaning over the counter to show you photos of her new kitten when a raccoon plopped down on her phone, startling you both. 

“Karl! Get back here right now!”

A man with thick dark hair hanging past his eyes scrambled to grab hold of the creature while the cashier snatched her phone back. The raccoon jumped down to the floor and skittered off between the shelves, forcing his apparent owner to pursue it. You tried to help out, dropping your pens on the counter and darting around to the other end of the aisle to corner it. 

The furry little beast skidded to a stop at your feet, staring up at you long enough for you to gingerly pick him up. He sniffed at you incessantly as you cradled him in your arms, allowing the man to shyly approach you. 

“Karl, that was completely uncalled for! You come back here right now.”

You looked him over for a moment, taking in his loose waves and the dark coat he wore despite the bright sunshine outside. He was… cute. And clearly a fan of animals. 

“Are you okay?”

You wiggled your fingers at the raccoon as it slowed its sniffing and looked between you and his person. 

“I’m so sorry, Karl is usually much more reserved than that. He’s just upset with me today I suppose.”

“It’s alright. Maybe your little friend was just looking for a change of pace. You okay over there, Aoki?”

“Yep! Hey, Poe.”

The man- Poe- offered a slight wave around the shelf before turning back to you. He kept his physical focus on Karl. The raccoon chittered at you softly before wiggling around to return to Poe. He clambered up on his shoulder to watch you from there with his tail hanging down across his neck. 

“He’s pretty cute.”

“Thank you. I’ll have to make sure the compliment doesn’t go to his head.”

“A big-headed raccoon just won’t do, huh?”

You reached out and Karl leaned forward to press his snout into your hand while Poe tried to ignore your proximity. He wasn’t blind, you were clearly cute, which he was never prepared for. He wasn’t the most confident guy in general, and your immediate affection for his beloved animal companion made it even harder to keep himself together. 

Against his own desire to keep talking to you, he stepped back and flickered his eyes around before they landed on what he’d come in for. Poe bent down for a moment to snatch up two bottles of jet black ink, then shuffled back towards the checkout counter. 

“Here are your pens, Y/N. See you again soon!”

“Thanks, Aoki. It was nice to meet you, Poe and Karl.”

You offered a sweet little wave and a shining smile on your way out the door. Poe stared after you until Karl nudged him, forcing him to turn away. Aoki had a knowing look in her eye while she rang up his purchase, but opted not to say anything directly. She’d met him enough times to tell he wouldn’t handle any comments well, so she just smiled as usual as he left with his fresh ink. 

In spite of all his passion for mysteries and his desire to stump Ranpo, Poe found himself thinking of nothing but you. When he put pen to paper, the only words that flowed were about you. For the entire evening, Poe moaned miserably to Karl about suffering such an intense distraction. He’d never before been rendered unable to think of his stories. Perhaps Ranpo could help him if this didn’t resolve itself quickly. After all, he had mysteries to create.

[qu1etwolf]

Mysterious Strangers

Synopsis- Mysterious black clad man saves you from a group of would be assailants.

Word count - 1,515

Ship - Daredevil x fem!reader

Warnings - Typical violence, mostly fluff, hurt/comfort

A/N - Welp, this is my first Matt fic. Just a small little blurb. I was bored and not feeling great and this came out so......I hope yall like it.

You knew you shouldn't have been out this late. Not in the Kitchen of all places. It was an obscenely late hour, but your sister had called and your niece was sick with some kind of flu. She didn't want to leave her to walk the few blocks down the road to the 24 hour market for cold meds so she asked you. The joys of living in the same apartment building as family. 

The bag crinkles in your hand as your feet shuffle across the pavement. You accidently send a rock skittering across the ground, the sound echoing as it bounces across a grate. This city is never quiet. But the little stretch of alleyway between you and your building is almost always empty this late. 

You grip the bag a little tighter and step into the shortcut between the buildings.

"'Ey, whatcha doing out this late at night, honey?" A voice dark and dripping with malice calls out from a few feet behind you. He had clearly waited until you cornered yourself. 

You drop the bag and reach for the can of pepper spray you keep in your pocket. The same time your hand curls around the small canister, three more men step into the alley behind the large bulk standing at the end of the alley. 

"Look, boss, she's alone. Has some fight in her too." One of the other men chuckles and nods toward the canister in your hand.

The ringleader opens his mouth to say something else, but is suddenly silenced by a fist from a shadow you hadn't even noticed was there. You scramble back a few feet, fear nearly choking you from the inside. 

The lean masked man who threw the punch was moving with expert precision, landing a heavy kick to the center of a second man's chest. After the very audible crunch of someone's nose breaking the crowd of assailants scrambled as quickly as they could at a dead sprint away from your savior.

The assailant walks surprisingly softly toward you. He holds his hands up at his sides as if to seem harmless, though you know better. His form is covered head to toe in black with the exception of his lower face.

"Hey. You alright?" His voice was strangely gentle. "You're okay. I promise."

You blink wildly as you slowly slide the pepper spray back into your pocket and reach down to grab the bag that crashed down beside your feet. You don't take your eyes off of him. The strangest thing about this man standing in front of you wasn't the calmness he seemed to bleed out of his pores or the fact that he was completely ignoring his own injuries as if he hadn't taken a few punches to the face himself - the evidence of which was dripping down from the corner or his nose and from the small cut on his jaw.

No, the strangest thing was a mask of thick black fabric covering his entire face with no possible way he could see through it.

"You must be in shock. Come on, I'll walk you home. Make sure you get there okay. Alright, sweetheart?" You nod at his insistent tone and then laugh quietly at yourself when you realized he probably couldn't see it.

"Yeah, okay," you rasp out. "I have a first aid kit, too. And coffee."

While you couldn't see the entirety of the man's face, the smile he flashes you is blinding before he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and takes the bag out of your hand. 

You started down the alley and took a shaky breath. "You're….that guy everyone calls the Devil of Hell's Kitchen aren't you?"

His laugh came out a little nervous. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"You know…you're not as scary as everyone says."

Right before you reach the door to your building he places a hand against your lower back. "Here's your bag back. I hope whoever it's for feels better. I can smell the menthol. Sick husband?"

"Niece," you say, as you accept the bag. "Wait. Smell the menthol?"

"Yeah, don't ask. You stay out of these alleys from now on. It's no good for your health. Got it?" He smiles again before stepping back away from you.

"Oh hold on there, mister. You're still bleeding. Just let me get this care package to my sister and I'm patching you up. No arguments. It's the least I can do."

He starts to mutter something about being fine but a pointed huff from you shuts him up with a chuckle. "Fine, fine. I could probably use that coffee anyway. It's been a long night."

He follows you like a scolded puppy though the door and up the stairs. You unlock the door to your apartment and usher him inside before rushing upstairs to quickly hand off the supplies to your sister. She lifts an eyebrow at your clear and obvious distress, but doesn't ask questions.

"I promise I'm okay. I'll call you tomorrow and explain. Right now I just want to get some sleep," you respond to her worried face.

"Alright, sugar. If you don't call me by noon I'm coming downstairs myself, got it?" She sternly nods at you after you agree to her terms before she closes her door.

You open your door to the smell of coffee already brewing and make a small surprised sound. 

"Thought I should go ahead and put a pot on, how was your niece?" He says from the center of your kitchen holding two white coffee cups, black cloth still covering his face almost like a blindfold.

"She was sleeping. Not to sound rude but…how do you see out of that thing?"

"I don't." He laughs abruptly at your question. "Before you follow that up with another question, yes, I'm blind. My other senses are just…very good."

You shake your head at that admission from him. Before grabbing a cloth from a drawer and dampening it in the sink. "I'm going to wipe the blood off your face and see if anything needs tending to. Okay?"

He nods after filling both cups and taking a sip of his.

You reach up with the cool cloth and swipe it down the edge of his cheek and under his nose. He cringes at you and grumbles.

You flinch. "Sorry! I was trying not to hurt you."

"No, no, no. That cloth is really rough. Feels like sandpaper. Like I said, senses are very good." He reaches over and pulls the cloth from your hand, patting the spots on his face much more carefully than you did. "The one on my cheek could use some doctoring, but my nose is fine. Didn't even break it." He stretches and rotates his torso almost cat-like, the barest hit of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. "A little bruising here and there, I don't hear any cracked ribs. They really couldn't hit for nothing."

"Hear any cracked ribs?" You blink at him after composing yourself from watching the languid movements he made while checking over his body.

"Yeah, the bones sound…different if they're broken. You said you had a first aid kit?"

Five minutes later he was digging through the small box you sat on your small two person table. "You really should update this thing, a lot of the stuff in here is expired. I've got a friend who's a nurse. I'll see if she has anything spare and bring it by." He talks to himself as he grabs an alcohol pad and a small adhesive bandage from the messy contents.

He could have just as easily affixed the bandage himself but instead he smiled and handed the things to you. "Would you mind? I mean, you know, blind and all."

You shake your head and let out a sharp laugh before, much gently than earlier, wiping along the cut on his cheek with the alcohol pad. You carefully cover it with the small bandage and pat his cheek affectionately. "There. Good as new."

