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dairy-farmer · 2 years

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If there is one thing that has been on my thoughts lately, is dimension displacement shenanigans. Tim tends to exist in most earths and dimension types, but his state of existence is not always consistent. Sometimes he dies in toddlerhood, sometimes he dies as rombin, and sometimes he never had any contact with the bat family at all. As long as there is an earth and dimension that anchors a traveler, then they do not change to fit the dimension they are visiting.

This Tim has very little experience with dimension traveling, beyond saving bruce in the time stream. If that even counts at all. So when he was carefully relocating one of his mothers ancient vases to a museum, he didn't expect his passing wistful daydream to actually be fulfilled.

One moment Tim was carefully placing the damn vase in a softly padded box for transportation, next he found himself tripping over his new tail in his old room in drake manor. Normally a fall would not hurt Tim much, he knows how to fall after all, but this time he hits his funny bone on the way down. Now Tim may be a vigilante, but not even he is immune to a direct nerve hit. The transition was so sudden that he didnt even bother to try to conceal his whines of pain and confusion. And as one last fuck you from the universe, it did not escape Tim that his pathetic whimpers sounded more like moos the longer he nursed his arm.

Carefully minding his partially limp arm, Tim successfully stood up, and started to robotically assess his situation. He is in his old home, he has a new limb that happens to be a tail that is trowing off his balance, his head feels heavier with what seems like ears in the corner of his ears, and Tim was also pretty sure that he was loosing his mind with all these new smells and sounds. He feels alien in a body that was supposed to be his. Wasting no time, Tim practically b-lined toward the vase and any identifiable information about the situation he was in. not liking the answers Tim learned, would be putting his feelings in too simple terms.

He had determined that he was in an alternate universe, a universe where people partook in some kind of weird bdsm-ish practice with some people that were a human subspecies that were essentially human cows. They were easily categorised by their tails and ears. And tits in adulthood, their milk was considered a delicacy and even holy by some people. They are an endangered subspecies, so the US government had gone as far to ask the justice league to keep an eye out for unaccounted hucows. The justice league, Tim mumbled in disbelief. Where superman always held an ear out for any potential hucows in danger.

The damn vase was known as “the vase of deep longing and wishing”, and it allegedly belonged to a greek witch from acient greek. And it supposedly granted a persons deepest wishes. Or at least, that is according to whoever his parents bought it from. They noted how it was obviously a lie, and that it however most likely a victorian era recreation of an ancient greek vase. “A pleasant surprise, while definitively not a real grecian vase, it was still an importance to art history. Not a complete waste of space like they had been expecting from this collector” Tim faintly read.

Had Tim done this to himself? He had not been wishing for anything, but he had been somewhat indulging in some of his favourite fantasies. The ones where Tim is not the ones chasing someone else, where he can be so loved by his family that they would not let him leave if he wanted to, where he could just for once be treated like royalty, or maybe a cute little dumb pet that people let indulge in whatever his heart desired…

Oh god he had done this to himself. Accidentally for sure, but undeniably he had done this to himself. Oh god they were fantasies for a reason, they were never meant to be true. He does not actually want to be something to be owned. Og god the justice is after him. Tim really hopes the damn vase back in his original timeline had cracked.

COW BOY TIM COW BOY TIM COW BOY TIM COW BOY TIM!!!!!!!!!!!😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍😍❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I CANNOT EXPRESS HOW MUCH I LOVE HUCOW TIM!!!!!

it's probably one of my all time favorite things to read about even though there's only been two fic authors that have written anything about it!!!!!

there's desdefyingstunts !!!!!

and

this one by mistress_of_vos!!!!!

i think about tim having little cow ears and a tail all the time!!! cute little baby horns that pop out of the top and have to be filed down when they get to big and heavy for tim's sweet little head.

tim having the softest little cunt in the world, so slick and sensitive but tim doesn't like having to touch himself so he asks others to do it for him because he gets tired having to do it all day long!!!

tim's shift in the universe is a unique one because magic has to abide by rules. it cannot put what does not belong in some place so it has a work around.

out there, in the vast cosmos of the universe tim is still there. in his own universe, continuing to unpack that vase and other artifacts from storage to be taken to new facilities that would properly display them.

that tim is still doing that, dutifully packing away unaware that his consciousness and soul has experienced a split. half of his is sent careening elsewhere. tim's heart and desires have been plucked out of him and flung away.

people will notice. eventually.

they'll notice how tim is colder towards them. how he has shorter patience, how he gets annoyed with them faster where before he wouldn't. they notice how uninterested tim is in them, how...emotionless towards them he's become.

and they think maybe he's just in a bad mood.

but that mood never gets better. so they think they've done something wrong. so they try reaching out, they try getting tim to spend time with them but tim just gets irritated with their constant asking.

they're confused, they're hurt. they're not sure where this shift came from? so they start tracing tim's movements, try figuring out what's wrong. and find nothing.

nothing aside tim take two days off work to sort through his parent's possessions and give them to an art warehouse to appraise and dispense to various institutions and museums across the country.

of course that vase in particular would enter a large queue of artifacts to be judged and picked by a number of curators who want them for their own museum's collection.

but like an asthmatic child in P.E they'd be picked last.

it's dusty, chipped, it's inscriptions have been rubbed smooth.

no curator is willing to add it to their museum's gallery so it's returned to the original owner.

it won't be for a long time before anyone manages to sniff that vase out as the thing to blame.

meanwhile tim is in another universe.

freed of his logic, his objection, his reasoning and every part of him that would be urging him to reach out to the magic users and dimensional scientists of this universe.

this tim feels...lightened. like some heavy fog or burden has been lifted.

he knows he should be worried but sometime's those thoughts get away from him.

other things occupy his mind like the pretty dresses in his closet, the sweet and rich foods he's served for dinner.

tim's nannies in this universe are so much nicer. they stroke his head and gently rub his ears in a way that has him letting out soft little moo's.

tim doesn't go out often.

his parents worry. ever since some news story from before tim was born was run about a hucow getting kidnapped right from their backyard when they were playing.

but tim's parents are still busy. but rather than leaving gotham they just go into the city and spend a few hours there working before returning home to tim. bringing him toys and candies.

tim's not sure how dimension travel works but he thinks he's been transformed to a younger body. his hands are smaller and softer, there are no callouses on them.

tim's body is softly padded with a healthy layer of chub.

it's clear he's well-loved and taken care of.

clean, polished little horns. shiny hair and softly fluffed white cow ears. soft skin and pink little cheeks.

tim's mom coos over him, tapping his little button nose and tim's dad carries him on his hip, nuzzling him and calling him his little miracle, his lovely gift.

the mansion tim remembered from his childhood is different. no more fancy furniture tim was strictly advised to never use. no more antiques littering every corner.

now there was a clear shift in decoration. little cow statues, paintings, tapestries of young virgins lying on fields surrounded by sleeping cows.

tim knows, in some distant sense, that cows are sacred animals. they're animals used to symbolize fertility and maternity. in various, cultures, societies, and religion cows hold mythological and spiritual importance.

it's easy to understand why 'hucows' are treated as they are. their existence changed the way many societies formed and operated.

it changed who ended up at the top of the food chain.

and it changed who ended up at the bottom.

hucows are treasured and idolized. a quick search of the internet and tim learns that some of the greatest beauties in history were said to be hucows or at least people who pretended to be and passed very well for them.

xi shi. nefertiti. helen of troy. cleopatra.

tim takes a lot of the accounts with a grain of salt because even in this universe it was likely women's accomplishments were all reduced down to their bodies.

the current biggest star in the world is a hucow. a bollywood star whose net worth nearly rivals that of bruce.

all this love and all this admiration.

yet they're the most hunted and endangered sub species on earth.

the more tim looks the worse it seems.

legally, he's not even considered a person. he's cattle.

he has none of the rights of a human being including being able to vote, have a license, own or purchase property, or advocate for himself in a court of law.

it's fucked.

so tim knows exactly what kind of position he's in when his parents are killed in a freak accident.

tim has had years to come to terms with his parents death. to make peace with the fact that his child hood hadn't been perfect and how much he wished they'd been around more.

but....in this universe...they had.

so tim's grief isn't that much of surprise but it is still destabilizing.

tim lets out sobs, mournful moos of pain as he curls into a nanny's arms.

tim's little tail that he carefully combs every morning swishes sadly behind him. he has to hold it still in his hands, gripping it in two chubby palms as his parent's caskets are lowered.

tim's in a poofy, black ruffled dress and shiny mary janes. his hair is tuckled into a bonnet like the ones the pilgrims used. there are little holes in the top for his little horns and as the funeral goes on tim is certain no ones paying attention to his parents bodies.

he can feel the eyes on him. he's already heard the discrete clicking of photos from camera phones and felt the flash of a camera somewhere to the side.

tim knows the score.

he might have only been in this universe for a few months but he didn't survive as robin for long as he had without his wits.

he knows nothing about this universe's bruce aside from what's in the papers about him and batman.

tim was slightly surprised to know that this damian had been with bruce since he'd been a baby and that jason hadn't died in this universe and was still in highschool and on the debate team. dick wasn't a police officer in bludhaven but rather a social worker for gotham city.

nightwing, batman, and robin were all very much active.

tim stares at the gathered information for awhile and just lets himself feel the throb of pain in his chest.

tim knows he's grown apart from his family. he knows that they're not as close as they used to be, as they could be.

he knows he's tried so hard to bridge that gap and he knows those efforts have amounted to nothing.

maybe it's a risk.

going to bruce and hoping that he'll be taken in again.

maybe he's just pinning his wildest dreams and hopes on something that has already shown it wouldn't pan out.

but the other option is pretty fucking shitty.

tim's a young hucow.

so small and sweet. so sad and stupid. so vulnerable.

even if bruce hasn't done right by him in his universe, there is one thing that tim knows every bruce in any universe would do- protect the vulnerable.

tim barely has to try.

a stumble into the garden after crossing their property divide. sniffling and sobbing and latching onto a curious dick who came out to investigate the noise with a broom in hand thinking he'd be shooing away raccoons and instead finding a young hucow.

tim knows bruce has a soft spot for children but it's almost unnerving how close bruce gets to him to inspect his wounds and treat his scraped knee.

bruce asks about his parents. bruce calls tim's dad his 'bull' but something in his expression softens when tim refers to him as his 'daddy'.

the choked sobs when tim tells bruce what happened aren't hard to fake.

bruce strokes his trembling back, massging one of tim's ears as he comforts him with low words.

"it's alright little heifer, you're okay now. it's alright don't worry."

the GCPD are easy to flag down given that a missing hucow is a pretty big deal. seven squad cars are parked in front of the manor less than ten minutes later.

the officers and a social worker try to take tim but tim clings to bruce's leg, planting his soft rump on bruce's foot and wrapping his tail around the limb and mooing with fright when hands came toward him until bruce glared at them to stop.

dick manages to pull the social worker care and pulls the one that came with the GCPD to the side, explaining to them what happened and maybe even embellishing a bit.

if tim were fully human the process of fostering and adopting would take months even with bruce's money. it would take home visits, numerous court dates, paperwork processing times.

but because tim is a hucow it just takes bruce signing a single sheet of paper and a verbal promise to take good care of tim.

he's pretty sure there's more security involved in adopting a puppy but tim doesn't find it in him to be all that upset about it.

not with how happy his moos sound when dick picks him up and cuddles him close, nuzzling his cheek and laughing as tim's little tail flicked and accidentally hit bruce as he stepped closer.

bruce's hands are heavy and reassuring. they're warm as they massage one of tim's ears until he's closing his eyes and tilting his head back letting out a single, drawn out 'moooooo'.

it feels good. it's like someone replaces tim's brain with cotton candy when they touch him just right and stroke him in just the way he likes.

tim settles into the family quickly.

tim is intimidated at the sight of jason and damian but in this new universe it's...harder. harder to hold onto those strings of fear that used to dictate his life.

how can he remember how much jason scares him when jason brings him cookies from a bakery he stops by on the way home.

how can he remember how he and damian never got along when damian's hands are so light and curious as he strokes tim's tail and helps him buff his little horns.

tim doesn't even notice how deeply falls into this dynamic. how much he loves it.

tim is a lovely little thing so adored and beloved. hands keep him clean and cutely dressed. hands that grip at his flesh and hold him. hands that curiously explores, that press into his warm mouth and warmer cunt.

hucows have lots of needs. sometimes entire villages had to work together to be able to provide for them.

they're insatiable little things. so sweet and constantly wanting.

when tim hits puberty things like stuffies and sweets no longer satisfy him.

tim's gone through puberty once already and he's certain he should know what it's like.

but hucow puberty is...different.

tim's skin simmers with an inexplicable heat. he becomes disoriented and confused. words leave him until the only sounds he can let out are soft and confused mooos.

moos that change in pitch and tone when help arrives in the form of his family.

there is some distant and far away part of tim that should be present. that should be screaming at him about what's happening as he presses his front to the soft bed under him, putting pressure on his sensitive tits. as he wiggles his little butt and swishing tail until a hand grips it to keep tim still and expose his hot, wet cunt.

tim moos weakly, wrapping his tail around the wrist of the person holding him. gentle hands stroke his flank, another plays with his little horns and one reaches under his chest to play with his little tits that tim has been sqeezing all day.

heifers can't make milk. not until they're gotten pregnant. only then is when they start producing rich, thick milk to be consumed.

tim moos, shifting on his knees as he feels the breach of a fat cockhead into a pussy. tim moves his hips, wiggling them and trying to take more of the cock into his hungry, hot hole.

tim has been sweating all day, rolling in bed and letting out weak moos. his entire bottom half has been burning and aching with need and tim had been unable to do anything about it.

he could've reached down to relieve himself of the want but he. couldn't. remember. how.

it was like everything in his mind disappeared and all he could do was roll on his bed and moo out desperatly, waiting for warm hands to come and give him what he needs.

"it's alright little heifer," a deep voice soothed, stroking his full ass and parting his cheeks further as a deeper pressure pushed into him, "i know what you need, it's alright, you're okay- i know what you need."

tim sobbed as he felt a wonderfully big cock split him open. tim pressed his face into the sheets, nuzzling it and whimpering, alternating his low sounds with moos as his body started getting jostled by the force of thrusts fucking into him.

"that's it," the voices all around him soothed, "just like that, yes perfect- oh you're so perfect sweet thing, you little sweet thing you're so perfect-"

tim hiccuped, crying as the words seeped into his ears and filled his brain.

sweet thing. sweet thing sweet thing. perfect. perfect. perfect.

yes.

that's what tim was. a sweet thing. a perfect thing. a little thing that had to be treated gently and tenderly. that had to be loved wholly and fully.

that had be fucked deeply and wonderfully.

that's it. that's all tim needed.

nothing else mattered.

#anonymous #asks #answered asks

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830poll · 1 year

Text

68. Okay. Cards on the table. I transcribed the sound, but I don't know what it is. How are you planning to, uh, "crungle"? (you know. crungle. like. (make a weird noise with your throat) - 40%*) (wait a minute. the cat (get it to repeat the sound) - 33.3%*)

(*Tie by way of author vote)

What are you doing? That's not- you sound like someone unwrapping candy in a theatre at a critical moment. (Crinkle?) Or maybe a witch beatboxing an ancient spell after smoking an entire pack of cigars. (cronegle?) But at least we know you've got a throat with which to crungle - and with Albin's pet harmonizing you're the scariest thing down here.

Another sound from beyond the door - friction, as something slides away. Or perhaps is dragged? Hat takes a cautious step forward, a hair curler in hand. It would be a lot more threatening if it had been plugged in recently, I'm sure.

Still, let me get the door for you.

The hallway is a mess. Doors stretch off in several dark directions. The lights are on the blink, the ceiling partially caved in. There's a smell of damp. Wind howls above an-- hahaha.

#8.30 poll

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frozendeity17 · 1 year

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Aaallll fifty of them, in order, punk! :p

Alright, here we go:

Lumity and Percabeth. Yes, I know TOH just ended and TLT won't be coming out for a hot sec, no I do not care.

Never had one specific color, though I've definitely always preferred cooler colors. Used to love greens, but now indigoes, violets, and dark blues are more my style. Still love a good forest green though.

All of the quotes on that one doc abt unlikely posts. Also, "I think it's silly to be ashamed of your art because it's not in a museum and of your voice because it's not selling out stadiums. There will always be people who enjoy and appreciate what you can do." -Tumblr user venuskissed

Private. I'm not one to share my birthday.

Also private. Not today, fae fuck.

See #4.

Honestly, I don't know. I think I give them in all of their forms, but as for receiving, I think affirmation is what does it for me. Might be physical contact though, I do love hugs.

Probably a drama, I did like How to Get Away With Murder, even if I only got through the first season and a bit. Designated Survivor was awesome too.

Spain, for one. I don't know what it is about the place, but it has a charm about it for me. Maybe it's the weather. Aside from that, Greece and Italy would be awesome. I'm a little bit of a mythology nerd, so seeing all of the temples and wonders built for these ancient gods sounds like an awesome experience. If I could choose more, Norway and Iceland are both incredibly beautiful places, and I do kind of prefer the cold. Also, I've always wanted to see the aurora borealis in person.

Ooph, this one is difficult. There are a lot of great scents out there. Vanilla's a long-standing favorite, I remember once bringing a bottle of it to school once to show to my friends. Cinnamon rolls smell delicious, as does that smell from the candles we always used to buy. It might've been sandalwood, but I've never been quite sure. Also, there's this one perfume my mom's worn for as long as I can remember - it's a little too sharp to be entirely pleasant, but it's flowery, and nostalgic for me.

"City of Angels" by Em Beihold. She also wrote the trending songs "Numb Little Bug" - the "Do you ever get a little bit tired of life" one - and dueted "Until I Found You" with Stephen Sanchez. I think her songs "Too Precious" and "12345" are also really good.

