#my hand is twitchy but not twitchy enough 2 not able to get this

[s-4pphics]

click!: in frame. 2 (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: you crave redemption more than love. [idk au]

WORD COUNT: 11.5k

WARNINGS: professionalphotographer!ellie, strugglingartist!oc who’s black, ANGST!!, daddy issues, SA/victim blaming :(, homophobia LOL, anger issues\violence, bad parenting, anxiety, joel standing on bidness, FLUFF!! :3, SMUT… MDNI, ellie bottoms YAAAS, virginity mentions, jealousy😂, dubcon (they’re high), more fingering, brief mentions of cunning lunning, squirting, mult. big Os, err dassit

A/N: YYYYAASSSSSSSS hi… bye 

APRIL, 2014

Happy birthday, babe, you whisper in your girlfriend’s ear, arms wrapped around her neck from behind. Ceniyah’s giggly thank yous fill your ears and heart as you press smacking kisses on her cheek. 

I made you something… You reach behind and grab the rolled-up poster paper sticking out of your backpack, making sure Ceniyah doesn’t turn around. She seems giddy and your heart soars. You hope that all-nighter was worth it. Please, you pray to yourself, please love it. 

Close your eyes and gimme your hand, you say and she listens, palm open in front of your face. You place the scroll in her hand and she gasps. She whips around to face you, shock written all over her, and you giggle. She unrolls the painting and her head instantly falls back, tears jerking behind her glasses. 

Are you seriously crying right now! You pull her tight to your chest and she sobs into your neck, C’mon, baby, stop cryin’! S’okay. You coo and her arms tighten around your waist. 

D-D’you like it? Your face burns when you whisper. 

Are you fucking serious! She squeaks into your neck, It’s beautiful, baby, I love it. T-Thank you—

I love you so much, you mumble, and she says it back. 

You haven’t slept at all. Your body’s going to collapse soon. You hope it’s not during this phone call. 

You ogle at the small card in your hand, pressing the digits into your device before hitting the call button. It rings twice before a bright voice answers. 

“Hello, this is Lisa Meyers speaking. How can I be of service?”

… Interesting intro. “Good morning, um, Professor Meyers?” 

“Yes, how can I help you?” 

“I… we spoke at the coffee shop yesterday. About the… assisting art professors alumni thing.” 

“Oh, of course! How are you, dear?”

“I’m good. Um… I was wondering if you’d have some time to speak with me about it... If that’s cool.”

You can hear her wide smile through the line, “More than cool! Would you be able to come into the office tomorrow?” 

An extra day in the city wouldn’t hurt (it would), “No problem. What time were you thinkin’?” 

“My mornings are always open! How does ten sound?” 

“Sounds like a plan. Uh, thank you,” you say with twitchy fingers. 

“Course, hun! I’ll put you in and I’ll see you tomorrow!” 

You never expected to end up back here. 

The campus art studio looks exactly the same, only now the old portraits, sculptures, ceramics that were lined up on shelves of the display case are all replaced with new, nameless ones. You’re not used to seeing projects that you couldn’t attach a name to in the classroom. Your university years never feel that long ago, but the randomly placed structures are proof of your long-term absence. 

Time is an illusion… Or you’re getting old as fuck and about to be lowered into the ground. Freshmen make you sick(affectionately). 

Professor Meyers explained the position well enough for you to manage on your own. The work you’re doing isn’t difficult: oversee, assist in grading, oversee some more, oversee, and guide. You’re practically getting a check for being the already observant individual that you are. It’s a steal! 

The position only lasts around a month, but Professor Meyers was convinced that it would only take someone as talented as you (her words… although you agree) a week to get on her toes. You vowed to bring your sketchbook every day from here on out, both to yourself and to her, in case you get the inkling of inspiration that you desperately need. 

The job’s a small win. That’s all you could ask for right now. 

Fuck all that shit you said at the start of the week. TAing fucking sucks. And you still haven’t had any inspiration despite all the efforts from the students! Whenever you pick up a utensil, you stab through your paper. You’ve officially lost your touch. You’re a regular bitch with no talent! What the fuck is going on! 

You’ve had numerous breakdowns in bathroom stalls since Monday, and you’re bound to have another one in the next fifteen seconds. Why the fuck did so many students leave their filled water cups on the fucking tables. Guess who has to clean all that shit up! You! Fuck freshman(unaffectionately). 

You’re so happy the halls are empty in between rotations. No one needs to watch you sobbingly wipe down tables splattered with paint. 

After Professor Ronson’s room is tidy, you start prepping the board for the next rotation of students. They’re learning about anatomy today; There’s bound to be at least three students that scribble tiny dicks in the corner of their starter pages. You hate it here. 

You open the drawer to retrieve all the sharpeners, only to find the container completely empty. You’re sick of the animators not putting shit back. You begrudgingly make your way back down the hall and into Professor Lacey’s room… You should’ve never left.

Your lungs constrict with your gasp and you almost drop your keys. 

A just as shocked Ellie gawks back at you, laminated name tag with YEARBOOK dangling from the camera strap around her neck. 

What the fuck.

Ellie’s either hallucinating or dead. Yeah… She has to be dead. The haunting of your email was too much and she died and now she’s seeing shit—

An angel disguised as you is staring back at her, fist clenched under the sleeves of your sweater, brown eyes just as stunned as hers. Ellie barely has time to gather words before the chains hooked onto the pockets of your jeans jingle as you step out of the room and scurry down the hallway. Ellie’s feet are flying before she can even register their movements, hot on your trail as her camera bounces on her chest. 

She manages to get close enough to grab your bicep, ignoring the stuttering in her heart when she sees the former light in your eyes replaced with something darker. The flourishing storm in your pupils is uncontrollable. 

Ellie drops your arm when she realizes you won’t run, “W-What are you doing here?” 

Your gaze is locked onto the tile squares on the ground. “I-I’m, uh… just enjoyin’ the weather— “

Ellie’s brows pull downward, eyes flicking towards the badge wrapped around your neck. Do you work here? “We’re indoors.” She mumbles dryly. 

“Nothin’ like… the spring rain hittin’ the windows, am I right?“ You huff with a nervous smile, eyes flitting around the hallway as you search for an escape. Ellie’s not having that. 

“We needa talk.” 

You sigh, “I can’t. I’m working.” 

“So am I. Take your break,” Ellie grabs your wrist and drags you back down the hallway, leading you to the bathroom and pushing you into a stall, locking the door behind her. 

Her voice is quiet when she presses, “The fuck are you doing here?” 

Ellie expects you to snap, to push the same questioning back onto her, but you don’t. Your mouth gapes like a fish as you stumble over words. Ellie’s eyes soften when she sees a shaky hand come up to pin a loc behind your ear. You’re shaken up and she instantly notices something off. Your demeanor has shifted immensely since she last seen you and it’s making Ellie’s stomach twist with discomfort. She's never seen you this stunted. 

“What.” Ellie asks when you mumble to the floor. 

“I’m sorry about the email,” You sound winded, “I thought… I dunno. I’m sorry about everythin’.” Your lip starts to quiver as you ramble, “I would’ve never come if I knew, I’m sorry— “ 

… What the hell are you talking about? And why are you crying? 

You sniffle and wipe your tears with your sleeves and Ellie’s fingers itch to comfort, to dry your face herself, but she doesn’t. She watches you weep into your palms for what feels like hours, the air of the restroom suffocatingly tight. 

“I didn’t mean to ruin anything you h — had going on, okay? I’m sorry… I’ll leave right now! You’ll never have to see me again— “

Your sobs are stressing her, “G-Gimme your phone.” Ellie blurts. 

You're already digging in your pocket for your device to unlock it, “W-Why— “

Ellie snatched it from your hand, heart pulling when she sees a photo of younger you being carried by a woman shoved in your case. The same face that was littered all over your apartment, “You wanted to talk so bad, right?” Ellie presses her new number into the pad and calls herself, “You have my number. My…” 

When she looks up, her words get swallowed up; Your eyes still manage to glow under the… horrific bathroom lighting, glittering like stars in the late night. She clears her throat to catch herself, “My shift ends at four. Call me any time after that.” 

Ellie hurries to unlock the stall before leaving you in the bathroom, heart in her throat as she heaves all the way down the hallway to the lounge, shaking her hands to get the jitters out. 

She knew she should’ve never accepted a call from the alumnus association. Fuck the yearbook. 

You clock out with a heavy, anxious heart. 

Three students came up to you and asked for advice on their starter shapes. They were a bit upset when their circles didn’t come out perfect, and you almost cried. It was too sweet. Your bag bounces off your back as you descend the staircase to exit the building. The droplets hit your hood with fever as you skip to your car. You jump into the driver’s seat to turn the heat on, teeth chattering from the evening breeze. 

You check the time on your dash and… it’s way past four. You hope Ellie’s willing to meet. You dial the most recent number and tremble as the phone rings. She answers after the second tone. 

“Hello?” 

She sounds so relaxed, and your shoulders unlock, “… Hi. It’s… me?” 

A lengthy pause, “… Me who?” 

You hide a snort, “Um… ex-roomie?” She chuckles lightly. “Hi.”

“… Hi.” You whisper, “Did you, um… still wanna talk to me?” You think you hear the click of a lighter. 

“Mhm. I’ll send you where I stay at.” 

“Okay… I’ll see you soon?” 

“Yup.” And with that, the line goes dead. Ellie’s location delivers not even a minute later. Her hotel isn’t far from here. . . and fuck, it looks like wealth. Your nerves are nowhere near settled after your last attempt at reconciliation, and paranoia is itching beneath your skin. 

You open your GPS and blast your screamo playlist, hollering your way down the street with your windows down, rain be damned. 

You’re burning holes through Ellie’s hotel room door. 

You haven’t knocked, you haven’t rang. . . you're not even sure if your text of arrival went through. You just stare at the peephole with a clenched jaw. This big bag of Cool Ranch Doritos is doing an excellent job as a stress ball. It’s bound to pop from your grip soon.

Your bladder almost lets loose when the door gets pulled open, nostrils instantly hit with wafts of that forbidden flower. You’re pulled through the small crack by a strong grip before the door is shut and locked behind you. 

Ellie faces you, bare arms on display, and leans back against the door… in those fucking grey sweats. After all this time, they still cause damage to your soul, “Sorry. I don’t wanna get kicked out.” 

“It’s… you’re good.” You point behind her, trying not to gawk at her tattoo, “How’d you know— “

“You breathe loud.” She says simply, tone hushed and raspy. She nods behind you, “Sit down.” 

She follows you to the lounge chairs that face each other. You sit, still tense, suddenly back in therapy, “I-I brought you somethin’.” You push the crumpled bag of chips towards her as she relights her joint. 

Her pink, doe-eyes flit between yours and the bag before she mumbles, “Thank you.” 

“No problem…” You awkwardly set them on the windowsill, swallowing your guilt and deciding to take initiative, “I… I know you have a lot of things going on and I don’t wanna take up too much of your time… I’m just…” 

The loud splattering of raindrops is nerve-wracking, “I wasn’t… I didn’t treat you well. College was a very hard time for me and I didn’t really know how to deal with it without being a bitch—” 

Carbon leaves her nose, “Is that your excuse?”

“N-No, no! I’m not… I’m not tryna avoid blame. I was terrible and you — no one deserved what I put them through… I-I’m really sorry, Ellie… From the bottom of my heart, I’m sorry.”

Ellie’s silent. You have no idea what she’s thinking; She could be plotting to get you kicked out of her room right now and you wouldn’t know. Her stare isn’t angry, it isn’t anything… she just watches you. Every squeeze of your hands, bounce of your knee, every tic photographed in her memory. Just like before. 

“Why're you back on campus?” 

You exhale the breath you’d been holding, “Um… I gotta, like, TA job, I guess. With the art profs.”  

“Still doing art, then, I guess.”

You stare down at your lap, “Yeah. Trying to.” You croak. 

“Trying?” She asks, brows furrowed. Your shoulders bounce in a shrug. “I, err, hadn’t made anything in a while so… yeah. I thought it’d get me back into it.” 

“Are you?” 

“Hm?”

“Are you back into it?” 

“I don’t know yet.” 

“Why were you so upset when I moved out?” Ellie’s tone shifts into something much more delicate, ready to crack and bleed open at any given moment. You can’t tell her, your brain bellows over the pleads from your heart. You can’t tell her how much you missed her!

Your jaw slacks dumbly as you search for a believable explanation, mind blanking under her scrutinizing stare. 

“I was drunk. I-I don’t remember…” 

“You were drunk and don’t remember.” You cringe at her tone. 

“Ellie… I don’t wanna— “

“Don’t wanna what? Actually be fucking honest?” Your babbles are silenced as she rants. “You reached out to me and you can’t even answer one question honestly. Why’d you even come?” She seems so disappointed in your response, but what can you do? Tell her how every part of your body yearns to be next to her? How you almost collapse when you saw her for the first time in what felt like an eternity? How manipulative would that be after everything you’ve done?

Ellie’s index finger jumps on the armrest as silence takes over once more. She’s deep in thought, it seems, teeth nipping at the skin of her lip. 

“Ellie— “

“When I moved out…” She repeats sternly, “you told me you didn’t want me to go. Why did you say that?” 

It’s on the tip of your tongue: because I’m weak and I like you! I’m sorry I didn’t fight! I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry! 

“B-Because I didn’t want you to go…” You whisper between sniffles, wiping your nose with your sleeve. 

“Why's that?” 

“I… really liked having you around…” You chose your words very carefully, but they’re not a lie. “You’re… you’re really nice.” 

That seems to satisfy her a little, “I’m really nice?” Ellie’s brow quirks, a tiny smile blossoming on her face. 

“And funny.” You sob, “Like, I laughed a lot.” 

“You’re funny, too,” Ellie says awkwardly while scratching her ear. Your heart pulses. 

Her eyes search yours, “I didn’t know how I would react when you got here. The thought of seeing you really… fucking freaked me out.” She scoffs to herself, and your shoulders begin to droop. “But… um...” She pauses and your pulse pounds in your neck. Tears brim in your ducts. This is when she tells you to leave. To fuck off. To drop dead, for fucks sake—

“I’m glad you reached out.” 

You gawk in disbelief before your bottom lip trembles, “Really?” You ask meekly. She simply nods. 

“Me, too.” You’re really trying not to cry right now, but the softness in her gaze isn’t helping. She’s too sweet. You change the topic before you say something you’ll regret. You point to the bag of chips, “I really hope you like that flavor. I just grabbed it because I was overthinking.” 

“I don’t know why you bought those. I still owe you a bag from what I remember,” She grabs them, squeezing the end until the other side pops open. She grabs four ships and crunches them all at once before extending the bag to you. You follow her lead and munch to your heart's content. 

“I was never mad at you, y’know.” Ellie sets the bag down and reignites her roach. “I wasn’t, uh, innocent, either. We both fucked up,” She puffs and hands it to you. You've never smoked bud before, only stole a couple of Abby’s edibles a while back. She vowed never to smoke with you since you’re a tweaker. 

You accept the charred-to-hell baby jay and stare at it. You shrug, “Wasn’t worse than me. How do I do this without burning my finger off?” 

“Err… just breathe in and hold it.” She instructs. “Have you never gotten high?” 

“I have. I don't— “

“Oh, yeaaah. Non-smoker. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” you mumble before bringing the remnants up to your lips and sucking in. Nothing happens. Ellie snickers, “Not like that. It’s not a fucking lollipop. Just, like, fill your cheeks up and hold it.” 

… Are you an idiot? “I don’t know what that means.” Ellie cackles like a witch at your lost expression, nearly falling over in her chair. Your cheeks burn and you try again, cheeks expanding to fill in the smoke. The second you inhale, you start choking, eyes bulging out of your skull from the burn in your chest. 

Ellie finds your near-death experience fucking hysterical as she hollers from her seat. Tears stream down your face and the veins in your neck are bulging as you gasp for air. You’re never doing this shit again. Your lungs finally decide to spare you when Ellie passes you water from her dresser. You gulp that shit down like no tomorrow as Ellie’s giggles dwindle. 

“What the,” cough, “fuck— “

“Fucking baby lungs,” Ellie mumbles with a grin. “You’ll be fine after a couple tries.” 

You chug more water, “Girl… fuck you.” You gasp. Ellie’s grin turns cocky when her head tilts. 

“Fuck me?” Her voice lowers and goosebumps rise on your skin. Your heart stops in your chest and your gaze falls to the floor as your tummy swirls in delight, cheeks fiery. You stand and Ellie sits up at your sudden alertness. 

“Um… Like I said, thank you for taking the time to talk to me today. I really appreciate it.” Ellie stands to grab your arm when your feet slowly start backing towards the door. 

Her smile drops, “I-I’m sorry. I was just kidding—” 

“No, it’s fine! It’s not you! I just, uh… y’know what I mean?” 

“… No.” She mumbles, “You don’t… have to go yet. You just got here.” She chuckles weakly. 

“I just… don’t wanna… pry.” You whisper like it’s shameful. Ellie’s head shakes in denial, “You’re not! I’m… inviting you.” 

Your eyes beg her to understand where you’re coming from. It’s not like you don’t want to, but the two of you just got back cool three seconds ago. The last thing you want to do is force yourself back into her life. Your relationship needs time to marinate and heal before anything else happens… if she allows it. 

“I… I still miss Pickle?” You suggest with bright eyes, and Ellie’s soften despite her confusion. “Would it be okay if I see her?” You ask quietly. 

Her mouth turns upwards, “How long are you in town?” 

“I don’t know… These hotel bills are runnin’ my credit in the fucking mud.” You sigh. 

“She’s with my dad right now. Come this weekend. I’m outta here on Friday, anyways.” She suggests, cheeks glowing in the dimming room. You hope Ellie doesn’t notice your dejection at the mention of her father… It still stings. Her eyes are so hopeful, meadows flurrying with excitement… and you can’t say no. 

“…Okay.” 

“Yeah?” She confirms, smile widening. You nod. “She misses you like crazy.” Ellie notes and tears get to cooking. You think about Pickle every day. Little munchkin. 

“I miss her, too.” You sniffle. The hand that rests on your bicep slowly slides down your sleeve, closing around your wrist. Not strong, but her hold is steady. Ellie whispers your name. 

“Hm?” 

“I’m glad we’re… okay.” Your heart soars with adoration. Her eyes explore your face in admiration, and your body glows. 

“Me, too. Thank you.” Ellie’s gentle gaze drops to your lips and you stiffen. Your hands clench when she moves an inch closer. It kills you to move away, and an inkling of hurt overcasts in her forest. She lets you go and backs away, “Sorry— “

Your head shakes desperately, “S’okay, I just think we should… move… slower?” You never fail to sound like an alien who just arrived on Earth, but Ellie seems to get it. 

“Yeah, I… yeah.” Ellie stares at her sock-covered feet, red dusting her cheeks. You try to hide a smile while she walks you towards her door. She opens it for you, propping up against it. 

“See you Friday?” You throw over your shoulder and Ellie grins. “See you Friday.” She parrots. You can’t stop cheesing even after she closes the door. You make your way back into your driver’s seat, heart bleeding with relief. 

MAY, 2014

Her record is clean! I would’ve never expected this from such a great kid, your professor says to your father, But violence, especially to this extreme, is completely unacceptable—

What about what he did to me! You shout, and your father glares at your tone, He put his hands on me first! H-He—

Your body shudders in disgust at the recall of your classmate touching you the way he did. You were on your way to class when hands enclosed around your chest in a tight squeeze, all oxygen leaving your body. It was abrasive and made your skin crawl, and you swung. Your arms moved on their own until you were on top of him, his nose gushing blood while his friends attempted to pry you off. 

There was laughter when he groped you. So many people — students that you see every day — all watched it, and no one came to your defense. 

Your principal sighs with his palms up, I’m just trying to get to the bottom of what happened—

No, you’re not! I already told you what happened and you’re tryna make it seem like I’m lying! You stand and grab your bag off the floor, stomping towards the door to the office, Y’all can choke—

Your dad calls out for you, and your fingers twitch at his tone, but you keep walking, pushing past the double-doors of the school and towards the bike rack. Tears flood your eyes when the double doors slam shut, your father berating you about making a scene in public. You unlock your ride, blocking out his rampage that draws the security guard’s attention. 

He put his hands on me, dad! You shriek as loud as you can between your cries, He put his hands on me! Why’re you yellin’ at me?

I’m not yelling at you! I’m yelling in general! You scoff and swing your leg over your bike, strapping your helmet on, I’m tryna understand what happened! You broke his goddamn nose! They’re boutta suspend you! 

Imma be at Maya’s, you say, monotone. I’ll see you later. 

Amaya isn’t even home. Your dad’s hollering his lungs out as you ride down the sidewalk, but you block it all out until the wind fills your ears like a monsoon. You’re not sure where you’re going, but it’s somewhere. 

Hopefully somewhere you can cry to yourself without disturbance. 

-

-

-

It’s your first day back at school since being suspended. Fuck everybody… except Amaya and Ceniyah. You probably would’ve switched schools if it wasn’t for them. You can’t wait to see them during lunch and tell them how fucked up it’s been staying at home. 

Today has been weird as fuck, to say the least. Friends that you’ve grown used to talking to in the hallways have either disappeared or ignored you. It’s quiet around you, now, and you’re on edge. What the fuck is going on?

Walking into the cafeteria is frightening. It’s always loud, rowdy, hectic, but the minute you step foot inside, everything seems to stop. You grip your tray so tight; you think it’s about to snap, frantically searching for your girlfriend. 

But your two favorite people are nowhere to be seen. You wander and come up empty-handed. Where the fuck are they—

Your thoughts are cut when a shoulder shoves right into yours. You throw your tray onto the nearest table. Laughter surrounds you before a snarky voice shriek in your ears.

Watch where the fuck you’re going, 

No, you watch where the fuck you’re going. Dumb ass bitch, You spit. You're about to get suspended for knocking this broad out. Who even is this? 

Coming from the slut who cheated on her girlfriend! Are you sure you’re a lesbian? Or are you going back to dick? 

The entire room seems to collapse from top to bottom, crushing you beneath clutter in attempts to suffocate. You freeze when everyone turns to stare at the scene, some standing to surround you, hoping to see a fight. You release a shuddering breath as your fist clench. 

… Cheated on your girlfriend? You love your girlfriend. You’re in love with your girlfriend, and she’s in love with you! What the fuck is this bitch talking about. 

I think she’s going back to dick! One of them laughs, and the rest follow, and the entire room glows red. 

Your knuckles are drenched in the color when your dad comes to pick you up. 

PRESENT

Maybe being a TA is helping. You’ve finally pulled your sketchbook out of your work bag. 

The point of your fine liner hovers over a blank page of your sketchbook. You can’t stop thinking about Ellie, and you don’t have many distractions. 

It’s been so long since you’ve created anything, and frankly, your ass is clenched with anxiety. Never in your life would you think that creating art would wrack your nerves in such a way, but your insecurities are working hard. Probably the hardest they ever have. Once upon a time, your sketchbook was your safe haven, and now the feeling of blank pages feels like needles. 

What if you’ve… lost your talent? You can see everything you want to make clearly in your head but your pen isn’t moving. The attempts at reigniting your passion would be pointless if you can no longer fucking draw. Your fingers are itching. 

Maybe you should try that corny shit from the movies where they close their eyes and move their utensils on pure muscle memory… Maybe you should do fucking shrooms! Visuals always peak on psyches, according to the experts. At this point, why the fuck not— 

“Son of a fucking — this is fucking stupid, bitch, jus’ fuckin’ draw,” you mutter to yourself in agitation. Just fucking draw! You do this! You do this, you do this!

Minutes pass and your paper is mussed with smudged, small ink marks from constantly moving your pen around, trying to find the right angle. Another piece of paper gone to waste. You fucking suck. You slam your pen down on the table. 

You stand and start to pace, “Positive affirmations only,” You remind yourself aloud, “You got this shit, like, what the fuck. Everything’s gonna come back to you. You’re in a funk and tha’sit. It’ll pass, it’ll pass— “

Whoever your hotel neighbor is… Praying for their sleep schedule. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

“Hello?”

“Hi, kiddo. Sorry I missed your call. Your pet knocked out on my hand.” 

Ellie giggles, “It’s cool. How ya been?”

“Fine… She’s a rascal, ain’t she? I found her head first in one of my flower pots. Her tiny legs were wiggling tryna get herself out,” His chuckles are like warm hugs, “How’s work?”

Ellie’s cackles calm, “Also fine… Err…Um… speaking of Pickle…” 

Her dad hums, and Ellie sighs, “Remember when I told you about how I found her?” 

“Yeah… You and that girl found the poor thing freezing to death outside… Why?”

“… Would you believe me if I said we somehow reunited by the grace of God and she’s coming back with me tomorrow?” Ellie squeaks, and her confidence drops when he exhales. It sounds heavy. 

“Um… for what?” 

“To see Pickle…”

“…Alright.”

“What’re you thinkin’,” She nips at her nails. 

“Nothin’…” 

“Dad…” 

“I dunno what you want me to say, darlin’… Everything you’ve told me about her so far wasn’t… great to hear.” 

Ellie rolls onto her back, “Yeah… I dunno. Something’s different about her now.” 

“How so?” 

She can’t tell him how badly your shielded eyes have taken a toll on her. How desperately she wants them to revert to the shining rivers they used to be. How badly her chest ached when you left her room last night, “I dunno. It just is…” She mutters weakly. Another heavy sigh. 

“I mean… You’re an adult. I can’t tell you what to do anymore.” 

“Don’t be like that, please.” 

“Not being like anything. I can only accept.” 

Ellie’s hand drags down her face in exasperation. The rants she relinquished onto her dad about you are making her nauseas. 

“Just… be nice to her, please.” He hums begrudgingly. 

“Dad, I’m serious. I feel like we… could be friends.” 

“Friends… Alright.” He sounds skeptical, but he isn’t combative. She hopes he’ll keep it together when he sees you, “How should I plan for this friend when she gets here?”

Ellie smiles sadly, “Make eggplant parmesan…”

Her dad snorts, “… Since when do you like eggplant?” 

Ellie grins, “I don’t.” 

Why can’t black roses be real? 

Ellie doesn’t seem like a flower girl, but she has a gigantic leaf imprinted on her arm for the rest of her life; She must appreciate the autotroph kingdom. Your mother always told you how fucked it is to enter people’s homes empty handed. Walmart usually pulls through with the awkward housewarming gifts, but they’re slacking in their garden selection today. Fuck your life. 

You’re forced to settle on peonies… They’re pretty and all, but you’d prefer alliums for her. Maybe even a carnation. Plus, Amaya always told you to never buy flowers that sound like penis. 

Amaya… Are you really about to break down in the frozen food section? Maybe. It’s time to go. You're shocked to find out you have more than ten dollars on your card. Fuck hotels, from the depths of your soul. 

You set your purchase in the passenger’s side and pull up Ellie’s pinged location. She left way earlier than you. You would’ve carpooled, but you couldn’t miss these hours for this paycheck. How are you a struggling student and not even in school? 