His smile grows just a tad bit wider as he stands and rolls his shoulders a little. "Yep, good job, doc. I'll get if I can grab you some better supplies for that depressing thing you call a first aid kid. Who knows when I might need tended to again? I'd better get going though. Take your niece to Metro-General, she sounds like she has a sinus infection, not just a cold. That cough sounded rough. I'm sure she'll be fine, though."

You blink at him and nod slowly, once again forgetting that he couldn't see you. "I…uh…sure, I'll tell her in the morning. Thanks."

All you saw was a flash of teeth in a broad smile before he vaulted out your window and onto your fire escape. He was gone by the time you got to the window to look. The only evidence he had even been there was the still hot, half-empty mug of coffee sitting beside the neatly repacked first aid kit on your small kitchen table.

Fic Masterlist

[yiplee]

READ PART ONE ⬆️

Mysterion still hasn’t revealed his identity. Professor Chaos is still conducting his plans, and everyone is scrambling to find out who the mysterious do-gooder is. Two friends have found out Mysterion’s identity, and Professor Chaos finds out they know.

(This sounds really dramatic but they’re all still kids playing lol. Think of it as like in the episodes)

Note! This is a ticklefic, so if you don’t like that, just keep scrolling

Double note: this fic is really super long I worked really hard for you guys 🫵

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Mysterion had called a nightly meeting between himself, Toolshed, and Human Kite in their superhero base. He was perched on the windowsill which he entered through, the wind blowing through his cape as he looked down at the two other heroes.

“So, you two haven’t told my identity to anyone? You’re sure?” Mysterion asks, his voice low and gruff. His demeanor is very serious, as if he didn’t even need to pretend to play the part.

“Yes, we understand why it must remain a secret.” Toolshed nods, trying to match his serious energy.

“You’ve explained a thousand times…” Human Kite mumbles.

“But I must.” Mysterion insists. “With you two knowing my identity, that could easily turn into three, into four, into-”

“Into everyone?” Interrupts a fourth voice, as Professor Chaos steps out of the shadows, causing the other boys to gasp.

Mysterion only glared. “Chaos. How long have you been listening?” He demands, his tone scathing.

“Long enough to know that those two are let in on your little secret!” Professor Chaos chirps up smugly, lifting his head high as he begins pacing while he speaks.

“So…how did you do it, huh? How’d you get it out of him? Because I know he wouldn’t tell you.” Chaos asks, his gaze flickered to Toolshed and Human kite.

The awkward memory makes Mysterion cringe as Chaos mentions exactly how the two discovered Mysterion’s identity.

“Um..” Toolshed started, as all eyes turned to him. “He..he did tell us! Because he trusts us!” Toolshed claimed, hoping Chaos would believe it.

“Bull hockey.” Chaos quickly shuts that down. “Now, tell me, how’d you get it out of him?” Chaos asked again.

“We..” Human Kite started, but Mysterion shook his head warningly.

“I can tell Mrs.Cartman at any moment that you boys are down here. You’ll all surely be grounded for..well..forever!” Chaos warns.

Toolshed and Human Kite gasped, but Mysterion shook his head. “He’s bluffing!” He said. “He’d also get grounded forever.”

Chaos laughed. “I’m never not grounded. I have nothing to lose.” He reminds them. “Now talk.”

———————————————————————

Mysterion was “trapped” on a crate in the basement, with “sharks” below him. The plastic shark toys whirred and moved around on the ground below him, as Professor Chaos stepped onto a smaller crate in front of Mysterion, slipping off his tinfoil gloves and cracking his knuckles.

“This won’t work.” Mysterion started, holding a brave face as he saw Chaos’ hands inch closer.

“Oh, but it will.” Chaos chuckled, as he leaned forward with his fingers wiggling, skittering them across Mysterion’s sides.

He drew a sharp inhale, holding his breath. He held a stubborn, unmoving frown as he fought the need to pull Chaos’s hands away.

“Don’t bother acting like it’s not getting to you.” Chaos chuckled. “I already know from the others that this works.”

“You’re terrible.” Mysterion grunted, still fighting back his reaction as Professor Chaos’s fingers scribbled across his belly and sides.

“No, Mysterion, I’m Chaos.” He said coldly, digging his hands into Mysterion’s armpits.

He stiffened, face reddening slightly as he pressed against the wall behind him, his scowl trembling.

“Just tell me your name and it’ll aaaalll be over..” Chaos taunted, as he swiped his fingers faster in Mysterion’s armpits.

“N-nehehehever!” Mysterion grumbled as he began to crack, his scowl flinching and twisting as he spoke.

“Come on~ I know you can’t resist this~ Coochie coo~” Chaos taunted him, as he scribbled his fingers down Mysterion’s ribs and into his waist and hips.

Mysterion couldn’t take it anymore. He gave a sudden squeal as he erupted into low, gruff giggles. The edge to his voice was already slipping.

“Aha, you’re breaking!” Chaos cooed. “Come on now, tell me what I wanna know. Tickle tickle~ Is this a good spot, huh? Is Mysterion ticklish here?” He continued teasing, as he skittered his fingers faster across Mysterion’s waist and up his sides, causing him to shriek.

He broke into Kenny’s frantic, breathless giggles as he began squirming, thrashing, and pushing at Chaos’ hands.

“Hmm~ who does that sound like? Clyde? No, he would’ve cracked faster..” Chaos began to devise who the mystery hero was by his loud laughter which was now filling the room.

“Craig? Maybe..but Craig’s more stuffy and snorty..” he went on, as he dug his hands back into Mysterion’s armpits, making his laughter jump to a higher octave.

“IHIHIM STILL NOT TEHEHELLING YOU AHAHANYTHING” Mysterion tried his best to sound menacing through his giggles as he made the promise.

“Come on now~ help me out. Do I hear Craig in there, or what?” Chaos continued, digging into Mysterion’s armpit with one hand, venturing down his side to his belly with the other.

“IHIHIM NOHOHOT SAHAHAHAYING!!” Mysterion retorted, thrashing and squirming to get away.

He was used to getting tickled through a thick parka, but his outfit for Mysterion was a lot lighter, and he was having a really hard time holding back.

“Come on, tell meee! Coochie coo~ tickle tickle~ come on!” Chaos continued tickling and teasing, but Mysterion wouldn’t give in.

Suddenly, Professor Chaos felt multiple hands grab him and pull him away from Mysterion. Toolshed and Human Kite?!

“I thought you two ran off!” Chaos gasped, as he was pushed to the ground and the three heroes suddenly surrounded him.

“I think it’s time to teach this villain a lesson.” Mysterion said, now out of breath, but mostly back to normal.

“Oh Jesus! Fellas, wait-!” Chaos was interrupted by his own shriek as all six hands started skittering, scribbling, and poking all across his midsection, drawing out as much squealy, boyish laughter as Chaos’ body would permit.

“BLAHAHAHAHASTED HEHEHEROES!!” He shrieked, trying to stay in character. “CEHEHEASE THIHIHIS MAHAHAHAHADNESS!!”

“Oh? But I thought madness was your middle name!” Toolshed teased, as he dug into one of Professor Chaos’ armpits, and with another hand, skittered across one side of his ribs.

“You can dish it out, but you can’t take it yourself?” Mysterion added, scribbling his fingers across Chaos’ belly and waist.

“Yeah, get a taste of your own medicine, Chaos!” Human Kite added, his fingers spidering up and down the villain’s other side.

“GAHAHAHAHAH! WAHAHAHAIT PLEHEHEASE!! I GIHIHIVE UHUHUP!” He shrieked, trying to thrash and protect his ticklish flesh, but the three heroes always found another spot.

“Alright, let’s let him breathe.” Human Kite said, pulling his hands away, quickly followed by Toolshed. Mysterion continued at it for another few moments before stopping as well, leaving the villain exhausted and gasping for air.

After a long moment of thought, Mysterion held out an offering hand to Professor Chaos.

“Truce?” He asked hopefully, getting a thoughtful look from the other. Chaos thought hard for a moment, reaching out for Mysterion’s hand…

Before getting up himself and turning, dashing away in evil fashion. “Never! I’ll get my revenge for this, you darn good-doers! I swear it!” He called, as he scrambled out the window.

Suddenly, a light turned on above the basement. “Eric? Is that you? Are you raising an army of feral cats in the basement again?” Liane Cartman’s voice was heard from outside the basement door. The three other boys quickly scrambled out the window as well; leaving the light on as they all shoved their way through, falling onto eachother as they ran out into the night.

[sisterspooky1013]

Gaslight, Chapter 12/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

“Don’t forget, we have dinner with your parents tonight,” Diana says as she double checks the contents of her briefcase.

“Yep,” he confirms, then pops the last bite of his toast into his mouth.

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, slipping her feet into her heels. “How’s your head?”

“A little sore, but I’m fine,” he answers.

“That’s good. I’ll see you tonight, then,” she says, kissing him quickly on the cheek and rushing out the door.

He hears the garage open, the rumble of the car’s engine starting up, and then it’s just him and Frenchie, and the quiet of the empty house.

“What do you think, Frenchie? Should we take a quick w-a-l-k?” he asks, and Frenchie’s tail begins to thump loudly against the floor. “Yeah? A walk sounds good?”

The dog stands abruptly, pacing back and forth behind his chair excitedly.