Stalker. But seriously, probably one of the places listed in #9, or back home, as I have some stuff to do there.

Vanilla. Most pure chocolate ice creams have a bad aftertaste.

Donuts. I don't know what it is about cake, but I've never seemed to like it all that much, even the good ones. It is, honestly, my least favorite dessert that I'll actually eat - I even like eclairs, which are literally just pastry around messy whipped cream that gets everywhere, more than cake. I particularly hate it with that weird gel writing on it. Just...urgh. Donuts are chill tho, and I'll never turn down a solid frosted with sprinkles or Boston Creme.

Black. It's reliable, doesn't stain easily, works well in formal outfits, doesn't show sweat stains, and works on most complexions. Also, I never really wear much color regardless. I would miss that one blue dress shirt I really like - it's comfy as hell.

Haven't read one in ages, despite my massive TBR, but off the top of my head, probably "With great power comes great need to take a nap," by Nico di Angelo from PJO, if only because of how ridiculous yet true it is.

If I can't handle myself In a fight, I'm not subjecting any of y'all to that.

Ice cream. It's more reliable and easily accessible for me, and frankly, cotton candy is too dry as a dessert.

A famous engineer, hopefully. Being an author would be cool, too.

I do not have pet peeves, I am a pet peeve.

Basic Bitch. I suck at fashion and aesthetics and currently have neither the desire nor the capability to improve. My wardrobe is composed entirely of thin shorts, tracksuit pants, and t-shirts, with a singular formal suit. Might try to start painting my nails soon, see how that goes.

As prideful as it may sound, my intelligence. I don't have much street sense, to say the least, but I have a good factual memory, am good at logic puzzles, and am a quick reader, and I'm rather proud of that.

Saturday. Nothing to occupy that day, nor the day after. It's excellent. My favorite weekday? Probably Thursday. Dunno why, it just vibes the best.

I am SUCH a bad night owl. I don't even know why, I always regret it in the mornings too. I guess it's just kinda freeing, not having the expectations.

Neither, hot chocolate reigns supreme.

This is the first half, the second half to come, as Tumblr apparently has a character limit.

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Unnatural

Pairing: Vampire Oikawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Blood...a lot of blood

Summary: You don’t realize just how right you are about there being something different about Oikawa.

There’s something unnatural about Oikawa.

Your fellow managers and assistants for Argentina’s national volleyball team just giggle and tease you when you tipsily voice your concern one day. But you adamantly continue voicing your impromptu dissertation.

Isn’t it weird that he’s never tired? He never even seems to break a sweat!

They wave you off, awestrukenly raving about how hard he works and practices. Of course his endurance is above and beyond the norm.

Strike one.

Fine, but isn’t it a bit strange that he always insists on eating alone?

They shrug. You’re not entirely wrong. It is a little unusual, but lots of people don’t like others watching them when they eat. Besides, he’s Argentina’s new star player and every star has their quirks.

Strike two.

Your fuzzy brain is running out of definite points and you’re well past the number of shots your tolerance allows. Maybe that’s why you blurt out the latest observation that has all your fellow female coworkers shrieking and fawning over Oikawa Tooru.

He literally sparkles in the sun. How is that even humanly possible?!

Don’t be so dramatic. We know you don’t like to admit you’re just as head over heels for him as we are, but even you have to admit he’s eye-catching. No judgement here. After all, none of us can take our eyes off him either when they practice outside in the sun.

They playfully nudge you, grinning and letting you know it’s all in good humor. And you know you’ve officially struck out, all your concerns easily waved away as they order another round of shots and urge you to drink up.

Unknown to you, your doubts aren’t nearly as subtle as you think, although you can’t be blamed for not being aware of Oikawa’s heightened senses. He can feel your eyes intensely examining him, different than the vapid heart-eyes your other companions give him. He can hear you whisper to them about all the little ticks he’s surprised you’ve even noticed.

If he’s honest, he’ll admit you’ve got him off-guard, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in centuries. Was he getting sloppy with mixing in with humanity and hiding his true nature? Was he getting weaker? He tests his glamour just to reassure himself, satisfied by the loud squeals he hears from the rest of the female staff on the sidelines when he gives them a wink and a peace sign. But he pouts at your much less enthused figure.

Why doesn’t his glamour work on you- Oh. He hides a smile as he focuses in on the rabid beating of your heart. Interesting. It does work on you, you’re just a little more resistant about your desires than most.

Mystery solved. You’re not the first hard-headed woman who’s tried to defy the intoxicating nature of his glamour, of his being. And he pays you no more mind. Someone as straight laced as you would never come to the ridiculous conclusion that he’s a vampire.

Except as fate would have it, it’s not you he needs to be worried about. It’s himself that he should be more cautious of.

He can see it all happen in slow motion, knows that his teammate isn’t jumping at the correct angle, knows that the ball is going to go flying errantly. And all he can do is watch in sickening fascination as the volleyball goes hurtling directly at your face. The force of the object crushing your nose echoes in his sensitive ears and he winces in sympathy only to freeze as the most alluring smell begins to overwhelm the gym.

Fuck. Fuck. FUCK.

He’s not a rookie changeling or a newly turned vampire who has no control of his urges. He’s fucking royalty, a pureblood, ancient and well versed even by the high standards of his species. And you are hardly the first human whose blood he’s been around.

Yet it feels like he’s experiencing his first century all over again and it takes every bit of self control he has left not to let chocolate orbs bleed crimson, to let his fangs extend, to drink you dry right there and then. You smell absolutely divine and he humorlessly chuckles at the irony of the predicament he’s in now after his arrogance has led him to criticize so many of his peers over the centuries who’ve given into their base desires and instincts.

Maybe he does owe little Tobio an apology…

But that’s neither here nor now and he focuses on the crowd forming around your fallen figure.

“I’ll take her to the nurse.”

He fights the urge to roll his eyes when his panicked teammate who had caused your injury insists on being the one to take you, guilt evident in the slump of his shoulders. And instead he smiles in an award-worthy act as he adds a bit of glamour to his voice.

“It’s not your fault. Accidents happen in sports. I’ll take her and you just focus on getting your head back in practice. You can apologize as much as you want when she’s all healed up.”

Oikawa always gets his way and he smugly grins as he easily hauls you to the nurse’s office where all it takes is another few glamoured words to have the room emptied and at his disposal. And then it’s just you and him and he hungrily eyes the way blood trails from your nose, down the side of your face, until crimson begins to stain the once white bed sheets.

“Oikawa?”

Oh poor thing. Your voice is nasally, tone confused as you blearily try to understand what’s happening and where you are through the pain. All the better to glamour you with and he coaxes you into laying back down and relaxing, telling you that he’s just there to help you.

You barely register the swipe of something across your face and you assume Oikawa is wiping off the blood. And in a way you’re right. Except instead of a wipe, it’s his tongue languidly licking you clean.

You taste even better than you smell and he can’t hold himself back. He had only wanted a little taste, but there’s no turning back now. Your whimpers of confusion as cold fingers swiftly undress you are quickly shushed and then all you know is a blinding piercing pain followed by an ecstasy you never thought was possible.

All he had wanted was a meal, but you’re insistent on giving him a show as well and who is he to deny your gracious gift? He groans as the scent of your arousal intermingles with the heady tang of your blood, fangs sinking in slightly deeper than he had intended as he unconsciously ruts against your hapless body. With a gasp he lifts himself from your neck, practically growling in impatience and lust as he shoves his shorts and boxers down until his throbbing cock is freed.

He cruelly laughs at how you writhe and moan beneath him, pitifully begging for more, more, more. Pathetic little human. You don’t even know what you’re asking for and his cock twitches at how cute you’d look, terrified at the realization of what he is, what he had done to you, and how you had liked it, loved it even. He’s almost tempted to pull you out of your forced haze now, wondering if your horrified screams would be even more melodic than your wanton moans. But there’s no time for that now and he wants his first time to be uninterrupted, even as adorable as you are when you fight back.

With all your walls forced to come crashing down, you really are an insatiable creature and he darkly grins at how much of a slut you truly are, practically gushing and cumming with every bite. He sinks his fangs into the swells of your breasts, smirking at how your own hands come to roll and twist your nipples, a silly smile spreading across your face. He travels down, moaning as he sees how much slick you’ve accumulated between your legs, piercing your inner thigh and forcing your thrusting hips to stay still as he feasts on you, mixing the blood with your sticky nectar.

You’re so close to another high and he can practically taste the way your heart is skyrocketing, feel the way your body is tightening. He’ll be damned if he misses his opportunity to be intertwined with you as you break apart once again and he rapidly adjusts himself, once again roughly sinking his fangs into the crook of your neck as he slams balls deep inside of you in one thrust.

The dual sensation is more than enough to have you tumbling over the edge and your scream echoes as your vision turns black and white as your eyes roll into the back of your head. But unlike the previous times where Oikawa had shown mercy and given you at least some time to recover from your climaxes by slowing down his ministrations and licking your open wounds close, this time he only becomes rougher as your orgasm crashes around you.

His hips thrust in and out of you at an inhuman pace. He’s drinking so much from you that you can feel the beginning of lightheadedness from the blood loss. You’re literally dying, but all you can do is take it and moan, lost in the pleasure, lost in the haze he’s enveloped you in. And just when you think this is the end, that your life is over, you whimper, clutching the rumpled linens tight as he slams one last time inside of you and fills you full of sticky seed.

You’re a sight for sore eyes, looking absolutely fucked silly and blissed out despite the borderline grotesque rivulets of blood staining almost every inch of you. It’s like you were made to be a blood pet and despite having just had his way with you, he can feel lust stirring inside of him once again at the thought of you collared and bound to his throne, his bed, your only purpose to sustain him with the lifeforce running through your veins.

But all in due time and he calls the nurse back to attend to you once all hints of foul play are gone before walking back to practice, a thoughtful smile on his lips as he begins to plan, already thinking of what else he has in store for you and eager for another taste of you.

Didn’t you recently say you were living alone?

#yandere oikawa #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu smut #oikawa smut #oikawa x reader #tw: yandere #tw: dubcon #tw: noncon

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biggest-stupidhead · 3 years

Text

Bad Timing (Levi x reader) Part 4

Summary: How do you tell your best friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend?

Warnings: Kissing, and some light petting, underage drinking?

Word Count: 5.7K

Levi wasn't surprised to see that Erwin and Hange did not in fact make an appearance at Mike's party. The party turned out to be much bigger than he anticipated, even freshman showed up. Petra was social, dragging him with her as she bounced around the house, easily conversing with the other party goers. Levi licked his lips as he brought his red solo cup back up to his mouth for another sip. In that moment that dipshit Eren Jaeger brushed past him, jostling him and causing a few drops of his drink to land on his stark white hoodie. His grey eyes locked on the brunette who held his hands up as he apologized profusely. The red kool aid that he had used to mix in his drink already staining.

Petra remained deathly still, as did Gunther as they waited for his reaction. Levi scoffed, pushing past Eren and stalked towards the front door, meaning to go remove the stain with his tide pen he kept in his car. Eren sighed with relief as he watched the raven haired male retreat. Petra groaned, slapping Eren's shoulder before following Levi out of the house. She found him standing by his car, the trunk popped as he rummaged through his bag of miscellaneous items that he kept in case of emergencies.

Petra kept her distance as she watched him pull the soiled sweat shirt over his head, the t-shirt he wore underneath riding up as well, revealing his creamy abdomen. The moon was bright above, casting ominous shadows across Mike's wooded yard. Petra shifted uncomfortably as she watched Levi dab at the red stain, his eyebrows pinched together in concentration. She wasn't sure what was wrong with Levi but he was more tense than usual. She figured that he wasn't in the mood for a party, but then again when was he not? Technically the two weren't exclusive, although that was Petra's end game. He sighed in frustration, setting the sweat shirt down in his trunk and throwing the pen in carelessly.

"Forget it. I'm going to Erwin's to properly remove this stain." he said as he shut the trunk. Petra blinked, wandering if that meant he wanted her to accompany him to the Smith residence.

"Oh...I'll go with you!" she said enthusiastically, turning to walk around the car to the passenger side. Levi shook his head and waved her off.

"Nah, don't worry about it. I'll just catch up with you tomorrow." he said as he climbed into the drivers seat and started the car. Petra felt the brief sting of rejection as she watched him pull out of the drive way. But then she remembered his promise to speak with her the next day and decided that this would be good enough for now. A small victory in this long fight for Levi's attention and affections.

Levi drove slowly down the empty county road. This was a bad idea and he knew it, Erwin was mad at him, he was probably the last person he wanted to see. But still Levi turned into the long winding drive, sure to shut his head lights off. The house sat on a slight hill, the wrap around porch had been decorated with strings of bat lights, and various pumpkins and gourds. The olive green paint job always looked best in the fall with the colorful leaves of the forrest surrounding the house. He pulled into his usual spot under the basketball hoop, he shut off the engine and leaned onto the center counsel to peek into the large windows.

Erwin's minivan was absent, as was Hange's CRV. The house was uncharacteristically dark, usually you would be in the kitchen cooking, or maybe seated in the living room with Hange working on homework. Erwin would usually spend his time in the dining room away from Hange's ranting while he tried to work. Levi climbed out of his seat and popped the trunk, pulling his sweatshirt from the trunk. He locked his car, pausing to flip through his key ring for the spare house key that Erwin had given to him quite some time ago. He hesitated before inserting the key into the lock. He turned it slowly, relieved to hear the lock click, he turned the knob and stepped cautiously into the dark entry way. He kicked off his shoes and frowned at the lack of shoes on the mat. He did recognize your filthy air force 1s but he didn't see Erwin's massive nikes or Hange's ancient chocos.

He continued on into the kitchen, setting his keys down on the counter with a heavy sigh of defeat. He then refocused on the task at hand, setting off down the dark hall to the laundry room. He switched the light on and set to work on scrubbing the stain out. Levi sighed with relief as he studied his hard work. Just as he hung the sweat shirt up to dry he heard a creak from upstairs. He shut the door to the laundry room and slowly made his way down the dark hall. He rounded the corner, his gunmetal eyes widening a fraction when he met your own (e/c) eyes. He stopped before he could bump into you, your hands flew up and clutched at the small towel that was wrapped around you, your damp hair gathered in another towel. You screamed, staggering backwards, your back hitting the wall and the towel wrapped around your head falling off as you clutched at your chest.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You managed to gasp out as you regulated your racing heart. Levi whipped his head to the side, favoring to look into the dark hall way then acknowledge the lack of clothing you wore. You sighed as you relaxed, turning to walk around Levi and down the hall to the laundry room. Levi turned his head sharply to look the opposite direction once again, a small dusting of pink covered his cheeks. He had never seen you so well... naked. He flinched when you brushed past him again, only this time you were wearing one of Erwin's hoodies, your fists balled up at the bottom to add length to the long sweat shirt.

"Don't look you perv!" you yelped, your face redder than a tomato as you shuffled past him. Levi brought his hand up and over his eyes, fighting a smirk.

"Don't flatter yourself, not like you've got much to look at." he scoffed, pleased to hear you gasp at the jab.

"What are you even doing here?" you sputtered, leaning against the wall and tugging the front of the sweatshirt down over the tops of your thighs.

"I had to remove a stain on my sweat shirt. Stupid Jeager kid spilled my drink." he grunted, groping blindly for the edge of the counter to lean against. You smiled at the sight, his hand finally landing on the counter, he pulled himself closer and leaned forward on his elbows.

"Why'd you come here? Why not just ask Mike to use his shit?" you asked relaxing a bit without his intense gaze on your vulnerable self.

"Have you smelled the guy? I doubt he knows where the detergent is kept in his house." Levi scoffed as he made himself comfortable, using his foot to pull a stool out to sit on.

"H-Have you eaten anything?" you asked after a moment.

"No, why does it matter?" he asked, his brows furrowing as he listened to you shift against the wall. You turned back down the hall way and dug around in the hamper, finally finding a pair of old boxers to tug on. You immediately felt better now that you were at least half way dressed.

"You want anything? I have leftovers." you offered, he felt your presence behind him as you walked to the fridge.

"Uh..." you were weird like that, always so tolerable of his teasing. You were beginning to take on more of Erwin's characteristics, although you weren't as much of a push over as he was just yet.

"Fine, I could eat." he said, spreading his fingers to see you pawing through the fridge, your back to him. He frowned at the sight of the forest green boxers that hung loosely off your hips. Not just any boxers, his boxers. The ones that he kept here along with a few other items of clothing since he basically lived here anyway. He quickly clenched his fingers together again as you turned around with your arms full of Chinese food containers.

"Oh, you can look now." you mumbled awkwardly as you dished out some fried rice and lo mein noodles into a dish to microwave. Levi drug his hand down his face, stopping over his mouth to cover his smirk as he took in your appearance. Damp hair, Erwin's sweat shirt no longer covering your lower half, the baggy boxers sagging enough to show your hip bones.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked, pointing a finger at the underwear. Your face turning red once again.

"Erwin's laundry, don't make it weird okay?" you said as you turned back to the task at hand.

"Those aren't Erwin's." Levi deadpanned, his eyes trained on your waist. You froze, your eyes widening at his words, if your face had been red before, it was now crimson.

"I-" what were you supposed to do? Say sorry? Go change? This was so awkward.

"Keep em. They look better on you anyway." he huffed in amusement as you finally turned to look at him.

"Gross." was all you said, your ears and neck flushed as you stuck the plate into the microwave. Levi smirked at the sight of you leaning up on your tiptoes, your hair had left a damp spot on Erwin's white sweatshirt. You set the timer for a minute, settling back onto your feet you began running your fingers through your damp hair to untangle the knots.

"So...you really left a party to get a stain out of your sweatshirt?" you asked, a small smile spreading across your face.