The drive is going to be long. 

At least you have time to scream out your frustrations. 

“Hey, Siri.” 

… UH HUH?

“Play This Cold Black by Slipknot.” 

PLAYING THIS COLD BLACK BY SLIPKNOT. 

Your head thrashes as you back out of your parking spot. 

“WELCOME HOOO— “

The ride wasn’t long enough, actually. Ellie’s dad’s house is right there. Like… right fucking there, and your voice is almost gone. Clouds are beginning to roll in over the neighborhood. The universe is fucking with you. Great. 

You dump the last bits of water into the thirty-dollar, peony-stuffed vase before exiting your car, backpack strapped over your shoulder. You climb the brick staircase with a pounding heart. 

“Okay,” You croak, “Hi. Nice to meet you, Mr. Miller. I heard my — our cat was with you—“ You rehearse and cringe. Why are you pressing him about a cat in his domain? 

“Fuck, okay, wait,” You try again, “Hi, Mr. Miller, I’m Ellie’s, uh, friend. We were roommates some time ago— “ 

Some time ago? Who the fuck are you? Shakespeare? Emily fucking Brontë? Get a fucking grip. 

You almost drop the fucking vase when the door opens. Your coughs are uncontrollable when you see Ellie, eyes flicking between you and the ring light camera. Why the fuck does she look so good? Cartier watch, black button up and slacks, hair… neat. She’s about to trigger your asthma! 

“Uh… you okay?” She questions flatly. You’re still choking on your own esophagus, but you send her two thumbs up anyway. You’re great! Terrific! Immediately scared shitless when a… big ass man holding a black furball creeps up behind her. He’s not as dolled-up as Ellie and it makes you less insecure. Why the fuck do you have this hoodie on? You should’ve at least worn some trousers! 

“Nice to meet you.” His voice sounds like grovel. Gravel? You can’t fucking think right now! He adjusts Pickle in his grasp so he can extend a polite hand out to you, “I’m Joel. I’m Ellie’s father,” He sounds courteous, but there’s something simmering beneath his pupils as he stares at you. 

His grip is strong when you accept it. You’re going to vomit, “I-I’m — I mean, hi, I’m, uh… Me’n Ellie used to live together—“ You sound like a frog who just learned how to speak. 

“I’ve been told.” He hums.

Meow!

You almost start bawling at your baby’s cry. She's so big now and her coat is so shiny! She’s eating well. Ellie accepts the flowers with dusted cheeks before stepping aside and allowing you entry. You’re instantly hit with the smell of garlic… Can the whole bloodline throw down in the kitchen? 

“Nice home!” You crack and cringe. You cringe so fucking hard. They both say thanks in unison, but her father’s is gruff while Ellie’s is delicate like petals. She can’t stop staring down at the flowers. Joel finally sets Pickle down so he can head back into the kitchen, and she follows him without hesitation. 

She doesn’t remember you. Your heart shatters. 

“Thank you for the flowers,” You hear Ellie say from beside you. You swallow the lump forming in your throat with a smile. “No problem… You look, um, great.” And you smell like heaven. Like clouds before the rain. 

Her face gets redder and she grins behind petals, “Thank you. I got called in today. For… editing and whatnot.”  

You snicker, “Whatnot?” 

“Shut up. C’mon.” You follow her into the kitchen where she sets the vase in the middle of the dining table before waddling towards her dad, who stands over the stove. You stand back and watch as she playfully punches his upper arm while he stirs the simmering pot, cracking jokes amongst themselves while Pickle paws at Ellie’s calf. Your doting smile vanishes at their laughter; What a little happy family. Are you breathing? 

You turn to face the living room and breathe in as deep as you can, eyes glued to their maroon couch. You crack your knuckles and release the wind in your lungs before repeating. 

“You’re okay, it’s okay. You knew what it was before you came,” you whisper to yourself. Ellie mentioned how close her and her dad were way before you got here, so why is the pain in your chest so sharp? 

A hand comes down on your shoulder and you jump, “Sor — fuck, sorry — “

“Are you okay?” Ellie asks, concerned. 

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m fine! Jus’ looking around,” You laugh shakily and note the large paper crane on the TV stand. You point at it, “That’s so cool! Did you make that? I love origami.” 

“No, my dad did— “

Fuck, “Oh— “

“Yeah, um— “

“D-Do you have a restroom?” 

She observes with worry, “… Yeah, right down that hall, to the left— “

“Thank you, BRB,” You’re practically running to the fucking bathroom. The door closes and locks and you pace. They have a nice shower curtain: black and white stripes. You count them all from top to bottom. 

“Your dad’s dead, fucking relax, it’s been like that, it’s been like that,” You exhale shakily, tremors building in your hands, “You’re fine, you’re fine, calm the fuck down.” You unzip your hoodie and ball it up before shoving your face in it. Your screams into it are muffled. 

You come up for air and stare into the mirror, “You’re fucking fine. The food smells good as fuck and you’re gonna eat and you’re fine.” You open the door and… kitty’s staring at you. She’s sitting pretty and inspecting your disheveled appearance. 

“Hi, baby. Remember me?” You squat and stick your hand out to her. She sniffs curiously before nipping at your pinky. “Ow,” you coo with a smile. 

“She remembers you.” 

Ellie’s leaning against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. You need her to stomp the fuck out of you with affection; She looks so fucking good, fuck—

“I hope,” you squeak and cough. It scares the shit out of Pickle and she runs. 

Ellie’s gaze lingers on your bare arms. “Can we talk for a sec?”

“Yup.” Sound casual, you think. You sprinkle a shrug in there. She nods before heading down the hall and entering the last door. You can’t hide your shocked expression at the scenery. 

Every inch of the room is covered in posters, most of them about galaxies and all their intricacies. There’s a red racecar bed covered in Regular Show sheets and pillowcases and a bunch of stuffed animals, dresser covered with discarded sticker papers and seemingly empty polaroid cameras. There are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling before coming down and around the bed frame, across the closet, and finally slung over her dresser. There’s little action figures and trinkets everywhere. 

The door closes behind you, “… Is this your room?” 

Ellie snorts, “It was. Not anymore.” 

You laugh, “I’m fuckin’ with it. That bed is crazy, though.” Ellie joins in, scratching at her ear. She takes a few steps until she’s in front of you, still at a distance. Thank God; Any closer and your celibacy goes down the drain. 

“Sorry I only brought flowers. I would’ve brought fucking… cake or something if I knew y’all were gonna cook.” Ellie waves you off. 

“The flowers were pretty. Thank you.” 

Your entire face is on fire, “Y’know what I mean…” You cough. 

“Um… I just wanted to talk to you about something. About my dad.” 

There’s a hole in your chest that’s expanding. She takes your silence as attentive, “He can be really overprotective… like, he’s kinda stubborn.”

“Oh… I see where you get it from,” You laugh weakly, clearing your throat when Ellie doesn’t. “Sorry.” You mumble. Ellie looks down at her feet, “Does he not… like me?” You ask quietly, embarrassed out of your fucking mind. 

“It’s not that, he’s just… I told him a little of what happened between us. Not everything, just some of it!” 

“The… bad part, I’m assuming?” Her silence is enough confirmation. 

Ellie looks like Pickle when she’s guilty. You remember when she hopped onto the counter and knocked over your water cup, eyes large and pleading for forgiveness over the mess she caused. 

“M’not mad,” You mumble, “I probably would’ve done the same thing.” Probably is used very strongly. 

“I’m sorr— “

“It’s okay— “

A knock comes from the other side of the door. 

“Come eat, you two!” 

“Coming!” Ellie yells back before rubbing her hands together. “I’m really— “ 

“Ellie, it’s fine,” You reassure her with a light slap on her bicep… It’s quite hard. “C’mon, uh… I’m hungry?” You brush past her and head towards the door, holding it open for her. “After you?”

Ellie reminds you of a strawberry milk squishmallow when she eases past you, trying to hide her smile and pink cheeks. Your cheeks puff as you release the air in your lungs, shutting her door behind you. 

This is the best eggplant parmesan you’ve ever tasted in your goddamn life. Too bad you can’t enjoy it due to Ellie’s hardcore mobster dad sending you deadly glares from across the table. He hasn’t said a word this entire meal, and you’re not anticipating the minute he does. He’s going to blow a gasket. 

“D’you like it?” Ellie says lowly from beside you. You nod your head with two thumbs up. You can’t hide your smile when you notice all the gooey cheese and noodles eaten off the pieces of eggplant. 

“It’s delicious. Thanks Mr. Miller.” 

“Don’t mention it.” He sounds like he means it. Your heart drops and Ellie scowls at him. Your fingers clench around your fork and you scarf down what you can. It’s so good and you’re so scared and you want this meal to be over. 

You're the last to clean your plate so you stand in a rush, gathering all of the plates and spoons off the table before scurrying to the sink. 

Ellie pads close behind you, “Oh, you don’t have to— “

You cut Ellie off with a nervous laugh, “The least I could do.” The dishes clatter and you grab a sudsy sponge. You waste no time, scrubbing the living hell out of these dishes. 

“Go sit down, Ellie.” 

The hairs on the back of your neck stand at his stern tone, “Wha— “

He slices through her refute, and still manages to sound calm, “Go.” 

You continue to scrub, sighing at Ellie's descending stomps. Joel creeps into the open space in front of the sink, grabbing a dish and another sponge. 

“Ellie told me you’re an artist.” He mutters over the running water.

“Yeah. Sorta.” You reply as calmly as you can. 

“What are your intentions with my daughter?” He gets right to it, it seems. You scrub harder. 

“Just… tryna make things right between us.” 

“Why's that?” 

Word vomit. You can’t help yourself. You’re so fucking nervous. “I-I fuc — sorry — I screwed over someone that was… really great. Your daughter’s a sweetheart and I feel awful with how things left off.” You stumble with a heated face. You catch the arch in his eyebrow and back pedal, “Not like we were — we weren’t dating or anything! Like, not like that! We just — “

“I was a student once upon a time. I know how these things go.” He snickers humorlessly. Your shoulders relax a smidge before he asks, “Why now?” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you wait so long to talk to her? The two of you graduated forever ago.” His tone is much calmer than it was seconds ago, but anxiety surges in your gut at his questioning. 

“I didn’t wanna reach out without being in the right headspace. I had… a lot going on and I had to handle it. Therapy’s hard as fu — heck,” You sigh, “I still don’t think I’m doin’ a good job, but… I dunno, it earned me a Michelin star eggplant parm. Must be doing something right.” 

You don’t expect Joel to laugh, but he does. It’s hearty and deep. Very dad-esque. Your heart crushes to dust all over again. 

“Look, kid,” Joel sets the clean plate in the rack before grabbing another, “I wasn’t gonna say much, but Ellie seems to like you… a lot. More than most people.” Your heart flurries back into shape at his observation. You want to ask what a lot means exactly, but he continues. 

“She’s… she gets very attached to people. I know it’s hard to believe but she’s very… sensitive,” His voice is low, but he’s not bullshitting in the slightest. The protective aura has returned and it’s radiating back onto you, pushing you back. Keeping you at a distance from him. From Ellie, “I’m never gonna shit on anyone’s journey, but frankly… if you’re not here to stay, I’d suggest leaving her alone now.”

This is definitely a threat. But you don’t feel threatened. You feel… sad. Joel is doing what any great dad would when faced with an outsider: armoring his cubs by any means. Something you’ve never experienced. If meeting Joel has shown you anything, it’s been what you’ve missed out on your entire life. Little does he know the last thing you want to do is separate from Ellie a second time. Another breakdown is bound to crash into you very soon. You forgot where the bathroom was. 

You’re not going anywhere. Your heart won’t allow it. “I’m— “

You’re interrupted by a loud rumble, instantly followed by the heavy droplets of pouring rain. It sounds like pebbles are being thrown at all windows of their home; Is it hailing? 

“Holy shit,” Ellie calls from the living room window, “Was it supposed to storm tonight?” 

“Yeah, it was on the news,” Joel confirms. Ellie rushes over and points her eyes to you. 

“You’re not driving in that.” She breathes out. Your heart fist pumps, but you maintain nonchalance. 

You shrug awkwardly, “I don’t wanna pry— “ 

“Nah, she’s right. We have a guest room.” Joel sighs, “Ellie, show her where it is. I’ll finish up in here.” 

Ellie’s hand closes around your wrist before guiding you down the hall. The bathroom’s right across from the guest room. On the left side, you note. 

“Fuck a guest room. You’re staying with me.” She mumbles and opens the cupboard. She grabs you some sleep shorts and presumably her father’s sweatshirts. You try to convince yourself that the strong pounds in your chest are from fear of the storm, and not at all from a lesbian slumber party. 

… Fuck. 

The storm is roaring outside. And Ellie’s chiefing in neon astronaut jammies. This feels like a fever dream. 

“They glow in the dark.” Ellie hums around a cloud of smoke from where she sits across from you on the bed. You pause your gawking, “Huh?”

“My pjs glow in the dark. Wanna see?” Her eyes sparkle and your heart sprouts legs and sprints around in your ribcage. 

“Fuck yeah.” You gasp. Ellie’s teeth shine before she puts her joint between her lips and leans across her bed to shut her lamp off. Every fiber of your being tries to not lock onto the smidge of skin that appears from under her sweatshirt when she stretches. The room goes dark around the neon pink and green outlines of the design. You choke out a laugh at the pigmentation; How the fuck are they so bright!

“Sorry if this is boring. I’ve never had a sleepover before.” 

“Shut up, that’s cool as fuck! You gotta battery pack in there or somethin’?” Ellie giggles out a no. A smile stretches wide across your face when you look up at her, hers just as bright. “Are you sleepy?” You ask. 

“Not at all,” she hums as she switches the lamp back on. 

“We could play a gaaame,” You suggest sing-songy. 

“Oh, fuck. Like what.” Ellie huffs a laugh. 

“Truth or dare is a sleepover classic— “

“I’m not licking a toilet seat.” Ellie states flatly. Laughter explodes from you at her face. “I’m not a crazy dare-er like that. The most you’ll have to do is prank call an ex or some shit.” 

“I don’t have an ex.” 

“Oh… Well, a family member.” Ellie nods in acceptance. “Can I ask first?” She asks. 

“Mhm. Lay it on me.” 

“Truth or dare?” 

“Dare.” 

“Show me what’s in your backpack.” 

“…Fuck.” You sigh, and Ellie cackles. “Were you planning this shit?” You ask and stand, walking over to the dresser where your bag sits. You grab it and hand it to her. She wastes no time, stubbing her joint out before rummaging through your shit, sifting through loose-leaf paper and markers used for coloring. You plop down onto her bed and she pulls out your sketchbook. 

“Is it okay if I look?” 

“I dunno,” You smirk, “Can I finally see your fucking portfolio?” 

“Come home with me tomorrow,” she says instantaneously, “It’s there. You can see it.” 

“… Then yes.” 

She flips through pages and pages of visuals you’ve created before your father’s passing. They range from sloppily scribbled orchids, to immaculately shaded depictions of eggplant farms. Ellie giggles when she finds a small comic of Pickle playing with her favorite mouse toy. 

“She still has it.”

“Good,” you whisper. You watch as she studies each page to her heart’s content, fingers dragging across lines that catch her attention. “You’re so good,” she says softly, awestruck and eyes sincere. Your gaze drops to your lap. 

“Thanks,” you match her volume. She hums and flips to the next page. You eye the ashtray on her bed before snagging it, snatching her lighter and igniting the joint. Ellie eyes you like a hawk. 

“I watched a tutorial on how to become a professional pothead… I think I got it down.” 

“Show me.” She whispers and your stomach jolts.

Smoke leaves the lit end of the J and you flick the lighter off. You bring it to your lips and puff your cheeks full of smoke, inhaling as deep as you can before your lungs squeeze. You cough and heave tearfully and Ellie leans in to rub your back. 

“That was better.” She says softly. “I was gonna dare you to hit it anyway.” Your coughing fits calm and you swallow. 

“Shit,” You say. Ellie takes the joint from you and hits it like a fucking pro. She's much closer than she was seconds ago. You examine how her lips curl around the roach, cheeks expanding around carbon before inhaling, allowing the remainder to leave in a bunch of circles. 

“You really blowing O’s right now?” You think you hit it right this time. The jitters you’ve had all day are beginning to dwindle. 

She smiles mischievously, “Mhm.” 

“Truth or dare?” You mumble.

“… Truth.” 

“Did you think about me… after you left?” If you were to lean forward an inch, Ellie’s nose would touch yours. Nose hug. Her face spots are so adorable. 

“Yeah. A lot.” She passes the J back to you and you accept it boldly. You’re releasing your stress with every exhale. Ellie was right; Smoking does feel good. 

“What’d you think about?” 

“Isn’t it my turn?” 

“No.” You smile. 

She shrugs, “I dunno. Just…” Her gaze falls onto her stuffed tabby cat. 

“I feel like you’re boutta say something nasty.” You snicker. 

“Wha — no! The fuck— “

You mock her, rubbing all over yourself, “I thought about your hands, ooo, aaa— “

Ellie smacks your arm a bunch of times before pushing you back onto the bed. You’re howling laughter over her whining, “Bitch, that’s you! Don’t think I forgot about that shit you pulled in the car!”

“You have nice hands! What can I say,” You slur with a dumb grin, “You have, like… classic lesbian hands. All you need is some Hot Topic rings and all the hoes gon’ flock to you.” You take one last toke before the lit end can reach your fingers, stubbing it on the ashtray. 

Ellie seemingly ponders with the theory, “… Is that why a milf ate me out at the club?” 

Your neck almost snaps when it cranes to look at her, “What the fuc— “

“Yeah. Craziest experience I ever had. Like, in my life.” 

“Fuck, Ellie…” Your head flops back onto her Lightning McQueen blankets. “Was it good?” 

“I… I guess. I came.” 

You stare at the star stickers on her ceiling. “You guess?” She only hums. 

“But…”

“Hm?” You urge her to continue. 

“She didn’t… kiss me.” She whispers like it’s dirty to say out loud. You slowly blink at the opaque walls. “I mean, she did, but it wasn’t a real one.” 

“Shame on her.” 

Ellie maneuvers so she’s lying on her back beside you. “Yeah…” 

“Ellie?” 

“Hm?”

“Were you a virgin before I touched you?” 

You expect her to slap the shit out of you again, but she doesn’t. She takes one deep breath before muttering, “Yes.” 

You stop yourself from melting into her bed, turning on your side and propping yourself up on an elbow, gazing down at her. Her eyes are wide as saucers as she looks up at you. You can see her fingers twitching around her pillow, squeezing the fabric of the case. Right on Rigby’s nose. 

“A-Are we still playing truth or dare?” She whispers, her breath hitting your face. She smells like oranges. You shake your head, tongue rolling over your lips. “No.” Your free hand lands on her hip and squeezes. Her jaw slacks around a gasp.

“… Oh.”

“Oh?” You want — need to kiss her so badly. Steal all the oxygen from her lungs so that she has no other choice but to breathe from you. Only you. Your vision is hazy with each travel over her face. She looks so soft, so pliant, so ready and prepared for you to take from her. Just like you hoped. 

Your hand travels, pushing her sweatshirt up just above the waistline of her pants, fiddling with the knot right under her bellybutton. 

You pull at the string until it loosens, “She gave you head?” 

“T-The milf?” 

“Yeah. The milf.” Aggravation seeps through your tone. Ellie’s hips twitch. 

“… Yeah?” She coughs. You hum and hook your thumb under the band and inch them down. They aren’t even off all the way and you can tell she’s naked underneath. 

“How good was it?” 

“I don’t… know?” 

“Yeah you do. How good was it?” You snip, and Ellie winces. “I-I squirted.” She trips over her words and your clit jumps. You don’t say anything, and she seems sad. 

“… Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” Your tone says otherwise. You’re not mad. You don’t know what you are. You don’t like what she’s telling you, though. Fuck milfs… You love them with your entire heart, but fuck them. 

… Yeah. You’re high as shit. 

You sit up and she moves to follow you, but you push her down and she goes limp under your touch. 

“Don’t move. Just lay there.” 

She pouts and you almost kiss it, “Don’t be mad.” 

“I told you I’m not.” You swing a leg over her waist and she sighs dreamily. “How many times did you come.” You’re not asking; She’s going to tell you. You raise her sweatshirt up over her breasts. 

“T-Two — Two.” She moves to throw her sweatshirt over her head but you snatch her wrists, pinning them right on the cushiony mattress. She doesn’t fight you. 

“I want you quiet. Your dad’ll kill me if he hears you.”

Her eyes go glossy and twinkle, “Okay— “ 

“I mean it. Don’t say shit.” 

“M’not gonna,” She whines before her mouth clamps shut. You give her overlapped wrists one last threatening squeeze, watching her fingers go lax before releasing her. You cup her tits and her eyes flutter shut, teeth sinking into her lower lip. You mouth at the valley between her tits and her back arches to follow each swipe of your tongue. 

You kiss all over her ribcage, almost feeling each erratic thump of her heart under your tongue. She keens when your tongue flicks over the rising bud of her nipple, thighs squeezing around your hips. Your mouth latches onto the skin right above her areola, teeth sinking into it before sucking. Her hips raise and she’s breathing like she’s about to faint, and you grin like a fox. 

You don’t let up until a wet maroon mark is left on her tit before swiftly switching to the next one, leaving a much harsher spot on the raised skin. An eager hand scratches down her torso until it brushes the patch of hair that peeks out from under her pants. 

You shove your hand beneath the light cloth and your fingers are drenched in seconds. Your walls squeeze around nothing when you feel her clit jump in excitement. Her squishy lips spread around your middle and index fingers, her throbbing bundle of nerves cinched between them. She keeps making fucking noise and the walls seem to shake. 

“What’d I say.”

“I — m’sorry, can’t h-help i— “

“Be quiet, Ellie.” Your fingers slip over her messy clit in slow, teasing circles. You release her skin until it’s blistering and bruised, quickening the pace of your fingers and she pulses in your hand. Your tongue swirls around her nipple once more, cheeks hollowing when you suckle. 

Your eyes search for hers but her head is thrown back, neck strained and veins popping from beneath her skin. Your lips release the skin and your drippy hand leaves her pants. Your nipples harden under your tee when she reaches for your retreating form, fingers digging into your sweats. 

Her pants are yanked down and tossed across the room, her toes curling in her rainbow-striped socks when your hands hook under her knees to push them up to her chest. Her arms entangle under her bent legs to hold them out of your way. 

“I could fuck you right now with no problems.” You exhale in a daze, “S’fucking drippin’.” You envision how good her pussy will swallow whatever pops in, how easy it’ll stretch around something thick—

Ellie’s eyes shine like you offered her candy and her hole clamps down hard. You chuckle. “You want that?” 

Her head bounces off the pillow in rushed nods. If your mouth wasn’t so fucking dry, you’d be slobbering all over her pussy. “Remember what I said?” You remind her, and she plants a heavy hand over her mouth. You kiss her ankle in appreciation. 

Your fingers move on autopilot, massaging her clit a few more times before inching down, your index pushing past the tight, gripping muscles. Your finger’s swallowed whole in an instant and Ellie’s trying her hardest to mask her squeaks. “Fuck me,” you sigh when she takes another finger with no hassle, walls engulfing your digits in wetness. Her scent is surrounding you and it’s intoxicating. 

“Missed you s’bad— “

“Missed you more, baby. Missed this pussy,” You’re pussydrunk and you’re slipping. That spot in her cunt becomes plumper with each press of your fingertips, “She fucked you better than me?” 

Ellie’s denial is convincing, but that sick part of your brain doesn’t believe her. She loved being touched by someone, wanted by someone. Someone who wasn’t you, and you’re livid, “Nooo— “

You slice through her whine, “No?” Your smile is sadistic and your fingers are relentless, “You said her name like you said mine?” You grit and her eyes cycle into her skull, her hair sticking to her forehead. She’s trying to keep her voice down when she whispers how she only thought about you when she made a mess. She wanted you there, she says, she needed you there to take care of her. 

“Y’fuck me s’good, fuck— “

Your eyes are dead, “I’ll hurt you. Be quiet.” 

Fear flashes beneath her desire and she listens, keeping her sobs to a minimum. The sloppy, wet sounds of her pussy overtake the entire room the harder you fuck in, her nails tearing into her Pikachu stuffie on the corner of her bed. A string of drool dribbles from her bottom lip to her sweatshirt, her eyes glowing under the dimly lit lamp. 

Her walls shake and throb on you, “Gonna cum, baby?” You grin manically at her dumbed-out expression, cheeks wet and eyes droopy. You coo at her and force in as deep as you can, curling your fingers up, fighting against the tight contractions of her walls. 

“Make a mess on me, baby, I gotchu, c’mon— “

A long, drawn-out moan escapes Ellie’s lips, and you’re so hypnotized by the heavy spray of juices that lands on your thigh that you don’t even bother to shut her up. She’s drenching her sheets and blankets and you and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. You’re fucking wave after wave out of her and she’s practically riding your hand, groaned curses and dazed squeaks of your name bouncing off the walls. 

It feels like minutes pass when her orgasm slows, inner thighs drenched and dripping with slickness. Ellie’s entire body shakes and her thighs squeeze around your hand as she attempts to catch her breath, but you’re not done. You’re not satisfied. She didn’t give you enough. 

You climb onto her and your lips connect in a simmering kiss, her wet mouth smacking against yours. Her cold hands land on either of your cheeks and your hips roll downward on hers. She whines into your mouth and tries to meet your hips but you force them back onto the mattress. She yanks at your shirt in attempts to rip it off but you don’t let up, lips slipping down to connect with her neck. 

Your wrist twists downward until you're met with her sticky bush once more, spreading her lips apart and shoving your fingers back inside her. She chokes a wet gasp when they hit right where she needs, her arms wrapping around the back of your neck to hold you close. You’re babbling nonsense in her ear as you work her, telling her how she’s stuck with you, how you’re never leaving her side again, demanding that she says you're the best she’s ever had. And she does, and either you’re fucked out of your mind, or she means it. 

You barely catch how your hips move like you're fucking her, driving into her as hard as you can and she takes it, stretches her legs wider so you can reach the spots she’s never been able to on her own. She’s saying your name like a prayer, like it’s all she’s ever known, and it’s breaking you down, only to build you back up so you can crash back into her. You missed her so fucking bad and you’re unleashing all of your feelings on her body and she eats all of it. How could you leave her when she fucking needs you this badly? You’ll never forgive yourself. 

She’s warning you, crying about how you’re going to make her squirt again, begging you to slow down because she can’t take what you’re giving her, but you feel so good and you know she does, too. You can’t stop even if you want to. You want to drain her, live inside her for the rest of your days on Earth. You’re forcing space for you inside her.

Her nails dig into your shoulders as she cums. She’s unapologetically loud and it flows directly in your ear, and your own noises leave your mouth and land onto the clammy skin of her throat. The jets of fluid that leave her are stronger than the last, and you laugh. Laugh in ecstasy and joy and pleasure that you can’t even feel, but it’s there. Right in your chest. 