It’s a mild morning, chilly but with the promise of a warmer afternoon. He sets off with a brisk pace, hoping to get his heart pumping in lieu of an actual run, which he was advised to avoid for at least a few days. Frenchie trots happily beside him, her tongue lolling out the side of her smiling mouth.

He waves as he passes by familiar houses with familiar occupants, though he’s never learned their names. Lady-with-bowlcut and Short-shorts-guy are what he knows them by, but everyone knows Frenchie due to her tendency to go on adventures if the front door is left open when he runs the trash out to the bin.

“Morning,” he calls out with a wave, and Old-hunchback-man nods and raises his coffee cup in response.

They pass by a house he thinks of as The Children’s House, due to the lawn that is cluttered with ride-on toys and decrepit sports equipment. In the summer, joyful shrieks can be heard over the splashing of water from the back yard, and at Christmastime theirs is the house with the most lights. It makes him feel both happy and sad, The Children’s House, because it’s everything he hoped for and everything he doesn’t have. For himself, as a former child, and also as a person who had always imagined himself as a someday father, but never ended up walking that path.

As they near the driveway of The Children’s House, a small towheaded boy skitters down the pavement with bare feet, his eyes wide and zeroed in on Frenchie.

“Can I pet your dog?” the child asks hopefully, his hands held carefully behind his back as he waits for permission.

“Sure,” Jeff answers, signaling Frenchie to sit.

The boy runs his hand down her silky coat, smiling happily.

“Dogs like me,” the child declares, unashamed of his self-promotion.

“Aiden! Get back in the house!” a voice calls from inside the garage, and he looks up to see Mother-of-children standing in the open doorway, clutching her bathrobe closed.

He waves, and she bobs her head tersely, and the child gives Frenchie one last pat on the head and scrambles back inside. They finish their walk, each contemplative in the way that man and beast are, and then he dresses in khaki slacks and a white polo shirt before driving into Philly.

His office is a disaster. Books are strewn across the floor, intermingled with shards of splintered wood from the shelf that was lost in the scuffle. His first appointment isn’t until noon, which gives him a couple hours to get things back in order. He starts by picking up all the books and stacking them into the categories by which they’d formerly been organized.

The profession of therapist was never one he had in mind when he set out to study psychology. He’s always been fascinated by the human mind and corresponding behavior, and the links between what has happened to us and how we behave as a result. But sitting down in a room with a single person, unpacking their traumas and guiding them to a place of higher understanding that might allow them to overcome it, wasn’t exactly what he’d planned for. He stumbled into it, like so many things. And, as is often the case for people who are good at things that they don’t necessarily enjoy, it stuck.

He unearths a book from beneath a bust of Carl Jung and sits down, brushing his fingers over the raised letters on the cover. Parapsychology: The Controversial Science. It’s one he’s read many times, though not in several years. One that he and Diana used to discuss at length over coffee in his apartment in Alexandria. He wonders, not for the first time, how they’ve landed so incredibly off course from where they began. Two young professionals, both interested in strange and unexplainable phenomena, joining the FBI with the hope of being a part of finding the answers, but instead finding each other. Now, over a decade later, they are a lawyer and a therapist with a mortgage and a dog. A picture-perfect life, by all accounts. But not the one he’d imagined leading.

He sighs, standing and setting the book in a stack with others that fall outside the bounds of commonly accepted research. He finishes cleaning up the office, and by 11:45 all evidence of Mr. Porter’s tantrum is erased, save for the missing shelf. He checks his notes in preparation for his noon appointment, uses the bathroom, fills his water glass and restocks the tissues. He gets to work.

-

He dozes during the ninety minute drive to his parent’s house, feeling the strain of his injury after only a half-day of work. Diana listens to talk radio and clicks her fingernails impatiently on the steering wheel, sighing with relief when they pull into the long paved driveway of the Dutch Colonial house.

“We’re here, Jeff,” she says, patting the top of his thigh to rouse him.

They park, retrieve a bottle of wine and a loaf of focaccia from the back seat, and approach the front door. He lifts his hand to knock, but before he can make contact, the door swings open and reveals the worried face of his mother.

“Jeff,” she says haltingly, giving him a once over from head to foot. “How are you feeling?”

He glances at Diana with furrowed eyebrows. It wouldn’t be like her to inform his mother of his little encounter with Mr. Porter, but it’s clear that she’s worried about his well-being.

“I’m fine, Mom,” he says lightly, but the concerned pinch of her face doesn’t let up. “Can we come in?” he asks with a shy smile, and she steps aside to allow them entrance.

“I’m going to put these in the kitchen, Teena,” Diana informs her as she makes her way down the hall. “Is there anything I can help with for dinner?”

“No, thank you, Diana,” Teena replies blandly, still inspecting her son as though seeing him for the very first time.

“Are you okay, Mom?” he asks, touching her shoulder, and she jumps a little, regarding him with surprise.

“I’m fine, Jeff. Just fine. Let’s go have dinner.”

He follows her into the kitchen, where Diana is uncorking the wine. His father is standing at one end of the long counter, a pleased smile on his mouth.

“What’s the latest with the Spurious deal? Any movement in Baltimore?” Diana asks, setting out four glasses.

“Everything is going swimmingly,” his father replies. “Perfectly to plan.” He turns to look at his son and his smile broadens, deepening the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes. “Jeff! It’s wonderful to see you, son. How are you?”

“I’m good, Dad. Yourself?” he answers, offering his hand to shake.

“Nonsense, Jeff, give your father a hug,” his father insists, stepping past the proffered hand and extending his arms.

He smells like Old Spice and stale cigarettes, and the hug is brief and somewhat awkward.

“When did you become a hugger, Carl?” Diana asks teasingly, and Carl balks.

“A father should hug his son,” he says defensively.

“Dinner is ready,” Teena pipes in, her demeanor still standoffish and perturbed. “Carl, will you please cut the bread?”

“Of course, my dear. I’d be happy to,” Carl says jovially, and they file into the dining room, wine glasses in hand.

Teena has prepared meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas and a green salad, and they discuss local and national politics while they eat. Diana and Carl have an easy, practiced banter, while Teena is quiet and sullen. He catches her watching him each time he looks her way, an apprehensive expression on her face, and thinks to himself that he’d like to get her alone later and try to find out what’s on her mind.

“Oh, did you tell Jeff about the foundation, dear?” Carl interjects, and Teena shifts uncomfortably in her seat.

“No, you go on ahead,” she says, pushing peas around her plate with her fork.

“Great news,” Carl says, beaming at him. “The Children’s Leukemia Foundation has established a grant in Samantha’s honor. It will be awarded annually to the family with the greatest need, and will cover the complete cost of treatment and housing. Isn’t that incredible?”

“Wow,” Jeff says, taken aback. “That’s amazing. I didn’t know that something like that was in the works.”

“Nor did we, son. It was a tremendous surprise. What a beautiful way to remember your sister,” Carl says. “They’re calling it the Samantha Ann Spender Hopes and Dreams Grant.”

Jeff nods, forcing a smile. He looks over at his mother and finds her staring vacantly at her water glass, her eyes shimmering.

“Dinner was delicious, Teena. I’m going to step outside for a smoke,” Carl says as he pushes his chair back and stands.

“I thought you were going to quit, Dad,” Jeff says sternly, and Carl brushes him off with the wave of a hand.

“I’m an old man, Jeff. Let me enjoy life’s little pleasures, eh?”

“I’ll join you, Carl,” Diana says, stacking her plate on top of Teena’s and taking them both to the kitchen. “My little pleasure is inhaling the second hand smoke.”

Alone at the table, he watches his mother until she lifts her head and pushes her mouth into a thin smile.

“That’s great, about the grant,” he says, and she nods. “Still hard to talk about, though, huh?”

“Yes,” she rasps, then takes a sip from her water. “I think it may always be difficult to talk about your sister.”

He stands from the table and lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder, then clears all the dishes and cutlery. In the kitchen, he’s rinsing plates and loading the dishwasher when the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he has the distinct feeling he’s being watched. He flashes his eyes over to the window and finds Diana and his father standing side by side, her arms crossed over her chest and his hand holding a lit cigarette to his lips. Upon realizing that he sees them, Diana lifts one hand and waves, smiling. He waves back, but something in the back of his mind is sending him a warning signal that he doesn’t understand.

He’s grateful when Diana offers to drive home. Streetlights flash in bursts of red through his eyelids as he calls forth hazy memories of Samantha’s final days. Her pale, drawn skin, the dark hallows under her eyes, her dry, cracked lips. At twelve, he understood and yet also could not possibly understand what was happening. That his little sister would be gone forever, that there was to be no recovery, no coming back. For months after her death he dreamt of alternative explanations, of bright flashing lights and bad men taking her away. His parents finally sent him to a therapist in an attempt to help him understand the finality and the senselessness. Samantha was gone. Dead. Not lost, not missing. Never coming back.

They slump through the door at nearly midnight, and Diana hands him his blood pressure medication before she heads upstairs to get ready for bed. He swallows the pill and an entire glass of water, then takes Frenchie for a quick walk. By the time he crawls into bed, Diana is already snoring softly, but he finds himself tossing and turning, unable to succumb to sleep. When he finally drifts off, he has the dream again. The one where he is frozen in fear, and Samantha is calling for him, and there’s nothing he can do. He’s helpless, just like he was in reality, to help her.