"Yeah, would've bugged me all night." he sighed, the mere thought of the red ugly stain making him cringe.

"Really? Was it a good party?" you pressed, a knowing smirk curling onto your face as you began to understand why he had really left.

"It was mediocre." Levi grunted, raising to his feet he moved to the cabinet with pots and pans. He pulled out the tea kettle and filled it water to boil. Leaning against the counter, Levi took the opportunity to check you out some more. Although you were still young, he still appreciated the insane amount that you had grown in the short time he had known you.

He could remember you being a snotty brat, begging to be included. He remembered the time that you had gotten into a scrap with Nile, the older boy had easily won, much to all the boys amusement. He huffed at the memory, those were simpler times. He finished filling the kettle, he slid past you to set the pot on the stove, you flinched and he frowned. He lit the stove before turning to study your face, your nose was wrinkled at his closeness, eyes glued to his hands, your mouth was pressed into a firm line.

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked, genuinely curious in your answer. You blinked, your eyes turning to meet his steely gaze as he waited for an answer. Memories of Levi and Erwin's other buddies chasing you around the house, pulling your hair, or just being plain cruel to you.

"No...not really." you said, your voice cracking, of course you were weary around him given your past encounters, but you knew he wouldn't hurt you too bad.

"Then don't act like it. Makes me feel guilty." he scoffed, still standing uncharacteristically close to you. Relief flooded you when the sound of the microwave filled the kitchen. You pulled the food from the microwave and turned to grab a fork for Levi. You stuck the fork into the food and handed Levi the plate, he thanked you, but remained standing next to you. He twirled the noodles onto his fork and took a bite, his eyes still fixated on your own. He chewed the food slowly, his eyes shifted around the kitchen, and he frowned, where had Hange and Erwin ran off to?

"So, where did your idiot brother run off to then?" he asked casually, taking another bite of the noodles.

"Oh, um I think he and Hange went out to dinner and back to her place." you said, rubbing the back of your neck as you eyed a bottle of wine that you had been meaning to open.

"Hange's place?" Levi quirked a brow at the notion, her parents were almost as crazy as her, the house was basically the laboratory, filled with petri dishes and lab rats.

"Yeah, I guess her folks are out on some research trip." you shrugged, moving to open the bottle of red wine. Levi sank back onto the stool, his eyes turned downward as he focused on the food.

"Figures." he scoffed as he twirled another fork-full of noodles.

"Wine?" you asked, digging the opener into the cork. Levi shook his head and held up a hand, seeing as his mouth was full.

"Suite yourself." you muttered as you popped the cork from the bottle, you stretched up to grab a wine glass for yourself. Levi once again appreciated the way your ass looked in his underwear, cringing once he realized he was checking you out. Erwin would annihilate him if he found out that Levi was checking you out. He averted his gaze and quickly finished his noodles and rice, fighting off the thoughts of you and your perfect ass. You poured yourself a full glass and Levi raised a skeptical brow at the sight.

Your shoulders visibly relaxed as you sipped the wine, a sigh escaping your lips as you wandered into the living room and sank onto the couch. Levi placed his dishes in the sink, turning his attention to the low whistle of the kettle. He turned the stove off and poured him self a cup of chamomile tea. He dunked the tea bag in the hot water as he pondered following you, or going into the guest room to pass out. He chose the former. Placing his cup down gently on the coaster, the glass clinking in the silence. You had your legs folded beneath you, arm resting on the arm of the couch holding your wine glass.

Your eyes shifted over to sneak a glance at him, but quickly averted when you were met with steely grey eyes. You slid your legs out from underneath you and swung them over the couch, the room was eerily quiet, only the sound of your heart racing in your chest as you withered under Levi's intense gaze.

"See, that's what I mean." he scoffed, leaning to grab his cup.

"What?" you yelped at his words.

"You act all jittery around me." Levi grunted, gesturing towards the way you had pressed yourself tightly against the arm of the couch.

"To be fair, you did pick on me a lot a few years back, and still do." you whispered the last part, your cheeks flushed from the wine and the honesty behind your words.

"Tch" Levi clicked his tongue, his intense gaze finally falling from your face to your lap, where your hands were fiddling with the stem of the wine glass. You swallowed thickly before setting the glass down on the coffee table, not caring enough to find a coaster. Levi frowned at the sight, leaning over, his hand landing on the couch beside your thigh as he reached to set your glass on the nearest coaster. You sank deeper into the leather, your heart racing when he didn't move his hand, his eyes flicked back onto you as he slowly brought his other hand to rest on the arm of the couch. Caging you in, he remained seated on the sofa, his thigh pressing against yours. You licked your lips as you stared into his cold eyes.

"Wha-"

"I don't want you to be scared of me anymore." he cut you off, his eyes suddenly much softer.

"It's okay really Levi, I promise." you whimpered as he shifted his weight again, his hand lifted off the sofa and fell on your upper thigh, causing your heart to skip a beat. You looked down, your damp hair covering your eyes, cheeks flaring back up into a crimson blush. His head tilted to the side as he studied your reaction.

"Hey, look at me." he murmured, his hand squeezing to get your attention. You slowly lifted your chin and met his eyes, he sighed eyes soft as he studied your flustered face.

"I-Levi what are you doing?" you stuttered, his breath fanned over your face as he lowered his gaze to your lips.

"What do you think I'm doing?" he whispered as he leaned in, his hand sliding up from your thigh to disappear beneath the large hoodie. You allowed your own eyes to drift down to his lips as he neared you. His hands were cold and you flinched as he squeezed your side, you licked your lips, gathering the courage to close the gap. You sat up straighter, tilting your head to the right as you brushed the tip of your nose with Levi's. He let out a shaky breath, you could already taste the chamomile on his mouth, it was unbelievably enticing.

You'd never felt this intense urge before, not that wasn't the word. Lust. You timidly pressed your lips to his, your eyes screwed shut, all your senses overwhelmed with this intimate moment. Just as quickly as you had taken his lips with you own you pulled back, a loud smack filling the room as your lips parted. Levi followed you as you pulled away, his arm around your waist suddenly pulling you onto his lap as he relaxed back into the couch, now you sat perched over him, both of his hands holding your hips. He raised a brow at you as you splayed your hands across his chest, not missing the rapid beating of his heart.

"Your heart's beating really fast." you stated, a coy smirk spreading across your lips as you leaned in to nuzzle against his pale neck. Levi ran his hands up your sides, one wandering up your back beneath your hoodie, he paused not exactly shocked to find that you wore no bra. You turned, once again brushing your nose with his, but this time Levi was the one to capture your lips in a searing kiss. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip and you gladly opened your mouth wider for him. A sigh escaped your chest as you tasted the chamomile on his tongue, your own tongue brushing against his. You barely registered his hand on your jaw, little lone his other hand that tugged at the base of your hair on the back of your head. Your own hands gripped the front of his shirt for dear life as you pressed yourself down onto him. Finally you pulled back, the need for a full breath of oxygen overcoming your desire. Levi pressed his forehead against yours as you both inhaled deep lungfuls of air. His hand slid down your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his hand finally settled over your heart, fingers splayed across your collar bones.

"Your heart is also beating fast." he mused, grey eyes glinting mischievously as you blushed, his hands still cold against your burning skin.

"And you have cold hands." you snapped back, bringing your own hand to rest on top of Levi's. His other hand returned to your waist, toying with the hem of his boxers.

"Sorry." he muttered, releasing the hem so that it fell loosely over your hips once more, a small smirk on his lips as he watched them hang off your hips, relishing in the bare skin he could see. You grunted, leaning down to rest your head on his chest. The sound of his heart beating making you smile fondly. Just as Levi was moving to wrap his arms around you, you turned and grabbed your wine, taking a long sip, eyes trained on Levi. His gaze darkened at the sight of the liquid sliding down your throat as you swallowed.

He reached up and took the glass from your hands before returning it to its place on the coffee table. You pursed your lips as you watched him grip your hips tightly, suddenly he rolled you over, your back hitting the sofa with a soft thud. Your eyes widened as you looked up at Levi's stony face, his grey eyes shining in the dim moonlight that gleamed through the large windows. He was so beautiful, your breath caught in your throat as he leaned down to take your mouth in his once more, this time he kissed you slowly. His tongue lapping at yours, savoring the lingering taste of wine. You reciprocated his motions, your hands resting on his sides as he slowly sank down on top of you, his weight oddly comforting. When he pulled away a string of saliva connecting the two of you, a smile spread easily across your face as you admired Levi's delicate features. He furrowed his brows in confusion at your wide grin.

"What?" he whispered, sinking his face into the crook between your neck and shoulder, deeply inhaling your scent. You giggled, his breath tickling you.

"Nothing, just...I never anticipated..." you trailed off as you felt him stiffen above you.

"Huh?" he pulled back to examine your face as you spoke, a brow raised, unsure of the meaning behind your words.

"I just never thought you wanted to be my friend. I thought you barely tolerated my existence." you chuckled nervously, shifting your hips against his. He grunted, his lips were drawn into a thin line as he thought of what to say.

"You have... always been important to me." he finally settled on those words in hopes of calming your anxieties and insecurities.

"Oh? Well I guess that you are kinda important to me too." you smirked, enjoying the slight blush that painted his pale cheeks, and the way his brows drew together.

"Tch." he clicked his tongue and leaned down, planting a kiss on the corner of your lips, another giggle as you turned in an attempt to kiss him. He ducked his head once more into the crook of your neck and began kissing the skin he could reach, impatiently tugging the hoodie down to expose your collarbone. You turned to give him better access, your eyes slipping shut as you basked in his attention.

The loud ring of your phone startled both of you, Levi's lips withdrawing with a string of saliva attached to your neck. You groaned, digging your phone out from between the cushions, blinking in shock at Eren's name on your screen. Levi remained glued to your side, his arms keeping you close.

"Eren?" your voice was thick, breaths still short and airy as you tried to compose yourself.

"(Y/n)! Thank god I got a hold of you! I need a place to crash for the night, I'm piss drunk and Mike's place is filled to the brim." his voice was light, a bit suggestive if you strained your ears. Levi grunted, reminded of his unfortunate encounter with the hot headed boy.

"I guess you can stay here, you bringing your friends too?" you sighed as you rolled off of Levi to stand up and compose yourself.

"Uh yeah if that's alright." Eren mumbled back, feeling the slight sting of your subtle rejection.

"Ok, do you... need me to come get you guys or..." you asked, trying to fill the awkward silence.

"Uh no, I think walking would do us some good, need to um sober up." he stuttered, your shoulders sagged with relief. You didn't have a car, or license meaning that Levi would have to drive you.

"Ok be safe." you said, hanging up quickly. Turning your attention back to Levi, who had an arm thrown over the back of the couch, legs spread wide.

"What was that about?" he asked, leaning forward to take a sip of his tea, grimacing when he realized too late that the liquid had grown cold. You smiled at him, moving to take a sip of your wine as well.

"I told Eren he and his buddies could crash here tonight." you sighed, turning to go unlock the front door so they could let themselves in.

"Why would you go and do that?" Levi's callous tone made your stomach twist into knots.

"I dunno, cause I'm nice like that I guess." you shrugged, dropping back down onto the couch and smiling coyly at him. Slowly your smile fell from your lips and you turned to face away from him.

"You've always been a pushover." Levi teased, a weak attempt at bringing your smile back. You huffed in amusement. But now that you'd had some time to think, you remembered Jean. You remembered him asking you to be his girlfriend. All though you hadn't given him a definite answer, you still felt the guilt creeping into your heart.

"I'm sorry about earlier, it was a mistake." you apologized, eyes averted. Levi scoffed, his hand landing heavily on the back of your head, gently he turned you to face him.

"I'm not." his voice was husky, grey eyes still clouded with lust. You shook your head and licked your lips.

"You should be. What about Petra?" you whimpered, his hand tightening its grip on the back of your head.

"I don't owe her anything, she's probably sleeping with Oluo right now." his words were dripping with venom, and you didn't miss the small glint of hurt in those grey irises. You flinched for Petra's sake, she wasn't a bad person, you knew that.

"But, it's not right Levi." you urged, your hand gripping his wrist and gently pulling it from behind your head. His eyebrows pinched together, rejection wasn't something that he was familiar with.

"I like you but, this is just bad timing." you chuckled darkly, taking his hand in your own you grazed your thumb over his knuckles.

"That's a load of shit." Levi hissed, turning his face away, his bangs hiding his gunmetal eyes.

"Look, all I'm saying is that you'll be graduating soon and I wouldn't want to slow you down or anything..." you mumbled, giving his hand a squeeze. Levi turned back to face you, a scowl glued to his face.

"I don't give a damn about any of that shit." he hissed, squeezing your hand back, his eyes filled with sincerity.

"But I do, I want you to get out of this shitty town and I want you to live." you didn't look sad, your eyes seemed to sparkle with admiration.

"God you sound like your brother." he quipped, turning away from your starry-eyed gaze.

"Maybe, but it's really for the best Levi." you sighed, sliding your hand out from under his with reluctance.

"So...what you're saying is that if I go to school and become successful then you'll let me tap that?" he smirked at you, that same sad glint in his eye, despite his teasing tone.

"Basically." you giggled at his words and smiled broadly at him. He scoffed, certain that this was one of those traits that you shared with your brother.

"Fine, I'd better get going before those brats show up." He sighed, standing up slowly, his hand slipping from your loose grasp.

"Ok, I'll see you around?" You beamed up at him, from your seat on the couch, and he nodded, grabbing his cup to place in the sink. You rose with him, sad to see him go, but you knew that it was for the best.

"Sure." Levi mumbled, gently setting his cup in the sink and turning to the foyer to pull his shoes on while you leaned against the counter. The house was still dark, making it hard to see Levi's face as he tugged on his vans and Erwin's jean jacket that was hanging on the hooks nearby.

"Drive safe." you called after him as he left, he didn't even glance back. But that was just Levi for you, so you stalked to the door and locked it. Leaning against the cool surface and sliding down to crouch on the floor, resting on your haunches. The sound of Levi's car starting filled the silence, and his head lights lit up the dark house for a moment as he pulled out of the drive way. If you listened closely you could hear his music, a small smile graced your lips, before the mental images of you and Levi filled your head.

God what were you thinking? Such an idiot, you should have never kissed him, now he wouldn't want to be your friend, probably thought you were a prude. You hit your head softly against the door once, then harder a second time, you had to be better, you couldn't be this impulsive in the future. With a heavy sigh you heaved yourself back onto your feet to pull out extra blankets for your guests. About ten minutes later the trio arrived, clearly a bit tipsy, Armin's cheeks were flushed and his eyes glazed over, clearly tired. Eren was propped up between Armin and Mikasa, his cheeks were also flushed and his eyes were unfocused. Mikasa was fine as always. You grabbed water bottles for them and helped them downstairs, where you had set up their pillows and blankets on the couch. Mikasa let out a tiny sigh of relief when she lied Eren down, rolling him onto his side. You helped Armin down, he was babbling incoherently, his hands holding tightly to your forearms.

"You're so pretty (Y/n), thank you so much for...for" His face screwed up and you whipped your head around, looking for something that he could throw up into. Your eyes settled on an old bowl that still had some popcorn kernels at the bottom. You leaned over and scooped up the bowl and held it under his chin, running your hand through his blond locks to pull the strands framing his face back. He leaned forward and heaved, only a small amount coming out. Mikasa clicked her tongue, holding the bottle of water up to Eren's lips.

"I'm sorry." she apologized as she opened Armin's bottle, once you were sure he was done you reached around to the side table for a tissue to wipe his face. You took the bottle from Mikasa and held it to his lips, he took it gratefully and took long swigs. You took the bowl and quickly dumped the contents into the toilet and flushed, you rinsed the bowl and brought it back out incase either of them needed it again. Mikasa was slouched against the couch, the boys having already fallen asleep, you set the bowl down an even amount between the two of them.

"You can sleep up stairs with me if you want." you offered, slowly standing and holding a hand out to help her up. She glanced at Eren and pursed her lips in thought.

"Fine." She relented, taking your hand she spared one last glance at the boys as you switched off the lights and went up stairs. You could feel her eyes on your ass as you climbed the stairs, and at first you weren't sure why, but then you remembered that you were wearing boxers. You tugged at the hem of your sweatshirt, a blush dusting your cheeks. Once you reached the main level of the house you walked around and switched off the kitchen lights and the lamps that were on in the living room.

Mikasa waited patiently at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the rail, and a foot on the first step. Finally the room fell into darkness as you flicked off the last lamp and you groped your way to Mikasa. She huffed in amusement when your hands met her shoulder, she pulled you around the corner and up onto the stairs. You both climbed up the stairs, you giggling as she held on to you, her hand warm on your arm. You stumbled into your room and you fell onto your bed, a sigh leaving your lips. She fell next to you, the moon illuminating the second floor bedroom through the slit in your curtains.

"So you going to tell me whose underwear you're wearing?" She asked, a playful glint in her eyes. You huffed and shoved her shoulder as you rolled over to face her.

"They're Levi's." you admitted, relishing in the way her mouth opened in surprise.

"Gross why?" she asked, tugging the comforter up over the both of you.

"Well he showed up and I was only in a towel so I wasn't picky when I was digging through Erwin's laundry." You chuckled at the recent memory. She also let out an amused grunt, her steely eyes seemed to flash in the moonlight.

"Stupid shorty. I thought for sure he was going start a brawl at Mike's earlier." she scoffed, her distaste for Levi evident as she spoke.

"Why am I not surprised?" you rolled your eyes, knowing how explosive Eren could be when he was drunk and how easy Levi was to piss off.