You’re not done. You’ll never be done with her. 

The night evaporates with you in between her legs, slurping every bit of cum and stress that you may have caused since knowing her from the source until the sun shines through her blinds, drinking from her like you’ll die without her taste on your tongue. She lets you do whatever you need to feel satiated, but it’ll never be enough now. 

You’ll never be done with her. 

Ellie’s naked form jolts awake when ticklish breaths hit her shoulder. 

You’re beneath her, slumped, pantsless legs entangling hers and arms twisted every which way as you slobber and snore. A smile grows on Ellie’s face at your peaceful expression; She’s never slept that good in her own bed. She doesn’t want to wake you, but she has to pee so fucking badly. 

She shifts in her position and instantly cringes at the soreness in her legs. Warmth coats the crests of her cheeks when she sees the discarded sheets and pillowcases that were changed only hours ago on the floor, head plopping onto your shoulder to hide in your neck. Your snoring gets cut by a guttural cough and Ellie laughs to herself when your snores pick up again. 

She’s not a morning person in the slightest, so why the fuck is she so happy? Is this the post-sex glow that her friends always tell her about? Is she still considered a virgin if you only used your fingers and tongue? She doesn't feel like one… Sex rules are fucking dumb. She stops stressing before she ruins her morning. 

The pangs in her bladder are getting on her nerves; She wants to cuddle. She sighs and shifts on top of you, trying her hardest not to disrupt your deep slumber. She manages to separate and clothe herself before waddling down the hall and into the bathroom, trying to ignore the aches in her thighs. You wrecked her shit… What the hell. 

The second she leaves the bathroom, she smells coffee. Her dad’s up. She might vomit. 

The two of you weren’t that loud. Definitely not. He couldn’t have heard. He didn’t hear! Ellie’s stealthy as she tiptoes through the hall… until the fucking floorboards croak from beneath her and she nearly faints. 

“Come out, dipshit. I know it’s you.” 

Her eyes squeeze shut and she curses to herself. She reluctantly appears from behind the wall, her dad sitting comfortably on the couch with a filled mug and newspaper, Pickle napping on his lap. He peeks from above his reading glasses. 

“Think we needa talk.” 

“… Fuck me.” She whispers before shamefully limping into the living room. She flops onto the couch and glues her eyes onto the decorative rugs under the coffee table. 

“She seems nice.” Her dad sips his mug. Ellie’s face burns. 

“She is.” She mumbles. You took such good care of her after last night. You got her in the shower, brushed her teeth for her when she was damn near sleepwalking, watched her down two bottles of water. Her heart flutters at how soft your eyes turned when you kissed her to sleep. 

“Is she your girlfriend?” 

“… I dunno.” He hums and sips. 

She doesn’t know. You’re not dating, but Ellie thinks you like her… She thinks. She likes you… a lot. She bites at her nails. 

“You like her?” He asks lowly; She knows he knows. 

“Yeah…” Ellie whispers, cheeks rising on their own. She covers her face when he smiles. 

“Just… take your time.” Joel advises gently, “Did she tell you she’s in therapy?” 

Ellie’s ears perk and her brows furrow, “No.” She sits up. Her dad’s gaze softens, “Wait til she brings it up, then. Y’all should talk before things get serious. It’s only been a couple days.” 

Ellie knows her dad is right, but it’s hard to control herself when she’s around you. She naturally gravitates towards your aura; It’s comforting and she doesn’t want to lose it again. 

A gentle clatter comes from her bedroom and she stands. You’re awake. 

“I love you, kiddo,” Joel says, and she smiles softly. “Love you, too.” 

She scurries down the hallway and enters her bedroom, seeing you sprawled out on the floor, all wrapped in sheets. 

Your eyes are droopy when you croak, “Hello.” Ellie snickers. 

“Hi. What happened.” 

“I was reaching for, like… an orb in my dream and I guess I did it in real life,” Your voice gets so raspy in the morning, and it tickles her ears. Ellie can’t stop laughing. She helps you stand before kissing your cheek. 

“Good morning,” she wraps her arms around your neck. 

“M-Mornin’,” You squeak, eyes flitting around, “Uh… How'd you sleep?” 

“Good.” She’s lost in your brown eyes. They’re warm like the sun. Why won’t you look at her? 

She follows your line of vision down to your fiddling hands before whispering, “You okay?” You simply nod. Ellie’s heart stutters nervously. 

“Do you still wanna come over later?” 

“… Yeah.” Your attempts to disguise your stiffness fail. Ellie feels a lump forming in her throat when she detaches from you, and you search for the new pair of pants she gave you before you went to bed. Ellie watches silently, crestfallen. Something she did triggered your aloofness, so she turns to leave the room.

Her voice cracks, “I’m gonna… shower again— “

“Ellie.” 

She turns, “Yes?” 

Her fists clench when you walk until you’re standing in front of her, warm hand coming up to hold her cheek before kissing her. It’s soft and makes Ellie’s fingers thrum with excitement. It only lasts seconds before you pull away, and Ellie chases your mouth.  

“I’d love to come over. I think we… should talk about some things.” You say quietly, and Ellie silently agrees. You let her go and she wants nothing but for you to pull her in once more, shrouded in your warmth. 

You’re making her bed when Ellie leaves for the bathroom, body falling against the door to calm herself down. You’re not upset with her, and you want to come over… to talk, whatever that means.

The hot water burns her skin; She spends her entire shower thinking about how she can make you as happy as she feels. 

taggiessssss :3 @dyk3ang3l @ellieloml @inf3ct3dd @fromminaa @womenofarcane @sawaagyapong @mina-281 @aouiaa @bbglmfao @i00rii @sakiigami @starologist @southelroys @diddiqueen @trackinglessons @ellieswhorcrux @villainousbear @p4ison1vy @tohoko @yuckyfucky @dollyfleurs @elsbunny222 @sevsbimbo @amiorca @alittlextrahoney @gato-chino @topiatwin @r3wbeef @elliesatchel @muthafuckingstargirl @callmewhenyoukan @macaroni676 @draculurasblog @ellieaesp @@gravygranules @elsblunt

[ymechi]

Who is the real Creator?

oh boy it's done! Sorry this chapter is mostly exposition and info-dumping nothing fun is really happening here. Thank you guys for the comments I loved reading them!

-TW: cult au, yandere, impostor au, mentions of being hunted down, mentions of trauma, self harm (nothing major)

-Gn reader and darling (please tell me if I mess this up message me and I will fix it)

part 1, part 2, this is part 3, part 4

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Reader's stomach turned but they tried to take even breaths.

This was ridiculous there was no evidence or proof. The manhunt was the most solid counterargument. If they were the Creator they would not have been hunted. Reader folded their hands and looked challengingly at Nahida. Try to prove it.

Nahida must have understood so she continued to talk.

"I admit I was confused at first I had assumed it was Reader who got the blessing as they had previously been able to control the acolytes, yet I was wrong. Due to Darling always controlling the vessels most of the time and due to the current Creator's presence being so weak even I managed to mix it up and I apologize for that."

She looked over at Reader with sincerity it made Reader uncomfortable enough to shift on their seat, and then she did the unimaginable, she stood up and bowed.

"Please don't I am not some creator you don't have to bow!" Reader said and jumped out of their seat.

Nahida stopped and looked over at Reader with a sorrowful expression.

"Your grace it is only fair, this was long overdue."

"No! you are wrong it still makes no sense it made more sense when it was Darling!"

"You may deny it but the more I spent with you, the closer I was with you, the clearer I felt it, your powers yet small like a budding seed are still there."

Shit she even brought up an allegory, is she being serious. From their peripherals, they could see Darling's uncomfortable expression. Reader pinched the bridge of their nose and exhaled.

"I don't feel any different though and there is so much wrong with that. I am not some creator."

Reader wanted to get up and sleep their hands felt twitchy and there was something buzzing in their skin. They needed to get out.

"Reader y'know have you. . . checked your blood yet?"

It was the first time Darling spoke in a while.

"What do you even mean, it's been red my whole life? Heck, you have seen me bleed multiple times as kids."

"I know, I know but maybe things changed when you entered this world when you were. . . you know hunted down," she quieted down at the last part, "D-did. . . you bleed?"

"N-no," Reader wrung their hands together," not really I got help from the monster and hilichurls with running away,"

Nahida made a sound of protest at hearing Reader's statements and looked down in guilt. There was a tense silence lasting only for a few seconds Reader just knew what Darling was about to say.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to check hey!-"

Reader jumped up and strode towards the kitchen cabinets taking out a knife.

"Y-your grace please wait-"

It was the first time Reader had heard Nahida stutter usually the Archon was so well-spoken and eloquent. Was it another thing she had to learn trying to fit the mold of the Archon of Wisdom?

"I have cut myself plenty of times when I first learned to cook it won't hurt."

They bought a knife towards the thumb and sliced it.

Clank.

The knife fell-

With it, golden blood fell down the floor as well.

Shit.

"Shit," Darling said.

Nahida sucked in a sharp breath.

"Your grace, please give me your hand we can't leave that be."

The Archon hurried over and opened her palms, their body moving in auto-mode as they crouched down and took Nahida's hand. Feeling what Reader thought was a small burst of dendro energy their small cut healed instantly. Nahida looked even more relieved than Reader was when the cut was healed.

Reader for the most part stood dumbfounded on the kitchen floor while Nahida watched them worriedly.

"Reader, are you okay. . .?"

"Darling what the," they paused looking at Nahida's small form," Do I do?"

"I think you should sit down first," Darling replied with a worried look.

For the second time, all three sat on the kitchen table this time for different reasons.

The weight of the revelation was a heavy burden and Reader wondered what Darling felt wearing that title. They neither wanted nor needed such a burden. Reader scowled.

"Hey Reader I've been thinking," Darling paused and looked unsure, "Do you think. . . This happened because you created my account?"

"Huh? Wait what," They paused thinking for a second, "That might actually make sense. . ."

Reader looked at Darling as if she had just solved their entire life mystery. Nahida looked at the two with confusion.

Right.

"Well, this is going to be hard to explain."

"It is alright by me take your time your grace."

Reader tried not to grimace at being called "your grace", they swallowed and held their hands together. They tried to explain what a phone and computers were and then what video games were until they took a deep breath and admitted that Genshin Impact was a game as well. Nahida remained still and took it all in rather well, Reader wondered how someone would feel if they said that the reality you live in was just a video game. When they came to that part Nahida looked contemplative a finger was put against her mouth as she was thinking. Reader thought about what the Archon of Wisdom could possibly think of in a situation like this.

"So our world was a so-called 'video game' in your world."

"Yeah it's uhh, sorry it's kind of messed up," said Darling with a Grimace.

Reader agreed all they could do was play with their hands as they waited for Nahida's reply. Maybe she'd think they were lying or both had lost it. The whole thing sounded ridiculous when they said it out loud.

"I think I get the gist of it."

"R-really you believe us?"

Nahida looked at Reader and nodded.

"This is not the first time that stories or in your case a 'video game' was made by a dream from another universe."

"Wait what," Reader stared dumbly at Nahida.

"Dreams can sometimes garner insight into other realities while it is rare it can happen, I assume the ones who made the 'video game' called Genshin Impact simply dreamed of Teyvat."

Reader put a hand on their head and tried to understand what Nahida was saying, it still sounded unbelievable even after entering this world. nonetheless, Nahida continued

"Other people playing this 'video game' should not be able to have affected Teyvat except when it comes to your grace, the Creator. Later on, you made this account, as you called it, could count as authority being handed over to Darling or a form of blessing which made Darling be able to control acolytes. The device you used  in this case acted as a medium between two realities."

"O-Ohh. . . I am, I don't know what to say."

"This is mostly me guessing I can't say for sure if what I said is right, communicating between realities is extremely hard if not impossible but when it comes to your grace anything is possible," she said with a smile.

Seeing her smile Reader tried to relax a bit, stuff like this went over their head. Metaphysics was not their strong point. Reader rubbed their head.

"I don't get it but it also makes sense. . ." they paused, "also please just call me by my name I like to think we are friends now. . ."

Nahida looked at them with wide eyes but nodded with a happy smile.

"It is an honor and I like to think so too, Reader."

Reader smiled at hearing their name again from Nahida and the mood felt relaxing again. Reader suddenly felt exhausted the rain in the background lulling them. Nahida must have picked up their mood as they began to speak.

"This has been an exhausting day with many revelations, like a Snezhnayan doll we keep finding more dolls inside the ones we already opened."

"You know I am glad to hear you still speaking analogies."

"I am not sure why it does," she leans her head to the side," but if it makes you happy I am glad then."

Reader smiled at her.

"I think for now Darling should come back with me there is a guest room we could use, tomorrow will be a long day unfortunately I suggest we all try to get as much rest as we can."

Readed nodded and looked at Darling. Reader who hadn't talked to Darling in a long while before this day was a bit worried they knew Darling was usually not this quiet and well, demure. Where they were sitting they looked. . . Defeated.

Darling tried to look at them but they looked away, they knew what they would ask for. They did not want to or had no energy to entertain a sleepover with them. There was still much stuff unresolved on Readers part between them.

A cruel part of them was happy that they were hurting. Reader was hurt so Darling should hurt a bit too- they shut that part down. They did not want to indulge in cruel thoughts, They did not want to become someone cruel.

They had seen what cruel people were capable of.

Nahida bid farewell and took Darling with her. Reader said goodbye to the two and cleaned up the kitchen. Afterward, they headed to the bed.

They left the window open letting the breeze come in. A bird suddenly swooped in standing in the window sill looking at them curiously. Reader stared at the bird as well.

 

"Did you know?"

The bird did not answer.

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Taglist: @resident-cryptid @probablynoposts @esthelily @mitsukashi @charming-mage @chaoticfivesworld @irisxiel @dulcedelechenginamo @yu-ulda @samohxt2-0 @pinkpainc

[chestcongestion]

Demon-to-Demon Ch.2/5 : Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Warnings: Contagion, Vale/nti/no (he doesn't do anything, but I know some people aren't into his general...existence), and mess

Word count: 4,329

Chapter two is finished, right before I have to leave for work, funnily enough ^^, this chapter is even longer than the first, including some more setup because I love my porn with some plot, some structure. I don't know how many chapters this thing will have...I'm aiming for at least 4 or 5. Hope you enjoy!

“Hh’KZZHhshew! Hh’Tszchiiiew! HIH’TSHHEW!”  

Niffty dove to catch Alastor’s coffee mug before it hit the floor, placing it back on the end table next to the armchair that he’d slept in all night, waking up the next morning with itchier sinuses and an awful sore throat. 

“Got it! Maybe you should wait until you’re done sneezing before you drink your coffee, Alastor,” Niffty proposed. 

“Mby… snff!- My coffee would be ice cold by the…H-heh…HEH’KZZHHT! HEH’KSHIEW! Heh’KTSCHIEWW… by the time I’m done sneezing,” Alastor replied, his voice noticeably hoarse as he took a sip of his coffee. 

“That’s true,” Niffty said, wiping her hands on her dress skirt. 

Alastor held his handkerchief with both hands, loudly blowing his nose until he had to pause and catch his breath, scrubbing under his nostrils to try and fend off the building itch, “This is ludicrous,” he grumbled to himself, “How did this happen? H-huh’KSCHIEW! Hh’KZzhht!” 

“For fuck’s sake!” Husk groaned from his station behind the bar, wincing at the droplets that sprayed into the air with each unruly sneeze, “Same way it’s gonna happen to the rest of us if you don’t cover your damn mouth!” 

Alastor rolled his eyes, “You seem to have survived a direct hit to the face just fine, Husker,” he said with a knowing smile. 

Husk shuddered, thinking about the previous day and instinctively wiping his face off again, “Don’t remind me,” he said with a huff, “I hope whatever this is knocks you out again so I don’t have to hear your smart ass mouth.”  

Alastor lowered his eyelids threateningly, “Excuse mbe?” he asked with a raised eyebrow, reaching for his microphone, only to be thwarted by the scratchiness of his throat, coughing into his wrist. 

“I could get used to this,” Husk chuckled, “You bein’ too sick to threaten me.” 

Alastor- still coughing- angrily stuck up his middle finger in Husk’s direction. Eventually, the coughing fit let up and Alastor was able to take a deep breath, leaning back in his armchair and briefly shutting his eyes. 

“Morning everyone!” Charlie said with a smile upon arriving downstairs with Vaggie. 

“Mornin’,” Husk replied with a wave, taking a swig from a bottle of cognac he kept underneath the bar counter. Niffty broke her focus on sweeping the floor around the bar to give Charlie an eager wave before returning to her task. 

“Hh’ptshh! Hh’kzZHht! HNK’Tshhieww!” Alastor sneezed, wiping off the underside of his nose with his damp handkerchief, the constant friction leaving his nose irritated, twitchy, and shiny, “Pardon mbe- Snff snff!- I can’t stop… HH’KSchiiew!” 

“I was going to ask if you’re feeling any better, but I think I know the answer,” Charlie said, cautiously holding out her hand, “Can I feel your forehead?” 

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Alastor muttered, staring at Charlie’s hand while he gently pushed it away with his microphone. 

“That’s fair… can I at least take your temperature with this?” Charlie asked, holding up an ear thermometer and flashing Alastor a pleading smile, “It’ll only take a second.” 

Alastor’s left eye twitched, but he relented, “If you insist… snff… make it qui-ih…IH’KSHHIEW!” he said, wrenching his eyes shut as Charlie slid the thermometer into his ear. 

The thermometer beeped, and Charlie quickly pulled it out , “Almost 102… how do you feel?” 

Alastor ignored the heat that had risen in his cheeks, answering Charlie’s inquiry with a shrug until the prickling sensation in his sinuses returned, “HNK’TSHHEW! HH’KSSHHIEW!... Messy is probably the most notable word I’d use…snf-snf!” 

“Fair enough,” Charlie replied, only to jump when Angel rushed into the parlor, draping himself over the back of the sofa, visibly out of breath, “Oh, hi Angel!” 

“Hi, yeah, G’Mornin’, watch this-” Angel said hurriedly, turning on the television in the parlor and glancing at his phone before a 666 News bulletin interrupted whatever had been playing before it. 

“Good Morning Pentagram City, I’m Katie Killjoy!” an all-too-familiar voice greeted from the other side of the screen, “Breaking news from scientists in the Doomsday district: A viral infection is sweeping its way through The Pentagram. While completely harmless, it is said to be incredibly contagious, and researchers say that they are uncertain of how long the infection lasts.” 

“Well, that explains what happened yesterday,” Charlie sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa and reading the text on the screen, “It’s already infected 16% of the entire city? That’s almost impressive…” 

“Don’t think the virus needs your encouragement, Princess,” Husk piped up from behind the bar. 

“Sorry, force of habit,” Charlie chuckled, silently reading the list of symptoms that appeared on the screen, “Huh, these are basically just your symptoms, Alastor.” 

A silence filled the room, all present individuals shifting their gaze to Alastor, and then to each other. 

“Ohhhh,” Charlie said, finally connecting the dots, “Shit.”  

Alastor blew his nose, tucking his handkerchief away when he finished, “I should have skipped that accursed meetii-IH’Kschhiew! Hih’KShhew! HIH’KSCHIEWWW!” he said, swiping his wrist underneath his nostrils after his last explosive sneeze, wincing at how the wetness of said sneezes was beginning to make his irritated nose look shiny. 

 “It’s okay Alastor, hey, nobody else is sick yet, that’s a good sign, right?” Charlie asked. 

Alastor shrugged, taking another cautious sip of his coffee and wincing at how the harsh texture against his scratchy throat made him want to cough, “I suppose so,” he said, pushing himself out of the armchair and attempting to brush off the way he swayed on his feet, “I’m going to spend my confinement getting caught up on some correspondence… best of lu-huh…HUH’KSHHHEW! Hnk’TSHIEW!...luck, best of luck.” 

In a blink, Alastor’s armchair was empty, leaving nothing behind except an invisible radiating aura of germs that made everyone nervous about approaching it. 

“Alright, I’m heading out with Vaggie to go do some more field recruiting, have fun while I’m gone!” Charlie announced, walking out of the front doors, her left arm linked with Vaggie’s right. 

Angel checked his phone before stuffing it into his chest fluff, “I gotta bounce, today’s shoot is in two hours but makeup’s gonna take at least 30 minutes, see ya!” he said, waving goodbye to the group, shooting Husk a wink on his way out the door. 

“I’m gonna… Gonna go make another mural, yeah… found a bangin’ wall to paint on the other day, hope to fuck it’s still blank,” Cherri said, bouncing on her heels. She’d only recently exchanged her bombs for brushes, after Charlie’s recommendation of a more ‘constructive’ hobby, and it was going well as an outlet for her emotions and destructive urges. 

Once Cherri left through the front doors, Husk and Niffty were alone in the parlor. Husk breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the bar counter, his nose twitching. 

“Niff… d-do me a solid, hm?” Husk asked, tapping his claws together as he struggled to resist rubbing his nose. 

“Okay! What is it?” Niffty asked, scrambling over to the bar and standing on the counter. 

“I-ih… I need you to h-hih… hit me in the face w-whhihhth your feather duster,” Husk pleaded in a hushed tone, fanning in front of his face as his nose twitched faster, “P-please…Hehh…h-hihhh” 

“Why?” Niffty asked, blinking innocently as she pulled her feather duster out of the loop in her skirt’s waistband. 

“I…Iihh… Hihh… H-hihh!... I gotta sndeeze…snf!” Husk muttered, “It’s st-huhh…Huhh!- stuck.” 

“Ohhhh! Okay!” Niffty said, smacking Husk on both sides of his face with her feather duster, before brushing it up against Husk’s twitchy, sensitive nose, dust clinging to his sinuses with each desperate inhale. 

“H-HUHH’KSCHOO! HUH’KSCHOO! Huh’KSCHUHHH!!” 

Niffty blinked, watching Husk’s violent sneezing fit practically double him over, his fur standing on its end and a slight trickle of moisture beginning to leak from his perfect feline jellybean of a nose. 

“Mmbh…SnFFF!...guhh,” Husk groaned, running the back of his hand under his nostrils with a damp sniffle, his typical alcohol-induced flush shifting from grey to pink, “Fuck I ndeeded that…SNrkk!” 

“I thought you’d sneeze cuter,” Niffty huffed, flicking another puff of dust from her feather duster into Husk’s face with a pout. 

“hHRR’KSCHUHHH! Hhn’KSCHEWWW! HNK’SCHUHHH! H-hUH’KSSHHOO!...SnRKK!...Snff-snff!” Husk sneezed again, his eyes growing irritated and his eyelids getting puffy, the patch of skin above his nose turning an itchy pink as he scrubbed it with the heel of his palm, “Shit, Ndiffty, quit it…snffff!”

“You sneeze like an old man,” Niffty teased, giggling as she held out her feather duster again, only for Husk to grab hold of it and gently push it away, “Awww…no fun!” 

“News flash, I amb an old man…snff! Shit…” Husk grumbled, grabbing a paper towel from the roll behind the bar and noisily blowing his nose, tossing the soiled paper into the trash and attempting to wipe the congestion-induced moisture out of his lower eyelids. 

“You’re good at hiding,” Niffty said with a smile, “I almost didn’t notice you were sick… I don’t think anyone else did at all.” 

“How the hell did you notice?” Husk asked, raising a fluffy eyebrow. 

“You kept pinching your nose, rubbin’ it and pushing up on it… you tried passin’ it off like you were just grooming your face, but I know you,” Niffty whispered, poking Husk’s nose, “You use the other hand for that.” 

“Well ain’t you a clever bug,” Husk scoffed, shooting Niffty a warm smile, “This stays between us until I get shittier at hiding, got it?” 

“You may ndeed to expand your definition of ‘us’,” 

Husk felt his heart jump into his throat, and lunged forward out of panic, nearly slamming his head against the counter, “HHK’SSCHHHUHH! Shit!” he exclaimed, letting out a hoarse cough, “I dunno what to be angrier about, you gettin’ me sick by sneezin’ in my face or you being a nosy fuckin’ creep!” 

“Why not both?” Alastor chuckled, his laughter taking on a wheezy undertone and threatening to turn into a cough until he suffocated it with a harsh swallow, “I’m almost impressed, you’re better at keeping up appearances than me… I suppose after all our years together I’m rubbing off on you.” 

Husk dodged Alastor’s attempt to pet him between his ears, snarling at his boss with an unamused glare, “Don’t you have letters to write or some shit?” he hissed, the plumage on his tail fluffing up as he flattened his ears in frustration. 

“Oh, I have all the time in the world to finish mby letters, eavesdropping is mbuch more fun- snFf!” Alastor replied, pulling out his handkerchief and blowing his nose, rolling his eyes at the heavy rumble of congestion in his sinuses, “Uch…snff!... disgusting.” 

“Tell me about it,” Husk grumbled, staring at Alastor’s flannel pajamas and shooting him a teasing smile, “You look ridiculous.” 

Alastor smacked Husk in the back of the head with his microphone, “I will not take pot shots from someone who looks like they use a giant litter box,” he said through clenched teeth, feeling a familiar tickle in his sinuses when Husk poked his nose, “H-hihh…Hih… HIH’Tshhiew! Hihh’TShhhewww! HIh’TSsHiew!” 

“I could get used to you havin’ an off switch,” Husk said with a smirk. 

Alastor sniffled, wrinkling his nose and wiping around his nostrils with his handkerchief, annoyed with how often he had to pull it out and tuck it away in his pockets again, “You… I…” Alastor blinked, swaying a bit on his feet and steadying himself by pressing his palms against the counter, “I completely forgot what I was going to say…” 

Husk noticed the beads of sweat trickling down from Alastor’s hairline, the glassy quality of his eyes, and the sudden uptick in effort he was putting into breathing. If those weren’t enough to signal that their playful banter was over, twenty seconds later Alastor silently lowered himself to the floor, stretching out on his back and covering his eyes with both hands, still smiling, but noticeably drained. 

“I am going to lie here… until everything stops spinning,” Alastor said breathlessly, holding a hand over his mouth to cover a violent cough, the crackle of congestion audible in his lungs, “Euch…” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he quietly joined Alastor on the floor, curling up next to Alastor’s reclined form and purring, in spite of the fact that purring aggravated his runny nose.

Niffty resolved to leave the two alone, hurrying away from the bar to finish her daily cleaning checklist, completely oblivious when a message on Husk’s phone popped up from Angel. 

[Might be back earlier than I thought… today’s shoot’s goin’ weird] 

Across the pentagram, in Valentino’s porn studio, Angel found himself on his hands and knees, filming B-roll material for the studio’s current work in progress. The floodlights had been turned off, and the air conditioning in the studio was cranked, making the filming space so cold that Angel could practically see his own breath. 

“He’s shakin’ too much, the DP can’t get the camera to focus,” Travis whispered. 