It’s a truth he will seemingly never be able to recover from.

Tagging @today-in-fic ay

[teaandsconeswrites]

Three's A Crowd - Zhongchili Featuring Chonkli - Preview

Rating: T

In which Chonkli is a menace, Childe is suffering, and Zhongli just wishes that everyone would get along.

Chapter 1 releasing tomorrow, preview of Childe and Chonkli's first meeting below! ⏬

* * *

Childe returns to his task, pondering over the pile of food in front of him. Some of it will fit in the lower cupboards, but maybe he went a bit overboard. No matter, with a bit of tactical reshuffling he can clear some space in the top cabinet, and soon he’ll emerge victorious over his problematic produce. 

He stacks boxes on boxes and turns containers upright that were previously laid flat, forming a convenient nest in the centre of the shelf.

Reaching down to grab a stray potato, Childe’s elbow collides with something hard, long, and round, sending it plummeting toward the floor.

Drat, there goes the cucumber.

The cucumber thuds to the ground, and simultaneously a small, brown, furry creature launches itself into the air with a hiss. With a growl, it ambushes Childe’s ankle, dagger-like teeth sinking into him.

Childe yelps, shaking his foot and launching the creature across the kitchen. It soars through the air before plummeting to the ground and sliding a few feet further, then scrambles to its feet with another hiss. Its paws skittering and skidding as it searches for grip, the creature races out of the kitchen and into the hallway, its long tail trailing along the ground after it.

It’s a rat! A really big rat!

Zhongli can’t see this.

Childe launches himself after the rat as it skids around the corner into the living room. It darts onto the coffee table, watching him with what can only be described as contempt.

“You can’t stay in here, little guy.” Childe creeps toward it, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible. “Zhongli will be really upset if he finds out there’s rats in the house, so if you’ll just come with me…”

Reaching toward the creature, he’s met with a flurry of paws, claws, and teeth, a tiny ball of anger yowling at him with unhinged ferocity. Childe snaps his hand away, not wanting to lose the skin off his knuckles today, and watches and the angry brown blob dives from the table into the gap beneath the sofa. There it stops, a low growl bubbling in its throat and, when he crouches down to get a look at it, two dark, beady eyes glare at him from within the darkness.

“Come on, buddy, this way, come one now…” Childe reaches toward the rat.

The rat yowls and swipes at him with claws sharper than Childe recalls rats having, scooting further back under the sofa. Swiping his hand back, Childe sits up on his knees and wipes a layer of sweat from his forehead.

Who knew a rat could cause so much trouble? But all this noise is going to wake up Zhongli before long. This ends here. No mere rat will get the better of Harbinger Tartaglia, Vanguard of Her Majesty, The Tsaritsa, and her prime weapon against Snezhnaya’s enemies.

He braces against the sofa, wrapping his hands underneath the frame, and in a single movement he flips it up, darting forward to grab the rat by the scruff of the neck. The sofa topples backward, knocking a vase off the table on the way. It shatters on the floor at the same time as the sofa crashes to the ground, and Childe lies on the floor the snarling creature dangling from his hand, stumpy legs flailing and its teeth bared.

It’s fluffy for a rat, and the tail is long and full, covered with sleek brown fur and a golden tuft at the tip. A golden mane frames its face, and twin antlers sit atop its head, a tiny horn poking out from his forehead.

Hang on, this isn’t a rat. In fact, this looks strangely like—

“Childe?” Zhongli says, his voice coming from the direction of the doorway. “Has there been an incident?”

Drat.

[acutiewithagun]

Taglist: @oleander-nin @purple-flagz @itsyagurlchip

Wordcount: 1,675

Mic Testing - Chapter Four - Chasing The Feeling

"No, Melvet, you have to stay here!" 

You scrambled around your apartment, chasing your newly acquired spider yokai pal. It dodged under the coffee table as you skidded across the carpeted floor. You landed to a stop on your rug burnt knees. "Melvet! Come here." Reaching under the coffee table, Melvet skittered out and rounded into the kitchen. Where your roommate was laughing hysterically, grasping the countertops so as to not keel over.

You scowled at them as you continued the chase. "You know you could always help me." They continued roaring with laughter as you tripped and fell to the floor. Groaning you got up once again as you swiped at the small white creature. You unfortunately missed as it swiftly ducked into an open cabinet, one your lovely roommate oh so kindly opened for it.

"I'm going to be late at this rate!" Rummaging through the cabinet your digits graze the fluffy critter. "Well maybe you should have picked a different day, it is my day off, I want some excitement." You shoot them a glare as they raise their hands in defense. "I didn't pick the day or time, I wasn't a part of the meeting for scheduling." You quickly shoved your arm into the cabinet, wincing at the jabbing of the wood against your shoulder. You manage to snab the sneaky spider and pull it out. "And you, little guy, need to behave. I'll buy you grapes if I get a good report."

Melvet gave a playful salute, or at least attempted one as you stood up. You carried the small creature to your room and placed it in it's little area that you had finished setting up earlier in the day. You gave it a small head pat as you closed the door of your bedroom and pulled your jacket on. Walking past the now gasping for air traitor, you snatched your keys with a wave. "Alright, I'm out, I'll be back in an hour or two." As you turn the doorknob your roommate pipes up. "Oh, and remember to pick up that book I asked for." 

You gave a teasing shake of your head as you swung open the door. "Of course, anything to earn a favor." They let out a scoff and a smile as you closed the door behind you. You straightened out your carefully picked outfit as you started walking down the stairs. You had planned almost everything, what you would wear, what you would say, how you would get there.

Entering the virtually empty sidewalk, you started your five minute trek. It wouldn't take long and you left just before most workers got off. The breeze was chilly, but felt nice as you quickly closed in on the building of your destination.

It was a small radio station, extremely more listened than your music, but the location was small. You opened the glass door and walked up to the line at the reception desk. There were a few people in front of you as you patiently waited. You noted a pretty mad human man second in line. He seemed to be glaring at the calico cat yokai receptionist. You frowned, wondering what she did wrong.

Well it became that man's turn and almost immediately the yelling started. "Get me a meeting, now!" He slammed his hands on the desk, startling the receptionist. "I'm sorry sir, but you still haven't given me your name or the name of who you want the meeting with." The man slammed his hands again. "Just get me a meeting you stupid feline!"

You're not normally a confrontational person, but you're making an exception for today. You politely excuse yourself to the front of the line and snap your fingers to earn the man's attention. "Hey, this lovely person is working their best to help you. Insults, yelling, and physical actions are not needed." The man seethed as he glared at you, the sweet looking receptionist gave you a grateful look. "But this mutant is refusing to get me a meeting." You sighed and shook your head. "For one, you don't know if they are a mutant or yokai. Second, a meeting with who?"

The man stuttered slightly as his face turned red in embarrassment. He then shot the cat yokai a glare and stormed off. You gave a breath of relief and went to the back of the line. You were sweating with nervousness over the entire situation. But you knew you did the right thing, besides he was yelling so loudly and just being rude.

Eventually came your turn as you walked up to the desk. You gave your name and appointment time, hoping that would be enough as your dumb producer never gave you the name of who you were meeting. Out of gratitude the thankful cat yokai checked the database and managed to find your meeting. They gave you a smile as they directed you to the room you would need to be in. You gave them a smile in return as you started your way to your destination, giving the cat a wave as you left.

You made a few turns, getting lost a few times before you finally made it to the room. Repeating the lines you planned to say, you turned the handle of the door and opened it. Revealing on the other side two separated areas of the room. On one side it had all the equipment used to play the music on the radio station, as well as the accursed ads. On the other, only separated by a wall and large glass window, had a desk with chairs and microphones. You walked into the room as you spotted two people, one blonde human man who was on the shorter side, and one mutant that looked like a chameleon. Giving them a smile, you waved.

Catching the attention of the man he sported a bright smile and gestured for you to join him at the desk as the chameleon pressed a few buttons. You sat down as the man held up a hand and started what appeared to be a countdown. Once all his fingers were down he started talking excitedly. "Well hello there listeners, we have a special treat with us today. As one of you has persistently requested, we got one of our very own local singers to join us for a little interview. So tell you about yourself." He motioned for you to talk into the microphone in front of you.

"Oh, um, hello. I write and perform my own music." You nervously gave your stage name as the man gave you a thumbs up. "Now, the locals call you Superstar. Mind telling us a bit more about that?" You blushed and let out a groan of embarrassment, earning light chuckles from the two people in the room. "It started when I first began performing at a shopping district. I tend to perform from seven in the morning until about six at night. So naturally over time I got to know the shop owners pretty well." The man nodded as he gave a slight hum. "Very interesting, the kind listener that asked for you did have a list of questions they wanted answered. Do you mind answering them?"

You rubbed the back of your neck. "Sure, I don't mind." The man flashed a grin as he pulled out a sheet of paper and started asking basic questions. What music do you write? What's your favorite color? Those types of things. But as you neared the end of the interview the last question caught you off guard. "Alright, how do you feel about mutants and yokai, and would you ever consider dating one?" You looked puzzled at the questions but answered with a smile. "I think they are interesting, but people nonetheless. I guess I don't really feel one way or another about them."