"I wasn't surprised at all." Mikasa suddenly looked older, her eyes tired and her features pale in the small amount of moonlight in the room. You shifted, turning on your side to face her, she licked her lips and averted her eyes. You had always admired Mikasa's composure, she carried herself with such elegance and maturity. You only wished that she wouldn't try to shoulder the weight of the world alone, much like another Ackerman that you knew. She rolled over, her shoulders rigid, clearly she was done talking. With a sigh you tugged the comforter up over your shoulder and closed your eyes.

"Good night Mikasa."

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thelibrarina · 5 years

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Okay, buckle up buckaroos, because today I met an honest-to-goodness cryptid.

I was out running errands and I made a stop at Intimate Books (…for a friend), and on my way out I realized that the bookshop next door was open.

This bookshop has existed for more than a hundred years, and in all my life it has NEVER BEEN OPEN. I mean, I assume it has to be open sometimes, but never at any normal, reasonable hour. Everyone says it’s a front for the mob or something.

So what do you do when the weird mafia bookshop is open? You go the fuck inside.

The first thing I noticed was the smell. You know that smell when you accidentally leave your towel on the bathroom floor all day and you come back to that mildew funk? The shop smelled like that times a thousand. I expected to see stuff growing on the walls, but the books were pristine. We’re talking first editions, rare editions, weird Bibles and books inscribed to really famous dead people. Librarians would weep for the chance to accession this place. In the first two minutes I found a signed copy of The Crucible and what I think was a first edition of Blake’s Book of Thel.

Then a clerk showed up out of nowhere—honestly nowhere. He looked EXACTLY like a bookseller should look, kind of fluffy and bewildered and really, really gay.

“Are you lost?” was the first thing he said to me.

“Nope. Just browsing, thanks.”

“Browsing, I see. Erm. How do you feel about snakes?” he asked. And without waiting for me to answer, he just walked away and vanished around a shelf.

I figured it was a metaphor, or a code phrase for the mafia. Until I turned a corner like ten minutes later and found a little reading nook. It was really pretty, although I feel like that particular window should have been on an interior wall? Anyway, curled up in an armchair in a patch of sunlight was the biggest fuck-off black snake I have ever seen.

Like, I don’t mind snakes in general. But in their normal context, right? Outside. On the ground. Not six feet long and sitting on a threadbare velvet armchair like it owns the place.

I was about to turn around and leave, but I saw a gorgeous first-edition copy of Leaves of Grass on a shelf, a little too close to the snake for comfort. But I had never needed anything so badly in my life.

So I went back to the counter to buy it, but the clerk was nowhere to be found.

While I was waiting, I noticed a collection of pictures hanging on the wall behind the counter, dating back to the very dawn of photography. A couple were of this rock-star looking guy from the 70s that I should probably have recognized, but there were authors and landscapes and stuff, too. There was even an old tintype portrait of Oscar freaking Wilde, sitting in this very shop with a guy that I would ACTUALLY SWEAR was the clerk from before. Like, I know my family all has the same nose, but this guy had the same everything.

After approximately one year of waiting, the clerk came back out to the desk. By now I’ve realized that he’s too bad at his job to be anything but the owner of the shop.

“I saw your snake,” I told him.

“Did you? Was he behaving himself?”

“He was sleeping.”

“Yes, he enjoys that.”

“Does he just stay out in the open like that? What if he gets out?”

He shrugged and smiled. “He always comes home again, the dear boy.”

Right, a homing snake. That’s totally normal.

Then he cleared his throat and asked, in a weirdly reluctant voice, if I was going to buy the Whitman.

“Yes, please,” I told him. “I saw it on a shelf by the snake, and it was just too tempting.”

He sighed. “Oh, yes, I expect it was.”

When I started to hand him my card, he went all fluttery and said that they didn’t take cards.

All right, fine. I had some cash on me, but I told him that he’d sell a lot more books if he got a Square or something.

He got this scandalized look on his face and went, “Why would I want to do that?”

Oookay. I handed over the cash and he popped open the ancient till and started making change.

In shillings. Shillings! I swear to god I saw Queen Anne’s face on one of them. The silver value of the coins was probably as much as I paid for the book.

But I had to have proof that this happened—at that point, all I had was a book in a plain brown wrapper, not appreciably different from what I bought next door. So I asked him for a receipt.

He looked delighted and wrote one up for me.

By hand.

With a fountain pen.

And that’s the story of how I met a bookseller cryptid and his pet snake.

#good omens #good omens shitposting #my fic #aziraphale #crowley #guest appearance by oscar wilde #the book in the photo is a bible and I'm going to hell #sorry my spencerian hand sucks #lefty problems

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mad-hare · 3 years

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Here's a weird guinea pig question: Why do sows handle pregnancy/birth so poorly? From what I understand they only have a couple babies at a time and even good births are tough on them...I ask because I've been reading about food production in no-income rural areas, and guinea pigs are really common in a lot of countries. Even with their litter sizes, they'd be so practical if they had easier births. Is it possible to select for that, or is it just part of their species? :<

I'm not really sure how to answer this well because generally I would look to the wild ancestor for more information but information about the -most likely- ancestor of domestic guinea pig (Cavia tschudii) is sort of lacking. And in terms of them being raised for food in South America still, a lot of the information is not available online in English either.

Adult size, litter size, and gestation are all similar between domestic and wild ones. Wild cavies might be picked off by predators well before they reach two years of age, while a breeder may still be trying to breed a two year old pig. In the wild they live in rocky grasslands and use tunnels and caves so a heavily pregnant sow may go into hiding near the end of pregnancy.

A final guess that's entirely theoretical is head size and shape (which is the most difficult thing to push out for a guinea pig or a human). This wild guinea pig appears to have a very long, narrow, head:

This "poor pet quality" guinea pig seems to have a sort of similar head shape:

While in a nice show quality pig, we prefer this blunt, rounded head. It's entirely theoretical and coming to a conclusion about it would require a ton more information about wild guinea pigs! But it's just one idea. It's entirely possible there are other reasons our show guinea pigs are more fragile, when you select for things on a solely visual basis you may be losing a ton of other health related genes. Maybe they are more narrow in the hips than wild pigs.

I can't speak for meat cavies, cuy, but a rabbit is infinitely more productive than a guinea pig in terms of pounds of meat it can output. A rabbit can produce litters pretty consistently for over five years, while we tend to retire a cavy after three litters tops (not sure how long meat cuy go for though). Why would Indigenous South Americans domesticate the cavy despite poor production? Well, guinea pigs are small and easy to grab and must have been readily available. The wild ones must have adapted well to captivity. If you are an ancient villager you are only feeding livestock scraps or grass generally, so it's not exactly a huge drain on your resources to produce something "less efficient" in our modern viewpoint. This just happened to be an animal that meshed well into the lifestyle of those who domesticated it. Today cuy are much larger than their ancestors, so selection of some sort occurred. They might be hardy and vigorous compared to our smell pets.

#answered #one day i will answwer more asks

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cherryblossom-chopper · 3 years

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Liv! 💕

I love how creative and different your matchups are, especially regarding your choice of characters. If you don't mind, I'd love to ask for one for myself too :3

I'm genderfluid and bisexual, in my mid 20s, a Capricorn (though I don't really care about astrology), ISTJ (nor those personality categories) and autistic. I'm okay with any gender of a partner, though I tend to lean more towards masc people.

I'm extremely introverted, wary against unknown people and very cautious when choosing friends. It takes a lot for me to relax around others (even if I'm good at hiding it behind confidence, charisma and a laid back attitude) but once I let someone closer, I am loyal to death, act way more relaxed, playful, even goofy. I don't really care about social boundaries, so I easily come across as rude or weird, even against my intentions. I have sarcastic and dark sense of humor, quite sharp tongue and quite a temper, if someone steps on my boundaries.

But I'm also very protective of people I like and love, passionate about my interests, trying my best to smile at difficulties. I guess I'm a free spirit, a cat-like creature who likes to walk its own paths and will love only a person whom it chooses on its own.

Ah, I'm also stubborn as fuck. And tend to treat myself too harshly, overworking myself, setting too broad goals and such.

I love the simplicity of life: good food, the smell of rain, starry nights, storms, learning, discovering new things. I have broad interests, from literature to science. I speak 2 foreign languages and understand 2 more (and want to learn even more), love reading, writing, stargazing, cooking, travelling. My interest towards my hobbies often switches, right now I'm fixated on ornithology (yes, I'm a bird mom) and Greek history, but there's also: astrophysics, ancient and medieval European history, anthropology, manga (I even work with manga, since I'm a graphic editor), science fiction, thanatology, body modifications and such. Also I'm a gigantic nerd.

Good luck with everything and please, don't overwork yourself! 💕

Bas, dearest, I've given this so much thought 💖

I ship you with Kaku

He is so respectful of your boundaries and won't pressure you into situations that may make you uncomfortable. I think he's very much a slow-and-steady kind of guy. There's no need to rush into anything that will make you uncomfortable.

He will steal a bird for you. Lucci bird is now your pet if that's what you want. I think Kaku is very passionate about what you are passionate about, even if he doesn't understand.

Something I'm picturing is a rainy day inside for the two of you. He's in his comfy clothes, with hot cocoa/tea/coffee, and has set up some sort of pillow fort. Okay, so maybe it's not really a pillow fort, but cozy blankets and pillows make the bed or couch comfortable, so you don't have to move for the rest of the day. He's got a documentary of one of your interests ready to go and a couple backup documentaries in case you don't like the one he's picked. Kaku also has a handful of cartoons on standby. This man will entertain you.

Relationship Trope: Friends to Lovers

#cherryblossom chopper #one picce match ups #december match ups #one piece #livs blossoms

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 3 years

Text

On Illness and Recovery, or: Sickfic, Baby!

You know the drill! Please let me know if you liked it, and check my Twisted Wonderland fanfiction tag if you want other shit I’ve done.

Contains coarse language and emotional whiplash.

~*~*~*~

Some things stay true no matter where you are; the truest, right now? Schools are disgusting fucking petri dishes, as your miserable cold will tell you. Your cough had only been getting worse as the days went on, with it came exhaustion and a chill that wouldn't leave your bones. You should probably be holed up in your dorm instead of going to class, but that had it's own issues that you were struggling to solve.

"Are you done yet? I want to eat." Grimm's nose, and little else, poked out from a pile of blankets on your bed.

"Nowhere close. Shh." You taped the last bit of plastic over the balcony entryway, and swapped the roll of tape for a heavy duty stapler. "Hold that right there."

The skull-faced ghost held a packing blanket over the plastic as you stapled it in place. By the time you were done, you couldn't see much, which at least meant you could no longer see your own breath. Maybe now, you would be able to feel your own fingers.

Ah, they joys of your own rotten, ancient place - you wake up with frost on your bedsheets and your washbasin shattered from the ice within it. There were other rooms in the place, but most had holes in the ceiling or were too big to heat effectively. So now, you were going to live in one room, that you'd yet to figure out how to run electricity to, and only leave for class or the bathroom. Even if you were ill, could anyone blame you for still going to class when your own home had a nasty quirk of being even colder than outside?

Anywho, it was time to do some homework. By the light of an oil lamp. In five layers of clothing. Curled up so close to a tiny fire you might as well be inside of it. While your not-a-cat complained the whole time.

Yaaaaaaay.

~*~*~*~

"You really should be resting."

You scoffed. "You just feel bad because you're the one who got me sick."

"You can't prove that, everyone's had a cold the past few weeks."

"No one else has been exploring my tonsils, dude."

Idia clapped a hand on your mouth, which you did not lick solely because you were wearing a cloth mask. "Quiet! That's secret intel."

"What? No it's not, everyone knows."

"I don't want to advertise. Then I'm a raid boss and you're the rare loot drop."

You elbowed him in his boney ribs. "No one's going to kick your ass out of jealousy. Just because I'm the hottest bitch in this place doesn't mean I've got universal appeal."

"You're still the only girl and people are weird about it." He placed the back of his hand on your forehead and winced. "You're too warm."

"How can you tell? You've got gloves on."

"That's how bad it is. I'll make some tea."

"I'm not drinking anything out of the damned lab equipment."

He frowned. "I've never had anything bad happen, it's cleaned correctly."

"You're smarter than that. One of these days you're going to grow a tail due to residue in the glassware, and I'm going to haul you around in front of god and everyone by it, going 'I told you so' the entire time."

He blanched, knowing that that was not an idle threat, and someone laughed. "I think I should make that happen, just so we can see that."

"Jade, no. No magic mushrooms for my man, or any other concoctionary bullshit either."

Idia looked ready to die, so to take attention off of him you leaned over and poked Silver awake before he fell face first in the potion he was working on. Logically, you know his narcolepsy was debilitating. Right now, you wish you could have borrowed it last night. You don't remember walking up during the night, but you must have, because why else would you be so tired?

He started up, mumbled "thank you" and went back to stirring as if he hadn't been about to drown in dubious magichemicals. God, you wished that was you right now.

"Idia, deal. You help me get through this class, I'll grab some hot food and go home."

He made a show of hemming and hawing before saying, "Grimm needs to let me hold him when I drop you off, and I will."

Ordinarily, you would have just said "Ask him yourself and don't be weird about it," and Grimm would have simply told him no until sufficiently bribed. But Grimm was still in bed at home, saying you kept him up all night, so instead you bumped Idia with your hip and said "What, you can't think to ask for better pussy to fondle?"

Of course, you just had to say something crass at the moment where everyone went quiet. Even Crewel raised his head and both eyebrows at you. The only reason you didn't get a riding crop to the face and a week in horny detention (where, you assumed, they punished you for being a bad girl indeed) was Idia, rapidly going through every stage of confusion and grief, with a few currently unknown to man. You'd intended to tease him, but that sheer amount of confused, horny misery on his face was just too much, and you laughed so hard you bent over.

And coughed. In a short time, there was no laughter left, only miserable coughing from the depths of your chest that left you on the floor with your eyes watering. Someone thumped your back a few times, and when you yanked your mask off to catch a proper, if shallow breath, your mask was full of a red-streaked, pus coloured slime.

A fur coat was draped over your shoulders as everyone made various noises of disgust. "Class dismissed. Let's get you to the nurses."

~*~*~*~

"How in hell are you still mobile."

"Pettiness and a desire to not freeze to death."

Crewel narrowed his eyes at you. "Both lungs."

"That is what double pneumonia means, Professor."

You could see his whip fingers itching. "Yes, well. You can't come to class like that. And... Is it really that bad in Ramshackle?"

Idia raised a hand. "It was really cold the last time I was there."

"Ugh. I told Crowley we should have razed the place for an expansion on my dog run." He looked at you with a curious mix of genuine fondness and even more genuine disgust. "I'm not putting you up until your place gets fixed, you'll leak all over my furniture. Anyone here going to babysit?"

"I've done perfectly fine in my own dorm, I don't need to become the pet of another dorm."

"Those little fairies said that if you don't stay on bedrest and stay warm, you will die. I am not filling out that paperwork." He looked to you classmates. "Speak up or I'm docking a letter grade."

Silver raised a hand. "I think we could do it but I don't think D- Lilia would let me. Malleus would end up trying to play nurse and skip class."

"Oh god, no, we don't tell him I'm sick until I'm safely ensconced somewhere, he would lose his damn mind and I'd try to strangle him after a week of it."

"There are no spare rooms in Octanivelle. However, I could try some experimental medicines I've been-"

"Jade, no."

Idia was quiet, before speaking up. "I... I don't know if Ignihyde has a spare room, or would be good for healing."

He'd not left your side since your collapse, and gone so full of writhing, barely concealed anxiety he'd broke through the other side and simply shut off. You didn't get it, it wasn't actually anything serious. The nurses had pumped you full of medicine, you'd be up and about a week or two at the most, instead of the month's worth of hospital rooms and bad food it would have been.

Crewel sighed. "Time to start checking the files to see where you can be squeezed."

There was a cough, from the fifth student so quiet despite his size. Everyone had honestly forgotten he was there.

When he spoke up, it was to you, and not anyone else. "There's an unoccupied room down the hall from me. I think the weather in the Savannahclaw dorms will be good for your health. You shouldn't have to stay where you won't be wanted, or get sicker. Would that work?"

You looked at him, assessing. You and him hadn't talked overmuch, and he didn't seem to mind. But as severe as he looked? You could see the sincerity in his offer.

"That should work. Jack, right?"

His ears flicked, and his tail twitched. "Yes."

"Thank you, Jack. You're very kind."

~*~*~*~

Easy to see why the room was empty. You suspected it might have been a storage room, or that there had been a monastic order in the dorm at one point. A single bed just fit the far wall, with a chair, a desk, a bureau, and little else. But the far wall had a large window, and the room felt... nice. And a hell of a lot warmer than than your room in Ramshackle.

"It'll make an excellent sickroom." You set your schoolbag and an entire case of tissues on the desk. "Thank you again, Jack. You sure it won't be any trouble?"

"I've already cleared it with our dorm leader, he said he doesn't care as long as you don't rub phlegm on his things." Jack was a solid block of frown and muscle in the corner. "The window does open, you should keep it that way for circulation. There's a bathroom down the hall, there's showers in there. If you need anything or anyone tries to bother you, please let me know."

"Will do." You were already unpacking the few things in your bag, trying to get them arranged before another coughing fit took you.

"I can help get your things, if you need?" For a dude who was very do-that-shit-yourself, he was being very helpful.

"Idia's grabbing Grimm and anything else I'll need. He'll know what I want."

"I see." Silence, and more interesting ear flicks. "So."

"So?"

"You and him are..." He made a guesture with interlaced fingers.

"Yeah. Jealous?"

He snorted. "No. Just curious. He's a bit..." Hand wiggle.

"I'm a bit too. It works. Would have been nice if he'd gotten the hint before I had a ghost turn me inside out in front of him and everyone else."

"You know that's why you're so sick, right?"