“Angel, baby, the more you shake, the longer you have to stay like that until we get a good shot of your pretty little ass,” Valentino crooned, blowing a plume of smoke into the air and fanning himself off with a copy of the script, “What’s the matter? You nervous? Need something to calm you down?” 

“I’m n-not nervous,” Angel retorted, running the back of his hand under his nostrils, “I’m cold… snff!... it’s freezin’ in here.” 

Valentino groaned, massaging his temples and snapping his fingers at two members of the film crew, “Turn the lights back on,” he said, unbuttoning his shirt and peeling it off, his pectorals and abdomen slick with sweat, “Fuck, I’m gonna melt, why is it so hot in here?!” 

Angel’s shivering subsided slightly with the heat from the large floodlights returning, and he managed to hold his position long enough for the camera to capture what it needed to capture. 

“Okay Angie, roll onto your back and open your legs,” Valentino instructed, wincing at the bright lights, which were beginning to give him a headache. 

Angel rolled onto his back, spreading his legs open, “Hhh… Val… I uhb… Uh..Huhh…-” he attempted to ask for a moment to pause, his breath beginning to hitch, the tickle that seemed to randomly appear in his sinuses building to a quiet crescendo- 

“Hih’kshuu! Ih’kshuu! Ih…h-ihhh… ‘Kshuu!” Valentino’s squeaky, quiet sneezes caught Angel off guard, so much so that he forgot about his own need to sneeze, “I-IHH’KShuu!” 

Angel sat up, leaning forward and hugging his knees as he watched Valentino pluck a handful of tissues from a box next to his chair, holding them up to his face as Angel’s breath hitched again, “Huh…h-ihh…Hihh-” 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ihh’KSHUU! Hih’kshuu! ‘Kshuu! ‘KShhiew!” Valentino sneezed, throwing his damp tissues into a small trashcan that he typically reserved for dumping out his ash trays, “Fuck! I can’t s-stop sne-eezi’g- IHH’KSHUU!” 

Angel frowned, frustrated that his shithead boss seemed to be snatching his own sneezes out from under him. He swallowed, wincing at a dull soreness in the back of his throat, and basked in the warmth of the floodlights while Valentino emptied his sinuses into another handful of tissues. 

“Where were we?” Valentino asked Travis, who shrugged, “Dammit… snff… I can’t fucking focus with this itching!” 

Angel stared intently, watching his boss scrub desperately at his nostrils with the heel of his palm, his cool-toned skin looking hypersensitive and blotchy. 

Eventually, Valentino gave up, flopping back in his chair and motioning for Angel to approach, “Angieee, c’mere baby…snff!” he beckoned. 

Angel rolled his eyes while Valentino wasn’t looking, and slid off of the bed, sprawling out at his boss’s feet and looking up at him from between his long legs, “Yes, Val?” he asked, his sore throat giving his voice a husky overtone that made him feel sexier, even if it was slightly painful. 

Valentino paused as a shiver ran through his body, making him practically vibrate as more sweat trickled down his face, the previously sexual look in his eyes melted into something more vulnerable and subdued, almost frightened. 

“Uhm… n-nevermind,” he mumbled, massaging his temples and jumping when another shiver ran up his spine, “Fuck… now I’m cold.” 

Angel blinked, feeling heat radiating from Valentino’s body in a manner indistinguishable from the sensation of hovering your hand over a curling iron.

Not particularly concerned about the man keeping him on a choke chain, Angel did see how the current circumstances could get him off the clock earlier than expected, “Val, I think you’ve got a fever,” he said, laying on the faux-concern as thick as possible, cupping Valentino’s warm face with both hands. 

Valentino’s antennae fluttered at the soothing touch, leaning into it, “Really?” he asked, his tired eyes briefly closing as Angel stroked his cheeks. 

“Yeah…” Angel replied, pressing the back of his hand to Valentino’s forehead, feeling a noticeable warmth, but nothing particularly extreme,“You’re burnin’ up… poor baby.” 

Valentino seemed to wilt in his chair, snapping his fingers at the film crew to turn the floodlights back off and getting up from his seat, struggling to stand on his own two feet, “Okay, yeah, we’re done here… I feel like shit…IHh’kshuu! H-hih’kshuu!” he muttered, “Everyone out, I’ll let you know when we’re picking back up with the schedule.” 

Angel nodded, tugging on his shorts and jacket, “Bye Val, hope you feel better,” he said, waving goodbye and rushing out of the studio before Valentino could change his mind. 

“Bye Angiehh- IHH’KSHUU! ‘Kshuu! ‘Kshhieew!- Fuck! I’b gonna kill Velvette for getti’g mbe sick- IH’KSHIIEW!” Valentino hissed. 

Angel sprinted out of the Vees’ media tower, panting to catch his breath upon reaching the bottom, coughing into his arm when his ragged breaths caught in his scratchy throat, “Phew… made it,” he sighed to himself, finger-combing his fluffy hair to neaten it out. 

On his walk back to the hotel, it dawned on Angel that the streets seemed less crowded than usual, there were still people out and about, but it wasn’t the jam-packed squeeze it normally was… not by a long shot.  

“Wonder where everybody is,” Angel pondered out loud, scoffing at his hoarse voice. 

Suddenly, the familiar prickle that had built up in Angel’s sinuses while he was working returned in full force, with nothing distracting him, it built, and built, and built until Angel stopped in his tracks, fanning in front of his face and pawing around on his person for a tissue. 

“Hahh…H-hahh…Ah…!!” 

Angel sniffled faintly, trying to fight the urge to sneeze and failing miserably, by the time he got his hands on something he even thought was a tissue, it was too late. 

“Ah’tshhheww! Hah’tshew! HAH’KTSHIEW! A-ahh’KSHIEW!! ‘KSHIEWW!” Angel sneezed, polishing off his fit with a damp sniffle, thanking fate that no one was around to see the dense mist of droplets he’d just sprayed into the air, “Fuck mbe…snff! That’s probably where everybody else is… somewhere sneezin’ their heads off…AH’KSHHEW!” 

Angel winced, blowing his “nose” into the single tissue he found in a nearly-empty travel packet in his back pocket, tossing the soggy paper into a nearby trash can. Each spraying sneeze seemed hell-bent on scraping at his already-raw throat, swallowing growing more and more painful with every sneeze. 

An hour passed, and Angel walked through the hotel’s front doors with an exhausted expression painted onto his face, struggling to sniffle enough to keep the constant trickle of moisture at bay, his “nose” reddened from the constant rubbing. 

“Back early!” Angel announced, gently resting a hand on his throat and swallowing, frustrated that the husky, almost tattered quality of his voice had only managed to get worse on his walk home. 

“You’re back from a shoot in a good mood?” Husk asked incredulously from his position behind the bar, pouring a shot of whiskey into two mugs of steaming liquid, “Did your boss fall out the window?” 

“Fuck, I wish- snff!- he’s sick with whatever’s been goin’ around,” Angel explained, pausing to clear his throat, “Sorry… but it was ridiculous, he had the AC cranked up and the lights off cause he was too hot… snff-snff! I swear I could see my breath in there it was so cold.” 

Husk chuckled, “Don’t think keepin’ a porn studio ice cold is the best idea,” he said, carefully swiping underneath his nose when Angel wasn’t paying attention, “What’d he have you doin’ today? Normally your voice ain’t this wrecked without givin’ some giant head for an hour.” 

“Actually, I didn’t even have to do anythin’ today, they were just gettin’ B-roll shots of my body by myself… it was kinda nice,” Angel paused, “Mby…snff…sorry… mby throat’s just sore, it’s kinda pissin’ me off cause I feel like I’m losin’ my voice.” 

Husk’s ear twitched, and he silently pushed one of the steaming mugs over to Angel, “This should help at least,” he said with a kind smile, both ears twitching when his fingers brushed up against Angel’s. 

The two demons took a sip of the hot substance in their mugs, and then another, before setting their drinks down. Angel licked his lips at the taste of black tea, honey, and whiskey, a blend of flavors that reminded him of his brief stint lounge singing back on Earth. 

“This is good, thanks,” Angel said, taking another sip and sighing at the warm liquid soothing his scratchy throat on the way down. 

“Don’t mention it, glad the pain wasn’t caused by someone else’s dick for once,” Husk laughed, clenching his teeth to stifle the cough that was building in his chest, and taking another swallow of his drink. 

The plumes of steam blooming from Husk and Angel’s mugs reached up to their faces and wafted into their sinuses, the steam loosening up the congestion they’d built up from hours of sniffling. 

“H’RrSCHUHHH! Hh’TSCHUHHH! Hnk’TSHOOO! hNk’SHEWWW,” Husk sneezed, hurriedly hiding the mess of congestion behind a handful of paper towels, noisily blowing his nose and trying not to wince at the abrasive paper towel rubbing his sensitive little jellybean raw. 

“Ah’KShew! Ah’kShiiew! Hah’kchew! Hnk’Chiew! Ah’KShhhew!” Angel sneezed, running the back of his wrist under his nostrils and wincing at the mess he’d made of his gloves by swiping at his “nose”.  

“Well, at least I don’t have to  hold ‘em in anymore,” Husk sighed, noisily blowing his nose and tossing the bundle of soiled paper towels in the trash, before turning to address Angel, “You too?” 

“Mmhm,” Angel replied, wiping tears from his watery eyes, “I don’t even know who I caught it fromb- A-ahh’KSHEW!- either Val… or Velvette, or Smiles… where is he, anyway?” 

Husk gestured toward the armchair in the parlor with his head, where Alastor was curled up, half asleep, staring at the television with glassy eyes, “The fever’s kickin’ his ass, watch this- Alastor!” he called out. 

“Hm?” Alastor replied, turning to face Husk. 

“How many fingers am I holdin’ up?” Husk asked, sticking up his middle finger at Alastor, who could barely register shapes in his current state. 

“Uhmb…Hnk’Shhiew!... three?” Alastor replied, squinting at Husk’s hand from the negligible distance between the parlor and the bar. 

Husk snickered, “Yup, three,” he lied, turning back to face Angel, “He doesn’t even know where he is right now.” 

“Oh shit, that’s gonna be us,” Angel sighed, polishing off the last of his drink and clearing his throat, “I already feel a little woozy… I���mb gonna go change outta this, you comin’?” 

“Comin’ to change into mby pajamas, or comin’ to watch you change?” Husk inquired. 

“Both?” Angel offered, scratching behind Husk’s left ear. 

“Both it is,” Husk replied.  

Thirty minutes later, Husk and Angel emerged from Angel’s room, both looking noticeably more tired than when they vanished upstairs, and collapsed onto the sofa next to Alastor’s armchair. Husk positioned himself so that his head was nestled underneath Angel’s chest fluff, and Angel shuffled in place so that Husk was right between both of his legs, the large cat’s fever-heightened body heat keeping Angel from shivering. 

“I feel hot,” Husk grumbled, running a hand under his nose and wishing he had a box of tissues. 

“I feel cold,” Angel whimpered, hugging Husk closer to him in an attempt to fight back against his building chills, “a-AH’kSHEW!...’kSHeww! ‘Ksheww!” 

“I mbiss phonographs… snrkk!... It was always so interesti’g to watch themb spin,” Alastor rambled feverishly, his nose twitching, “Hnk’TSHhiew! HNK’TSHHEW!” 

Niffty draped a blanket over Angel and Husk, and wiped down Alastor’s forehead with a damp washcloth, before returning to her flurry of cleaning tasks, humming peacefully to herself while the three pitifully sick demons stared at the television. 

Eventually, Charlie and Vaggie returned from their work outside the hotel, “Guys, we’re back!” Charlie called out, “Cherri texted me saying that she’d be back tomorrow, she’s scouting out another mural space right now, but I wonder if Angel’s back from his shoot yet.” 

Niffty tugged on Charlie’s pant leg, “Look,” she whispered, gesturing toward the parlor, where Husk and Angel were snoring against one another, and Alastor- while awake- was feverishly rambling to himself. 

“Oh no,” Charlie sighed, “At least they look comfortable… the news wasn’t lying about this thing being contagious.” 

“Yeah, maybe we should be a bit more cautious around them and their germs before anyone else gets sick,” Vaggie proposed, inching away from the germy haze in the parlor, with her hands behind her back. 

“Ihh’pshuu! Ih’pshuu! H-hihh’kshew!” 

Charlie and Vaggie winced at the sound of Niffty sneezing from the other room. 

“I’ll go get her,” Vaggie said, “Whatever this is, let’s cross our fingers it doesn’t get any worse.” 

“Yeah… fingers crossed,” Charlie echoed, crossing her fingers while staring at her sick friends with wary concern, their congested snoring occasionally broken up by a hoarse cough from Angel, “Feel better, guys.” 

When Charlie walked away, Alastor drowsily looked up, following her with his eyes until she left the room, mouthing a delirious ‘Thank you’ in her direction before leaning back in his armchair and falling asleep. 

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Gilgamesh, Son of Zantabraxus (2/3)

Fandom: Girl Genius Pairing: Agatha/Gil Summary: Twenty years ago, Queen Zantabraxus gave birth to twins. Twenty years ago, the queen's consort, Chump, took one of their children and vanished. Zantabraxus chose to let him go, to spare her second child. In one universe, Zantabraxus raised her daughter. In this one, she raised her son. Agatha joins the circus and meets Gil, who has almost as many secrets as Agatha does. They help each other get stronger, in unexpected ways. And maybe fall in love a little bit but they don't really have time to deal with all that right now.

<Ch 1 | AO3 Link

It was only when Krosp bit her on the leg and said “Go answer the door!” that Agatha woke up enough to hear the knocking. Blearily, she tugged the window curtain aside enough to see that the outside world was lit by the pearly pre-dawn light.

“’M coming,” she called, dragging herself out from under the nice warm covers, glaring at Krosp as he promptly curled up in the warm spot and went back to sleep.

It was Gil.

He looked nervous and twitchy, bouncing a little on his toes.

“Hi,” he said. “Good morning. How are you?”

Agatha blinked slowly, trying to get her brain in gear. Gil shut his eyes briefly and muttered something that sounded like “Ashtara strike me down.”

“Sleepy,” was all she could manage, too tired to even be annoyed at the abrupt awakening.

“Right. Sorry. I know it’s early but I wanted to talk to you before everyone got up.”

He looked embarrassed, but his nervousness faded slightly, growing more serious.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday. That was...I don’t really know what happened but none of the words that came out of my mouth were what I was actually trying to say. At all. I’ve been carrying that weight since I was a kid, and you made me feel...I…you were...”

Some inner sense told Agatha that if she let Gil ramble any further, he’d say something stupid again, so she put a hand on his arm.

“Thank you,” she said. “And I’m glad I could help.”

Gil beamed at her. Agatha waited, but he just kept grinning.

“Was...that it?”

“Yeah...No!” Gil shook himself. “No, I want to repay you. And don’t say I don’t have to, because I do. The Baron is looking for you. We can help you hide, but sooner or later he’ll track you down, and when he does, you’ll need to fight. I can teach you. I want to teach you.” 

“How?” growled a voice from down by Agatha’s knees. Krosp glared up at Gil, suspiciously. “You’re a glorified caravan guard with a few flashy dance moves. What could you teach her?”

“Krosp!” Agatha hissed. Gil’s jaw worked back and forth; his eyes grew dark. Somehow, Agatha got the feeling that Krosp was being a lot more insulting than he was trying to be.

“I keep us safe in the wastelands. Isn’t that enough proof I’m a real warrior?”

“It’s very sweet of you to offer,” Agatha said. “Maybe you could teach me how to throw a proper punch.”

She’d always wanted to be able to punch somebody.

Gil stared at her for a moment, then tipped his head back.

“I’m going to have to tell you,” he said, although he seemed to be mostly talking to himself. He dragged a hand down his face and groaned. “Ugh, okay, can I come inside? I need to explain something to you but I’d rather nobody hear us.” 

Agatha stepped aside to let him in, figuring turnabout was fair play. Krosp scurried off and leapt onto the top bunk of the bed, his tail lashing back and forth as he hunkered low and glared at Gil.

“Watch yourself, pal,” he said. “I’ve got my eyes on you.”

Gil shut the door behind himself and guided Agatha over to the table and sat her down. He took a deep breath, bracing himself, then spread his arms in a pose so dramatic Agatha had to fight down a giggle.

“I am Gilgamesh, son of Zantabraxus, Prince of Skifander!” 

Agatha’s eyes lit up with interest.

“The warrior queen’s hidden jewel!”

Gil’s mouth popped open. His arms dropped to his sides. Whatever reaction he’d been expecting, that was not it.

“My uncle used to tell me stories about it,” Agatha said.

“You believe me?”

“Of course.”

“...Huh.” Gil sat down on Agatha’s bed, still staring at her. “Well. How about that.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?”

“You are the first person I’ve met who’s even heard of Skifander. I stopped telling people six months after I got here because they all thought I was crazy or lying.”

“Why would they think that?”

Gil gave her a sideways smile.

“Because I can’t prove it. Pirates attacked the airship as soon as we got to Europa. I was the only survivor, and any maps or notes were destroyed when the airship blew up.”

“The pirates blew up the airship?” Agatha exclaimed, aghast.

“No, I blew up the airship, to give myself time to get away on the—” Suddenly he looked sheepish.

“On the…?”

“The...little flying machine I built out of spare parts,” Gil mumbled, and cleared his throat. “Anyway, I got sick of people thinking I was crazy or lying, so I stopped telling people.” 

“Does Master Payne know?”

Gil snorted.

“Circus folks would be even less likely to believe me,” Gil said. “Not that I blame them. They know I’m from a place called Skifander, but I never gave any details, and they never asked.”

“You could tell them now,” Agatha suggested. “Since I’m here.”

Gil waved a hand.

“I really don’t mind. Honestly, it’s been nice not having to be a prince. Might be even nicer now that I let myself be a Spark, too,” he added with a soft smile.

“You know, I’m…” Agatha hesitated. Should she tell him? If anyone would understand about impossible secret identities, it’d be Gil.

No, she decided. It was too dangerous. She barely knew him, after all. When they got to Mechanicsburg, she might tell him.

“I’m glad you told me, and I appreciate you trusting me with it, but I’m not really sure what this has to do with the training thing.”

“I’m getting there. Skifander is...I don’t know your word for it. Inheritance passes from mother to daughter, and our queens are warriors. The royal line guards its secrets fiercely—if I’d had a sister, the crown and the training would have gone to her and her alone. Technically I still shouldn’t have been taught, but my mother…”

He waved a hand.

“Anyway, my point is, I’m not a circus performer offering to teach you a few tricks. I’m a scion of a line of warrior queens, trained by the great warriors of Skifander to become one of the great warriors of Skifander, offering to pass that training on to you.”

“Then...then it would be my honor to accept.”

Gil smiled a smile that made Agatha’s heart flip flop in her chest, leaving her so breathless it took a few seconds to register his words.

“Then let’s get started. Come on, outside.”

“Wait, now?”

“Of course,” Gil said, surprised by the question.

“But it’s barely dawn!”

“Training usually starts during childhood, and the Baron’s actively hunting you. We don’t have any time to waste. First thing’s first, your clothes—”

“Hold on,” Agatha said, suspiciously. “This isn’t going to involve running around in some skimpy, ‘exotic warrior aesthetic’ outfit is it?”

“...No,” Gil said, his expression neutral. “You’ll want to wear something easy to move in that you don’t mind getting dirty or washing a lot. You get changed, and I’ll go put the—I mean, I’ll go get uh. Stuff. Right. Meetyououtsidebye.”

Ten minutes later, Agatha was outside in a loose-fitting shirt and trousers, and Gil was walking very quickly back to her from the direction of the props and costumes wagon.

“What were you doing?”

“Nothing! Nothing. I thought I needed a...uhhh...bo staff!" He shrugged in a helpless sort of way. "But I couldn’t find one.”

“You mean like that one?” She pointed to the long wooden staff leaning against the side of her wagon. Gil stared at it.

“Oh. Uh…Oops!” he said suddenly, with a too-bright grin. “I guess I already got it and…forgot. Haha.”  

“Are you alright?” Agatha asked. “You seem nervous.”

Gil’s smile slipped away and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not entirely sure I’m allowed to do this,” Gil admitted. “Like I said, we guard these secrets very closely. Warriors are permitted to teach only their daughters and one other person—ever, in their lives. And that person isn’t supposed to pass it on to anyone.

“I’m not sure if I technically count as being her exception or her heir, but no one ever explicitly told me I couldn’t train anyone so…I should be fine. I think.”

He cleared his throat and put his hands on her shoulders. Agatha could feel their warmth through the shirt. Gil’s eyes were locked with hers, more serious than she’d ever seen him.

“Agatha Clay. By the warrior tradition of my house, I am allowed to train one other—probably—and I have chosen you. The bond between us will be stronger than that of friends, of family, of—” For a second, Gil’s cheeks went pink and his hands twitched. “Of lovers. From this day on, we are kolee-dok-zumil.”

Agatha looked up at him gravely, silent for a long moment.

“Which is…?”

Gil blinked, startled, and then laughed a little. He released Agatha’s shoulders and ambled over to the steps of Agatha’s wagon, where he’d leaned a bo staff. 

“There’s no real direct translation,” he told her. “Most people would probably choose ‘teacher and student’, but it’s more complex. It’s a noun, but contextually it implies action, irrevocable change enacted on one by another.”

He picked up the staff and twirled it idly as he crossed back to Agatha.

“To me it evokes the idea of a chemical reaction, although others compare it to a smelter and ore.”

Gil held the staff horizontally in two hands, considering it.

“I think for right now, you should think of it as—”

There was a sudden pain at the backs of her knees, and she was staring up at the sky in a breathless, weightless moment that ended with gravity’s inevitability and the jarring thump of her skull on the grass.

Gil’s face came into view, grinning ear to ear. 

“Grindstone and knife.”

.

Agatha did not so much as twitch when Gil set the bowl beside her head. She remained face down, flat on the ground, utterly immobile. Gil had stopped training when she laid down like that, and she was afraid if she moved so much as a finger, he’d start again.

“Is it poison.”

“No.”

“I will only eat it if it results in death.” 

Gil settled back against a rock and ate a spoonful of oatmeal from his own bowl.

“You should be proud of yourself,” he said. “You kept going much longer than I thought you’d be able to, considering you’ve obviously got no training, no discipline, and no martial skills whatsoever—and we definitely need to work on your cardiovascular system.” 

Agatha let out a groan of despair.

“Don’t worry,” Gil said, reassuringly. “The first day is the worst on purpose. The zumil is pushed to their absolute limit, so the kolee knows what needs work, and so you can tell when the limit gets better.”

With great effort, Agatha managed to lift her head to look up at him, hopefully.

“Does this mean the rest of the training won’t hurt?”

Gil laughed, crushing Agatha’s hope into teeny tiny pieces.

“No.”

[arcenergy]

i almost forgot to post this gsdgdssf

[bratz-kitten]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS [part 5]

— people with jupiter in the 8th may experience an “abundance” of traumatic experiences throughout life, often relating to death; these are the people who truly feel like everyone they love ends up dying. at their worst, they can become desensitized to death— jupiter is ruled by sagittarius, a sign known for being in denial when in difficult situations in favor of optimism. these natives can pretend like nothing actually happened, or minimize the situation in their head so that they don’t have to face it.

— okay this might be a weird one... like, you know in asoiaf when arya was walking through the streets and was always like “i’m as quiet as a shadow”? that’s literally the energy of someone with planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house. these people are so stealthy. they’re able to move so quietly and without anyone noticing, both literally and figuratively. on one hand, they’re very quiet about their plans and ambitions to the point where other people only find out when they’re achieving success over it; on the other hand, they just. don’t like making noise while walking idk bitch you’ll only see me coming when i’m right beside you, i even get paranoid that i’m breathing too loud and that other people will hear 

— people with moon aspecting mars can be incredibly impulsive when they feel hurt or triggered. yall need to be careful with doing things in the heat of the moment that you know you’ll regret later... but in the moment, you feel so hurt that it clouds your rational side. please be more self-aware about this because you may make decisions that will directly affect you for the worse in the future 

— people with leo mars ft. constantly asking you for pictures... about anything. they just wanna SEE LMFAO THEY DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS THEY’RE SEEING. you just got ready to go out? “send pics of your makeup and your full outfit”. you’re waiting in a long boring line to get the covid vaccine? “send pics of the line”. your mom baked cake? “send pics of the cake”. plus they send so many random pictures while texting, it’s their special love language

— having moon conjunct moon/venus in synastry feels insane. you tell them something you’ve been through, and they’re immediately like “that happened with me as well.” it doesn’t even have to be something grand, sometimes just very specific things you thought were particular about you. the amount of understanding that comes with this aspect in synastry can feel very new and intense especially if you’re used to seeing yourself as the “odd one out”, used to feeling isolated in your experiences 

— people with pluto in the 1st house often feel the need to erase “traces” of their existence, for example deleting messages that they sent people, deleting all of their social media posts. they can feel anxious and paranoid about other people having access to their past self, even if the past self in question is from, like. a week ago 

— people with chiron in the water houses (4th/8th/12th) might’ve suffered bullying to the point where they repress their memories. a lot of their memories of their school years may feel foggy if they were bullied in those years

— also. people with chiron in the 8th house may feel as though they’ve been punished for wanting to experience intimacy. it’s like, the people who were supposed to be the closest to them – for example, their sibling or something – were the ones who hurt them the most. 

— people with mercury-neptune aspects and strong pisces/neptune energy in their birth chart might struggle with only remembering things when they’re right in front of them. you should keep things in your peripheral vision to remind you of reality, especially when it comes to feelings— so that you won’t start getting lost inside your own head. like... keep the letters your friends wrote you by your bedside table so you can read them every time your brain starts convincing you that you’re not loved. keep the gifts you’ve been sent on display in your bedroom wall, or sentimental material things that remind you of past happy experiences.

— earth placements and their thing for asmr... omfg. it’s like they’re always looking for things to up their sensory experience/sensitivity. like, earth signs are the ones most connected to worldly experiences so they feel so soothed with the whole asmr experience: just hearing someone gently whispering or tapping on/scratching things calms them down and helps them fall asleep. they love the tingles it’s heaven for them

— moon-saturn aspects might hold and caress themselves while they sleep because their parents never did. yes i woke up and chose violence <3 your secret is NOT safe with me 💋

— while we’re on the topic of sleeping, a majority of the pisces moons i know need to sleep while hugging something, at least a pillow. they can’t just not hug something while they sleep, it’s very instinctive for them. anyways if any pisces moon needs a pillow to hold, i volunteer as tribute 💋

— virgo placements feel sososo soothed by hearing their cats purr. thinking about how my virgo placement friends are always the ones who send me videos of them petting their cats... and then i get soothed by how soothed they feel. it’s a win win situation, if you have virgo placements it’s hereby your duty to send me a video of you petting your cat while they purr. right now. GO

— people with gemini in the 3rd house might have shaky movements of the hands when other people look at them doing things. very specific i know but the third house rules hands and gemini is a sign that has somewhat of an anxious, twitchy quality to it. on the other hand, people with capricorn in the 3rd house (scorpio risings, using whole signs) have the steadiest hands i’ve ever seen lol their movements ooze confidence, these bitches know how to make you feel as thought they know exactly what they’re doing

— people with venus in the 1st house ft. altering their pics with photoshop and hating posting selfies without filters because they never feel like their appearance is good enough. stop it. you don’t need to always look your best and especially not if your ‘best’ isn’t even what you actually look like. also... don’t even think about making self-deprecative jokes about your appearance. next time i find one of yall saying “ahaha im not bad for a 5 without talent” i’m squishing your head between 2 pieces of toast and calling you an idiot sandwich. you’re BEAUTIFUL 

— having venus in the 3rd house in composite with someone? do you mean calling each other the absolute ugliest nicknames in the most endearing way? 