The man gave a nod as he set the paper down. "Now that we are down with the viewers' questions we'll have a few songs played and then get back into it. How's that sound to you?" You give a return nod, feeling a bit more comfortable with the situation. "Sounds great." The man gestures at the chameleon and with a nod music starts playing as the microphones get muted.

You stretched as the man got up and started conversing with the chameleon. You watched them as they talked quietly, not wanting to disturb their conversation. They both looked at you and walked over, the man extending his hand. "Hello, nice to formally meet you, you can address me as Mike." Shaking his hand the chameleon also extended their hand. "And I'm Sabrina, as you can tell I'm a mutant." You let go of Mike's hand and shook Sabrina's, introducing yourself with your real name.

"Sorry for doing this out of the blue, one of our listeners has been emailing us about it for months. We had to do a bit of digging but we finally found your producer, not a lovely person." Mike laughed at his comment, but the three of you had a silent understanding of each other. The person was awful and greedy. "Anyway, thank you for coming in on such short notice. My daughter actually loves your music. As I was digging for information on you, she managed to find you at that shopping district and fell in love." You gave a polite smile and a laugh.

"Well I'm glad someone else likes my music." A beep cut off the conversation as Mike sat down again and Sabrina walked back to her station. Mike did the countdown again before talking again. "And we are back, hope you didn't miss us too much." You smiled as Mike relaxed in his chair. "Now I have just a few more questions for our lovely small artist." You give a hum and a nod. "Alright, ask away."

"Has anything strange happened in your time of street performing?" His smile dropped slightly as the words left his mouth.

[misdreavusmishap]

⚡️⚡️ RO-TO-TO! VIDEO INCOMING. ⚡️⚡️

A large crowd of Kricketot are gathered around the camera lens, seeming to panic and loudly chirp amongst each other. I don’t even remember starting this recording, so they must’ve done that by themselves by accident. Given the residue static around the video feed, I also must have fallen asleep.

“HEY, HEY!! WHAT’S THE BIG DEAL? WHAT’S WRONG??”

I shake myself out of the crowd, flying upwards, looking around the ground a little, spinning around once or twice to fully check the surroundings. At eye level, most of everything seems fine right now.

“.. EVERYTHING IS ALRIGHT. WHAT IS THERE TO-”

“... HEY, YOU GUYS SMELL BURNING?”

The Kricketot squinted towards me for a second, looking between each other and buzzing their legs back and forth via incomprehensible speech. A crash and a crackle seem to roar from behind, the Kricketot only panicking more at my complete dismissal of their concerns, scattering away while looking past me. This only makes the situation more confusing, before I turn back and properly look up at the trees.

They’re burning.

And fast.

The Kricketot who were once gathering around me now swarmed Derek, who was not-so-peacefully asleep, supposedly trapped amidst another nightmare. While the first time this happened was a mild inconvenience, this could actually cost lives. This is something I couldn’t just let him sleep through. I shot over, screaming at the Kricketot to back up and get as far from the blaze as possible.

“DEREK.”

I fully ran myself into his shoulder, even using my antenna to try to get him to wake from his nap.

“DEREK THIS IS NO TIME FOR BEAUTY REST. DEREK. DEREK I AM INCREASINGLY SERIOUS.”

The man grabs at his own shirt, murmuring “no..” to himself; not in a dismissive manner, but instead rather fearful. Oh, great!!! Wonderful. I fly around in circles, turning my volume all the way up, scrambling, yelling, SOMETHING. This is horrible. Terrible, even, and it’s only going to get worse if I can’t get him up to help. Behind me there are already odd Kricketot trapped underneath fallen tree limbs and leaves, a few of them attempting to use Round to fend the fire off from themselves. While this may work for a while, it surely won’t work forever.

I have to try again.

I float still for a moment, the video feed growing the darkest it has in comparison to other attempts. It even seems to break a little, small rips of static coating the edges of the screen, and yet, a blue-cyan ripple of plasma prevails the dithering. The water-type spider, waking in response to the sheer amount of static, skitters a short distance from the scene. The recording almost stops, lagging incredibly hard for a few moments, it holds a single frame for about five seconds, before..

SNAP!

“AAGHH..”

The man jolts awake, the deep blue in his veins glistening a painful cyan. He grips his wrists, wincing, doubled over in pain. I’m left in shock, no pun intended, for a while, but I likely need to act fast, and there’s no way he would do that by himself. I float down in front of him, tapping my foot on the grass.

“HEY GENIUS. WE GOT A BLAZE TO DEAL WITH. CHESTO BERRY, NOW. PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER.”

I pull out the Chesto berry from behind me, tossing it up in the air and kicking it towards his hands, of which he catches. He looks at me as if I’d just told him the sky is red, before turning to his left and finding that might as well be the case.

“Ohhhh… no, no no no NO NO”

He completely dismisses the berry offer, scrambling to stand up and snap one of his pokemon off from his belt, yet to realize that his Pokemon is already out of his ball behind him. The spider gives an unimpressed look to the camera, then turning to poke his owner with one of his legs. Derek jumps back, surprised, dropping the Net Ball to a terribly close patch of burning grass! I swoop down, picking up the ball, tossing it back to Derek as he readies himself to command his ace.

“Lotus- Lotus, Bubble Beam, quickly.”

The Araquanid stumbles, facing the flames with directed rage in its eyes. After a brief recoil, the Bubble Beam shoots violently, droplet after droplet splashing and making charred, circular clearings in the fire. The spider digs its tarsal claws further into the dirt, anchoring itself, as the pure force of the move seems to be sending this creature back due to the weak and thin structure of its legs. As well as this is working, the spider’s helmet is rapidly decreasing in size without a proper known water source nearby to replenish its water-type moves. Patch after patch, the fire is fizzled out, only to be filmed by heat immediately after. And, after not too long, the water helmet reduces to a singular bubble beneath the spider’s mouth. Lotus seems shocked, trying to continue attacking, though completely ineffective.

“AGH, NO!”

Derek reaches into his pockets.. only now realizing the only things he forgot to pack; ethers and elixirs!... how wonderful.

“Light.. Ghhhhghh…”

The man drops his head, burying his face in his hands briefly, before hazily snapping back up to command his partner.

“LOTUS. ICE BEAM.”

The spider looks back at him, completely confused, but after a short thought seems to shrug it off. Though, as soon as he prepares to fire, another person enters the clearing, both Derek and the camera turning to him in almost perfect sync. Derek must’ve jumped a foot in the air in response to the crunching of leaves underneath boot-covered footsteps.

It’s … I don’t know who this is. A man with blue hair. Who is this guy???

⚡️⚡️ RO-TO-TO! VIDEO END. ⚡️⚡️

ooc bonus feature! this video features Thomas from @prettyskitty973! :3

[empressofthelibrary]

October prompts #24 for hawk characters of your choice

Fog, huh? I think I'll grab Charley for this one... Leaning mostly on his pre-Crisis backstory, and picking up a bit of worldbuilding from Hawkworld that's been driving me nuts.

---

Charley snapped awake, shoving himself up from the stone. His throat burned, the bite of the wire fresh as he gasped for air. He scrambled to his knees, desperate to fill his hungry lungs. His hands, of their own accord, ripped the helm from his head and threw it aside. It skittered on the stone, clanking as it vanished.

But as the adrenaline faded and his mind cleared, Charley realized something.

"...Garth? Garth, where are you?" He pulled himself to his feet, looking around. A dense fog had rolled in, so thick that Charley could barely see his hand in front of his face. "Garth! Oh, god, dude, you can't be dead. Please, answer me!" He took a slow step forward. There had been a cliff's edge around here somewhere. "Garth!"

Where the hell had this fog come from, anyway? It had been a clear, sunny day just a moment ago, before the Wildebeest's attack had driven him unconscious.

Wildebeest... Charley whirled, shoulders tensing. He'd always had sharp eyes and good ears for a human, but those talents only went so far. And this fog is heavy enough even Superman'd have trouble with it, he thought to himself.

"Where are you," he called. "C'mon out, you damned coward!"

"Bold words, little warrior," a voice spoke behind him. "Though I wonder who you speak to. I know it cannot be me."

Charley spun around again, fists raised, ready to fight this new threat. A shape began to emerge from the mist, a winged humanoid silhouette. As she approached, she raised one arm, and the lantern she held began to glow a brilliant white. Charley held up his hands, squinting in the sudden light. But once the spots cleared, he could see this strange woman.

She was tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. Two tall black wings emerged from her shoulderblades, silver claws pointing up at the second joint. Two more, he realized, wrapped around her hips, over a skirt of black leather and armored plates. She wore a breastplate of shining silver, high at the neck, over a shirt of dark chainmail. Silver bracers covered her wrists, and the hilt of a sword peeked out from between her higher wings. Her hair was jet-black, shot through with silver, held back from her face by a winged headpiece that could only be described as a crown. She smiled, gentle, and Charley could see the laugh-lines and crows-feet that marked her face. But her eyes -- Her eyes were windows into the infinite, the dark void of space, swirled with stars and galaxies.

"Who... Who are you," Charley whispered. His throat still ached, but his voice would have been hushed anyway. Something about this woman felt powerful, impossible. Standing in her presence, Charley felt like the scared, awestruck child who had been left to explore the Watchtower, a few years and a whole lifetime ago.