You made a noise that was hard to decipher, that he used as cue to continue. "You never smelled quite right after that happened. Even after the healing. You're always a little..." He moved his hands, trying to grasp the right simile. "Like when a flower's starting to drop petals. Overripe."

How in the hell were you supposed to take that. What do you even say to that? Does everyone know you smell? Does -

"Oh god, you all know when I'm on the rag."

A single, curt nod, and you put your head in your hands and groaned.

~*~*~*~

A knock on the door

"Who is it?"

"Your worst enemy."

"Get your ass in here, Vil."

Vil had on... good lord. Mask, gloves, face shield. An absurdly fashionable CDC agent. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Vil. Means so much coming from you."

He stayed by the door, ready to flee if a spare germ came floating towards him. "Heard you're out of commission. Thank the seven, I'll get some peace in my life."

You flipped him the bird, but smiled as you did. "Don't say that. I'll made a sheet ladder and mix sputum in your cold cream."

"If you do that I will personally burn your clothes and replace them with something decent that you will hate."

"Try. Come to gloat?"

"Just a bit." He set a large cup with a straw at the very edge of the desk, straining at arm's length as he did. "This should unfuck your throat somewhat."

"Such language!" You waited until he retreated to the door before you took the smoothie. It was... very, very purple, and smelled minty. "Trying to poison me, finally?"

He rolled his eyes. "When I decide to poison you, it's not going to be through something that obvious. You will never see it coming, and then I'll sell your corpse to Floyd and everyone will just think he finally decided to go full crazy and Riddle is next."

You snorted. "Honestly? I think he'd shit his pants if I actually returned the affection. One time I saw Riddle give him a genuine smile and he had to go sit down because he started shaking so bad." That might have been because the smile was caused by Floyd cracking his head on a doorway and falling flat on his ass, but the point still stood.

When he stopped laughing, he turned to leave. "Take at least an extra week to get better, for my sanity. And don't give the creature any, it won't agree with him."

"Shh, I just got him down for his nap-"

Grimm made a horrible snort from your feet and say up. "Food?"

You made a look-what-you-did guesture at Vil, but he left instead of helping you deal with your beloved yowling idiot.

~*~*~*~

You woke up coughing in the dark. It took entirely too long for you to figure out where the hell you were, and why, and you took the offered tissue with great-

"JaySUS FUCKING CHRIST" You jumped back so much it was only Malleus's grip on your arm that kept you from going through the open window.

"People are sleeping, please do not yell."

"Don't yell my ass, how long have you been there?"

He shrugged. "Since before sunset. Ortho was here first."

You leaned around Mal, to see Ortho sitting on the desk, scritching the belly of a drowsing Grimm. "Hello, Yuu. Your fever has gone down half of a degree since I took over."

The audacity of these idiots, you swear. "Both of you go home and go to bed."

"No. You need watching." Mal had not blinked once since you'd woken up, and how about that? His eyes glowed in the dark, or he had very strong eyeshine; either way, there was no iris around the blown out pupil. "You are very ill and need taken care of. I can do that, I took care of Silver when he was ill."

"Mal."

"Yes?"

"Do we need another boundaries talk?"

He frowned. "But you are ill."

"Mal, I will call Lilia and tell him what you are doing right now. I will personally write your grandmother and tell her you're neglecting your studies. I will get Leona down here and he will call you a simp until you go outside and fight him on compulsion."

"Those all sound terrible!"

"Ortho, don't kiss up because you're next. Why are you here and not home charging?"

"Idia wouldn't go home to sleep until I said I would let him know if you got worse."

You opened your mouth, and shut it again. Why's he so worried? You had to physically shove him out the door to go to his next class, looking like his heart would break, and he'd still skipped board games to fidget miserably in the chair Mal now sat in, looking ready to burst into tears every time you coughed.

Ortho seemed to read your mind. "He gets worried when people get sick. I got sick once."

Ah. That explained a hell of a lot that you were too polite to ask.

"... Okay, you can stay."

Mal perked up.

"You go home. I'll never go back to sleep if you keep staring all night, and you do need to sleep some."

Mal's face fell.

"You can come back tomorrow, after class."

He perked back up. "Goodnight, Yuu. I will see you tomorrow!" A brief kiss against your sweating temple, and he was out the same window he most likely came in.

"Hey, Ortho?"

"Yes?"

"If you can dim your lights a little, you can come lie down with me."

~*~*~*~

You were rudely poked awake by a giant asshole.

"Why are you in my nap room." Leona hovered over you with obvious displeasure.

You blinked and sorted yourself. Ortho was crammed between you and the window, hopefully dreaming of electric sheep, and Grimm was still dead asleep, the little bastard. "Jack put me up here because my dorm's a block of ice and I can't stay there on doctor's orders." Crewel might have a doctorate, it's not a lie.

"Why didn't he tell me?"

"I did." Jack was behind him, his own link in a chain of hovering displeasure. "You said it was fine as long as she didn't make a mess. I brought yogurt."

"Thank you-" More miserable coughing, with now everyone either rubbing your back or passing you tissues. Except Leona, who simply held back and watched. By the time you were done, he just nodded.

"I'm not moving you, but..."

"What."

"I'm calling in a favour next time Cheka gets pawned off on me. He likes you."

You'd argue that, but you liked the kid. "Aight. Everyone get out, there's too many fucking people in here and I'm discovering new and interesting depths of claustrophobia."

Leona didn't need to be told twice.

"I'll be back after class with your homework. Maybe at lunch with something. Not before then. Stay put."

"Oooo, oo. I'm going with you, big guy." Grimm scampered over. "I'll get bored here all day. You can just nap."

You rolled your eyes "I can just nap. Jack, if he sticks with you, he's going to want to eat everything you do."

"I'll manage."

"Would you like me to stay?" Ortho was finally up, or maybe you hadn't noticed him exiting screensaver mode.

"I'd like you to tell your brother that I'm not going anywhere. Use those exact words."

He nodded, a faint whirr as he did.

"I'll see you guys later, okay? I need more sleep."

~*~*~*~

Someone gently shook you awake, and said someone was leaning in the window.

"Hey, Kalim." Why'd you have to be the center of attention when sick, and therefore couldn't kiss anyone to thank them for said attention.

"Hi! I asked Jamil to make extra lunch for you!" He set a covered dish on your knees.

"Thank you. Was he okay with that?"

"He was when I said it was for you. Everyone's heard that you're laid up!"

"News travels fast. Am I about to get even more popular?"

"You're always popular because you're great. Feel better! Jamil said he'll have extras tomorrow too. See you!" And off he went.

You needed to tell Jamil thank you, but he would probably just tell you to just stop talking about abolishing the monarchy instead. (Not because he didn't support the idea, but because he didn't want to be punished for not keeping the idea from Kalim.) What did he make, anyway?

"Oh, curry. Sweet."

~*~*~*~

The days progressed roughly the same. Drowsing most of the morning, lunch, more drowsing in between laptop stuff, maybe actual sleep. Coughing up far less gunk as the days went on. And entertaining an absurd fucking amount of people. Everyone seemed determined to check on you, even people who you'd never seen before in your life; Ruggie made something like 10k madol charging people to try and see you through the window before you cursed him out. Your Heartslabyul boys dropped in every couple of days to relate shit that they hadn't simply texted you (along with a pile of pastries from Trey and handwritten instructions on recovery from Riddle, the latter far less appreciated than the former). Floyd dropped in once to mostly complain about how you weren't around to eat the mushrooms he picked out of his food, tried to convince you to let him carry you over to the Monstro Lounge himself, and when you refused, kissed the tips of your fingers and left pouting. Jack, true to his word, dropped in at least twice a day to deliver food and homework, and once spent forty-five minutes glowering at anyone approaching the bathrooms while you took a shower that ached on your oversensitive skin.

Some people were far more regular. Every day like clockwork, Malleus perched in your window and was the world's friendliest, most affectionate vulture. Twenty minutes after that, Idia would come in, sit in the chair, and exude such concentrated grief that you were at a loss for what to do beyond asking if he wanted to talk about it, to which he would shake his head and simply resume sitting there, tapping away at his screens until the next panicked flurry of activity every time you made a unhealthy noise.

"You are allowed to go home. I'm not going anywhere, and I'm much better than I was."

He just shook his head.

"I will come get you if something happens," Mal offered.

More head shaking, and a "no" from his tablet, before adding, "Never again."

"I'll call Ortho and make him tag you out."

"I said no. And Ortho is with Lilia."

Lilia, small, beloved pest, has what you like to think of as a compulsive need to parent. He was god knows how old, had raised at least three of your classmates that you know of, and seemed to consider you his newest fledgling. After hearing about what happened, he'd taken it into his own hands to fix Ramshackle to... well, not OSHA compliance, but you wouldn't be cold.

"Does he know how much I appreciate it? Appreciate all of you, really?"

"Of course he does. He loves talking about you. He wears that shirt you made all the time."

"Which one? I've made him seven so far."

"When do I get one?"

"When they make T shirts that'll fit over your horns." Something drooped in the corner of your eye, and you looked over to see Idia shaking himself upright. "Hey, babe. When was the last time you slept?"

He took an embarrassingly long time to lie through his teeth and say "Last night" through his tablet.

"Yeah, no. Get over here." You took a moment to drag Mal's hand down before he could just do a sleeping spell, or something equally well meaning but deeply inappropriate.

"No."

"Please?"

You held your arms out until he couldn't resist, and soon you'd arranged his head on your chest.

"You hear anything more sloshing around in there?"

He shook his head.

"I am on the mend. I... don't really know what happened before. And I sure as hell don't know what you did to get him back. But I'm not going anywhere. So rest."

He gave a faint nod.

"I will wake you, if need be?"

To both yours and Mal's surprise, Idia answered him with a pat on his leg.

"Thank you."

Idia was already asleep.

~*~*~*~

"Mal?"

"Yes?"

"Do you know what 'cyanosis' is?" You’d been stroking Idia's head for hours. Or minutes. Time flies, and you could not tell the difference.

"Not immediately, no."

"It's caused by a few different things. Hypoxia, hypothermia, that sort of thing. The blood in you doesn't have enough oxygen. So little that, instead of red, parts of your body turn blue or grey due to the lack of oxygen."

"I see." He looked intently, much as you did, at Idia's greyish nails and blue lips. "That doesn't seem survivable."

"Not if it's severe, no." The flames from Idia's head curled around your fingers, grasping at you even when he's not aware of it. "It's not something you see on someone as... lively as him. It's something I think about a lot. Whether it's to do with his magic, or that curse he won't elaborate on."

"I've heard rumours."

"Oh?"

"The Shroud family curse. Nothing concrete, for an origin. Madness, misfortune, and illness have plagued the family throughout history. Add in a trend of cousin marriage beyond the norm for upper-class families due to people not wanting to subject their loved ones to a cursed bloodline, and the tree is more of an notorious, ingrown shrub."

"That just sounds like shitty genetics and what happens to every family as the years go on, not a curse."

Mal shrugged. "is there a difference? Even in the sleeping curse my grandmother bestowed so easily, much of the power came for the fear of it. A girl grew up without her family because of the fear of it."

"True." You leaned down and kissed the top of Idia's head, feeling an unconscious smile as you did. "There must be a little hereditary something. He gets so anxious about this beautiful hair! He hates people looking at him, and he doesn't even realize it's because he's the most beautiful thing in any room he walks in."

"Thing?" Mal raised an amused eyebrow.

"Even the finest art in a museum doesn't have the benefit of being actually alive."

"Your capacity for love and beauty is enviable. Hunt would be jealous." He reached out and brushed a stray lock away from Idia's face, and you could feel another smile against your chest.

~*~*~*~

"Aight, so we've patched up holes in the walls, insulated the windows - Idia here," Lilia clapped Idia on the small of his back, causing him to make a distressed squeak - "smart boy, found some solar panels and we've got electricity up in your room, the kitchen and the bathroom by your room, not just the front room anymore! The rest we got the ghosts to help seal off to hold the heat in. I got you a space heater for your room, so you don't have to do a fire the whole time, and as long as you don't open the windows back up before spring, you won't freeze."

"Thanks, guys. One question."

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to my room."

Lilia smiled. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You're a walking prank and can't keep out of there, what did you do."

"Nothing this time! I promise!" He held his hands up. "At least you can stay home for the next few days, Crewel says you gotta be back Monday or he's going to start making funeral prep."

"I'm literally better, but if he does that I get to help. Always wanted to plan my funeral, I have very specific ideas about what flowers to use and preferred corpse disposal."

"Maybe you should go upstairs and not talk about funerals and their associated things."

"Sure thing, dear."

After settling in your room, most everyone cleared out, even Idia. The only person still there was Jack, looking this way and that with a stern look.

"Hey, Jack?"

He grunted in assent.

"So like, why'd you put me up and help take care of me? We've hardly talked before then."

He sighed. "You've been very nice to me."

"You sure? I'd remember you."

"Uh."

"Jack?"

~*~*~*~

It was a beautiful day, if chilly in the wind. The sun was warm, the trees turning, and you just came across one of your best friends.

"Hi buddy! Are you lost today?"

The very large dog shook it's head and pressed into your knees.

"Okay, you wanna walk with me? Come on."

You'd found this enormous white Malamute wandering campus the first time a few months ago, and after checking in with a few other students who kept laughing when you asked if he was their dog, simply decided to enjoy your new friend and run and play. He was very smart, and initially standoffish, but could not resist a friendly face and good ear scritches. Today, you and Buddy here simply ran around like a couple of idiots after a lost soccer ball until it was time to go eat.

"I'll see you later, buddy. Bye!" You held out a hand, and after a firm shake, kissed the point where his snout met the rest of his face. "Stay safe, I love you."

Buddy made a low grumble and rubbed his paws over his face, and you went off to supper.

~*~*~*~

"You couldn't have told me?"

"How do you explain that? 'Hey, I run around as a wolf sometimes and you mistook me for a lost dog so you lovebombed me and I was at a loss and by the second time it was too awkward to say anything'?"

"I've been playing with you for months! I let you run with Crewel's dalmatians!"

"I run with them as a person, too, that's nothing special."

You pinched your nose. "Everyone must think I'm an idiot."

"I'll deal with them. I'm sorry, Yuu."

"I know. You are my good boy, after all."

His tail started wagging in spite of itself, and you laughed.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #jack howl #idia shroud #malleus draconia

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trashboatprince · 4 years

Text

I saw a challenge to write something sexy about Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese from this post by @naniiebimworks and I’m not missing the chance to make content of them in written form. Love me some Crowley and Aziraphale’s personas.

Summery: Warlock is too old for his nanny, but he’s not too old to start having a private tutor. Make that two tutors, who happen to look a bit like the nanny and the gardener who followed her off the grounds.

And already there’s something going on between them.

AKA Crowley and Aziraphale are really into how the other looks for this next phase of the plans.

Warning: these two are already in a relationship. Not full on content, but there is touching and such, gotta keep it pg-13 cause some of my followers are young. Also, not beta’d, so forgive the grammar errors

EDIT: There’s an extra mature chapter on ao3

On with the fic!

Nanny Ashtoreth put in her two weeks without much of a fuss, politely telling the Dowlings that young Warlock had no need for her anymore, it was time for him to get his lessons from a professional and not a nanny who was smarter than expected.

She recommended someone she said she had worked with previously, that he was highly recommended.

The day after she departed from the estate, there was a knock at the door and a tall, sharp man in an even sharper, dark suit stood there, carrying a briefcase under his arm. “I’m Mr. Harrison,” he greeted the doorman with a voice that dared him to say something, “Nanny Ashtoreth told me that this is where I would I be teaching.”

Without waiting, he stepped past the doorman and into the foyer, where he greeted Mrs. Dowling, who stepped down the stairs to greet him.

Mr. Harrison reminded her greatly of Nanny, that they looked rather similar. The same red colored hair, same facial structure, though clearly Harrison his sharp cheek bones under a beard.

“We’re cousins.” He told her simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

He would start his lessons with Warlock tomorrow at nine.

The next morning, while Mr. Harrison was teaching Warlock his first lessons on the ancient armies of the world, there was yet another knock at the door.

The doorman was surprised to see a man with wild, near-white hair and an equally wild beard standing there, smiling. He was dressed in creams and golds, a stark contrast to the clothing of the other man who had been at the door the day before. “Good morning!” He greeted the poor employee with a Welsh tint to his voice. “I am Mr. Cortese, I was hired to be the private tutor to Warlock Dowling.”

“Uhh…” The doorman blinked, before making himself professional. “I am so sorry to inform you that Mrs. Dowling has already hired a tutor yesterday.”

“Oh?” Mr. Cortese asked, eyebrows raised high as he glanced about past the man, as if looking for the person who took his job. “I am sure that the young boy wouldn’t mind two instructors.”

The man at the door sighed and said he would get his boss to speak to the stranger. Ten minutes later, Mrs. Dowling hired Mr. Cortese to be Warlock’s second tutor, taking two days of the week and sharing one with his coworker.

She took note that he reminded her of someone, but she wasn’t sure. Sort of like the weird gardener who happened to leave right after Nanny Ashtoreth did, but house staff come and go.

“… And that, young Warlock, is why one must not draw on his books, you never know what their worth will be in the future.” Cortese sighed loudly as he finished with erasing the last of the doodles the young boy had drawn on the open pages of the history book in front of him.

“I thought it made it look cool.” Warlock replied in his defense and Cortese nearly rolled his eyes before removing his pocket watch from his vest pocket, looking at the time.

“Right, well, it seems that our lesson for history is over for today. Off you go, enjoy your hour break. When you return, we shall begin our coverage of literature.” He waved a hand towards the door and Warlock didn’t need to be told twice to run off for fun, there was a video game with his name on it that he couldn’t keep waiting any longer.