— leo deals with themes of the ego, and it seems that leo placements often struggle with attracting narcissistic people into their life... leo suns/mercuries can be raised by loud, overbearing, narcissistic parents who see their kid as an extension of themselves and who teach the kid to always be very supportive and caring towards them or else they’ll deny them of words of affirmation-- either by insulting them to shatter their self-esteem or simply never complimenting the kid back. leo moons/mars/venus tend to attract narcissistic partners who only care about serving their own emotional needs and ignore the ones of their partner, and who feed off of their supportive and giving nature. which is why leo placements really need to watch out for being gullible, naïve and dismissing the red flags because my god, you be falling for some shady people. 

— people with personal planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house might feel like they can’t let go of their past life— they may dream of memories, people or places from another life. it’s like they can’t detach from it, and even if they can’t directly remember their past life, it’s like they feel it in their bones. also, they might’ve felt... estranged from their family ever since childhood; there may have been feelings of being unable to emotionally connect to their (often, distant) parents, and they might’ve even wondered if they were adopted because of how different they felt to the rest of the family. 

— okay so, a thing that people with saturn in the 3rd house need to look out for is mentally checking out of conversations while they’re still happening. these people can detect when they’re being manipulated really fast and their way of dealing with it can be to immediately shut down, to grow cold and silent and not even bother answering when you’re expected to respond. and, like, that’s great when someone starts screaming at you or being insulting/trying to coerce you into shit, but take notice if you find yourself shutting your loved ones out as soon as they say anything that triggers you. don’t simply detach from them, communicate what’s wrong

— aries placements, ESPECIALLY aries suns and moons, value generosity so much and they get so turned off by stingy ppl who don’t share with others, especially when others need it. like.. if you’re hanging out in a group with them and someone asks for a bite of your food because they have no money and you say no... espect them to never respect you. ever. 

— people with libra placements use soooo many adjectives to describe things. something can’t just be beautiful, it has to be DIVINE and CELESTIAL and INTOXICATING. they can be so expressive god it’s so fcking funny 

— capricorn placements HATE asking others for advice because they think no one knows better than them (and they’re not wrong, lol). when they truly care for someone, they might ask the person for advice simply as a sign that they respect, trust and value their judgement. even if they don’t plan on taking it LMFAO 

— people with mars in a water sign can have this terrible habit of expecting other people to guess what they want. and then they get passive agressive when you don’t instinctively feel what it is they want... and when you ask them “do you want this?”, they go like “FINALLY. i thought you’d never get there”. stop it. i know that you want people to understand you in a way that transcends words, but you can’t expect people to read your mind and then get disappointed when they don’t, thinking “oh if they loved me that much then they would’ve known that i really want chipotle for dinner :(” GIRL WHAT. COMMUNICATE YOUR NEEDS  

[raggaraddy]

I'd Die Fighting

Request from @dramaclub-thin: Mafia BTS where the reader is shot for/because of them.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I really like the concept, and kind of got carried away with the stories and now they're too long. So I'll release them as individuals as I finish them. I hope you like them! ^-^

If anyone else wants to request you can here.

Mafia Bangtan Other parts:

Namjoon

Yoongi

Taehyung

Jungkook

Summary: Pinned down by the cops, you know you're the only one who can stop Jimin from getting himself killed.

Trigger Warnings: Police shooting, gun usage, blood, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Jimin

Mafia! Jimin

You were in the middle of a scheduled pick up, collecting the gang's share of the profits for the month. There had already been 3 today and all had gone as routine as the times before. You're in a residential building site, parked in one of the driveways, and on a Sunday too, so it's nice and quiet and empty. There was no reason to think that this stop would be any different than the last.

That was until the lights and sounds of police sirens filled the street.

You could only watch on in dread as 4 cop cars sped into the driveway trapping you and the two men into a box. With a 10-foot foundation wall behind you and building walls on either side, you were now realizing that this location wasn't so much secure, as it was an obvious dead end.

Looking back in the side-view mirror, you can see Jimin with the dealer. The guy panics instantly, pulling out his gun without a chance to even aim it before he is blown away. There are dozens of deafening shots all at once and the guy, no older than you, drops down dead.

Barely able to contain your terror, you are not able to do anything but to watch helplessly as Jimin dives behind the rear of the car to avoid the stray bullets.

Slowly, the officers start down the concrete path, closing in tighter, all of them with their guns drawn, all of them looking alarmed and ready to fire. With this many cops, you know neither of you stands a chance. There is no escape here, not without a miracle. But you know Jimin. You know he isn't going to just give in. He's said it before, he's said it often. He might die, but he'll die fighting before he dies in a cage.

The officer coming closest to the car bangs on the hood to draw your attention making you jump. "Stay in the car," He mouths the words.

You can't abide. If you don't do something Jimin is going to get himself killed. He may be willing to die, but you're not willing to lose him. You shake your head hard, swinging the car door open, stepping out tensely with your hands upright. Your arms and legs are shaking with pure adrenaline, relying on nothing but a prayer that they don't shoot you right now.

"Get back in the car." "Stay in the car." "Miss, get back in the car." A sea of loud, demanding voices shout at you all at once. While your survival instinct is telling you to obey the angry people with guns, you ignore them all. Your instinct-your love for Jimin is greater than your fear.

Walking paced steps backwards, you're watchfully eyeing them. They're still pressing forwards, but they have slowed substantially. Half of the group aiming more aggressively, and the other half pointing their guns at you more hesitantly. Calls of stay in the car turn into orders to get on the ground. But you can't, you won't.

Coming in line with the back of the car, Jimin is knelt behind it his gun in hand. "Y/n! What the fuck are doing?!" he snaps, eyes full of worry.

He may bluster to everyone else, but you know the full expression. In private he'd whisper the ending to you and only you. 'I'd die fighting before I ever die in a cage. And I'll spend my life locked up before I ever see you hurt.'

"Get back in the car!" He growls.

"No," you whisper.

"Get back in the car!"

"No."

"Oh for fucks sake, will you just listen to me for once!" He growls, running his hand back through his hair, about to lose any composer he has remaining.

"No!" You shout, your eyes darting from the cops to Jimin and back.

He roars, grabbing your shirt, yanking you down the ground beside him. The commands of the police heighten and start coming more frequently as they steadily begin to entrap the two of you again.

"I'm gonna beat the hell outta you after this." He shouts, reaching over the top of the car to fire a slew of shots, not aiming to hit anyone but just trying to keep the cops away.

"Fine. Do it. But just let there be an after." You plead, eyes filling with tears. "Put the gun down. Please!"

"What?! No!"

"Come out with your hands up or we open fire." A far off voice, coming through a speaker, gives a sickening order.

Jimin's harsh defiant look turns to one of pure fright and frenzy. He knows if they're shooting at him, they're shooting at you.

His hand scrunches in the scruff of your shirt, dragging you flat to the ground further out of harms-way, using the same momentum to launch himself into the open, weapon ready. He gets only 2 shot off before they retaliate with more than half a dozen. Not all connect, one catching his leg, another his shoulder. The hits double him over, making him drop the gun.

It all happens before you are able to even turn back over. The sight of him struck has you screaming, acting rashly and impulsively. You wail his name clambering to your feet, wrapping your arms around his neck. Lifting him upright, you're covering him with your body as much as you possibly can. You don't pause think what might happen right now if the officers began to fire again. You only know you need to save him from them. Save him from himself. Pushing him with your chest, you force him back more and more until his body hits the foundation wall. You turn yourself around towards the encroaching men and women, shoving your weight roughly against him. To shield him, and trying your best to keep him pinned to the bricks so he is unable to act suddenly or foolishly.

Thankfully the cops still seem hesitant to shoot at you. Although you don't trust it for it to last much longer.

Your stomach drops, feeling a warm wetness dripping over the exposed skin on your upper back. Jimin's shoulder is bleeding heavily down you.

This is so fucking bad.

"Stop, please stop, Baby!" You whisper to Jimin, nearly unable to form the words due to the shake in your voice. It's just the two of you opposing 7 armed police officer. You know he hates the thought of defeat, he may even hate you for this, but neither of you has any way of winning this standoff.

His forehead presses to the back of your head, his hot breath fanning down your neck. In the smallest motions, you feel him nod against you.

Raising them in surrender, his arms come out from behind you. There's a sharp pain in your side with a sudden booming sound. It knocks your breath away. You whine, your hand squeezing tighter against his legs, into the fabric of his jeans.

"Y/n?" Jimin knows what's happening before you do.

One of the officers mistook Jimins actions as hostile and got twitchy with his gun.

You gasp slumping back into him, your legs weakening. He catches you, lowering with you as you fall to the floor. "Baby!"

Jimin looks up to the cop who fired. He's memorizing every detail of their face. Already having resigned to hunt them down and make them suffer.

Finally able to inhale, you cry out a low scream, pain spreading from your stomach up. "Jimin," you cry clawing his arm, fingers wrapped in his sleeve.

The swarm of police starts to move more frantically. A knee flies at Jimin sending him into the wall, separating him from you. Without him, you fall flat into the dirt. To your right one of the men is forcing Jimin to the ground with a knee trying to flatten him. But he isn't giving in, fighting and struggling against the weight, desperately trying to get back to you.

Even as there are three of them versus only Jimin, he is still putting up enough resistance that they are unable to fully hold him.

"Y/n!" He yells, as one of his arms is pinned behind his back, driving him heavily into the dirt. "Get the fuck off!" he snarls.

Your throat feels full. You're starting to choke, spluttering blood out and down your cheeks. Your hands clutching your stomach are wet and slippery from blood. The heavy amounts of it pouring from you making you weaker with each passing second.

"Alright!" There's a heavy thump as Jimin stops resisting and is plunged aggressively into the floor. "Just help her! Help her!" With all of the pain and fear you're feeling, it's the pure panic in Jimin's voice that finally brings you to tears.

Rolling your head towards him, his chin is dug into the concrete floor, his skin and clothes red with blood, his face pale and flush, his eyes red and teary with emotion. With him no longer fighting they are able to cuff his hands. They haul him to his feet, carrying his weight. He yells in pain, his cries turning into pleas for you, calling again and again for someone, anyone to help you.

One of the officers comes to your side pressing firmly on your wound making you shriek, spitting out even more blood. They speak into their walkie-talkie describing your state and injuries calling for an ambulance. Explaining that a male will be coming to the hospital by a police cruiser.

In front of you, the others are dragging a limping Jimin away. Being pulled from you he begins his fight again, battling to not leave you. But he's too injured and restricted to combat them much more. Only able to call out to you over and over.

Even as the car doors close on him, you can still hear him shouting your name. Even as you lose consciousness you can still hear the echo of his voice.

[mrfeenysmustache]

Banner art by @cakeit0n

Written for Discord Drabble Night

All word counts: 100

Prompt 1: Start

“You are certain?”

She nodded in answer, and she could tell he was still holding himself back.

“You do not need more time to consider?”

“You gave me a whole month.”

“But you are contemplating forever. I can wait a few more weeks for you to be sure.”

“But I don’t *want* to wait.”

He sighed, taking a few steps closer, and though her body hummed in anticipation of his touch, his hands remained at his side.

“You must be *sure,* Kagome. Once we begin, I will not let you go. Not for any reason.”

“Then we better get started.”

Prompt 2: Drawn

Sesshomaru sighed, sinking into the extra hot bath he’d had drawn to battle the unexpected snow storm they’d been caught in.

He eyed the reluctant and embarrassed Miko still fidgeting and shivering as she watched steam rise from the bath, and he bit back a grin of endearment.

“Kagome, you are welcome to join me, there is no need for shame.”

Their courtship was new, and she was still shy, but soon enough they’d be doing much more than bathing.

She gathered her courage, undressed, slipped in, and then he kissed her head as she snuggled comfortably into his side.

Prompt 3: Root

“What is it you are doing?”

“Aah!!” Kagome screamed, flailing and spinning before landing on her back, staring up at the unexpected daiyokai staring down at her.

“Sesshomaru!! You scared me.”

“You are, as usual, flighty and excitable, Miko.” He said reaching down to help her up.

“That is *not* true,” she grumbled, dusting off her red hakama and avoiding his gaze to his her burning cheeks. “And I’m looking for a specific herb, I need it’s roots.”

“Do you always search on your hands and knees?”

“N-no…”

He stepped close, eyes smoldering.

“Shame, for I greatly enjoyed the view.”

Prompt 4: Influence

Kagome moaned in misery as another wave of nausea swept through her, the influence of that poison toad that had attacked her as she’d been collecting herbs.

It was weak and easily vanquished, and *stupid.* He’d been sitting *right there* with her, and now she suffered as the poison worked it’s way through her body.

He held a cool rag to her forehead and forced her to drink water, and he wouldn’t deny he was worried.

She caught his hand in a moment of lucidity, and his heart sped as she pressed a kiss to his palm.

“Thank you Sesshomaru.”

Prompt 5: Center

She stared at the center of his forehead, the deep purple crescent moon once again catching her eye.

She’d *always* been curious about it, but only just now felt comfortable enough to ask.

“So… we’re you born with it, or is it a tattoo?”

“…what?”

“Your moon. Your cheek stripes too, I guess. But the moon has always been my favorite.”

He cocked a brow.

“The moon I was born with, the stripes are earned.”

“Earned how?”

“Battle.”

“H-how many do you have?”

He stood and reached for the ties of his armor.

“How many would you like to see?”

Prompt 6: Content

Sesshomaru watched Kagome putter around in his kitchen as she made some tea.

She smiled at him as she placed the tray on the coffee table, and then she sat next to him, close, but still a polite distance away.

The space between them felt electric, as did the way her fingers brushed his when he accepted the cup from her.

She turned on his tv and settled back, and he continued to watch her, marveling at how comfortable she seemed there with him, how right her being there get.

And for the first time in centuries, he was content.

Prompt 7: Origin

He’d often wondered, even in the depths of his own consuming prejudices, on the origin of the hate between yokai and humans. The derision of hanyo was born from that hate, but when, exactly, did the two species who really were more alike than different, decide that they were enemies instead of, at the very least, neighbors able to live civilly.

A pair of chubby hands grabbed his leg, and he looked down on shining blue eyes and twitchy puppy ears as his toddler handed him a weed.

“Thank you.” He said solemnly, thankful he’d left such hateful notions behind.

Prompt 8: Essence

The new crystal bottle shined where it sat with the others, a beautiful array of colors and shapes that cast bits of rainbow across the room as Sesshomaru adjusted its position his vanity.

“Oh! You got a new one?”

“Hn.” He answered as Kagome wrapped her arms around his shoulders from behind.

“What’s this one smell like?”

“Musk, waterlily, and essence of apple seed.”

“Apple seed? What does an apple seed even smell like?”

“I do not know. This one is just for the aesthetic.”

“Good. I like your usual perfume, anyway.”

He liked it too; it smelled like her.

Prompt 9: Heart

The Heartless Warlord.

Killing Perfection.

Aristocratic Assassin.

His reputation had preceded him through the centuries until he was known as cold and aloof and unfeeling and stoic.

But he was not.

He was not.

“Sesshomaru, what would you like for dinner tonight?”

He used to face the fiercest enemies, sent legions of soldiers screaming.

None could take him down.

None save her and her warmth, her tenderness, her love.

“Whatever you like.” He answered with a kiss to her brow.

He’d been relentlessly trained into a mask of indifference, but his emotions stayed intact.

And they were only for her.

Prompt 10: Cause

“You are the cause of all of my recent troubles.”

“Wait… what?”

“You heard me, Miko, now release me from your spell.”

“Spell? I don’t know any spells.”

He scoffed as Kagome continued to sit there, feigning innocence, feigning *concern,* even.

“You dare deny any involvement in my predicament?”

“Perhaps you could tell me your predicament first?”

He paused, unsure, then listed his symptoms.

“So let me get this straight… you dream about me, your heart races when I’m near, and you like my smell?”

His jaw clenched as he nodded.

“Oh… well if it helps, I like you, too.”

[eighthdoctor]

back on my bullshit again in a new fandom: logical consequences of grimm responding to animal fears

(do they? don’t they? whatever, i don’t think the show has given us a good answer yet)

anyway so the thing: non-human animals feel...a lot of emotions. fear is one of the most fundamental, but anger is also in there. i’d expect to see grimm turn up for two main types of interactions: predation and intra-group conflict.

predation is what it sounds like: predators attacking (and kiling and eating) prey. intra-group conflict is when two or more members of the same social group get into a fight.

one at a time:

predation: the predator’s feelings can be pretty easily dispensed with, because they feel excited and focused and happy. not very grimm feelings at all. prey are much more likely to become a grimm target, as they feel afraid and sometimes angry.

a quick evolution recap for y’all: more animals are born than live to reproduce, but this isn’t random. which animals die young is, over large scales, determined by how well adapted they are to their environment--that is, how good they are at both getting food and not getting turned into food. animals which are better at eating and not getting eaten are more likely to have offspring in the future.

or, as the old joke goes: you don’t need to be faster than the bear. you need to be faster than your friend.

so in real life, a cheetah takes off after an antelope, and the following selection pressures are in play:

1. speed. being physically faster will be beneficial to both animals, so we have an arms race where cheetahs are getting faster and faster, and antelope are getting faster and faster, and some day we may hit a land speed record.

2. reaction time. the cheetah initiates this chase, but the antelope will zigzag, and so the closer the cheetah can stick to the antelope’s path--the faster it can respond to its moves--the more likely it will win. meanwhile, the sooner the antelope can react to the cheetah’s initial lunge, the more likely it will get away entirely.

3. stealth. this one goes entirely to the cheetah, and it’s not well suited for it. other cats get closer to their prey before lunging. cheetahs do get close, but they’re simply not built for the stalk (or temperamentally equipped for it either). but for a cheetah who can get that close, their odds of a kill go up.

4. observation. and this is the antelope’s equivalent. if it can spot the cheetah before the lunge, it’s actually very unlikely the cheetah will make a go for it at all.

for the most part, antelope are already at their observation maximum, and cheetah sacrifice stealth for a better reaction time (it has to do with twitchiness: if you’re very very twitchy, you’ll be fabulous at tag but horrible at hide and seek). mostly they’re being pitted in terms of speed and reaction time.

now add grimm.

i’m making the assumption that about half the time, the grimm will attack the predator, and half the time, they’ll attack the prey. (probably more like 1:1:1:1 where the last two options are “both” and “neither” but let’s not complicate this).

for the antelope, well. the antelope never cared very much about what the cheetah was there for. 

to zoom out from this particular example, prey animals have two major responses to predators: get away (run faster, hide better) or make the predator go away (horns, size, tough skin, poison, spikes...poison spikes...). some of these strategies will be more useful on grimm than others. grimm aren’t going to be intimidated unless the animal genuinely isn’t angry; grimm won’t necessarily be deterred by going down a burrow or changing skin color.

once a predator-prey duo has attracted grimm, the prey animal has two choices (they always do): fight or flight. they can either outrun the grimm (arguably only because the grimm will focus on the slower predator instead) or kill it.

in the case of the cheetah-antelope example, antelope are most likely to just get faster. grimm are just bigger, scarier cheetahs with better endurance to an antelope, so the antelope population will undergo selection for faster, stronger antelope.

cheetah are similar, actually: when it comes to conflicts with other large predators, cheetah rarely take it to a fight. they’ll walk away from their own kills if another predator turns up because they’re not at all built for physical contact. so in remnant, we’re looking at super fast cheetah and antelope.

however, there are other outcomes.

first, predators are much less likely to develop for pursuit over ambush in the first place. an ambush will very quickly resolve into a kill or the predator walking away to try again later. there will be fear, but it’ll be intense and quickly gone. pursuit predators take minutes to hours (to days) to wear down their prey and catch them, which is much more time for grimm to turn up. so wolves, who are quite happy to chase large prey for miles on end, are going to need to adapt to smaller prey who can be caught faster.

second, prey which have always been more inclined to fight than flee are going to face more intense pressure to be lethal. you don’t need to kill the tiger to get it to give up, but you do need to kill the grimm. so animals like elephants can’t just be big. once a mamma elephant gets scared for her calf, she has to be willing and able to kill about it. (in real life they start and often end with display charges. around grimm? probably not so much)

in comparison to real life, where we do have some generalist prey animals, remnant equivalents are going to be much more extreme. bison often run from wolves as a first response but stand their ground once chosen as the victim; in remnant this sort of mass herd panic would attract grimm pretty quickly. it’d be a much better strategy for bison to stand their ground from the get-go and consistently attack back.

as @mylordshesacactus just argued to me, there also won’t be any large herds. it’s very, very easy to start a panic in massed groups. much harder when there’s only 4 or 5 of you. so that’s interspecific conflict. what about conspecific conflict?

well, unlike with predation, you don’t need to fight members of your same species to survive. [citation needed] most fights between animals of the same species are over a resource, such as food, sleeping spaces--or sex.

i’m going to set aside squabbling over food. nobody wants to get killed for a haunch of meat, so predators have worked out ways to share a kill or scare off others without major conflict (or fear).

instead let’s talk sex.

in species where sex leads to conflicts (some species are monogamous, and others do flybys where no one gets too worked up), you’ve got two major strategies: male competition and female choice.

female choice is where males compete for the attention & sexual availability of a female. males don’t directly interact, and may have things arranged so they’re spread out over a small (or large) area. instead females move around until they find the male who suits their interests. this is particularly common in birds, where males compete to grow the flashiest tail or sing the prettiest song. then they pair off, boink, and incubate eggs.

this isn’t particularly full of negative emotions (it’s...hard to figure out what jealousy looks like in order to study it, so mostly what you’ll see is some amount of frustration) so not terribly interesting to grimm.

male competition is full of anger though.

in ungulates (hoofed animals), males butt heads, kick, bite, bang necks together, and otherwise have a huge fuss over who can assemble the largest harem. these conflicts are painful and violent. watch any david attenborough documentary for examples. while long term, these behaviors are motivated by the eventual access to sex, in the short term, they are driven entirely by emotions.

so we’ve got a herd of horses. (say a small herd, accounting for the first half of this.) there’s one dominant stallion, and a handful of satellite bachelors (zero to four depending on number of mature mares). when the mares come into heat, the dominant stallion is going to spend a lot of time a) stressing about the bachelors or b) running them off. meanwhile the bachelors are going to spend a lot of time a) stressing about the stallion and b) trying to fight him off.

(the mares won’t be too fussed by any of this.)

the longer this goes on, the more likely grimm are to show up.

here’s the problem for the males: it’s to everyone’s advantage for male-male competition to not be deadly. even the top male isn’t going to be top forever, and he’d rather not get killed off on his way out, because if he gets killed off, there goes any chance of sneakily reproducing later. so fights are DRAMATIC, they are HIGH OCTANE, and they very rarely escalate to physical contact. when they do, they even more rarely lead to death.

so while at the same time males need to remain non-lethal against other males, they need to escalate to lethal behavior very quickly when grimm show up. this is a tricky balance to hold when you’re worked up.

now, i admit that grimm are less interested in non-human animal emotions than they are in human/faunus emotions, and that some of these encounters are so brief that the grimm won’t arrive before they’re over. but evolution is a gambling game. it’s about many, many small transactions over years, and so it matters greatly whenever anything slightly increases the risk of a certain behavior.

if male-male competition is slightly more risky, then either a) males need to be better at killing grimm, but not to the point where they’re killing other males or b) there needs to be less anger involved.

it’s very very tricky, speaking as an animal trainer, to retain a behavior while neutralizing the emotion behind it. possible! but tricky. even trickier when there’s no trainer involved. it’s not enough for the fights to become less dangerous, because the grimm care about emotions. the conflicts need to be less intense, and that’s hard.

so instead of less intense conflicts, pivot to more readily lethal horses. (ouch) (sidenote: increasing traits in one sex will often lead to similar changes in the other, especially in species where males and females are largely the same. and it’s not like mares aren’t already interested in kicking the living daylights out of anything that displeases them...)

remnant horses, and many other ungulates, would be more prone to fighting over flight, because that’s a necessary trait during mate competition. since it’s very hard to shift strategies mid-go, males who are already fighting (non-lethally) can more easily turn to killing grimm than running away from them.

so what we’re looking at here is a world where social species live in smaller groups, where fights are more readily lethal but also easier to diffuse, and where predators trend towards patient stalks and short, fast kills.

and that’s without getting into the implications for farming and domesticated animals...

[spritewrites]

day 2: hiding

“How do you float, Essek?”

It’s… not an unusual question, in and of itself. Rather, he would get it frequently when he was younger, back when it was a fascination, before everyone in his life simply adjusted to this fact of his daily existence. And he hasn’t brought anyone new into his life in… well. A long time.

Still, it’s been some time since he’s been asked in such a genuinely curious way. More often, those who inquire have their own motivations; perhaps they’d like to do it themselves, or they’re looking for a way to undermine the arcane nature of the trick, to manipulate it somehow. Essek doesn’t blame them. He has his own motivations as well. Best to keep it a mystery to those so like himself.

But the tilt of her head, the shine in her eye… Jester’s intrigued, not manipulative. At least. Not manipulative right now.

“It’s a spell I developed in my graviturgy lessons.”

She blinks. “How far off the ground are you?”

“Oh…” Essek glances down. “Perhaps six inches, typically.”

Jester grins, her tail flicking. “You must be pretty short, then.”

He gives her a look, the practiced one that always used to put Verin off his teasing. She doesn’t seem deterred.

“You know…” Suddenly she’s very near, lifting her chin and nearly scraping his jaw with the tip of a horn. “You might not be much taller than me, Essek.”

Well. Entirely of its own accord, Essek’s face grows warm. “I—I can assure you that I am taller than you. At least, ah. I mean. At least a bit—”

“But how can we know?” Jester says, her eyes enormous and innocent. “You always hide under this giant—whatever you call it.”

“Mantle.”

“Sure.” She leans forward, peering into the folds of fabric. “Is there even anything under there?”

“Excuse me? Of course there—ah—”

A blue finger prods right into his middle, pushing into the layers of heavy fabric, and finding contact with his stomach. For a moment, he’s certain that she’s cast something, electricity sparking at the point of pressure. Before he can stop himself, Essek flinches, hands flying up to wrap around his torso—but then her touch is gone, and with it, that odd feeling.