The woman laughed. "Have my adoptive children forgotten me so quickly? Did your fathers and mothers not teach you of Mar Rhigan, little warrior?" She shook her head. "No matter, no matter. You've fallen in battle, in the defense of your friend. There is no more noble end." She held out her free hand. "Come! You'll have a seat at my table, and you'll dwell in my lands in peace."

"Wait, what?" Charley looked around. "I -- Are you saying I'm dead? I can't -- I'm not dead, that's ridiculous." He turned, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Okay, Donna, this has gone far enough. I'm sorry about the party, I was stupid. You guys can come out now! Garth? Lillith?"

Mar Rhigan's brow furrowed. "Ah. Of course. You are so young -- Forgive me, you all look like babies to me." She stepped forward, cupping Charley's cheek to turn him towards her. "You have died, little one. And you have earned the rest of all Thanagarian warriors."

Charley pushed her hand away. "What are you talking about?! I'm not Thanagarian, I'm as human as the next guy."

Mar Rhigan shook her head. "If that were true, it would not have been me who came to collect you." She frowned, then, tilting her head to the side. "But you... You are not one of mine, are you? You did not know me. And you do not embrace the reward you've earned."

"Reward?" Charley was near hysterics. "What reward is there in being dead?! For god's sakes, I'm barely old enough to drink!" Legally, anyway. "I can't -- I can't be dead, damnit. I still have so much of my life to live!"

Mar Rhigan crossed one arm over her torso, holding the other as she rested her chin in her hand. The lantern floated beside her. "Strange... You are dead, little warrior, make no mistake. But..." She trailed off, lifting her head to look at something past Charley's shoulder. "Ah. Perhaps I am wrong, in that at least." She smiled again, and the lantern's glow grew brighter. Then brighter, and brighter still, until it was blinding.

Charley covered his eyes, turning away, as the world turned white.

"...Son? Charley?" Arms hooked beneath Charley's back and knees, lifting him away from the stone. "Ch'al, son, please, please wake up..."

Charley dragged his eyes open, peering up at his father's face. "...Dad?" The word rasped against his throat, and he winced in pain.

Fel Andar sighed, relieved, and pressed his forehead to his son's. "Shh, it's okay. Let me get you aboard the ship, I'll get you fixed up."

[mischievouslittlecreature]

WIP Whenever

Was tagged by the lovely @eclecticwildflowers to do this!

Tagging @confidentandgood, @areyenotfondofmelobster, @scaryscarecrows, @roofgeese, @emilynightshade89, @shelbydelrey, @detectivelokis, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @angryvengeful, and anyone else interested!

It may be a little while before any of this gets posted, since I’m trying to get more into the habit of finishing my WIPs before I start posting them, but I figured I’d give you guys a little blurb from the my upcoming sequel to These Devilish Intentions. 

Red Right Hand Chapter 1: In the Depths of Hell

Lucy could feel the powerful muscles in the horse’s side move against her legs with every step it took. The morning air was still cool, and as always full of smoke and the smell of burning coal. Shifting forward, she settled her hands on Tommy’s waist for balance, her chest pressed to his back as he clutched the horse’s reins in his hand. They rode without a saddle, her hand petting unencumbered along the soft black fur that covered the horse’s back.

As they walked in a steady, unhurried stride down the road, the people gathered there gasped, scrambling to the sides to get out of the way. Many of them rushed into their houses and closed the doors, drawing the curtains across the windows. Lucy tilted her head, well aware that her gray cap obscured the top half of her face from view. With every step the horse made her red curls bounced and swayed around her chin rhythmically. 

Tommy pulled them to a stop in the center of the road. As always she kept her head on a swivel, eternally aware of the weight of the gun resting in her holster against her ribs. It was unlikely that any of these common people would try anything. They all knew what would happen if they did. But still, one never could be too careful.   

Two figures raced around the corner. One, a man, garbed in all black. The other, a woman, in a teal shirt. Cutting it a bit close, as far as punctuality could be concerned.

They skittered to a stop in front of them, looking up with eyes full of fear.

“Sir?” the man said to Tommy. “This is her.”

Tommy shot a lazy glance to the woman, examining her carefully. “The girl who tells fortunes?”

The woman said nothing, but looked at Tommy levelly. Tommy reached into his pocket, and passed a few folded notes to the man. Lucy spotted a gaggle of children, watching from behind a box. A man and woman half-obscured from view by the shirts and skirts flapping on a clothesline. Families peeking behind the edges of curtains to look out their windows. Good. Let them all watch. That was what they were here for, after all.

The woman in the teal shirt pulled a red bag from her pocket, pouring from it a fine, bright red powder into her palm. Red like blood. Red like a ruby. Red like Lucy’s hair.

The woman began to chant softly, her eyes fixed into the horse’s eyes, her lips lowered to just above her outstretched palm. And then, with one great exhale of air, she blew the red powder out and into the horse’s face. He neighed, tossing his head back, but did not rear. Just snorted and shook out his mane.

The man gripped the woman tightly by the wrist. Never once did he take his eyes off of Tommy. They backed away slowly, bowed once, and, after Lucy gave a jerk of her chin in permission, they took off running back the way they came.

Tommy guided the horse in a small circle, its hooves clicking against the cobblestones.

“The horse’s name is Monaghan Boy,” Tommy’s voice boomed across the silent street. “Kempton, three o’clock, Monday. You ladies have a bet yourselves but don’t tell anyone else,” he began to urge the horse forward again. When she glanced over her shoulder, Lucy could see that the people were beginning to emerge from their hiding places, some going back to their usual business, but many of them watching them leave with expressions that were in equal parts full of wariness and wonderment.

As soon as they’d vanished from the view of the street, Tommy urged Monaghan Boy into a steady trot. Lucy relaxed somewhat, letting her chest press more firmly against his back, feeling his warmth even through the layers of his clothes. He always ran hot, like the fires of hell itself lived within his veins. They rode swiftly past Charlie’s yard, the roar of the factories, the creaking screams of heavy machinery echoing around them. Like the cries of damned, tortured souls wailing to the sky for absolution.  

They’d left early that morning. Early enough that most people were still in bed, the streets almost empty. But now they were alive and bustling, people dodging and jumping out of the way of the black horse. Jeremiah was walking the streets, bible in hand, shouting something about Abraham. He nodded in greeting when he saw them, a grin spreading across his face. Tommy gave a small tilt of his head in acknowledgment. Lucy smiled. They passed a group of blind beggars, seeking their way with the help of sticks and a dog, a metal cup stretched out in a silent plea. The handful of coins Tommy tossed in their cup clinked.

Monaghan Boy turned a corner, a few of the men gathered outside of the Garrison mumbling greetings. There was a sudden boom from up a head, and for a moment the horse jerked in surprise and fright, a high sound emitting from its throat, but all it took was a firm jerk of the reins from Tommy and he settled. Two coppers, dressed in their uniforms, nodded and tipped their hats as they passed.

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby.”

As they continued down the street, she tossed a glance over her shoulder, smirk tracing over her lips at the people looking up at them as they rode. Birmingham was quite likely hell on earth, dark and black with soot and smoke, rage and pain. 

But hell wasn’t so bad, when you have the Devil on your side.

[showfallmediamaintenance]

[Transcript begin]

[Something metal impacting a tree, splintering the wood.]

Okay... that was the best hit I've gotten in a while. Just gotta keep doing it like that.

[Edgar swings the crowbar at the tree once more. Sending more splinters flying.]

Sir? What are you doing?

GAH!

[Edgar drops his crowbar, and hastily picks it back up.]

Whoops, sorry.

Dude! What the fuck? Don't do that!

Um.

Wait. How long have you been there?

[The new person shuffles awkwardly.]

Sorry... I just wanted to know what you were doing. I've been here for... 13 minutes. Sorry.

It's... fine. As for what I'm doing, I'm practicing swinging this crowbar.

Why? Are you like, Gordon Freeman or something?

Ha! I wish. I... someone... has someone I care about deeply, and I need to work on getting in good hits, or else it's game over.

[The other person takes a pause.]

Well. You should adjust your grip, you're losing good range with your hands being up that far. It's good for controlled hits, but close range combat is tricky.

Really? Uh, thanks.

No problem, man. Um, I'm Liam. By the way.

[Edgar fully turns to face Liam.]

I'm Edgar, nice to meet you.

Edgar? Hm. Reminds me of a character I saw on a show a while back. You ever seen 'The Mechanics Lament?'

[A short pause. Edgar takes a deep breath.]

No. I... I don't exactly like Showfall's stuff... ah, anymore.

Huh, well, you look just like the character. Anyway, uh.

[Liam shuffles again, observing Edgar. Finally noticing the state he's in.]

Christ, are you okay? Like, actually? You look fucked up. Like, really fucked up.

[Edgar chuckles, there is fabric movement as he puts his left hand up, trying to stop the other man from worrying. Liam gasps.]

HOLY SHIT. THERES A HOLE IN YOUR HAND! DUDE. YOU'VE GOTTA GO TO THE HOSPITAL RIGHT NOW. HOLY FUCK–

Woah! I've already been! It's fine! Don't worry!

Are– are you sure? Because that looks a little freaky. You could fit like. Two fingers through that.

If it wasn't okay, I'd still be at the hospital.

Thats... fair.