Cortese watched him run out of the room with a small huff, smiling as he started to clean up the books and papers on the table of the building’s library where he was to do his lessons. He paused when he smelled something, a strong cologne that covered a natural, demonic musk that he knew all too well. “Mr. Harrison, I assume?” He turned to meet the man who he had yet to be introduced to since arriving yesterday.

Leaning against a bookcase, Cortese stared from behind his reading glasses, feeling his face heat up just a bit as he looked at his counterpart.

Harrison was in a dark suit, fitting of him, opened jacket and tie just a bit loose. The angel inwardly cursed as he looked at how the other had styled his hair, pulled back in a tight short ponytail. He hadn’t seen Crowley since they left the estate, wanting to get themselves ready for their next personas.

Seems that Crowley miracled up a beard that looked too good on him, the littlest of changes to the demon always got something stirring in Aziraphale, be it a new haircut or the addition of facial hair.

And he did a combo, damn him.

Clearing his throat, Cortese straightened himself up, adjusting his jacket. “I almost didn’t get the job because of you.” He told the redhead, who only smirked, crossing his arms.

“You’d have gotten it anyway, and look, you did! Come on, you knew I was gonna show up first, made it less… suspicious, if we both showed up at the same time.” Pushing himself off of the bookshelf, Harrison sauntered over to partner in this scheme, the smirk turning more playful as he stepped around Cortese, looking him up and down behind dark lenses.

He stopped behind the shorter man, who froze up at the eyes that he felt on his backside, those hungry eyes…

“Nice suit,” Harrison commented, “suits you, love the colors. Golds and creams? A change of pace from the tartan.”

“Oh!” Cortese turned sharply, giving him a hard stare. “Must I repeat myself? Tartan is stylish! But, if you must know, I decided to change it up a bit. I do wear other clothing you know, Mr. Harrison.”

Harrison looked at him, before shrugging. “Of course, just… can’t help admirin’ how good you look when you mix it up a bit.” He was suddenly closer, when had he gotten so close? Cortese stepped back, feeling his backside bump against the table, he was pinned.

“You need to dress up more, angel.” Harrison then frowned before chuckling. “No, don’t do that, you become too much of a tease when you step out of the norm.” He toyed with the silk tie that Cortese wore, slowly, carefully loosening it as he tugged down on the knot with one finger.

Cortese’s face flared up red as a heat pooled in his stomach. “M-Mr. Harrison! You wily man, behave yourself!” He swatted at the hand. “You should be professional!”

“Oh please,” The demon rolled his eyes before leaning in closer, “it’s not like we didn’t have our fun as the nanny and the gardener, yeah? Won’t take these fools long to start rumors about us as well…”

Cortese paused, looking at Harrison’s face. Right, they had been a bit adventurous and frisky with one another when in their previous personas, what’s the harm of having a little fun as two tutors? It was like something out of his romance section, but he wouldn’t voice that out loud.

“We waited a few months as Ashtoreth and Francis before we got handy, my dear.” He finally replied and Harrison groaned.

“Wow, way to be a real buzzkill, angel!” He moved to step back, but Harrison found himself in place, hands on his hips that suddenly were pressed against Cortese’s. “Whu-?”

“Who said we weren’t going to have any fun?” The blond scoffed. “Besides…” There was a snap of fingers and Harrison heard a lock set in place.

Cortese leaned in close to his ear, he could practically hear the smug smile in the other’s voice. “We have less than an hour before my next lesson and I’d like to get my ‘coworker’ a bit better. Is that alright with you?”

The string of sounds from Harrison was all Cortese needed as an answer.

Someone, Harrison found himself flipped around, his own back pressed into the table with the angel pinning him to it, kissing him hard on the lips. Any coherent thoughts in the redhead’s mind were thrown out the window as he was snogged into next week, wrapping his legs around soft hips.

He pulled back, panting a bit as he looked at the hazel eyes that stared right at him. “Damn, angel, you’re in a mood.”

“You’re a terrible tease, dressing up like this.” Cortese huffed, kissing at his neck before working on undoing the already-loose knot of Harrison’s tie. “You know I love seeing you dressed up.”

“Mmm… sssshould do it more often than…” Harrison tilted his head back, lifting his hand up to snap his fingers, but a hand stopped him. “Come on, don’t go slow…” He groaned.

“No, I want to take it slow, I’m not going to just have your clothes vanish on me!” Cortese scoffed as he pulled back to start working on removing the suit jacket, taking note that he rather liked the pattern on it, Crowley needed to wear more patterns in his wardrobe.

Harrison pouted before his own fingers got to work on unbuttoning the vest Cortese wore, legs still firmly in place around the other’s waist. “How far?”

“Hmm… heavy petting?”

There was a loud snort. “Who taught you that?!” Harrison laughed before undoing the last button. He looked at the other man, a coy smile on his face. “Lovin’ the changes, angel. You look so good with that hair, almost feral, very you.”

“What on Earth are you talking about?”

“Just commentin’.” Harrison mumbled as he pulled him down, talking against the other’s lips before kissing him hard. Cortese mumbled a reply that fell on deaf ears, the two clearly distracted be kissing and the sneaky fingers playing with the tie the other wore.

Both were discarded on the table, and Harrison was vaguely aware that his hair had slipped from the ponytail it had been in. He would have made a comment, but he was distracted by perfectly manicured fingers playing with his freed hair, and by the body that pressed against him.

His own fingers busied themselves with groping a rather nice, soft bottom, earning a squeak from the angel who was still toying with his hair. Harrison smirked, pressing down on the ample flesh, keeping Cortese against him as he moved to suck on the exposed skin of his advisory’s neck.

The room felt hot and both angel and demon were feeling even hotter, fingers moving here and there, but never to what was going to be wanting some attention. Well, Harrison thought, time to change that-

There was a sharp set of knocks at the doors to the library and Cortese pulled back sharply from Harrison, losing his balance and dropping to the floor at the sudden intrusion.

“Ssshit!” Harrison sat up straight and worked quickly to straighten out his shirt, trying to button it back up from where Cortese had popped a few of the buttons.

“Y-yes? Who’s there?” Cortese called out.

“Mr. Cortese,” came Warlock’s voice from the other side, “can I come in?”

“In a moment!” The blond replied before trying to get his vest and shirt back in order. “Oh, this was a bad idea…!” He whispered towards the other man in the room, who was trying to get his hair back into place.

“Yeah, yeah, I know! Gotta wait until the kid’s asleep, ‘r somethin’…” Harrison jumped from the table, throwing on his coat, then grabbing a tie, tossing the other at Cortese who was quick to try and get it done up.

Once Harrison thought he had everything in order, he rushed to the door, the lock suddenly undone and the door opened to reveal Warlock, standing there with a confusion on his face. “We’ll continue our discussion of the plans later, yes, Mr. Cortese?” He spoke, as if nothing had just happened, outside of the flushed look on his cheeks and the rumpled state of his clothes.

“Y-yes, of course, do come looking for me when you have the chance, Mr. Harrison.” Cortese replied, swallowing as he straightened his jacket out. He watched the other man walk past Warlock without much word and turned to the child. “Yes, did you need something?” He asked, trying to act like Warlock did not just interrupt something.

“Wonderin’ if I left my phone in here.” Warlock replied before tilting his head. “How come you’re wearin’ Mr. Harrison’s tie?”

Cortese looked down, seeing that, yes, he was wearing the dark colored tie.

This was gonna be a long next couple of years.

END

They make up for lost time later, but make sure that it’s when no one will bother them. >.>

Anyway, first time every writing for Harrison and Cortese that wasn’t them as the Radio Omens boys, it was fun.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #anthony j crowley #aziraphale #mr harrison #mr cortese #john's drabbles

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kookie-doughs · 3 years

Text

Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 5: COMING TO CAMP

I woke up feeling sore all over, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A short-cropped blonde haired guy hovered over me, looking down at me. When he saw my eyes open, he asked, "How are you feeling?" I managed to croak, "What?" "Are you feeling better?" "I guess," I mumbled, "I don't... where's Percy?" Somebody knocked on the door, and the guy slowly set the pudding down. "I'll see you when you're better." He smiled. The next time I woke up, the guy was gone.

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt. On the table next to me was a tall drink. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry. My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it. "You're awake," a voice said. A blonde girl was leaning against the porch railing, looking tired and done. She was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMPHALF-BLOOD. "I should call the others," she said. "Where's Percy?" "He's talking with Mr. D." "Is he well?" "You've been through worse," She said with her eyebrows knitted(?). "And the first thing you ask is your friend?" "Percy, should—" "I'll tell the others." She looked at me one last time and left. I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight. Without Percy's presence I was reminded of everything I lost. Everyone I care about. "Hey," A voice behind me called. "Annabeth passed by and told me you're awake. Feeling better?" "Oh, hey." I smiled weakly. "Feelin real peachy." "Luke, Luke Castellan." "Y/N L/N..." We stayed quiet for a minute. "I'm sorry for what happened. I don't exactly know what went on but..." Looking at him, I gave him a sad smile, "Thanks... I guess. Even I'm not sure what went on honestly... I don't know what's going on." "Well, I'm not exactly much of an explainer so, we just gotta wait for Chiron." "I... remember everything. From the moment the sea pulled me, to loosing my parents and dog, to bringing us here... I just... don't understand..." I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming. "Don't strain yourself," Luke said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips. I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was (Favorite Food or F/F). Liquid F/F. And not just any F/F—my mom and dad's special F/F. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom and dad had just pet my head, fed me F/F the way they used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay. Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted. "Was it good?" Luke asked. I nodded. "Are you feeling better now? "Yeah," I said. "Thanks." "That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff." "What do you mean?" He took the empty glass from me, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Y/N!" I turned to the voice and saw Grover. "Hey, Luke." "I'll take it they want her?" Grover nodded. "I'll see you later." Luke smiled and ruffled my hair, then left me with Grover. Grover watched Luke leave then turned to me, "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting." The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. I asked him where Percy was and he said he was already there. As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath. We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture—an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena—except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings. "Y/N!!" I was engulfed and tackled which almost made me fall. Percy looked at me with sad eyes, holding unto the Minotaur horn. He looked tired and sick. "Are you okay Percy?" He nodded and rested his head on my shoulder. Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl that I woke up to was leaning on the porch rail next to them. The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels— what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt. "Hate to break your touching reunion but we were talking." The man said. "That's Mr. D," Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..." He pointed at the guy whose back was to me. First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard. "Mr. Brunner!" I cried. The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. "Ah, good, Y/N," he said. "You're awake. Percy couldn't focus since he was worried of you. He woke up an hour before you. Care for a game of pinochle?" He offered me a chair to the right of Mr. D, who looked at me with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you." "Uh, thanks." I turned to Percy who looked at me confusedly as well. "Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl. She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady and Luke nursed you back to health, Y/N. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy and Y/N's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now." Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron." She was probably my age, maybe same height, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight. She glanced at the minotaur horn in Percy's hands, then back at him. I felt a bit iffy and got closer to Percy. She turned to me and said, "You should thank Luke." Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her. "So," Percy said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?". "Not Mr. Brunner," the ex—Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron." "Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... does that stand for something?" Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young woman, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason." "Oh. Right. Sorry." "I must say, Percy, Y/N," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you both alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time. And I am quite surprise to recruit two." "House call?" "Recruit two?" "My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... ah, take a leave of absence. And when the mist hadn't worked on Y/N, Grover and I thought she saw through the mist." "Mist?" "It's... something." "You came to Yancy just to teach me?" Percy asked. Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test. As for Y/N..." He looked at me skeptically then to Mr. D. "You're... still scentless." "Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?" "Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fourth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt. "You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed me suspiciously. "I'm afraid not," I said. "I'm afraid not, sir," he said. "Sir," I repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less. "Well," he told me, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules." "I'm sure the girl can learn," Chiron said. "The other kid was bad, I doubt this one can do better." "Please," Percy said pulling me closer to him, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun—Chiron—why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach me?" Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question." The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile. Chiron smiled at us sympathetically. "Percy," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?' "She said... She told me she was afraid to send me here, even though my father had wanted her to. She said that once I was here, I probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep me close to her." "And you?" He turned to me. "Nothing like this ever happened... Everything was normal." "Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young lady, are you bidding or not?" "What?" I asked. He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so I did. "I'm afraid there's too much to tell," Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient." "Orientation film?" Percy asked. "No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know"—he pointed to the horn in the shoe box—"that you and Y/N have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods—the forces you call the Greek gods—are very much alive." I stared at the others around the table. I waited for somebody to yell, Not! But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points. "Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?" "Eh? Oh, all right." Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully. "Wait," I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God." "Well, now," Chiron said. "God—capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical." "Metaphysical? But you were just talking about—" "Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter." "Smaller?" "Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class." "Zeus," Percy said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them." And there it was again—distant thunder on a cloudless day. "Young man," said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you." "But they're stories," Percy said. "They're—myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science." "Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson"—I felt Percy flinched when he was called—"what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals—they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and tell me." I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... he wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut. "Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?" "You mean, whether people believed in you or not," Percy said. "Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that someday people would call you and Y/N a myth, just created to explain how children can get over losing their parents?" My heart pounded. He was trying to make us angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. Gripping on Percy I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods." "Oh, you'd better," Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you." Grover said, "P-please, sir. She's just lost her family. She's in shock." "A lucky thing, too," Mr. D grumbled, playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with kids who don't even believe.'" He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine. My jaw dropped, but Chiron hardly looked up. "Mr. D," he warned, "your restrictions." Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise. "Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!" More thunder. Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game. Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits." "A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space. "Yes," Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time—well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away—the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence,' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down.' Ha.' Absolutely unfair." Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid. "And ..." Percy stammered, "your father is ..." "Di immortales, Chiron," Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course." I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master. "You're Dionysus," I said. "The god of wine." Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?" "Y-yes, Mr. D." "Then, well, duh! Y/N L/N. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?" "You're a god." "Yes, child." "A god. You." He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life. "Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly. "No. No, sir." The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win." "Not quite, Mr. D," Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me." I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too. "I'm tired," Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment." Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir." Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. And mind your manners." He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miserably. "Will Grover be okay?" Percy asked Chiron. Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus." "Mount Olympus," Percy said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?" "Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. And then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus, out of respect to the old ways, but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do." "You mean the Greek gods are here? Like... in America?" "Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West." "The what?" "Come now, Percy. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know—or as I hope you know, since you passed my course—the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps—Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on—but the same forces, the same gods." "And then they died." "Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, Percy, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in RockefellerCenter, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not—and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either—America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here." It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if I were part of some club. "Who are you, Chiron? Who... who am I? I-Is Y/N?" Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down. "Who are you?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. I believe Y/N had met one of them, Luke Castellan. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate." And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.. I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk. "What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy Jackson, Y/N L/N. Let's meet the other campers." I took Percy's hand, anxious of what is coming.

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Taglist?

@gayer-than-the-gayest-gay @the-natureofme @booknerd-3000

#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #X Reader #Book 1 #pjo #Chapter 5 #Lightning thief

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popatochisssp · 4 years

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Last but not least, Aster (Gastertale Papyrus) and his pet projects!

Claydol: It’s a guilty pleasure of his, a relatively well-kept secret, but... He’s fascinated by the paranormal or supernatural. So naturally, hearing about a Pokemon made by ancient peoples from clay, brought to life by some kind of mysterious light... Well, he’s got to get his hands on one, doesn’t he? He found one, as a Baltoy, and though it’s since evolved into a Claydol and been with him for awhile, he’s still no closer to learning anything concrete about how it’s alive and what its origin might’ve been. He’s not discouraged, though, and if anything being trainer to a living ancient mystery just makes him want to understand it someday even more!

Dragonite: His friend more than his Pokemon-- Dragonite are as intelligent as people, it’s not really possible to own one!--he encountered it by chance and struck up a conversation with it. They found themselves to be kindred spirits of a sort, both intellectuals with kind hearts that want good things for others, and they agreed to meet another time. And then another. And another after that. They regularly discuss the goings on in the world and in exchange for Aster’s company (and his discretion, not involving a whole bunch of people in their pleasant chats), it uses its speedy flight to get him anywhere he needs to go when time is of the essence. If anyone is ever surprised to see Aster dropped off somewhere by a pseudo-legendary species of Pokemon, he just shrugs and suggests that it’s taken a liking to him and nothing more than that.

Furfrou: He feels like they could do with a guard Pokemon around the house, and Furfrou have historically been guardians to royalty, so one of them should more than be up to the task! He seeks out a reputable breeder and meets with a few until one seems to show an interest in him. Its fur is very long and wild because it doesn’t trust anyone to cut it, which has apparently been a deal-breaker for a few other interested trainers... but not for Aster! He can win its trust--and the privilege of grooming it--the right way, by earning it. He brings it home with him and while it settles in and they start to bond, he takes a few Pokemon grooming classes at the nearest Pokemon Center, so that if his Furfrou decides to let him cut its fur, he’ll be able to do it well. Naturally, it’s only a matter of months before Furfrou is sporting a brand new style... and then a brand new one every few months after that. Cutting and styling its fur becomes their bonding ritual and with such a trusted, devoted trainer, Furfrou’s house has never been more well guarded.

Goldeen: His first Pokemon! The moment he saw one swimming, he knew he had to have one, their billowy fins are so elegant and beautiful... It took a lot of slow, cautious approaching to get near one without being jabbed at by those terribly sharp horns, but eventually he got a bite! ...Metaphorically, a Goldeen that was receptive to having a trainer, not a Goldeen that...bit him... Well! The point is that he got his Pokemon and though he considered getting more and becoming one of those weird trainers that only collects Goldeen, he decided he’d just keep one and pamper the hell out of it with absolutely everything it could ever need or want. It’s very happy and incredibly spoiled, though it will still jab ferociously if the occasion ever calls for it!