There’s some kind of sparkle in Jester’s eye that he doesn’t trust, and she’s looking at him like… like a predator, almost, fangs poking over the edge of her grin. He knew the sweetness had to be an act.

Essek adjusts his mantle, clearing his throat. “I can assure you that I am a complete person.”

“A completely ticklish person,” Jester says, and she reaches to poke him again. His stomach reacts before he can, curving away, but she’s quick, quicker than him—this one lands at the bottom of his ribcage, prompting that spark of sensation again. Essek grits his teeth.

“Ex-excuse me, Jester—”

There’s more pokes, now, coming faster, and each is lingering a little, scratching at its destination. “Why didn’t you tell us, Essek?” she asks, giggling as he curls into himself midair. “I would’ve tickled you sooner if I knew you were so twitchy!”

“That’s—that’s exactly why I—oh, wait, wait—”

Essek grits his teeth, clamping down on the flood of laughter he feels bubbling up in his lungs, as she tickles viciously into the folds of his cloak. For all his layers, he can feel every scrape of claw, every wriggle of mischievous tiefling fingers in the spaces of his ribs, the curve of his side, the quiver of his stomach.

“Hnn—nno, no plehease—”

Jester’s speaking, something fizzy and saccharine, but it’s impossible to hear over his heartbeat in his ears, the effort of trying to hold himself together too great to even attempt a proper escape. His arms feel less like limbs and more like limp noodles that swat ineffectively at her, barely making an impact on her relentless assault.

Oh, gods, he’s going to die.

One of her claws works its way into an armpit, and by the Light, this has to be some kind of spell, because nothing on this plane should tickle this fucking much. His elbows shoot to his sides, trying to squeeze her hand out of the vulnerable space, but it’s too late—her fingers are lodged, wriggling away, and without his hands to cover his mouth, he’s absolutely fucked.

With a snort that would make his mother faint, Essek squeaks and squirms and bursts into giggles. They’re pouring from him, uncontrollable and all-consuming, and he can feel a flush creep up his ears at the sound.

He… honestly can’t remember the last time he laughed, at least not genuinely, and he’s not sure that he’s giggled like this since he’s been able to walk. It’s quite embarrassing, all told, but there’s also a kind of release in it, a relaxing of his shoulders, a bending of his spine, an unclenching of his jaw—

“There now.”

Suddenly the electricity is gone, as soon as it started, the tingles vanishing with her retreating hands. Jester’s bouncing on her toes, looking for all the world like nothing had just happened. “See? You have such a nice smile.”

There are any number of things that he could have expected her to say, but that was… certainly not one of them. Luckily, diplomacy takes over before he can blush any further.

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“And you’re not as short as I thought!”

With a start, Essek glances down. Sure enough, the ground is firm beneath his boots, brought back to him by all that dreadful tickling causing him to lose the spell.

Well, actually.

Was it dreadful?

…Never mind.

“I did tell you I wasn’t that short.”

Jester regards his planted feet carefully. “You know, with all that floating, I bet those are pretty ticklish too.”

Essek breathes in, breathes out, and calmly decides not to cause a political disaster. “Don’t push it.”

[neonthewrite]

Washed Up Winchesters 8 (Final)

The mystery is solved and the case closed! It seems the Winchesters didn't quite expect things to go this way, but when there's a giant involved, all kinds of things go differently!

Cowritten with @nightmares06, the writer behind the @brothersapart multiverse!