[Edgar sits against the tree he's been hitting.]

Wanna sit with me? I'm in need of a break, but being alone with my own thoughts is... not good for me.

Uh, sure. You seem alright to me.

[Liam sits down next to Edgar.]

So, how long have you been doing... this? For?

A few hours, tops.

Huh.

[A mechanical retraction sound can be faintly heard.]

Adam, not now!

Huh? Who's Adam?

[A click! As Adam detaches and falls to the ground, skittering out in front of the two. Causing Liam to yelp and scramble backwards.]

AGAIN? SERIOUSLY ADAM?

WHAT THE FUCK, DUDE? WHY DOES IT HAVE A NAME? WHY IS IT MOVING ON ITS OWN?

Liam, I'm so sorry, I wasn't going to mention it.

That seems like something you should mention?!

Um. Not really, man. Where would I slip that in? 'Oh, hello random guy in the woods, this is my sentient prosthetic arm who's named Adam. Nice to meet you!'

[The two laugh, bringing the mood back to 'somewhat relaxed.' Although, Liam still sounds a little shaken when he speaks.]

Hey, he um... wrote something.

Huh? What... 'Candied Crush now please.' Seriously?

[Edgar sighs.]

Fine. Take my phone.

[Adam skitters over to Edgar as he is given the phone, and he begins quietly playing Candy Crush.]

You seem a lot less weirded out by Adam as I thought you would be.

I'm weirded out, I'm just good at not showing it.

Ah, well. I'm glad you didn't run away or whatever, I would've if I were in your place.

Huh, well. I need someone to talk to.

By the way. How old are you, kid? You don't look older than... what, 16?

Bingo. 16.

The hell are you doing out here by yourself? You look... no offense, but you look very dirty.

I've... been out here for a few days. I got kicked out by my parents.

The fuck? Thats so shitty, I'm sorry dude.

Eh, it could be worse.

[A short silence.]

It could be worse, yeah. But it should be better. You can stay in my apartment if you need.

Huh? Wait, really? You mean it?

Of course, you got a phone? I'll put the address in, maybe my number as well. Would you want that?

That would be nice. Thank you so much, man.

No problem. It's a bit far from here, I'd recommend taking an Uber or something when you can. Are you alright to go alone?

I should be okay. I... seriously can't thank you enough.

Again, no problem, stay safe, Liam.

You too.

[Liam stands and walks away.]

Alright, Adam. I– how long has that light been flashing? God damnit–

[Transcript end]

[cosmicoceanfic]

“Dude,” Dean hisses.

“Why are we in a closet?” Cas asks, brow furrowed, as near as he can tell in the dim light coming through the closet doors.

“I am in a closet because I’m hiding from a vampire,” he snaps in a whisper. “I dunno why the fuck you’re here.”

“I’m here because you’re here.” Cas looks around. “This man owns far too many ties.”

“He’s in business. It’s a prerequisite.” Dean is, for a second, grateful that it’s Cas who’s in here and not Sam, because Sam would have busted his balls for busting out a four dollar word like prerequisite. “Cas-“

“Where’s Sam?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere in the house. Cas-“

“Dean.” Cas takes a few steps forwards. “It is imperative-“

“Cas,” Dean says. “I’m on a hunt.”

“The fate of all mankind is far more pressing, don’t you think?”

“Easy for you to say, I’m the one with his ass on the line with Edward Cullen out there.”

Cas squints. “I don’t understand that reference.”

Dean huffs and glowers at Cas. Cas takes another couple steps, so close that Dean could count each individual eyelash, if he was so inclined.

Not that he is so inclined.

“Do angels have any concept of personal space?” He asks, trying to distract himself from the funny way the dim light strikes Cas’ very blue eyes.

“Not particularly.”

“You should learn.”

Cas squints again, nose scrunching a little. “Is your plan to survive the apocalypse in this closet?”

Dean scowls. “Alright, you know what, you can kiss my-“

The doors fly open and the vampire lunges. Dean lets out what he’d deny was a yelp, scrambling for a weapon.

Cas reaches out, grabs the top of the vampire’s hair, and yanks his head off his body.

Dean stares, first at the corpse on the ground and then at the head dangling from Cas’ fingers.

“Dude,” he says again, a little awed in spite of himself.

“We have business to discuss,” Cas says. “Find Sam.”

Speak of the Devil (poor choice of words, maybe), Sam comes skittering in. He gapes at the body of the vampire and then at the head.

“Oh. Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Sam.” Cas drops the head. “We should go. I have things to discuss with you.”

Cas sweeps out of the bedroom. Sam looks at Dean.

“Did Cas rip the head off that guy?” He whispers.

“Yes. Yes he did.”

“Huh.” Sam shakes his head. “Fucked up.”

“I dunno,” Dean mumbles as they go to follow Cas out of the house. “Pretty cool, I thought.”

also they should have put dean and cas in a literal closet. dean is hiding in a closet during a case, hiding from a ghost or something, and cas teleports right next to him. dean can barely hold back a very high pitched scream.

[kusuguricafe]

Kacchan, stop!!

A/N: all I could think about while watching this scene was the prime tickling position that deku is holding bakugou in, so I made it into a reality!

Summary: literally just this scene from heroes rising, but I added tickling 💖 enjoy~

Characters: lee!Bakugou, ler!Midoriya (lers Katsuma and Mahoro as well!)

“Stop! They’re just kids, Kacchan!!”

“Get your damn hands off me before I break ‘em!”

Midoriya was struggling to keep Bakugou in his grasp as Mahoro and Katsuma made a break for it.

It was taking all his might (pun not intended) to hold the brute back. The pair fell to the ground with a bang.

“Where do you think you’re going, haah!?” Bakugou scrambled after them, Midoriya still clinging desperately to his back.

In one final attempt to stop the little menace, Midoriya reached for Bakugou’s underarms and—

“BAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!”

“I told you to leave them alone!”

The kids stopped in their tracks. Curious, Katsuma turned around to see what had caused the sudden outburst.

“Onii-chan, look!”

Midoriya was now straddling Bakugou, relentlessly digging his skilled fingers into the little spots above his ribcage, beneath his underarms. Bakugou could barely get out a coherent objection.

“DEKUU! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!! L-LEHEHET ME GO! I S-SWEHEHEHEAR, I’LL KILL YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOU!”

This would have sounded threatening, if not for the gleeful laughter.

“See? He’s not so scary now, right?” Midoriya beamed at the kids.

Mahoro was stunned. She couldn’t believe her eyes—she hadn’t accidentally activated her quirk, had she!? So distracted by the scene in front of her, Mahoro hadn’t noticed when Katsuma had let go of her hand and ran back over to the two heroes.

Midoriya exchanged a knowing look with Katsuma. “Go for his thighs!” he winked.

Bakugou was still losing his mind as Midoriya dug into his worst spot. He was too busy pounding the ground with his fist, squirming around, and laughing his ass off to notice when a second pair of hands joined in, before it was too late.

“K-Katsuma??” Mahoro exclaimed. She was about to go after him, until she heard Bakugou’s laughter raise another octave. Suddenly, she wasn’t scared of him anymore. He was actually kind of cute?

Not wanting to kill the poor hero, Midoriya switched to lightly scritching underneath Bakugou’s arms while Katsuma clumsily kneaded into the backs of his thighs. Katsuma was sitting on his calves in order to prevent getting kicked in the face.

“Y-YOHOU LITTLE BRAT! STAHAHAHAP IT YOU TWO!!”

“Kacchan, that’s mean! You apologize right now!”

“Over my dead bahAHAHAHAHAHADEHEHEEE!!”

Midoriya had begun clawing at his ribs as Katsuma scribbled along the backs of his knees.

Mahoro couldn’t help but to join in, too. She laughed along with Bakugou as she kneeled down in front of him. She lightly skittered her fingers around his neck and ears, dodging his arms wildly swinging around.

“AHAHAHAHA OKAHAY OKAHAHAHAHAHAHAY! STAHAHAP IT! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Not until you apologize for scaring them, Kacchan,” Midoriya insisted.

“I DON’T TAKE ORDERS FROM YOU—NAAHAHAHA PLEHEHEASE NOHOHOHOHO! NAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHERE AGAIN I CAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAKE IT!! DEKU PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE!”

“Say it~”

“ALRIGHT ALRIGHT I’M SAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHARREHEHEHEHEEEHEEEEE!!!”

Bakugou went limp as the torment finally ended. He lay there beneath them panting for a minute or two.

“Thanks for helping me calm you down, you two,” Midoriya smiled, “He’s really a nice guy deep down, I promise.”

“Screw you guys…” Bakugou managed to say. He didn’t even seem mad anymore, in fact, he looked rather happy?

Midoriya and Katsuma climbed off of the explosive boy, who then stood back up and dusted himself off.

Bakugou sighed. “Seriously though, you kids can’t just pull something like that, alright?”

“I understand. I’m sorry for tricking you, Bakugou,” Mahoro said quietly, looking at her feet. Katsuma nodded.

“Great!” Midoriya said, “Now that that’s settled, we should really get going. We’ll see you guys again sometime soon though, alright?”

“Okay!” Katsuma beamed.

“See you soon,” Mahoro said, taking Katsuma’s hand once again.