Leafeon: Presented to him by a coworker as part of a holiday gift exchange, with special joking note that it photosynthesizes, so he wouldn’t need to worry about forgetting to feed it. Aster’s not especially offended by the implication that he’s the type to neglect a Pokemon because the coworker isn’t one who knows him well at all, and also because he gets the distinct sense that maybe it wasn’t supposed to be a Leafeon and they just wanted to unload it on somebody else (it smelled a lot like fresh grass, which only very young Leafeons do, and they were very pushy trying to get him to take it). As it is, he doesn’t have it in him to leave a Pokemon with somebody who explicitly doesn’t want it, so he accepted it and brought it home. It was quiet and generally out of the way and the fresh plant smell was nice to have around, so despite the circumstances of taking it, Aster grows very fond of Leafeon in relatively short order. He always gives it a stroke when it’s lying on the windowsill absorbing sunlight and it comes to sit in his lap whenever he sits down and it’s...it’s nice!

Swanna: He went to investigate a small crowd and found it at the center, downed with what looked like a broken wing. The other people had wanted--had tried--to help, but it was very aggressive and its long neck made it hard for any of them to get close. Aster rolled up his sleeves and went in. He dodged a few pecks, caught a few full on, but eventually, between a couple potions and a makeshift splint, he was able to set it to rights... or at least well enough to get up and scurry out to the middle of the nearby pond. The crowd disperses and Aster does too, knowing there’s not much else to be done there, but he comes back the next day to see if the Swanna is still there. It is, and to his surprise, it glides over to the shore and walks right up to him. He checks on its splinted wing, which it allows and then goes back to the pond, a pattern which continues for several days until the splint can come off. He expects to never see it again, now that no further check-ups are needed, but instead Swanna follows him and proceeds to make itself right at home at his home. This is...mostly fine??? If odd... (Swanna is not allowed nor trusted anywhere near Goldeen’s pool, Furfrou can and will enforce this if Aster is not around to Pokeball it himself.)

#undertale #pokemon #headcanons #papyrus #gastertale #g!papyrus #claydol #dragonite #furfrou #goldeen #leafeon #swanna

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isoscele · 3 years

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Lumberjanes Week Day 6 - Ghost Stories/Land of Lost Things

In Xian’s bullet journal, in purple gel pen, the four of them wrote their last will and testament. It was an incontrovertible fact, said Presley, that they were going to die here. One, it had snowed every single one of the four days they had been here, and showed no signs of stopping. Two, despite their best efforts to ration their fruit leathers and peanut-butter-banana sandwiches, they had run out of food. Three, Ana’s ankle was sprained and they were probably not going to be able to get back up on the cliff they had fallen from. Four, despite what fantasy books said, kids on hiking trips did not actually survive tripping into a desolate, war-torn alternate dimensions, no matter how much moxie and general perseverance they showed.

It was hard to argue with that. So they divvied up their belongings among parents and siblings and pets, taking turns with the pen in a kind of grim ritual.

Once they finished, they surveyed their work.

“Don’t give your rollerblades to Peter,” Ana told Xian. “He’s going to break his collarbone immediately.”

“If I have to become a ghost, I want to spend my afterlife watching Peter eat it in the Walmart parking lot,” Xian said firmly.

The sky here was a kind of burnt-rubber color. The snow kept coming down, so there must have been clouds up there somewhere, but it was difficult to distinguish them from the blank slate of horizon.

There were no plants, no animals, nothing but a long line of snow-covered earth. If you dug down to the surface, as Siobhan had, there was only scorched dirt. There was a little rubble, but not much. As far as otherworldly apocalyptic wastelands went, it was disappointingly barren. There were no helpful clues, or conveniently-placed newspapers with pictures of mushroom clouds. Even the breaks in the landscape looked harsh, a continual jag of cliffs and valleys and something that smelled like it might have been a swamp, a long time ago.

When they’d first set up camp, Siobhan had knelt down to wrap Ana’s ankle and Presley had started clearing space to make a campfire, and so Xian had gone around looking for something to help start it, trudging through the knee-deep snow with her windbreaker tied around her legs to keep herself from getting frostbite.

Mostly, she had been walking towards a massive rupture in the snow that looked like it might have been a felled tree. Probably, it would be too damp to burn, but Presley had mad survivalist skills wrapped up in her little band-geek brain, so maybe she would be able to scrape the bark off or something. Or maybe there would be something they could eat. Even then, back in the halcyon days when they still had two out of four fruit leathers left, that was a pressing concern.

As Xian approached it, though, it started to look less and less like a tree. It was curved in a weird way, and it didn’t have any branches. It took a long time for her to reach it, so by the time she reached out one hand to wipe away the snow, there was a part of her that already knew what she’d find.

It was a rib. More specifically, it was the rib of something that had ribs the size of a school bus. It was picked completely clean of meat, as pristine as a museum exhibition.

Xian had to take a step back and stare at it. It filled her whole vision, and she couldn’t get over how clean it was. Her first thought was scavengers! Her second thought was HUGE scavengers! Her third thought was no, that’s dumb. It’s just old.

Siobhan’s theory had been nuclear war. Presley agreed with her–maybe not with the method, but she thought they were in an alternate dimension that had destroyed itself somehow. Ana had suggested time travel, like they’d tripped into Earth’s first ice age.

But something bad had happened here. With that understanding came a powerful, terrible relief. Of course they were standing on a graveyard too vast and ancient for them to ever understand. Of course this was a place of tragedy. It still was, the white of the ground and the orange of the sky and the way that Presley had said we should find some kindling, as if they were ever going to find any kindling.

Xian had looked at the bone for a moment longer. She thought about how, in horror movies, the characters always tried to find some justification for what was happening to them, had some big why-me breakdown. From an audience’s perspective, though, it was easy to tell who was earmarked for catastrophe. From the moment they stepped onto the screen, they were tasked with telling a story. They were suffering because they were only ones who could tell it. It wasn’t their fault.

Xian didn’t know what that meant about them. They were teenage girls, which could make some sense within certain narratives, but they were teenage girls who were probably not going to get out of here. Girls who were plucky and inquisitive and charming and still would not be saved.

Then again, sometimes the answer to why-me was just you were there. Sometimes, it was as simple as an extinction event, coming to wipe you and everything you knew clean.

Xian turned around and started the long walk back to camp.

The hike had been Siobhan’s idea. School had just ended and it was Presley’s last summer before she moved away, so everything was terrifying and big and moved in slow-motion. It felt like every minute the four of them weren’t doing something amazing together was a minute wasted. Siobhan imagined growing up like a skin you shed in reverse. The more you crammed into those early layers, the harder it was to lose them.

She’d packed the bag, which was another mark on her ledger. If she had brought a first-aid kit, if she had brought more food, if she had brought a second water bottle, things might be different. Never mind that it was only supposed to be a day trip, and her mom would’ve lost her mind if Siobhan had packed for an overnighter.

The third thing that she could never ever be absolved of was that she was the one who saw the fox.

It had streaked through the trees, a blur of formless red, but for a second it had looked at her and–and Siobhan wasn’t exaggerating, time stopped. Its eyes were golden and a million years old, and somehow she had known exactly what it was saying to her.

They’re leaving you they’re leaving you every second they are getting farther away from you and you can’t do anything to stop it and you’re the only one who wants to anyway, you’re the only one selfish enough to ask for forever.

And then time had unstuck and it had leapt back through the trees, and Siobhan had pushed past Ana and almost tripped over Xian and she hadn’t even realized that she had started running, it was more like she knelt into the air and kept going.

She hadn’t realized the others would follow her, but of course they had.

So Siobhan couldn’t sleep. She was cold, and she was hungry, and she was ashamed that during their will-writing she’d made up people to give her things to because she wanted her friends to think that she had friends other than them, that she too had cool cousins in New York and family members she could trust with the contents of her bedroom.

And she was ashamed about everything else, too, every dumb decision she had made in possibly her whole life, and then Presley said “Siobhan?” and she realized she was kind of crying into the snow.

“I’m okay,” Siobhan said, “I’m okay, I’m fine.”

Ana reached out and touched Siobhan’s elbow. Her fingers were cold, but steady, and it did make Siobhan feel better.

“I think I’m gonna go look for food,” Siobhan said. She hadn’t realized she was going to say it until she did, but it felt right. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t just lie down and try to sleep through another night that looked exactly identical to the day.

“Okay,” Xian said. She pushed herself onto her elbows and tried to brush some of the snow off her shirt. “We’ll come with you.”

This was how they got into all kinds of world-ending trouble, but Siobhan supposed there were worse things.

She didn’t think she could get any words out if she tried, so instead she reached out and helped Xian get the snow off her shoulders.

Ana’s ankle didn’t hurt much anymore, but Presley still stoically bore the task of giving her a piggyback ride. Ana liked this arrangement because Presley would kneel down and wait for Ana to loop her legs around her waist and then she would say, with all the seriousness of a soldier about to pull the knife from his dying comrade’s stomach, I’m going to do it, get ready, get ready, and then she would stand up.

They didn’t have a direction, and none of them were entirely sure which way they had come from, so they were just kind of walking. Most likely, they had already gotten turned around three or four times, but Ana was hoping it would eventually cancel itself out.

But then again, it probably didn’t matter whether they got anywhere new. Already, the snow had probably completely concealed their old campsite. Everywhere they stepped was a new world, fresh and footprintless. Packed with promise.

Presley and Xian were talking, but Ana was a little too tired to follow the conversation. Instead, she tried to catch Siobhan’s eye and silently communicate something deep and necessary to her. She didn’t know what that deep and necessary thing was, but she trusted Siobhan to figure it out.

They walked for a long time without finding any kind of break in the landscape. Ana let herself feel reassured by the steady rhythm of Presley’s footsteps below her, the slow thread of Xian’s voice. It almost felt like home, pacing circles around Siobhan’s trampoline or getting marched to the principal’s office for “disturbing the classroom environment.”

So of course, she was the last one to see the cave.

It looked a little like a wasps’ nest, fat and bulbous and buzzing from the inside out with a pale yellow light. Shadows stretched across the entrance, flickering in stop-motion. The cave, whatever else it meant for them, was inhabited.

Ana looked down at Xian, who tended to be the most genre-savvy of them all. But Xian wasn’t looking at the cave; she was staring into the sky with a look of abject terror on her face.

“Presley,” Ana said. “I think we should–”

Presley locked her arms around Ana’s ankles and took off running towards the cave.

Ana had to duck so they could get inside, pressing the side of her face against Presley’s crown of braids. Then, the light was everywhere, and she had to blink hard to disperse the pink clouds that spotted her vision.

“Oh my God,” Siobhan said from somewhere behind her.

Xian shuffled closer. “What is that?”

In the center of the cave, a candle had burned almost to a stub, giving off the unmistakable smell of pine. Behind it, half-submerged in the pool of light, lay some kind of abomination.

It was a wolf and yet it wasn’t, couldn’t be. It had thick white fur and a distinctly lupine body, but it had human hands, bent and weathered. An old woman’s hands.

Oh Grandmother, Ana thought, inanely. What big teeth you have.

And if it was dead, which it could very well be, it had not been dead for long.

As slow as the shifting of a tectonic plate, it lifted its head and opened one blazing eye. Ana understood with a jolt that it had known they were there the whole time, that it had been listening.

It surveyed them, looking very old and very tired. It locked eyes with Ana. Then it spoke, in a voice so gravelly and ancient that Ana had no problem believing that it had been here for as long as there had been a here to be.

“Kids come with two heads these days?”

“Yes,” Ana said automatically, because even in her mindless terror she had to indulge her favorite hobby, which was tricking old people into believing things about The Youth. “But only the ones who are on social media too much.”

Presley frowned so hard that Ana could feel it from her shoulders, like an earthquake. “That’s not true,” she said. “We’re two separate kids. Stacked on top of each other.”

Wolf Lady huffed and closed her eyes again, apparently done with the conversation.

“Hey!” Siobhan said. “Hey, ma’am, please–can you help us?”

“We fell down a portal,” Presley supplied. “We’ve been here four days, and we’re going to die here.”

Wolf Lady smiled. It was the smile of a rotting jack-o-lantern, and it showed a glint of teeth. “Not a bad place to die,” she said, almost to herself. “But most people deserve better.”

“Do you have food?” Xian had crouched down, like she was speaking to a sleepy child. “Or–or do you know how to get some?”

“No,” Wolf Lady said. “No. You don’t need to get food. You need to get out.”

Silence. Outside, the wind wailed.

“What happened here?” Xian asked. Her voice was tight, thin. “I found these–all these bones.”

“You what?” Siobhan said.

“War,” Wolf Lady said. There was something inarticulable in her voice, a kind of grief that had exhausted all other avenues and therefore had no choice but to live forever in this cave.

“They were huge bones.”

“Big war.” Wolf Lady opened her eyes again. “Maybe you’ve noticed it. Wasn’t the kind of thing you can get out of the carpet. You, two-headed one. Grab my specs.”

“Specs?” Presley said, confused, but Ana tapped her head and then pointed to one edge of the cave, where a pair of thin, cracked glasses had gathered what looked like years’ worth of dust and melted snow.

Xian was the one who picked them up, but she handed them to Ana. On some old impulse, Ana slid them over the bridge of her nose.

Immediately, the world exploded in a paroxysm of color, spreading across the four of them like an oil slick. Wolf Lady seemed to be the center of it, bleeding orange from every inch, but there was so much of it coming from everywhere that Ana had to pull them off again.

“You can use those to get home,” Wolf Lady said, in the tone that one might say you can use salt to improve this soup. “Find the portals. For the love of God, get out of here.”

Ana cradled them against her chest. Siobhan looked openly skeptical, but she hadn’t tried them on. Ana believed that the glasses could do whatever they had to. Could reach through time and bring them back to some soft, scared world where everything they needed was still in one piece.

“Are you coming with us?” Xian asked. Her voice had gone quiet again, the way it did when she already knew the answer. Like when she predicted the endings of movies, the sad, certain everyone dies.

Wolf Lady laughed. As strange and animalistic as the rest of her was, her laugh seemed very human. “A very, very long time ago, I worked at a place where the only rule was that the kids had to make it out okay. The rest of us–well, it depended on how the forest felt. But we made it a long time, on that rule. I’m not breaking it now.”

“Thank you,” Presley said. Every word out of Presley’s mouth had an incredible gravity to it even in the silliest of situations; now, Ana could hardly bear to hear it. “We’ll remember you forever.”

“Oh, don’t do that to yourselves,” Wolf Lady said. “My name is Rosie. Think of it every once in a while, and forgive yourselves for the rest.”

Outside, everything was degrees of white and black, the snow bracing itself against the sky. Presley’s stomach was a black hole, and the rest of her was so numb as to cave in on itself.

She took one of Siobhan’s hands and one of Xian’s. Ana reached down and squeezed her shoulder.

They began to walk, and across the end of the world, a portal blinked into being

#okay take 3 #lumberjanes #lumberjanes week #my writing #for context: this is yesterday's prompt which i accidentally posted on a sideblog at 4am

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hollyhomburg · 5 years

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Reasons Wretched and Divine

(Hybrid! Namjoon x Reader) (Eventual Polyamory)

Summary: You live on an isolated but sprawling farm with your abusive husband, but things start to change for the better when your husband adopts a retired police dog hybrid named Namjoon.

Warnings: Domestic abuse, emotional abuse, mentions of police brutality, yearning, implied coercive sex (ie- rape, but nothing is explicitly written), Premeditated murder, Namjoon is mad protective, mentions of scars. W/c: 4.0k Song rec: Cherry wine by Hozier A/N: The pre-part of this story is super dark, but keep in mind, it does get a lot better really quick after this chapter, eventually and definitely more soft! don’t know how many parts/how long it will be either so it might end suddenly! Also: this series does not depict the police or the military in a positive light.

- Hybrids have been replacing K-9 units in the police force for the better part of the last 50 years. Generally, they have the same capabilities as old-fashioned police dogs but hybrids can communicate better than animals and are therefore more useful. Namjoon is apart of the general unit, used for patrolling most of the time, and for his specialtys- bomb-sniffing and human remain identification- when it’s needed.

- Most police hybrids are retired after 10 or 20 years but are given the option to leave every 5. Though few police hybrids ever go back into the general population of hybrids or adopted by familys. Instead, most are sent to rehabilitation facilities or long term care facilities.

- Namjoon has only been working for 7 years when he is forcibly retired, or fired for lack of a better word. The official paperwork states that it was because of a ‘failure to follow orders in a potentially life threating situation’ but that’s just unture. It was over so quick, his commanding officer ordering him to beat up a drug dealer that Namjoon had positively id’d, the man who was already in handcuffs. The dealer had refused to tell them who the higher-ups wherein a drug-dealing ring and had mouthed off.

- But he hadn’t done anything wrong- anything illegal, wasn’t struggling or trying to get free- and Namjoon had refused with clenched fists, confused as to why his commanding officer was ordering him to ‘make him talk’.

- The next thing Namjoon knew he was the one being put into handcuffs. But what was more moral, Namjoon’s refusal? Or to beat a cuffed man for backtalk? or did the law, what Namjoon’s life was build around, have nothing to do with morality?

- Namjoon was lucky really, after so many years in the force, to be deemed still adoptable and not a danger to society, Other hybrids weren’t as lucky. He knows his special treatment has something to do with his old partner who had been promoted to police chief a few years ago, who had a soft spot for Namjoon and didn’t want to see Namjoon go to one of the long term care facilities Upstate or even put down like the few hybrids that go feral sometimes are.

- The man was never really Namjoon’s father, or a parent by any standard of the word. Like other police hybrids, he’d been trained to be in the force from the time he was too young to really remember any parental figures. But there had been some good moments, some pleasant memories made with his old partner.