( 1 ) ( 2 ) ( 3 ) ( 4 ) ( 5 ) ( 6 ) ( 7 ) -8-

Story Tag

Read Time ~10 minutes

~~~~~

Chase pushed himself up and shook his head. He was more used to being swept up in a giant hand, but toppling over a few times had winded him. He frowned over the edge of the hand, then over at Sam. “What?”

Jacob’s other hand lifted to be level with them. Minnie was clinging to his thumb and scanning the flock of sheep warily. They were all still milling around, keeping a tight group, several of them aiming disdainful baaas up in the air. Dean’s defiant stand over their heads certainly had not gone unnoticed. Minnie had never seen sheep act like that, certainly not in the shadow of a giant. “Sam?”

"Th-the sheep!" Sam gestured in the direction of the hostile flock. "We're chasing skinwalkers, not werewolves! They can be any type of animal, so long as it's what the pack started out as!"

The confusion on Dean's face cleared. "So you're saying this flock is the people we've been chasing the whole time?"

Sam nodded at the silver knife in Dean's hand. "One way to find out for sure."

Jacob frowned pensively. Even after hearing about how dangerous the skinwalkers were, he could hardly imagine the flock of fluffy sheep before him causing much trouble. Mostly they milled around among each other, all keeping tabs on Dean with his glimmering knife. It was weird that they didn't even want to run from Jacob, but he hadn't made any moves against them.

Even Chase and Minnie had been mostly spared. Chase had only fallen over because he kept trying to pull Dean up.

Jacob decided to throw in his two cents. "I mean, they're… they're not really doing anything," he pointed out.

"Except yelling at us," Chase agreed, waving a hand at a ram that bleated insistently up at him.

"Wait," Minnie chimed in, her brow pinching with confusion. "Do they understand what we're saying when they're in their whatever-form?"

Sam circled a hand through the air aimlessly, trying to gather his thoughts and what he knew of their current enemies. "Skinwalkers aren't like werewolves, who give in to their more... animalistic side when they transform. They maintain their regular consciousness and memory. The main danger is that they can transfer their ability with a bite, increasing the size of their pack... or flock." Sam gave the flock of sheep a strange look. He'd never encountered supernatural creatures in the guise of herbivores like the sheep. This case was shaping up to be unique in more ways than one.

"That means," Sam continued, "they know just who we are, and anything we said while we were here. Which is why they were so quick to lunge at me and Dean. They already found us once on the ship, when they were in their human forms. We couldn't stay under cover, and ended up tossed overboard."

Minnie frowned critically over the side of Jacob’s hand, even as the giant lifted everyone slightly higher. If those sheep really were skinwalkers, and at this point they certainly weren’t acting like normal sheep, they’d just let the group wander among them. She’d patted their heads and tried to click at them like she did with her lambs back home and everything. The feeling that wormed into her gut was something like betrayal.

“So these guys might be the reason I found you floundering out in the waves,” Jacob echoed, a disapproving frown on his face.

“Well what do they--” Chase began, asking Sam first before looking over the side of the hand at the nearest sheep bleating up at them. “What do you want in Lilliput then?!”

For a long moment, it appeared as though Chase's demand would go unanswered. The sheep milled restlessly around, giving Jacob's feet a wide berth as they bleated.

Then, the ram that had given Dean a runaround when he was on the ground stepped out into an opening that formed in the flock. It cocked its head, fixing one eye on the hand that held Chase, Minnie, Sam and Dean. Its expression was impossible to read as it looked them over, one by one.

There was a shift, and then the ram's horns appeared to melt away. Several cracks could be heard as its back shifted to an upright position, and the hooves split into four fingers and a thumb.

After less than ten seconds from when the shift started, the ram stood there as a regal and distinguished looking man, dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants. He frowned at the people in Jacob's hand, then up at the giant himself.

"As I recall," the man said, "you were the ones to smuggle onto our ship when we had done nothing to you in turn, stinking of silver and gunpowder."

Seeing the transformation had been more than enough to leave Jacob, Minnie, and even Chase speechless for a hesitant moment. Jacob’s mouth opened slightly, as amazed as he’d been the first time he met Chase. He had never really thought about tiny people existing anywhere before. He definitely hadn’t imagined them having the ability to turn into tiny sheep. “Uh. Wh… what,” he muttered.

“I mean. I guess that’s technically true,” Chase finally admitted, sending an uncomfortable sideways glance at Sam and Dean. He frowned down at the apparent leader of a flock of sheep skinwalkers. “So … are skinwalkers usually dangerous, or not? ‘Cause I feel like that would clear up a lot, knowing what you actually plan to do in Lilliput, right?”

The man’s lip curled in disgust. “Oh, please,” he said disparagingly. “Unlike our more… wolf-ish cousins, we have no interest in anyone’s hearts.”

Next to him, a second sheep transformed back. This one was shorter, and he had very mousy features in comparison to the ram’s dignified look. “But we like Romaine hearts,” he stuttered out insistently. “Right? Right?!”

“Please, Jerimiah,” the ram said. “This situation is delicate enough without your help.” He turned to look up at the Lilliputians and Blefuscians held in the giant’s hand. “Haven’t you ever heard ‘The grass is greener on the other side?’ We are here in search of better pastures. Nothing more.”

Chase’s mouth opened in a delighted grin over the bad pun. Before he could try to chime in with his own, Minnie slapped his arm with the back of her hand. In her opinion, she had enough to deal with without her brother adding to the pile. She’d thought this was a poor lost flock of sheep. Not an intentional group of … magic shapeshifting squatters. “So are Sam and Dean the only ones you hurt, or …?”

Jacob heaved a slow sigh. Minnie had a point. If they had left behind more than just Sam and Dean, it would be dangerous having the shapeshifters around Lilliput too. “Yeah, I mean. I’m pretty sure I can outrun you guys, but what’s to stop you from sneaking along later and trying something again? Are Chase and Minnie here in danger because they know your secret?”

The ram’s mouth twisted in annoyance. “All we want is green fields and calm waters,” he explained. “Any Blefuscans that we ran into, we ran off, nothing more. These… hunters that followed us were the most persistent, and I couldn’t risk the safety of my flock. Throwing them off the ship was only done as a last resort.”

Looking over the rest of the flock, and a brief glance at the twitchy Jerimiah, the ram shook his head in doubt. “Perhaps it was merely a pipe dream to find a place free of warmongering, but we had to try.”

“So…” Sam tentatively leaned forward. “Your main plan is to get as far from civilization, and stay there?”

“Sammy…” Dean started, but was ignored.

The ram nodded. “It seemed like a more likely situation to find in Lilliput compared to Blefuscu. Such an idyllic land…” He turned to Chase and Minnie. “No one here is at risk from my flock, I give you my word. Even if we get sent back to Blefuscu.” The last statement was said with a sideways glance at Dean.

The guy seemed genuine enough. Having lived in Lilliput for a bit, Jacob knew the locals to be fussy but harmless. They would likely be too caught up in their own drama to notice an extra flock of sheep up past the hills, especially since no one really wandered this far anyway. He decided that he believed the stern little guy.

It wasn't really up to him, though. He lowered his hands a bit, not enough to put his passengers at risk but at least to bring them more level with the ram. "Whatcha think, Chase? Minnie?"

"It's weird," Chase said, practically bursting for an opening to speak up. "Sheep-people .... sheepshifters!"

Minnie smacked his arm. "How is that helping?" she scolded, before addressing the ram again. "I don't think anyone uses these pastures so you won't get anyone upset. But will you even be safe out here? From wolves and things, I mean?"

The ram looked down his nose at her. “Wolves have been our problem since the start,” he said with a sharp look sent in Dean’s direction. “We haven’t been able to shake them yet.”

Sam stepped between Dean and the ram with an arm to separate them, before thoughtless words could be thrown. “If we leave you be, does this mean you’ll leave the Lilliputians alone?” he asked, trying to keep the focus. “We’re only here to deal with threats.”

The ram sighed. “We won’t bother a soul, you have my word. So long as we have our pastures.”

Sam put his arm down. “I think our job’s done then,” he said. “They’ll just need a safe place to call home now.”

“This works,” Chase agreed, gesturing at the current pasture. Aside from Jacob looming over the field with several people standing on his hands, it was a simple, idyllic view. The area was lush, if a bit wild, and unbothered by Lilliput or Blefuscu. “We even have Jacob here to come check on you sometimes if you need anything.”

Jacob rolled his eyes at being volunteered so easily. It was his lot in life anymore, to have Chase suggest him for any task that needed doing. “I have a pretty easy time getting over here,” he agreed anyway. “If you need supplies.”

Minnie glanced over at Sam and Dean. Sam seemed mollified, though Dean looked as ready for a fight as ever. Looking back at the sheep, she gave them an exaggerated shrug. “Looks like everyone’s okay, so … it all worked out? This time?”

The ram gave Minnie a stiff half-bow, looking uncomfortable with the unfamiliar gesture. “We will hold up our end of the bargain,” he promised.

With a quick shift, the man again turned into a ram. Large, curving horns came out of his forehead first before he fell forward onto a new set of hooves. By the time he hit the ground, he could have blended in with any herd of sheep and proceeded to walk amongst the others. Jerimiah followed suit next. Then, a slowly stirring wave expanded throughout the herd until they were all heading in the same ambling direction.

Sam sighed, blowing out his bangs. “Case closed.”

“Weirdest case ever,” Dean complained. “Almost as weird as running into the actual giant in the lands.” He sent Jacob a side-eye. “Maybe next time we’re in Lilliput, we can enlist some extra help again?” Despite his usual gruff tone of voice, the interest in having a giant helper shone right through.

Chase drew himself up proudly, though he still stood notably shorter than either brother. “We’re totally ready to kick some ass, anytime we’re needed.”

Minnie rolled her eyes. “Preeeetty sure they were asking for Jacob,” she pointed out, nudging Chase with an elbow.

“Hey! I helped!”

Jacob smirked. He’d gotten somewhat used to the surly attitude from Dean. It seemed the little folk over in Blefuscu could be just as excitable as the Lilliputians he’d come to know. Chase and Minnie’s antics were practically a given. “I’m basically a glorified taxi,” he warned. “But I’ll be here.”

[mixelation]

Please do kisame for the ask meme, big boy needs love

Send me the name of a character and I will tell you my ______:

1: sexuality headcanon - hmm so i CAN see kisame settling down with a civilian? like i think by the time we meet him, he's so jaded with ninja life that i think he's given up on the idea of having a long-term relationship or romance or a family, even though he might WANT them, and he mostly sticks to one night stands. BUT i think if he'd lived long enough to see "peace," he'd be interested in some regular romancing. i think, if he did end up with a civilian instead of a another ninja, he'd even be willing to attempt to separate his ninja stuff from his dating/home life. like we're told kisame likes a good fight, but he doesn't seem to get twitchy or restless when not actively fighting, so i think he'd be able to wander off occasionally to pick up freelance ninja work and then come home and not talk to his partner about ninja stuff at all. i don't think he'd be into a partner for being Super Strong? like he might be like "oh, a neat bonus" if he ended up with a "strong" ninja, and while he's maybe enjoy a friendly spar, I don't think it'd get his motor going so to speak? i think he'd be more into someone with similar values to him than a similar lifestyle/fighting ability. so if he DID get a squishy civilian partner, they'd probably need to be okay with him being a Murderer for Hire bc Kisame's not going to LIE to you or cover up what he is.... but he'd be okay with not discussing murder at all and it'd be more important to him that they valued things like honesty and transparency and had, like, similar tastes in movies and shit

2: otp - kisame/your SI. the ONLY kisame ship w/ a canon character i really have kisaita, which i'm not even super into, but my GOD do i appreciate all the SI-OCs lining up to date him.

3: brotp - itachi!! my preferred itachi-kisame dynamic is kisame being like "so this is the weirdo i'm in charge of... he's kind of intense sometimes but mostly we're chill"

4: notp - none

5: first headcanon that pops into my head - controversial opinion: i don't think kisame has working gills. the ones he "has" make no biological sense. i think they're fake. fake news gills

6: one way in which I relate to this character - sharks are cool

7: thing that gives me second hand embarrassment about this character - the running gag about gai not remembering him is funny but also. poor kisame lmao

8: cinnamon roll or problematic fave? kisame is the cinnamon roll of the akatsuki. mostly members of the akatsuki think it's tobi, but kisame knows better. but no, on a more normal scale he enjoys fighting and murder and is deeply problematic lmao

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

We've Got Tonight - Ch 2

Summary: “It’s not your job to do this, Andy. You make people happy. I was in the diner all of ten minutes, and you knew exactly how to get me to smile. You do normal, real things like garden and sing karaoke. Saving the world is my job, Sam’s job. Sometimes it’s even Cas’s job, but it’s not yours.”

Inspired by Bob Seger’s “We’ve Got Tonight”

Warnings: Major Character Death, More Major Character Deaths (sort of?), higher than show level violence, blood, light smutting, language, demons, apocalypse, inferred suicide, cult activity.

18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT PROCEED

Author’s Note: This story is set hazily around season 8. Just squint a little, and it’ll settle in somewhere. I wrote this story after certain big revelations in the show, but before other big ones; you’ll most likely be able to tell which. I play with time a bit in the story itself, so if things seem out of order, they are. Hopefully, by the end, all the pieces will fit together.

What the hell, let’s give it a shot.

Image and major edits by the incomparable @there-must-be-a-lock . Heavy editing and cheering by @thoughtslikeaminefield . Thank you both so much.

This is the longest chapter, but it's worth it, I promise.

Word Count: Ch 2 - 2952

In case you missed it: Chapter 1 ItMightHaveBeenintentional’s Masterlist

...

We've Got Tonight

Chapter 2

Clutching the strap of her backpack in a death grip, Andy silently crosses the landing. She places her foot on the top stair just as Dean rounds the corner from the hallway below her, both hands fisted in his hair. Even from this distance she can read the lines of tension in his shoulders. Her stomach twists, nausea and joy warring at the sight of him, and she can’t decide if she should turn and sprint for the door or throw herself at him and admit absolutely every foolish thing she’s done.

No. No, not foolish. She’s saving the world. That’s only a little stupid. She’s saving Cas and Sam. That’s good. She’s saving Dean.

That’s non-negotiable.

Then her weight settles on her foot, and the goddamned step creaks. Dean’s eyes snap to hers. For one hopeful moment, relief and genuine happiness flood his expression, and he smiles. The unclouded light shining from his face scraps any thoughts she has of bolting, and Andy makes it halfway down the steps before she’s engulfed in his arms.

He embraces her fiercely, and Andy allows herself a couple of seconds of peace and comfort, of the sense that she’s somehow home even though she’s only known him for a few weeks. Then the overwhelming realization of everything she’s signed away comes crashing down, closing her throat, choking off her air, and suddenly even the heat and safety radiating from Dean into her very bones isn't enough to ward off the chill of dread.

But she’s doing this to save him, to save Sam, to save...everyone. So, really, she’s not losing anything. If you save something, it’s not lost, so, really, she’s not losing anything.

Right?

Then her face is trapped between his hands, his face inches away, his eyes boring into hers with that burning intensity. The lies evaporate on her tongue, and she wracks her brain. What was she supposed to tell him? She has to say it before he starts questioning her, or she’ll blurt out every single thing she swore she wouldn’t.

“Are you okay? Where the hell were you? Was it those anti-Jesus freaks? How did you get away?”

What? Oh, yeah. The cultists. The whole reason she has a lovely new scar on her left arm and she met the Winchesters in the first place. The source of all their current troubles. Well, the main source, aside from her blood. Yeah, that would have been a good cover story, too.

Shit.

“Andy?”

“I’m fine, Dean,” she manages, thankful at how little her voice shakes. She puts forth the effort of the ages and extricates herself from his grip, an act she recognizes as necessary while regretting it all the same. “I’m sorry I scared you. I had a lead, and I had to leave right away. They were really twitchy when I first contacted them, and I thought they might take off if I waited too long or tried to take anyone else, and by the time I realized I’d lost my phone it was too late to come back.”

Anger and disbelief seep into his expression, tainting the relief that animated him only moments before. “Okay, first of all, we’re going to have a long, detailed talk about taking off on your own for any reason without backup, much less chasing your own leads, because no. Just no. Second, what the hell? Did all phones between here and wherever the hell you went just vanish?”

“You programmed your numbers into my cell, but I never memorized them. I didn’t have any way to contact you once I got there, and-”

“And you couldn’t leave a damn note?!”

Deep breath. Keep steady.

“Look, I’m really wrecked, Dean, it was a long drive, and it ended up a bust. The guy never showed. I’m dying for a shower and some food. You can interrogate me all you want, but can we not do it right here, right now?”

She pushes past him, brushing him off in a way she’s never done before, but if he keeps gazing into her soul with those jade laser beams of his, she’s going to lose every ounce of self-control. Her fingers tremble with strain, and she clutches her bag tighter, determined to hold herself together for his sake.

She only gets a couple of seconds of reprieve, though, just barely making it off the staircase. He catches up with her as she passes the map table, aiming for escape through the library, and he snatches her elbow. His grip is harsh as he pulls her around to face him, and her fingers fumble at the fierce heat behind his eyes. Her backpack drops, spilling its contents on the floor.

Her stomach bottoms out. She immediately tries to crouch down, to stuff her papers and books back in before Dean can see them, but his grip tightens on her arm, and he forces her back up to meet his eyes.

“You don’t get to disappear for two and a half days and then just-”

“Andy!”

Oh, thank god for Sam.

Andy takes advantage of Dean’s surprise to pull out of his grasp, but before she can bend down, she’s engulfed in a second, longer set of arms that feels almost as much like home as his brother’s.

God, what has she done? She really is going to lose everything. But this has to be worth it. Saving them is worth it, she knows it is. It’s going to be okay.

“Andy, are you okay? Where were you?” Sam is still in his concerned phase, and she’d like to make her exit to gather her thoughts before he hits Dean’s level of suspiciously pissed. She knows of no force in Heaven or Hell that can withstand the combined onslaught of Dean’s anger and Sam’s lectures.

“She says she found a lead,” Dean cuts in before she can try to explain herself. He’s definitely on the outer edges of pissed, and that’s fine. She can handle pissed, she just has to figure out what to do before he reaches volcanic levels of anger.

She drops down before anyone else can stop her and starts shoveling handfuls of papers in her bag. She needs to get them out of sight. She should have burned them, why didn’t she burn them, god if Sam sees some of it, he’ll know what she did without her having said a word to him, and -

“Andy, what the hell is this?”

Dean’s voice has dropped to a low, measured growl, and her eyes slide shut in dismay.

Don’t admit to anything, you don’t know what he found, just -

“You said you lost your phone, and now it falls out of your damned bag? You’re lying to me? Why-”

“Maybe because of this,” Sam cuts in, and she hears a rustle of papers from her other side, and she swears that it’s the loudest sound she’s heard in her entire life. It doesn’t matter which of her papers or which book Sam is showing his brother. They are all equally damning, and she really should have known better than to think she could get away with this plan.

“I had to do something. We were running out of time, so I made a decision while I still could.”

She’s impressed and surprised at the steadiness in her voice, the actual conviction. She is equally surprised to find herself standing when she opens her eyes, looking down at two of the most important people in the world, one of whom is regarding her with dismayed shock, and the other…

Her stomach wars with her brain; rational thought says the logical response to someone glaring at her with as much venom as Dean is packing is to run. Her stomach, on the other hand, is fully in favor of ejecting all contents in sheer terror. Somehow, she manages to shove down both impulses and stand her ground.

There’s a long moment where it seems like the whole bunker, the whole world, holds its breath, waiting for something to snap the tension. To Andy’s astonishment, Sam breaks in before Dean’s temper can explode.

“Tell me you didn’t. After everything we’ve told you, everything you know about us and our history, you called a crossroads demon? Where did you even find the summoning spell?”

She turns incredulous eyes on the younger Winchester. “Sam. I...really, Sam? When I asked to help, you put me on research. I didn't know where to look, and you gave me a stack of books, most of which had some variation of that or a similar spell in it. You gave me access to one of the world’s biggest fix-its, and you didn’t think I would do something with that?”

Sam opens his mouth, his face set with stubborn indignity, but he falls silent as Dean stands abruptly. He stalks past Andy, his silence far more worrisome than any shouting or lecturing could ever be. He stops at the bottom of the library steps, gripping the back of his neck like he’d rather have his fingers wrapped around something’s throat, and he stands like that for what feels like forever.

“I made a deal. To save you, Sam, Cas. Everyone. I had to do it.” Andy can’t stop the words that tumble from her trembling lips, and she can only be thankful that she doesn’t have to see Dean’s face as she says them. She should never have tried to lie to him, to them both, but especially not to him. Not after all the lies he’s had to live through.

“I won’t apologize. I found a way out of the end of the world when we had no other options, and I took it.”

Dean stands stiffly, unmoving as she confesses to his back. Sam wisely keeps his mouth shut, kneeling on the floor to look through Andy’s papers, avoiding looking at either of them. The gravid silence that hangs over the room is broken only by the thudding of her heart and the crinkle of pages as Sam rifles through her backpack’s spilled contents.

“Explain. Now.” Dean’s words are quiet and caustic, their bitterness cutting Andy straight to the heart.

This isn’t what she wanted, but their time is too short to try to work everything out. There will be nothing like a fairy tale ending for them, so she forces herself to say what she can. There are still some details she doesn’t want to tell him; if he knew everything, he could keep her here, keep her from going back to finish the deal, and she absolutely cannot let that happen.

“I did what you and Sam do every day. I did my research, I made a plan, and I faced the monsters. I made a choice, Dean.” She only just keeps the notes of desperation from creeping into her voice, though it’s a near thing.

He moves as she speaks, turning back to the table, his face inscrutable as he leans down to grip the back of one of the chairs. He holds onto it as if it’s the only thing keeping him together, and she feels a ridiculous stab of sympathy for the piece of furniture that’s bound to come to a bad end.

“And you think sneaking around, lying to all of us, and making a deal with a crossroads demon is going to magically fix everything?”

He’s too calm, too quiet. The chair creaks ominously under his fingers, and Andy takes a hasty step back. Sam rises, his forehead wrinkled with concern as he takes a step towards the table.

“Andy, just tell us the details,” Sam interjects, his tone low and placating, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. “We can figure out a way to get you out of the deal. What did the demon you met with look like? Did they tell you their name? How much time do you have?”

“God DAMN IT!”

Dean slings the chair to the side, and it skates over the floor, shredding through her papers before slamming into a support pillar with a deafening metallic clang and careening across the room. Sam steps up protectively next to her, his hands half-raised like he can’t decide if he should try to talk his brother down or block more pieces of flying furniture.

“Why, Andy? Why didn’t you just wait for Sam or Cas to find something? We were looking!”

“There was no time left, Dean!” She knows there aren’t enough words in any language to explain her decision in a way that will satisfy him. It doesn’t matter to him that she’s one of the sources of all their troubles right now, or that she is an adult who was perfectly capable of making decisions about her life long before the Wonderful Winchesters and their guardian angel rode into town.

“We had days left, at best! I don’t want this anymore than you did, but it was my blood that started this whole disaster, my blood the cult needs to finish everything, literally everything! It’s my blood that’s the solution to this whole shitshow, and that means it’s my mess to clean up. I learned that much from you and Sam, at least! You clean up the messes you make, whether you meant to make them or not. You, of all people, could at least try to understand!”

“Understand what?! That you think selling your soul will actually fix anything?”

Dean closes the distance between them, his fingers digging hard into her shoulders, knocking Sam to the side as he disregards all concepts of personal space.

“Selling your soul never solves a damned thing! And don’t you think for one second I’m gonna let you go through with this deal.”

“I’ve already gone through with it, I signed the contract. You can’t stop it, and you can’t change it. He said you’d try, and-”

“Wait a minute, ‘he’?” Sam cuts in, and Dean’s face flushes a deeper shade of crimson.

“You didn’t. Tell me you didn’t make a deal with that son of a bitch Crowley.”

Fuck.

“I made a call,” Andy finally answers. “I was either going to hell and taking the rest of the world with me, or I was going by myself and keeping the rest of you safe.”

“You had no right-”

“To make decisions about my life? The hell I don’t, it’s my life, Dean! Who gave you the right-”

“We were supposed to be in it together, you and me! It’s not just your life, and you damned well know it!”

The three of them stand frozen, the words echoing faintly through the enormous room. Sam gaping at the two of them, Dean grips Andy like he thinks she’s about to bolt, and Andy tries desperately to remember why she’s not simply throwing herself into Dean’s arms.

Castiel, with his impeccable timing, chooses this moment to enter the bunker. The creaking door catches their attention, and all eyes turn to Cas, who stands on the landing, surveying the tableau of chaos beneath him. His eyebrows lower, his consternation clear.

“Andrea?” Cas’s voice is confused but gentle as he cautiously descends the stairs. She knows from the stories Sam and Dean have told her that her friend has a fearsome warrior side that makes even the worst demons think twice before approaching, but she’s never seen a hint of that part of him.

She’s seen this man soberly examining a bowl of Cheetos, questioning their attractiveness to large, feline predators; she has a difficult time picturing him facing down the worst monsters the universe has to offer, and yet, according to Sam and Dean, he does so without hesitation on a regular basis.

Which is why his cautious approach should really worry her.

“Dean, is it really necessary to hold on to Andrea quite that hard? You’re bound to leave bruises, and she doesn’t seem to be attempting to leave.”

Dean releases Andy abruptly. His face is dark and lined with the effort of repressing his rage, and he storms past the bewildered angel. He stops at the bottom of the stairs, hand on the banister, legs flexing and trembling as if he has to force himself to stop even that long. Sam takes a step towards him, but Cas holds out a restraining hand, and for once, Sam complies, though he looks seconds away from protesting.

“You should’ve waited, Andy. You should’ve talked to me, given me a chance to find something, anything but this. I can’t...I’m done. I’m fucking done.”

He climbs the stairs three furious steps at a time and is out the door before anyone can think of how to stop him, leaving Andy lost in the remnants of his anger and her shoulders aching more from the loss of his grip than the roughness of it. Her throat is burning, her jaw aching with strain, but her eyes are dry.

There was no other way, there just wasn’t. I did the right thing, and damn Dean to Hell if he thinks I’m going to cry for that.

“Andrea?”

Cas reaches out and steadies Andy, his grasp gentle and comforting in stark contrast to Dean’s furious hold. He considers her for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Our lack of information regarding your whereabouts was quite troubling, and we assumed the worst.”

“Maybe not the absolute worst,” Sam sighs, leaning wearily against the table. He scrubs his hands over several days’ worth of stubble before rubbing his eyes. When he speaks again, he can’t even meet her eyes, and an acidic splinter of shame twists in her stomach.

“You really should have waited, Andy.” ...

Chapter 3

[britishassistant]

The Villainous Paranoiac Goes To Jail and Ninja Afterlife

Two innocent children get sent to Night Raven College

A set of scenarios about three of my ocs unwittingly trading places for two days, non-canon to any of my AUs

Swap 1:

Yuu—> Konohagakure

Yuu wakes up with a tantō to the throat.

Chie: Tell me where my daughter is and I’ll make your death quick

Yuu promptly freaks the fuck out

Through a combination of panicked yelling and tears the Prefect manages to convey to the Ketsugi that if there was a kidnapping, Yuu is both uninvolved and as much as of a victim as their precious daughter

Gai confirms that the strange teenager not only has no chakra, but clearly has little to no combat training despite his(?) athleticism, meaning Mayu-chan could easily overpower an assailant of this size, especially one this undernourished!

Yuu tries not to be offended and to avoid staring at Gai and Lee’s eyebrows they’re so big

Promptly shrieks when Kami!Sanji materializes to confirm that the Paranoiac had nothing to do with Mayu’s disappearance as far as the other gods can tell

Yuu becomes convinced that this place is the afterlife

The sad part is that Chie and Jirou can’t actually say much to the contrary, because??? Their daughter remembers dying before she came here?? Also there are active deities just floating around so.

Actually tears up at the homemade meals the Ketsugi provide

Before being sick as a dog later because food infused with chakra? Does not agree with a person without a chakra regulatory system

Surprisingly patient with Lee and any questions he has the purity of Jack and Deuce is strong in this one

Bit more long-suffering towards Naruto and his rendition of Wonderwall. Sunshine child too bright, introvert Yuu can’t handle it

Keeps writing down everything everyone says

This makes ANBU and ROOT very twitchy

The Paranoiac is quietly slated for “interview” at T&I the next day

Yuu crashes on the Ketsugi couch none the wiser

Mayu—> Nanba

Mayu wakes up to confused screaming and profanity.

It’s Hani.

It’s very rare for screaming not to be because of Hani

All he knows is one child was in this bed last night, and now’s there’s a different one dressed like it came straight out of Ninja Kamikaze???

Mayu for her part is both very alarmed to be waking up in a prison cell with two strange men and very glad she has her bokken with her

Kiji comes in to find his beautiful inmates being menaced by a twelve year old with a wooden sword

The twelve year old is winning

Once Mayu has ascertained that they aren’t enemy ninja and she’s somehow in her old world (?) she becomes much more cooperative with the guards

She’s very worried about how she’s going to get back to her family in Konoha

Also wondering if she should try to contact her former little brother Harp (who knows if she’ll ever get the chance again?)

These worries are not assuaged when the Warden informs her that there’s no records proving “Tamara Kaur” ever existed

For lack of any relations who they can contact to take the child off their hands, and because they have no idea how she successfully infiltrated the most secure prison in the world and replaced one of the inmates, the Warden decides to keep Mayu in Nanba’s holding cells until further notice

Guess who finds the samurai child while breaking out?

Nico, Uno, and Rock are amazed at the existence of a real live Japanese Samurai! With a katana and everything!!

Jyugo just asks straight out if Mayu’s an actor too

Mayu is very bemused by everything, but they seem friendly! The one with the mohawk likes food too!

Plus the blonde one is British! Just like she used to be!

Uno is very confused about how a twelve year old somehow lost her citizenship

Break Mayu out to get food together

They get caught the moment they set foot in the cafeteria and scolded very harshly

Mayu has trouble sleeping in a cell cot that night

Nana—> Night Raven College

Nana’s first instinct on waking up in a strange bed next to a monster is to assume he’s been kidnapped and attempt to subdue his captors

Which means Grim wakes up to an attempted smothering

The ghosts hear muffled screaming and rush in only to get salt and iron filings to the face. Nana actually has them all on the run when Crowley bursts in

Instantly becomes a confused and lost child in front of the headmaster and dorm heads

Only Grim and the ghosts know the truth, and their complaints are overlooked due to them “scaring the poor boy”

No one has any idea what to do with a thirteen year old magicless kid. It was hard enough with Yuu, and the Prefect was at least sixteen and could attend classes!

Nana adapts quickly to the idea of being in this new world— he’s just sad he couldn’t say goodbye to Kiji, Hani-senpai and Trois-senpai before leaving Nanba

Immediately resolves to leave NRC at the earliest possible convenience when he gets a good look at the Theory Wall— he can’t even read Japanese but that amount of crazy that it signifies always spells trouble

Is confused by all the pictures of Disney villains on the Theory Wall, but decides it’s not worth the trouble to ask about

Actually uses the beauty products Vil left for Yuu correctly

Gets semi-adopted into Pomefiore after asking Vil where the high quality products came from

Grim and the ghosts aren’t sorry to see the little brat go

Vil carts him around to test his potential in the performance arts

Epel tries to be a good senpai for the kid, and tells him he doesn’t have to just go along with Vil

Nana appreciates the effort, but does find this kind of thing more fun than being on his own he’s homesick for his cell

Rook enjoys seeing the child freeze up minutely whenever he asks about the prison attire and the large “7” tattoo on the back of the boy’s head

Nana likes Rook less and less with every pointed question the vice dorm leader makes

Can’t sleep in the big cushy Pomefiore bed and so curls up on the floor with a pillow instead

Swap 2:

Yuu—> Nanba

What why is Yuu in jail now

The prefect was supposed to be back home/in Ramshackle Dorm, why is Yuu in jail now—

Yuu is stressed and overdue for Grim snuggles

Paranoiac is also not thrilled about being stuck in Building Three— it’s like Pomefiore on steroids

At least Epel and Vil don’t steal and obsess over the underwear of their “fans”

Rook...the jury’s still out. But probably not. Probably

Maybe

Hopefully

Much less cooperative than Mayu.

Questions about the Prefect’s family name are met with a stony glare. “It’s Yuu. Just Yuu. How many times do I have to repeat myself?”

Can’t answer any questions about Mayu or her current whereabouts despite admitting to knowing of the girl, but does posit a theory about the three of them transmigrating and swapping places based on the information gained in Konoha

Gets offended and even less cooperative when the interrogating guard calls the hypothesis “crazy”

Not intimidated by Hajime or the other guards in the slightest. Yuu’s classmates are far more likely to inflict lasting bodily harm and it’s hard for even the worst human glare to measure up to Floyd or Leona on a bad day

The Warden scares the Prefect though

Doesn’t stop Yuu from requesting a lawyer or other legal counsel before submitting to further questioning

The Paranoiac is a Japanese citizen and has made a point to know what the applicable legal rights for this situation are

Yuu ends up in the holding cells

Guess who hasn’t learned their lesson while breaking out?

Uno takes one look at Yuu

“Ah Jyugo, this one has your energy”

Nico loudly asks if the Prefect is from an isekai and died and reincarnated in Nanba??! Do they die over and over again and revive to beat bad guys?? Do they have an amazing cheat skill?? Are they a spider?? Can they shoot a beam??

Yuu just thinks. Ah. So this is what would happen if Kalim and Idia somehow had a kid

Don’t break the Prefect out, but Jyugo comes back later and deposits something through the bars

“This is Kuu. He’s a guard, but he’s also really good when you’re lonely. You look like you could use the company”

Yuu blinks and holds out a hand for the black cat with a guard cap to sniff

Crashing in a cell cot is uncomfortable, but hey, at least there’s a cat to pet

Mayu—> Night Raven College

Why is there a tanuki in her bed?

Grim isn’t waking up by being murdered but being poked with a stick by another smol child isn’t much better

Mayu is Concerned by the Theory Wall

“Is— is the person who lives here okay?”

Grim: Hell if I know

Mayu’s even more Concerned when she opens the fridge and sees it’s bare

>:|

Sanji wouldn’t let these people go hungry, so she’s not going to either!

Searches until she finds the Prefect’s grocery money and marches with Grim to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop

Everyone is confused by the presence of a new preteen on campus after the last one vanished from Pomefiore during the night

Mayu’s used to haggling with market people who would rather see her starve than even sell her the worst of their produce, so she’s easily able to barter Sam down to a third of the price for the groceries she wants to buy

Sam’s more amused by the guts of this tiny samurai devil than anything

Mayu and Grim drag all the food back by themselves with a few students following from a distance out of curiosity

They all soon enter Ramshackle once the smells of cooking begin to emerge from the dorm

Silver first followed because the child has a sword and is now helping to knead dough

Epel arrived because he had questions about where Nana had gone, but Mayu is genuinely clueless so now he’s peeling apples for lack of anything better to do

Mayu soon has several “helpers” for making bread and other easy-to-preserve and mix-and-match bulk meals to fill the Ramshackle fridge, though she soon has to send Grim out for more ingredients when her helpers begin getting hungry

The night ends with a feast that can rival the quality of food served at Kalim’s parties

Mayu finds one of Yuu’s blank notebooks and writes down some easy recipes the Prefect can use for all the food now in the fridge and pantry, with emphasis on fish based dishes

The ghosts and Grim enjoy having Mayu much more than Nana

Mayu still has trouble sleeping in the big Ramshackle bed that night

Nana—> Konohagakure

Well this isn’t Nanba or Night Raven College

Welp. Time to go then.

Nana is halfway out of Konoha before anyone notices

Gai does notice because a strange kid in a prison jumpsuit swiftly scurrying to the exit sticks out like a sore thumb in the early morning

ANBU’s search for the vanished Yuu is the only reason Nana isn’t stopped by them

Nana tries to run

Nothing can outrun the Beautiful Green Beast of Konoha

Nana is now more than slightly traumatized

Gets carted off to early morning training with Naruto and Lee

Is initially more interested in plotting yet another escape attempt until Lee mentions Yuu and NRC—then he’s curious about what information he can glean about the two other members of this triad

Especially interested in the concept of reincarnating into another world or being brought there by an outside force rather than moving between worlds freely

Eats an almost alarming amount for his size at breakfast that morning and leaves nothing on his plate

Unfailingly well-mannered to his hosts

Offers more information about Mayu’s past world in payment for eating the Ketsugi’s food and waking up in their home after they refuse to let him pay them back using manual labor

Asks them to tell him what they already know so he can work out what knowledge gaps to fill in

Nana: ...Why are you singing Wonderwall?

Takes it upon himself to teach Lee and Naruto more English so they can at least form basic sentences

It’s an uphill battle because predicates and participles are hard

A supportive and encouraging if slightly inept teacher

Soon realizes Chie somehow knows all the swearwords and glares at him for trying to teach them to the boys

Also falls ill from eating chakra-infested food

Gets twitchier as the day goes on and asks to leave the village several times, insisting he can’t impose on their hospitality any longer

Only agrees to sleep on the couch once Jirou subtly implies that at least people will notice and go looking if he goes missing from their house compared to if he disappeared from a tree miles away from Konoha

Can’t sleep on the couch due to jumping at noises during the night, ends up curling up on the floor next to it

[bosspigeon]

a permanent solution to a temporary insanity

Pairing: Mason/m!Detective, with a side of Adam/Nate (implied)

Words:  5257

Summary: Unit Bravo discover the detective has... a lot more tattoos than they would have guessed. Felix is delighted. Mason is intrigued. Nate and Adam are just worried this is going to cause issues with Rebecca, somehow. Tina and Verda become chaotic disasters when they’ve had some alcohol in them.

Takes place at the beginning of Book 2. Title taken from a quote my granddad likes to use whenever he wants me to know he disapproves of my tattoos.

AO3 Link | Ko-Fi <3

"Get your foot off the table, you fucking barbarian!"

Mason can hear the voice of the detective's coworkers from across the bar, but even if he couldn't, Chase's scent is easy enough to track. The muted bite of coffee, the sharpness of pine tempered with clary sage. The cooled sweat of a long day, and, just barely perceptible, the intoxicating undercurrent of his blood.

Mason's awareness narrows down to that stimulus, and he weaves his way through the meager crowd. He is only vaguely cognizant of his unit following behind him, so focused on finding--

He hears a laugh, low and husky, a bit of a scuffle, and he finds the detective sitting at a table with the pathologist, Verda, and the Bobblehe-- Officer Poname.