[constantcrisis19]

Come A Little Closer

Daryl Dixon x GN S/O

Word Count: 2,082

You slammed the door open, sprinting through the rows of empty shelves that made up the abandoned department store.

You heard the echoing creak of the very door you burst through as it was forced shut, the dull thud of bodies pushing into the flimsy barrier following not long after.

You didn’t bother looking back, trusting Daryl to follow as soon as he could as you ran through the aisles, looking for another way out.

You’d been on your way back from a routine supply run in the suburbs of the city when the two of you had pretty much rode straight into the right flank of a massive herd that looked to have been traveling north.

Daryl hit the brakes on his bike, but by then the loud rumble of the beast had gained the attention of several of the creatures, an alarming amount of walkers changing their trajectory in favor of shuffling toward the two of you.

You let out a startled curse when several walkers latched onto the jacket that you were wearing, using their grip to drag you off the back of the bike and into the frenzy.

You distantly heard Daryl shout for you over the deafening noise, but you didn't have a chance to respond before you were swallowed up by the herd.

You silently patted yourself on the back for choosing to wear a long sleeve shirt as you shrugged off your jacket and ripped your hatchet off the clip that was keeping it attached to your homemade utility belt

You then unceremoniously began hacking your way out of the herd, angling toward where you’d last seen the motorcycle.

You swung at one of the walkers as they wandered in too close for comfort, the hatchet getting lodged directly into its face. Though, when you stepped back to give yourself room to pull the blade out of its skull, your foot came down wrong.

The hatchet came free, but you let go of it in favor of catching yourself on whatever tripped you up, the weapon skittering across the asphalt before being swallowed up by the swarming walkers.

Under your scraped up hands was a familiar motorcycle and you immediately began whipping your head around as you scrambled to your feet, darting away from the reaching hands of hungry walkers as you searched for Daryl, who was nowhere in sight.

“Daryl!” You screamed, eyes desperately roving over the mass of walkers around you, hoping to find some indication that he was still alive.

You began to fear the worst when someone suddenly grabbed your wrist from behind.

Your free hand immediately darted down to your hip, snatching a hold of the dagger from your belt, before you whirled around, aiming to drive the blade straight into the eye socket of whatever had a hold of you.

Your eyes widened as your gaze locked onto a pair of familiar blue eyes that were shaded by dark, rugged bangs.

You smoothly flipped the blade around and laid it flat against your wrist, quickly pulling the hit before you did something dumb like accidentally killing the guy that you’d been looking for because he startled you.

Without a word, he grabbed onto one of your wrists and towed you further away from the herd that was now following the two of you.

You hauled through the dense woodland until you hit asphalt, the both of you crashing out into what looked to be the commercial district of the town that you had been searching earlier.

You weren’t given any time to get a thorough look at the layout before you were spotted by even more walkers, the creatures being drawn in by your violent emergence.

Daryl happened to be the one who found the department store, the redneck tipping his chin at the looming building while laying a hand on your lower back, prompting you to take point with a light push.

You were drawn back to the shitfest that you’d found yourselves in when the lock on the door you entered audibly broke, the sound echoing through the vast warehouse.

You caught sight of an emergency exit door on the back wall and pushed yourself harder, throwing your entire weight against the rusted bar. The door came open with a groan of protest, your momentum sending it slamming into the brick wall next to it with a loud bang.

You stumbled out past the threshold and blinked rapidly against the change in brightness, trying to get rid of the black spots impeding your vision, only to dig your heels into the blacktop, your eyes widening in a mix of shock and horror as the first shambling corpse noticed your presence. 

“Oh, fuck!” You snarled as you swiveled your hips in preparation to turn back around, but the sudden change in direction caused your shoes to slip, making you lose your balance.

Fortunately, your fast reflexes allowed you to get a hand underneath yourself before you could face-plant, allowing you to recover quickly as you frantically backpedaled toward the open door behind you.

You had known that the tread on your abused sneakers had been worn down to practically nothing over the course of many months of supply runs.

Hell, you had suspected that you needed a new pair since you and Rick hit up the hospital downtown last week and you ended up having to slingshot yourself around corners in order to outpace the walkers chasing the two of you since the linoleum was slippery and the grip on your shoes was nonexistent.

Now your procrastination was coming back to bite you in the ass, literally. 

One of the walkers stumbled into range and you yanked the hammer off of your belt, simultaneously bracing yourself on the door frame behind you as you swung, the blunt end caving in the creature’s skull at the temple.

You heard the familiar whistle of air behind you just before one of Daryl’s brightly colored bolts flew past you, burying itself between the eyes of the walker that had been steadily closing in. 

“Com’ on!” Daryl shouted to be heard over the growling mass of walkers, getting one of his hands wrapped around your belt in order to haul you back into the dimly lit interior of the department store.

You turned when he released you, following his lead as he dodged a small crowd of walkers and darted into a nearby aisle, pulling his knives out as he went. 

You adjusted your grip on the hammer, rotating it so that the sharp end was pressed up against your thigh as you dashed into the main area.

You let out a sharp curse at the sheer amount of walkers that were flooding into the store, their numbers rapidly climbing to lethal levels.

A few of the closest creatures got a hunting knife to the skull, Daryl moving from one to the next in quick succession as he painstakingly tried to make a path to the exit.

From your position further back, you scanned the area and spotted a staircase on the opposite side of the vast room.

If you remembered correctly from you previous stints working in customer service before the world went to hell in a hand basket, the staircase should lead to an employee break room or maybe even an office of some sort.

The narrow hall would also act as a funnel so that the walkers numbers would never get to the point of being overwhelming enough to break down a door. But, with that said, it would still essentially be the equivalent of backing yourselves into a corner.

But you weren't seeing any other options.

“Daryl!” You called out, nodding toward the entrance to the stairway once the redneck had a chance to look over his shoulder.

You pointed at the dark opening and watched his gaze move from you, to the base of the stairs on the other side of the room, and back to you again before he gave a single, sharp nod of agreement.

While Daryl briefly focused his attention back onto the herd slowly approaching in the hopes of reducing their numbers some, you had already pivoted around to begin picking your way through the stragglers that were standing between the two of you and potential safety.

You had covered about half the distance when you heard Daryl's light footsteps coming toward you and took that as your cue to pick up the pace, opting to dodge the last few obstacles to reach the stairway faster, Daryl hot on your heels.

You thundered up the narrow passageway, not even bothering with stealth anymore as you took the stairs two at a time. 

You didn’t slow down as you made it to the top, merely redirecting your momentum in order to throw yourself down the hallway and at the nearest door.

You reached out to grip the cool handle, letting out a low growl of frustration when the lock didn't budge.

There was no way that you could force your way in since that would compromise the lock and -even if you did- you didn’t know if there were any materials on the other side that you could use to effectively barricade the broken door, but you also didn’t have the time to try picking the lock. 

So you could do nothing but move on and hope that the next one was open.

You tried door after door with each one garnering no results. You had just reached the one at the end of the hall when Daryl slammed into you, his back pressed tightly against yours as he loaded another bolt and shot it into one of the walkers coming down the crowded hallway.

You could hear the herd closing in on you, their angry hisses and hungry groans akin to the tick of a doomsday clock counting down as they shambled closer.

This time when you tried the knob, the door gave way and opened inward, the two of you practically falling into the small room in your haste to get away from certain death.

You barely regained your balance before you were spinning on your heel and barreling into the door that Daryl was already braced against, your shaking hand fumbling with the locking mechanism before it finally latched with a resounding click.

You rested your forehead against the door as Daryl slumped like a puppet with his strings cut, his back sliding down the solid barrier until he was seated on the ground, his head dropped between his knees as he panted. 

You swallowed hard, trying to wet your dry throat as you also caught your breath, your labored gasping deafening now that the sound of the herd had been muffled.

Your own legs buckled and you had a less controlled descent to the cold floor as you realized that you both somehow managed to stay in one piece.

You let out a hysterical giggle, causing Daryl to tilt his head just enough to watch you over the curve of his bicep, his expression pinched and eyes worried.

“Looks like we’ll be here for a while.” You sighed, the door at your back trembling under the onslaught of the dead on the other side.

“Come here.” You said softly as you patted the ground next to you invitingly and Daryl let out a huff, uncurling from his defensive hunch in order to lean into your side, his forehead coming to rest against the side of your neck.

“You a’ight?” He murmured, his hot breaths fanning out over your clavicle in a way that you always found reassuring.

“I’m good, just tired.” You sighed and you didn’t realize how true the statement was until the adrenaline began to wear off, leaving only bone deep exhaustion in its wake.

In an effort to stay awake, you decided to see where exactly you and Daryl ended up, glancing around at your surroundings as your eyes adjusted to the dim room.

The shelves filled with empty bottles of cleaner and ripped packaging as well as the broom and mop hanging from a rack mounted to your right indicated that you’d found yourselves in a utility closet.

“Get some shut-eye, I'll keep watch. Ain’t much else we can do.” Daryl offered and you lazily nodded before settling in for the long haul since it would probably be quite a few hours before enough of the herd lost interest that you could make your daring escape.

You closed your eyes and began to silently count, something you’d learned to do when you were little and couldn’t manage to fall asleep.

You only made it to eleven before you slipped into a dreamless slumber.

Prompt: "Looks like we'll be here for a while."