- When 16-year-old Namjoon had graduated from the hybrid training academy and had suddenly been thrown into the real world. A box of donuts shared in the front seat of a police car, the older man reaching down to tighten the straps on Namjoon’s too large bulletproof vest. A single pet, rough hands combing through his brown hair when he’d done a good job- like that time he’d ID a bomber from just the residue on his hands.

- They haven’t seen each other in years at this point, but he does meet with Namjoon right before his auction, ask him how he’s doing- if there’s anything he needs. And a goodbye where he tells Namjoon- that if there’s every anything he needs in his new life he can call.

- His old partner is the closest thing to a parental figure that Namjoon’s ever had and Maybe at another time, he would feel bad or sorry for himself for being denied something that most others have. But Namjoon knew he was lucky to have this chance, even if he felt more like a piece of cattle than a person as he was auctioned off with old police cars and ambulances at one of the quarterly auctions the city holds for all municipal property that is no longer up to government standards.

- And apparently, having a strong sense of justice regardless of orders and thinking for himself makes Namjoon below those standards too.

- Namjoon is a Doberman pinscher mix hybrid, is all nasty and scarred across his face and a particularly nasty one on his lower lip from a car bomb explosion a few years ago. He’s surprised he’s bid on at all with how shabby and aggressive he looks, but he goes to the man in the back of the room who hides his face with a baseball cap and pays a full 7,000 dollars for Namjoon and he counts himself lucky.

- On the drive to his new home, the man outlines why he’s purchased Namjoon. The man is a rich ex-colonel with a new wife, even newer property that needs attending too, the farm too large for him to look after on his own. He’s quick to assert that Namjoon will not be a house pet- which is fine.

- And after so many years being on the front lines of the worst of the police force, He’s really touchy. He will growl if anyone he doesn’t trust comes too near. Namjoon knows he wouldn’t be a good one anyway but at least he won’t be so idle in his new life.

- You live in a nice and orderly farmhouse, the surrounding land barren mostly, accepts for the grass the endless stretches of pristine lawn. It’s a 2 hour drive outside of the city that Namjoon grew up in, and an hour away from the coast.

- The house is ancient, almost too large to be called a farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and more than a few creaky floorboards but the updated and impeccably maintained insides fortel money like Namjoon’s only seen during drug busts. The land sprawling but somehow fallow seeming with refurbished barns turned garages and workshops rimming the edge of the property. The cedar shingles of the barns ocher fading grey and sticking out against the green.

- The property is Rimmed by a few dozen acres of untamed and uncleared forest. The tall oak tree and The small garden next to your house the only thing at all colorful. But the garden almost seems stifled Not a leaf out of place, or a plant that seems anything less than perfect and contained separate from the others.

- The first thing that stings his nose when he walks in and puts his bag down in the entryway is the stinging stench of bleach and something else that he can’t identify. It was like that with most hybrids, after a little while when they got accustomed to the scent of their owners- they would be able to sense their emotions if they were sick. In a few weeks, he’ll probably be able to identify the peculiar scent better, but for now, it’s source remains a misery to him.

- The house seems idyllic to Namjoon, almost too perfect and quiet, pretty area rugs and dark hardwood floors, white walls with photos in black picture frames. His owner gives him a second to set his stuff down before he joins the two of you for dinner. His bedroom is down the hall from the master bedroom on the second floor and it might not be anything special, but the light beige walls are calming. The window has a nice view of of the same hill they drove up.

- His new room is so different from his small bunk at the police station where he used to live, not an inch of grey concrete insight. The rot iron bed frame and linen curtains achingly homey. Namjoon is so happy he scents to linen curtains before he goes downstairs. He dosesn’t even really know why he does it, just that his instincts are making him want the whole room to smell like him.

• On the ground floor, there is not a hair or corner out of place in the kitchen. It’s nothing that you wouldn’t expect from a military man, and neither are you, beautiful and soft and quiet more demure than anything else. You’ve made a full course meal to welcome Namjoon to your home, the evidence of your hard work in the few baby hairs that have come untucked from your smooth bun, your hair tightly pinned behind your head.

- You turn from where you work over a casserole to the sound of Namjoon’s footsteps, your husband nursing a beer in the corner observing you and Namjoon with a keen eye. “I hope you’ll be comfortable here,” you say to Namjoon, not offering your hand in introduction yet or meeting his eyes. Your hands covered in flower that you dust against your plane canvas apron with yellow flowers along the hem.

- You match the house- you’re perfectly delicate and domestic too, your leggings and tunic top pristine and white. Your makeup minimal but done well. He barely remembers his politeness, “Thank you for welcoming me into your home Miss Y/n.” your soft and shy nod in response, almost makes his tail wag. and he begins to hope that maybe, this new life won’t be so bad. At least compared to the last when his life was in danger nearly every day.

- “Would you mind taking these dishes to the dining room?” Namjoon nods, takes the salad, while he’s gone he misses that you turn to look to your husband for approval, and Namjoon misses his nod and the tick of his hands against the beer glass that makes you flinch.

- Maybe if Namjoon had been on the track for the detective branch he would have realized what was wrong, but at first, Namjoon doesn’t notice anything strange about his new owners. Maybe it was a little weird how your husband seemed to order him around, but to be fair Namjoon had known a bunch of ex-military men- and he wasn’t expecting anything less than a stalwart will.

- Namjoon is used to taking orders- he’s surprised at how little his life really changes when it comes to what he used to deal with at the police station and here.

- During the first few days, your husband has him working to help upkeep the farm, one of the barns rust red and lifting heavy things, and in general, helping with the many chores that need to be done around the farm. It’s more of a passion project really since your husband is retired from the military and only occasionally goes into town to help with the VA.

- Namjoon’s thankful that he hadn’t really been adopted to be a house pet since affections been foreign to him for so long. Namjoon’s not sure he’d know how to be a regular hybrid if he tried.

- And of course, Namjoon is a little on edge constantly. The first time you try to reach out and pet him is a few days after he gets there, your husband isn’t home and you’d asked for Namjoon’s help getting the heavy crockpot down from the upper shelf. He senses the heat from your hand near his arm and he snaps, growling low and menacing.

- You back away slowly, keeping your hands where he can see them, apologizing and looking like you’re near tears. dropping your shoulders and holding your hands out in front of your face like you think Namjoon is going to hit you.

- But you also look so so sad, Namjoon realizes with a shock, and you smell terrified. You don’t try again to befriend him again, to give him any sort of affection, Keeping your distance after the growl. Something aching in your expression that puzzles him, something desolate, lonely and wanting whenever you look at him.

- But what could a woman like you, who didn’t work and lived in what was basically a small mansion have to be sad about? What could someone who had everything want?

- As Namjoon comes to know, you have quite a bit to be sad about.

- What’s more is that later, Namjoon is worried- worried you’re going to tell your husband what Namjoon did- growling at his owner’s wife would surely warrant being sent to the pound or being abandoned. But you say nothing, eating in silence only pausing with your meal to ask your husband what kind of work needs to be done at the VA this week.

- “Trying to get me out of the house y/n?” he asks, gaze darkening. the smile you send his way is strained, bottom lip trembling, making Namjoon’s ears flick at how dissonant it all feels. “not at all dear, just wanted to know if I should make lunch for you tomorrow or if you’ll be getting something from the diner in town”

- You’d think after so many years dealing with criminals he would have noticed sooner. He’s ashamed of it, but at first, he doesn’t catch how your husband grips your wrist hard enough to bruise when the peas have gotten cold while you tended to the salmon one night at dinner. He’s too busy scarfing down the rich food, so much tastier than the simple meals he’d grown up accustomed too.

- He draws his first conclusions when he sees the bruises. Your husband chiding when Namjoon asks about some nasty ones on your palms (your husband had pushed you when you where in the driveway earlier after you’d almost opened the door into one of his other expensive cars) “She’s always just so clumsy.” your husband justifies.

- When Namjoon makes a comment on a particularly bad one your arm, (you’d moved away from him in your bedroom and your husband had dragged you close) And then another appears in the shape of fingerprints on both of your wrists (another bedroom casualty). And then on a day when your husband leaves early for the VA and Namjoon wakes up and comes to see why you haven’t come downstairs yet he sees your black eye before you can dab makeup around it or turn your face down to hide it.

- You and Namjoon aren’t friends, you don’t even talk to each other much really after the growl beyond you asking him occasionally to lift something you can’t or reach something from a tall shelf- but he can’t ignore what he sees, can’t deny that he knows and wants to help. When he sees your black eye, he growls and asks you his first real question, “that’s from him, isn’t it?”

- Namjoon had been trained for years in the law, and he knows domestic abuse when he sees it. Knows what comes from it from years of studying law books. how the victims often feel trapped, often grow depended and can’t escape. The acrid smell he noticed when he came to say making sense- it’s just fear. painting the walls and the floorboards of your house, every inch of it.

- When you see him staring in the mirror, you nodd and continue to blend the makeup around your eye, without saying a word to Namjoon.

- The day that Namjoon hears you scream, his heart drops into his stomach and he runs to you. He finds your husband holding you up by your hair screaming about how he’d found an app downloaded on your phone that shouldn’t have been.

- “You fucking unfaithful slut! What are you trying going to do find another man to take in your worthless ass on Instagram? I put up with so much from you! Your fucking sloppiness- mucking up my house with all your shit- I don’t even know why I try to help you anymore when it’s obvious don’t fucking know how to be fucking faithfull- you never had someone to teach you how to love and now i’m the one who has to teach you this bullshit” your husband sees namjoon at the door, “Why don’t you ask him Y/n. Namjoon tell me, can you teach an old bitch new tricks?”

- Namjoon is quick to put himself in between the two of you, catching your husband’s wrist before he hits you again (one of your cheeks is already red) but it’s the wrong move. Namjoon is taller than your husband, but he does probably have a little more muscle on him than Namjoon does.

- Your husband is even nastier and brutal than he usually is. And Namjoon knows he can’t hit back. When Namjoon falls to his floor, keeping his body in between yours and your husbands shielding you his head is spinning and his lip is aching and split, your husband growls back that if he does fight back again- Namjoon will have earned himself a one-way ticket to hell.

- After all who wouldn’t believe that a retired police hybrid would break one day and snap back to his most basic instincts? The way your husband spun the story, Namjoon believes that he really would.

- Late at night sometimes he takes out one of his guns and polishes it in front of Namjoon looking at him with a glint of mad anger in his eyes. Namjoon knows if he tries to stop him, and tries to tell someone about what your husband does, he will get hurt and you will too.

- And then he’d be leaving you to the mercy of your husband, and that just won’t do. You where just someone who needed help like the countless people he’s saved over the years, and you’d be alone to be in pain just like you had in the beginning.

- Such shame fills him for not noticing sooner, even as you dab at some blood on Namjoon’s cheek with a wet cloth after the first time he intervenes. until that point, you haven’t said much to him or tried to touch him beyond that first day when he growled at you. He catches your wrist gently another bruise already forming there, and you hiss lowly at him and rip it from his grasp.

- Casting an anxious look in the direction of where your husband disappeared, you can still hear the thrum of the shower though and know your words will be disguised by the hum of the water. “You can’t Namjoon- you can’t touch me, that will only make him angrier- please, please don’t get yourself hurt for me.”

- But Namjoon is terrible at following orders. He feels rage well up inside of him because you’re just trying to help him, even though you’re in need of help yourself. You’re an innocent like the ones he used to protect and there is no one here to do that for you.

- Your husband is a criminal and Namjoon has always had a strong sense of justice. So Namjoon will do his best to protect you- and divert your husband’s attention whenever possible, and help you as he can.

- So Namjoon can do nothing but watch, try to mitigate and try to help. there are days when Namjoon says that he was the one who knocked a picture frame off the wall when Namjoon makes a mistake to distract from one that you make, creating distractions.

- After that, things change, Namjoon is just another person that your husband can exert his need for control over. Smacks Namjoons hand with the end of a dowl when he drops a box of nails, purposefully slamming the door shut on Namjoon’s tail. Namjoon can take it, he’s no stranger to pain or brutal overworking. But still- Namjoon tries to keep him out of the house as much as possible, keeps him away from you when he can.

- It’s hard, there are many more nights where he fails rather than succeeds. But on the nights where he manages to keep you safe until your husband falls asleep, make a sour kind of accomplishment take root in his chest. He stares up at the ceiling in his room, lying on top of the covers in his bed, turning over the day’s events, when he hears a noise, your quiet footsteps in the hallway.

- Namjoon moves slowly so as to not cause a creek, but he opens the door to find you there waiting outside, in the gray light of the moon streaming through the window at the end of the hallway.

- You are drowned in shades of black and white, like some old photograph as you look up at Namjoon, reaching forward again to touch him. It’s been so long since you’ve felt any tender touch unmarred by pain or fear. The words of your husband weigh on your heart like a shackle. “You don’t know how to love.” when you look at Namjoon you think that maybe- maybe if things where different- you could learn. You’ve never known much about hybrids other than they where made to be loved.

- As you reach your hand forward slowly Namjoon doesn’t growl like the first time. The first time your hand touches his cheek, it feels like something good falls into place. He lets your hand rest there and leans into the touch, just as hungry for something good and soft as you are. It’s the first time he’s been touched with so much softness, and already it feels so good that it makes emotions he’s never had well up in his throat and choke off any noise he might make.

- He makes the choice to pull you closer to him. You are so so small that he can barely lean his elbows on your shoulders even as you wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head in his chest. Namjoon’s tail starts to wag and hits up against the doorframe, you both freeze, and he catches it before it makes any more noise. Both of you listen with bated breath. Down the hall, your husband gives a particularly loud snore but stays asleep.

- It’s only that, only a hug before You part from him holding his gaze before you slink back to your room careful to avoid the floorboards that creak. Knowing he’ll wake up if your warmth in his bed is gone for long or if there are any particularly harsh noises.

- It starts to become an everyday sort of thing, every night after your husband has gone to bed you meet Namjoon in the hallway. Sometimes you stay longer in his arms, sometimes you need too, and sometimes you shake and quiver like a leaf in a storm and Namjoon can do nothing but hold you and try to keep you steady.

- Sometimes it’s worse, sometimes you come into the hallway moving slower and shadowed, your hips stiff and his smell all over you. And Namjoon will nuzzle into the hickeys on your neck left by him and growl lowly at them. And you’ll be still in his arms quieting him by running your fingers over the back of his neck and through his hair if you’re brave enough.

- Namjoon wonders how something so sweet got trapped in a place so bad, how you ended up with a man like him. On one of the rare days your husband has work down in the VA, he asks you. You’ve started to talk more, but only when your husband is out of the house. Sometimes you stand close by the counter and enjoy a simple thing like a cup of coffee togeater.

- You have rare good days, where there isn’t much to do besides sit on the couch or play a game of cards in the kitchen. Or other times, more tender things, though It feels so vulnerable and intimate to hug you in your kitchen, in broad daylight no less and not be enswathed in the safe cocoon of darkness. Namjoon is careful to watch the window over your shoulder waiting for the moment when your husband comes home and you have to separate.

- But he hugs you in your kitchen, light streaming through. Running his hands over your shoulders and feeling them deflate more every moment. He asks you why you loved him at one point enough to marry him. “He wasn’t bad at first- the opposite, he made me feel special and like I belonged somewhere, but then after we got married he started to change and-“ your voice breaks off. Namjoon brushes away your tears with his thumbs.

- The day your husband adds to the scars on Namjoon’s face is the first day your lips touch his skin.

- You have some Vaseline and some skin-safe glue to patch up the gash in his cheekbone just under his lower eye (the mark of a thrown glass after Namjoon had knocked over a lamp in the living room) it could probably use stitches, but it’s the best that he can do. You have a cut on your finger too from picking up that glass, and Namjoon kisses it first, lips pressed to them gently before you wrap them with bandaids.

- Tomorrow, you’ll patch it up a little better, but for now, you meet in the hallway and your lips brush over the base of it, not close enough to irritate it. and namjoon makes a noise in the back of his throat in suprise. Even though the action is tender. He can see your hurt by him, you shake with silent sobs by this, by everything that’s happened, and it doesn’t feel like he can bear it anymore.

- He’d never thought of himself as a killer, but now he thinks he understands why someone would. To keep you safe, Namjoon would kill your husband. Namjoon will he realizes- to free you of this pain. Namjoon has never hated another living thing more than he hates your husband. And namjoon has come to the conclusion that the world would be a better place if he where dead- call it a crisis of faith in the law but sometimes- the law just can’t get things done. so namjoon will take it into his own hands.

- That night, Namjoon dreams that you falling asleep on his chest, small and happy, smiling in your sleep, he dreams of waking up with you in his arms just once. And in that dream world Namjoon gets to run his fingers through your hair and watch over you to make sure you’re safe. And when he wakes, he finds you with a fresh black eye and knows that one day, one day soon he’s going to get you out of here, even if it means Namjoon doesn’t.

• Namjoon keeps his anger and his evil intentions a secret; even from himself at times. He thinks about the small river by your house, drowning your husband and holding him under the water. Or the lift in the fancy barn that was used for your husband’s expensive car collection, the button that releases the hydraulics so close and itching to be pressed anytime he goes under them.

- Namjoon wonders how he’s going to do it, with Namjoon’s hands around his throat or a well-placed shovel to the back of his head or even, or if he can find the passcode- one of the guns in the gun safe. Quick and easy, buried in the backyard or dissolved in acid.

- Namjoon has been in on enough homicide cases, he knows how hard it is to get away with murder, but he loves you enough to try- even if he knows it’s futile. It will take a fair bit of planning, and Namjoon starts the painstaking process.

- But then one morning, when your husband leaves early without any explanation, Namjoon walks into your bathroom to find you hurling your guts out into the toilet, and a pregnancy test sitting on the counter and feels horror spark in his stomach.

- You’re pregnant, and that changes everything.

PART 2

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