Chase's back is to him, and he’s sitting in a chair at the end of a table squished into a corner. Verda and Poname are opposite him in a booth against the wall, laughing, while Poname tries in vain to wrestle Chase's scuffed combat boot off the edge of the table. The smell of alcohol is strong between the three of them, but that is not what makes Mason stop dead.

Chase's leather jacket is draped over the back of his chair, and underneath, what Mason always thought was a full turtleneck sweater is actually completely sleeveless. The detective's arms are bare, save for intricate swirls and clusters of ink, mostly black, but with some pops of color here and there. Some of it is flowers, some words, a few bones and animal skulls. Abstract shapes and lines, a few sharp little designs, from shoulder to knuckles on both arms-- and Mason suddenly realizes Chase always seemed to be wearing supple leather palm gloves that matched his jacket, or, when it was colder, cozy wool fingerless gloves so he could still use his phone without trouble. Not tonight, though. Tonight his hands are bare, his arms are bare, and the ribbed shirt he’s wearing is clinging to him and really showing off the stout strength of his torso.

Mason grunts as Felix runs into his back, and time seems to pick back up to normal speed while his companion loudly complains.

Chase's head turns upon hearing the familiar voice, and Mason gathers his wits and offers a smirk and a carefully relaxed wave, sauntering up alongside the man, who raises a glass full of some dark mixed drink to him.

"There’s nothing we can do until we’ve got more information about our case, so I'm off tomorrow-- ask Rebecca," he informs Adam, who is looking disapprovingly between the detective's lax, sprawled posture and the half-empty glass held loosely in one hand, "so I don't want to hear you bitching about what I'm doing."

Adam's mouth pinches, Nate chuckles and tries to stifle it, and Mason coughs out a ragged laugh. But all that is lost to Felix shoving his way bodily around Mason to grab Chase's wrist (thankfully the one without the drink) and shout, "You've got so many tattoos!"

Chase gives Felix a lazy once-over, his brow quirked. "Yeah? And?" He looks a little bemused, as if he can’t quite figure out how this came as such as a surprise to any of them, much less a busybody like Felix. He obviously can’t say it in front of his coworkers, but Mason remembers Chase’s time with Murphy. The hospital gown and the needles and bandages. But even though they could all see in the dark just fine, there was a bit too much going on to really notice more than some smudges of dark ink on his neck and arms.

He thinks their minds might be going to the same place, for a moment, because Chase’s mouth twists from a lazy smile to a grim frown, dark, serious brows scrunching. It’s a slight gesture, barely noticeable, but he jerks his head once, as if to shake off the memories.

They’re both, thankfully, distracted by Felix whirling around to point accusingly at Mason. "Did you know he had this many?"

"If I did, would I tell you?" he sneers. Felix pouts mightily, but then pauses, and smiles. A slow, creeping smile, his eyes narrowed smugly.

"If you did know, you'd have been telling everyone you saw what the detective's got under his clothes any chance you got," he taunts. "So you must not have!"

Nate can't quite stifle his laugh this time, and Mason shoots him a dirty look.

Chase chuckles, low and smoky, and brings the glass to his lips again. “Yeah, I’ve got a lot of tattoos. Almost more than bare skin by this point, I think?” He looks to Verda and Poname as if to confirm, though with an odd little smirk that makes Poname giggle helplessly and Verda roll his eyes.

“Verda would know best,” Poname teases. “How much of Chase have you seen?”

“Enough to know that, yes, the un-inked real estate is scant at best.” He takes a demure sip of his drink while Poname cackles.

“My boss fucking hates it,” Chase snorts into his glass, gesturing vaguely with the free hand he’s rescued from Felix for Unit Bravo to sit. He finally removes his boot from the edge of the table (which makes Poname throw her hands in the air) and uses it to push the chair next to him out, dark eyes flickering up to meet Mason’s for a fraction of a second, stoking a low sort of heat in his belly. He takes the offered seat before Felix can (to some very vocal complaining) and lounges back, angling the chair so he’s able to watch the detective without making it too obvious.

Nate slides into the booth next to Poname, who immediately turns her gaze almost reverently to him, and Adam sits stiffly alongside him, giving the both of them an unreadable look. Felix posts up alongside Verda, smiling with annoying cheerfulness across the table at Chase and Mason.

“If your boss hates them so much, how’d you get the job?” he chirps, still marvelling at all the inked skin on shameless display. It makes Mason feel a bit twitchy, and he swallows down the urge to bare his teeth at his teammate with two very ignorant human witnesses in front of him. He distracts himself by subtly eyeing a splash of color on Chase’s solid shoulder in the form of a wrought-iron lantern with a single guttering candle inside, wreathed in wilted and dying flowers that trails shed petals and leaves down his bicep to mingle with other patterns.

“Mum’s got connections,” Chase drawls, swirling his glass and impressively feigning nonchalance. The ice cubes inside clink softly. “As you all know.”

The quiet that follows is damning, and Chase breaks it by tossing back another gulp of his drink. This close, with his senses full of the detective’s overwhelming… everything, Mason can tell it’s rum and Coke-- rather heavy on the rum.

Nate is the first to speak, offering a politely neutral, “You told us you were given a choice between the police academy or prison.” His tone lacks any judgement, but his brows are furrowed just a bit. Beside him, Adam’s expression is carefully blank. Good for both of them, because even clearly, comfortably tipsy and oddly candid, Chase’s gaze is sharp and analytical, his shoulders just this side of too tight.

“Yeah, well,” he goes on, staring past Nate more than at him, “Rebecca’s influence goes a long way, I learned. So after I graduated from uni-- top of my fuckin’ class, thank you--  I went off on a bit of a wild tear, you know, acquiring cars under mysterious circumstances,” Poname sputters into her drink and laughs, and Chase just gives her a dry look before she regains herself enough for him to continue, “and selling them for scrap, I miraculously didn’t wind up going to straight to prison, thanks to Rebecca pulling some strings and dragging me back here by my ear.” His lip curls faintly, and there’s a flash of something in his expression that seems to drop the temperature in the bar by a few degrees. Felix meets Mason’s eye and visibly shudders.

“That doesn’t really explain the tattoos,” Mason says, offering an easy segue to something… else.

“Sort of does,” Chase says with a shrug, eyes heavy-lidded. “I had a pretty wild childhood up to that point. Got my first stick-and-poke when I was, what? Thirteen? I think the kid who gave it to me is working at the bank now.” He snorts. “My point is, it was the one thing about my life I ever got to control. I had to be perfect, but so long as I did well in my academic pursuits and set myself on exactly the path my mother wanted for me, in my free time I could do whatever the fuck I wanted.” He rolls his shoulders again and knocks back the last of his drink, setting the glass down just a little too hard on the sticky tabletop.

“I drank, I partied, I fucked around. What else do you do when you’re a kid with no parental influence in your life save for a picture on the mantel of an empty house? You go off the fucking wall is what you fuckin’ do. Anything for even a shred of attention. And I still managed to graduate with honors, right? First in my class in secondary school, and in uni. Didn’t matter, did it?” His face goes hard, brows furrowing. “She didn’t bother to congratulate me in person. I got a card on her office stationery that I doubt she even wrote herself. My graduation from uni she didn’t even respond to the invite I sent, but I still stupidly hoped she’d show. She didn’t care until I snapped and she actually had to step in. Take a break from her job and come collect her errant brat.” He scoffs, and it sounds like a gunshot in the sudden silence that follows.

Nate looks like he wants to say something, mouth opening, but Adam touches his wrist and it snaps closed. Even Felix is stunned silent. Verda and Poname just exchange twin looks of familiar distress, but before anyone can say anything, Chase stands up so suddenly his chair shrieks across the floor. Mason, Nate, Adam, and Felix all wince at the sound.

“I’m going to get another drink,” the detective mutters, stalking off into the crowd. Mason looks over his companions, eyebrows raised, decides he doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, and gets up to follow.

Chase is leaning against the bar, asking the bartender for “something stronger than a rum and Coke, holy fuck,” and doesn’t even look up when Mason moves to stand beside him.

“I get moody when I get drunk,” he says by way of greeting.

“So you’re always drunk, then?" Mason drawls. "Not very professional of you, Detective." 

Chase snorts and turns to look at him, but he doesn’t say anything-- just closes his eyes and rubs his hand over the rough fuzz of his shaved head. Mason’s gaze is drawn to his hand, and he spots a ouija planchette inked into one knuckle, a pentacle on the next, then an eye, and a crescent moon. They look old, faded and a bit blown out. When Chase opens his eyes again, the bartender has given him another drink, and from the smell, it’s a highball with a hefty pour of whiskey. He takes his first sip almost gratefully.

“Those the stick-and-pokes you mentioned?” Mason asks.

Chase holds up  his hand. “Hm? Oh, yeah, a couple of ‘em. Not the first ones.” He turns his hand palm-up, and gestures with the glass. “There on the wrist.” Along the inside of his forearm is an intricate dagger with thorns twisted along the blade, but a few centimeters below the point, there is a tiny, blurry skull with a black forked tongue. “Toby Doherty, year 8. We put together a tattoo gun in his dad’s garage by pulling apart his little brother’s RC car. Think we got into more trouble for that than the tattoo.” He huffs out a rough little laugh. “I just think his mum was too nervous to actually shout at me, but I was never allowed back to their house afterwards because I was a bad influence.”

Mason reaches out and takes his hand, pulling it a bit closer so he can study the skull more closely. That’s what he tells himself, anyway, though he doesn’t think he’s fooled, and he doesn’t think the detective would be either. Especially when he rubs his thumb over the raised lines. He can feel Chase’s pulse through his thin skin, blood pumping hot and steady. This close, his pine-and-sage scent is stronger, and it fills Mason’s chest. "It's cute," he says, little more than a breath between them. He leans in, pulls the detective's wrist close to his mouth. He can feel the heat of his skin, almost taste the warmth just beneath, and Chase's breath is soft and quick and deafening in his ears.

“Chase!”

He drops the hand as if burned, and looks away from the detective before he can see how he reacts. Poname is toddling up to them, swaying a bit, and she wiggles her way between them to toss her arms around Chase's middle. He raises his highball in the air to keep her from spilling it, and she giggles.

"Chase, come back, you've got to show them!"

He groans. "Show them what?"

She only giggles louder and starts pulling him back towards the group, using the much steadier detective as a bit of a crutch to keep from stumbling through the milling crowd. When they arrive back at the table, things aren't really more comfortable than when they'd left, but they're not less so either, which Mason supposes is more than they could ask for. He takes up his seat again, but when Chase moves to do the same, Poname keeps hold of his arm.

"Wait, wait, you should be standing up for this," she giggles. Verda doesn't say anything, but he does snicker quietly into his tall glass of something that smells cloyingly of fruit syrup and sweetened vodka.

"Tina, what are you on about?" he sighs indulgently.

"You have to show them King Kitty!"

Mason’s interest is immediately piqued. Felix’s is too, clearly. He sits bolt upright and leans forward with that bright-eyed little imp grin he likes to give his teammates whenever he’s teasing them about… well, anything, really. “King Kitty?” he asks with eyes sparkling.

Chase groans, sets his drink on the table, and pushes Poname away, sending her stumbling into the table while she laughs brightly. “Don’t call it that, Tina. Christ.”

“You have to show them! He’s so good!” she insists, swaying towards him again. He dodges, and damn near skitters around the table to press into Verda’s space, which would have given Poname the means to corner him if she could figure out how to move around Chase’s abandoned chair as well as Mason (side-eyeing her cautiously) without getting tangled or falling over entirely. Verda continues to laugh at their antics, pushing Chase’s hip as it crowds into his space and threatens to make him spill his drink.

“Come on, now, what could it hurt?” he chides playfully, slipping his finger into the belt loop of the detective’s cargo pants and tugging playfully.

“Hey!” Chase barks, shifting away. All that manages to accomplish is tugging down his waistband the slightest bit, exposing the edge of his black underwear and a thin sliver of skin-- inked with designs Mason can’t properly parse, though he can’t help but lean forward a bit for a closer look. “I’ll have both of your asses for harassment, don’t test me!”

“Chase, our precinct is tiny,” Verda hiccups, finally making the decision (though it clearly pains him) to set his drink aside, since it seems Chase is perfectly willing to clamber over him to escape Poname’s grabbing hands, “I’m the HR department. You haven’t got a case here.”

“Show theeeeem,” Poname whines, putting one hand on Mason’s shoulder to steady herself. A low growl rumbles in his chest, but one sharp look from Nate (who is trying very hard not to smile at the scene, while Felix is outright giggling, and Adam simply looks confused and uncomfortable) quiets him. She smells strongly like some sort of bubblegum perfume that tickles the back of his tongue and leaves it feeling itchy and thick.

“I still have to work with them,” Chase protests, but his resolve is visibly wavering, especially with the lack of options to escape.

“We won’t tell anyone!” Felix blurts, leaning across the table. “Promise!”

Mason doesn’t chime in, but it’s a near thing. The last few weeks he’s tested the limits of both Adam and Nate’s patience with his innuendos about the detective, and he even thinks Agent Kingston might be one lewd joke from stabbing him with a fountain pen.

But Chase is weakening, he can tell. Mostly because he can’t seem to figure out how to climb over Verda, and Poname’s hands have found his belt. “Fine! Fuck, fine, you menace!” he exclaims, pushing her off with a surprising amount of gentleness, considering his tone. “Just get off me!”

Poname backs off obediently, but she’s still giggling up a storm, flushed with the effort, her hair a bit mussed. Verda looks entirely unbothered, and he takes up his drink again with a smug smile. Chase returns to his chair but doesn’t sit, and Poname returns to cozying up to Nate and being entirely oblivious to Adam trying very hard not to look annoyed.

Chase takes a deep, bolstering breath, snatches up his drink, and downs about half in one swig. “You’ve all got to swear you won’t breathe a word to Rebecca about this,” he says with grave, if faintly slurred, severity.

“Oh, absolutely,” Mason agrees, quickly enough that Felix shoots him another infuriating smirk.

“Scout’s honor!” Felix blurts, nearly bouncing in his seat.

Nate smiles and nods, looking for all the world like he’s simply indulging the shenanigans, but he’s clearly curious himself. Chase isn’t terribly secretive about most things-- he’s actually pretty fucking blunt-- so this has to be… interesting, for him to put up such a fight. Adam looks like he’s bolstering himself to look away as quickly as possible so he can have some plausible deniability should Agent Kingston find out regardless.

Chase’s hands go to his belt, and Mason’s stomach clenches, heat rushing under his skin. The detective unbuckles with practiced ease, flicks the snap open, and tugs the edge of his cargo trousers and briefs (are they briefs? Mason would certainly like to find out) down just a bit. His other hand goes to his fitted shirt, tugging it up.

The hair beneath his navel is thick and dark, and the trail leading down into his trousers is very, very inviting, but Mason’s attention is drawn inexorably to the design inked into the soft, brown skin. He supposes he should have expected the name “King Kitty” to give it away, but he couldn’t have predicted what he was in for.

It’s a snarling black cat, cartoonishly stylized, wearing a jauntily cocked royal crown. Underneath, spanning from hipbone to hipbone, are the words “BOW DOWN” written in bold, jagged script.

“Everyone, meet King Kitty,” Poname proclaims with a sloppy, grand gesture to Chase’s pelvis.

“Yeah, yeah, are you happy now?” Chase groans, hiking his waistband back up and buckling his belt. He tugs his shirt down and flops into the chair, taking another slog of his drink. It’s almost gone already, and he’s sure to be feeling it soon.

“Absolutely tickled,” Verda says primly.

“Oh, completely,” Poname chimes in.

“Wouldn’t mind seeing him again,” Mason rumbles, and Chase’s eyes flick to him for a split second, dark and sparking, brows quirked. Nate sighs audibly.

“Well, are you going to tell the story too?” Verda presses. “Share with the class?”

Chase drops into his chair and kicks his feet up again, and Poname makes a vague sound of protest. This time, at least, a sharp glare shuts her up. “Might as fuckin’ well, right?” he snorts. “So, I had this ex in college--”

Both Verda and Poname make strange noises, and when Mason spares them a glance (still a bit caught up in eyeballing the detective’s lounging about like a lazy cat-- which is oddly appropriate, all things considered) they are both looking somewhere between annoyed and downright angry. Chase actually looks… guilty, for a split second, before he waves it away and continues.

“Anyway. He wasn’t, uh… Very good in bed. But I loved him or some nonsense,” he scoffs and gestures vaguely with his glass, “so I put up with it. Because I couldn’t tell him he hadn’t gotten me off to his face, right? He was a sex god, according to him, always hit the marks,” he takes a sip and snorts a bit into his drink. Verda barks out a sharp, sudden laugh that seems to startle even him.

“He did not say that! Chase, please tell me he didn’t say that to you!” he squeaks out between ragged, uncontrollable laughter.

Poname is collapsing against Nate’s side, consumed by a fit of wheezing giggles.

Chase rubs a hand down his face and huffs out a laugh of his own. “He fucking did and I have to live with the fact that I continued to sleep with him after that, every day for the rest of my life. Point is, after a lot of general university stress, I got tired of faking orgasms to save his ego, and I finally told him he hadn’t gotten me off once since we’d started dating. Crushed him, of course, and we did break up for a bit because of it. And in the interim, I thought it’d be a good idea, to, ah, ensure that the next one wouldn’t be so… lost. I had a bit of liquid courage, lied admirably to my favorite tattoo artist when she asked if I was sober, and King Kitty was born. Then when I inevitably made the bad decision to get back with my ex, the next time we tumbled into bed, I just pointed at the instructions and told him to get to work.”

He finishes off his drink, puts his foot back on the ground with a heavy clunk, and leans his elbows on the table. “Turns out, he worked best when I was a bit mean to him. Apparently it’s a thing he wasn’t aware of. Go figure.”

“Christ, no wonder he only bothers you more when you’re a prick to him,” Verda scoffs with a hearty roll of his eyes. “You’ve trained it into him!”

"That is… quite the tale," Nate offers magnanimously, eyebrows threatening to make a break for his hairline. He looks to Adam, who is looking away and trying very hard to pretend he wasn't listening at all. Mason gets the idea he knows well enough that if he opens his mouth, what comes out is likely to piss off their dear detective.

Felix about falls over cackling, which is a fine distraction for Mason to lean in close, snagging Chase's attention and murmuring, "Wouldn't mind you bossing me around a bit," with a sly little smirk.

The look Chase gives him is dry as a fucking desert, but his eyes are crinkled at the corners. "You have proved on multiple occasions that you absolutely do mind," he fires back.

And that's what delights him about the detective, he thinks. He's sharp-tongued, and he doesn't try to dull it. Prickly, but clever, unafraid to say what's on his mind. And he's never once rebuffed Mason's advances outright, just… Spiked them back with sly smirks and raised eyebrows. Challenging, a sort of unspoken, "Oh, so you think you can handle me?"

Mason would very, very much like to handle him.

"Well, I think I'd be a lot more willing to follow orders if less clothes were involved," he slyly remarks, and Chase's dark eyes brighten just a bit.

“You have to earn that privilege, pretty boy," he murmurs, lips curling on one side.

Mason is a breath away from leaning closer, when Verda's phone goes off and he stands up, startled, and bumps the table. Mason has to snap one hand out to grab Chase's empty glass before it goes careening to the floor. Poname looks a bit astounded by his (far too fast) reflexes, but she's also more than a bit foggy with liquor and likely to forget quickly.

"Shit, sorry," Verda offers sluggishly, blinking a bit behind his smart browline spectacles. "That's Eric," he explains, grabbing his coat. He's steadier than Poname, but not by much, and he leans heavily on Chase's chair when he bends to press a kiss to his bristly scalp. "Come on, you reprobate. Time to get you home." Chase grumbles and halfheartedly swats at him, a bit of red creeping up to his ears from beneath his high collar. “You too, Tina!” Verda calls, “Leave the poor man alone, would you?"

Poname, who was beginning to list against a somewhat bemused Nate's shoulder, sits bolt upright and blinks, then pouts a bit. "Hm? Oh… okay." She pushes unsteadily to her feet, helped in no small part by a few gentle nudges from Nate, and she turns to give him a giggle and a wiggly-fingered wave before Verda’s put-upon sigh spurs her to totter towards him. Adam watches her go, making a face he likely thinks is impassive, but Mason knows well enough the tense pucker between his eyebrows and the grim tightness around his mouth.

“Remember what I said,” Chase offers, heaving to his feet with a low groan that immediately drags Mason’s attention from Adam’s silent simmering, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slinging it over his shoulders. “Not a word to Rebecca about any of this.” He gives Adam a long look in particular. “My options are limited in terms of retaliation, but I can be pretty damned creative. Don’t test me.” His eyes flicker almost instinctively to Mason, and his lips twitch, but he says nothing more before he swaggers with surprising steadiness after his coworkers.

“Bye, Detective!” Felix hollers, waving enthusiastically. Mason winces, but comforts himself with staring unabashedly at the detective’s retreating backside. The second he’s out the door, Felix rounds on Adam with a bright laugh. “Look at you! You managed to be in the same room as the Detective and you didn’t get into a fight!”

“Because he kept his mouth shut the entire time,” Mason snickers. “Looked like it was killing you not to talk shit.”

“I don’t talk shit,” Adam snaps, and Nate helpfully slides out of the booth so he can escape as well. “I just point out when the Detective is being…”

Mason raises his eyebrows, waiting for him to come up with a word that’s not an insult.

“Difficult,” is what Adam settles on, giving Nate a sidelong look.

“Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t know anything about being difficult,” Felix chimes in helpfully. Adam scowls at him and adjusts his jacket. Nate is clearly trying not to laugh and make Adam even more annoyed.

“You’re the one who felt the need to hassle the detective on his off time,” Mason hums not-so-helpfully. “Can’t blame him for being annoyed.”

“And you can’t say anything either,” Felix chirps, “Since you just went right along with it.” He’s grinning, wide and wicked, and he sways into Mason's space and gets shoved for his trouble. He totters dramatically for a second, then pops back up and snickers. "You're not as smooth as you think," he taunts. "I saw your eyes almost pop out of your skull when you saw those tattoos!"

Mason shoves him again, and Nate chuckles. "There were a lot more than I would have guessed."

"And I bet there's a lot more where we couldn't see," Felix adds, sticking his tongue between his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. Mason glances around the bar, the crowd having thinned in the last half hour or so, and decides he can get away with putting the little brat in a headlock.

Nate sighs at them. Adam rolls his eyes skyward, but they let Felix flail and squawk for a bit before Adam barks out, “Enough!” and Mason obediently releases him so he can tug his fancy scarf forcefully back into place and adjust his beanie. “Let’s just go.”

“This was nice, wasn’t it?” Nate offers with a bit of genuine cheer as they file out the door and leave the bar behind. “Getting out? Talking to people?” He nudges Adam when he doesn’t respond, and gets a faint grunt for his trouble. “Seeing the sights?”

Mason lights up the second they’re outside, inhales, and exhales a long plume of smoke, and smirks a bit around the filter. “I enjoyed the sights, at least.”

“I had fun!” Felix chirps, having already moved on from Mason’s rough treatment. “We should spend more time with the detective outside work stuff. He’s cool when he’s not all--” He makes a face, stiff and frowning with a crinkled brow, that looks pretty damned similar to the face he makes when he’s mocking their illustrious leader. Mason almost bites down on the filter of his cigarette to stifle a laugh.

“It was nice to see him unwind a bit,” Nate chuckles. “His friends seem… fun,” his mouth quirks a bit, somewhat uncomfortably, “Friendly.”

Adam makes a disgruntled noise. “Too friendly,” he mutters. Mason is about to lose the fight with himself and start snickering.

Ah, hell, he can’t resist. “I dunno, I think Natey might have a chance with the Bobblehead.” The look Adam gives him could kill a lesser man, but he just gives a lopsided grin in return. Felix, however, loses it to the point he almost falls over in the street.

Nate, ever the diplomat, just chuckles a bit and says, “Officer Poname is lovely, but she’s a bit… young for me, I think.”

 Yeah, about eight-hundred-something years too young, Mason thinks, rolling his eyes. But, unlike Felix, he’s made it a point not to get involved in the love lives of people he’s got to work with. He’s already got his hands full trying to figure out the detective. Though, he supposes, he’s got to work with the detective, too. On a more permanent basis, now, it seems. But Chase is a lot of things-- stubborn, headstrong, blunt and honest-- but he’s not the type to let a bit of fun get in the way of his job, and neither is Mason. The second they stop dancing around each other, Mason will lay it out plain for him, and if he’s not on board with a bit of fun between co-workers, then that’s it. No problems.

He takes another puff of his smoke and lets the others get ahead of him, Felix still chattering happily and Nate fielding it with his usual calm enthusiasm while Adam manages to both sulk and stalk admirably alongside them both. Their voices fade into the background, and he allows himself a private little smirk, thinking about those fierce dark eyes, that stout, compactly muscled body with its bold ink, and privately wonders how much more is hidden under the detective’s clothes, and the best way to see them all.

[irene-sadler]

severe thunderstorm warning

but wait theres more

a tropical storm is rollin through town so it is absolutely disgusting outside and (mostly unrelated) i was up until 2 am yesterday/this morning b.c i decided to watch the stupid seattle mariners steelheads go into extra innings yet again (tfw ur a fan of a west coast team and u live 4 timezones away so the 10th inning takes place at 1 in the morning) 

anyway during that time i wrote a lil follow up to the executioner so nobody will hate me until uh 

the actual follow up is written which at my usual pace will be in approximately october. 

yw enjoy todays double header of hot nonsense this one’s called 

Severe Thunderstorm Warning:

     A week had passed, and even if she’d maybe made up her mind, she still hadn’t actually talked to Reynard about it.

     In her defense, nonstop days in the saddle interrupted only by an all out battle with a Nilfgaardian relief force and a followup skirmish with their baggage train guards hadn’t left much time for side conversations.  By night, the army either marched or caught a few hours of sleep when it was too dark to keep moving. She could count the number of words she’d exchanged with Reynard about something unrelated to the wounded, the condition of the bridges they used and the towns they passed, or the unpleasant but not undrinkable casks of acidic wine they’d captured on two hands. Most of them were just greetings, offered in the morning with his usual overdeveloped sense of social protocol, at night with a hint of some underlying emotion to suggest he actually meant them. It almost made her nostalgic for the days when her total forces were, more or less, a ragged collection of highwaymen with slings, a half unit of Lyrian pikemen, and a stray dog.

    On the other hand, she wouldn’t exactly be able to rush to the Aedirnian’s rescue without the trailing, dusty, exhausted mass of soldiers that snaked along the road under the baking afternoon sun, from one end of the flat horizon to the other, and she didn’t have enough men, maybe, even then. A big enough opposing force with a little more rest, a few more horses, and a following wind might be able to take them out. A private conversation was a small price to pay for an army that could probably hold its own in the field, with even odds.

    “Storm’s coming,” Gascon announced, riding in from the head of the column with a scout and a thick cloud of dust trailing him. She snapped back to the present and looked skyward.  A hawk or vulture crossed far overhead, almost too small to see. There were a few, smallish, grayish clouds drifting gently across the endless blue, and, above those, the edge of a very high, white cloud cover that might set in overnight and block the moon. She hoped she was wrong; she couldn’t march in total darkness, and the loss of four or five hours of moonlight would set them back seven or eight hours of actual travel time.

    Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. Reynard glanced upward and then shrugged at her when she looked back down.

    “Uh. Metaphorically?”

    “No,” Gascon said. “Literally. It’s crossin’ the plain fast, will be in sight pretty soon. Tipper, here, thinks it’ll be a bad one.���

    “Lot of lighting in them clouds,” the scout noted, squinting. “Looks just like th’ one from last week, if you ask me; don’t like t’ be out here in th’ open when it hits, but nowhere else t’ go -”

    “How much time do we have?” she asked, interrupting the man’s lecture, which seemed to be going nowhere fast. Gascon glanced behind himself, toward a vague, pale smudge on the northeastern horizon.

    “Thirty minutes?”

    “More like ten,” the scout said.

    “Better stop the column, then,” she said, resisting the urge to swear pointlessly and waste a few irreplaceable seconds. “Gascon - ride up to the front - have ‘em spread out, stay low to the ground. Reynard -”

    “The back,” he said, immediately, wheeling his horse around. “I’m on it.”

    The supply wagons wouldn’t be able to drop out of the wind and lightning in the open field, and would have to circle around and hope for the best, but she didn’t have to tell him that. He could do his job without her. She focused on the middle, diverting riders and scouts up and down the column with orders for every junior officer and NCO they came across. The result was that, as a black cloud blocked out the blue sky and the air abruptly shifted from dead still to a gusty breeze headed toward it, the army came to a grinding halt and spread out, laying out under canvas tarps and cloaks until the plain was dotted with clustered shelters. Loose horses drifted among them groups, ears tilted back.

    It would have to do, she thought, reviewing the sprawling, messy product of her efforts. If the storm was as bad as it looked like it would be, it was all they could do. She dropped off her twitchy, unhappy horse, turned it loose to fend for itself with the others, and realized that her own cloak was somewhere with the faraway baggage.

    She squinted up at the boiling cloud overhead and frowned dubiously. The wind had died again. Thunder rumbled nonstop in the distance and crashed overhead. It didn’t look good, she had to admit, and she was lucky to have a scout who could read the signs. If she hadn’t gotten ahead of the storm by a few minutes, it would have been a disaster. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much chance of getting her cloak or even a jacket before the rain started. She’d been caught unprepared and there was nothing she could do about it.

    It could always be worse, she told herself, pointedly. She spent a minute with her cavalry commander, come up on foot to report that his units had made themselves fast as much as possible.

    “Can’t answer for the horses, though,” he said. “We had to let ‘em go, on the chance this’ll be one of them hurricanes.”

    “Hurricanes?”

    “Whirlwinds.”

    “Yes. Good idea,” she said, picturing the havoc one of those would cause. She doubted there would be one, but -

    “You just never know what might happen,” the Colonel noted.

    “No. Good luck,” she said. “Once this clears out, we’ll be back on the move.”

    Eventually, if everything went perfectly. She didn’t have to voice the thought; he knew what could go wrong. He saluted and headed off toward a distant fork of lighting from the ground to the clouds. The wind suddenly picked up again as soon as he left, gusted toward the clouds, then back in the opposite direction, bringing a strong smell of rain and a strange, greenish cloud with it. She squinted at it. It was like rain, traveled along the ground like rain, but it was the wrong color. By the time she realized that it was a cloud of blowing grass and dust it was too late to duck before the mess hit her right in the eyes. She turned away from the wind, got caught up in the stinging hail that instantly followed it, and stumbled directly into something solid. Whatever it was caught hold of her by the shoulders before she could push off of it; she squinted at it and recognized Reynard in time to keep herself from decking him. He said something that the thunder drowned out. She shook her head.

    “Come on,” he shouted, into her ear. She let him drag her onto the ground, under the dirty gold cape he held over their heads. It was just about big enough to cover both of them, if they huddled close together. Another few inches and she would be sitting in his lap. It wasn’t like she was entering unprecedented territory; she told herself to not think too hard about it.

    “Where’s your cloak?” he asked. She shrugged.

    “Somewhere in the baggage train. Where’d you come from?”

    “There. I had time to grab mine,” he said, paused, for a deafening crash of thunder, seemed to be out of things to say afterward. The hail stopped banging off the cloth over their heads. A waterfall of rain followed it.

    “What a mess,” she said.

    “It’ll clear up soon.”

    He was maybe three inches away from her. She was extremely aware that the last time she was this close to him she had been in his bed. He glanced away, like the same thought had crossed his mind. Unfortunately for him, there wasn’t much else for him to look at; he was back to watching her, a little warily, a second or two afterward. She had plenty of things she could talk about, and one or two she should talk about, but the words just weren’t coming to her.

    If she kissed him, nobody would know about it, she noted to herself, instead of trying to find any. It would be easy; he was literally right there, watching her with a slightly too intense look in his eye. She had told him she was thinking their relationship, whatever it was, over, but she had always known what she was going to do. She just hadn’t had the time or the place. or the words to tell him. This was not any of those things. It was damp, because the cape was leaking slightly, and a little awkward, and she could barely hear herself think over the rain and thunder. Nothing about the situation was convenient for an extremely personal and delicate conversation.

    “I had a weird chat with Gascon, the other night,” she said, instead. He looked vaguely confused, like he had expected something else.

    “What about?”

 ——        

    It was two in the morning, probably, and they were still marching under the light of a dwindling half-moon. She was pretending she wasn’t tired and sore. Everyone else seemed to be half-asleep on their feet, at best.

    “Good morning, Meve,” Gascon said brightly, riding up next to her and interrupting her wandering mind. “You’re looking pensive and thoughtful. What gives?”

    “Huh?”

    “I mean, lately, you’ve been mostly surly and unapproachable. Which, don’t get me wrong, is a good look on you, but this one’s a little less terrifying.”

    She frowned at him and decided there was no particularly good response to the comment.

    “You want an apple? I stole some from th’ orchard we passed earlier.”

    He held one out, with the same encouraging smile he used when he offered his dog a bone. She squinted at the offering. It was definitely a crabapple, and definitely not really ripe. Her stomach growled anyway.

    “Yes, all right.”

    She caught it in midair; he waited for her to eat half of it before he asked, casually, “So. What are you thinking about?”

    She shrugged vaguely. When she wasn’t thinking about Villem or coming up with a dozen schemes and contingency plans for the next day, week, month, she was mostly thinking about Reynard. By unspoken consent, they had carefully avoided being alone together at any point in the last couple of days. The distance hadn’t made her feel any better. The only good thing about the situation was she was pretty sure nobody had noticed anything different.

     He rolled his eyes at her.

    “Silent treatment, is it? Been taking notes from Reynard lately?”        

    Nobody except Gascon, apparently. She raised an eyebrow at him, warningly. He blithely ignored it.

    “Or maybe you already had that little strategy down. You have known each other for a long time, after all. How long’s it been?”

    She cleared dust out of her throat. The question seemed harmless. She didn’t see any reason to not answer it.

    “Uh. Eighteen years. Maybe more.”

    “That long, huh?”

    He had a curious gleam in his eye. She eyed him cautiously.

    “What was he like back then?”

    She thought about it for a minute.

    “Well, I was - nineteen? So he was, what, maybe twenty-two? He was - I don’t know - about like he is now, only younger.”

    She had met Reynard at the same time as all her new husband’s other knights. She hadn’t really noticed anything particularly interesting about him specifically, at the time, if she was honest. He was young, barely said anything because he was so stiff with nerves and propriety, and had a patchy mustache he was trying to grow out, to make himself look older. The stiffness had largely survived the years, as a defense mechanism. The mustache, fortunately, hadn’t. She smiled a little; they had both gotten older and wiser, or, at least, less insecure. She wondered what they would be like in another twenty years.

    “You’re drifting again,” Gascon said. She snapped back to the present and eyed him.

    “What?”

    “Oh, you know; I bring up Reynard, you get this faraway look in your eyes and start staring off at nothin’. It’s a thing you’ve been doin’, lately. You should probably be more careful; people are bound t’ notice. Other people, I mean.”

    The side-eye turned to a glare; she turned her full attention on him.

    “What do you mean, exactly, Brossard? And keep your voice down, for once.”

    “Well,” he said, carefully, “I mean, I know you didn’t go dig through the stash we had in the closet, back in Rivia Castle; only two people had keys to it, far as I know - me and the quartermaster. Carver didn’t stir between midnight and dawn, like usual, and I had mine on me the whole time. Doubt you wandered off t’ look at the scenery for a couple hours, and I couldn’t help noticin’ that Reynard bunked not twenty feet away from your room -”

    “So?”

    “So, maybe, that’s where you were that night. Maybe. Don’t worry, I didn’t mention this, uh, theory of mine t’ anyone. If it’s true, far as I’m concerned, it’s your business. Well, yours and his.”

    “Then why bring it up?”

    He tilted his hat back a little, considered her suspicious face in the torchlight.

    “Because you look kind of miserable, if I’m honest. Did your chat after the Lester affair go that bad?”

    “No,” she said, looking ahead again, trying to pretend she wasn’t miserable, just tired. “No, not exactly. It’s - it’s complicated.”

    “You keep saying that,” he said. “Not everything has to be complicated, you know.”

——

    “Complications,” she said, vaguely. Reynard didn’t look any less confused.

    “What do you mean?”

    “I don’t mean anything. Listen,” she said, deciding maybe Gascon was right, just this once, in this very specific situation, “If I kissed you, right now, would it change anything between us?”

    He blinked at her.

    “No.”

    A trickle of cold water seeped through the cape and ran into her hair. She shifted forward, away from it and toward him, leaned in, and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back, slightly uncertainly for a second or two, but when she moved closer and slid her right hand around the back of his neck his lips opened slightly and she could tell he stopped thinking about it. He was busy maintaining their ineffective shelter, but she had nothing in particular to do with her hands; she felt the pulse pounding in his throat with her left, ran her right through the short hairs on the back of his head, and let the electric feeling that crawled across her skin and the thundering in her ears drown out her thoughts until, after what felt like not much time at all, he gently pulled his head back.

    “Wind’s stopping,” he whispered. She paused, listening for the real thunder, from the storm. It still crashed overhead, but less often than it had before and mostly somewhere far off to the south; the rain had slowed from a waterfall to a minor downpour, and he was right about the wind. It had shifted direction again, to a gentler crossing breeze that smelled like the oncoming evening. She almost wished it wouldn’t, and the storm would keep going, but time passed whether she wanted it to or not. There were a lot of things she couldn’t control.

    If she was honest, given a few more minutes, she would be one of those things.

    “Damn,” she said, under her breath. “Just when things were going so well. Nothing can ever be easy.”

    “Complications,” he agreed, an ironic smile crossing his face that made her heart stop for a second. “What now?”

    “This,” she said and kissed him again for a long moment that felt like it would crash and burn if it went on. She dragged it out as much as she could, anyway, until a little voice in the back of her mind started warning that any more would result in them being discovered, or a Nilfgaardian cavalry unit would ride over the horizon while she was distracted, or someone would slip and fall on the wet grass, stab themselves on their own dagger, and trigger a day-long safety brief - or some other disaster would happen. He looked her in the eyes for the second or two more that she let herself waste, smiled slightly, like he knew what she was thinking, and then she forced herself away from him, out of the shelter of his cape and into the drizzle. A hint of blue sky was showing through the darkness on the northern horizon. The army was still battened down around them. An offended cluster of horses stood around a hundred yards away, dripping. Reynard carefully shook water off his cape and frowned disapprovingly around at the disorder.

    “About time we got going,” she agreed, reaching a hand toward him. He took it; she pulled him to his feet, smiled up at him for another strangely long second, and let him go.

    “I’m on it,” he said.